It’s June 18, 2023. It’s my birthday. Thirty eight years ago on this day, I was birthed into this physical world. Just two years before that, on this very day in 1983, 10 courageous Bahá’í women in Iran were executed for their beliefs — that women and men are inherently equal, that children have a right to moral and spiritual education, that all of humanity belongs to one single human race. Each woman – one only 17 years old, most of them in their 20s – was hanged to their death one at a time, while the remaining women were forced to watch. This, their murderers hoped, might persuade them to recant their faith. To sign a document saying they will no longer be Bahá’í. They all refused. Their crimes: teaching children’s classes, standing up for justice, trying to create peace and unity in their homeland – a land that continues to persecute Bahá’ís to this day. 

Since those harrowing executions, countless Bahá’í women in Iran have been arrested, tortured, killed. Those who did not meet those fates were regularly denied from attending university, removed from their jobs, denied access to various aspects of social life. The craziest part? Bahá’ís of all ages continue to quietly lead their home country of Iran towards greater progress, towards equity, towards education and literacy for all, towards justice, and towards a truly beautiful future that I know will one day make that country – my parents’ country, my country – the envy of the world. 

#OurStoryIsOne.

Their story is our story. It’s the story of my ancestors. It’s the story of my family. In honor of the indescribable sacrifice of those 10 women 40 years ago; in honor of the countless women who have been tortured, imprisoned, and executed since; in honor of the mothers and grandmothers and sisters who’ve been widowed and suffered indescribable grief by Iran’s brutality towards all Bahá’ís but continue to anchor their families in their steadfast faith; in honor of my ancestors who were influenced by the same spirit of love, faith, and strength that animated these 10 warrior women; in honor of my aunts and mother and sisters; in honor of the future daughters and granddaughters whose bloods will flow with the bravery of all women who came before them; in honor of woman, life, and freedom, I dedicate this post and share, once again, my 3-part poem “Father and Son.”

So, if I could have one birthday wish this year, it’s that everyone take the time to click here and learn more about these 10 incredible women. If I could have two wishes, it’s that you read my poetic offerings below. I wrote these poems in the form of letters being sent back and forth between a father and son over the course of many years as the son struggles to make sense of self, how to express his masculinity, and how to respect and honor the women around him

Father and Son: Part I

Hey dad, I know it’s been a while
but the state of the world’s made it hard to smile.
I’ve been struggling lately, and things are a mess.
Our global disorder is causing me stress.
I have so many questions, I’ll try to be brief,
but there’s a girl in my life and she’s giving me grief.

What does it mean to be a man today?
Does it mean I can shout until I get my way?
Do I have to be tough, athletic, and rich?
If I tell on my friends, will they call me a snitch?
Am I allowed to cry if I’m happy or sad?
And can I be aggressive if I’m feeling real mad?
Is it manly to worry, emote, and feel scared?
And if a friend’s hurting, is it manly to care?

What if I’m hurt by the girl I adore?
Can I call her a bitch? Can I call her a whore?
Do I have to respect her the rest of my life?
Or impress her just enough to make her my wife?
And if she says “no,” do I have to stop?
Cause I asked her real nicely, and saved her the best spot.
Who is she to say what I can do next,
when she told me she liked me in yesterday’s text?
I guess she’s a liar, and I should have known better.
I love you, dad. Please answer my letter.
I know you will help me to come to my senses,
but does being a man mean life sans consequences?

— — —

I just got your letter and admit I’m concerned
that life’s greatest lessons, you have yet to learn.

What does it mean to be a man today?
It means fighting injustice every single day.
It means working to be the best that you can be
outside of the false gender dichotomy.
Emotions are shared with all humanity,
not as signs of weakness or femininity.
In fact, if there’s one wish I could set in motion,
it’s that you have the courage to express all emotions.

But let me be clear, that’s still not enough.
I expect you to fight for all who have it tough.
As a boy and a man, your first duty is key,
you must smash to bits the patriarchy.
It’s denied half the world their basic birthright
to reach their potential and shine their light bright.
For too long its talons have gripped womankind,
silenced her voice, and left her behind.
There is simply no way for us to comprehend
all the good that will come with patriarchy’s end.

