I Don’t Know Much

I have started and stopped and erased about 10 different versions of this in the past few days. I feel like I should say something. I have so much to say, but it’s just not coming out. Not coherently anyway.

The situation in Iran is almost paralyzing for me. It’s huge and scary and makes me proud and terrified all at the same time. I will not pretend to have a wealth of knowledge on the politics of what’s going on. Because I absolutely don’t. I first heard about it when I singed in to Twitter and saw the hashtags #IranElection #CNNFail. I was snuggling a baby this weekend, taking pictures and eating fair food, not watching the news. I have a very limited knowledge of what’s happening. I’m keeping up through Twitter and various blogs (as traditional media seems to be both failing and flailing to keep up).

What I know about the politics of what’s going on is not much. (Although, this article is extremely helpful) But I do know that when I look at these pictures I see my cousins, my family that is too far from me. I know that when I see pictures like this one, and Twitter reschedules its maintenance, and one of my favorite authors goes green and changes his timezone on Twitter to support Iran my heart swells because for once Iran is being seen not just as a member of the Axis of Evil, but for the individual, loving, diverse, beautiful people that make up that country and people all around the world are supporting them. I know that suddenly Shiraz seems much closer to Tehran than I ever thought before. I know that I’m embarrassed when I go to CNN and the first thing that I see are the Jonas Brothers and a story about allergies. I know that as I follow (and that’s all I really can do, follow) what’s happening I become overwhelmed, because my family, my heart is so far away and it’s been six long years since I’ve seen them. Six years since I learned that all it would take for me to know, really know that this was my family was to step off a plane and into their arms. Six years since I sat in the house my father grew up in and had family member after extended family member march through the doors with food and gifts and hugs and love as though I’d always been there, as though it wasn’t the first time we were meeting. Six years since I held my baby cousin in my arms and tearfully said goodbye to a family I’d just met and left a piece of my heart in Shiraz.

I want to talk about the role social media is playing, given traditional media dropped the fraking ball. I want to talk about what’s right and wrong and just ridiculous and unbelievable. I want to talk about Ahmadinejad getting the hell out of dodge and into Russia. But every time I try and and write something about those topics I look over and I see this picture


and I can’t focus and I can’t think of anything but my family. I don’t know much about the election, but I do know that I’m proud to be able to call myself an Iranian and I’m proud of every single person standing up for themselves and I’m heartsick that my family is so far away.

tora dust midaram


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