Text and Video of “The Pendulum of History, a personal testimony dedicated to YOU-the guilty one”
THIS IS THE PIECE I PERFORMED IN NY; HOWEVER, The following link is video of my reading performance from SEPTEMBER 27, 2009, right after my return from NYC, for the 21st Anniversary of the mass executions of political prisoners in the 1980’s in Iran. This is my personal testimony “Pendulum of History.”
Only the first 30 Seconds of this video is in Farsi, the rest is in English. Below is the piece for you to follow:
Pendulum of History
Let the world turn their backs,
for even if they do,
and even if the guilty walk free today,
my truth does not disappear,
I am here to testify.
Let the world shut their ears,
stand apathetically watching,
refuse to answer my calls,
ignore or ridicule me,
when the reports of systematic rape
of teenage boys and girls
arrive on my computer screen,
when the overwhelming sense of helplessness
catches on like a virus,
by an overdose of youtube scenes,
overcoming gravity seems much more
sensible than carrying on;
I feel awfully heavy.
I am here to speak my truth,
The kind of truth that twists and turns in my stomach,
like clay, takes the shape of sharp multilateral knives,
cuts my flesh,
The kind of truth that erupts like a volcano,
explosions of acid in my being,
burning in my throat,
chokes my need to say “ignorance is bliss!”
The kind of truth that bleeds through hopes,
leaves tire-track prints through my sleepless nights
of following news reports,
weaves into my dreams,
and manifests into nightmares of strangers asking for mercy,
The kind of truth that is triggered like a roadside bomb,
for before I could answer “Where is their vote?”
I ended up asking, “Where are their bodies?”
I am here to speak my truth,
and the guilty may walk free today
but not for long
and in the meantime,
I pace up and down for justice,
like the mothers outside Evin 209,
pace frantically, desperate to hear from their innocent children.
But just because I am waiting,
does not mean I will remain silent,
for I am going to shout,
I will shout the truth until someone hears me,
I will paint the picture of you: the guilty,
until you are identified,
I will point you out until they unmask you,
I will write, speak, shout, cry, even scream,
defend my truth with every fiber of my being.
You cannot stop me!
I am going to grow bigger and bigger- like a dying star
ready to explode.
I will spread the truth,
until the world is forced to open their eyes,
until the world can no longer shake hands with you,
without being guilty!
This stage is my court of law,
I represent one of many, One too many
I am just one from thousands and thousands and thousands
They say that when the atom bomb was dropped,
those who lived even kilometers away suffered the same,
At times vicarious vision can be blinding.
I am a witness;
my mother and father,
they were blindfolded witnesses,
in black execution fabrics,
and the scare tack ticks of 1980’s,
lying in coffin boxes,
their prison stories printed in the back of my eyelids.
my mother, refusing to mourn the fetus you killed under torture while she was in prison,
because she didn’t want to seem weak,
only that now that unborn baby,
is haunting us in romantic reveries.
my mother clutching to her womb,
trying to protect me,
as they beat her,
didn’t allow her to bathe, to eat, to sleep,
she didn’t want to lose me,
prison terms are not passed on through genes
But How free is the child of a prisoner?
the Iran that the regime of the Islamic Republic created.
And I would like to think,
that YOU and I do not originate from the same earth!
That you and I do not originate from the same earth!
I would like to think, that the blood that runs through me,
the humanity that makes me flesh makes you a monster!
At the age of 6,
my parents were taken into interrogation
because I broke into a revolutionary song,
in the back of a public bus,
from Karaj to Tehran,
“Sar Oomad Zemestoon, She gofteh baharoon”
While my parents were in custody,
I was taken into a back room,
questioned about the company we keep,
about the songs we sing and the meetings we hold.
In a country where child execution is legal,
child interrogation is not even a human rights violation.
At the young age of 6,
I learned that I really didn’t have
some 25 uncles and 33 aunts and 55 cousins and so on…
I confess; I gave away more information
than my parents would under torture,
and my guilt grew like a parasitic worm
inside of my belly and began eating me alive.
But YOU are the guilty one!
You kicked your boots into my father’s face
and broke his jaw bones and though he never once complains about the 18months he nearly starved to death,
his tilted stern expression when I fix his tie in the mornings,
his permanent disfiguration,
reminds me that YOU walk unpunished
and he walks with history written on his body.
I have witnessed,
refugee homes and running away and hiding at the age of 9
and displaced hearts and living in exile
and being without uncles and aunts and grandparents
and mother tongues
and even in a free land
still being fearful because of the threat of your trigger!
For you have killed many of us while in refuge.
I will NOT let my unborn babies carry your guilt on their shoulders.
the knowledge of my parent’s failed revolution,
should not be their burden and travesty,
so even if you walk free today,
don’t forget to remember
that I will keep on shouting and shouting,
someone will hear me;
the blind will begin to see the picture I am painting.
And when my babies are born,
I know which way the pendulum of history will swing.
YOUR time is ending!
Cklara Moradian taking a picture with surviving Prisoners of conscious under the Islamic Republic. All beautiful strong people who really inspire me and my writing:)