Sometimes, the distance between a cultural demand and a political conflict emerges not from people’s lived realities but from the narrative constructed around that demand. A disagreement over education in a local language can become a debate about the right to self-determination; the economic deprivation of a region may be presented as evidence of ethnic oppression; and the activities of an armed group may be justified in the name of the aspirations of a population numbering several million. Amid these debates, a fundamental question often receives insufficient attention: Has the issue commonly described as Iran’s ethnic question been properly defined? And do the movements claiming to offer solutions genuinely understand the historical, cultural, and social complexity of the society they purport to represent?
Iran is a country of extensive linguistic, religious, and cultural diversity. Yet this diversity has developed within a historical context that cannot be reduced to a collection of isolated communities with no connections to one another. Centuries of migration, trade, intermarriage, population movements, and participation in shared political and social structures have created ties among the inhabitants of different regions. A family that lived in Baluchistan several generations ago may have migrated to Isfahan and then to Gilan, with its descendants now possessing a different local identity, without their social history being reducible to a fixed ancestral boundary. This historical experience has not erased cultural differences. Rather, it has demonstrated that identity in Iran has often been multilayered and dynamic.
A significant part of the current dispute begins when concepts developed in different historical settings are applied to Iranian society without sufficient examination. Ethnic studies constitute a broad and diverse field in the contemporary world. However, an important part of the field’s historical foundations, particularly in North America, has been connected to racism, migration, discrimination against minorities, and relations between dominant and subordinate groups. These studies have provided valuable tools for understanding inequality, but there is no reason to assume that every premise derived from the experiences of the United States, Canada, or Europe can adequately explain Iranian society without modification and empirical testing.
The issue is not whether knowledge produced in other countries should be rejected. It is whether theory should help us understand reality rather than forcing reality into a theoretical framework. If racial distinctions or a history of migration have been the principal basis of a social divide in one society, it cannot simply be assumed that language, religion, or ancestry plays precisely the same role in another. Before discussing the rights of an ethnic group, its historical territory, or its political representation, it is therefore necessary to establish how the group is defined, what internal diversity it contains, and the extent to which its members share understandings of identity and political demands.
Iran’s history also shows that cultural and civilisational boundaries have not always coincided with political borders. From the Safavid period to the end of the Qajar era, numerous wars and treaties reshaped the region’s political geography. Parts of the Caucasus came under Russian rule, the Ottoman Empire controlled territories west of the Iranian Plateau, and Herat was separated from Iran’s political domain. Nevertheless, linguistic, literary, religious, and cultural connections did not disappear overnight when political borders changed. The reach of Iranian culture continued to extend beyond the country’s borders—a reality fundamentally different from a claim to political sovereignty over the territories of neighbouring states.
The collapse of the Russian and Ottoman empires in the early twentieth century further complicated this situation. The emergence of Caucasian republics and new political movements in former Ottoman territories raised questions about identity, independence, borders, and sovereignty. These developments unfolded as Iran, following the Constitutional Revolution, faced weak state institutions, political instability, and pressure from foreign powers. As a result, the Iranian state had limited capacity to influence developments in neighbouring regions.
The experience of Kurdish movements in former Ottoman territories can be examined from this perspective. The Khoybun society and figures such as Ihsan Nuri Pasha operated in an environment in which Iranian cultural identity, shared historical memory, and Kurdish political aspirations were not necessarily entirely separate concepts. References to Iranian literary and mythological traditions in some narratives of the period, including references to Rostam and Sohrab, illustrate the complexity of these movements’ cultural identities. Their political objectives, however, must be established through their manifestos and historical documents. The region’s history cannot be explained by assuming that immutable identity boundaries existed between peoples who had been influenced by shared cultural traditions for centuries.
Alongside these historical developments, the arrival of socialist and Marxist ideas in Iran provided a new vocabulary for explaining population differences and political demands. Extensive connections between Iranian workers and migrants and the Caucasus, particularly the industrial centres of Baku, constituted one channel through which these ideas spread. In Tsarist Russia, the “national question” was debated in connection with the structure of the empire, the expansion of revolutionary movements, and disputes over the rights of different populations. Lenin and Stalin developed theories concerning nationhood and the right to self-determination in this context.
Yet the national question in Bolshevik thought was not independent of the political strategy of the revolution. The theoretical endorsement of self-determination was linked to considerations concerning the interests of the workers’ movement and Communist Party policy. The historical experience of the Soviet Union also demonstrated serious tensions between the formal recognition of the rights of nationalities and the exercise of centralised party power. These contradictions become particularly significant when concepts derived from the experience of the Russian Empire are used as a general framework for interpreting social relations in Iran.
