RedWine
04-18-2006, 07:25 AM
Most Iranian exiles carry their very own private tale of a refugee's life, full of sorrow and pain, yet carefully guarded from public view. Each one of them has his unique reasons for not being with his family in Tehran, Shiraz, Esfahan, or Tabriz, living half a world away instead. And each and every one of them has his own key experience which made him or her escape to the West, empty handed but for their children, and for the tears and farewells of their loved ones who stayed behind, facing an uncertain new life abroad, in a thunderstorm of homesickness, separation, and frustrating cultural and language barriers.
Whenever Iranians meet, there will be cordial small talk, warm and empathic on the surface, yet cautious beneath, with each character's individuality disappearing behind a delicate curtain of Tarofs (polite phrases). Heartiness that does not reveal our inner selves, human interaction without any real hope of getting closer - this is a truly Iranian craft.
However, contrary to widespread presumption, I reject the idea that these traits are mere expressions of covert animosity or hypocrisy. I rather believe their origins to lie in our disoriented perception of our own identity and history, and thus of our home country and our compatriots. Indifference towards politics has never been an option for Iranian exiles - particularly not for the older generations. Each one of us has his or her firm opinions on the past and current events surrounding Iran. And we all know from painful experience, the dire repercussions that certain forms of political activity can bring about - even in exile. So we decide it's best to keep our silence on our personal history, yet we cannot do without each other - for we long for each other a lot more than we'd expect after all our negative experiences with our fellow countrymen .
Upon leaving Iran, we didn't just surrender our happiness, but also the confidence and trust we used to put in our own kind - a loss that came at no small price. The act of saying goodbye, the usual cascade of Tarofs ("oh please, you must come visit us"), avoiding, by silent mutual agreement, details such as exchanging phone numbers and addresses, leaves us with a big sigh of relief - but even more, it makes us realize our bitter loneliness.
"Who are we?"
Every Iranian has asked himself this question many, many times in his life. Sometimes, you ask yourself during an Iranian party when everybody shows off their bleached blonde hair, when even men have neatly trimmed eyebrows and their noses look like images from the illustrious history of plastic surgery, and it all seems as if we tried to get rid of as many of our people's typical phenotypic traits as possible. And sometimes, you ask yourself during the oh-so-familiar dinner at your friends' place, where people are once again more interested in your social and professional achievements than in how your really feel inside, while at the same time, inconspicuously showing off their own wealth and accomplishments. Who really are we?
When asked about our origins, we take refuge in answers like "I'm Persian, I'm from Persia", hoping to somehow evoke an association with the glory of the ancient Persian Empire. But beware of telling anybody you're Iranian! Beware of being linked to the ugly, bearded face who used to send millions of young Iranians to their death during the gulf war, in order to consolidate his Islamic Republic.
For God's sake, who are we? Where are we going find a new identity? In our ancient Persian origins? In Dariush's and Kurosh's legacy? In the brief, treacherously romantic era of Behrooz Vosooghi and Googoosh, just before the revolution? In the toupees and flare pants of those times, and in Haydeh's songs? Do we find our identity in whatever our parents and grandparents tell us about those times, because we never had a chance to witness them ourselves? Or do we find it in Islam and its Arab prophet, the Shia, the current religious rulers? Who exactly are we?
What's there to tell Westerners about Iran? The latest jokes about Ahmadinejad? Should we talk about his latest outrageous comments, bursting into desperate laughter? About our fears of the looming war? Our political prisoners? About Mrs. Kazemi - and what she must have gone through during the final minutes of her life? About the scars on our cousin's back, and how they flogged him for nothing more than selling music CDs?
What are we supposed to tell them? Should we rather talk about "Kurosh (Cyrus) the Great" and his declaration of Human Rights, 2500 years ago? About Mazdak being the world's first socialist, 1500 years ago? How Dariush completed the Suez Canal? That we had powerful empresses, yes female emperors, such as Iran-Dokht and Azarmidokht, who in fact ruled Iran all by themselves? About the Parthian earthenware our ancestors built, which appears to have been the first electric batteries in human history - at least 2000 years ago? That we had the first non-violent, monotheistic religion/philosophy? That our women used to command warships? That they held the same high offices as our men, even religious ones, such as being protectors of the fires in our fire temples? That we had guaranteed workers' rights, such as maternity leave, unemployment benefits, and free medical care? The world's first mail service?
