Disco Tehran is a multi-cultural dance party and live performance project. We are dreamboat that connects NY to the era of 1970s cosmopolitan venues in Tehran. This is our platform to bring music from the people of the Asian continent, Latin America, Africa, and Europe.

“Thank God for the journey.” - James Brown

Once upon a time, there were borderlines.

These lines were as imaginary as the countries they enveloped

All were analyzed, numbered, and ultimately fortified.

Nothing passed through them, only the clattering of trucks soon to be hollowed out into the unequivocal flow of Capital.

At their wake, unable to cross these lines, were the people.

Their memories, inadmissible, untransportable.

In this expanse, there was innocent courage.

There were steps ahead, and a last gaze at what was left behind.

And from this gaze, the journey was born. ••••••

In 2020, a public call placed on Disco Tehran’s Instagram platform invited our audience to submit their family’s story of immigration. These stories were collected in the span of the year. The result is this Disco Tehran publication in collaboration with MoMA PS1 This Zine brings together people of various backgrounds who have crossed the borderlines in search of a better life. We present this series in hope of a future where borders are history.

A very special thanks to Nuevayorkinos, and Shirin-Banou Barghi

Phil Lembke (Sticky Dojah)
East Germany / USA

Phil Lembke (Sticky Dojah)

East Germany / USA

Phil Lembke (Sticky Dojah)

My family escaped the East German socialist regime in 1983.
We immigrated to West Germany six years before the wall came down. My parents were the founding members of the “White Circle” movement in Jena, which chose passive resistance as a form of illegal protest. This led to my father being declared a public enemy.
He lost his right to work.

Due to Western news coverage on the movement and because they were part of the first wave of immigrants, our application to leave the country was granted. Others who tried protesting the same way, just a few weeks later in the summer of 1983, were imprisoned, and their children were turned over to regime friendly families. My brother did not make it; he took his own life because of the STASI (secret police) pressure on our family. We arrived in the West with 5 Deutschmarks in our pockets, and lived in refugee asylums as my parents slowly built their life back up. I am forever grateful for their strength and resilience. Our first trip to another continent was to NYC in late 1984. We were completely blown away.

NYC became one of the most important influences for me, I kept coming back to her, the birthplace of HipHop culture. In 2013, I finally made the decision to move. Here, I met my wife, Roya, who is a refugee from Iran. Our experiences and stories united us in this beautiful city we now call home.

Roya Partovi
Iran / Germany / USA

Roya Partovi

Iran / Germany / USA

Roya Partovi

My mother went into labor with me during the 1979 Revolution in Iran. The car they took to the hospital was filled with bullet holes. In high stress, she gave birth to me in Isfahan, even though most of my family is from Shiraz. Shortly after, my father arranged for us to escape and find refuge in Germany. I grew up with German as my first language, but learned fluent Farsi and then English when we moved to California in 1994, during the West Coast Hip Hop era.

After a lifelong identity crisis and trying to fit in, I am happy to now call New York City my home.

As a Chief Creative Director in NYC, I take all that I’ve learned through my experiences to help and support others.

Sasha von Oldershausen
Iran / USA

Sasha von Oldershausen

Iran / USA

Sasha von Oldershausen

My mother emigrated to the United States in 1979, at the start of the Iranian Revolution, but it wasn't for political reasons. She was leaving a bad marriage, and felt that a future in the United States would be brighter than as a divorcée in Iran. She left the country with only $5,000 to her name, sewn into the sleeve of her coat. When she moved to New York, she stayed at a Salvation Army residence for women and found a job as a lab technician.

This photo shows my mother as a student in Shah-era Iran. She received her nursing degree from Isfahan University and a Master's degree in midwifery from Tehran University. When she moved to New York, she continued nursing, and eventually became a district supervising nurse for the Department of Education.

Nilo Tabrizy
Iran / Canada

Nilo Tabrizy

Iran / Canada

Nilo Tabrizy

We immigrated to Vancouver, Canada from Tehran when I was about 4 years old. I grew up back and forth, spending my summers in Iran with my extended family. We were the only members of my family to leave Iran.

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a journalist. And I was always very vocal about it. In this photo, taken at my 4th birthday party in Tehran, you can see me wearing a pink tape recorder that I used to interview my family about 'stories'. What stories, I have no idea. But I do remember making newsletters that contained interviews and sending them to family members. I made my way to New York nine years ago to study journalism and now I'm a video journalist at The New York Times, where I'm one of the only Iranians in our newsroom. I wish I still had that tape recorder and that bowl cut with me now.

