Editor’s Note: Vishakha N. Desai is president and CEO of Asia Society, a global educational organization.

Every day we see the pictures of protests from Iran and we wonder how it will end, and where it will go next. The most amazing thing about these protests is the strong, visible presence of women on the streets. As Roger Cohen pointed out in his recent piece, and as Christiane Amanpour said in her interview with Lesley Stahl on wOw, it’s the women who are even more defiant in taking to the streets in peaceful protest.

The amateur but powerful videos of "Neda," the woman who lay in a pool of her own blood, and the rush of men who tried to save her life, unfortunately without success, were amazing in many ways. In a country where men and women cannot hold hands in public or show any form of physical contact, it was remarkable to see men rush to help the young woman, trying to stop blood gushing out from her neck.

Equally striking were the photographs and video images of women, occasionally dressed in well-tailored jackets, with their hijabs falling far away from their foreheads, and perfectly made-up faces with carefully applied eyeliner and lipstick. It was equally striking to see many women in the traditional chador, happy with the religious nature of the state but upset nonetheless at the increased militancy of the theocracy. These are strong women, capable of throwing their hijabs off at any moment, shouting for their freedom and demanding that their voices be heard.

What a change from the first time I went to Iran in 1997! All you saw everywhere were women in black or brown loose-fitting robes, down to the ankle or just above, with scarves securely pinned around the forehead and tied tightly around the chin. Watchful eyes of older female guards followed you everywhere. At one time, my headscarf fell above my forehead, showing a little bit of my hair. I was with another older, white American woman whose scarf also was slightly loose. Since I looked a bit more like a local with my Indian features, one of the matronly female guards at a local museum almost accosted me and pushed my scarf over my forehead and shouted in Farsi, which, of course, I did not understand. So I spoke back in English, of course to no avail!

I had been back to Iran almost every year until early 2001 and was surprised to see small but significant changes – open-toe sandals with painted toenails; shorter, tightly fitted overcoats; men and women being seen together in parks, and once in a while even holding hands in secluded areas. You judged social changes by these small, public displays. In private gatherings at homes, it was a different story. I often met young women in the latest fashions, Armani suits, short dresses, fancy hairdos. But it was accepted – even expected – that women inhabited two separate worlds and, as long as you were careful, you could manage both. In late 2000, you could sense that there was a feeling of apathy setting in among the students and upper middle classes. President Khatami, who had pledged reforms, was unable to get much power or implement significant reforms.