iran story

08.12.05

For the final exam in my "History Of The Modern Middle East" class at NYU, I had to write a detailed essay explaining why the Ayatollah Khomeini was good for Iran- a painful, nearly impossible task for someone whose family was completely turned upside down by Khomeini and the Iranian Revolution of 1979. I remember as a child always being told never to wish death upon anyone.... well, expect for Khomeini of course. For those unfamiliar with Iran's history, before there was Khomeini and radical Islam and headscarves and oppression, there was the Shah- the King Of Iran. Although he has been severely criticized for denying many political freedoms, under the Shah there was little promotion of radical Islam, women had rights, and Iran was basically heading towards becoming a fully Westernized society. At the time, my grandfather was the head of a major corporation that manufactured vegetable oil, soap, detergent, the basic necessities. Life was all sweetness and light for my family back then; they lived like Kings- my mom and her siblings were all educated abroad, they owned houses on the Caspian Sea, in Tehran, in New York. My grandma and my mom and her sister had their dresses custom made in Paris. Well, you get it. Life was dreamy.

While Khomeini's return to Iran and the start of the revolution concerned my family, they didn't have any political ties to the Shah (my grandfather was adamantly against involving himself in politics) so they saw no signs of danger. Until July 1979. On the way to work, my grandfather and his driver were shot- the driver in the stomach, my grandfather in the arm. Had the bullet struck one millimeter to left, my grandfather would've been dead. To this day, parts of the bullet remain in his arm. It was the first and final wake-up call. My family gathered what they could and fled Iran, some through Pakistan, some via flights out to New York. I don't think any one member of my family left Iran thinking they would never return, but that's what happened. The houses, clothes, factories, offices, everything single thing that my family owned was left behind, confiscated by the new government. All they had was their house in New York, where we lived- 14 of us- for nearly three years. It blows my mind to think that I was born in the midst of such chaos. Had there not been a revolution I might still be living in Iran.

So these are some photos I found of my grandma from Iran. Splitting image of Gina Lollobrigida, dontcha think?

I'll be updating my diary a lot this week, I promise.

Sheila

Posted by Sheila at 10:18 AM