Alexander Pankiewicz
Annette Wannamaker
Adolescent Literature
30 March 2011
Teaching Social Activism with Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood
Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood presents the horrific effects of
widespread violence and social oppression during the Islamic Revolution and the Iraq-Iran War
through the eyes of a young girl—her own. Satrapi represents the traumatic experiences of her
childhood without timidity, but she also showcases the resistance of the citizens against the Shah
and fundamentalist Iranians who would see freedom of expression repressed at all costs. The
inextricability from dominant and possibly abusive political structures is not only characteristic
of Iran’s history, though, but the United States as well. And while their laws and circumstances
may be different, the need for politically competent and active citizens is universal. English and
Language Arts teachers who incorporate Persepolis into their curriculum afford themselves an
opportunity to teach their students political oppression and social activism from a uniquely
multicultural perspective. But they must also be aware of the challenges and potential detriments
associated with teaching for social activism that can create a harmful and antagonistic learning
environment. We must first, then, explore thoroughly the nature of the text.
Teaching Persepolis requires a keen sensitivity to its cultural and political underpinnings.
Hillary Chute recognizes their significance to the story as a whole, delineating the sequences and
themes most relevant in a concise summary of the plot:
Divided into nineteen chapters, Persepolis narrates the trials and tribulations of
precocious Marji and her upper-class leftist parents: their protests against the Shah, and
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later against the Islamic regime; Marji’s growing class consciousness; the torture and
killing of family and friends; the havoc wreaked by the Iran-Iraq war; and Marji’s fierce
and dangerous outspokenness, which eventually leads her fearful parents to send her out
of the country at age fourteen (96-97).
We can glean two key aspects of the text from this. First, although Marji’s narration is that of a
distinctly teenage voice, she presents to the reader violent and traumatic childhood experiences,
both historical and subjective. And second, those experiences necessarily occur in Iran during a
controversial and pivotal point in its history, where the United States’ involvement in the matters
from her perspective is, at best, periphery. Consequently, some educators may find Persepolis to
be an intimidating and controversial text, vaguely relevant especially to classrooms composed
predominately of white, middle-class students.
While these events occur in an Iranian context, far-removed from American society and
culture, many of Persepolis’ themes are still universal to the human experience and, thus, to its
teenage readers. This is apparent from the first page. The first chapter, “The Veil,” begins with
two frames depicting the glum expressions of Marji and her friends, sitting in their classroom.
From the novel’s onset, high school readers find a reflection of the very setting they occupy,
except for one marked difference—the veil. After explaining the veil’s implementation during
The Islamic Revolution, we see in the next frame one of Marji’s instructors forcing students to
wear them: “Then came 1980: the year it became obligatory to wear the veil at school” (Satrapi
3). Even American students should be familiar with authority figures enforcing regulations
unfairly and without an adequate explanation. Likewise, they should be also familiar with the
rejection and mockery of those impositions: the students in the lower frame use their veils to play
jump rope and make-believe, and one waves her veil about complaining about the heat (3).
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“The Veil’s” depiction of social oppression even in the classroom setting illustrates the
importance of students’ political awareness and participation. On the following page, Satrapi
represents the initiation of “the cultural revolution” with a nameless man, his beard his only
defining feature, presiding before an applauding crowd: “All bilingual school must be closed
down. They are symbols of capitalism. Of decadence” (4). We then see the same man forcing
the boys and girls through different hallways, their separation being another consequence of the
revolution in addition to the veil. “And that was that…” says Marji (4). However, her story is
only beginning. Her parents openly speak against the revolution, joining in protests, hiding the
relics and practices the government seeks to obliterate, and they influence (but do not encourage)
their daughter to do the same. Their opposition to the government relates to what Steven Wolk
considers to be the purpose of education. He asserts that “[a]s citizens we have a civic
responsibility to care for our democracy, and it is supposed to be one of the primary aims of our
schools to help students learn the knowledge, skills, and dispositions needed to participate in the
daily governance of our nation” (665). Although Wolk speaks explicitly about the United States
here, we see their same necessity in Persepolis—only, we see it subverted by dictatorial political
forces trying to take away the freedom and participatory rights of those which is oppresses.
