On war, revolution, and the lyric as a tool for survival.
Originally Published: June 15, 2026
I was born in June 1983, during two wars. The first was waged against Iran by Saddam Hussein and his allies. It lasted eight years and claimed at least one million lives on both sides. On our kitchen table, rationed bread sat next to a small radio that blasted rallying cries all day: “The army of the Twelfth Imām, get ready, get ready / For a relentless battle, get ready, get ready.” These were the refrains that invaded my three-year-old ears.
That war ended in 1988 when Ayatollah Khomeini was finally forced to drink “the chalice of poison” and accept a ceasefire.
The other war was waged by the Islamic Republic against its own people. The weapons were firing squads and gallows; the battlefields were prisons, universities, and the streets. This war claimed thousands of lives and purged Iran of its most brilliant poets and intellectuals, forcing them underground or into exile.