No one will cry for us
June 18, 2001
Today I will bleed to death. At ten o'clock today, Wednesday July 25th,1988,
or 3rd of Mordad 1367, I will die. To me both calendars are correct because
I am half Iranian, half American.
I am shot in the chest and bleeding profusely, near Kermanshah. Around
me there are many wounded friends, soaked in blood. It is the first day
of the operations the Mojahedin call "Forough Javdon" and the
Islamic Republic calls "Mersad". Because of today's unrest many
more prisoners in Evin will die innocently, as well.
I am thirty-years old and from San Francisco. I used to be a very poetic
and sensitive woman; Forough, Shamlou and Nima, Cat Stevens, Rolling Stones,
Farhad, Rebels and Gol-e Yakh all on my mind now...
My mother will die soon too. She will cry to death. Our family will forever
ask why. Why would a bright student from San Francisco-Berkeley area leave
her comfortable life and go to Iraq to fight for a political cause?
I feel a tremendous pain near my rib. My friends keep telling me; hang
on, help is on its way, be patient. They will soon have to leave . We are
I will never wear a white wedding dress. My body will never bear a child.
I will never be found, and I will never see Iran again.
Tonight the villagers will come and bury us in the darkness of night
in a mass grave. There are many of us here, between twenty to thirty five.
The villagers are scared . They are human too. They pity us. But there will
be no names, no marks, no prayers. No one will cry for us.
We are supposed to be harsh and very political, another version of Islamic
fundamentalists. We are not popular.
I am transformed and brain washed. No one will cry for us.
My scarf and my necklace will be sent to my mom in the U.S. She will
be blamed for me. She will come near Kermanshah and look for me in agony
and pain. But she will never find my grave. We are unnamed soldiers of a
nation that does not acknowledge us.
For the last eight years I have not slept on a bed, bought any clothing,
have not eaten in a restaurant and have not enjoyed life. I have lost weight,
been to the hospital several times and have developed an allergy to the
desert air. My eyes burn constantly .
I have let my thoughts be occupied by hatred for the Regime, hatred for
the monarchy and hatred for consumerism. I have loved my friends who died
in prisons. I have loved my country and taken care of orphans who lost their
parents in the war with the Regime. I have idealized a leader who has many
enemies as well. I am a bleeding soldier, who has never fought before.
From tea at Embarcadero Center, fun days in Monterey and Santa Cruz to
Mojahedin camps in Iraq... I am not a blaming soul. I love children, laughter
, good food, and good times. I know the joy of skiing, swimming, and dancing.
I love my family.
Today, I will bleed to death in pride. Today, I will die here for my
In memory of Tahreh Javdon