Satrapi depicts the traumatic effects of the revolution with a disturbingly accessible visual
and linguistic style. Marji describes an incident where several hundred citizens burned alive
inside a movie theatre, where the police “forbade people to rescue those locked inside” and
“attacked them” if they tried (Satrapi 14-15). She illustrates the burning victims as though they
are ghosts, travelling upward with the smolder, their outlines jagged with the tips of flames, their
eyes and mouths horrified and gaping black holes; some rush the exit door down an aisle of fire.
Marji informs her audience, without embellishment, “[t]he firemen didn’t arrive until forty
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minutes later” (15), making this scene’s expressionistic and childlike design all the more
unsettling. Satrapi’s narration and dialogue, carefully constructed and minimalist, likewise has
the power to astonish. In a later scene, Marji’s mother races to her husband and daughter after
almost being raped: “They insulted me. They said that women like me should be pushed up
against a wall and fucked, and then thrown in the garbage… And that if I didn’t want that to
happen, I should wear the veil…” (74). Both scenes represent how “[Persepolis’] force and bite
come from the radical disjuncture between the often-gorgeous minimalism of Satrapi’s drawings
and the infinitely complicated traumatic events they depict” (Chute 99).
The text itself signifies the power of activism by representing traumatic events like these
which would, very likely, remain unknown to much of the world otherwise. Chute mentions that
“[w]hile Persepolis has been translated into many languages […] it is unable to be officially
translated into Farsi or published [in Iran]” because the government’s cultural bureau disagrees
with its representation of the Islamic Revolution (94, 106-107). Chute insists this “demonstrates
both the enormous impact and risk of representation that Satrapi forces us to confront” (107). In
this light, Persepolis becomes more than a graphic novel for a young adult audience, more than a
tool used to, as Stephen Weiner suggests of graphic novels, increase literacy among students and
introduce them to more canonical texts (Gallo 115-117). It becomes an example of activism
beyond abstraction, beyond the acts of activism it portrays—it endures through time, to speak
against the global injustices of the past, the present, and the future.
Graphic novels, like Persepolis, garner the attention of educators for several pedagogical
reasons. Weiner contends “well-done graphic novels” have the potential to “enrich the students’
experiences as a new way of imparting information” and “[offer] literary experiences that linger
in the mind long after the book is finished” (Gallo 115). He then provides an exhaustive list of
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graphic novels which would benefit the high school classroom. Persepolis, he writes, “details
both the horrors and the humanity of growing up with an inquisitive mind under a militaristic,
religious regime” (115-117). Though his synopsis is brief, it reflects the central concept that
oppressive political forces are threatening the safety and survival of free-thinking individuals, in
this case, not only Marji, but the entire movement for which she and her parents stand. Wolk
constructs a similar list, consisting also of non-graphic novels. He organizes the texts into
conceptual categories and places Persepolis under “Government and the Constitution,” writing,
“[y]oung adult literature can bring constitutional issues—and the lack of constitutional rights—to
life” (668). Bearing witness to the “lack of constitutional rights” during the Islamic Revolution,
students are forced to reflect on their own political consciousness and review the ways political
and discursive structures affect and shape their lives. As Weiner writes, “[b]y opening the door
and letting graphic novels into your classroom, you’re bringing in a new world for the students to
explore” (Gallo 117). Even if that new world is their own.
While students will likely find Persepolis’ unique cultural context and unguarded visual
and verbal style a refreshing change from the texts which typify the English curriculum, teachers
must also be mindful of the challenges presented by teaching it in the context of social activism.
These difficulties come to the fore in Satrapi’s introduction to Persepolis:
I believe that an entire nation should not be judged by the wrongdoings of a few
extremists. I also don’t want those Iranians who lost their lives in prisons defending
freedom, who died in the war against Iraq, who suffered under various repressive
regimes, or who were forced to leave their families and flee their homeland to be
forgotten. One can forgive but one should never forget (Introduction, my emphasis).
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Chute considers her admonition that readers “never forget” to be the “defining project of the
text” (97). Satrapi speaks to a global audience. She understands how the rest of the world, the
United States included, typically perceives the Middle East and consequently Iran. In impressing
her audience to understand the history behind the country’s political upheaval and fundamentalist
revolution, she seeks to humanize the Iranian populace for the world, teasing at the threads of its
misconceived and misrepresented history. And while, in the classroom, teachers ideally guide
their students toward this realization, just coercing students into passive acceptance and ignoring
their individual identities is not the aim of teaching for social activism.