What are we to tell them, my dear readers? That Herodot considered Persians to be barbarians for the simple reason that they "didn't even hold slaves", and common people enjoyed some of the same rights that only kings were supposed to have? Not to mention our then thriving sciences: medicine, mathematics, astronomy, philosophy. Where shall we begin, my dear compatriots? With our folk heroes? With Babak Khorramdin and his son Azar? With our women? With the world's first multi-ethnic state? The world's first empire? Where shall we begin? And first and foremost: WHY should we begin? For the sake of the painful realization that Iran no longer has anything to give to mankind that would even come close to the accomplishments of our past? Just to remind ourselves once again for what - and more important for WHOM - the Iranian people took to the streets during the revolution of 1979? To finally admit that there's almost nothing left that's genuinely Iranian, and therefore it is almost impossible for us to BE Iranian?
Who are we? For myself, dear reader, I can no longer think of anything upon which I could build any personal national identity . I tend to hole up in all those pre-revolutionary movies of Behrooz Vosooghi, Googoosh, and so on. Badly synced nostalgia in Black and White, from a time when I hadn't even been conceived - still for me, it is the only remaining fragment of a motherland that never was. I'm listening to "Vatan" ("Homeland") by Dariush in the background - and I'm coming to realize that we're stuck here, that we haven't even created a noteworthy opposition to our country's regime, no alternatives, no firm stance, and no real prospect for the future.
I'm sitting here, realizing that even if everything played out perfectly for us, no war happened, the old Mullahs took their turbans and went on a permanent vacation to Dubai or elsewhere for good, even if our youth let off a cry of joy that made the world tremble, freeing themselves from the dark shadow on their souls, and our soccer team won the world cup - even then, my dear readers, there would be so much more work to do that we would never be able to see Iran prosper again during our lifetimes. What remains for us, is to do everything in our might, so that for our children, Iran will no longer be a dream, but become reality instead.
Please, dear reader, whenever you meet a fellow Iranian, and he or she stops speaking Farsi, turning to English, German, or French instead, sheepishly avoiding eye-contact: never forget, this is not done out of animosity or contempt - it is plainly out of insecurity and anxiety. And please remember, you can take the first step by not responding to a polite "Haletun chetore" ("How are you?") with a reserved smile, but by telling the true, personal story of yourself, of how you really feel , and of what is on your mind. And you'll see that after saying goodbye, you'll have rediscovered something you once thought you had lost forever: a little bit of home.
By Shaghayegh
Whenever Iranians meet, there will be cordial small talk, warm and empathic on the surface, yet cautious beneath, with each character's individuality disappearing behind a delicate curtain of Tarofs (polite phrases). Heartiness that does not reveal our inner selves, human interaction without any real hope of getting closer - this is a truly Iranian craft.
However, contrary to widespread presumption, I reject the idea that these traits are mere expressions of covert animosity or hypocrisy. I rather believe their origins to lie in our disoriented perception of our own identity and history, and thus of our home country and our compatriots. Indifference towards politics has never been an option for Iranian exiles - particularly not for the older generations. Each one of us has his or her firm opinions on the past and current events surrounding Iran. And we all know from painful experience, the dire repercussions that certain forms of political activity can bring about - even in exile. So we decide it's best to keep our silence on our personal history, yet we cannot do without each other - for we long for each other a lot more than we'd expect after all our negative experiences with our fellow countrymen .
Upon leaving Iran, we didn't just surrender our happiness, but also the confidence and trust we used to put in our own kind - a loss that came at no small price. The act of saying goodbye, the usual cascade of Tarofs ("oh please, you must come visit us"), avoiding, by silent mutual agreement, details such as exchanging phone numbers and addresses, leaves us with a big sigh of relief - but even more, it makes us realize our bitter loneliness.
"Who are we?"
Every Iranian has asked himself this question many, many times in his life. Sometimes, you ask yourself during an Iranian party when everybody shows off their bleached blonde hair, when even men have neatly trimmed eyebrows and their noses look like images from the illustrious history of plastic surgery, and it all seems as if we tried to get rid of as many of our people's typical phenotypic traits as possible. And sometimes, you ask yourself during the oh-so-familiar dinner at your friends' place, where people are once again more interested in your social and professional achievements than in how your really feel inside, while at the same time, inconspicuously showing off their own wealth and accomplishments. Who really are we?
