Enduring winter: Iranian exiles in London
Mass protest in Iran
I have been in London for six months and it is still winter. If I were home, spring would come before my shoulders tire under heavy clothes. I’d smell the blossoms perishing under spring rain, the sun and warmth would creep in before the summer heat burns my skin. The chill of autumn would prepare me for an icy winter. Walking in a damp cold morning, on my way to university, I think to myself, “Why I am I here?!!”
The onslaught of thoughts hits me as images of my home, Iran, overwhelm me.
Pictures of a beautiful wasteland, in which nothing grows but vanity. Where the most ineligible rule the most capable. In which tables are empty as mines are full of oil and youth is unafraid of being shot in the street because life is more frightening than death.
A few months ago, I was stifled in the name of compliance, my colleagues were sacked due to censorship and my university professor resigned. In the wake of the post-election unrest; I , like many other Iranian youths, decided to go into self-imposed exile.
Memories of home come to life for me: running from the regime militia during a street protest….
Access to the internet was limited and we couldn’t trust anyone. The only place where everything was clear was the streets of Tehran.
Now here I am, like other Iranian students in exile, glued to the web, constantly browsing for any news that comes out about my country.
Remembering how Iranian freedom campaign groups outside Iran seemed so vain to me, I now join every relevant group from ‘Champagne of freedom for Iran’ to the Facebook group ‘I bet I can find 1, 000, 000 people who dislike Mahmoud Ahmadinejad!‘
I attend every conference about Iran’s affairs, even the ones organized by opposition groups that I might not support.
And we are all there, Iranian students, asking each other, “When are you going home?”
Almost everyone – even the ones who have been here long enough to finish their education and start a job – admit that their suitcases are still open in a corner of the room. That they are waiting for a glimpse of improvement in the situation in Iran to jump on the next flight home.
We try to keep our spirits high and encourage each other to cope with the situation here and work to change the situation in our country. We sing a song by the Iranian singer, Sivash Ghomeishi. It goes like this:
“Hang on mate, tomorrow is in our hands
Hang on mate, we are in this together
Hang on mate, we are almost there….”
I have been in London for six months and my family say that during all that time, the situation has gotten worse in Iran.
As I share my concerns with my family over the phone, our conversation stretchs from the bankruptcy of the Iranian central bank – that may prompt massive inflation – to how much my mother is worried every time my younger brother leaves the house.
“I am so relieved that you are out there, safe and sound having the opportunity to build your life, ” she says.
“Yes, I am lucky I suppose,” I say, trying to hide homesickness in the tone of my voice. “But I will be back next month, even for a week, I really miss you, I miss every little thing that I didn’t notice when I was there.”
“We miss you too, but it is not safe. Let’s see what tomorrow will bring, it might get better as it can’t get worse, but don’t come back now,” she says, with a smile on her lips and tears on her eyes.
The First Pint is following the efforts of Iranian students in London to protest against the current regime and effect change in their country. You can see our previous reports here and here.
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