Peace like Boots
We are all part of something bigger than ourselves. We are all part of each other’s stories.
“They executed two more people last night.”
I snap my head up from zipping our daughter’s jacket to see my husband adjusting his hat in the mirror. She’s bouncing around at his feet, buzzing with excitement, the pom pom on her hat bobbling up and down. It snowed during the night—a little bit of a novelty in this part of the world—and she’s ready to play in it.
“Were they young?” And even before the question finishes leaving my mouth, I wince at the absurdity of it. Were they young? Why does it matter? Young, old, men, women, rich, poor—all were blameless victims of an oppressive regime that continues to carry out state-sanctioned murders.
But what else is there to say in response?
He forces a tired smile and turns to open the front door, letting our daughter barrel through. “I just woke up heavy with that today.”
I nod, and his heaviness now lands on my shoulders and follows us down the steps, out the door, and into the snow.
On September 16th, 22-year-old Mahsa ‘Jina’ Amini was violently arrested in Iran for improperly wearing her headscarf. She died in police custody.
Her murder sparked widespread protests across Iran, spearheaded by women and young people. The ongoing protests are not only against the mandatory hijab but have grown to overthrow the regime.
Since September, there are 500+ mourning Iranian mothers whose children have been murdered fighting for their most basic rights, and thousands of more mothers, desperate to hear any news from their missing children.
The veil is thin between their reality and mine, between their reality and yours.
Last year, on the morning of January 1st, I stood in a courtyard watching hundreds of pigeons synchronously swoop and fall as they picked up breadcrumbs off the cobblestone. I decided there that I wanted to look for peace in the new year.
Two months later, Russia invaded Ukraine—and the coverage of the war obscured refugee crises elsewhere in the world. Then a mass shooting at a US elementary school. At a grocery store. A church, a parade, a nightclub. Pakistan flooded. Inflation returned.
And then a revolution in Iran.
And our own world was rocked by tiny hurricanes, one piling onto the next, each adding to the load already on our shoulders. Our arms and legs shook under the weight.
In such a violent and chaotic world, it was hard to stay tender and look for peace.
With the heaviness of the early morning executions still hovering above us, I watch as my daughter follows paw prints through the soft dusting of snow which has already started to melt and turn to a dirty slush. It’ll all be gone by the afternoon.
Someone on our street steps out onto their balcony and slaps together the soles of two slippers in an attempt to clean them, sending out a series of thwak-thwak-thwaks that echoes off the cement and interrupts the slow and quiet drips of the melting snow.
My daughter’s blue and hot pink rain boots decorated with happy rainbows contrast the murky puddle she jumps in—part dirt, part gravel, and part snow. Her jump sends out a wave of ripples through the shallow water.
Real, everyday, ordinary life keeps happening in between the heavy and the horrible.
We leave the house to get bread at the neighborhood market. We happen to time it just as everyone else comes out to get bread for their dinners, too. There is a little line at the bread cabinet in the store, all of us taking turns filling plastic bags with fresh loaves to bring back to our kitchens.
I’m not going to say that that made it better, but we are all part of something bigger than ourselves. We are all part of each other’s stories.
Walking back, we run into our neighbors down the road, a retired couple, who gives us quince from their trees—they always do when they see us walk by. They wash the fruit in their garden sink and cut it into slices for my daughter, who gobbles it down immediately, much to their delight.
We are all more intricately connected than we realize, and life is so much more delicate than we can comprehend.
This coming year, I don’t want to merely look for peace—I want to embody it, to put peace on like boots each time I walk out of my home. May we find ways to be peace, one small step along the way, the next right thing.
Let’s write a better story together.
How to Help:
It is up to us, the international community, to keep talking and sharing about what is happening in Iran. Bringing awareness to the human rights abuses is a way to hold the regime accountable. Please keep spreading the word.Some accounts to follow:
Peace like Boots
I love this line, Sarah. "I’m not going to say that that made it better, but we are all part of something bigger than ourselves. We are all part of each other’s stories."
Oh I loved this. I'm glad I saw your comment on the Exhale thread.
This line... "to put peace on like boots each time I walk out of my home"