On September 8, 2018, my father and 15 others were killed in a rocket attack during a political meeting in Kurdistan in northern Iraq. My 59-year-old father turned into a handful of Kurdish dust. The desire to embrace my father again, to see him become a loving grandfather, will never come true. Today my heart is with our people in Kurdistan and Iran. For several weeks now, Kurds and Iranians have demonstrated for basic rights. It all started with the Iranian morality police’s murder of a young Kurdish woman, Zhina “Mahsa” Amini, because she wore the hijab incorrectly. The fact that they knew she was Kurdish was probably an important reason why things went so wrong. That makes a fuss. In Kurdistan, the martyrdom of Zhina Amini has given new fuel to the will to resist. The political parties in Kurdistan called on people to demonstrate against the Iranian regime. The people responded to the call and took to the streets. The Islamic Republic has therefore attacked the Kurdish areas in northern Iraq. The rockets have since rained down on what was once my home. What started in Kurdistan quickly spread to the rest of Iran. Precisely because we are fighting for the same cause. The people of Iran and Kurdistan want freedom, democracy and self-determination over their bodies. At the same time as Iran attacks neighboring countries with the most advanced drones and missiles, the regime also openly shoots protesters within its own borders. In democratic and free countries, the country’s army is used to protect its people. In Iran, the army is used to put bullets into young idealists. To oppression and corruption. Thousands of young people have been killed by regime forces for demanding freedom. These people, as brave as they are, need your support, foreign country, to protect their lives. I wish my family could breathe. Instead, they are being slowly suffocated by the Islamic Republic. And I once again live in uncertainty as to whether my family is safe. Last week I had another difficult day. A typical workday that began with hope ended with a few short, tearful hours. The drones hovered in the air over Kurdistan, and the rockets rained down. My family was on the ground. They and all the other civilians were the target. I felt like the most useless person in the world. Thousands of kilometers away from my family, not knowing if they were alive or not. At a time when the world has the best and most advanced communication tools, it was quiet on the other end. Moment by moment, it reminded me of the day in 2018 when I was waiting for my father’s phone to answer. I just wanted to hear him say “my dear, how are you?”. I never got to hear that. Would the same thing happen again? After a long time I could hear my mother’s voice, but we did not know where my little sister was. Every second was important. The missiles from the Islamic Republic continued to rain down. I later learned that my sister was safe. I could hear her voice. But she was worried and felt guilty. The young Kurdish soldier who had saved her from death met his own death shortly afterwards. He was actually supposed to be married, but the wedding was replaced with a funeral. The attacks had targeted primary schools, hospitals and family homes. There are countless stories of suffering and loss in Kurdistan. I live in a democratic country. I am free and I am safe. But part of my heart and soul is with my family, who are constantly under threat of attack. Because we are Kurds. Because we demand freedom. Because we demand equality. Because we demand the right to use our own mother tongue. Because we demand freedom of expression. According to the Islamic Republic, all these demands are crimes. I call them fundamental and inherent rights. The Norwegian government and Europe must hold the Iranian regime responsible for the murders and violence they have inflicted on their own people and the people of Kurdistan. We need support from the outside world.
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Mahsa and me – Speech
