Under Which Sky Do We Live? Distant Skies, Close Hearts (1)

S. Rouzbeh – Sometimes a brief image and a simple question awaken a thought that has lingered in a corner of our minds for years.

In a created video, Prince Reza Pahlavi, at his present age, stands opposite an image of himself as a child in ceremonial dress. The conversation is imagined; it is as though the child asks the man who has lived several decades: “Aren’t you tired?” The scene’s impact does not lie in the conversation being real, but in the question it raises: how long can a person carry an unfinished ideal?

At the same time, an educated lady asked me in a message: “Greetings, and thank you. Under the shade of which sky are you?” She meant simply where I lived, but alongside that image, her question took on another meaning for me. I replied: “Under the sky… but for many years I lived beneath Iran’s beautiful yet dark sky.”

This darkness is not the colour of Iran’s sky. The sky of that land remains beautiful above its mountains, forests, plains and cities. The darkness is the shadow of oppression, repression and deprivation cast over people’s lives. A person may be beneath a beautiful sky, yet be unable to live freely. I asked myself: which sky do we really live beneath? The sky of our present home, the sky of our birthplace, or the sky our hearts and hopes still seek?

Prince Reza Pahlavi left Iran at the age of seventeen to train as a pilot, and has lived away from his birthplace for nearly half a century. Throughout these years, his political activity concerning Iran’s future has continued and, naturally, has met with support, opposition and criticism. But my question here is not a judgement of his political record; I want to know what keeps a person’s bond with a land alive after decades away, and what force has kept him and so many Iranians so committed and active.

Queen Farah Pahlavi, our greatest example, who carried out cultural and social activities in Iran, including establishing the Institute for the Intellectual Development of Children and Young Adults, has lived away from Iran for many years. She continues to speak of her bond with it through charitable, artistic and other work. Princess Noor Pahlavi was born in America and has never seen Iran at first hand, yet she has spoken of her attachment to her family’s homeland and defends the people of Iran, alongside her mother and sisters. These experiences are not the same: one is bound up with memories of life in Iran, the other with a country known only through stories.

And yet, why should our view be limited to one family? In different countries, we see young people of Iranian heritage who were born there and raised in another educational and social system; many may never have set foot in Iran, yet they take part in gatherings, civic activities and efforts for Iran’s freedom with an interest—and sometimes a courage—that astonishes me. What amazes me is not just their presence, but that some have grown up in an environment where freedom of expression and protest are part of everyday life, yet they regard the deprivation suffered by people they have never met as their own concern. Of course, their motivations cannot all be assumed to be the same. When I see their efforts, the same question comes alive in my mind once more: what brings a person so close to a land they have never even seen?

The answer cannot be summed up in one word. For one person, the homeland is a mother’s voice and the street of childhood; for another, it is the Persian language, poetry, music and family memories. One has been hurt by injustice; another is anxious about the fate of loved ones who remain in Iran. A generation, too, may begin this bond through the stories of its parents and later give it new meaning through its own choices.

In “Chavoshi”, Mehdi Akhavan-Sales asks: “Let us see whether the sky is the same colour everywhere.” The sky has no political borders, but life beneath it is not the same everywhere. In one place, people can protest; elsewhere, protest may come at a heavy price. For some, migration is a path to safety and freedom; for others, a way to study, work or join their family.

The lives of Iranians abroad are not all the same either. Some have attained comfort and social standing; others are still struggling with language, work and the cost of living. One has put down roots in a new home, while another longs to return. Loving a new country does not necessarily mean forgetting one’s birthplace; just as attachment to Iran does not place the same duty on everyone.

Some Iranians give up hours of their rest and personal lives to write, translate the news, make art, help those affected or attend gatherings. Others keep their distance from politics—perhaps out of exhaustion, perhaps to protect their family’s safety and…? Or because they disagree with political movements. We cannot treat visible activism as the sole measure of patriotism, or pass judgement too easily on people’s inner motives.

The harder question is this: how can someone living beneath a safe sky feel the suffering of people in Iran who face fear, poverty or repression? Hearing news of hunger is not going hungry; worrying about a prisoner is not experiencing prison. But must we have been tortured to oppose torture? Must the right to live freely first be taken from us before we can defend it?

Rumi says: “Empathy is better than speaking the same language.” Empathy does not replace another person’s direct experience; it brings us closer to listening and understanding. People can be far apart and even disagree politically, yet still refuse to be indifferent to the suffering of others.

I return now to that image and that message: “Aren’t you tired?” and “Under the shade of which sky are you?” Perhaps the answer is not simply the name of a country. Perhaps we live beneath a peaceful sky, while part of our heart and mind has remained beneath the same sky we left years ago.

For many, this attachment is not just a memory; it becomes an effort on behalf of others. Even so, are separate efforts, however valuable, enough to achieve freedom? How can we turn this empathy, despite our differences of opinion, into cooperation towards a shared goal? We will pursue this question in Part Two.

To be continued