The Consequences of Bijan Mortazavi’s Kiss: Kissing Iranian Soil and What Remained Outside the Frame S. Rouzbeh 2026-10-02 An image that may begin as an expression of love for Iran can become, in the propaganda apparatus, evidence that conditions are normal, that opponents are being treated with tolerance, and that there is solidarity with the political system. And it is precisely at this point that we must not allow S. Rouzbeh – From a personal return to a political image: who benefits from the narrative of “returning to the homeland”, and who is left outside the frame? Bijan Mortazavi steps off the plane, sits down on the ground and kisses Iranian soil. It is a brief, emotional image, and understandable for someone who has lived abroad for years. The issue, however, is not the kiss itself. No one can ask an Iranian not to love their homeland, not to be happy about returning to it, or not to kiss its soil after years away. Nor does a person’s political stance necessarily determine how they feel about their homeland. Someone can oppose a government and love Iran; they can criticise the repression of protesters and still be moved at the sight of their country. The question begins when the camera is switched on. Who determines the meaning of this image? Who shares it? Which parts do they emphasise? And, ultimately, who gains political advantage from it? In the coverage of Mortazavi’s arrival, within less than 24 hours, three elements were quickly brought together in the media and on social networks, as well as in accounts published by the regime: “returning after 47 years”, “kissing the soil of the homeland”, and talk of being in Iran during wartime. These three elements alone can be used to construct a narrative far bigger than a personal trip: an artist who has been outside Iran for decades returns while the country is at war, kisses the soil of his homeland and stands alongside the people. But is reality really that simple? First, the figure “47 years” itself needs explaining. Some media outlets have described the recent return as a “return after 47 years”, whereas in a 1403 interview with Voice of America, Bijan Mortazavi spoke about his trips to Iran after the Revolution, and even about being banned from leaving the country during one of those trips. Therefore, if “47 years” is taken to mean his first entry into Iran in 47 years, that does not accord with his own account. Perhaps it means 47 years of living abroad; perhaps it refers to a return under different circumstances. But the distinction matters, because “47 years” is not just a number. It lends the image historical weight. This is where news can become a narrative. The second issue is the official policy of “return”. Abbas Salehi, Minister of Culture and Islamic Guidance, had previously announced that lists containing the names of more than a hundred cultural, artistic and intellectual figures living abroad had been given to the bodies involved in facilitating Iranians’ return. In the same context, he had praised the positions taken by some Iranians abroad during the war, and recently rumours that Shadmehr is coming have also grown more prominent. Therefore, the return of well-known figures cannot be seen merely as a collection of entirely separate events. There is an announced policy to facilitate the return of some Iranians living abroad. Of course, I do not mean to prove that Bijan Mortazavi’s return was planned by the government, that any special arrangements were made with him, or that the airport scene was staged in advance. There may be no evidence of that. But there is enough evidence to ask another question: When such a return takes place, how might the government’s media apparatus use it, and what implications might it suggest? Mortazavi’s significance lies not only in his musical fame. In recent years, he has also taken a position in the context of protests in Iran. The image now being published of his return can therefore potentially carry a different meaning from the return of an entirely apolitical artist. The implicit message might be framed like this: Look, even someone who once stood alongside protesters amid the protests has now returned to Iran. In wartime, this image takes on another function, too: when the country is in danger, Iranians who have lived abroad for years are also returning. And one step further: the Islamic Republic does not have a problem with all its critics, as its opponents claim. Someone can spend years abroad, criticise and protest, and eventually return to the country without any trouble. These are not necessarily Bijan Mortazavi’s words; and that distinction matters. Propaganda does not always begin with the fabrication of an image. Sometimes the image is entirely real, and the person’s feelings are real too; but through selecting and repeating that image, and placing it in a particular context, a political meaning is imposed on it. In an article entitled “A Repetitive and Chronic Policy: Reverse Exports and Civil Proxies”, Ms Elaheh Boghrat has argued that over the years the Islamic Republic has sought to use certain figures from abroad in support of its political narrative. The terms “reverse exports” and “civil proxies” are her political analysis, and do not in themselves prove that every person who returns to Iran is part of an organised project. But the question she raises matters here too: can the return of well-known figures be used to create a different image of the Islamic Republic? To answer that, we need to widen the camera frame a little. In the very same Iran where images of an artist’s return, kissing the soil and being welcomed are being published, another image exists, too. Human rights reports in recent months have reported the widespread arrest of protesters, the issuance of death sentences, and increased pressure on opponents amid wartime conditions. Amnesty International has also warned that the government is using wartime conditions to intensify domestic repression. This is where the true meaning of the “frame” becomes clear. An artist steps off a plane. The camera is on. The kiss is captured. The video circulates on social media. The media write of “return”, “homeland”, “47 years” and “wartime conditions”. But the young person sitting in a prison cell is not in this frame. The mother whose child was killed in the protests is not in this frame. The family of a person sentenced to death, who fears every morning that the sentence will be carried out, is not in this frame. Nor is the artist who has been banned from working inside the country. The power of propaganda lies not only in what it shows; sometimes its real power lies in what it does not show. That is why the issue is not Bijan Mortazavi kissing the soil. The danger begins when love for Iran is equated with consent to the government; when returning to one’s homeland becomes a sign of trust in the political structure, and the free presence of a famous figure is used as evidence of tolerance towards opponents. Iran is not the Islamic Republic, and never will be. Just as opposition to the Islamic Republic does not mean opposition to Iran, kissing Iranian soil does not prove support for any particular political system. But the line between the two can be blurred in the media narrative. In wartime, blurring this line becomes even more valuable. The government can tell people inside the country: those who left years ago return when danger comes. It can tell Iranians abroad: the way back is open. And it can show foreign audiences an image of a country where even its former critics can return freely. This image may be real; but it is not complete. If an artist’s return is to be seen as a sign of tolerance, security and reconciliation, what should we make of political prisoners, protesters sentenced to death and families seeking justice? If a few-second image from an airport is to represent Iran today, why should other images of that same Iran be removed from the frame? And perhaps most importantly: who has the right to turn an Iranian’s longing for their homeland into a political certificate for a government? Bijan Mortazavi has the right to return to Iran. He has the right to kiss his country’s soil, and he has the right to say whatever he wishes about his reasons for returning. Criticising these rights is both wrong and a distraction from the main issue. The issue lies elsewhere. The issue is the appropriation of the meaning of an image. An image that may begin as an expression of love for Iran can become, in the propaganda apparatus, evidence that conditions are normal, that opponents are being treated with tolerance, and that there is solidarity with the political system. And it is precisely at this point that we must not allow the reality outside the frame to be forgotten. The soil that Bijan Mortazavi kissed was the soil of Iran—the same soil on which its prisons have been built. The same soil on which young people were killed, families seek justice, and prisoners still wait behind its bars to be executed. The media can narrow the frame; reality, however, remains outside it. Source: https://srouzbeh.com/en/posts/entry-1790962774183-fb9c9807 Please credit the author and link to this edition.