So what does all this mean for the women you meet?
Just remember the following on mental repeat:

If I had to boil it all down to one thing,
it’s that you’re entitled to absolutely nothing.
There’s nothing she owes you, nothing you deserve
when it comes to the instincts that make you a perv.
To make it crystal clear, it’s never alright
to hear her say “no” and then put up a fight.
A “no” signals your conversation’s completion
so just get back to loving her without condition.

But the things you owe her? Well, that list is quite long
So sit down, buckle up, and I’ll move this along.

You owe her your respect every single day
in all that you do, and all that you say.
You owe her your trust and your loyalty
to always believe her and help her succeed.
You owe her your patience and your understanding
as she goes through her journey with some bumpy landings.
You owe her your truest hearing ears and eyes
and an honest attempt to always empathize.
You owe her your support in all her endeavors,
even when she accomplishes what you could never.
You owe her your love and all it entails,
not just when she wins but also when she fails.

You owe her all this and so very much more
for the sake of all women who have come before.
Because in a vacuum, she does not exist
and her life is the sum of a world that’s sexist.
Over thousands of years men created a culture
in which women are carrion and men are the vultures.
Where victims are made to feel guilt, fear, and shame
while guilty men walk at no cost to their name.
And the only way things will ever be made right
is for young men like you to stand and join the fight.
To stand by your sisters and raise their voice high,
to make sure they’re heard and no longer denied.

Until men and women share the world equally,
we will never know peace, and no one will be free.
What you do with this knowledge will be up to you.
Will you sit idly by, or fight for what’s true?

Father and Son: Part II

Ok dad, I get it. No need for a lecture.
Especially not when it’s full of conjecture.
I wrote you in hopes of parental advice,
not line after line of feminist sound bites.
Your letter was full of generalizations
about women and men and their different stations.

If I read you right, you want me to believe
that men are to blame when women can’t achieve.
That women are suffering while men are succeeding
and that is just something I cannot believe in.

The fact is that numbers are not on your side
when it comes to who commits more suicides
or the death tolls of war divided by gender,
or who takes more jobs with the greatest danger.

There are more examples, but I think you’ll agree
that men suffer too, including me.
I may lose my job, the economy’s rough
and you’re telling me that I just don’t do enough.
So fight, if you must, for the good of woman,
but please don’t forget your own struggling son.

– – –

My son, my son, my poor struggling son,
why is your tone such a defensive one?
You asked about women, you asked about manhood,
I answered with love, your answer was a tad rude.

The first thing I hope that you understand
is that praising women makes you no less a man.
To be honest, I find your arguments lame.
We’ll start with the assumption that it’s about blame.

Nowhere in my letter did I say you’re at fault
for the past crimes of men who brought women this rot.
And while you had no hand in the crimes they committed,
it created a system from which you’ve benefited.
Again, it does not mean the blame is on you
But rather, that there’s a whole lot you can do.

With such privilege and power you could, for example,
raise the voices of those who too often get trampled.
For no other reason than their intersection
of race, sex, and gender they get no attention
from systems that outwardly call for progress
but were really designed to silence and oppress.

But you asked for some numbers, and I think I will start
with how one in six women experience assault.
If that number does not leave you clenching your hands
you should know it’s much worse if she’s black, brown, or trans.

Even worse still is the horrific plight
of our sisters who come from First Nation tribes.
Imagine if nearly every daughter and mother
experienced assault of one kind or another.
That is the sad fact for too many women
who we expect to move on and say “all is forgiven.”

