retrospective memories (اشراقی/eshraghis in malaysia, 2019)
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there’s been noise of iran lately; sparked in september last year with the death of a 22-year-old kurdish woman (ژێنا ئەمینی jina ‘mahsa’ amini) at the hands of the government—a hardline islamic regime with an extremist mode of social governance (one path, and one path alone).
it’s renewed energies and protests around iran and the rest of the world—the proclamation of human rights and wrongs in the face of arrest, escalation and execution.
some of these conditions may seem adverse and intimidating, but they aren’t anything new for iranians, and the minorities and majorities amongst them—having long faced systemic oppression by the corruption of power.
today I share some noise of my own; a collage of recordings; retrospective memories—not of these current revolutionary movements, but as embers of the very same fire.
—
when i left the print bar in 2021, i was meant to go to lutruwita/tasmania the following week, to visit leuli and decompress after an exhaustive chapter. days before i was meant to leave, we went into another lockdown in meanjin and it was a real smack in the face.
while preparing to leave that job, i’d stumbled across a bunch of old recordings on an hard-drive that i thought i’d lost (a friend borrowed my recorder and wiped it by accident—i was absolutely devastated).
the recordings were from malaysia in 2019; capsules of time and connection—a family reunion of my dad’s side; eshraghis (اشراقی). around 30 of us gathered, shared, and explored, amongst the abundant, touristic backdrop of off-season penang. some of these relatives i'd never met before, and many hadn’t seen each other for vast periods of time.
this side is iranian, and some still live there, including dad’s sister, my amme (aunt) rozi, her husband shahram, and their children, sana, badi, and sami. others also came from iran, around australia, spain, canada, and the united states. we were many, and at all different ages and stages of our lives.
—
english, farsi, silence, translation. communicating through language, and all of the varied spaces that existed between. tales of our respective journeys in exchange for theirs; anecdotal bounties, formative experiences, and observations wholly contextual—shared over strong black tea, and an endless stream of persian treats—culinary excursions direct from iran, packed tightly into suitcases and carry-on luggage.
expressive sharing; chanting, singing, and poetry; the swung rhythms of the daf (a traditional persian frame drum), and the winding melodies of the santur (a stringed counterpart, played with hammers).
—
i spent that lockdown week forming the majority of this piece of music; a collage of sounds, moments, and conversations—memories. i think it’s an appropriate insight into the experiential and emotional varieties of the trip; from playful introductions and shared excursions to deep sharings of story, song, sacrifice and self—wells, old and new, flowing with love and care.
—
it starts around the communal pool table in the foyer—we clocked a lot hours there in-between moments, bonding over a game none of us were particularly good at. nays and i are encouraging tarlan to play, with some commentary from sana. recordings from the trip are layered throughout; from daytrips and shared meals, cramped into hotel rooms or spread out by the beach.
in the breakdown, excerpts of a performance from my cousin hoda on santur, and her husband farhud playing the daf; carrying an anecdote shared by amu (uncle) shahram, and translated by dad. shahram was talking about some of the realities that face baháʼís in iran. it’s not a rare topic in this family—religious persecution.
—
this side of my family have been baháʼís for many generations and their peaceful faith isn’t recognised by the iranian government. since the islamic revolution in 1979, baháʼís in iran have faced arrest, property confiscation, discrimination in education and employment, and the common desecration and destruction of their sacred sites.
in 1982, when dad was a fresh-faced, 20-something studying in the phlippines, his parents, my maman bozorg and baba bozorg, enayatollah eshraghi and ezzat janami, were arrested, along his sister, my amme (aunty) roya. they’d instructed dad not to return home for his own safety—to forge his own path. for a year, they were imprisoned, interrogated, and subjected to various efforts from the revolutionary guard that would cease if they were to renounce their faith and embrace islam; ending their trials and granting them freedom.
steadfast in their beliefs, on the 16th and 18th of june, 1983, 16 baháʼí prisoners were executed by hanging in chogan square, shiraz. among them were my baba bozorg (62), maman bozorg (57), and amme roya (23).
