The Hijab: Iran’s Struggle for Control and Compliance
Picture Credits: Fatemeh Rezvani
Three years after the Woman, Life, Freedom uprising and following the 12-day Israel–Iran war, women’s long battle against Iran’s compulsory hijab law has reached a breaking point.
Since the 1979 Revolution, compulsory hijab has been more than just a dress code; it has been a sign of ideological control. Today, across Iran, that control is breaking down. In both big and small cities, in suburban neighborhoods, unveiled women have become a common sight.
What started as local defiance by young women now defines a broader struggle between a state demanding obedience and a society that refuses to be constrained.
Officials still insist that compulsory hijab is a non-negotiable. But many women in Iran say the law has lost its force. Economic troubles, political crisis, and shifting social values have left Iran’s leadership with limited resources and power to enforce what no longer seems enforceable.
“The regime is losing its grip,” Mahin Amiri, a political activist in Tehran, said to The Amargi. “People live differently now. You see unveiled women everywhere, on the buses, in the grocery stores, even in places that used to be strict. The fear has gone.”
The Law and Its Limits
For the Islamic Republic, the hijab was always meant to represent moral legitimacy and public discipline. But over time, enforcing it has waned due to social pressure and diminishing state strength.
“The hijab is not only about religion. It’s about power,” said Bayan Azizi, a law and human rights researcher in Sine (Sanandaj). “The moment the state cannot enforce it, it exposes weaknesses in its authority.”
She added, “After the Jina Uprising, triggered by Jina (Mahsa) Amini’s death in custody, civil disobedience spread rapidly. The morality police, long feared for publicly humiliating women, stepped back from many streets.”
The limited retreat from the so-called “morality police” has been a noticeable change, as one person* told The Amargi they have decreased their presence in Sine (Sanandaj) and Kirmaşan (Kermanshah).
Changing Streets, Changing Minds
In Iran, society is shifting. As one woman* told The Amargi, “Even older generations are changing. Society has grown more tolerant; there’s something new happening around us.”
The transformation is clearest in the streets and markets, where long, dark mantles, once enforced as proper dressing, are vanishing; and in their place are short blouses, colorful jackets, and open coats. “Gen Z refuses to accept coded morality,” said Bahar Abbasi, a journalist who recently left Iran. “They see freedom as normal.”
Tehran, once sharply divided between conservative and liberal zones, now seems more unified in resistance.
“In some neighborhoods, you walk and feel as if you are somewhere other than Iran,” one woman* said. “In Kermanshah, I still wear a scarf in some areas, but in Tehran, nobody cares.”
Another woman*, who recently traveled from Seqiz (Saqqez) to Tehran, recalled, “It was like visiting another country. Like [Iraqi] Kurdistan, the atmosphere, the clothes, the attitude – everything had changed.”
The government, however, still uses the law to dole out punishment, but, now, social class is a more integral factor in deciding who faces consequences: “There is no strict enforcement in wealthy areas, like the north part of Tehran,” Azizi said. “But they still crack down on middle-class youth, activists, or those using public transport.”
Between Street and State
The rift between everyday life and official institutions is stark. Civil disobedience is growing in the streets, cafés, and shops, but state offices and universities still insist on complete conformity.
“There’s no way to enter government buildings, courts, or ministries without a hijab,” Amiri explained.
One teacher* who talked to The Amargi said, “At my university, wearing the hijab, or even the chador, is mandatory. But outside, it’s a choice. It changes the moment you step out of the gate.”
Some see this as the state’s partial withdrawal from daily enforcement. “They are stepping back from spaces where resistance is widespread,” Amiri noted. “It’s not reform – it’s survival.”
In official environments, the hijab remains an ideological pillar, a sign that the system’s moral boundaries still stand. Yet beyond those walls, the symbols have lost their meaning. The gap between the Islamic Republic’s principles and social reality has never been this wide.
Managing a Crisis
The Iranian regime’s critical state is reflected in the public actions of key figures in the country, like the current president, Masoud Pezeshkian, who has called for dialogue on the hijab. Or Hossein Shariatmadari, editor of the hardline newspaper Kayhan, who recently said that arrests and detentions over hijab violations were “fruitless.” Instead, he has urged a culture-centric approach to encourage compliance.
For Sahar Bagheri, PhD researcher in political economy and lecturer at Sorbonne Paris Nord University, such remarks point to a shift from command to crisis management: “When officials start speaking of dialogue over hijab, it’s because they have admitted defeat,” she said. “The compulsory hijab was once a tool to control women’s behavior. Now it shows how they have failed.”
The government’s new rhetoric focuses on “soft power,” but it does not seem to be effective. “They’re trying to reassert authority over women,” Bagheri said, “but women now feel they are active subjects.”
Shirin Assa, a humanities and social sciences researcher, said that after the Israel–Iran war in summer 2025 interrupted hijab enforcement altogether, methods of control changed, “Security forces shifted their focus to other ‘national threats’, including the arrest of young men in non-Persian regions.”
“During those days, the police simply stopped seizing cars with unveiled women inside,” Amiri echoed Assa’s argument. “They never resumed.”
A woman* speaking with The Amargi labeled this change irreversible, “People are no longer protesting in the streets. They resist by living differently. The resistance now exists in daily life – in cafés, in classrooms, in the way people walk.”
Control and Its Boundaries
The government’s inability to reassert strict discipline has exposed the limits of its authority, and as Bagheri said, “The situation before the uprising cannot return. Women will not surrender their recent gains.”
Even the new “Hijab and Chastity” bill has struggled to gain authority. The bill was designed to renew state control and set stricter rules for women’s dress and behavior in public, but implementation remains inconsistent and often ignored.
And in the private sector, business owners have quietly stopped cooperating: “They used to threaten to shut cafés that allowed unveiled women,” Amiri said. “Now owners simply refuse. They can’t afford to fight their customers.”
In this instance, economic decline has been playing its part: inflation remains high, police budgets are stretched, and enforcement officers earn little. Many prefer to avoid confrontation.
“Society, especially women, stands at a point of rupture from the government’s official rules,” Azizi said.
An Unspoken Change
What is happening across Iran is not a single uprising, but small, deliberate acts of noncompliance.
Each woman walking unveiled becomes ordinary. Bagheri called it “a slow, social change […] Each act of defiance undermines the hijab’s moral power. Iran’s state can’t return to before the ‘Woman, Life, Freedom’ era, nor will women surrender their gains.”
From Mazandaran to Shiraz, even those who once viewed the veil as sacred now speak of choice. The Islamic Republic can still punish, but it can no longer persuade. As one woman* said, “The society is moving faster than they [the Iranian government] can act. Civil disobedience is everywhere. The government can never bring back the old days. Society already knows the direction it wants.”
*The report is based on interviews with activists, experts, and everyday people who spoke with The Amargi. Some names have been changed, while others have been anonymized.
Kawe Fatehi
Kawe Fatehi is a journalist and translator, based in Berlin, with a Master's degree in English Literature and Language. He has written for multiple Kurdish and Persian media outlets, covering topics related to the Kurdish community in Iran, Iraq, Turkey, and Syria. In addition to his journalism work, he is a social worker.
