Iranians Became One Body: Saadi in the Streets and Exile Today
S. Rouzbeh
۱۴۰۴/۱۱/۰۶

S. Rouzbeh reflects on how Iranians have lived Saadi’s poetry in the streets, prisons and exile: turning grief into solidarity, resisting normalisation and rallying around Iran, freedom and the national Lion and Sun flag, while preserving the right to choose.

S. Rouzbeh — After the killings, the severing of communications and the lack of news, these questions arise with urgency:

How can society avoid falling apart? How can grief be turned into mutual support rather than isolation and numbness? How can differences be managed so that the regime cannot feed on divisions? And, most importantly, how can the movement maintain its momentum and defeat normalisation, so that freedom and Iran can reach their destination?

This article begins with a proposition: Iranians have lived Saadi’s poem in practice. Not in libraries or classrooms, but in the streets, prisons and exile. In the days when the government wanted to separate people from one another, Iranians understood more than ever that if they were not “one body”, each limb would be broken off separately, and then the rest would be made to “settle down”; a forced settling, a humiliating settling, a settling into forgetfulness.

The children of Adam are the limbs of one body,

For in creation they are made of one essence.

This is not just poetry; it describes a reality: Iran today is a wounded body. A wound whose pain does not remain in one place. Every bullet, every arrest, every disappearance, every home plunged into mourning sends its shockwaves to everyone. And it is precisely here that people showed that Saadi’s poem is not a claim but a way of living and resisting:

When time brings pain to one limb,

The other limbs can find no rest.

The government wanted calm to return. It wanted society to go back to normal, as though no blood had been shed, as though families were not left without news, as though young people were not in prison. But society, both inside and outside the country, refused to settle. This “refusal to settle” was not only grief and anger; it became action. It became networks of assistance, testimony, follow-up, raising voices and support.

Inside the country, despite threats and repression, people showed that they would not leave one another alone. Bereaved families were not left alone; names remained alive in neighbourhoods and networks; the pursuit of justice continued even in silence; and even when the streets became too costly, other forms of protest and civil disobedience took shape in different places. This means the body is still alive. Its blood is still flowing through its veins. Its limbs are still sending signals to one another.

Abroad, too, one truth became clear: exile is not merely distance; it is a responsibility. In many places, Iranians abroad became the voice of those inside the country. They conveyed accounts, followed up on evidence, organised gatherings and protests, spoke to the media, contacted members of parliament and sought to raise the cost of repression. This is what it means to be one body: “One limb outside, one limb inside, but one essence, one pain and one goal.”

Precisely here, one key point must be stated plainly: if society is one body, it must also have a shared centre. Today, the shared centre for Iranians is Iran and freedom. The shared symbol is the national Lion and Sun flag. This flag does not belong to one faction or group; it is the flag of all Iranians. It is something that can contain differences and keep our energies focused on the main goal. The regime fears a shared symbol, because a shared symbol means a shared language, trust, organisation and power.

But there is also a red line here that must be clear: unity around Iran and the national flag does not mean imposing beliefs or choices on others. In a free Iran, every Iranian has one vote. No one has the right to impose a choice on another through force, threats, labelling or social pressure. This is what makes us different from the regime. The regime survives by imposing; a free Iran breathes through choice. So unity means coming together for a shared goal, not making everyone think alike.

Now we must look more closely at what the regime does after a massacre. The regime does not merely repress; it launches a project of normalisation. It seeks to bring society to a point where news of death, imprisonment and disappearance becomes everyday news. Where people grow numb in order to survive. Where grief turns into isolation. Where anger is diverted into internal disputes. Where differences swell and the body is torn apart from within. This is where Saadi’s words once again pronounce judgement:

You, who feel no pain at others’ suffering,

Do not deserve to be called human.

These words must be translated into today’s language: indifference is precisely what the oppressor wants. Indifference is an accomplice to normalisation. Anyone who says, “What does it have to do with me?” is removing a brick from the wall of resistance. Anyone who turns away from others’ suffering is helping the regime tear the body apart.

So, in the aftermath of a massacre, the first duty is this: we must not make pain private. Pain must remain collective, but not for endless lamentation—for organisation. Society must build a memory. Names must remain alive. Accounts must be recorded accurately. Families must not be left alone. These are the pillars of the body.

The second duty is perseverance. The regime does not fear brief explosions; it fears perseverance. For perseverance means that society is still breathing and still making decisions. It means low-cost, repeatable forms of civil disobedience, short, rotating strikes, targeted boycotts, and any action that slows the machinery of normalisation. Inside the country, every small but sustained step is a blow. Abroad, every professional, evidence-based follow-up is pressure. The two must remain connected, like the limbs of one body.

The third duty is to counter attempts to sow division. The regime generates and amplifies discord because it is its cheapest tool. Society must stay alert: debates with no practical outcome steal energy. Arguments that lose sight of the main goal are hijackers. The test is simple: does this statement, this dispute, this wave help freedom and Iran, or does it lead to exhaustion? If it leads to exhaustion, it must be set aside. In this period, energy is more precious than gold.

The fourth duty is grassroots organisation. Under repression, large structures are quickly hit. But small circles of trust endure. Groups of three to five people, with clear responsibilities: helping families, accurately documenting evidence, coordinating strikes, countering rumours, looking after their local communities. Writing slogans and… These circles are what keep the body alive. They are the roots working beneath the soil so that, when the time is right, the branches can grow green again.

And finally, it must be said that, with this scale of killing, this revolution has become a raging flood—a flood that finds its own way. It sweeps away artificial differences and attempts to sow division. Those who try to drag society into fruitless quarrels will either be forced to retreat or be absorbed into the larger current. For today, more than ever, people understand that this path is one of survival and freedom. It is not a path compatible with selfishness and petty games.

The conclusion is clear: Iranians have united around one central cause, Iran and freedom. The shared national symbol, the Lion and Sun flag, can make this unity visible and enduring, provided that no one has the right to impose their will and that the people’s vote determines the future. At home and abroad, people have shown that they live Saadi’s poetry: when one limb suffers, they cannot rest. Not resting means refusing to allow normalisation, leaving no one alone, and carrying on. Iranians have united around Iran and freedom, and will not rest until this body returns to health and glory. They will not abandon their struggle and revolution.

And this article closes with Saadi’s very judgement, because no sentence is sharper or more political for Iran today:

You, who are unmoved by the suffering of others,

are not worthy of being called human.

Source: https://srouzbeh.com/en/posts/archive-a8362c45-1334-0d6b-8e18-7623c0c496a0
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