PublicationNotes #17

Golshahr is a migrant neighborhood on the outskirts of Mashhad. Over the past half-century, many Afghans who migrated to Iran have settled there. Through their long residence in the city, they have shaped a new kind of Afghan community — one that is neither entirely Afghan nor entirely Iranian, but something in between. This hybrid society carries traces of both cultures: Two dialects of Persian intertwine, clothing styles overlap, culinary traditions merge, and domestic interiors, religious ceremonies, and everyday beliefs reveal a fusion of Afghan and Iranian culture.

Apart from those who already live here, few Iranians set foot in this neighborhood. Over time, people have come to call it “Kabul Town” or “Afghan Town.” Influenced by the way state media in Iran portrays Afghanistan, with its constant images of poverty, war, and violence, many residents of Mashhad avoid Golshahr altogether.

I studied filmmaking in Semnan and spent years collaborating with Iranian groups for festivals and exhibitions. In the mid-2000s, I moved to Mashhad, where I knew almost no one apart from relatives. Dreaming of emigrating, I invested everything I had, but ultimately failed to leave Iran, spending two months in Tehran’s prisons instead. The experience left me in deep psychological and financial straits. For a long time, I abandoned photography altogether. Six or seven years later, my economic situation had stabilized, but the psychological scars still lingered. I returned to photography around this time and began to form friendships with the residents of Golshahr.

While I had heard of the neighborhood, I had never lived there. Through my visits, I began to notice qualities unique to Golshahr, details that set it apart from the other communities on the outskirts of Mashhad. To escape the weight of my harrowing experiences in Tehran, I sought refuge in photography, and in doing so, I sought refuge in Golshahr itself.

My initial idea was to spend ten days photographing Afghan migrants living in Golshahr. But for me, it was never just about taking photographs. During the years I collaborated with Iranian groups, I always felt a sense of isolation, a loneliness that weighed heavily on me. I had always dreamed of working with Afghan photographers, and this inspired me to invite a few people from the neighborhood who I knew were interested in photography to join me. I was aware that not everyone owned a camera, that using professional photography equipment required permits, and that even extracting the images from the camera could be a complicated process. Around the same time, the fever for smartphone photography had begun in Iran. So, when I explained my idea to the group, I centered it on mobile photography — something everyone could take part in.

In the spring of 2015, we took our first step together. Habiba and Roya, Esmaeil and Mohammadreza, Rouh’ollah and Jafar, Mojtaba and I set out on our very first photography walk together. The first phase of the project went well: Ten days stretched into ten weeks. Afterward, we began making plans for the following year, over the course of which we held more than forty-five sessions and photography walks. These included the participation of both Iranian and Afghan mentors, with discussion meetings centered on art and photography.

From the very start of this project, I sought a way to recount the story of Golshahr, a neighborhood built over the past half-century by Afghan migrants with its own unique characteristics. I felt this project could help highlight the tangible economic and cultural contribution their presence had made not only in Iran but also in Afghanistan, a reality that was consistently ignored by the Iranian government with no platform to give it visibility.

It was Instagram that provided this opportunity. I discovered The Everyday Projects, and inspired by it, I began publishing our photographs on Instagram. Very quickly, Everyday Golshahr caught the attention of the Everyday Projects global community, and within just a few months, our Instagram account was both recognized and followed by them. This recognition opened the door for us to connect with other Everyday initiatives around the world. I decided to invite photographers from several countries to participate in a photography exhibition and created a gallery space in Golshahr to host it. Photographers from Russia, Japan, and Brazil were among those with whom we held joint exhibitions. The showing of fifty photographs by international artists alongside fifty works by Afghan migrant photographers at Andisheh Gallery in Golshahr sparked an energy and excitement that reverberated throughout Mashhad.

Andisheh Gallery was established on a street in Golshahr known for its drug trade. Because families were reluctant to live there, the rents were cheap. The artist M. H. Jafari rented an old house, and with the help of other Afghan artists, we transformed it into a gallery. When the exhibition opened, many migrants living in Golshahr stepped into the street for the very first time, and numerous Iranian photographers also came to the neighborhood.

I had achieved my dream and poured all my energy into carrying it forward. But for the authorities in Iran, our small collective rang alarm bells. With each passing day, their restrictions tightened, pressures mounted, and eventually, we were forced to bring our activities to an end. Everyday Golshahr was left behind — not as a failure, but as a luminous memory, a fleeting moment of possibility that still lives on in the hearts of hundreds of young Afghan migrants in Iran.