In the loving memory of Dariush and Parvaaneh Forouhar
I would be lying if I tell you
this was an easy post for me to write. I struggled for
days to come up with words, as I had no intention of
sounding melancholic, or bore the wits out of the
readers. This was not a “writer’s block,” as
some of us write volumes during any given day on a
variety of topics in our professional life. This was
the “block” of meaning, purpose.
In “Paradise Lost,” Milton said, “It is better
to have loved and lost that never have loved.” What
Milton didn’t know was how centuries later his verse
comes to vivid meaning when one thinks of a love of a
patriot for one’s nation. The sweetness of the love
for one’s motherland transcends the bitterness of
death due to that love. That’s what I believe Milton
meant!
Two years ago, I met my cousin for dinner, when he
told me Dariush and Parvaneh Forouhar were murdered.
Psychologists have offered a structured process to
describe a traumatic loss: denial, anger, depression,
acceptance. What they don’t know is shifting gears
in such a process is anything but rational,
understandable, explicable.
Seeing Tavana’s post this evening, brought joy to my
eyes for seeing his name because he was one of the
first friends on this board that I found after I
posted my first series of writing subsequent to my
first post sharing the grief of the untimely death of
Dariush and Parvaneh Frouhar at the hands of the goons
of islamic republic. Seeing his name made me resolute
to finish what I started to write, two years after
those pain-drenched days of November 1998.
The last twenty-one years of the history of our
country has been written with blood – very thick
layer of blood. Those who until the days before the
upheavals of 1979 were busy opining what should a good
moslem do if he sneezed between the second and third
series of the comical ritual of “namaaz,” found
themselves leaning on the power seats of one of the
oldest, most noble civilization on this planet, that
once the most powerful men and women in this world
walked on. This civilization, who had women as queens
ruling the Empire, found itself being ruled by those
who claimed women’s mental capacity is half of a
man, and whose hair radiates waves that excites men.
This old country that offered humanity, civility,
love, fraternity – this land of Gol o Bol-bol,
Shaadi o Neshaat, Love and Be Loved – found herself
governed by those with towel wrapped around their
heads instead of thoughtful ideas inside their heads.
Blood is the commodity of choice for these pathetic
murderers of islamic republic. When someone speeds, in
our sweet Paarsi, we say, “Che kha-bar-e? Mag-e sar
mi-bari?” [What’s the matter? Are you carrying a
head?] This goes back many centuries to the early
rituals of moslem murderers. When barbarians from the
arabian peninsula attacked the noble land of our
forefathers, and due to some freaky circumstances that
have baffled historians for centuries, won the battle,
much thanks to their barbarity, their methods of
ruling were assassination and murder. They would order
the murder of anyone opposing them, then would demand
the assassin to behead the poor soul and bring them
the head as a poof of the job done. Since body parts
rot quickly, the delivery had to be done with absolute
swiftness. Thus, that term came to being. Now, the
weapon of choice of islamic republic murderers is
“knife” but the level of savagery remains the
same. The knife piercing the bodies of noblemen and
women has to be brought fast to the blood-thirsty
goons of islamic republic to witness the job done.
That’s how islamic republic operates!
Two years ago, the knife of islamic republic silenced
the voices of two of Iran’s most noble children:
Dariush and Parvaneh Forouhar. But, it did not silence
the aspiration of them for democracy, liberty,
justice, and freedom. It not only did not silence, but
rejuvenated the voices of Iranians rising to the
aspiration of the Frouhars. Knives cut flesh, but
cannot cut aspirations. Knives silence individuals,
but cannot silence a nation. Knives shorten lives, but
prolong resolve of the nation. Those who lowered their
knives in the hearts of the Frouhars saw the spill of
their blood writing on the soil of our nation: Victory
Will Be Ours! The enemies of our country unjustly
ruling Iran for two decades are doomed! That’s what
that blood said! And that’s what the murderers of
islamic republic should take notice of!
Tavana said a long time ago, many of us felt ashamed
that we did not do the job that needed to be done to
stop the murderers of islamic republic to come to
power twenty-one years ago. As a result, we avoided
each other, and we did not come together, as we felt
ashamed that we let our country down. But, gradually,
starting from the day that the Frouhars were slain,
Iranians everywhere, inside and outside Iran, slowly
came together to share their grief of what happened
during last two decades. Slowly we opened up to each
other. Gradually we began to talk. Then, swiftly we
declared what had to be said. That, we are proud
people. We are from the majestic land of Iran. We are
the noble children of our Iranian forefathers and
grand-mothers who were the most civilized people on
this plant. We are united with the civilized world as
we contributed much to the world’s civilization. We
are magnificent people, glorious country. We love
every single squared inch of our motherland.
We have been keeping our heads low, because we were
ashamed of witnessing what happened to our country,
and being powerless as on a transient basis, the
forces of darkness proved to be much more savage for
the nobility of Iranians to overshadow. We were
disgusted by seeing our majestic country becoming the
joke topic for the comedians worldwide. We saw
denigration of Iran, and we felt the pain of
witnessing it in our hearts. We saw our mighty nation
turning to rubbles by her enemy -- a savage, murderous
camel-milk drinking, soosmaarkhor arab named saddam
houssein.
We did not mourn the death of Frouhars, but celebrated
the beginning of the end of this stinking murderous
machine of islamic republic. Iranians do not mourn
death, but celebrate life! Pathetic islamists, who
value their filthy religion over the noble civility of
being an Iranian, celebrate death. We celebrate life.
We celebrated that Frouhars with their lives told us,
“Wake up! Stand up to these murderers! You are
Iranians. You have nothing in common with these
savages!” And, people responded, and eight months
later rose to face the bare guns of these pathetic,
shameless murderers in July 1999.
islamic republic murderers are clinging for the air as
these are the last gasps of this murderous, repugnant,
savage regime. We are witnessing people saying
“Paayandeh Iran,” no longer in their hearts, but
on their lips. The days that every night people go to
their rooftops in Iran and yell, “Paayandeh Iran”
is not that far away.
I found many friends on this board. I was not
surprised that there are so many noble Iranians, as
the number of my friend on this board attest to, but
delighted to see those days that Iranians were in
retreat are over. It makes my heart burst in joy to
see so many Iranians day in, day out yell, “I am
Iranian. I am a proud Iranian. I am from the most
civilized corner of the world. And, I am fighting to
bring back dignity to my motherland!”
I salute to the memory of Dariush and Parvaneh
Forouhar. I salute to the memory of every Iranian who
died during the past twenty-one years for Iran – a
teenager raped, tortured, and murdered in the
slaughter houses of islamic republic, or a soldier
dropping his body underneath advancing tanks of iraqi
murderers, alike. I salute my compatriots for their
dignity and nobility of making Iran and Iranians
proud. I salute my good fortune of being born an
Iranian. I salute my heritage, traditions, and
civilization, which have made me who I am: a proud
Iranian!
