When the rally ends, I talk to an Iranian woman in her early 30s who moved to this area three years ago. “It’s horrible being a woman in Iran,” she says. “The government allows you no dignity. They don’t count you, no matter how many years you study, no matter what background you have.” I feel her outrage. I also know I would never have lasted there as long as she did. I resolve to march again soon. Because I can. Because I want Iranian women to be able to do so safely. Because I want to take my American son to Iran one day. And when we arrive at the airport in Tehran, I hope to run my fingers through my long hair — not obscured by a compulsory headscarf — and walk freely into a country I once called home.
