Twentieth Dead Letter to Khodayar Amini

Dear Khodayar, with your name I honour each refugee that there is in the world. I honour those that have been killed and those who have made it this far. I honour all the perilous paths that people have fled along and all the dismal sea crossings that have been made. In your story I see myself and my ancestors and my children. I see my friends and family in your struggles and suffering. Yours was a gigantic and a mortal quest. Even as a child death was a threat that hung above you. You had to move; you had to try to find a place that was safe. Your only chance was to push apart the mountains and search for the key that would give you true freedom. You threaded a way through the mountains, passed over the water and managed to arrive here. But there were only dry and brittle hearts to be found – our arms refused to help you up and would only push you under. Relentless logic excluded you from our community. You were put in the camps and learnt there what a living death could be like. Peeling away your name and your past the Government made you like refuse to be burnt. Your future was a grey nothingness. You were forgotten and forgettable and utterly without love and dignity. But they could never stifle your voice, never negate your compassionate words. Love Stephen