Nowruz — the Iranian New Year — is one of the biggest holidays of the year for Iranians, and is usually celebrated with large parties and get-togethers. It's an ancient holiday, with pre-Islamic roots, and unites Iranians across religious lines throughout Iran and the diaspora.
But this year, Jasmine Nourisamie, one of the presidents of the Persian Cultural Society at New York University, had to make a tough decision: how to celebrate a joyous holiday amidst grief and anxiety.
"All of us as Iranians in the diaspora are connected to someone who has either been killed, imprisoned, tortured, raped, disappeared — we all know someone, and it was very much a period of mourning, and it still is," said Nourisamie.
After the mass killing of protestors by the Iranian regime in January, Nourisamie said she saw social media accounts of Iranian activists posting that this year, Nowruz celebrations should be toned down. Many organizations canceled their celebrations altogether.
Ultimately, her group decided to continue with an event. But instead of a typical celebration, they held a vigil, providing a space for people to come together, speak and mourn.
"Usually Nowruz is all colorful dresses and bright pastel colors," said Nourisamie. "This year, everybody was wearing black."
For some, processing this moment together comes in the form of quiet spaces, and stillness. For others, there is power in joyous community.
"I think a lot of people look at the dance floor as sort of a frivolous place where you just come in to 'party.' But the way we look at the space of the dance floor is really a place of resistance," said Arya Ghavamian, one of the creators of Disco Tehran — a dance party that celebrates the music of Iran.
"Having lived in Iran, we have always faced this censorship of just being silenced. And my thought is that — why be silent against this darkness? When everything is pushing us to be silent — why stay silent and be silent?" said Ghavamian.
Ghavamian said when he thinks about Iran's tumultuous history, he is reminded that Nowruz has been celebrated throughout good times and difficult ones.
"If everything disappears, this memory that flows through history with all of us, with our ancestry and our existence and all of that, that is home. For me personally, Nowruz is home," said Ghavamian.
In a Brooklyn apartment, Nozlee Samadzadeh thinks about family while building a haft sin, a traditional Nowruz table with symbolic objects on it. Samadzadeh's features purple hyacinths, fruit, a well-loved book and a mirror, all sitting atop a white cloth with silver embroidery.
But Samadzadeh knows that some important rituals aren't possible this year.
"It's very traditional to call your family at the moment of the year passing, and right now it's just not possible to make calls into Iran," said Samadzadeh.
This is true for many people. A near-total internet blackout means that at any given moment, someone might not know if their aunt is safe, if their cousin is alive, or if the latest airstrike hit their family's home.
In order to get word from their grandmother, Samadzadeh has been hearing through a long chain of relatives; a literal game of telephone.
This Nowruz there are lots of calls that aren't going through.
But families will continue to call, communities will cry in mourning, and friends will gather on the dance floor.
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