MY FAMILY’S JOURNEY
Part 1: Fleeing Iran to safety
In 1979 Iran’s regime was on course for a slow motion radical conversion to a theocracy with the Islamic revolution. The country became religiously governed by Sharia law and most religions, besides Islam, faced persecution. However, the persecution Jews and Christians and other minorities faced was challenging and, in many cases, dire. However, as the United Nations’ investigations later uncovered, the new regime had a particularly heinous special pogrom against the Baháʼí s, the largest religious minority in Iran.
During and after the revolution, hundreds of Baháʼís were executed by the government and thousands imprisoned. The Iranian government’s inhumane treatment of Baháʼís still persists today. Although Iran has been condemned on the world stage by numerous countries, human rights organizations, and the UN, they have only intensified their efforts at imprisoning Baháʼís, denying them basic rights on incalculable instances, or executing them. Many of my relatives were killed and imprisoned at the hands of the Iranian government, but fortunately my grandfather, grandmother, and father were able to escape only hours before they too were subject to the wrath of the newly established government.
Each day during the early days of the Revolution there would be a list released to the police with the names of known Baháʼís living in Iran. Typically, the police would either detain, imprison or execute them. During the early stages of the Revolution, my grandmother had taken my father to Sri Lanka where they had family. They returned to Iran half a year before the latter part of the Revolution. When it became clear that the situation was untenable to remain in Iran, the three of them, together with my great grandfather prepared to leave Iran with only a day’s notice, and with only some essential family belongings to Sri Lanka.
Before boarding the plane, my grandfather had to collect their four passports from the military exit police who had to vet each passport and passenger before they boarded an international flight. All other passengers had their passports ready for collection at check-in including the passports for my father, who was only a toddler, my grandmother and my great-grandfather. But my grandfather’s passport was missing. With a sense of dread my grandfather made his way to the small stuffy Military Police room at the back of the airport to inquire. The Senior officer was leaving as my grandfather entered, being called on urgent business in another office nearby. A junior military officer received my grandfather. The officer rummaged through the files and with a look of confusion noted that my grandfather’s passport was not in the ‘Approved Exit’ pile, nor was it in the ‘Denied Exit’ pile. Rather, it was in the personal drawer of the senior officer’s desk.
My grandfather, by now drenched in sweat, waited as the officer kept calling his superior officer to issue instructions as to the confusing situation. Minutes, which felt like eternity passed. The senior officer was within sight but was still handling another matter and was unable to return. My grandfather began to plead calmly with the junior officer to give him his passport, reasoning with him that it was not in the “Denied Exit” pile. The senior officer was unaware of what was transpiring in the office. The longer the officer was kept waiting by his superior, the more he realised the potential dire situation my grandfather was in, especially as the color began to drain from his face. Each yell of “Commander!” by the officer calling to his superior to come back and assist him was followed by a personal entreaty from my grandfather: “I don’t think we need to bother him”, to “he’s busy, and the passport is not in the ‘Denied’ folder” to “Officer, please, the plane will leave soon” to finally just: “Please…”.
The junior officer, now realizing the high stakes from the ashen face of my grandfather as the clock ticked, arrived at a decision which will forever affect the life of not just my grandfather, but that of his son, wife, future unborn daughters and entire family… forever. With a sigh of understanding and resignation, he hands him the passport and whispers: “Go. And go quickly.” My grandfather rushes to the gate. He said that at this point every layer of his suit was soaked in sweat. He sat in his seat, still apprehensive.
As the plane was preparing for takeoff it was instructed to wait so military police could board the plane. Why? This was standard practice. It was to verify each passenger’s name and compare it to its daily police list containing the names of Baháʼís and others to be imprisoned.
My grandfather sat paralyzed in his seat, not knowing if he was going to live to see my father and grandmother again. The police walked down the aisle, getting closer and closer to my grandfather. He looked out the window contemplating his life. Snapshots flashed through his mind, like a film in fast-forward. But he knew there was something that transcended the importance of all these events. He recounts that in that moment he remembered his love for, and his trust in God, and he remembered his duty to accept gracefully whatever has been ordained. As he took a deep breath, a wave of confidence came over him. He turned from the window and stared directly into the eyes of the police officer that approached him.
“Name please?” The officer said as he turned to my grandfather.
The plane from Tehran to Sri Lanka took off that day, with all the passengers on board, even my grandfather. But it was common knowledge that in the past few weeks planes which were still in Iranian airspace had sometimes been ordered back to Tehran if the government realized that someone of note was on the plane. It was only when the plane finally cleared Iranian airspace that my grandfather breathed his first breath of relief.
Shortly after my grandfather landed in Sri Lanka, he received a letter from a close friend who still remained in Iran. In the letter he shared that merely one day after my grandfather left Iran, his name was added to the public list of Baháʼís to be imprisoned and executed.
Part 2:
A Way out of a Civil War
Unfortunately, this was not the end of the turmoil my family faced. In 1983 tensions between the Sinhalese government and Tamil rebels of Sri Lanka reached a brewing point, and violence erupted across the country. This quickly turned into the Sri Lankan civil war and my father and his family once again had to flee. They went to the UN offices in Sri Lanka and asked what could be done for them to emigrate to a different country as their Iranian passports were no longer valid and could not be renewed as they were Bahai’s.
After long discussions and multiple meetings with the UN on their background and religion, they were finally granted refugee status and given the option to immigrate to either Canada or Australia. They really didn’t care where they were going and were simply thankful for the opportunity to finally escape the violence and persecution that had plagued them wherever they went.
They decided on Canada and were shown a map of the country and asked if they had any preference on where they were going to be sent. My Grandfather didn’t know much about Canadian cities and randomly pointed to a point on the map and said “Here.”
“We will go here.”
In early 1984 my grandfather, grandmother, my father and my infant aunt left the humid tropics of Sri Lanka and arrived safely in the oft -40 frozen tundra of Thunder Bay, Northern Canada, to face new challenges and opportunities.
Part 3: Gratitude to the UN
My Grandparents were forever thankful to the UN and Canada for their assistance in providing them a safe home and country when the violence caught up with them again.
When my father and his new Canadian friends used to play together with miniature solider figurines, they would each pick an army to be. They would always fight over who would be Canada but my father was never a participant in those arguments. His friends always questioned him, when he said, “I will be the UN.” He would never explain his full story to them, but deep inside he knew how much the UN had helped him and his family.