 My name is Pouya
I am an Iranian-American
By Pouya Alimagham
February 10, 2003
The Iranian
On the anniversary of the 1979 Iranian Revolution, I would like to talk about another
revolution, one that is personal; one that takes place away from the homeland.
When I was in the first grade, I was fed up with kids making fun of my name. I wanted
to change my Iranian name, Pouya, to an American name that started with the letter
"P". As a result of my mother's fondness with soap operas, I was introduced
to the blond-haired blue-eyed character of Paul from The Young and the Restless
back in the early eighties.
The name "Paul" was attractive for me as a child because I wanted to be
an American with blond hair and blue eyes. So there we have it. I forced everyone
from my friends to my grandparents to call me Paul. This denial of my roots followed
me until my days in junior college.
Then in my finals days as a junior college student, I began to get introduced to
my Iranian heritage. Of course, in junior college, it was a "Persian heritage".
I joined the community college's "Persian Club" and began to befriend Iranians
who haven't been in the U.S. for more than a couple years.
I always thought that I could speak Farsi well, but when I spoke with them using
my native language, I realized how poor my Farsi really was; I could not get a sentence
out without using an English word. I began to realize that the minimal "Persian"
culture that I was exposed to as a youth was nothing.
The "haft seen" was a show for me, as I knew not what it meant. My name
was Paul and I wore Tommy Hilfiger and Calvin Klein to be like the other Persians.
I listened to rap and the only "Persian" music I could tolerate was Andy
or something of the like.
Iran was a country that I knew nothing about except that there was a revolution some
time ago and that the "Persian Empire" was glorious thousands of years
ago. Family instilled in me the ideas that Dr. Mossadegh was good, and that the Shah
and Ayatollah Khomeini were bad, even though I didn't know why or who they were.
I was "Persian" in theory but in reality an American who had squabbled
his Farsi, knew nothing about his land or religion of birth, as well as all the other
elements of my culture -- a culture I viewed like an artifact in a museum.
This realization came right before I transferred to University of California, Berkeley.
I came here in the spring of 2001 and I told myself, "It's time to go to your
roots." I introduced myself as Pouya for the first time in 15 years. I took
Farsi courses at UC Berkeley and began asking my parents the translations of those
English words I would use when I didn't know the Farsi equivalent.
I took courses and read books on Iranian history, modern politics, and the Middle
East as a whole. I began asking my parents questions about my background and where
I came from. I learned about the 1979 Revolution that put all those I love on the
frontline. I learned about the Iran-Iraq War, a war I remember as a baby.
In fact, the first memory I have is from the war. I was two-years old. I remember
being in a dark room filled with relatives. I remember hearing a siren. I remember
my grandmother crying and I moving to her to hug her in an attempt to relieve her.
Tehran's city lights were out because the capital was being bombed. The sirens were
sounding so that the civilian population could brace themselves for an incoming bomb
nobody had asked for. It's a memory I shall never forget.
This new introduction to my homeland changed me forever. At UC Berkeley I have developed
a consciousness. I acknowledge my roots. I had always struggled to reach them, but
now I know they are there. I am not "Persian" nor am I American; I am an
Iranian-American. My name is Pouya and my entire family and friends are being forced
to respect this symbolic name change.
On the anniversary of the Iranian Revolution (February 11) I pledge to continue with
my self-revolution. I promise to continue to find myself, to educate myself, and
to empower myself. Improvement and education is an ongoing cycle and I have just
begun my endeavors.
 I look to Iranian-Americans, especially my generation,
and I want to help them organize, learn about about their roots, and defend themselves
and their rights. I want to be there beside them, for I still have lots to learn.
I look at Iran, my homeland, our homeland, and I want to help. But before we can
all work together and improve the motherland, we need to be able to identify with
the struggles. I believe in order to identify with the troubles facing Iran and Iranian-Americans
we need to redefine ourselves.
I have invested my energy and time in a 6-month-old UC Berkeley based Iranian student
movement called Students for Progress and Development
in Iran. SPDI is an independent organization focused on Iranian-American issues
and issues pertaining to Iran -- a movement that seeks to redefine the Iranian-American
community. It is here to take Iranian culture off the stage and into practice. It
is here to help Iranian-Americans like myself to improve their Farsi. It is here
to help Iranians help themselves.
Although I am eternally grateful to UC Berkeley, it should not have come to the point
where I would have had to enroll in courses to learn about our history, culture,
language, and religions from a university. What about those students who don't have
the opportunities I have had at UC Berkeley?
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