I have a degree in Persian literature. There aren’t that many jobs available to graduates of Persian literature. From among my limited choices, I chose to become an editor. I loved reading, I had an insatiable thirst for it, and I was interested in working in publishing.
One of my professors introduced me to a prominent publisher of scientific and academic books. My salary was fairly average, but more satisfying than having a salary was that in the chaotic world of publishing, they paid salaries on time. Textbooks did not usually invite trouble and there was little chance that the publishing house would be shut down or forced to curtail its activities.
It was near my second year in that job when the boss came over and asked if I knew an editor who might be looking for a job. A friend of his who was responsible for the technical affairs of a newspaper had asked him to find a skilled editor. I contacted a few friends, but they all were busy with one thing or another. My husband asked me why I didn’t accept the offer myself. “I couldn’t manage, my current job takes all of my time,” I said. But his question got me thinking. My job at the publisher’s had become tedious. Everything was repetitive and boring. I thought working for a newspaper and reading new material and news topics would be far more exciting and would satisfy my enthusiasm for reading more than editing repetitive scientific and academic textbooks.
The next day I spoke with the director of the publishing house. At first he was against my leaving, but when he saw my enthusiasm and insistence he relented. The director introduced me to the person who was in charge of technical affairs and editing. He explained to me that editing a newspaper was different from editing books and that even typos could cause trouble. For example, one has to be more careful about the names and the titles of religious authorities. The same goes for news about security forces and the police.
I was introduced to everyone at the newspaper and the next week I started my new job there. Just as I had imagined, the work was much more exciting. I enjoyed the fact that I was reading tomorrow’s newspaper today. My salary was lower, but I was happy. I got on well with the journalists and spoke with them if I thought something required changing. They were all energetic and witty, which made the work environment that much more pleasant. Around the same time, I was offered some part-time work editing a monthly; I ended up accepting, and though I was very busy, I enjoyed both my jobs and my colleagues.
I worked in this way for two years, and little by little the excitement of the upcoming elections infused the editorial board. The 2009 presidential election was looming and I received many offers for work. There were many new publications and newspapers emerging in the lead-up to the election. This enthusiasm even inspired me, though I had never been into politics.
Both the newspaper and the monthly I worked for were close to the reformists. Little by little one could hear notes of threat and fear among all the cheers and rejoicing. At last, the disputed 2009 presidential election took place and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was declared the winner with 63 percent of the vote.
We were bewildered, and the atmosphere at the newspaper was bizarre. Protest rallies started to kick off, and when my colleagues and I finished work, we attended them. Our newspaper and others wrote about violations and electoral fraud and a short while later the authorities informed us that the newspaper had been shut down because of a story on the political page.
This was my first experience with the suspension of a newspaper. They had arrested a number of journalists and everybody lived in fear, expecting to be detained at any moment. Some had escaped and were living in hiding. Such experiences were new to me. It was of course new to everybody, but perhaps especially to me, because until only recently I had been the editor of a trouble-free publishing house, and was new to the fraught world of Iranian newspapers.
I lost my job when our newspaper was suspended. Other newspapers were either shut down as well or did not want to add to their workforce under those conditions. The only thing left was that monthly magazine and it paid very little. Every month we had to spend both my income and my husband’s. It was difficult to manage now that my income had dried up. I visited a few publishing houses to find a job but they had nothing to offer. I wanted to work with a book publisher until I could find a job with a newspaper but it did not happen.
After a few months we were behind on our rent, and our financial situation had deteriorated. To be honest I regretted that I had left a secure and comfortable job to work with the news media. After a few months I found a job at a small publishing house but I was still longing to work with newspapers and magazines. Using the connections that I had formed in those two years I was able to find a job at a low-circulation newspaper. Then I found my way into the editorial boards of bigger newspapers. But I have learned that I cannot count on such work. We are here today, we do our jobs and we get paid, but tomorrow they might shut us down, the capital might run out and many other “mights”. We who work for the press have learned that we can never count on anything at any time.
The jobs that we have are here today, gone tomorrow.
Maryam Samavati is a pseudonym
***
Journalism is a hazardous profession in Iran, and it can be even more dangerous when trying to report the truth about the government and Iran’s establishment figures. Censorship, Iranian Style is a collection of stories by 18 Iranian journalists, writers and cartoonists who have experienced censorship — under the Islamic government, as well as under the Shah’s regime prior to the 1979 Revolution. Their tales of being silenced, harassed and imprisoned provide a solid understanding of the everyday bravery and courage of Iranian journalists, and give a new perspective on the menacing and warped mentality of Iranian censor officials.
Also in this series:
"I could not document history"
The Seven Obstacles to Publishing Books in Iran
The Working Journalist in an Atmosphere of Terror
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