Why I don”t feel any sorrow for you, Basidj

Yesterday, I saw your face in this french documentary “Voices from Iran”, about the elections and post-election demonstrations in Tehran in June 2009. I saw your coward eyes under the black helmet, Basidj. Like all of the other black-dressed and heavily armed puppets of your leaders, you seemed to enjoy this feeling of total power over the students on the streets of Tehran, who had nothing else to defend against you than their T-shirts, canvas slipper and hand-written posters.
You felt so much superior, when you started to beat them and kick those who were already laying on the ground. You felt so powerful, fed with drugs by your fat and conscienceless commanders and equipped with the newest high-tech guns and tear-gas bullets and batons from the top weapons factories of the world. How did you felt, when you did your so-called job out there ? I guess you wanted to impress your commanders and the other members of your squad by the ruthlessness of your beating, by the precision of your shooting. But we all know that you are just a bloddy coward. You think you are strong in the moment when you torture and kill unarmed young people, mostly students, young women but also children and elder people. Did you felt satisfied for pleasing your coward commanders and the heads of this criminal gouvernment.
And when you saw how the bullets from your guns made the streets turn red, didn”t you thought that this is more thrilling than your ego-shooter computer game ? And how does it feel if you kick your steel-armed boots into the belly of somebody whom you first chained feets and arms with a cable ? Does it gives you an emotional blow to imagine how the steel covers of your boots causes pain and internal bleeding in the person laying on the ground in front of you ? Did you considered kicking again and again, not just to score higher at your commanders record, but also to repeat this image of how your stupid steel boots so easily destroy the head of an intelligent young man or girl ? And later, when you throwed those who were wounded and could not escape anymore onto pick-ups and trucks to bring them to Evin Prison or Ghezel Hesar, I’m sure you knew that this was not a journey for medical treatment or recovery, but to further harras and rape and kill them. And if you later saw the pictures of Neda Agha-Soltan and Sohrab Arabi, cowardly killed by you and your commrades, how long did those pictures appeared in your dreams, before you got rid of them with more drugs and blood-money and more violence ?
But you should know, Basidj, that what you did 2009 on Tohid square wont be forgotten. You turned a peaceful demonstration into a blood shed. The hundred thousands that walked the streets those days, wearing green T-shirts and green shawls did not had enough phantasy to think that this day might end up in violence. The girls had put on their most beautiful jewelery and make-up and the men kept their expensive lap-tops with them in their bags. People were sure that this day would demonstrate the power of a peaceful political change and give hope for a better future of this country . The people on the streets felt the dawn of  a grey period of political speechlessness, and they were hoping to meet some of the political leaders to discuss the future of the country after the elections.
The millions who gave their vote in the 2009 election and later formed an endless band of the green movement in the streets of Tehran, they wont forget that their hope for a peaceful move was turned into a violent nightmare by Basidj cowards just like you. And the next time when they meet you on the same streets, don”t expect any more unarmed young intellectuals. The next time, Basidj, you will be attacked, there wont be an option for peaceful settlement any more. And when the magazin of your automatic gun is empty, and you again killed and wounded the first twenty of the protesters, than there will come another twenty and another twenty and the same to each other of your Basidj commrades. There will be hundred thousands again coming out of the universities, of the restaurants and shops and beauty-salons, from all the places they escaped to in 2009, when they had to run away from your guns and butons. But this time they wont run away any more, and they dont want to talk to you any more, but they will attack you and kill you. And then, the streets of Tehran will turn red again, but this time it will be your damned blood.
And if somebody will throw your dead corpse into the gateway of your house, there wont be anybody crying tears for your death. Your mother will come out at night and bring you corpse to the waste bin of the garden, together with the chicken-heads and rotten carrots and the bad smelling polo from last week. Your parents will be ashamed of you, there will be no mourning for you. And for all the cowardize of your life, Basidj, your children will forget your name. To avoid that others would point with fingers on them, they will tell everybody that they don’t know who their father was. Your name will be forgotten in a new, free Iran. And only the history text books will know a precise number of nameless Basidj cowards. And you will have been one of them, not more, but also not less.

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