Sara says Belgium is colorful; you see all sorts of shades, out in the open. Nothing is behind a wall. Nothing is hidden. She says that’s what she likes about Europe because unlike Iran, nothing is gray, nothing is black. She says in Iran, the culture is built within walls, the people are veiled, the soldiers watching them like Big Brother. I want to wave a magic wand, color the sky she lives under, and then free the birds. I want to keep Sara and H right here, with us, away from dust and dirt, away from Big Brother’s eyes. I want to unchain so many things.
The idealists lost their battle hoping to do exactly that. Not with a magic wand of course, but with whatever force they had. While the rest of us flew away, escaping the blood and shame, they stayed, only to be buried in anonymous territories, bereft of grave stones.
And now, we sit comfortably, with our American and European flags, wondering when things will change. We know the pain, we’ve heard the stories, but we too failed. We failed and now, together as a family after 12 years, we can only talk about it.