Hatred for one's homeland

Once on Twitter, I came across a tweet by an Iranian woman that said: "On the way to the Imam Khomeini International Airport, I got out of the taxi, picked up a handful of soil from the side of the road, and put it in my suitcase so that when I arrive in the US, I can wake up every morning and spit on it."

To this moment, I cannot comprehend the degree of anger and hatred that the Iranian woman harbored towards her homeland. I don't understand why that handful of soil, which is the last remaining connection to her birthplace, is met with such hatred and venom.

When I then place this with the words of my Iranian acquaintance who not only has no qualms about the aggression of the US and Israel against his homeland but is actually rejoicing in it, I'm still left baffled. Where does this immense hatred and spite come from? What is the source? 

I have never seen any Hazara diaspora who, despite enduring decades of oppression and cruelty at the hands of Pashtuns, has expressed hatred toward their homeland.

Speaking of "human shields"

 What do we know when they talk about "human shields"? 

Here is a cartoon by Kamal Sharaf, a Yemeni cartoonist. It says it all. 

Justifiable anger: wishing for Pakistani bombs

There is a troubling convergence of sentiments s among some Iranians and Afghanistanis when it comes to the overthrow of their respective regimes. In recent days, members of the Iranian diasporas have celebrated the US and Israel dropping bombs on innocent people, showing blatant indifference to civilian casualties. Similarly, in Kabul and other provinces, some Afghanistanis have wished for more Pakistani bombs on the Taliban strongholds.

Social media platforms are awash with sentimental tweets and posts celebrating the Pakistani attacks on Taliban ammunition depots in Kabul, and what Pakistan alleges are terrorist cells in the south and east of Afghanistan, close to the Pakistani border. In various WhatsApp and Facebook groups that I'm part of, hopes for more Pakistani bombs raining on Taliban bases across the country are not subdued. 

Roya, one of the users originally from Mazar-e Sharif currently living in Kabul whose two brothers were killed by the Taliban, wrote in Farsi:

"When I see the Pakistani war planes in the sky of Kabul, I see them as angels of freedom. I want them to soar longer in the sky, so that the wrath of their sounds destroys the hearts of the terror groups ruling our homeland."

Ahmad, who also lost family members to suicide by the Taliban, wrote in Farsi:

"Every time I see the Pakistani aircraft in the sky of Kabul, I just wish they would drop bombs on all Taliban bases. I wish Pakistan would punish its unruly rascals." 

Obviously, these sentiments are born out of deep grief and loss. Reading through the comments, I could not help but think and compare these comments with the Iranians who celebrated the death of Khamenaie while denying the death of 175 innocent school children killed by the US bomb on February 28th. 

Considering the context of their grief and loss, these sentiments are deeply human, but there is a dilemma, and that is a moral one, which raises an unsettling question. While the pain of these individuals who lost family members in the Taliban's atrocities is understandable, how can one wish and justify more bombs to be rained on their oppressors without considering the civilian tolls and the continuation of the cycle of violence?

Some might say that those in Afghanistan who wish for Pakistani bombs to destroy the Taliban are perhaps morally bankrupt, but this kind of categorical denial is rejecting a painful reality, and that is that they are human beings and they are responding to the tragic events both retrospectively and predictably. Their celebration and wish for more Pakistani bombs are perhaps both a cry for justice and a display of grief. 

Iranians who are celebrating a death and dismissing the dead

In the neighborhood where I live, there is an Iranian grocery store and a bakery inside, which I usually go to. The grocery store's owner is a pro-Shah. The entire store is decorated with mini Lion and Sun flags. Last night at seven o'clock, I went to get bread and saw a long line. I forced myself to wait in line, which I usually don't, unless I am starving. Within moments, I noticed middle-aged women in the line had their phones out of their purses, showing each other photos of men with white and black turbans. I saw one of those photos from a distance; it was of Gholam-Hossein Mohseni-Eje'i, the former Iranian minister of intelligence.

A tall, middle-aged woman with a large bracelet on her right hand said to the woman in front of her, "kasafat ra nabudash kardan" - they eliminated that filt. She meant Ali Khamenei. One of the women replied, "dasti shon dard nakuna -- thank you so much. "They hit him in a way we didn't expect," she added with a bit of stupification performance.

"Baba, I still can't believe it. They should have taken DNA from his filthy corpse. These filths know a thousand ways to survive," said a plump, not-so-middle-aged woman with a receding hairline.

"Bravo, for three days now we've been dancing and celebrating. We're so happy words can't describe it," said a tall woman who was standing in front of me. Everyone confirmed with cheerful faces, expressing happiness.

I asked the woman in front of me, "Excuse me, when were you last in Iran?" I asked in English, of course. I was afraid to ask in Farsi, afraid they'd jump on me. Ever since I heard about an Afghanistani restaurateur in Hamburg, Germany, who refused to install the flag of the Iranian Lion and Sun flag (or better known as the monarch's flag) in his restaurant, was stabbed to death by supporters of Reza Pahlavi, I've been very cautious since then when encountering Iranians in Orange County.

"Where are you from?" the woman asked me, before she answered my question.

"From Indonesia," I replied, of course not telling the truth to protect myself.

"Two years ago," she replied.

"I read in the news that Iranians living in Los Angeles celebrated the death of Ali Khamenei, but in the same attacks, 165 school children were killed by American and Israeli bombs. Don't you think Khamenei's death and those 165 children are connected?" I asked in order to challenge their moral standing.

With noticeable annoyance and open indignation, the woman said, "Those 165 children were children of Revolutionary Guard soldiers." Another woman interrupted her and said, "No, the school was bombed by the regime itself."

"Did you see or read that somewhere? I asked curiously.

She showed me a screenshot from a social media page that I later looked up and found was linked to Hasbara - the Israeli propaganda organization. 

I left the line without bread.