Political scientist Ammar Maleki: ‘In the Netherlands, my life changed’

His ideas did not immediately gain a foothold in the Netherlands, but the Iranian Ammar Maleki (45) continued his research into democratic and social developments in his home country. It brought him appreciation – and threats. ‘I don’t just investigate the authoritarian system, I live it.’

Lees dit interview in het Nederlands.

It is an icy February day. Political science lecturer Ammar Maleki is reaching for his vitamin D pills. Many people at the University who are originally used to a sunnier climate, carry such a bottle, he says. ‘I notice that international students always get a little depressed in the winter.’

On the kitchen table, a photo of his smiling parents has been given a place of honor. His mother died in the summer of 2020, his father six months later. At that time, parents and son had not seen each other for 11 years. Ammar Maleki was barred from entering Iran after he was questioned at Tehran airport in 2009 about his book on civil disobedience.

Father Mohammad Maleki, former Head of Tehran University, was not allowed to leave the country because of his public struggle for democracy and human rights and his criticism of the authoritarian Islamic Republic. He was regularly imprisoned and tortured. The first time that happened, Ammar Maleki was three years old, he says, at the kitchen table in his home in The Hague.

‘Once a month I visited him in prison. My older sisters and brother were only allowed to see him from behind a screen, but because I was so small, I was allowed to hug him. Until I was ten, a war raged between Iran and Iraq. There was a lack of provisions, fuel oil, and food. Food was rationed.

‘My mother tried to keep our lives as normal as possible. Sometimes we went on vacation to the Caspian Sea, a beautiful mountain area in the north. That war, we were used to that, for the most part, we tried to enjoy ourselves. That is also typical of the Iranian people: even deeply religious people are not averse to a joke from time to time. That helps them to survive.’

What did you get from your father’s political activism at home?

‘There were often meetings at home with opposition leaders. Politics dominated everything, which is why I used to hate it so much. My father was imprisoned regularly until old age. Almost all the milestones in my life he missed. When I wanted to get married at 23, he was arrested with a group of activists, by now he was 68.

‘I tried to negotiate with the authorities so my father would be able to attend the ceremony. In the end, he was allowed to be present for an hour, in the company of 12 guards. Two of those people even stayed with him! In fact, it was always like that. On my first day of school, he was not there. When I went to defend my PhD in Tilburg, he wasn’t there either.’

You also talk about your father in your lesson.

‘The last lesson always takes place around December 1, the anniversary of his death. An emotional period. Before the class ends, I show them a picture of my father. 70 to 80 percent of my students are Dutch. To them I say, ‘You shouldn’t take freedom for granted.’’

Right now, the Constitution is a serious topic of discussion in coalition building. Many Dutch people did not see that coming.

‘I did expect it. Your democracy works, but it has some problems. It is a consensus democracy, a polder model, as you call it. That means you have a lot of parties that have trouble reaching agreement. Actually, you should set an electoral threshold, as the Swedes do.

‘Representation and inclusiveness are important, coming to an agreement together is also fine, but if you don’t build in efficient decision-making you lose people, and they start calling: if only there were one person who could get things done quickly.’

Still, with your background, it must be a strange sensation that the Constitution is at issue here.

‘Colleagues sometimes remark that human rights are also violated in the Netherlands. That feels like a slap in my face. Of course human rights are also violated here, but surely that is something quite different from being murdered for not covering your hair?’

Maleki starts his career as a mechanical engineer in the research and development department of car factory Iran Khodro. ‘Gradually I noticed that the system was corrupt. I had to test new cars, but the managers only found my comments irritating.’

‘You have freedom of speech here; in class you can just argue’

Maleki wants to continue studying, preferably at the intersection of mechanical engineering and social sciences. ‘There turned out to be two programs, one in the United States and one in Delft: engineering and policy analysis. Shell gave out full scholarships for students from developing countries. That’s why I chose the Netherlands.’

In 2008, Maleki, now 30, lands at Schiphol Airport. When asked what he knows about the Netherlands at that moment, he starts laughing. ‘I had no idea. I followed the Dutch soccer team, I thought Van Basten and Gullit were brilliant. But I didn’t even know that the Dutch language differed from German.

‘Once here, my whole life changed. I met Geert Hofstede, a well-known Dutch sociologist who had found a way to measure cultural differences. I started specializing in that, and I graduated cum laude with a Master’s thesis in that subject. Then I did my PhD research in Tilburg on the relationship between democratic models and cultural differences.’

