To Be Iranian in Exile

To be Iranian in exile is to wake at dawn to news of gallows and executions, then sit at your desk an hour later wearing the mask of "everything is fine." It is to sit silently through ordinary conversations and plans for office celebrations while your hands design memorials for the young people of your homeland, your voice trembles as you comfort a grieving mother, and your eyes search every vague statement from politicians for some glimmer of Iran's fate. It means even joy is touched by pain. You watch your own child safe, healthy, and laughing, and suddenly your throat tightens for the children who never knew safety, the young who were denied their lives, and the mothers and fathers carrying a grief beyond what any human being should have to endure. Exile is life in a parallel world: suspended between past and future, living through the cold frame of a phone, far from the present and farther still from the soil where your heart remains. Yet this suffering is also an honor and a calling. We endure because we are the children of Iran. To burn and still remain standing is the least tribute we can offer those who gave their lives for freedom, and the price we pay for the dawn of our homeland. Being Iranian, and remaining Iranian, is not free. Some may choose forgetting, or another identity. But those of us who have accepted the cost of this love will stand until the end of this long, dark night. Long live Iran. Javid Shah.