Echoes of Arash: Heroism , Hardship , and the Misery Index in Modern Iran

On Saturday at 6 p.m. at Labkhand (Smile Theatre), I watched Arash, a one-act play by Bahram Beyzaie. Centered on a humble herdsman in the mythical era following Iran's defeat, Arash is portrayed not as a traditional hero, but as a victim of circumstance - a man chosen to shoot the border-defining arrow between Iran and Turan, ultimately sacrificing his life in the process. The play explores a defeated people's desperate search for a savior, revealing Arash as a casualty of society’s need for a hero rather than a hero himself. Compared to many of Beyzaie’s other works, Arash is shorter and highly concentrated, blending narrative and epic elements throughout.

This specific performance was recorded at Stanford University about fifteen years ago and was being screened for one night only. It was a rare and valuable opportunity, given that YouTube access remains restricted and unreliable for many internet users in Iran.

As the working week ended on Friday - coinciding with the Ertehal holiday marking the anniversary of Ayatollah Khomeini’s death - many Iranians joined organized tours to escape the stress of months spent staying at home. I made my way to the railway station at the southern end of Valiasr Street - the longest street in Iran, stretching all the way to Tajrish Square - and boarded a train bound for Zanjan.

The train seats were reasonably comfortable, though the facilities fell short of European standards. I cut my journey short, disembarking at the Qazvin railway station. I found the city quietly populated with a handful of Iranian tourists looking to reconnect with their heritage. Historians note that the Safavid dynasty (1501–1736) used Qazvin to experiment with palace designs before constructing its grand permanent capital in Isfahan.

While touring, I struck up a conversation with a local guide about the current climate.

"Today is my first day guiding a group - twenty tourists from Tehran to Qazvin - after six months of unemployment following the nationwide protests," he told me.

"You haven’t earned any income for six months?" I asked.

"None. I live with my elderly parents on Coca-Cola Street in east Tehran. For days, our neighborhood was under missile attack. We're near several air force garrisons and a 90-year-old German-built ammunition factory. Even an electricity plant near Shohada Square was damaged; our windows shattered. Imagine the constant stress on an unemployed man and his elderly parents for over a month."

"Were there no opportunities to lead outbound tours to neighboring countries like Azerbaijan or Armenia?"

"I actually worked on a tour to Armenia two weeks ago," he replied. "Watching the eagerness of middle-class Iranian tourists looking for any way to emigrate, I realized the Islamic Republic isn't going to fall anytime soon."

"Why do you think the regime is so resilient?""Here in Qazvin, just like in Tehran, the only organized pressure groups are the vigilantes and Basij militias, who echo the leadership's directives every evening. Meanwhile, the middle class is growing more impoverished. They travel less domestically, let alone abroad to Turkey or Armenia. Frustrated people lack the resources to organize against the regime. And those who can afford to travel are already planning their permanent exit. That was my main takeaway from Armenia."

I shifted the topic to the local sights. "I just visited the Sa’d al-Saltaneh Caravanserai here. It's beautifully restored and preserved. Given its historical value, why aren't there more visitors?"

"The Statistical Centre recently announced the misery index - calculated by adding the inflation rate to the unemployment rate," he explained. "Tehran has the lowest index in the country at 51.3%, while the national average is 56.7%. Qazvin sits at 63.1%. With numbers like that, do you think we will see many domestic tourists? And domestic tourism won't save us anyway; we need international visitors. But you won't see a single Western tourist in Tehran or Qazvin. The tourism we get is mainly Shiite pilgrims from Iraq and Pakistan heading to Qom and Mashhad."

Finally, I asked him about the recent execution of two inmates accused of setting fire to the Jafari Mosque in the Koye Nasr neighborhood. "Does burning a mosque signal widespread atheism or complete opposition to religious institutions?"

"No, to both," he said firmly. "It reflects a deep, simmering frustration within politicized strands of Shi’a Islam. People want to practice Islam on their own, individualized terms. Rebelling against the clerical hierarchy and the state's ideological dominance doesn't necessarily mean rejecting Islam or any other religion - in Iran or anywhere else in the world."

As I concluded my notes on the trip, a new headline crossed my feed: The Islamic Republic of Iran has halted negotiations with the US, citing Israeli and American reluctance to agree to ceasefires across all fronts, including Lebanon. It was a fitting, heavy end to a journey defined by underlying crisis.