When asked about our origins, we take refuge in answers like "I'm Persian, I'm from Persia", hoping to somehow evoke an association with the glory of the ancient Persian Empire. But beware of telling anybody you're Iranian! Beware of being linked to the ugly, bearded face who used to send millions of young Iranians to their death during the gulf war, in order to consolidate his Islamic Republic.
For God's sake, who are we? Where are we going find a new identity? In our ancient Persian origins? In Dariush's and Kurosh's legacy? In the brief, treacherously romantic era of Behrooz Vosooghi and Googoosh, just before the revolution? In the toupees and flare pants of those times, and in Haydeh's songs? Do we find our identity in whatever our parents and grandparents tell us about those times, because we never had a chance to witness them ourselves? Or do we find it in Islam and its Arab prophet, the Shia, the current religious rulers? Who exactly are we?
What's there to tell Westerners about Iran? The latest jokes about Ahmadinejad? Should we talk about his latest outrageous comments, bursting into desperate laughter? About our fears of the looming war? Our political prisoners? About Mrs. Kazemi - and what she must have gone through during the final minutes of her life? About the scars on our cousin's back, and how they flogged him for nothing more than selling music CDs?
What are we supposed to tell them? Should we rather talk about "Kurosh (Cyrus) the Great" and his declaration of Human Rights, 2500 years ago? About Mazdak being the world's first socialist, 1500 years ago? How Dariush completed the Suez Canal? That we had powerful empresses, yes female emperors, such as Iran-Dokht and Azarmidokht, who in fact ruled Iran all by themselves? About the Parthian earthenware our ancestors built, which appears to have been the first electric batteries in human history - at least 2000 years ago? That we had the first non-violent, monotheistic religion/philosophy? That our women used to command warships? That they held the same high offices as our men, even religious ones, such as being protectors of the fires in our fire temples? That we had guaranteed workers' rights, such as maternity leave, unemployment benefits, and free medical care? The world's first mail service?
What are we to tell them, my dear readers? That Herodot considered Persians to be barbarians for the simple reason that they "didn't even hold slaves", and common people enjoyed some of the same rights that only kings were supposed to have? Not to mention our then thriving sciences: medicine, mathematics, astronomy, philosophy. Where shall we begin, my dear compatriots? With our folk heroes? With Babak Khorramdin and his son Azar? With our women? With the world's first multi-ethnic state? The world's first empire? Where shall we begin? And first and foremost: WHY should we begin? For the sake of the painful realization that Iran no longer has anything to give to mankind that would even come close to the accomplishments of our past? Just to remind ourselves once again for what - and more important for WHOM - the Iranian people took to the streets during the revolution of 1979? To finally admit that there's almost nothing left that's genuinely Iranian, and therefore it is almost impossible for us to BE Iranian?
Who are we? For myself, dear reader, I can no longer think of anything upon which I could build any personal national identity . I tend to hole up in all those pre-revolutionary movies of Behrooz Vosooghi, Googoosh, and so on. Badly synced nostalgia in Black and White, from a time when I hadn't even been conceived - still for me, it is the only remaining fragment of a motherland that never was. I'm listening to "Vatan" ("Homeland") by Dariush in the background - and I'm coming to realize that we're stuck here, that we haven't even created a noteworthy opposition to our country's regime, no alternatives, no firm stance, and no real prospect for the future.
I'm sitting here, realizing that even if everything played out perfectly for us, no war happened, the old Mullahs took their turbans and went on a permanent vacation to Dubai or elsewhere for good, even if our youth let off a cry of joy that made the world tremble, freeing themselves from the dark shadow on their souls, and our soccer team won the world cup - even then, my dear readers, there would be so much more work to do that we would never be able to see Iran prosper again during our lifetimes. What remains for us, is to do everything in our might, so that for our children, Iran will no longer be a dream, but become reality instead.
Please, dear reader, whenever you meet a fellow Iranian, and he or she stops speaking Farsi, turning to English, German, or French instead, sheepishly avoiding eye-contact: never forget, this is not done out of animosity or contempt - it is plainly out of insecurity and anxiety. And please remember, you can take the first step by not responding to a polite "Haletun chetore" ("How are you?") with a reserved smile, but by telling the true, personal story of yourself, of how you really feel , and of what is on your mind. And you'll see that after saying goodbye, you'll have rediscovered something you once thought you had lost forever: a little bit of home.
By Shaghayegh