Hope for Lighter Days
By Ayda Safaei
Shabe-yalda is an ancient Iranian holiday on winter solstice where family and friends spend the longest night of the year together. It’s a festive and joyful night of music, dancing, and feasting: dinner, sweets, and fruits — in particular pomegranates and watermelons which represent the color of the sun at dawn. My favorite part is asking a question and hearing my fortune through my grandmother reciting poetry. Shabe-yalda (the night of light or birth) symbolizes more than the start of winter. It’s the moment when the days start getting longer, and the nights shorter, less dark. It represents light overpowering the dark. It represents hope.
As shabe-yalda approaches on December 21st, I know the weeks and months to follow will bring lighter days, but I’m having a hard time seeing the light through the cloud of fog.
It’s felt like a long night ever since the death of a Kurdish Iranian woman, Zhina Mahsa Amini, on September 16, 2022, in the custody of Iran’s “morality police.” Her death represented all the lives lost in the last 43 years. It represented the daily acts of oppression and injustice inflicted by the Islamic Republic of Iran. And, it has become personal for many Iranians — including me — who have lost family members, who were forced to leave their homes, who have endured years of trauma, and who have been grieving due to the murderous actions of this regime.
I’ve had a mix of emotions for the last three months. Initially, although I felt overwhelmed, angry, and triggered by Amini’s death, I was also numb, and the tears wouldn’t come out, even as I marched in Westwood alongside hundreds of others like me. My body was trying to keep my emotions at bay as a coping mechanism. A few days later, I felt electric currents run down my arms when I caught a glimpse of thousands of protesters chanting “Mahsa Amini!” at the Sherman Oaks Galleria. Finally, the tears were released, but they haven’t been constant.
For the last three months, I’ve had pride-filled goosebumps seeing women remove their hijabs and cut their hair across Iranian society, but also heart stopping moments watching gruesome videos of security forces shoot protesters. Instagram has become a portal that transports me to the horrors and hopes of this uprising. Photos of angelic children that we haven’t been able to save makes me cry hysterically and listening to a 16-year-old Iranian video blogger, Sarina Esmailzadeh, talk about her dreams and wishes for freedom makes my heart ache. The rush of endorphins has slipped through occasionally when an artist, celebrity, brand, or publication speaks up for my people. From Angelina Jolie to Oprah, Amal Clooney to Roger Waters, Harry Styles to Chris Martin and Coldplay, and Gucci to Vogue. I’m not used to seeing anyone stand up for us. But, the feelings of helplessness and despair have been constant, although their intensity lessened a tiny bit when I yelled “Women, Life, Freedom,” a Kurdish slogan “Jin, Jiyan, Azadî” through a bullhorn among thousands of protesters marching to Los Angeles City Hall. From the Kurdish city of Saqqez to Sidney, Lisbon to Los Angeles, and Tehran to Tokyo, these chants for justice have turned into demands for freedom, human rights, and an end to the Islamic Republic regime.
But sadly, these demands have been met with tactics to silence us through fear, violence, and executions — tactics of oppression and repression to silence us for another 43 years. As I write this, 18,424 individuals have been arrested, at least 493 people — including children — have been killed, and two protesters — Mohsen Shekari and Majidreza Rahnavard — have been hanged. These are not just numbers or names; these are individuals with families and dreams of freedoms that we take for granted. My heart is heavy. And, I’m outraged, angered, and saddened. As much as I hate admitting this, these are the hardest days to see even a crescent of hope.
But we owe it to those we’ve lost to continue saying their names, sharing their stories, and continuing their legacy. As dark as these days are, this is the biggest resistance movement since the 1979 Iranian Revolution. And, despite the regime’s attempts to silence us, the people of Iran are still protesting every single day.
Maybe this time is different. Maybe the long night isn’t the last three months, but the last 43 years. Maybe our refusal to stay silent is the light. And maybe, all our voices coming together is the moment of yalda, when the light overpowers the dark.