Radical pedagogy, with its concern for social change, and “inquiry-based teaching” can
illustrate for students the importance of identity development and social responsibility. Mark
Bracher writes, in his preface to Radical Pedagogy, “[t]he fundamental aim of education should
be to support and develop students’ identities […] and give us a sense of ourselves as a force that
matters in the world” (XI). Before students can envision their integration into the world around
them, they must first conceive the aspects of self that the world either affirms or negates and the
basis behind those judgments. Students’ identities rest in their subjective experiences of the
world; and teachers are responsible for elucidating the relationship between those experiences
and the text at-hand. Recognizing this, Wolk endorses a “living curriculum” based on the
collaboration of students and their teachers, incorporating “their own opinions and experiences”
into the discussion of the text; his “inquiry-based” methodology asks questions about thematic
concepts meant to situate the text in the global perspective (666). These concepts prompt
students to reflect on and act upon the social and political forces which structure their lives.
Conceptually, Persepolis lends itself to a resistance- and protest-based pedagogy. As a
subset of radical pedagogy, Bracher writes, “[i]n [resistance and protest] pedagogy, teachers seek
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recognition for their own identity vulnerability or deprivation, or that of a subaltern group with
which they have identified, and oppose the authorities and the establishment systems that are
presumably responsible for this deficiency” (95-96). In the case of Persepolis, the Iranians who,
like Marji and her parents, oppose the Shah and the Islamic Revolution comprise that subaltern
group with which the teacher identifies; he or she, according to Bracher, desires to impose this
sentiment upon his or her students, as well. Students engaged in resistance pedagogy experience
“identity support and development” and a willingness “to take action to change the authorities
and systems that are responsible for the damage to their identities” (96-97). Ideally, teachers
will, in this context, cultivate an understanding and empathy within their students for a
marginalized (and often demonized) culture, and in relating the historical and subjective events
in Persepolis to their own experiences, promote activism within their own political and social
spheres. There are dangers, however, associated with this ideal.
In relating students’ experiences to works of literature, teachers risk addressing students’
personality traits based on their relevancy to and positive portrayal in the text. For this reason,
Bracher encourages teachers to include both positive and negative identity signifiers (i.e. traits)
in their discussion of literature. Otherwise, they risk 1) reducing their students’ identities to
signifiers which fail to represent their full personalities, 2) rejecting those signifiers they (and
perhaps other students) deem undesirable or oppressive, and 3) failing to provide support for
“Others” for whom we tend to attribute negative signifiers, ignoring the presence of those we
otherwise revere (97-100). Given Persepolis, teachers will likely favor “moral and behavioral
characteristics” (99) inherent in the text and which we privilege—such as open-mindedness,
outspokenness, political- and social-consciousness—as represented by Marji and her parents.
Subsequently, these teachers might also ignore or, worse, outwardly criticize characters whose
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signifiers we consider either oppressive or violent, regardless of whether some students identify
with them. Polarizing the text like this, teachers can potentially “harm [themselves] and [their]
students,” creating an uncomfortable learning environment that fosters rather than relieves
trauma (100). If students believe the world rejects them, the less likely they are to engage in
socially productive ways.
At the same time, the purpose of literary study, including the discussion and analysis of
Persepolis, is neither psychological therapy. Christine Sleeter, in Multicultural Education as
Social Activism, seems to disagree with Bracher’s psychoanalytical approach to pedagogy. He
discusses, at length, the necessity for students’ identities to “integrate” the “shameful elements of
the self” through literary study, by reading, viewing, and writing about trauma, and reflecting on
the ways we are taught to exemplify some characteristics while repressing others based on social
acceptability (181-185). He then refutes the objections that this practice “[turns] education into
therapy” on the basis that literature is “naturally therapeutic” (186-187). Sleeter, however, finds
this approach reductive. She writes, “Multicultural education is viewed as therapy when racism,
sexism, heterosexism, or classism are conceptualized as psychological diseases requiring a
healing process” (218). While she addresses multicultural rather than radical pedagogy, those
“diseases” are the same “shameful elements of self” Bracher seeks to explicate and integrate into
students’ identities. Sleeter finds that “tackling prejudice and stereotypes” from this perspective
“so often is completely disconnected from political engagement” (220). Thus, the therapeutic
approach situates literary study at a distance from social activism.
