Golriz Ghahraman: My story as told to Elisabeth Easther

Golriz Ghahraman came to New Zealand from Iran when she was 9 years old. Photo / Supplied

Golriz Ghahraman came to New Zealand from Iran when she was 9 years old. Today, Ghahraman is an MP with the Green Party, a lawyer and author. After receiving a master's degree in International Human Rights Law from Oxford, Ghahraman spent 12 years working in Africa, The Hague and Cambodia as a human rights and constitutional lawyer. Recently diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, Ghahraman will feature in two episodes of Unbreakable, the first screening tonight at 8.30pm on TVNZ1, then on TVNZ+.

A lot of people think refugees who have escaped war and persecution have seen nothing but bleakness. But it's really important to remember that we also have hopes and dreams, that we enjoy the arts and poetry and all those things humans do for pleasure. We all have that common humanity.

In Iran, I also grew up with a backdrop of rising tension and violence. We'd hear of people constantly leaving, whether they'd fled the country or were arrested. We wouldn't know what had happened to some people, but there was all that chatter when people "disappeared". Families would often try to raise funds to help someone's son cross the border so he wouldn't be conscripted into the savage war with Iraq. People with daughters also had to get out, because women were zealously persecuted. For something as simple as not observing Islamic dress a woman could be flogged or tortured.

My parents married when they finished university, so they were very young when they had us, only in their 20s. They couldn't hide their fear from us, and we'd hear them talking about how we had to get out. That meant becoming asylum seekers felt like a good thing, and I wasn't afraid because I knew we were leaving so we could be free. Leaving was still a big deal though, and many people did choose to stay. But those who stayed had to keep their heads down, get on with their lives and abandon all political work. I have friends who grew up in Iran, they got married and lived a life so different to mine.

When my parents packed us up, they flew across the world to an uncertain future. They gave up their jobs, their lives and their language, but they didn't do it to be inspirational, or to be defined by that act, they wanted to move past that, and be treated as ordinary people, but how we got here is always in the forefront of other people's minds.

Of course, my parents missed Iran, but they didn't let on to us and when we got here they were very full steam ahead so we could settle in. When I think of those early days, I remember the garage sales we went to every weekend to rebuild our lives. We'd map them out, then we'd go around and get all the things we needed, including kitchen things, curtains and a sewing machine as well as toys for me.

After the revolution, there were only single-sex schools in Iran, so coming to New Zealand and having boys in my class was very strange. Interacting with them during folk dancing, where boys and girls took turns asking each other to dance, that blew my mind. We were also very taken aback by bare feet, even though people kept treating us as if we came from some incredibly primitive place, we'd be agog at people not wearing shoes.

Children pick up languages much faster than adults, and within a year I realised I was dreaming and thinking in English. I was happy to be good at English, but to know my language was receding was a bittersweet realisation.

People use the word freedom so flippantly these days, but my parents sacrificed a lot for our freedom and their courage shaped me into the woman I am today. Now, in politics, when we raise important issues, and people thank us for being brave enough to talk about things that aren't popular, I think back to where I come from. Here, I might be criticised for speaking out, but nothing can happen to me here, not compared to what goes on in places like Iran.

Golriz Ghahraman has been involved with the Green Party since her days at university. Photo / NZME

In the past, I have described the comments some people make, often online, as being like "water off a duck's back". But I regret saying that now, because I shouldn't have to feel like that. Throughout the ages, women have been told to grin and bear it when there's sexual harassment in the workplace. Or brown people are taught to laugh along when someone makes a racist joke and certainly you push through and keep going, but it's not water off a duck's back. I also have to look at the comments people make, because it's part of my job. I'm supposed to engage, but other MPs get to engage without reading race-based or misogynistic comments about themselves. Not only are they exhausting, they're proof we still have a lot of work to do.

I saw a comment asking why the Prime Minister gets her make-up done. The answer is, because she's a woman in the public eye and it's armour some woman put on to get people to focus on the work they are doing. But whatever women do, we'll be told we look tired, or fat, or too thin, too young, too old, or too pretty or not pretty enough. All of the things men never hear, and I have the added layer of race and immigration, my refugee background. But at least it isn't as hard for me here, as it is for women in Iran who are right now risking their lives to protest against the hijab.

I went to Auckland Girls Grammar. Walking to school and seeing the juxtaposition of wealth in Ponsonby, and the feeling on K Rd, that was fascinating. Ponsonby was also the flamboyant centre of the rainbow community, and because my parents moved here for their liberal values, they really embraced open-mindedness. I grew up on sex positivity, that so long as there's consent everything else is fine. They were open to me trying drugs and alcohol, so long as I did them with people I trusted, and in safe places, like at home with my best friends. They were all about us figuring out what we liked, finding our limits and reducing harm instead of saying, don't do these things because they are immoral. Their attitude ruined a lot of things for me, as it's very hard to rebel against such permissive parents.

Golriz Ghahraman was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 2018. Photo / Dean Purcell

I was involved with the Green Party at university. I like how they see the interconnectedness of everything. They are clear about why we can't have mining in reserves or National Parks. They are clear that we have to say no to bottom trawling and oil and gas extraction. yet for some reason, some people see those things as really radical, but our survival depends on green legislation. That's why, when I returned to New Zealand after living abroad for several years, I become active again in the Green Party as their co-convenor.

I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 2018, but I didn't make my diagnosis public until I got my head around it. Partly because, when I first connected with the disability community, some people said I should never disclose it. That'd I'd be underestimated at work and not thought capable of doing my job. I discovered how much real trepidation some people feel about coming out as having a chronic illness so I sat with it for a while. I listened to narratives and counter-narratives and I was very sad to hear so many people's negative experiences. But here I am telling people I have this very serious illness. I do now have different needs because of it, but I can still do my job, as can other people with chronic illness or disability and it is important for people to see that.

No one knows where MS comes from or why, but being stressed or run-down can make it progress. For many with MS, one of the hardest things is confirming a diagnosis, so when people with MS meet each other for the first time, one of the things we tend to talk about very fast and very loud, is the experience of being heard and believed, especially when you're young or female or brown. When I finally get my diagnosis some months after developing symptoms, it felt like a win just to know.

When I become the first refugee MP, so many migrants of colour wrote to me to say they could now see their son or daughter becoming an MP. My being elected helped others feel they were really a part of society, and the disability community needs to see that as well. The more our stories are told, and the more we become visible, the more I hope prejudice and assumptions will dissipate. Not that it's the responsibility of anyone from a marginalised community to inspire people, but if some people do feel inspired when they see me overcoming challenges, that's a small step forward toward inclusion and equality for all of us.