to suffer wrong or to do wrong

It’s a couple of days I’m busy reading Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. Every morning on the train I read my newspaper in Dutch, then my train book in English and if I have the internet connection, I read the news from my country in Persian.

I read the morbid headlines that a judge and her secretary are shot dead in Brussels at the end of a court sitting. Murder has become so ordinary these days, you know, just the day before a taxi driver in Whitehaven, England has gunned down several people, a couple of weeks ago in Thailand several protesters were shot dead and next week one year ago tens of peaceful protesters to the election fraud in Iran were ruthlessly shot by the special guard and the sub-military pressure group. Violence has become part of our lives. Albert Camus’ words in The Rebel rankles in my ears that “as soon as a man, through lack of character, takes refuge in doctrine [ie establishing an ideology behind a crime], as soon as crime reasons about itself, it multiplies like reason itself.” And indeed it has become so.

I move on to Dostoyevsky and read the underlined sentence that “actually, people sometimes talk about man’s ‘bestial’ cruelty, but that is being terribly unjust and offensive to the beasts: a beast can never be as cruel as a human being.” Taken up by a resonant quandary , I think of the forthcoming election in Belgium and hear the cry in my head that when are these politicians going to really think of the real problems and authentic solutions instead of thinking of the luxurious language problem in Brussels, Halle and Vilvoorde? Can’t they really find a way to stop illegal weapons proliferation?

I reach my school and while going to the classroom, a colleague of mine says over his shoulder, “have you heard about the murder in Brussels?” and when I say yes, he looks at me with his eyes squinting and says in his customary funny tone, “he’s been one of your men.” I take it as a joke as I am the only foreigner at school and sometimes my colleagues like to joke with me. I even let them call me a terrorist so that we laugh ourselves loose, but this time it’s not a joke. I can’t believe it. Not that nationality has anything to do with the nature of crime, no. Only that this is inexplicable in the face of being victimized by a totalitarian regime that is killing our people right and left. Now I flounder to find an explanation for this flouncing murder.

Through the whole past year after the fraudulent election in Iran, the GREEN opposition movement as we are called, being hunted and beaten and tortured and imprisoned as we are, have been trying to show to the world the salient fact that we protest with equanimity and act in deference to the human rights. We have even enunciated that we dispense with violence and are ready to forgive our torturers. And now an Iranian brandishes his pistol and guns down two human beings.

Back at home I follow the news on TV only to find out that it had been an act of revenge. What can vengeance bring for the avenger? In Dostoyevsky’s words, “what can vengeance put right?” I can’t look into the eyes of my wife and I don’t know what to say to my students if they ask me about this ignominy. I call a friend and ask with supplication to write at once a statement condemning the malice. Belgium has been ineffably friendly with refugees. She has provided many with shelter and has saved many more from persecution. The Belgians that I know will certainly forgive us and will not look at all of us Iranians as potential murderers.

Will I be able to sleep tonight?