The Communist Party of Iran and, subsequently, the Tudeh Party played a role in expanding the political discourse surrounding the national question. Some political formulations of the period divided Iran’s population into a collection of nationalities without always providing clear and consistent criteria for distinguishing among them. Such classifications raise a fundamental question: Does dividing a society into national or ethnic units result from research into its social realities, or does it reflect the ideological needs of movements seeking to establish a political constituency?
This question does not imply a denial of ethnic identities. Ethnic identity can be a social and historical reality even when members of a group speak different languages or linguistic varieties. The problem arises when a complex and diverse identity is transformed into a political unit presumed to possess a single will, and a particular organisation then claims to speak on behalf of every member. The gap between the existence of a shared identity and the possession of legitimate political representation is precisely where many separatist narratives fail to provide adequate explanations.
The Jangal Movement offers a notable historical example of this distinction. The movement that emerged in Gilan and became associated with Mirza Kuchik Khan was not organised solely around Gilaki identity. The participation of individuals from different geographical backgrounds and with diverse political orientations, including figures such as Seyyed Ja’far Pishevari, shows why its character cannot be reduced to a linguistic group’s protest against other groups. The Jangal Movement was concerned with broader issues, including national sovereignty, foreign intervention, the structure of power, and Iran’s political circumstances.
This experience raises a question that remains important when considering regional grievances in Iran: Does a sense of injustice in a region necessarily mean that people perceive ethnic discrimination? Residents of a province may resent the concentration of resources in the capital, inadequate infrastructure, economic deprivation, or the performance of government institutions without necessarily believing that a conflict exists between two ethnic groups. Conversely, ethnic discrimination may coexist with economic inequality and regional deprivation. Only independent research and examination of the evidence can establish the relative contribution of each factor.
Automatically converting regional grievances into ethnic conflict risks misdiagnosing the problem. If deprivation results from economic policymaking, administrative corruption, or the uneven distribution of resources, defining it as a dispute between ethnic groups may divert attention from its underlying causes. In such circumstances, citizens’ general demands are reframed as an identity-based competition, and an issue that could have been addressed through governance reform and greater accountability becomes a dispute over political borders and territorial belonging.
These complexities are particularly visible in Iran’s Kurdish regions. The broad label “Kurdish” encompasses linguistic varieties with significant differences. Sorani, Kurmanji, Hawrami, and Gorani occupy different positions and have different relationships in linguistic classifications, while scholarly debates continue over the boundaries between some of these varieties and other Iranian languages. In some cases, mutual intelligibility among their speakers is limited. Yet linguistic differences do not, in themselves, negate a shared Kurdish identity, just as the existence of that shared identity does not justify overlooking internal differences.
This reality poses one of the most difficult questions for identity-based political movements. If language is presented as the principal basis for political demands, which language or linguistic variety should represent the entire community? If Sorani is selected as the standard language, what place would Hawrami or Gorani occupy? If a policy is proposed to counter the central government’s linguistic homogenisation, could that same policy create a new form of homogenisation within Kurdish society?
These questions are not merely theoretical. Disagreements over the teaching and standardisation of linguistic varieties in Kurdish regions show that language policy requires meaningful participation by different groups, even when it is designed to protect a cultural identity. No political movement can criticise cultural homogenisation on the one hand while imposing a single model in the name of an entire community on the other, without being accountable to speakers of other varieties. The principle of linguistic diversity is credible only when it also encompasses diversity within linguistic communities.
A comparable example can be found in Baluchistan, where differences between Baluchi varieties spoken in Sarhad and Makran highlight the need to account for local realities. At the national level, the issue is even more complex. Iran has numerous languages and linguistic varieties, but there is no comprehensive, widely agreed dataset establishing their exact number, speaker populations, and linguistic boundaries. Figures mentioned in some discussions about hundreds of linguistic varieties should not be repeated as definitive statistics without a stated research methodology and clearly defined scope. What matters is the need for a scientific understanding of this diversity before educational and cultural policies are formulated.
