if I were your son, I do not know I would feel about the genocides that you have committed. The day has not come when the children of the Revolution escape from the walls of their prison. Would you have done to me what you did to Sohraab?
If I were your son, I would have joined the protesters with the motto “Where are their votes?” written on my jacket. If I had known that you would steal their votes, I would have never voted for you again.
I would have placed myself in the first row of the peaceful protests, because it would have been a right protected by the constitution.
I would have remained with my friends, while your friends mounted their motorcycles and mutilated my compatriots with merciless clubs.
I would have remained next to the people who were prepared to fight for the Republic thirty years ago. The same people who think that you are no different than the cruel Shah. These parents who, after thirty years will gnaw through tear gas and blood to recover that for which they fought so hard.
I would have helped the legless veteran who came to the Friday prayers to recover what was his. Not like you, who fled that day to the false sanctuary of Mashad. Do you know what your malicious gas did to him? Do you know what happened to that legless veteran who could not escape like the rest of his compatriots?
I would have sat at the feet of the children of the dead soldiers who refused to permit the enemies of Iran to take any part of our land from us. Little do they know that the worse plunderer of all hid himself among them.
I would have remained next to my compatriots for the Friday prayers so that you could see me and throw tear gas at me. Perhaps your friends do not pray much, because they are busy gassing my town. (NOTE: There may be a double-meaning here involving “gas” and “gastar”, meaning to waste or to be a wastrel, a debauched person. If so, the sentence is: “Perhaps your friends do not pray much, because they are so dissipated”)
If I were your son, I would have remained in front of you (confronted you?) so that you would have taken me to prison and tortured to me to my dying breath, just as you did Sohrab.
If I were your son, I would never call you my father because the name of “father” belongs to those whose are innocent in a prison cell enduring continuous tortures. Or to those who go to Evin every day hoping to get a bit of news about their loved ones.
If you were my father, you would have heard the chants of God is Great from the roof of your own house and you would have seen it as graffitti on your own walls.
If my father were like you, I would refuse to allow him in my house, like the rest of the Iranians that see you as a dark menace to their land.