What do you remember from your first days in the Netherlands?

‘My arrival went smoothly. The University had a good induction week for international students. At my residence, I did have some little problems. I did my dishes with detergent meant for the toilet. I saw the picture on the bottle and thought that would be fine.

‘The first thing I noticed is that no one had curtains. There were cafes everywhere! Until I understood: these are residential houses, looking inside people’s homes is normal here. In Iran, the curtains are closed. Avoiding uncertainties is embedded in our culture.’

Did life on campus differ from that in Iran?

‘Oh yes. My then wife and I were in classes together at university, but we couldn’t meet in public, it wasn’t allowed by law. I remember trying to give her a ride home when the police showed up and asked how we knew each other.

‘Imagine: suddenly you arrive in the Netherlands and think wow, here we can just go to the park together. This is how life should be! You have freedom of speech here; in class you can just argue. That’s not how it works in an authoritarian regime.’

Did you have to get used to that?

‘No, I was also used to speaking out in Iran. But some conservative students didn’t open their mouths because they still wanted to be able to go back to Iran. The Dutch do not see themselves as inferior to others. For you, a prime minister is not an untouchable figure because you have an egalitarian society.

‘Professor De Jong lectured on cross-cultural differences; I learned a lot from him. He kept telling me to call him Martin. I found that complicated. In Iran, the lecturer is God. Even friends call me Dr. Maleki.’

Might that also have its charm?

‘Mwah, honestly, I think the new generation in Iran no longer accepts that hierarchy either. In my classes, I have found a way to take advantage of the boldness of Dutch students. I always say: it is not obligatory to attend my classes. If you are tired, or need to be somewhere else, no problem.

‘I don’t just examine the authoritarian system, I live it’

‘Only you’ll miss my multiple choice questions, with which you earn 1 credit. And if you sit around chatting in class, feel free to leave. That way, with freedom and individualism, great values in Dutch society, you can reach a social contract.’

Have you ever experienced discrimination at the University?

‘During my student days, I didn’t feel that there was systemic racism going on. Maybe I was also insensitive to it. But when I started working at Tilburg University, there were colleagues who, silently, didn’t like me very much. I felt that my work and my ideas were ignored. But that’s okay. These are different times now.’

Now you have already started to smooth this over. Could you dig a little deeper first?

‘Well, I noticed that my comments were not taken as seriously in my Department. One of those people from that time is still there; he’s very nice to me now. I don’t want to say he was making racist remarks then, but there was something going on. Over time, especially as my work became more influential, I gained more respect from my colleagues.’

Did you have the impression that you had to prove yourself?

‘I never tried that. And I also have my weaknesses. I don’t speak Dutch even though I’ve been here for 16 years. I find that embarrassing. I have an eight-year-old son and would like to be able to communicate with his teachers and friends. If people judge me on that, I can understand that. But if someone doesn’t speak your language, that doesn’t mean they don’t care. Please don’t take that to mean that I wouldn’t feel at home here.’

Have you ever tried to learn Dutch?

‘Well, I weighed up whether it would be worth my time investment, because English is the second unofficial language of the Netherlands. After the death of my father, I got divorced. I developed burnout symptoms and went into psychotherapy. During one of the tests I took, I accidentally discovered why language learning was difficult for me. I turned out to have ADHD, from childhood, without knowing it.

‘Simple things, like writing an e-mail, I find difficult. I am also a huge procrastinator. When learning a language, your memory is important, but I sometimes can’t even remember a friend’s name. Even my English is not as good as I would like it to be. But I love teaching, that’s my way of integrating. I tell my students something they can’t get from anyone else. Because I don’t just examine the authoritarian system, I live it.’

Do you also cherish fond memories of your life in Iran?

‘I have quite fond memories of my childhood, but the trauma prevailed. I realized that even more during my therapy. I always thought that my father and I would see each other again, but we only saw each other through WhatsApp. My son, like me, had to learn something about politics at an early age. Because he wanted to know why we never went to see Grandpa and why Grandpa never came to see us.’

May I ask how you said goodbye to him before he died?

‘He was 86 and had had back surgery that had gone well. I had cameras put up in his home so we would see if he fell. It also made our contact easier. The only miserable thing was that it also allowed me to see that he was feeling bad. I saw how my brother, who was taking care of him, was trying to help him. And how the paramedics came in. I saw him die. His funeral, I also watched over a live connection.’

