A Month Later (A Self-reflection)
It's been more than a month since the widespread demonstrations in Iran, which resulted in the mass murder of thousands of people. Life hasn't been the same since then. Every massive protest in Iran always unlocks the gate to a new era for social interactions, collective practices, and identity crises. This is the first time I've gone through the procedure not as an attending, active associate of the movement, but as an external observer, who is stretching to not be perceived as a passive, impotent member during a substantial period. Theretofore, the more I try to understand, the less I can make sense out of everything.
Living in diaspora brings its own bias when you want to comprehend a conflict within the borders of the home country. I haven't visited Iran since March 2024, and consequently, my opinions aren’t firsthand, authentic, or calculated enough. They're an extreme blend of my own principles, observations from friends in Iran, and the content I consume from an already subjective media (thanks to algorithms). I recall chatting with my Russian friend, who had lived in the UK for almost a decade, about Sean Baker's "Anora". "When people live in a place, their presumption of that place will be the last impression they have from it", he said. I assume that's what I've been experiencing the most for the last 30 days. My thoughts aren't as clear as I want, and even when I discuss them in Farsi, I feel like I'm not actually speaking in my own language. I don't feel comfortable speaking Farsi anymore, as I'm not confident enough to talk about my opinion about the circumstances in Iran. After watching the monstrosity of the regime's actions in the last couple of weeks, from opening fire on defenseless civilians to butchering the children, those innocent beings, it's terrifying how we can experience a tragedy like this in real time and keep going like everything is the same, and not thousands lying dead on the floors of hospitals.
I forgot how to sleep at night. Usually, I go to bed around 12-1 am after checking the news. I wake up a couple of times, checking the news again. I picked up this habit during the 12-day war and haven't forgotten it since then. My body got more fragile, and mentally, it's challenging to maintain any sort of peace of mind. The pleasure is far-reaching, and the happiness isn't eternal. Even though I'm still living my "normal" life thousands of kilometers away from Iran, I feel a deeper grief inside me, something that I never felt before, something that I don't think I can find a cure for.
I was never the most optimistic person in the room, but recent events made me even more paranoid. The fear of not hearing again from family or friends after waking up has been a constant feeling. After those two weeks of total blockage, I started talking to my friends again. I don't feel like I'm talking to the same people I used to know anymore. The despair, outrage, and trauma are significantly transparent and justified. During every conversation, I'm afraid of mentioning something that might annoy them or my opinion getting aggressively rejected by them. The society is at its most polarized, and there's almost no grey area to stand on. I can discern the anger in their tone. The ticking bomb echoes from their voice, and I can do nothing but absorb this bitterness. An anger that is more justified than ever. An anger that grows from the grief that we all feel.
I don't know what will come next, and I don't think I have any power to change it. Unfortunately, the future for my country, and for my people, is in the hands of those who care about it less than anyone. Who knows what will happen in the span of the next 30 days when I'm tapping on my keyboard again. By then, I'll try to reflect the struggle, the tragedy, as best I can due to my responsibility as an Iranian. A forever Iranian.