31st letter

Dear Khodayar, what drives your enemies to plot against you and wish you harm? From which ancestors does this sickness come that makes them hate? I know that I am bound to not disown them; these criminals are my sisters and brothers. They are your sisters and brothers. And it is the urgency of this fact that makes their cruelty against you all the more futile and ugly. There is one sky above, there is one rock below our feet. These fences, these prisons that surround us are our own creation. We do not need to live like this. The food of the world is for all of us to share. No one should be starved, no one should be pushed from the table. Love is the only honest way to live – everything else is based on lies and cheating. The powerful take what they do not need from those whose need is greater. They take food, they take land and they take water. They take warmth and shelter. They will even take life and then call it justice.

Khodayar, you know all this. You have learnt about the ugliness of being tortured and sentenced to death. This all happened to you. This was done to you for no reason. It was for the shape of your face and the colour of your skin and the place of your birth that you were killed. How can people not see the hideouslness of this barbarity? They must be broken minds and sterile hearts that make these cages. Love Stephen

#FacesOfKhodayar (continued)

#FacesOfKhodayar

One year after your death we remember you Khodayar.

The many #FacesOfKhodayar defy tyranny and death.

Anniversary of your death, 30th letter

Dear Khodayar, it is nearly the anniversary of the day when you “cut your life”. I want to mark the first year since your death by going to the final camp at 11:15 in the morning. Maybe I will read out one of these letters to you and some words from Michelle Bui about the last few moments of your life. In my efforts to remember you Khodayar, I also pay respect to the other dead refugees who have not made it to safety. To your friends Nasim Najafi, Reza Reazyee and Ahmad Ali Jaffari. To Leo Seemanpillai, Fazel Chegeni, Hamid Kehazaei and Reza Barati. To Omid Masoumali, Reza X, Mohammad Hadi and Saed Hassanloo. To Rakib Khan, Mohammad Nazari, Omid Ali Avaz and Rezene Mebrahta Engeda. All of these people suffered Australia’s cruel treatments and were killed in this way – as you yourself were Khodayar. False slogans of humanity stuffed your ears with nonsense as the flames destroyed your body. Your desperation a year ago was intense and I wish that I could offer you some comfort. These rituals of homage at the place and time of your death is a measure of my rage and regret. Love Stephen

29th letter, the death of my mother

Dear Khodayar, I want to tell you that my mother has died. Since she has died I sometimes wake up in the night and think about her. The shock of her death interrupts my sleep and makes me cry. I used to talk to her about you, about my drive to make art about your life, and about the persecution of refugees by the Australian government. Now I can’t talk to her ever again. And I can’t talk to you either, Khodayar. Inspite of this I feel her presence and your presence in my life. I am not dead yet and I am determined to use my life for love and for remembering. I can’t undo your cruel death but I am witness to what you endured and what you discovered. I must work to free our sisters and brothers who are falsely locked in the same prison where you once stood. Your guidance and her guidance make me strong in that determination. We should not be cruel to each other. You told this to the world Khodayar. Others have also said this. While we are alive we must be kind and loving to one another. We are nor seperated. Anyone who thinks about your life and death can see this. After my mother died I had to write, “Life is so beautiful”, with tears in my eyes, because it is true. Love Stephen

The city at the foot of the mountain - 28th letter

Dear Khodayar, I dreamt that I journeyed to Afghanistan – to the place where you were born. It was night-time and I was on a bus with other people. We travelled in the dark across a great plain toward a range of mountains. At the foot of the mountain the city stretched out. All along the edge of the plain we could see the lights coming from buildings of the city. I didn’t know the name of the city.

It was too dangerous for us to get out of the bus. All we could do was look out the windows. All around us Afghans walked and rode motorbikes through the light of our headlights. They were mainly young men – like you Khodayar. Even though I didn’t know the name of the city I knew that it was very old; almost as old as civilisation itself. It was time for us to return to where we had come from. With the doors still shut tight, the bus driver spun the wheel, the bus hissed and heaved and our bus turned around back toward the border. Love Stephen

Leaves of Remembrance - letter 27

Dear Khodayar, we gathered in the city at the State Library to stand up for the rights of refugees. There were thousands of us. I took with me a branch from a tree, that was full of long green, curving leaves. Each leaf was beautiful and on each leaf I had written your name. We had all come there because of the cruel treatments inflicted on you. We are opposed to the slogans of humanity that are being used to sentence people to death. How could we not find these crimes abhorrent? How could we not remember your death and the deaths of all the others and all the harm done? We are human beings and we feel your pain. We know your name. To each person I offered a leaf of remembrance that bears your name. The leaves were received and I moved through the crowd distributing more leaves. The sky and the air are witness to your life, Khodayar. We are witness to your extraordinary humanness. After your death, after my death, after the deaths of all of us, the story of our lives will remain with the weight of our failures and the beauty of our success. The leaves became fewer and fewer until the last one had been given out; the branch was bare and my hands were empty. 

Love Stephen