I remember there was an old ruined mansion in Bushehr where people could pay a little amount to go inside. We visited the wrecked house a few times in my childhood. The story behind it was so sad but more importantly, a life lesson which was probably why they took us to the palace several times.

roof-540835_960_720The story goes that the owner was a very rich merchant who was a profligate spender to show off how wealthy he was. People used to say he lit his cigars with burning bills instead of matches in front of others and when big politicians came to Bushehr from the Capital Tehran, he lit candles with bills to show how powerful and rich he was.burning-money-2113914_960_720He used to serve tea in gold tea cups and eat in silver plates and dishes. He was never friendly with anyone and found it disgraceful to talk to the poor.pots-186553_960_720

Eventually, he lost everything, went bankrupt and died without a penny to leave for his children. The poor people who now lived in the mansion with no windows or doors and partially no roof and walls, were his grand children who owned the land. They lived very impoverish lives.person-1172018_960_720They survived with general labors and the money people paid to see the ruined house. They never talked to anyone, nor answered any questions.  It was obvious that they were so ashamed of their grandfather’s past.

My father said that no one ever offered them any jobs because their grandfather was so cruel to the town, and never respected anyone as he saw himself as a superior.

Mr. Moore|آقای مور



I moved to USA when I was at late 16. The only English I knew was “hello” and “how are you?”

In September 1986 I attended Grade 12 in George Washington High School at Charleston, West Virginia. Not knowing enough English to attend high school was a hard challenge.


For every single subject that I needed to complete to be able to graduate, I had to work triple hard. I had to find every single word in the dictionary to understand every subject.


But it was a great achievement for me and I was very excited and positive about it. Months passed and I was getting better in English and was speaking slowly but more smooth. My English teacher was very kind and patient with me, she talked slowly and clearly to make sure I understood. My Algebra teacher loved me because I always handed in neat homework and got A+ in his class. All the students and other teachers were super nice and never made fun of my baby steps in learning English.


There was a very tall white man in his late sixties, always shaved. He had white hair, blue eyes and his face was mostly red. He was very serious and looked angry all the time. His name was “Mr. Moore”. He wasn’t nice to anyone, but he was even more unkind to me and a girl from El Salvador. He was our Biology teacher and no matter how polite I was and how hard I worked in his class, he always gave me an “F” for my work. After months of trying, I realized if I continue this way, I wouldn’t be able to graduate. I went to the Grade 12 Councillor, Barbara. She was a white chubby lady with a beautiful smile. I remember that I cried a lot in her office and explained my situation. She mumbled: “Oh, that racist….”


And continued: “My dear don’t you worry at all. I will transfer you to another Biology class.”

I grudged and said: “What about the months of “F’s.”

She got up from her desk, held my hand and took me to Mr. Huffman’s office and told him: “She is another one of Mr. Moore’s students set aside for sacrifice. She is getting good grades in other classes. I want her in your Biology class. She needs to graduate. She needs our help.”

Mr. Huffman said: “Oh dear, Mr. Moore did it again?!”

I really didn’t understand on that day what they were talking about, until I got C+ in Biology and graduated with other students.



Dear friends:

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Freedom of Speech|آزادی بیان



The leader of an unjust land gathered everyone weekly in the main square of the town. People had to show up in order to respect the leader, or there would be consequences and people didn’t want to get in trouble.


The leader always talked about great things about the land like freedom of thought, speech, choice and dreams, but the civilians never saw those things.

Then at the end of each speech, the leader invited people to talk freely and share their thoughts if they disagreed with any part of his speech. The leader insisted that he loved to hear about it to be able to fix it. However, out of thousands of people, not one ever dared to speak up. Until a man named Sam finally did one day.


Sam said: “We have a rich land full of gold mines, we make tons of money here. Why don’t we have enough schools, hospitals, fair retirement. Why can’t females …?”

The leader interrupted: “You see dear people, feel free to talk. It is a free land and you all have rights to share your thoughts. I thank Sam for mentioning all these things that we already are working on it.”


The speech finished mysteriously. Everyone started looking at each other and talked with their eyes. They were wondering what had happened, but also what a brave man Sam was. He asked questions that they all had wanted to ask for so long. He was stopped in the middle, but at least he was able to ask some of the important questions.


This encouraged people to gather questions they could ask in the following week’s Congregation.


When it was time for the gathering, the leader began his speech filled with the same old lies. Everyone was looking all around but couldn’t find Sam. No one asked any question that day.


Weeks passed and Sam was never seen again. Once again, out of thousands of people, not one ever dared to speak up.


Dear friends:

You can purchase my book; “Climbing Over Grit” at;

Barnes & Noble, Gardners, Bertrams, Ingram, Baker & Taylor, and all bookselling channels via hubs in US, UK, Brazil, Germany, Russia and Australia. The links are listed below:

Our Book Page is: