Iranian-Americans you Should Know: Azadeh Tabazadeh

Iranian-American scientist Azadeh Tabazadeh is an accomplished geophysicist, professor and a former scientific researcher for NASA. 

The Sky Detective, Tabazadeh’s memoir about her childhood and adolescence in Iran, was well received by readers and critics upon its publication in 2015. The Kirkus Review called it “a compelling debut memoir by an accomplished geophysical scientist that offers a vivid look at life in Tehran between 1973 and 1982, before and after the Iranian Revolution.” Foreword Reviews described Tabazadeh’s account of her childhood as “solidly crafted” and celebrated the work's “engaging” pace and solid writing. 

Azadeh Tabazadeh holds a Ph.D. in physical chemistry from the University of California at Los Angeles (UCLA), which she completed in 1994. She went on to work as a senior research scientist at NASA Ames and a Professor of Geophysics at Stanford University. She is the recipient of many honors and awards, including from the American Geophysical Union, the American Meteorological Society, the American Institute of Physics, NASA, and the White House Office of Science and Technology. In 2002, Popular Science named her one of the “Brilliant 10” young scientists in the United States.

Part of IranWire's Iranian-Americans you Should Know series, I talked to Azadeh Tabazadeh about Iran just after the revolution, her terrifying journey into exile, and how she became a scientist.

 

How did you become interested in science?

My uncle had returned to Tehran from the West. Among the souvenirs that he brought with him was a big chemistry set for children; you could use it to make crystals. I was eight and I became obsessed with this toy. It was in those days that I found out I was strangely fascinated by scientific questions. Playing with my dolls did not fascinate me as much as playing with that chemistry set.

So you believe your inborn talents led you forward?

Many people have talent, but they are not given the opportunity. My family provided me with the necessary education. My mother was a progressive women, one of the few women who in those days would drive from Tehran to the north [the Caspian Sea region]. My father owned a big road construction business and we spent our summers in Bedford, England. And I was a curious person. I followed not only scientific discussions but also social and political ones as well, like [about] political prisoners and the Zhaleh Square Massacre [the 1978 “Black Friday”, when the shah’s forces opened fire on unarmed demonstrators].

But then you must have felt some sort of contradiction, knowing that you were interested in social issues while at the same time knowing that you were growing up in a family that did not have to worry about its daily bread?

Our generation led a dual life. We were the teenagers who danced all night to the American music of Saturday night Fever and an hour later we were on the roof, shouting “Death to the shah!” We were passionate and excited about taking part in the demonstrations. I still remember the rush of women in chadors, holding tight to their hijab, who called us “prostitutes” because we were not wearing hijab. And I remember our broken hearts and the crying. We were under the impression that that movement belonged to all Iranians — but they did not want us around.

How did you come to the decision to immigrate?  

In those days when Iran was in turmoil, we were in Bedford for our summer vacation. A girl from the north [of Iran] had been working in our house since childhood. I had formed a deep emotional bond with her. Her name was Najmeh and I worried about what was going to happen to Najmeh and my father, so I pressured my mother into going back.

But then I could see clearly that significant changes had taken place. Turban had replaced the crown. Fear of security forces of the Islamic Republic had replaced fear of Savak [the shah’s secret police]. On March 8 [1979], my mother took me to the demonstration against forced hijab. Later when I saw on the front page of Kayhan a semi-nude picture of [the shah’s long-time prime minister] Ami Abbas Hoveyda, who had been executed, I got scared. What was all this violence for? As a child I had watched him on TV a lot of times. He was a quiet man and had progressive ideas about women. How could they kill him because of his Baha’i faith?

So most of your reasons for leaving were to do with social issues?

It was not only that. There were family reasons as well. My brother might have been sent to a war [the 1980-1988 Iran-Iraq War] that he did not believe in. In the very early years of the revolution they arrested an uncle of mine to pressure another uncle who was a political activist to turn himself in. I witnessed how my mother tried to secure his release.

She went to see Asadollah Lajevardi [the revolutionary chief prosecutor of Tehran and Evin Prison’s warden; he was assassinated in 1998]. He treated my mother very badly and told her: how dare she intervene on behalf of her rich and carefree brother in prison while the country’s youths were being killed on the front line? He said that if it were up to him her brother would now be buried under six feet of dirt. I found it strange that people could ignore these changes and carry on with their normal lives while surrounded by nasty events that they neither understood nor could control.

Did your mother manage to get your uncle released?

Yes. But it was very hard for her. At first a clergyman got a million tomans from my mother to arrange his release. In those days a million tomans was worth $60,000. Then he said that he could do nothing — but did not return the money.

How old were you when you took the dangerous route into exile?

I was 17. My father had paid a human smuggler named Omar $22,000 for each one of us. He was really a drug smuggler. We flew to Zahedan [in southeastern Iran]. Until we reached Zahedan, my brother, my cousin, and I, and my mother, who was accompanying us as far as Zahedan, sat separately because we were afraid of the [security] agents.

I did not dare to weep or express the fact that I missed my younger sister, whom I had left behind without saying goodbye. She had gotten wind of it at the last minute and ran after our car to the end of the alley.

The night before we left, my mother sewed $5,000 into the lining of a small black bag and hung it around my neck for a rainy day. We were sitting in the back of a white pickup, watching my mother on the roadside as she disappeared from view.

Were you scared?

Yes. We were just three kids sitting in the back of a pickup truck. The smugglers could kill us at any moment. I am unable to describe what we went through — from sleeping at night in dirty stables along the road to moldy bread and cheese and our fear of the smugglers.

Then in the middle of a barren desert, the smugglers congratulated us and told us we were in Pakistan and safe. It was painful that we were safer in the barren desert of a neighboring country than in the civilized capital of our own country.

They abandoned you in Pakistan?

No. We put on native Pakistani clothes and in exchange for a place to sleep, handed our passports over to them — although we could not be sure they would return our passports. We continued on our way, sitting together on the back of motorbikes. I was on the bike when the lock on my little suitcase holding my clothes and everything that I owned broke and my clothes flew into the air. I was left with a pair of glasses, a small dictionary, a hairbrush, a toothbrush and the money in the bag around my neck.

They left us at a foothill and told us that before dark somebody would meet us on the other side of the hill. Two people with motorbikes were waiting for us and took us a long distance. They gave us some bread and fat to sustain us. After six days of driving in the desert, we reached Karachi. And after Karachi we got ourselves to London, and then to Madrid after a lot of trouble.

Can you describe your first few years in the United States? 

I began taking English as a Second Language classes in late 1982 because I spoke broken English. I attended community college for two years and then transferred to UCLA for my Bachelor's in Science, which I completed in 1987; I got my Master's Degree in 1989 and then my Ph.D in Physical Chemistry, which I finished in 1994. I was fortunate to be able to work on the "ozone hole" and science-related matters for my Ph.D thesis and went on to publish four seminal papers as a graduate student on this topic. This led NASA to both support my graduate work and hire me right after I graduated. I stayed with NASA for 12 years. During that time I received a number of important medals and honors from the scientific community. I went to Stanford University in 2004 to began my academic career. 

What do you feel now when you look back at those years?

In 2004, when my photo appeared on the cover of Time magazine, I wondered whether I would have had the same opportunities if I had stayed there. So when I look back on those days I always wish that all talented and intelligent young Iranians interested in science will get to enjoy the same opportunities.

 And today, how does it feel to be a geophysics scientist?

I research the clouds, the rainbows and things like that. I am always preoccupied with the clouds.