The ugly letter - number 17

Dear Khodayar, before the flames closed over you for the last time your mind had been broken. The death of your friend, Nasim Najafi, was particularly destabilising. That shock, after all the other things that had happened, took away the last resilience of your spirit. You no longer believed you could stay alive. You could not find hope in the future, only your own death – in pain and isolation.

I don't like to think about this, about the mental illness that made your suffering even more full of terror. I would prefer to see you as a hero than as a victim. But in the end it was hard for you to tell what was real and what was not. The false slogans of humanity that we buried you with had anguished your mind. It was not only your body that was hurt and imprisoned. We did this to your mind also. Until it was sick and broken and unsure and empty of imagination. I feel so low to write this. Love Stephen

18 February 2016

Sixteeth letter to Khodayar

Dear Khodayar, I hope this letter finds you well. I wish that you will live a long and happy life. I couldn’t wish you any less, but I fear it is not so and all hope for you is dead. My concern, my love for you has come too late. I can only stir the ashes where you died, I can not touch your hand.

I hope that even after you have been killed I will keep your name, your words and your story alive. I hope that in doing so I will cheat the killers of their victory. I hope that in so doing I can make the stain of your death a little smaller. I would prefer if your life had been less eventful. If you had a family and a home and work. I would prefer if you hadn’t had to make the hero’s journey into danger. If so I would have never heard about you, you wouldn’t have died in a bush camp on the edge of this city. I remember you Khodayar Amini, and your friends Nasim Najafi, Reza Rezayee and Ahmad Ali Jaffari. Immagination is memory. Love Stephen

Fifteenth letter to my friend Khodayar

Dear Khodayar, as humans we share things. You and I can be hurt, we can be beaten and tortured. You and I can be scared and we can be enslaved. You and I can be humilliated and we can be killed. These are things that can be done to us or to any other human. I know I have protections against these things happening that others don’t have. I have my maleness, my whiteness and my wealth. But these are still possibilities for all of us, for all the sisters and brothers of this world.

Khodayar, all these things were done to you. They were done by other humans. These are bad things, ugly things. Things that should never be done. I am terrified to change places with you, for these things to happen to me. You needed asylum but you ended up in the barrens. A place bereft of compassion and love, that runs on racist violence. All you knew were false humane slogans and harsh treatments. You knew such bitterness here in the barrens. Love Stephen

Fourteenth letter

Dear Khodayar, how far have you travelled in this warm rain? The scent of warm earth all around you. I know you haven’t brought much with you, the danger was too great and the journey was too long. Did you have to tell any lies to stay alive a bit longer? You made it to this island full of birds and then you were force fed on our lies. You got past the reefs that surround this place like teeth; behind which hides our insecutity.

This place is a harsh land. All lands are harsh. We all have blood on our hands. Now we have a bit more blood on our hands – your blood Khodayar. You were not able to stay alive any longer. The “friend of God” was abandoned by the people. You found no friendship here, only harsh treatment and false slogans of humanity. You and your sisters and brothers of the road have scorpions pressed into your hands. Hateful things, shameful things, behind the razor wire, inside the prison gates. The colour of your skin and your need are your only crimes. Love Stephen

Flowers for Khodayar (images)

13th letter to Khodayar

Dear Khodayar, may I offer you tea here in my house? The sound of children’s voices can be heard and the summer sun dances through the leaves. I have never looked on your face or heard the sound of your voice but your words are so familiar to me. Now that I have you here at my table our friendship can begin again, with the veil of death removed from between us.

We can forget the little things like country, language and religion, and talk about love and work – about life and suffering. How much time left together do we have? Life can be so long, so short. Tell me that your name means friend of God. Tell me about your family’s death. Lay down your words that I know will be read and understood. Let me hear you laugh as well as cry. Make yourself at home. Love Stephen

Final Statements (images)