The Extraordinary Life of a Daughter of the Revolution

Void une serie d'instantanes de la vie hors de l'ordinaire dune petite fille qui a connu la revolution islamique de 1979? C'est l'histoire dune vie qui fut interrompuepar une revolution, une guerre, une violencepersonnelle et puhlique et politique, le tout suivipar une emigration forcee. C'est l'histoire d'une jeune femme sans statut au Canada. C'est aussi une histoire de survivance, d'espoir, de resistance, de reves, de passion et d'engagement One chilly evening in October 1978, I heard my grandmother's strange and disconcerting warning: Be careful! revolution will highjack the ordinary life of a nation, generation after generation. Although she lacked formal education, my grandmother was wise beyond her years. A revolution will forever change everyone's life and destiny, even those of lovely little Lily. Do not underestimate the reality. My grandmother was talking to a couple of young revolutionary relatives who were brimming with the excitement of their grandiose ideological fantasies, as were millions of other Iranian youth in those days. Though I was too little to digest or analyze the true meaning of her multilayered alarm, it is forever etched in my memory. Today, 35 years later and ten thousand kilometers away, I continue to feel the weight of her warning upon me. Somehow, I think, it will be with me so long as I am alive. At that time, the young revolutionaries did not understand the message imbedded in my grandmother's advice. However, they did realize it a few years later when one of them was jailed and executed by the revolutionary guards because she was a leftist and the other had to flee the country illegally to save her life. I, on the other hand, lived the life my grandmother had predicted on that cold evening. I lived the extraordinary life of a daughter of the revolution. I had a flourishing childhood brimming with nourishing love. I grew up surrounded by vibrant colours, perfumes and melodies, and by a loving, hopeful, cheerful, and hardworking family. It all changed in the fall of 1978 when I turned three. I was the youngest member of an educated middle-class Iranian family who lived in the heart of Tehran. I loved my mother's feminine and colourful dresses and shoes and my father's elegant tie collection. In those difficult pre-revolution days of fall 1978 and winter 1979, nobody had time to pay me any mind; the important political changes happening outside the house over-shadowed the life within. Everybody was busy either with pursuing their ideology or trying to seek shelter from the pre- and post-revolutionary storms. Overnight, I became an adult when the revolution became the most important subject of the family discussions at home. I was no longer the same spoiled, cheerful, talkative, emotional and sensitive little girl as the talk of the revolution crept into our home. In turn, I became a quiet, thoughtful, defensive, reserved and insecure child. I was a silent observer who was learning to understand the complicated political language of the adults. I tried to train myself to interpret their heavy talk as it applied to my little world. However, I was unable to develop the same ability to talk to them in their complicated political adult language. So I began to listen more and talk less. I reacted to my internal fears, insecurity and anxiety by sinking deeper into silence, crying heavily but quietly, withdrawing from socializing or playing with other kids and also not showing interest in children's games, toys or even books. I could understand that I was disappointing my parents with my sad and passive attitude but I could not help it. I remember that when my childhood mind could no longer overcome my anxiety, I would quietly crawl into my mothers arms covered in my cold sweat. My mom usually cuddled and kissed me until I fell asleep in her arms. In February 1979 the Islamic regime took control of the country and a month after its victory, mandatory hijab for Iranian women was suggested on the anniversary of International Womens Day, March 8, 1979. …

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