Roxanne Cassehgari
Iran / Colombia

Roxanne Cassehgari

Iran / Colombia

Roxanne Cassehgari

My parents emigrated to France for different reasons. My mum, who is from Colombia, wanted to get a shot at a better life. My dad left Iran to start a university program in the US, but he first wanted to hang with the cool crew of Iranian philosophy students that had chosen Paris over the US. Then, the 1979 revolution happened. He ended up staying in France, enrolled at university there and met my mom. They married in 1985, and I was born in 1987. My brothers were born in 1988 and 1991.

We grew up in France, and had a pretty normal French childhood in a country that likes its immigrants to assimilate. But we were deeply immersed in our parents' culture. We went to Iran almost every summer and a few times to Colombia.

The way I remember connecting the best to my cultures was through music. We loved dancing and listening to Colombian and Iranian music. I learned with my cousins and aunts how to perfect my moves!

I also used to create choreographies for me and my brothers. My parents would video tape us with their VHS camera recorder. I emigrated to the US and ended up playing and dancing in a Colombian traditional music band in New York, Bulla en el Barrio.

Golnar Adili
Iran / USA

Golnar Adili

Iran / USA

Golnar Adili

This is a photo of me and my dad on the last day I saw him in Iran. It was taken by a street photographer in Park Mellat in Tehran. He was in hiding from the Revolutionary Guards (IRGC) due to his political activity in the early 1980s. He appeared unannounced, at least to me.

At first look when opening the door, I did not recognize him due to the beard and the uniform he was disguising himself under. He so lightheartedly took me to my favorite city park, we rowed in the boat inside the park’s lake, and had ice cream. We bought a book from the children’s bookstore housed inside an old locomotive train wagon where we used to visit on our trips to the park.

It was winter, and I will never forget that beautiful day. I still can’t believe my father endangered his life to give me a memory, and to spend a day together. A last day in Tehran.

Manijeh Mahmoodzadeh
Iran / Puerto Rico

Manijeh Mahmoodzadeh

Iran / Puerto Rico

Manijeh Mahmoodzadeh

My baba is from Dâmghân, by way of Tehran. My mama is Boricua from the Bronx. They met in college on Long Island: mama was walking past Baba's dorm room when she noticed him drawing Persian calligraphy on the wall... and that was that.

My three siblings and I love being Iranian & Boricua. There's a special blessing in being raised with multiple perspectives to life, multiple ancestries, multiple identities, multiple vibrations. Biracial people, especially those of us from multiple communities of color, have a brilliant flexibility in the way we see ourselves and the world. Our magic transcends place. I feel a duality deep within my cells. We are natural connectors between the people of the Caribbean and Southwest Asia; we are bridges that align the energies of groups that may otherwise not connect. I love us.

Fared Shafinury
Iran / USA

Fared Shafinury

Iran / USA

Fared Shafinury

Here's a picture from 1978. My mother, who had just recently immigrated to South Texas from Iran, would often invite their neighbors, the Brooks family, over for traditional Persian dinners. I share this photo because it depicts what I had always thought America was about. It's a reminder that no matter how estranged and separate we may feel from our societies, we can always sit at the same table as one. Mr. and Mrs. Brooks were amazing people who felt like family to us growing up. My parents who spoke broken English, were living in a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood. With the lack of language, everyone communicated through basic community gatherings. Food and music were always uniting forces. For my mother, America was a rainbow of differences and colors.

During the hostage crisis [at the American Embassy in Iran] many Iranians were being deported. She eventually was able to get a green card for herself and my father by designing a red dress at the time for the First Lady. With a letter from the Texan congressman at that time, my parents were allowed to stay in America

Vish Mhatre
India / Bahrain / UK

Vish Mhatre

India / Bahrain / UK

Vish Mhatre

Here is a photo of my parents, the Mhatre’s , on their wedding day. They left India in the late 90s to pursue a better life in the [Persian] Gulf. Having lived between Saudi Arabia and Bahrain, their main aim in life was to make sure that those they loved around them were taken care of. Their marriage was opposed by their parents as it was what is known in India as a “love marriage” i.e. not an arranged one. They defied cultural norms and the wishes of their families just so they could be together. They recently celebrated 31 years together and can’t live without each other.

