Close Menu
Honi Soit
    Facebook X (Twitter) Instagram
    Trending
    • Strawmanning in the chat at the July SRC Council
    • Folk Reimagined, East In Symphony at the Sydney Opera House
    • Graeme Turner’s ‘Broken’ assesses our ailing university sector
    • MAPW addresses USyd’s retreat from “obligation to promote peace” in open letter
    • 2025–26 State Budget Unpacked
    • Antisemitism review puts universities, festivals, and cultural centres under threat
    • Macquarie University axes Sociology, cuts more jobs & courses
    • UTS elects new Chancellor
    • About
    • Print Edition
    • Student Journalism Conference 2025
    • Writing Comp
    • Advertise
    • Locations
    • Contact
    Facebook Instagram X (Twitter) TikTok
    Honi SoitHoni Soit
    Wednesday, July 16
    • News
    • Analysis
    • Culture
    • Opinion
    • University
    • Features
    • Perspective
    • Investigation
    • Reviews
    • Comedy
    • Student Journalism Conference 2025
    Honi Soit
    Home»Analysis

    The Fury of Fetters

    Neshat intimately explores the lasting effects of the physical, emotional and sexual traumas that female political prisoners so often experience.
    By Emma RezaiMarch 28, 2023 Analysis 6 Mins Read
    Share
    Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Pinterest Email

    There can be no societal progress while some remain in fetters. There can be no change whilst silence pervades any opportunity for justice. Shirin Neshat, an Iranian-born visual artist, uses her art as a channel that speaks to and amplifies the voices of those who so often remain silenced at the behest of exploitative powers. I had the privilege of attending the opening of her exhibition, ‘The Fury’ (2023) at Gladstone Gallery in New York, where Neshat confronts her audience with a sixteen-minute, double-channel, monochrome film where she intimately explores the lasting effects of the physical, emotional and sexual traumas that female political prisoners often experience. 

    Using two screens placed directly across from one another in an unspoken communication, Neshat opens with a close-up shot of an Iranian woman’s face in sormeh eye makeup—an ancient Persian style of eye makeup used to embolden the eyes. Her gaze locks with a man seated in military uniform on the opposite screen; the smoke of his cigarette hazing the clarity of the frame. Throughout the film, Neshat utilises these two screens to show the different power dynamics and perspectives that ensue between a torturer and their victim, also noting the disparate realities of femininity and masculinity within patriarchal cultures. 

    When I first watched the film, immersed in the images on either side of me, it initially gave rise to feelings of conflict regarding my Iranian identity; in that the deeply-rooted sexism and violence that has so often permeated the experiences of my friends and family has only ever been a numbing deterrent of my engagement and sense of connection with it, even amongst all the beautiful elements of Iranian life, culture and history. See, ‘The Fury’ shares a story I’m all too familiar with. 

    My Grandmother, Maman Bozorg as we all knew her, was imprisoned in the political Evin Prison in Iran in 1983 for 2 years in the aftermath of the 1979 Islamic Revolution. There are feelings and experiences I will never understand, but can imagine through the stories she would share: of the dehumanising and incessant torturing; stories of the friends she would make, many of whom were taken and killed, never to be seen again; stories of a month-long solitary confinement, designed to mentally break her, and the darkness and thickness of dust that lined that cell.  

    Drawing from experiences remnant of my Grandmother’s, Neshat looks at the female body as a contested site where desire and violence, shame and power, vulnerability and strength unite as contending forces. In ‘The Fury,’ this is conveyed when the female protagonist can be seen in a warehouse encircled by a group of men in military uniforms, their facial expressions blank but their glares filled with unsettling violent desires projected towards her. It is here that the horrifying scars of torture that cover her body are exposed. She tries to dance, spinning countless times with her arms outstretched as though pleading for succour from the men who remain so close to her, yet unmoved by her anguish. Her ailing body eventually collapses to the floor, though she is able to regain strength and eventually leave the space.   

