Jean Wilkey

A Letter to Mona from Yazd

by BAHAR ROHANI

Dear Mona, Alláh-u-Abhá!

My name is Bahar Rohani. I am a Bahá’í girl much like yourself, yet in some ways I am so different from you. I first heard about you when I was seven, when my mother spoke about a brave girl who didn’t let herself be defeated, a girl who soared so high she reached the realm of the Beloved. When I turned thirteen, I learned the heart-wrenching truth of your execution, about the price you had to pay for belonging to a community that espouses love for all. It was only last week, when I watched a documentary dedicated to the fortieth anniversary of your execution, that I stumbled upon the horrifying fact that each one of you had to watch the executions of those who went before them. Yet you asked to be hanged last, after all the others were gone.

I’m writing this to you because my mind is filled with unsettling thoughts and questions I can no longer suppress. Dear, sweet Mona, I must confess my truth: I’m not like you. I fear I lack the bravery to face death with grace. And I fear that this secret, one I hold deep in my heart, would, if disclosed, disappoint my community and cause them to abandon me. I write to ask for your blessing so that I will have the strength to forgive those who have wronged me and to find healing from the pain they have caused me. And I hope that sharing my experiences with a sympathetic soul who will not judge me will help in this process. Only after this, will I be able to be my true self in my community.

When I ponder the injustices that you, your friends, and the entire Bahá’í community in Iran have endured over the years, my heart is filled with anger. When I put myself in the shoes of your mother, your father, your friends, and your relatives, I sometimes feel that those who have wronged your precious soul should be punished not only in the next world but in this one too. There are moments when I feel this anger overtake me, and I want to rail against a government that persecutes innocent people solely for their adherence to their faith. Then I realize that my angry thoughts and desire for retribution are not in line with the spiritual teachings I strive to follow. Sometimes, this causes me great shame and torment, especially when I compare my feelings to the spiritual grace with which you bore the injustices done to you.

Dear Mona, you departed from this world in your youth, pure and undefeated. You were hanged, in the darkness of the night, yet your soul left this world shining as brightly as the sun in the noonday sky. Surrounded by callous men who wished only to rob you of your right to live, you left this mortal world and now burn brightly, an eternal flame of spirit. I had to endure interrogation only once, yet when I did, I felt as guilty as a criminal. I felt guilty for visiting the Bahá’í House of Worship in India and guilty for teaching children about love and kindness. I always believed that no matter what the government officials would say or do to me, I would be strong, for they were the guilty ones, not me. But as I sat on that chair and heard them yell “filthy liar,” I was terrified. I even questioned whether it was worth it to endure this pain. Unlike you, I am not strong. I struggle with my commitment and feel embarrassed that I do.

What hurts most, Mona, is that I’m afraid to share my pain, my vulnerability, and my anger with my community, out of fear of appearing weak. I love the Bahá’í community, but so often I feel alone, compelled to put on a facade of strength when I am crumbling inside. I smile and pretend to be unphased by the relentless injustice we endure because I fear that expressing my feelings will lead to banishment. On the other hand, I am hesitant to trust anyone outside the community. There may be officials among them who are ready to apply more pressure. I want to confide in my own community, but, in the end, I don’t. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. I ask you to empower me, to give me the courage and honesty I need to strengthen the bonds in our community.

Dear Mona, I wish I could conclude by saying that I’m able to evince endless resilience, no matter how callous the Iranian government becomes. I wish I could say that even though they have turned their backs to the light of Bahá’u’lláh, I still love them and pray for them. I wish I could stop pretending to be strong and could share my fears openly in our community so others would feel free to show their vulnerability as well. But as of now, these wishes are like distant lights in the sky. I need your blessing to reach these stars. Please share your love, your kindness, and your bravery with the children in our community so they can embrace a life in which they show love, even towards those who have turned away from the light. Bless those who, like me, can sometimes see only the hurt and pain and not the wonderful victories achieved in the course of a journey of faith. Give us the clarity to witness the transformative changes within society that are surely taking place. Help us to free ourselves from the burden of longstanding hatreds and to embrace a life of service to humanity, so that when the time comes for us to meet you, we may we arrive at the threshold of that new world with stories of great courage and hearts filled with love.