Paz Monge
Iran / Costa Rica

Paz Monge

Iran / Costa Rica

Paz Monge

Being raised in a family of Iranian descent within a Costa Rican context has been a long lasting lesson of resilience, unity, and cultural acceptance. Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I was constantly reminded of my cultural background and how much pride I should feel of these differences and our history. When I left Costa Rica to go and live in London, I was surprised with the most wonderful experience of them all: I was able to reconnect with my Persian heritage, as I found an Iranian community abroad that welcomed my diverse background. They are now an extension of my family.

Pictured here is a photograph of my baba, on his 24th birthday, during the mid 80s, in San José. He’s holding a baby picture of himself.

Mohammad Gorjestani
Iran / USA

Mohammad Gorjestani

Iran / USA

Mohammad Gorjestani

My last memories of Iran are of taping windows so they wouldn't shatter in an airstrike, the lights going out and the sound of sirens which was our cue to head into our communal basement. We fled the Iran-Iraq war with $2,000, first going to Turkey and living in a hostel while my dad arranged our Visas. Eventually we arrived in San Jose with $400 left, and spent the first 6 months in a spare room of an apartment.

This image reminds me of my parents' courage. It's fitting that it is a travel document with the stamp of the regime of the Islamic Republic over my mother's heart. I added the green border to represent hope. As my parents have aged in a land they never wanted to come to, I work to honor the people they were never allowed to become.

Natasha Garoosi
China/Colombia

Natasha Garoosi

China/Colombia

Natasha Garoosi

My name is Nati Garoosi. I like to say that I am what happens when the silk road meets the Caribbean and Mediterranean.

This is a photo of Paupau (my grandma) cooking in her restaurant in Bogota. My mother is Colombian and her parents are Chinese. My grandparents were one of the only Chinese families in Bogota where they had a bakery and restaurant. Because of the insecurity in the 80s, my mom was sent with her sisters to New York. When she was 20 she studied abroad in Italy where she met my father who was born in Tehran and left after the revolution to find home in Italy. My parents met, married, and had my older sister in Bologna.

They ended up choosing the American dream and came to NYC with 300 dollars and a baby. I am grateful every day for what my ancestors and parents have done to help provide me with the life I have today. I am grateful eternally for the universal language of love I was taught growing up under one roof with people who were all born in different countries, religions, social conditionings and stories. I hope my family's story can remind you that you have the ability to speak that same language.

Joakim Bouaziz
Algeria/France

Joakim Bouaziz

Algeria/France

Joakim Bouaziz

My grandparents, Ely and Raymonde Bouaziz, were born in Tlemcen, Algeria. In the 1940s, when tensions between the Algerian independence movement and the French authorities were rising— eventually culminating in the Algerian war—they emigrated to Kenitra. A short time after, as similar tensions broke out in Morocco, a deranged man attacked my father on the head with a baton while he was at school. This violent episode prompted them to move again, this time to France.

In the early 1950s, when my father was six years old, my grandparents and their four children arrived in Paris. They were poor and for a while lived among other migrants and outcasts in a shoddy hotel on the outskirts of the city. I don’t know much about my grandmother because she was always discrete and silent. I remember only her hugs. I can’t say exactly what my grandfather did for a living when they arrived in France, though I know he had many lives before and after migrating.

In his youth in Algeria, he was destined to become a Rabbi but quickly rejected religious hierarchy and in the process became a brilliant Cabbalist. Later, he became a photographer at a time when taking pictures was still considered a form of sorcery. In Morocco, he ran a cinema that screened Westerns, films that my father still loves to this day.

He was also a magician and narrated extraordinary stories of the paranormal. Later in his life, he became a pharmacologist with a license to buy raw medical products from laboratories and treated whoever got sick in his family. In the mid 1980’s he went on to research a cure for AIDS. He patented a food supplement for cattle. He wrote two books, one about psychoanalysis in relation to physical behavior and posture, and another about hand and palm reading. In his free time he was a painter, and it is even rumored he was a spy who helped Algerian activists seek refuge in Morocco back in the 1940s. True to his compulsion to connect and heal, he also played the oudi a facet of his life I only recently discovered.

Unfortunately, my grandfather was not attached to memorabilia—perhaps because of his acute memory—so he never wrote down or recorded his stories. Though at its core, isn’t that what immigration is about: stories that travel, stories that get lost and finally forgotten. Stories that are translated, adapted. Stories that are passed on and that eventually become myths.

Press play below to hear a recorded track by Ely Bouaziz digitized and edited by his grandson Joakim.

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