Lori Cohen and Leyna Peery describe how they incorporated Persepolis into a unit about
assessing and addressing their students’ perceptions about Islamic women. Their purpose was
not, however, to change aspects of their students’ identities; nor did they denigrate stereotypical
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or even outright racist beliefs they held about Islamic women. Rather, Cohen and Peery desired
to expand their students’ perspectives on a culture about which they could only make inaccurate
and unfair generalizations. Persepolis was one of the six texts they covered, specifically the first
chapter, “The Veil.” Students read the text, analyzed the imagery, and discussed their opinions
as a whole class. “Most students were surprised that women in Iran were not required to wear
the veil until 1979. They believed all women in the Muslim world were required to wear a veil
and that this law had been in place since the publication of the Qur’an” (24). Satrapi brings the
mystery surrounding the veil’s origins to the fore because certain misconceptions like these are
indeed so widespread. The students also found Marji’s desire to become a prophet noteworthy,
as they envisioned prophets only being males, certainly not young girls (24). Students reported
similar revelations regarding the other five texts, too, and “realized that their perceptions were
more like stereotypes and their new discoveries about women in Islam shattered their
preconceived notions” (25). Some students’ perceptions remained unchanged even at the end of
the unit, but Cohen and Peery do not see this as a failure: “Whether or not students’ perceptions
changed, they thought critically, examined their biases and, most importantly, learned something
new” (25).
Although social activism was not this unit’s outset, neither was therapy. But most
importantly, it integrated students’ negative identity aspects—racist and sexist stereotypes of
Islamic women and culture—into the learning environment in constructive and productive ways.
Because affirming and supporting students’ identities and fostering their development is a
prerequisite to social activism, Cohen and Peery’s unit illustrates, indirectly, the potential for
Persepolis to be taught in that context successfully. And equally significant, they demonstrate
how multicultural pedagogy’s concern for both “human difference” and “social justice” (Sleeter
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1) does not necessarily need to conflict with the conservative ideologies of radical pedagogy.
Sleeter acknowledges the conceptual differences between radical and multicultural theorists,
citing the criticisms of several conservative educators who contend multicultural education is
“divisive,” fails to promote a sense of “shared culture,” and ignores “social class relations” (1-2).
These theoretical differences, however, seem to break down here.
Indeed, Persepolis facilitates their coalescence, stressing the significance of sameness
and difference, individuality and collectivity, and class relations as they occur in the realms of
Iranian political and social structuring. Its most poignant display of this occurs in a startling
two-frame page, which depicts the murder of teenage soldiers in the top frame, contrasting Marji
and her friends dancing in tattered “punk” clothing in the bottom (Satrapi 102). The material
concerns of Iranian teenagers, comparable to those of American youths, might surprise students
given the overarching cultural distinctions which typically dominate their perceptions. Marji,
whose mother “knitted [her] a sweater full of holes and made [her] a necklace with chains and
nails” (102) contrasts the collective obliteration of young soldiers in the frame above, whose
shirt holes are the result of shrapnel and bullets tearing through them, not a mother’s handiwork.
The duality of the scenes also represents social class relations: the young soldiers “come from
the poor areas” (101), whereas Marji and her friends are children of upper-class parents. Finally,
this speaks to those American students whose material interests promote a disinterest in political
concerns, either global or domestic. Persepolis encourages an awareness of social oppression by
dominant political forces and the ways their authority structures and controls lives; most
importantly, it impresses upon its readers the significance of activism in combating oppression.
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Works Cited
Bracher, Mark. Radical Pedagogy: Identity, Generativity, and Social Transformation. New
York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006. Print.
Chute, Hillary. “The Texture of Retracing in Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis.” Women’s Studies
Quarterly 36.1-2 (Spring/Summer 2008): 92-110. Project Muse. Web. 9 February 2011.
Cohen, Lori, and Leyna Peery. “Unveiling Students’ Perceptions about Women in Islam.” The
English Journal 95.3 (Jan. 2006): 20-26. JSTOR. Web. 13 March 2011.
Gallo, Don, and Stephen Weiner. “Bold Books for Innovative Teaching: Show, Don’t Tell:
Graphic Novels in the Classroom.” The English Journal 94.2 (Nov. 2004): 114-117.
JSTOR. Web. 13 March 2011.
Satrapi, Marjane. Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood. New York: Pantheon, 2003. Print.
Sleeter, Christine. Multicultural Education as Social Activism. Albany: State University of New
York Press, 1996. Print.
Wolk, Steven. “Reading for a Better World: Teaching for Social Responsibility with Young
Adult Literature.” Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy 52.8 (May 2009): 664-673.
JSTOR. Web. 19 February 2001.