The political history of Kurdish regions also offers no single, uniform picture of demands and orientations. From Sheikh Ubeydullah Nehri’s uprising in the late Qajar period to the conflicts following the 1979 Revolution, Kurdish political, religious, and social forces have not always held the same positions. In Sheikh Ubeydullah’s case, Sufi affiliations, tribal relations, local interests, and political rivalries all played a role. By contrast, figures such as Amir Nezam Garrousi, despite regional and ancestral ties to parts of the Kurdish population, served within Iran’s governing structure. Such examples demonstrate that shared linguistic or ancestral backgrounds do not necessarily imply common political loyalties, social interests, or governing objectives.
Following the 1979 Revolution, Kurdish armed groups, including the Democratic Party of Iranian Kurdistan and Komala, advanced demands concerning autonomy and the governance of Kurdish regions. However, political differences among localities and opposition to these groups from some local forces showed that the position of a single organisation could not be equated with the wishes of all Iranian Kurds. Even the geographical scope of these movements’ demands was contested. Kermanshah, Ilam, Kurdistan Province, and Kurdish-inhabited areas of West Azerbaijan, despite their cultural and historical connections, have not been identical in religious composition, social structure, or political experience.
This is where representation becomes one of the most significant challenges facing separatist approaches. An organisation that invokes the name of an ethnic group to demand a change in the political structure or territorial borders must explain the source of its representative legitimacy. Having a political organisation, an armed force, or a long history of activity does not, by itself, confer such legitimacy. Political representation requires mechanisms for measuring consent and participation and for ensuring that members of the community can express dissent. People who speak the same language do not necessarily share views on independence, autonomy, federalism, or the preservation of the existing political structure.
This issue is particularly important in the case of armed groups. When an organisation claims to defend the rights of a population, its conduct toward that same population must also be examined. Its treatment of opponents, whether members can leave freely, the circumstances of children and adolescents, its treatment of families, and its respect for civilians’ rights are independent criteria for assessing its conduct. A claim to fight discrimination cannot justify violence, threats, forced recruitment, or depriving people of freedom of choice. Human rights cannot be used as a tool for condemning state conduct while the same standards are abandoned when examining non-state groups.
Nevertheless, criticism of armed groups’ conduct should not be confused with rejection of the civil demands of people in Kurdish regions or elsewhere in Iran. Opposition to an armed organisation does not mean opposition to mother-tongue education, equal political participation, or the reduction of regional deprivation. On the contrary, the greater the opportunities for pursuing demands peacefully, the narrower the social space in which violence and political monopolisation can be justified. This relationship is not automatic; it depends on the quality of governance, public trust, and the conduct of political actors.
In this context, the position of the Persian language cannot be explained solely through competition among ethnic groups. Over many centuries, Persian became a common language for significant parts of Iran’s administrative, literary, and cultural life. Writers, poets, and thinkers from diverse linguistic and regional backgrounds contributed to its development. From this perspective, Persian cannot be regarded as the exclusive possession of a single population group. Yet its historical role as a common language does not remove the need to protect Iran’s other languages. A shared language of communication can coexist with effective policies to preserve linguistic diversity, provided that citizens’ cultural rights are respected in practice.
Disputes over language become political crises when ideological assumptions replace research and public dialogue. Language-education policies for local languages may create new grievances if they are developed without a precise understanding of speaker populations, mutual intelligibility, educational needs, and family preferences. If several linguistic communities live in a city such as Kermanshah, selecting one variety as representative of all of them requires educational justification and stakeholder participation. The same issue arises in major cities such as Tehran, Karaj, and Tabriz because of migration and population diversity. A lasting solution lies neither in eliminating the common language nor in imposing a local language on every resident of a region, but in designing policies that recognise the reality of diversity.
International law also distinguishes between the protection of cultural rights and questions of territorial sovereignty. Article 27 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights protects the rights of persons belonging to ethnic, religious, and linguistic minorities. In General Comment No. 23, the United Nations Human Rights Committee clarified that the enjoyment of these rights does not prejudice the sovereignty and territorial integrity of the State party. At the same time, states have a duty to create conditions in which people can genuinely exercise these rights. In other words, defending territorial integrity and protecting cultural diversity are not inherently incompatible obligations.
The right to self-determination under international law must also be distinguished from political interpretations of that right. It is recognised in the international human rights covenants, but this does not mean that every group with a distinct cultural or linguistic identity automatically possesses a unilateral right to secede under all circumstances. Self-determination may also be realised through effective participation in public affairs, equal rights, and the freedom to determine political and social development within an existing state. Conversely, territorial integrity cannot be invoked as a pretext for ignoring discrimination or depriving citizens of their fundamental rights.