But we could take turns spewing numbers and facts
and it won’t mean a thing if on them we don’t act.
Besides, why do numbers mean so much to you?
Is it too hard to believe that women’s words are true?
When you ask for numbers to back up their claims
You’re saying “prove your own trauma, and risk being shamed”

I don’t know about you, but I’d rather risk
believing a lie than injustice being missed.
You may lose your job, the economy’s rough
but there’s something I just cannot repeat enough:

It’s not about you, it’s not about me.
(It’s about women’s right to life and liberty.)
It’s not about me, it’s not about you.
(It’s about how much happiness women can pursue.)
It’s not about you, it’s not about me.
(It’s about every girl denied the right to read.)
It’s not about me, it’s not about you.
(It’s about every girl with self-imposed curfews.)
It’s not about you, it’s not about me.
(It’s about lifting up half of humanity.)
It’s not about me, it’s not about you.
(It’s about women’s freedom to be what they choose.)
It’s not about you, it’s not about me.
(It’s about half the world being denied dignity.)
It’s not about me, it’s not about you.
(It’s about gender equality, inherently true.)
It’s not about you, it’s not about me.
(It’s about making sure all our sisters are free.)

So the next time someone says women deserve rights,
try not to shout out, “but what about my fights?”
Instead, I would hope that you throw up your fists,
and stand by your sisters who fight for justice.
Because your fight is theirs, and their fight is yours.
There’s no us and them, so let’s stop keeping score.

So…where does this leave us in our correspondence?
I have said a lot and await your responses.
If it proves too much, and you don’t write again,
I’ll leave you with this: we must be better men.

Father and Son: Part III

Where do I begin? I feel so much shame
For the years of not talking, I know I’m to blame.
So much has happened since the last time you wrote.
I’ve avoided you since, without even a note.

I ignored all your calls, your texts, and your letters
With arrogant eye rolls and he should know betters.
I was just a dumb kid who thought he knew it all
But now here I stand, humbled by my fall.

The last time you wrote, you said “be better men.”
For too long I took that to mean be better than.
Better than those who have far less than me
As though their lives are not inherently worthy.

My present self can’t but look back in disgust
At my former self’s ignorance of what was unjust.
But my lessons came hard – at a great deal of pain.
I just hope that I’ve learned and won’t repeat again.

The standards I held and words that I hurled
Were demeaning to half of the entire world.
Somehow I stayed blind to their harmful effects
And the ways they hurt those of the opposite sex.

It seeped into friendships and attempts at romance
Turning something beautiful into an ugly dance
Where the man takes the lead and no one feels safe
Because his main concern is staying in first place.

The number of women I’ve hurt are too many
Though one in particular stands out more than any.
I got married, somehow…though it didn’t last long.
As I’m sure you predicted, I did it all wrong.

I yelled and I cursed, expecting to be served
By a woman whose love I just did not deserve.
She gave and she gave and loved me to a fault
Until I crossed the line…and committed assault.

I never told anyone the worst of it all:
That our son was right there to see his dad’s fall.
But my pain can’t compare to the suffering I brought
By allowing the spread of my personal rot.

But you stepped up again to do what I’d never:
To raise my son into a better man than I’d ever.
He cares for his wife, loves his children to pieces.
Even keeps me looped in, though I’ve given no reasons.

My actions have pushed away those I hold dear.
I hurt them so much, they must now live in fear.
And so I retreated to search inwardly,
But what I came across was scary and ugly.

I came across darkness made of shame and fears,
Of jealousy, lies, and hatred-filled tears.
But deeper I went, past more veils and walls,
To discover my ego at the center of it all.

The shame I now carry will be mine forever
And it’s something I hope I will forget never.
You did try to warn me about my old ways.
It’s all taken a toll – your son’s seen better days.

I just read you the letter I wish I had sent
To the man whom my ego had grown to resent.
But now that I’m whole and finally sharing it
It’s too late, and all that is left is to bury it.

Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here
To remember the life of a man without peer.
A man of coherence and integrity
Who was everything that I now wish I could be.

I just hope that in dad’s vision of “better men,”
A man like me might come to be forgiven.
And given a chance to right his past wrongs
And put in the work to move progress along.

But it’s not about me, my ego’s on its way out.
I just ask for your patience as I figure this out.
Dad, I’m sorry I took this long to see
What you knew all along: better men we must be.