Farhad Ahi – Toronto
Dear Pooyan,
In these chaotic days, when each morning brings more devastating news from home, it’s hard to speak of hope, let alone imagine the future. I don’t know what will have happened by the time you read this. Lately, our reality shifts by the hour. Still, I want to write to you from the far side of the planet, my heart rooted in my homeland, while my body is caught in a foreign land.
I can’t bring myself to enjoy the clean air, the rule of law, the safety and calm of this place—not while I wake up every day with dread, unable to avoid the news. These smartphones, for all their convenience, carry one brutal flaw: they don’t let you not know. And believe me, sometimes not knowing is a blessing. Especially in times when every headline breaks your heart. As Abbas Maroufi once wrote: “Why is it that every wind, from every direction, shakes the foundations of our being?”
On one hand, I feel the sorrow of those still in Iran with every cell of my body. On the other hand, I pass by loud, antagonistic expats with forced smiles—people who are sometimes even more hostile than those inside the country. A friend once said, “Pity those who are cheered on by such shallow minds.” I thought to myself: if they weren’t ignorant, they wouldn’t be fans to begin with. You don’t expect wisdom from those who shout for the sake of shouting. And no, it has nothing to do with degrees or diplomas. Just in the last few years, we’ve seen countless vacuous voices fill screens—parading as “doctors” or “experts”—offering delusional analyses, yet utterly incapable of grasping the sickness at the heart of those in power. The events of this past month have only reinforced that truth.
Even here, real dialogue has become nearly impossible. Everyone, regardless of knowledge or understanding, sees themselves as the sole voice of reason, and dismisses others as fools, traitors, or sellouts. But I believe the blame for 46 years of chaos lies across the board: with the authoritarian rulers who have taken an entire nation hostage, with the so-called opposition inside the country who, until recently, didn’t even dare step out from under the regime’s umbrella, and perhaps most dangerously, with those abroad who hijack every domestic movement the moment it gains momentum, demanding a spotlight before proving their solidarity.
Their self-interest has derailed our most promising uprisings, leaving us to ask: must we always trade one disaster for another? Must our hopes become stepping stones for empty claimants whose only talent is pounding their foreheads against the Wailing Wall of history—right in the middle of the most humane and grassroots movement we’ve seen in half a century?
I ache for us. These days more than ever. We did not deserve this much suffering. The sliver of hope I cling to is this: that one day, the world will come to know us not for our wars or weapons, but for our art, our hospitality, our food, our carpets, our poetry, our cinema, our theatre, our literature, our science—and above all, our generosity of spirit. Even if three-quarters of our land is desert, let them see its beauty—not its hidden nuclear stockpiles. Let our seas be full of fish and pearls, not mines and warships. Let our cities host music festivals, not military parades or funerals on flatbeds. Let our villages be filled with eco-lodges instead of army bases. Let tourists be welcomed, not scared away.
Let’s restore our heritage sites—not carve our names into them. Let live again. Let our city walls be covered in beautiful murals, not hollow war slogans. Let us walk on no nation’s flag. Instead of global eulogies and religious rituals, let’s host international festivals of music, film, and theatre. Let us once again become the stage for global cultural and sporting events. Let us co-produce films, export our deep-rooted culture, and welcome international brands without having to settle for knock-offs and second-rate goods.
But most of all, let’s learn to love one another again. Let’s accept that we won’t all agree—and that’s okay. Our ideas and expectations may differ, but respect is still possible. Let every political faction have a seat at the table. Let the press be free, and say farewell to state-controlled “one-voice” narratives. Let us get used to hearing opposing views. Let us remember we’re not the only smart ones in the room. Others may do better—and we should let them. Let the qualified lead. Let everyone participate. Let’s stop erasing each other. What we’re reaping today is the result of fifty years of silencing dissent.
And one more thing: salvation lies in moving forward, not going back. If the past were worth returning to, it would not have crumbled. The future speaks a different language. Let’s choose life. Let’s stop wishing death upon our opponents. Anyone can seek revenge—but forgiveness? That’s the work of artists.
Let’s craft the future like artists.
Aug 23rd 2025
