A Harrowing Journey

 

A few days ago, I connected with a friend who is a distinguished scientific researcher at a top American university. She is an Iranian who has lived here for a long time. But recently, she did something incredibly brave: she traveled back to her embattled native country to help care for her mother and sister, who were both seriously ill. The timing couldn’t have been worse. She had to miss her teenage son’s birthday, dropping everything here because her family in Iran desperately needed her.

Shortly after this war started last winter, the Iranian leaders shut down internet access. For days at her home here in the US, all my friend could do was worry in the dark. By the time the connection was partly restored, her mother and sister were struggling so much that she felt she must make the trip to be with them.

She packed her bags and took a long, exhausting, and indirect journey, involving a third country, to reach her war-torn homeland – and later, remarkably, returned to America. I don’t know how she did it. But she has asked me for a favor: Be my voice, she said.

Now I need to tell you that when this woman writes about her science research, I have no idea what she’s writing about, and I can barely pronounce half the words. But when it comes to life issues, she is one of the most eloquent writers of English I know. I feel a little unqualified to fulfill her request but will try.

She told me that the trip taught her a huge lesson: ordinary Iranians still trust each other to find their way, despite great differences in their political views. As soon as she arrived in Iran, she saw firsthand how the "Women, Life, Freedom" movement and quiet, everyday acts of protest have changed the country. Both women and men are changing how they dress and live, simply trying to hold onto their dignity. She was amazed by their grit as they struggled to keep their spirits up.

But she also saw through their brave smiles to the deep worry underneath. As the bombs fall and the destruction and death toll rise, their hope is almost gone. They have seen Iran called the cradle of civilization in history books, but some in the modern world see Iranians as terrorists. Many of the country’s 92 million residents, my friend observes, feel caught between a harsh government at home and greedy superpowers abroad. And what breaks her heart the most is what she calls the quiet indifference of the rest of the world to the human suffering the war has caused.

And the war has produced way more than human casualties. Persia, Iran’s previous name, was once a great empire with a rich culture dating back thousands of years. How many of the remaining ancient symbols of it have been damaged or destroyed in just a few months’ time, and how many more will suffer the same fate?

My friend is reminded of a message from a famous poem written by Saadi Shirazi back in 13th-century Persia. Its truth, she says, is as real today as it was then: Human beings are like parts of one body. created from the same essence. When one part is hurt and in pain, the other parts cannot rest.

And, especially these days, should not.