    This potent, yet deeply confronting scene conceptually reflected my Grandmother’s experiences. I can only wonder what it felt like for her, for all the women who have experienced this, to have these memories and scars shadow them even as they build a new life outside of prison, outside of Iran. I remember Maman Bozorg sharing how she could not physically walk due to bastinado torturing—which involved lashes on the feet with a cable—and sharing the vile comments that the guards would make when she was handed meals or showering. Amidst this, however, she always shared her hope in humanity—that little by little, there would be change. 

    By a miracle, the person in charge of the prison had a dream about my Grandmother’s innocence and out of fear, hastened to have her released and removed from his conscience. It was also around this time that she herself had a dream that she would travel to distant places, never thinking this would mean beyond her homeland of Iran. 

    During a time when so many political prisoners were killed, there were very few recounts of what was actually happening within these prisons. Maman Bozorg realised that if she was not courageous enough to voice these harsh realities to the world, no one would ever know the truth. And so she would share her stories with family, friends and news outlets, eventually travelling across almost every continent sharing the gruesome realities and humanitarian injustices that prevailed, and still do, within Iran’s political prisons. 

    Still, these stories were also ones of hope in humanity—that action can be taken on both small and large scales to constitute beneficial change. We have and continue to see glimmerings of this now with the Women, Life, Freedom Movement.   

    Though ‘The Fury’ was completed in June 2022, its release is no doubt timely. The Movement has seen people in Iran and globally, irrespective of gender and nationality, coming together in the promotion of gender equality and protesting against the systematic oppression and persecution of women. 

    What is perhaps key in sustaining movements whereby change can occur is, first and foremost, the consistency of communication. If we do not continue to speak about these issues, action cannot be taken and thus change can in no way occur. Neshat’s film opens a dialogue to her audience on the institutionalised sexism, moral perversion and power dynamics that encourage violence globally, especially in prisons which are so often an arena for horrific acts.

    My Grandmother realised the potency of sharing truth and promoting social justice, which involved sharing her experiences from Iran. Sharing my family’s story is a call to action. An urge for all to continue to speak about global and local injustices. Though it may not appear obvious, they do directly and indirectly affect us all. Again, there can be no societal progress while some remain in fetters. 

    ACAR Honi 2023

    Keep Reading

    USyd doesn’t listen: Five key policies updated and implemented following “feedback” process

    Mental Health of NSW Workers on the Chopping Block

    Against Introspection: Gillian Rose’s Enduring Wisdom

    Towards Anti-Gentrification in Sydney

    Three Years of Labor?

    Do We Need Acid Communism?

    Just In

    Strawmanning in the chat at the July SRC Council

    July 14, 2025

    Folk Reimagined, East In Symphony at the Sydney Opera House

    July 14, 2025

    Graeme Turner’s ‘Broken’ assesses our ailing university sector

    July 13, 2025

    MAPW addresses USyd’s retreat from “obligation to promote peace” in open letter

    July 13, 2025
    Editor's Picks

    Part One: The Tale of the Corporate University

    May 28, 2025

    “Thank you Conspiracy!” says Capitalism, as it survives another day

    May 21, 2025

    A meditation on God and the impossible pursuit of answers

    May 14, 2025

    We Will Be Remembered As More Than Administrative Errors

    May 7, 2025
    Facebook Instagram X (Twitter) TikTok

    From the mines

    • News
    • Analysis
    • Higher Education
    • Culture
    • Features
    • Investigation
    • Comedy
    • Editorials
    • Letters
    • Misc

     

    • Opinion
    • Perspective
    • Profiles
    • Reviews
    • Science
    • Social
    • Sport
    • SRC Reports
    • Tech

    Admin

    • About
    • Editors
    • Send an Anonymous Tip
    • Write/Produce/Create For Us
    • Print Edition
    • Locations
    • Archive
    • Advertise in Honi Soit
    • Contact Us

    We acknowledge the traditional custodians of this land, the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation. The University of Sydney – where we write, publish and distribute Honi Soit – is on the sovereign land of these people. As students and journalists, we recognise our complicity in the ongoing colonisation of Indigenous land. In recognition of our privilege, we vow to not only include, but to prioritise and centre the experiences of Indigenous people, and to be reflective when we fail to be a counterpoint to the racism that plagues the mainstream media.

    © 2025 Honi Soit
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms
    • Accessibility

    Type above and press Enter to search. Press Esc to cancel.