A relatively recent afternoon, I
heard a radio broadcaster announce that 69 Iranians died in an intentional
bombing, killing initiative. Seemingly
often this horrific news spreads with a tinge of indifference in
parts of our world. Normally it would
take the metaphorical route of going in one ear and out the other, not this
time. At the moment I was behind my work
desk, but I straightened my back and shifted my eyes. I thought of READING LOLITA IN TEHRAN.
The author, Azar Nafisi’s, summation of
this barbaric behavior, well, is perfect:
“I cannot remember the distance
between the phone call and my presence, almost an hour later, at the entrance
of the university. There was a traffic
jam. Bijan and I got out of the taxi in
the vicinity of the university and started to walk. For some reason, after a while, as if pushed
by some invisible source of energy, our pace quickened into a run. A huge crowd of mourners had gathered,
blocking the streets that led to the university. There were reports of a fight having broken
out between the members of the Mujahideen, a radical religious group that
claimed to be Taleghani’s spiritual and political heir, and to those belonging
what was loosely called the Hizbollah, Party of Allah, mainly composed of
fanatics and viglantes determined to implement the laws of God on earth. The fight was over who should have the honor
of carrying Taleghani’s body. Many were
crying, beating their chests and their heads, calling out: “Today is the day of mourning! Taleghani has gone to heavan today.”
Over the next two decades, this particular chant would be
used for many others, a symptom of the symbiosis between the revolution’s
founders and death. This was the first
time I experienced the desperate, orgiastic pleasure of this form of public
mourning: it was the one place where people mingled and touched bodies and
shared emotions without restraint or guilt.
There was a wild, sexually flavored frenzy in the air. Later, when I saw a slogan by Khomeini saying
that the Islamic Republic survives through its mourning ceremonies, I could
testify to its truth.”
I sketched an obvious parallel and
the remaining newscast, mute. I shifted
my eyes again, and again.
A population and a single occasion
for them to freely express themselves? I
asked myself and shook my head.
By the way, before bedtime last
night I picked up READING LOLITA IN TEHRAN by Nafisi because so far, I don’t
think I like this new fiction piece. But
now I’ve got to finish it! Oh, to be
hooked on books…!
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