Iranians, as you no doubt know by now, are still protesting. Yesterday, I watched footage of a young woman who had been shot in the chest; you can see other protesters trying to save her but she died. Her name is said to have been Neda, which means “Voice”. She died with her eyes open…please, God, let me LIVE that way. I hope it will be that her death was just part of the birth struggle of democracy in Iran.
I have read conflicting theories about the likelihood of these demonstrations leading to a meaningful revolt and overthrow of the current regime. There doesn’t seem to be any structure or heirarchy for the demonstrators to organize around, and yet they’re still protesting in the face of beatings and (obviously) worse.
I wonder about Neda and her family. I wonder how I would feel if someone I knew became the face of such an incident — and I wonder what it must be like to be a part of the beginning of a revolution, if, indeed, that’s what this is. Iranians around the world are in my prayers today; it must be so hard to have family and friends “back home” when you’re in another country and your “back home” is in such turmoil.
How lucky we are to be in the land of the free, and how easy it is to take that for granted.