Maleki gets up to make coffee. He gestures to the table, where pistachios and flower-shaped cookies are displayed—brought by an Iranian friend last night. On his mobile he taps the translation. ‘They’re made of peas.’

Fourteen Dutch universities recently announced that they want to reduce the number of international students and start reducing the number of English-taught study programs. What is your view on this?

‘I notice that some Dutch students struggle with English. Some colleagues believe that too many English study programs undermine students’ Dutch language skills. But I doubt that Dutch students who are good at English also speak worse Dutch. I have never seen any research on that.

‘Extreme right-wingers try to stir people up against international students. Of course, different cultures clash sometimes when people don’t share each other’s values. But I believe that international people can really contribute something to the academic community.’

‘We shake at the foundations of the Iranian regime’

In the kitchen, a shopping list is written in ornate characters on the chalkboard. On the floor are Persian rugs. In the middle of the living room, there is a low table, called a korsi, Maleki explains. ‘Just stick your feet under the rug and you’ll notice it’s warm. There is a stove under it. In Iran, everyone sits around such a table in winter to eat or play cards.’

What did your coming to the Netherlands bring?

‘I have been able to learn a lot here. Together with Pooyan Tamimi Arab, a lecturer in the Department of Philosophy and Religious Studies at the University of Utrecht, I founded the GAMAAN Foundation (Group for Analysing and Measuring Attitudes in Iran, ed.) in 2019, for which I received support.

‘We conduct online research on social developments in Iran, guaranteeing participants strict anonymity. But in a free Iran, I might have become a member of parliament, a full professor, or a faculty head.’

Do you suspect you could have a better career in Iran?

‘Not at the moment but, in a free Iran, maybe yes. In the Netherlands, I can’t get a higher position at a university because I don’t speak Dutch. But that’s not the only reason I think. Top-level positions at universities are rarely held by people who are not originally from the Netherlands. The figures show that too.’

A surveillance camera hangs on the facade of your home. Is that a necessity for you?

‘Yes, over the past year, we have been increasingly threatened by Iranian agents operating both here and there, and we have been attacked by some kind of cyber army all because of my critical research with GAMAAN. Recently, based on information they had received from the Iranian regime through the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Dutch police advised me to install an alarm system. And to put up more cameras.

‘It is alleged that I am inventing research data. They want to stop me. They want me to give up.

‘In 2023, Iran had a revolutionary uprising against the regime. The numbers we generate with GAMAAN are dangerous because they reveal the truth about Iran. Several surveys show that at most 40-50% of Iranians identify themselves as Muslim. And that in 2020, 74% of Iranians opposed the mandatory wearing of the hijab.

‘We recently completed a survey that showed that 75% of Iranians would vote against the current regime in free elections. This shakes the foundations of the regime, which wants to profile Iran as a religious country.’

Is your life in danger?

‘Yes, I think my life is in danger. Opponents of the Iranian regime have been killed in the Netherlands before, and Foreign Minister Blok indicated in the House of Representatives that, according to the AIVD, the Iranian regime was behind it.

‘I have to be on my guard. At the University, there are measures in place. I make sure my travel movements are unpredictable, but I still give speeches in public. I don’t want to be constantly guarded or driven everywhere.’

When you came here, you won freedom of speech, now you are losing some of your freedom of movement because of your research. It seems like you are back to square one.

‘Besides freedom of speech, you also have such a thing as freedom after expressing your opinion. I see that as a test for the Dutch government. To what extent do they protect my research? It is important support continues to be offered by the intellectual community, society, and by the government, not just for me. Because if you don’t protect certain values now, you will pay the price later.’

Are you considering stopping your research?

‘No. Or well, I don’t know. As long as I can endure it physically and mentally, I will continue. Because this research shows the reality of Iranian society.’

Maleki sighs. ‘You know what I get tired of sometimes? I get attacked not only by the regime, but also by ordinary Iranians, while I am trying to show how they think. I may not agree with all your ideas, but I want to show that you exist. We want to reveal the diversity of Iranian society, but people are not used to that.

‘Sometimes I wonder if I should stop, but I’m not at that point yet. They always say: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?’ With a weary smile, ‘I only hope that I will not be killed before I become stronger.’

Translated by Language Center, Riet Bettonviel

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