Finding My Voice: An Honest Reflection on Independence
I’ve decided to write this blog because I’m wrestling with the tension between staying true to my principles and navigating the unexpected complexities of sharing my art. This is a moment for self-reflection, and writing about it honestly may help me stay on the path of authenticity and independence.
When I began this journey of creating and sharing my art, I made a promise to myself: I would steer clear of working with organizations or sponsors whose values clash with mine—especially those undermining Iran’s freedom. Art, to me, is sacred. It’s not just about creating; it’s about integrity, independence, and staying true to the core of who I am.
Recently, I got in touch with a relative who has connections in the media world. After I sent him my work and asked for advice on how to reach people who might appreciate it, he praised the music but pointed out that the video wasn’t great (something I was already aware of—LOL). Moments later, he mentioned an opportunity with Radio Farda. They were producing a video showcasing Tajrish, an iconic Iranian setting, and were searching for the right voice. He suggested mine.
I told him, “Among all the platforms outside of Iran, this one doesn’t seem to be funded to ruin Iran,” and eventually said yes, thanking him for his support. He praised my voice and asked about the story behind creating the song. In that moment, I realized how experienced and kind he was.
Radio Farda wasn’t on my list of problematic organizations, and the video itself was unrelated to news—it was purely a celebration of a place close to Iranian hearts. The project felt neutral, even positive. Lending my voice for a video like this seemed like a good way to share my art with Iranians around the world. The video was shared widely on their platforms, and my voice became part of something that reached many Iranians.
At first, I felt proud.
But today, on Yalda, I had time to scroll through Radio Farda’s content and learned more about the organization’s stance, including its support for certain figures like Narges Mohammadi. That’s when I started overthinking and questioning everything:
- Had I crossed a boundary I’d set for myself?
- Was this a slippery slope away from the independence I cherish?
- How do I reconcile my values with my voice being associated with a platform I’m unsure about?
My friends offered a practical perspective: The project was unrelated to their political content. My voice for Yalda was just that—my voice. It wasn’t a statement of alignment with their broader work. There was no financial transaction involved. It was simply an opportunity to share my art with Iranians scattered around the world.
Still, it’s complicated.
As an artist, I want to create and share freely, to connect with people, especially Iranians, without compromising my principles. But I’m also human—navigating, learning, and sometimes fumbling my way through decisions.
This experience taught me that independence isn’t just about rigidly sticking to rules I’ve set for myself. It’s also about questioning, reflecting, and growing. I may not have all the answers now, but I know this: My intention matters. My dedication to my art and my values remains steadfast, even as I navigate these grey areas.
I share this because I think I’m not alone in the struggle to balance ideals and reality. But I want to genuinely say that sometimes, things just come to you, and you go further—step by step, without knowing exactly where the path leads. As I move forward, I hope to gain the wisdom to make more thoughtful choices and the courage to embrace my imperfections along the way.
Let’s see where this path takes me. I cherish it, and I will learn.
غلامِ همَّتِ دُردی کشانِ یک رنگم
نه آن گروه که اَزْرَق لباس و دل سیَهَند
Long live Iran,
Shirin
20-12-2024