Read Part 1: Out of Seminary Educational Experiences: The Bakhtiari Nomads in the Shirez Canyon
Exactly a decade ago, during the week of February 9th, 2015—the anniversary week of the Islamic Revolution—I travelled to Ahram, a small city in Iran’s southern Bushehr province. The main objective of the trip was to deliver a brief lecture in an auditorium before the Imam Jum’ah of Ahram as well as other dignitaries, and a few days later in a nearby village named Chahpir.
The conference’s topic was how Sayed Khamenei’s letter to the youth of the West – written just a month earlier and published across multiple platforms – was received and perceived by the Western audience. At the time, I assumed this would be a relatively straightforward trip—go, speak, and return—but it turned out to be an enriching experience into a region of Iran that few foreigners probably visit, reshaping my understanding of Iran, its people, and the broader implications of how we educate and engage with diverse communities.
From the outset, we were advised not to reveal that we knew Farsi, as it might undermine our credibility with the audience. The concern was that if we were perceived as individuals who have been in Iran for several years already or have been studying in the seminary for many years (which hadn’t been the case then anyway), our message might be dismissed as some sort of propaganda. That made for some awkward and humorous moments—especially in Chahpir, where we nearly got caught—but we somehow managed to maintain our composure. Earlier that summer, I had taken an introductory course on hermeneutics at Muassaseh Imam, learning about how meaning is understood by the audience, and this experience became an unexpected extension of that study. While this request to conceal our ability to speak Farsi was a practical measure, it also made me reflect on how credibility and trust are built across cultures with drastically different historical horizons, and how, often, perception outweighs substance in communication.
I, along with a colleague, lectured in English while one of the scholars from our school translated into Farsi. However, even outside the lecture hall, we could feel the significance of our presence. Photographers surrounded us at every turn, and our visit made headlines in local newspapers. One evening, while exploring the city, we were surprised to find a massive poster featuring our faces displayed prominently at the main roundabout. Until that moment, we hadn’t realized just how much of an event our presence was for the local community.
These experiences reinforced a critical lesson: how we perceive ourselves is often completely different from how others perceive us. This is especially true when moving across cultural and ideological landscapes. In the seminary, discussions often carry incredible depth, but they remain largely abstract—focused on textual analysis, philosophical debates, and structured theological discourse. However travelling to remote areas like Ahram, Firuzkuh, Kandovan and others, made me realize how disconnected that depth can become from the realities of people’s lived experiences. Knowing how to articulate complex ideas to those outside your intellectual bubble is a skill that seminaries alone do not—and perhaps cannot—teach.
One of the most valuable aspects of a trip like this is how it sharpens one’s emotional intelligence. It was one thing to have theoretical knowledge; it was another to navigate real-world sensitivities, adapt to local social norms, and engage with people who had no prior exposure to what I studied. Whether it was conversations with villagers who had never met a seminarian from outside Iran or interactions with those skeptical of our presence, every encounter was a learning opportunity. One particularly unexpected moment was meeting Iranian citizens of African descent—people whose ancestors had been brought as slaves to the region during the Qajar era. Their presence in remote parts of Bushehr province was a striking reminder of how much of Islamic history remains unknown or overlooked, simply because it does not fit into dominant historical narratives.
Another defining moment of the trip was our visit to a Qajar-era fort which we got a chance to explore, and also saw a damaged watchtower of the fort, which was struck by a British cannon almost a century ago. Standing before a physical remnant of colonial aggression in such a remote area was an experience unlike reading about it in books. Unfortunately, while our communities emphasize historical grievances, there is often less emphasis on how to move forward constructively. We remember the injustices, but we simply do not equally strategize about the future. This is a crucial gap in the way history is taught and discussed in many Muslim communities—we commemorate the past all year long, but we do not always innovate and move forward.
This trip was more than just a lecture tour—it was one of many out-of-seminary educational experiences for me. Travel forces you out of intellectual silos, broadening your perspective beyond books and lectures. It exposes you to the emotional weight of history, the complexities of cross-cultural communication, and the gaps in how we educate our communities. It also reinforced a truth: the success of any revolution—whether intellectual, political, or spiritual—is not just about resisting oppression but also about constantly evolving, adapting, and addressing the needs of the people in meaningful ways. A decade later, as the US dollar freefalls to 91,000 Tomans, I look back on this experience not just as a moment of personal growth but as a crucial reminder of how knowledge must be lived, not just studied.
Sayyid Ali studied in the seminary of Qom from 2012 to 2021, while also concurrently obtaining a M.A in Islamic Studies from the Islamic College of London in 2018. In the seminary he engaged in the study of legal theory, jurisprudence and philosophy, eventually attending the advanced kharij of Usul and Fiqh in 2018. He is currently completing his Masters of Education at the University of Toronto and is the head of a private faith-based school in Toronto, as well as an instructor at the Mizan Institute and Mufid Seminary.
