The Frontlines
Nov 10th, 2009 by pedestrian
[from Agh Bahman]
A few days ago, I read this piece in the blog, Sayeh Roshan and shared it on Google Reader:
In every protest or demonstration, a small percentage of the protesters make up the frontlines. Every time, they come back home in tatters. Every time, some drifter’s bullet barely misses their head. They hide in strangers’ homes for hours and shake from fear of not knowing whether they will get home in one piece or whether they will be caught – and many times, they are caught. It is a great price they pay so that others can step further, can be safer, can be just a bit more comfortable; so that others can feel just a tad bit less fearful and thus not leave the scene. If people are still in the streets, if they have not disappeared, it is because of these very people on the frontline. May god protect you, even if you are in the prisons of these clueless drifters.
I wrote at the top: to Kaveh, Yashar and Kousha.
Today I heard that Yashar was arrested on 13 Aban. He is in Evin and they have no idea when he’ll be released. Kaveh has been so badly beaten that even after a few days, his left arm is still numb and he can’t move it and Kousha too was so severely attacked that one of his arms is in a cast.
Kaveh and Yashar are like my brothers, and Kousha like a cousin. My dear friends, I am so ashamed that I am not there with you so that we could have met at 3:30 and gone to Evin where you were until midnight, and where you called Yashar’s mom to tell her that her son would be released. She got very excited and made a big dinner, but there was no word of Yashar. I am so ashamed.
We met at the intersection of our front lines. He’d been only slightly injured – this time – but had changed location, again, and had to lie low. I had been a conduit for his intel. He sacrificed all hopes of normality and risked his life, while I was a mere communication relay.
But in that brief interlude, we were soldiers, friends, and lovers. Even though our bodies were far apart, out souls bonded like velcro.
Before long the call to battle came again, but as I returned to my post I stumbled, a tiny slip. My friend, my lover, my warrior reached down. He touched my heart , and in one swift movement crushed it in his fist. As he turned away his scorn gouged a jagged scar.
He left me behind, broken and useless in a pool of my own psyche. Sometimes I think I can still hear the relentless measured steps of resistance as they pace into a future blandly unaware that ‘we’ ever existed. Above it all the silence of my channel screams a deafening banshee wail.