It was the year 2008, I was hunched over the family computer with an external hard drive the size of a brick plugged in, carrying the latest haul of illegally downloaded movies my brother ferried for me from his high speed Internet at Delhi University.
On the menu for that evening was Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi. I hungrily took in what felt like the first ever complex depiction of female rage, rebellion, and audacity that my schoolgirl brain desperately needed.
Persepolis was a revelation. To say it changed my life would be an exaggeration. But it did make a home in my mind, swirling and gently whispering in my ear.
After the news of Satrapi’s passing last week, my timeline was filled with reactions, critiques and tearful tributes alike. To many, she was the face of resistance against religious patriarchy, to others, she was an influential figure co-opted (perhaps willingly) by Western imperialism.
A poster of the ‘Persepolis’ movie (2007).
When I first watched Persepolis, I lacked the media literacy and political knowledge needed to identify that the context is not always black and white. It moved me in ways that confirmed biases that most majority-religion Indians are indoctrinated into from a young age. But even then, I could identify the way in which religion, each one of them, creates arbitrary boundaries that girls and women are expected to sit quietly within. We carry the burden of honour. I could relate to the feeling of being offensive by merely existing in my body, of being morally policed, controlled, finding “freedom” only within the four walls of my home.
Some pages from ‘Persepolis’.
Whether in Iran, India or the West, women always seem to face the brunt of fascist nationalism. Everything is up for grabs — our bodies, our thoughts, our stories. Every religion seems united in the need to control girls and women, and every nationalist project is full of men eager to use our pain to advance their own agenda.
Visibility and responsibility
After Satrapi’s passing, I decided to revisit Persepolis. Predictably, it holds up. Persepolis is an iconic piece of work. Released between 2000 and 2003, the autobiographical anthology has been translated into over 20 languages and holds a place in the comics section of every big bookshop here at home. It is influential and persistent. Satrapi is a prolific storyteller. She has the ability to be vulnerable without shame, to point and laugh at authority (and herself) without diminishing the gravity of grief, to humanise her world. Her striking artwork influenced the landscape of graphic novels, and demonstrated the sheer power of the format.
Satrapi’s depiction of gendered oppression under the Islamic Republic was often appropriated to further the narrative that Muslim women needed to be freed and “saved” through Western intervention.
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In her work, Satrapi does more with less. As a cartoonist who works with black-and-white minimalist art, her use of negative space and bold, simple lines made me want to stop reading and start drawing. Her visual storytelling invites the reader to feel rather than be told what to feel. Persepolis also uses shocking and graphic imagery to great effect. The artwork is blunt and haunting — capturing exactly how a child might experience and remember violence. It is a masterclass in telling a dark story in an engaging and sometimes humorous way, without ever diminishing its cruelty.
A page from ‘Persepolis’.
In the book, Satrapi tells her own story of growing up during the Islamic Revolution in Iran. Criticising her because her work has been used by Western imperialist projects to reinforce institutional Islamophobia feels like a different form of misogyny. What should she have done — not tell her story? The responsibility of situating a work within its historical and political context, and engaging with the nuance the storyteller intended, does not rest solely with the author. It is a burden that must also be shared by the audience.
Should women remain silent because there is a possibility that their accounts of resisting oppression could be appropriated by their political enemies? Absolutely not.
Marjane Satrapi’s books
It is also true that the enemy of an enemy is not always a friend. After the success of Persepolis catapulted Satrapi to international fame, she became a political figure. And with that visibility came a degree of responsibility. Satrapi’s work was wielded by war-mongers and Western imperialists to validate orientalist narratives in a post-9/11 world raring for any excuse to go to war. Her depiction of gendered oppression under the Islamic Republic was often appropriated to further the narrative that Muslim women needed to be “saved” from their veils through Western intervention.
A page from Marjane Satrapi’s 2003 comic book ‘Embroideries’.
Making room for complexity
Satrapi did not have the power to control how her autobiographical work was deployed by others, but she did have the power, and the platform, to reinforce the anti-imperialist stance she claimed to hold. And in many ways, she did exactly that. She spoke out against Western intervention, criticised France’s ban on the hijab, and defended Iran when her work was used to demonise Iranians rather than accomplish what she had originally set out to do: portray them as full human beings and bring their stories closer to the rest of the world.
Marjane Satrapi (second from right) at the premiere of the film ‘Persepolis’ at the Cannes Film Festival 2007.
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However, it would be patronising to Satrapi to suggest that she was merely a passive observer of how her work was interpreted, given all that has transpired since Persepolis was first published in 2000. Therein lies my disappointment. In recent years, Satrapi increasingly echoed neoliberal talking points and, at times, rhetoric that veered uncomfortably close to the political right. This was especially apparent following the escalation of Israel’s violence against Palestinians after October 7, 2023, when some of her public interventions seemed at odds with the anti-imperialist commitments she had previously articulated.
Satrapi was a complex person whose life was shaped by grief and trauma. In an era where judgments are formed and verdicts delivered within a single news cycle, I want to make room for complexity. I resist the urge to define her solely by the positions I found most troubling, or by her most recent public remarks.
She became an international figure because of the power and beauty of her storytelling in Persepolis. Through that work, she touched my life, offering insights that deepened my curiosity and expanded my empathy. For that, I am grateful.
The writer is an award-winning political cartoonist and creator of the webcomic ‘Sanitary Panels’. Her debut book ‘Touching Grass’ is out now.
Published – June 09, 2026 01:22 pm IST
