When I saw the Neda video, I felt I was being trauma bonded–that is, I was so horrified that I was internalizing the violence that killed her. I knew it was happening, first, because I am writing a book about trauma bonding, I’m studying it, and I know how it works. The give-away was the fact that I was getting so angry I felt like just whacking somebody out to get even. I had a few fantasies about beating the hell out of oppressors/fascists/thugs. But when you have those kinds of fantasies, the bad guys are still inside you afterwards.

So I spent the day writing a poem about Neda, to break the effect of the trauma (or near-trauma) I’d had when I saw the video. It had overwhelmed my defenses and taken residence in my gut.

I beat the aggression that I’d internalized, and got out of the cycle of violence by working on the poem all day. I didn’t get any work done on my book, but I got the hate out of my innards, at least mostly so.

I honored Neda. And I did it for me. I don’t want her death to be part of any cycle, or violence or anything else. That’s the dangerous part of the cycle of aggression we’re stuck in. And for me, on this day, it damn well worked.

Okay, here’s the poem.

Neda
Voice of the Divine
stay with us
stay with us

Make us hear you
Help us hear you.

Your blood, our blood.

Sweet remembrances of friends, family
live forever in laughter.
Laughter is the prayer of children
who live without fear.

Hear them.
Hear them.
Always with us,

dear Neda!

Okay, it’s not great, but it got the stink of the oppressor our of my body. I kept thinking about Neda as my daughter. I have a Muslim daughter, and if my kid died that way, I don’t think I could take it.

SoulPilgrim is my real user-name, by the way. I’ll use another if it’s too close to yours. Thanks for bringing up a sensitive and important topic.

Making men and women into better or worse than they are is a longstanding human tradition, but we only really find the value and greatness in ourselves when we realize that all of the heroes and villains of the world are simply human beings. (Course, we also find the fear, violence and psychopaths this way.)

Personally, I had no desire to watch it, but when it was presented to me on a news program I didn’t stop watching. I’ve just seen enough death on documentaries that I know it is unpleasant to witness, though I think necessary.

And before I start sounding too self-absorbed, I’ll exit with someone else’s words:
It’s my estimation that every man ever got a statue made of him was one kind of sommbitch or another. Ain’t about you, Jayne. It’s about what they need.

I’m not saying we should go “oh, I’m bearing witness, that makes me a good person” and pat pat our own backs. I’m just saying that witnessing a movement and honoring people’s struggles by doing so is a valid and worthwhile response.

If it weren’t for the foreign media and the internet (which is not Iranian) running those photos and video clips, a lot of what’s happening would go unseen, both within Iran and throughout the world. And, interestingly, a lot of what’s getting through via Twitter and Facebook is made possible by dedicated IT-savvy expats who are helping keep to poke holes in the regime-imposed firewalls so the images can get out of Iran.