I was born in Tehran, but I have lived in London for most of my life. Over time, whatever I brought with me settled into place. The distance between “here” and “there” never disappeared, but it became something I could live with. Lately, that distance feels thinner.
Two recent articles (‘Sense of doom’: fear and foreboding over Iran war among London’s divided diaspora, 6 March; British-Iranians in UK report safety concerns to authorities amid Iran war, 22 March) describe parts of Finchley as “Little Tehran”. The reporting captures something real. Many of us recognise the anxiety of checking the news too often, thinking about family, and sensing distant events pressing closer.
In Finchley, the mood has shifted. Conversations pause. Words are chosen more carefully. Even familiar places carry a slight tension. But “Little Tehran” is not quite right. It is not a name I recognise from within the community. It is heard more in headlines than in conversation.
I have never thought of Finchley that way. To me, it feels closer to Finchley-abad. In Persian, “-abad” names a place made liveable through human presence.
Labels like “Little Tehran” make places legible from the outside, but they flatten what is lived. Finchley is not Tehran in miniature. It is something more fragmented: different versions of Iran, shaped by different departures and distances. Diaspora spaces are not replicas. They are translations, and in translation, things change.
Mehrdad Aref-Adib
London