One serious weakness in discussions of separatism is the conflation of several distinct phenomena: cultural difference, social grievances, demands for decentralisation, political autonomy, separatism, and armed activity. These concepts are neither legally identical nor politically equivalent in their consequences. A citizen may seek greater powers for local administration without wishing to change the country’s borders. Another person may defend linguistic rights without advocating a change in the structure of government. An organisation, by contrast, may use cultural demands to advance territorial objectives. Each situation requires an assessment based on specific evidence; they cannot all be placed under a single broad label.
This distinction is also crucial for security policymaking. When civil demands and violent activities are placed in the same category, the ability to identify genuine threats diminishes. Security measures directed against peaceful demands can undermine public trust, just as overlooking violence by armed groups in the name of defending ethnic rights can endanger citizens’ safety and freedom. Effective policy must protect lawful freedoms while responding, in accordance with the law and with respect for fundamental rights, to actions that threaten the lives and security of civilians.
The reality is that territorial cohesion depends not only on state power or the continuity of historical borders. It also depends on a sense of belonging, justice, opportunities for participation, and public trust. National identity can create a lasting bond among diverse populations when all of them see themselves as participants in the country’s history, culture, and future. Within such a framework, Kurds, Baluchis, Azerbaijanis, Arabs, Turkmen, Lurs, Gilaks, and other populations in Iran are not foreign elements merely placed alongside one another, but participants in the formation and continuity of Iranian society. This shared history, however, does not mean that they have had identical experiences of development, political power, or access to opportunities.
For this reason, responding to separatist approaches cannot be limited to repeating historical assertions about Iran’s unity. If regional inequalities exist, they must be identified through measurable data. If discrimination occurs in access to educational opportunities, employment, public services, or political participation, independent scrutiny and corrective measures must be possible. If political groups claim to represent a community, their social support and conduct should be examined. And if sufficient information is unavailable about the number of languages, linguistic varieties, and cultural needs across the country, the development of a comprehensive linguistic atlas and the conduct of field research should be prioritised.
Iran’s historical experience demonstrates that cultural diversity does not, in itself, lead to political separatism. What can turn this diversity into a source of conflict is a combination of unresolved inequalities, weak representative institutions, political rivalries, foreign interference, and narratives that transform social identities into fixed boundaries between “us” and “them.” Equally, ignoring differences and attempting to impose an entirely uniform image of society can deepen mistrust.
The decisive question for Iran’s future is not how cultural differences can be eliminated, but how they can be prevented from becoming fault lines for political conflict and violence. The answer requires, first and foremost, an accurate understanding of society, a distinction between people’s rights and the objectives of political organisations, recognition of diversity within population groups, and stronger institutions capable of resolving disagreements through peaceful means.
Iran’s territorial integrity is a legal and political reality whose protection, alongside respect for citizens’ rights, is of fundamental importance. But effectively defending this principle cannot be achieved simply by rejecting separatist claims. Such a defence must demonstrate that preserving the country’s unity goes hand in hand with equal access for all citizens to freedom, security, opportunity, and human dignity. A society that understands its own diversity and has credible mechanisms for addressing discrimination is better placed to sustain lasting solidarity.
Ultimately, Iran’s territorial integrity cannot be reduced to a simple opposition between unity and diversity. The central challenge is to prevent genuine cultural differences from becoming exclusionary political boundaries without denying existing identities and rights. Any approach that disregards cultural rights in the name of unity, or places the political will of millions of citizens in the hands of a single organisation in the name of diversity, fails to account for part of the issue’s complexity. The future of national solidarity in Iran depends less on making identities uniform than on the country’s ability to transform its historical diversity into equal participation and a shared future.
Additional Sources Consulted in Preparing This Article
In addition to the discussions referenced above, the following sources were consulted to develop the article’s historical and conceptual analysis. The article does not attribute individual viewpoints to named speakers and is presented as an independent analytical piece.
- “Nationality, Identity, and Federalism,” Iran Perspective, Issue 70, 2011.
- “Which Language? Which Research? Which Programme?” A discussion of local-language education and the need to understand linguistic diversity, 2014.
- “Kurd or Kurds: A Sociological Introduction to Kurdish Studies.” Research on the historical and cultural diversity of Kurdish society.
- “National Identity as Social Glue,” Shahrvand newspaper, 2014.
- United Nations Human Rights Committee, General Comment No. 23, concerning Article 27 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, 1994.
