Viva Freedom!

They came. Thugs dressed in cloaks, in all their glory. And then they killed hundreds of thousands of our fathers. Fathers who were visionaries, change makers, civil servants and patriots. A single shot piercing their hearts, their eyes covered. We were stunned. Then fear set in. And then slowly we became numb. They closed our schools, sent our mothers home from work, told us what to wear, what to eat or drink, what to read and listen to. They didn’t even have to tell us what to say, we were shocked into silence. Then they picked a war with a neighbor, and we lost more and more loved ones. Some say a million.

Life went on, in a sea of dark colored uniforms, and among men that had not shaved or showered for weeks. Somewhere along the way, what to wear, what to read, and having fun, took on much more meaning than it really deserved. And we began living our lives in a clandestine manner. Literature, films, and music, the ones that mattered anyways, were now contraband, and so we all became expert smugglers. VCRs, copies of Rambo, Michael Jackson’s Thriller, E.T., Vogue, and all the Classics would move with much secrecy and hush hush from backpack to backpack and neighbor to neighbor. Simple birthday parties transformed into illegal underground meetings. We were always conscious of the Thugs breaking through our doors, catching us red handed in the most heinous of acts: bare-headed and listening to the music of George Michael. And the Thugs came as expected. Took our friends and cousins, from weddings and birthday parties. Whipped them. One hundred times each. Some forever lost sense in their legs. All were left forever bruised and terrified. But we still partied. The thrill of getting caught made those parties forever The Best. Never again did I enjoy a party as much as I did when I lived among the Thugs.

We would count the years in disbelief. First it was Ten years that the Thugs had taken over. And then Twenty and Thirty. No one could have believed how we were hijacked and robbed of our lovely culture, our home, our good name, our promising youth, the welfare of our grandparents, our memories, our most basic rights, our confidence, our potential…

Millions of us left to start anew, but forever leaving behind a big piece of our heart.
Many of us stayed, out of choice or lack thereof. We all hoped for a better tomorrow.

This past week, the possibility of a better tomorrow has become more and more real. My heart is heavy with anxiety and pride for the brave men and women who are putting their dear lives on the line for a better tomorrow.

To those who ask “Do Iranians want change?”, I say what human being wouldn’t want the freedom to nurture their mind and soul as they wish, to fall in love, to have security, to pray to their god as they see fit, to get uncensored and undoctored views of history and world news, so they can decide for themselves what they may, to dress themselves or visit their friends or read a book or take a walk down the street without the fear of being whipped or harassed by the morality police, to make a day’s worth of mundane decisions solely based on what they believe to be right – so long as they don’t hurt another….

I pray that all the dear lives that have been cut short by the Thugs, this week and over the past thirty years, have not been lost in vain. I hope that their names will be forever memorialized in history as brave souls that fought for freedom and brought about change.