Haydeh Changizian

Haydeh: Every time I visited Iran, the Minister of Culture and Art would ask me to return. He said, “We don’t have enough women to dance the lead roles. We need you.” But I didn’t want to leave Frankfurt. I was very happy working with John Neumeier.

After ten visits to Tehran, where I performed Blue Bird, they asked me again. Eventually, I made up my mind. I cancelled my contract and returned to Iran.

Janet: That must not have been easy. You had to stay until everyone learned your part, right?

Haydeh: Yes, exactly.

Janet: So, you had to pass on your roles to other dancers before leaving. But your homeland wanted you back, to help bring classical ballet to Iran. And you made the arrangements to do it.

This was about six or seven years before the revolution, when dance became forbidden in your country. What were the most important things that happened while you were bringing classical ballet to Iran?

Haydeh: One important night, I was performing Scheherazade.

That night was significant because I spoke with the Shah and his wife. She asked me, “What do you want to do with the Iranian ballet?”

I told her, “I want to change the direction of the Iranian Ballet Company. If we have stories like Layla and Majnun, which is such an important tale in Iran by Nezami Ganjavi, why should we only perform foreign stories like Romeo and Juliet?”

Janet: You wanted to bring Iranian culture into the ballet, rather than only performing stories from other countries?

Haydeh: Yes, I wanted to combine Iranian culture with classical ballet. I believed that was the only way for the Iranian Ballet Company to truly succeed.

If we embraced our own stories, other countries would invite us to perform. After all, Iran has 7,000 years of stories to tell. 

After speaking with the Shahbanou, I returned to discuss my ideas with other members of the company. That evening, I noticed that Mr Hoveyda, the Prime Minister, was also present. He seemed to be signalling that he wanted to speak with me privately.

He said to me, “You know, I don’t understand anything about ballet. But I was watching you. Not the technique, not the movements–just your face. I could see that if you were capable of such a difficult pas de deux, then you must have already mastered the technique and moved beyond it.”

At that moment, I realised what a wise man the Prime Minister was. He told me he completely agreed with my vision—to elevate Iranian ballet to international standards while incorporating something truly Iranian, something unknown to the rest of the world.

Janet: Haydeh, it’s so important that you were recognised by the government, not just for bringing international standards to Iran but for integrating Iranian culture into classical ballet. I think this is such a significant achievement of yours. 

And at that time, weren’t you also starting a school for classical ballet?

Haydeh: I felt we needed a company that was more connected to Iranian culture. That’s why I left the Iranian Ballet Company to help establish a new company, which we based in northern Iran [the Niavaran Dance Cultural Company]. It wasn’t fully developed, but did have different sections for ballet, music and literature.

Janet: So, tell me about how you were developing ballet in Iran, while also bringing it to other parts of the country?

Haydeh: We were constantly travelling to different regions of Iran to perform, especially to the northern areas like Tabriz.

We wanted to introduce ballet to these communities, starting from the very basics—from the barre to centre work—to help students understand the depth and elegance of this noble art form.

At that time, we still didn’t have ballet productions based on Iranian stories, but we began working toward that goal. My first major effort was pushing for a ballet adaptation of Vis and Ramin, a Persian love story that also reflects the historical tensions between Iran and Turkey.

We did this ballet with an Iranian costume designer and an Iranian stage designer. 

Janet: It sounds like you were helping classical ballet flourish in Iran while incorporating Iranian artists and dancers.

Haydeh: My other goal at that time was to open a Vaganova-style ballet school [the Haydeh Changizian Ballet Institute]. But everyone warned me against it. They told me that the Soviet Union's ambassador couldn’t even move freely around the city and that my association with him could even be dangerous.

I even invited him to my home once, and I cooked a simple pasta dish for him. But people kept warning me, saying that because of Iran’s geographical proximity to the Soviet Union, it was far too risky. They feared ballet would be seen as a tool for spreading communism.

I was so afraid that I changed my plan. I had also realised Iranian families were not ready to send their children to a foreign country to study ballet. So, I went to visit John Field, who was the director of the Royal Academy of Dancing. Before that, he had also been the director of the Royal Ballet. I proposed a system where, every six months, the Royal Ballet would send an instructor—either a man or a woman—to visit Iran, assess the students, and evaluate their progress within.

If the students met the standards, they would receive the same certification as if they had trained at the Royal Academy itself.

Janet: So, you created a training system where Iranian students could earn a Royal Academy certificate without having to leave Iran. This is just incredible, the foundation you built for classical ballet in Iran. It’s hard to believe that it all came to an end.

Can you tell us about the next phase and how things began to change?

Haydeh: When I went to visit John Field in London, at that time, there were already signs of trouble beginning in Iran.

Back home, I had never even heard the name Ayatollah Khomeini before. When people started shouting his name in the streets, I asked, “Who is this man?” They told me, “He is the one who opposed giving women the right to vote in Iran.”

It was shocking because Iranian women had gained the right to vote eight years before Switzerland did. We were ahead of our time.

Janet: Radical, extreme change was happening in Iran.

Haydeh: Yes. We were already training for our first performance at the Niavaran Cultural Centre I had founded after leaving the Iranian National Ballet.

Then, suddenly, they announced:

“No more ballet.”

I went to see the new director and told him, “If you shut down ballet now, it will take at least eight to ten years to rebuild Iranian ballet.”

He gave me excuses, saying, “We made a revolution, and according to Islam, women should not dance.”

I tried to propose a compromise, suggesting we merge the theatre company with the ballet company so that ballet would survive.

He asked me, “What kind of productions could you stage?”

I wasn’t prepared for this question, so I answered with the first thing that came to mind: “We could do The Little Prince. We could use dancers to play the animals, while the prince tells the story.”

He immediately rejected the idea and told me, “Don’t mention The Little Prince again.” So I said, “Fine, we can change the name. Let’s call it Amir Kuchulu instead.” (Amir Kuchulu means Little Prince in Persian.)

But, of course, it was not possible.

I went to the Caspian Sea for a short trip, and on my way back, I saw people demonstrating in the streets. The Shah had fled to Egypt, and I understood that it was the end for ballet in Iran.