—
so our coming together in 2019 was a potent moment for a scattered, international puzzle. this family, as i know it, has been founded on higher belief; on perseverance, sacrifice and hope. and this song is just a glimmer of our connections; shedding proximal barriers, and finding new modes to understand each other, and the decisions made before us.
it’s renewed energies and protests around iran and the rest of the world—the proclamation of human rights and wrongs in the face of arrest, escalation and execution.
some of these conditions may seem adverse and intimidating, but they aren’t anything new for iranians, and the minorities and majorities amongst them—having long faced systemic oppression by the corruption of power.
today I share some noise of my own; a collage of recordings; retrospective memories—not of these current revolutionary movements, but as embers of the very same fire.
—
when i left the print bar in 2021, i was meant to go to lutruwita/tasmania the following week, to visit leuli and decompress after an exhaustive chapter. days before i was meant to leave, we went into another lockdown in meanjin and it was a real smack in the face.
while preparing to leave that job, i’d stumbled across a bunch of old recordings on an hard-drive that i thought i’d lost (a friend borrowed my recorder and wiped it by accident—i was absolutely devastated).
the recordings were from malaysia in 2019; capsules of time and connection—a family reunion of my dad’s side; eshraghis (اشراقی). around 30 of us gathered, shared, and explored, amongst the abundant, touristic backdrop of off-season penang. some of these relatives i'd never met before, and many hadn’t seen each other for vast periods of time.
this side is iranian, and some still live there, including dad’s sister, my amme (aunt) rozi, her husband shahram, and their children, sana, badi, and sami. others also came from iran, around australia, spain, canada, and the united states. we were many, and at all different ages and stages of our lives.
—
english, farsi, silence, translation. communicating through language, and all of the varied spaces that existed between. tales of our respective journeys in exchange for theirs; anecdotal bounties, formative experiences, and observations wholly contextual—shared over strong black tea, and an endless stream of persian treats—culinary excursions direct from iran, packed tightly into suitcases and carry-on luggage.
expressive sharing; chanting, singing, and poetry; the swung rhythms of the daf (a traditional persian frame drum), and the winding melodies of the santur (a stringed counterpart, played with hammers).
—
i spent that lockdown week forming the majority of this piece of music; a collage of sounds, moments, and conversations—memories. i think it’s an appropriate insight into the experiential and emotional varieties of the trip; from playful introductions and shared excursions to deep sharings of story, song, sacrifice and self—wells, old and new, flowing with love and care.
—
it starts around the communal pool table in the foyer—we clocked a lot hours there in-between moments, bonding over a game none of us were particularly good at. nays and i are encouraging tarlan to play, with some commentary from sana. recordings from the trip are layered throughout; from daytrips and shared meals, cramped into hotel rooms or spread out by the beach.
in the breakdown, excerpts of a performance from my cousin hoda on santur, and her husband farhud playing the daf; carrying an anecdote shared by amu (uncle) shahram, and translated by dad. shahram was talking about some of the realities that face baháʼís in iran. it’s not a rare topic in this family—religious persecution.
—
this side of my family have been baháʼís for many generations and their peaceful faith isn’t recognised by the iranian government. since the islamic revolution in 1979, baháʼís in iran have faced arrest, property confiscation, discrimination in education and employment, and the common desecration and destruction of their sacred sites.
in 1982, when dad was a fresh-faced, 20-something studying in the phlippines, his parents, my maman bozorg and baba bozorg, enayatollah eshraghi and ezzat janami, were arrested, along his sister, my amme (aunty) roya. they’d instructed dad not to return home for his own safety—to forge his own path. for a year, they were imprisoned, interrogated, and subjected to various efforts from the revolutionary guard that would cease if they were to renounce their faith and embrace islam; ending their trials and granting them freedom.
steadfast in their beliefs, on the 16th and 18th of june, 1983, 16 baháʼí prisoners were executed by hanging in chogan square, shiraz. among them were my baba bozorg (62), maman bozorg (57), and amme roya (23).
—
so our coming together in 2019 was a potent moment for a scattered, international puzzle. this family, as i know it, has been founded on higher belief; on perseverance, sacrifice and hope. and this song is just a glimmer of our connections; shedding proximal barriers, and finding new modes to understand each other, and the decisions made before us.
03/04/12023