Hossein…. Hossein…. Hossein… Babak Khorramdin… youth of the cyberspace frontiers… Hossein on hunger strike, Hossein without a kidney, Hossein sick in prison, Hossein the stubborn, Hossein crazy in love. This post has no credits brother because you are still alive and being alive negates you. You will become alive for us when you die! I have smelled this in every cell of my body. When was it? I was talking to Ahmad, and to Parisa, and I was saying, “What is this crazy guy doing with himself? Why doesn’t he break it?” I am angry Hossein. I am so angry that my blood has turned into the chemical laced blood of the Syrian children; with the odor of the bruised bodies in Egypt; the color of the broken heads in Taksim Square in Turkey. You know why you have stayed and you know well that here on the outside you have to immerse your head in the lonely struggle, shed tears, and be drenched in a human rights environment that has been dragged through the mud. You will have to hold your pen, and be a beggar for rights that are inalienable and obvious. Or you stay there, with eyes towards hopes conceived, with the key of moderation closed, without a smile, longing for the enormous locks of your land to be unlocked. My brother, I still have not become so caught up with myself and winning my bread to forget you. Now your mother is on hunger strike too and I am so full of sorrow and shame my Hossein. I don’t know where I stand in this world for you, but know that there are more than a few heartbeats that breathe your devotion with you. Do not look at the massive campsite of the muted majority; do not look at those cheering from outside the ring; or those coffee shop dwellers with a drink in their hand and their rosary on their lips. I do not speak to you but only speak of you and you know well what you are doing; even without eyes you can see and you know that you cannot be held at the level of yellow journalism and political news for us, so that we the cultural rebels, the know-it-alls, the poets, the artists and critics, what do we do with the champions, the superheroes, the fashioned martyrs and worshipped carcasses. We want you alive. We want you. When a human being is faced with you, upright individual with your virtuous determination and unmatched principles, there is no escape aside from tears.
With anger and love and tears
August 25, 2013