My parents told me not to make trouble.
They said silence is safety.
That keeping your head down is the only way to survive.
But you’re not going to live forever.
And if I had kept it all in, I would’ve surely died by now—
Not in flesh, but in voice, in courage, in soul.
So I won’t apologize.
When we told him to stop, he wouldn’t.
He was persistent—like a donkey.
But even a donkey has some manner of intelligence.
He mocked, insulted, dismissed—
Not with valid critique, but with sarcasm and contempt.
He used his position not to uplift or educate,
but to belittle, humiliate, and divide.
We asked for accountability.
He gave us ego.
He could’ve reflected.
He could’ve shown grace.
Instead, he reached out to my uncle,
trying to find out who I was—
as if knowing my name would make me disappear.
But now he knows.
And now he's afraid.
Because someone stood up.
Because someone wrote it down.
Because someone said: No more.
I will never apologize for what I did.
Not now. Not ever.
Because I did what our community should’ve done a long time ago.
He thought we’d stay silent.
He thought no one would hold him accountable.
He thought we were too polite, too obedient, too small to stand tall.
But the silence he mistook for loyalty
was only patience.
And patience has limits.
From top to bottom, they all know what happened.
He thought he could speak for us.
But I spoke back.
And I won’t be quiet just because he’s uncomfortable.
My parents are afraid.
They want me to stay safe.
But I told my cousin—I’m not afraid.
I told my dad, I don’t care if he comes to Canada, knocks on our door, and kills me.
If it will lessen his boiling blood, let him.
I am no different than Majidreza Rahnavard.
I will not die whispering.
Let it be known:
I sent the letter.
Three, in fact.
And I would do it again.
Because I will not let the legacy of Iranian Ismailis
be reduced to MEK sympathizers and leftist mouthpieces.
The Shah did more for our community than any of them dare admit.
I will not let that history be trampled by men with microphones and vendettas.
If someone born into an Ismaili family is remembered
as the one who stood up
when everyone else bowed—
Then let it be me.
Comments
Post a Comment