HBO “For Neda” Documentary: The Divine Right to Dance

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F48SinuEHIk&feature=related

HBO has just released “For Neda” a documentary about Neda Agha Soltan, the young woman who was shot to death while participating in the June 20th protests.  By coming out into the streets one day after the Supreme Leader’s warning, Neda had joined the thousands of Iranians who had disobeyed the Supreme Leader.  She had crossed the line.

Crossing a line drawn by the Supreme Leader himself is no joke. Afterall, as Ayatollah Khomeini’s heir, Khamenei not only claims to embody God’s word, he has the battalions to enforce “God’s will.”  Imagine the consequences of disobeying your father or teacher–getting thrown out of the house, university…etc.  Now imagine what it took for Neda, and thousands of Iranians like her, to defy the Ayatollah.

So what Neda did on June 20th–just by stepping out of the house–went well beyond reclaiming the Iranian people’s right to vote or challenging Ahmadinejad’s presidency.  She declared her presence.  Her independence.  And, in the best of shia traditions, she rebelled against authority–gave the Caliph, the proverbial finger. What she did, and what she has come to symbolize, is the collapse of the religious assumptions and constitutional foundation of the Islamic Republic. She exposed a lie.

Unfortunately, the lie is very powerful.  The Islamic Republic is a house of cards built around the power of the lie.  There is no darker veil or heavier burka than living in a dungeon of lies. Speak out and stand up for your truths and you threaten everyone else’s lies.   Talk about a hostage crisis.

This state is what a great linguist calls a “travedy” (tragedy combined with travesty).  You can’t wear what you want, you can’t touch who you love, you can’t say what you think, you can’t laugh when you want.  You’re in constant danger of being caught.

That’s why I find Neda so compelling.  Not because she was Iran’s Jean d’Arc.  Not because she was waving some philosopher’s manifesto about religion and liberty. And not because she’s become a cause celebre–another martyr.  I find Neda compelling because like millions of Iranians, like Arabs, Turks, and Israelis, like Brazilians and Spaniards, Africans and Jamaicans, like daughters and granddaughers of Khomeini and Khamenei, she loved to dance.

And through dance, her body and spirit could become one.  She giggles.  That’s my Iran–it giggles and wiggles. And twinkles.

Khamenei may think he can kill a thousand Nedas a thousand times.  The Mongols did.  But there is no killing joy.  Not in Iran.  Where, afterall, does God’s light appear if not as the twinkle in Neda’s eyes and the tear in Iran and the world’s eyes?

So here’s to Neda, and the divine right to dance in Tehran’s streets.