Writer and journalist Masih Alinejad writes about her campaign against the compulsory hijab. Masih will be joining us here to answer questions on Wednesday 27 June, 9pm

My name is Masih Alinejad. I’m a journalist, human rights activist, and a women's rights warrior. I’m also a troublemaker, all because I started to say the word ‘no’.



Saying ‘no’ is not easy for women, and especially in the place where I grew up. Born in a small village in Northern Iran called Ghomikola, I had a simple childhood with two conservative parents, surrounded by brothers who enjoyed more freedom and greater privilege.



My inquisitiveness about why life as a girl had to be different started at a young age. Like children everywhere, growing up was riddled with small acts of defiance - with one small difference. Without knowing it, I was challenging the notions of what it meant to be a girl in the Islamic Republic. This brought shame to my family time and again - when I was expelled from high school for asking questions about the political system, for instance, and when I complained about the compulsory hijab.



Another source of embarrassment (which probably contributed to my expulsion) came when I was chosen by my high school to become a Quran reciter. As I mention in my book, this opportunity imbued my parents with pride. That day, I sat cross-legged on a futon on the stage, looking out at the students and teachers, and started reading a verse from the Quran. But I was a voracious reader of poetry, and my mind instinctively wanted to venture into reading a forbidden poem. It was written by Shamloo - one of Iran’s censored poets. So, I started reciting: “They smell your mouth, lest you've said I love you; they smell your heart. These are strange times my dear.” To my utter surprise, the students were whistling in delight. But delving into the ‘forbidden’ displeased the teachers, who hurried forwards and dragged me away. I continued to recite the poem even while they pulled me from my platform - a public manifestation of my early rebellion.

This photo prompted numerous women in Iran to reach out - sending me messages about how envious they were of my freedom, and expressing the sorrow they felt in being unable to share it.