This week has felt unreal. Israel strikes Iran; Iran fires back. For Iranian immigrants scattered across the globe, we cling to our memories and pray for families far away. We lean on each other, sharing what words cannot heal. Still, we declare: #IamIran, a flame of homeland that refuses to die.
For many of us, this new land is home, initially not by choice, but as a refuge from the Islamic Republic, which we long to see overthrown.
We have dreamed of the day the Islamic Republic would be held accountable for its atrocities, for its injustice, for stealing what belongs to our people, for killing the innocent, for pushing Iran into darkness and despair, for the painful separations between loved ones. Some wounds run deeper than others.
But today, we all wrestle with fear, with the worry that Iran may slip into becoming another forgotten battlefield, another Afghanistan, Syria, Iraq.
Iran’s roots run deep,
Its civilization dates back over 7,000 years.
Yet, the Islamic Republic is young, only 46 years old.
The Islamic Republic is not Iran.
Iran is the land of Rumi, who taught us:
“Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.”
Iran has given the world mathematicians, engineers, physicians, and minds that have changed and shaped civilizations.
Now, as more than 10 million residents are ordered to evacuate Tehran at once, an impossible demand, I scream inside.
#IamTehran
#IamIran
Do not destroy my city.
This is where families live,
Mothers, fathers, children, sisters, brothers.
This is where my dreams live.
I pray for the innocent,
caught in a war they never chose.
Iranians never sought conflict with Israel.
Iranians yearn for peace.
Not long ago, they flooded the streets, their voices loud:
“Not Gaza, Not Lebanon, My Life Only for Iran.”
Iranians rose in 2009 during the Green Movement, fighting for democracy.
In 2019, protests erupted against soaring inflation and funding of terrorism.
In 2022, the Mahsa Amini protests sparked calls for women’s rights and equality, with chants of “women, life, freedom.”
Thousands of protesters were killed and tortured.
Through it all, the world looked away.
The brave protesters who dared to speak against the Islamic Republic still sit behind bars, prisoners of the very regime they challenged.
As bombs threaten Tehran, the same freedom fighters remain trapped.
As I hear commentators say, the future is bright, the Islamic Republic is collapsing, and the people of Iran are being freed and redeemed.
I struggle to believe this is real,
I know that through all of this, lives have been lost and more will be lost.
Through it all,
I hold my breath,
I hold tight to the soul of Iran.
and again, I hold my breath.
I refuse to lose hope.
Because no matter what,
#IamIran.
Iran, the land of the ancient,
The unbreakable,
The resilience,
I hope for a brighter tomorrow for Iran.
Because hope is not a feeling.
It is a decision.
And I choose it as I see missiles rise and jets fly over my childhood home.
I choose it even now because Iran carries a history that defies destruction.