Being Iranian American at SIPA – and under Biden

By: Sarah Sakha

I am in a class on sanctions at SIPA. We inevitably discuss Iran as a case study; I am a first-generation Iranian American with family back in Iran. Without a doubt, I am learning more than I could have ever fathomed at the granular level. But as an Iranian American, who knows firsthand of the deleterious impacts of economic sanctions over the past few years, I also struggle in the class, which is characteristic of many policy classes, particularly security studies. I struggle with the detached, almost dehumanizing nature of the discussion. A discussion on the objective of sanctions to inflict pain, and gauging the vulnerability of the target country and the magnitude of the pain inflicted, is much different and more salient for me than for a classmate who is unfamiliar with the Middle East as a whole. How we approach that discussion is also vastly different, by virtue of their physical and personal distance and my own physical and personal proximity. 

And now, there is no dearth of impersonal, speculative commentary on what a Biden administration means for the future of Iran in terms of sanctions and the JCPOA. On the one hand, there is hope for sanctions to be scaled back and the nuclear deal to be rejoined; on the other hand, war hawks in Biden’s administration may continue to construe Iran as a threat, so much so that the deal will either be renegotiated – which takes time – or abandoned altogether. On both ends of the spectrum, I look for Iranian voices in the mainstream and don’t necessarily find many. 

I have family in Iran; I have friends who are from Iran, many of whom have friends and family in Iran. I also have the esoteric pleasure and honor of being a part of Iranian circles - from artists to academics - on Twitter and Instagram. I have been following what Iranians and Iranians throughout the diaspora have been thinking, fearing, and hoping for. The fear of a lack of medical supplies during a pandemic is as real as the joy of being able to reunite with family after the repeal of the Muslim Ban, often referred to as the “Iran Ban.”

One piece of advice I received from a former supervisor is that your advocacy can and will be stronger if you remove yourself - and let the facts speak for themselves. I have that written on a neon orange sticky note, which hangs just above and to the right of my computer, on the wall behind my desk. I often glance at it as a reminder to myself, particularly as I navigate spaces at SIPA. 

Since receiving that advice, I’ve grappled with its merit and relevance. How do I remove myself from advocacy around the humanitarian crisis instigated by unceasing rounds of sanctions on Iran? Or rather, should I remove myself? Is it truly more effective or compelling to let the facts around the inaccessibility of medical care speak for themselves when, for much of America, the lone historical memory of the Iran hostage crisis taints our view? I have always believed that what is sorely lacking in decision-making and policymaking is voice, humanity, emotion, particularly in security policy. Yet, I am also acutely aware of how female policymakers are rebuked if perceived as too “emotional” and thus “weak.”

But I would rather be emotional and “weak” than detached and “strong.”

I hope none of us forget that there are real people - with full lives and futures - behind the policies and tools and frameworks we study at SIPA every day. I hope none of us forget that should the policy memo we write for class materialize in the real world, there could be a very real impact or, worse yet, death. I hope none of us forget that no decision or discussion happens in a vacuum or bubble.

I simply cannot ignore the reality of life in Iran for millions of innocent people, as we discuss economic sanctions or Iran’s topography as it relates to its history of invasion. I ask of you the same.