Tears for Neda

I haven't said much about Iran so far in this blog, though I have left comments in others' posts on the subject. Basically, I've felt I don't know enough to be able to say anything. But between a nice analysis I read this morning, from yesterday's NYT, and this, I have to raise my (albeit electronic) voice along with the growing clamor: FREE THE PEOPLE!

I was thinking of starting this by commenting that she reminded me of Sandra Bullock, and listing the various personality traits that I immediately started projecting onto her as a result... then pointing out that in reality, I know nothing about her. There's a good piece at The Independent that points out there's so much we don't know. But according to the piece this much seems fairly clear:

Yesterday the BBC's Farsi service reported that Neda's full name was Neda Agha-Soltan, and that she had been stuck in traffic in her car with her music teacher when she decided to get out "because of the heat" – "just for a few minutes", said her fiancé, Caspian Makan "[and] that's when she was shot dead".

She got out of the car to cool down for a moment, was standing on the sidewalk, and was shot in the heart by a rooftop sniper. She died in moments. Though I'm not recommending either, there are two youtube clips I have watched. The first is edited, and is set to U2's "Sunday, Bloody Sunday." The second appears to be more or less the original, raw footage. Watching these seemed to be more of a responsibilty than something I actually wanted to do. In fact, I had told a friend earlier today that I had seen thumbnails of the large graphic photos, and links to the videoclip, and that was enough. I really don't do gruesome very well.

But after I read the article, I felt like this poor young woman deserved a few moments of my time; a final gesture of respect from a complete stranger on the other side of the world. Suffice it to say, I couldn't watch the ending of either. Not because of the gore, but because the tears and snot were coming out of my face in only slightly smaller volumes than the blood coming out of hers.

Did she give her life in a good cause? No. It's not clear she had any connection to "the cause," other than trying to cool off in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her life, in fact, was brutally taken from her, for no particular reason, by a rapacious thug that I personally would be happy to castrate with a sledge hammer.

The pain and anger I feel right now are simply not expressable. My best wishes to all my Iranian brothers and sisters in your fight for freedom. Your pain is excruciating; I share it. I hope you understand that the world is watching. I hope you understand the world will remember your courage and heroism. And I hope you understand the whole world is shedding tears for Neda.

Followup: I meant to wrap this into the post originally, but forgot. Now it seems clumsy unless I tack onto the end. From niacINsight, in this post. First, it's nice to see that the protesters can still find some moments of levity...

Then comes the attraction of the day. Two water-spraying machines. They’re huge, the size of a bus but taller, with fenced windows and two water-guns on top of each. We burst into laughter. They don’t know how to use them. They shoot second floor windows, anti-riot police and the people, including girls in tight manteaus. It’s more Zurich than Tehran. One machine is stuck. They don’t know how to drive it. It’s a hot day, the sun is intolerably shiny and it feels good to become wet. Much of the time, the sprays are not powerful. It’s as if they’re watering grass. And it just does not fit the horror that’s in the air, the aggression with which the people are hit with batons. A beautiful day. It has been beautiful throughout the past week. You wonder whether nature is ironical.

Next, it's also nice to realize that the government thugs are not entirely easy with doing their jobs...

If we want to go forward we need to pass through tear gas. So we ask a car to give us a lift. Then there is an attack. They cannot tell enemy from other people although they want to show everything is fine and they’re only after trouble-makers. There is a woman who is being beaten. She’s horrified and hysterical but not as much as the anti-riot police officer facing her. She shrieks, ‘Where can I go? You tell me go down the street and you beat me. Then you come up from the other side and beat me again. Where can I go?’ In sheer desperation, the officer hits his helmet several times hard with his baton. ‘Damn me! Damn me! What the hell do I know!’

I ask myself, ‘how much longer can these officers tolerate stress? How many among them would be willing to give their lives for somebody like Ahmadinejhad?’