I am not a corpse. I am a martyr.

Image for post
Image for post

As of today, it appears that I’m quite well known, not just in Iran. Would you believe me if I told you I began my career working in construction? The year was 1970, and I was thirteen at the time. The work was rough and tiring, born out of necessity and desperation. It hardened me to the core, and I needed hardening for what lay in my path ahead: the endless horrors of war which would end up becoming my entire life. The deafening sound of bombs not heard by the corpses surrounding me on the battlefield. I can still hear shells piercing through my eardrums, despite being dead! Oh, if only someone told me then that one day, I’d become my country’s most beloved son. That one day, if only for a few milliseconds in global history, I’d be the world’s most famous man! A preposterous prediction. Would I have fantasized about the idea? Yes, but who wouldn’t? And would I have believed in the truthfulness of this prophecy? Absolutely not. But little does it matter now, it’s in the past. On this day, I don’t have to believe, for I can witness the headlines in foreign news, I can see through the cracks of my coffin. I can smell blood and revenge. The sea of people at my funeral, at once a sad and endearing sight. If they could hear me, I’d speak to them: “Do not cry, my brothers, do not mourn me. For I am not a corpse. I am a martyr, I am a god!”.

One cannot speak of god without speaking of the devil. The two are as inseparable and mysteriously intertwined as a mother and her new-born. Alas, as I and the American foe. My friends, don’t allow your emotions, your patriotism, your fear to blind you from the obvious: The Americans have made a serious mistake here. A miscalculation of historic proportions of which the consequences will ripple across the Middle East like wind from a nuclear explosion. For Iranians will never forget, and Iran will certainly not bow to an imperialist, hostile power. Even before this cowardly, illegal act, our people deeply mistrusted the United States. My own experience from the Iran-Iraq war, the one which elevated my status so greatly, informs this mistrust, or deep-rooted hatred even. You talk of my support for the Assad regime, but when the Iraqis showered us with chemical weapons, where were the peace-loving, human-rights preaching Americans? Yes, propping up the same Saddam who they subsequently toppled themselves in 2003! And did you even know, my friends, what happened long before the revolution in 1979? What happened in the 50s, shortly after we, Iranians, elected our first ever president? The C.I.A came forcefully knocking on the doorstep of our democracy. With their agents and their guns, collaborating with traitors from our ranks. But why, you would ask? Because we nationalized our oil industry, we nationalized what belonged to our nation and our people. What greater crime could we commit?

Look into the history books, my friends! It’s always been about the oil, which means it’s always ultimately been about greed. Aren’t they, the Americans, so supremely talented at toppling regimes thousands of miles from their homeland, so arrogantly intent in throwing their noses where their noses do not belong? How keen they are to send their fancy, beautiful, best equipment into the depths of our oil-fields without realising that one could end up drowning in a well? Especially in terrain that one does not know well. It always has been about the oil. Where are those weapons of mass destruction, Mr. Bush? And to Mr. Trump, to my assassin, I say, where is the evidence of the imminent attacks I was supposedly planning, for which you butchered me like a dog in the street? Through the eyes of your secretary Pompeo I see deceit! From his tongue and yours I smell venomous poison filled with history’s latest portion of lies!

You smear my name with the filthy label of terrorist, but wasn’t it I who helped you fight the Islamic state in Syria and Iraq? Remind yourselves who dealt these savages the most severe, fatal blows? Partly the Russians, partly the Kurds, partly you, Mr. President. But mostly me. Yes, it was me! Do I not deserve a mention when you stuff the “We defeated ISIS” mantra down the throats of your citizens? That’s right, We defeated ISIS. You seem to have forgotten that and now you have killed me. But I am not dead, far from it: My life has only just begun. Look onto the marvellous, mourning streets of Tehran, where men are being squeezed to death by delirious crowds chanting my name. I can hear them, and so can you. I am not a corpse. I am a martyr.

Yours,
QS

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store