'Go and live'

Last Saturday I was invited to give a lecture to commemorate those who were sent "by night and mist" in World War II to Natzweiler, the German concentration camp on French soil. The commemoration was at the impressive location Kamp Amersfoort.

Artist Armando has started to paint the woods around camp Amersfoort. The trees witnessed the guilty place. 'Guilty landscape' are masterpieces by Armando, just like his Jacob's Ladder that stands at the camp. The eternal cry to climb out of something and reach for the sky.

We remembered the resistance fighters. Those who distributed communist newspapers. People who tried to be England sailors. People, all in all, who stood for something. The death penalty was demanded against them, but Hitler refused to make them martyrs. And so they had to disappear from the face of the earth. They were sent into the fog. Only 200 of the 600 prisoners survived the camp. 

I was introduced to this story over the summer when a daughter of a Natzweiler survivor approached me asking if I would give a short speech at this annual memorial, this year for the first time without survivors. 'The men', as she affectionately calls them. The last Natzweiler survivor died last year. I didn't know Natzweiler. And for that reason alone it is important that this story is told and passed on. Especially now that the men themselves are gone. 

I know from my own experience what it means to 'disappear by night and mist'. I know the dark dungeons of prison, the fear of torture, the mental oppression, the sound of gunfire, and the loss of loved ones through injustice.

As many of my followers probably know, I was born and raised in Iran, where the Shah was ousted by the people in the late XNUMXs. The Ayatollahs took over and Iran became an Islamic Republic. 

One of the first measures introduced by the new leaders was the compulsory public headscarf for women. The measure turned out to be the starting signal for new resistance. I too resisted. I went with my mother to the main square in the city to protest and groups emerged with their own newspapers. Meeting places filled up. The rest is history. In my book 'To this day' I write extensively about it.   

I was imprisoned for a year and a half, together with my comrades. Many of them can't tell. Like Thamina, one of my best friends. I remember exactly how she was taken out of the dorm one night. It was nice that the night covered the view. I didn't need to see her flushed cheeks change color, her legs tremble, and her motor skills fail. The night helps with doubt and doubt helped me learn the art of survival.

I was released on the condition that I get married. I was not allowed to work or study. So there was no freedom. That's why I'm here now. 

Shortly after my release, I visited Thamina's mother. She hugged me and knew what I had come for. We didn't say anything for a long time, my girlfriend's and I's precocious, illiterate mother. "Go and live," she said when I left half an hour later.

Is it a punishment or a blessing that I got out? If there was a choice, what would I have chosen: coming home with the memories I have and going through life with them or not coming home at all? The questions still echo in my head.

What I do know is that I finally decided to tell my story and to record it together with Job Hulsman. I decided to pass it on, so that we learn from the past and never forget that freedom cannot be taken for granted. 

At the meeting I also got into a conversation with the children of resistance fighters. I understood that some of them go to the annual commemoration in France and some don't, because the suffering in that place is too close. I understand that well. Remembrance and standing still take many forms. I myself commemorate my comrades on May 4, in silence, while I also think of all the others who fell victim to their struggle for freedom.

'Where do we go from here?' It's a question on everyone's mind now that "the men" of Natzweiler are gone. How do we commemorate? How do we shape our need? To the promised?

We have a joint task to keep people focused. We can help ensure that our rights are not taken away from us again in the future, that people are not sent into the mist again to become less than a number. 

Hospitality and connection

Tired but satisfied I came home in the afternoon! It was a beautiful and special meeting. Even though I was connected with these people for the first time, never having met them before, I felt the connection. Those who, as children of resistance fighters, have learned that hospitality and solidarity are the foundations of human rights. Experiencing unjust and horrible things that separate your soul and body forever is painful, but carrying the memories and the eternal questions means lifelong. And that suffering is not limited to this continent! Remembrance and standing still helps everyone and everywhere! 'Go and live', but keep alive the cruel chapter of war, human rights violations and atrocities!