What’s on my mind? The recent events in the Middle East have made me consider the importance of diplomacy over bombs.
I once had a friend named Nazi (pronounced “Naah-zee”). She came from Iran, which she (and others I’ve known from the region) preferred to call Persia.
I once had a friend named Nazi (pronounced “Naah-zee”). She came from Iran, which she (and others I’ve known from the region) preferred to call Persia.
Principally, I’ve known Ismaili Muslims, and have had the privilege of visiting their places of worship. I remember those mosques as having beautiful windows and paintings, each created with a deliberate flaw. Do you know why that is? Because, as the Ismaili people believe, by whatever name He or She is known, only God is perfect. A good belief, I think.
The people I knew over many years were smart and kind. I liked them, and they liked me. The Ismaili Muslims I knew believed in tithing. They worked hard. They were generous. They gave back to their adopted communities.
A particularly generous Ismaili woman I knew frequently visited Pakistan. Women and girls were marginalized there; they were not allowed to be educated. My friend’s intent was to change that. She built a fine girls’ school with female teachers.
She was brave. She was strong. She was murdered.
Human rights atrocities have been and are still committed in the name of God. Nonetheless, I continue to believe the majority of people hold goodness in their hearts.
My friend Nazi? Although she had friends and family in Iran, she quit the idyllic dream that was Persia many years ago. Nazi and I eventually lost touch: I don’t know where she is today or how she’s doing. What I remember most about her was the scar across her throat, from ear to ear. I never asked the how or why; she never volunteered.
My friend Nazi? Although she had friends and family in Iran, she quit the idyllic dream that was Persia many years ago. Nazi and I eventually lost touch: I don’t know where she is today or how she’s doing. What I remember most about her was the scar across her throat, from ear to ear. I never asked the how or why; she never volunteered.
Change can come like a stampede, red-eyed with terror and fury. Change can come like a slow horse, taking its time to arrive. Pushing and spurring the horse will only fester resentment and unpredictability.
Kindness and understanding produce a better outcome, but with an angry horse, neither is quick or easy. Only God is perfect, as the Iranians sometimes say.
Kindness and understanding produce a better outcome, but with an angry horse, neither is quick or easy. Only God is perfect, as the Iranians sometimes say.
© Nicole Parton, 2019
