First scene – Childhood – Dezful, Iran – 1989
The years after revolution in Iran! I believe I was just 5 years old when I traveled to my father’s hometown, Dezful for the first time. In that moment, I didn’t understand that I’m walking on the oldest firm bridge on the world — one which was seventeen hundred years old. Jafar was 27 years old in that year. I was meeting him for the first time as well. Honestly, I can’t think of the old bridge without Jafar in the same memory. I didn’t know who was this new face in my family. With a bony face, he was sitting at the corner of the yard while all of us kids were playing on the other side. My cousins were whispering all the time and finally through the whispers, I figured out Jafar was a prisoner — a political prisoner. I didn’t know exactly what a political prisoner could do to be in jail. I was informed he was just released from the prison and returned home. Although home never became home for him again. Home was just a bridge where he passed the jail toward the asylum. I still remember his efforts to get closer to us. I still remember all of us kids being scared of him because he had been a prisoner.
Second scene – Right before the election in Iran – Hamedan, Iran – 2009
Right before the election in Iran — very hopeful days. We were getting ready to deal with the election. We were ready for a big change and we supported the green wave. It was right in the spring. My city, Hamedan, was green! I was green. My sister was green! Suddenly the telephone rang. The message was short and to the point. “ Jafar’s body was found under the bridge”.
We got in our car and the next day we were going over the bridge where they found Jafar’s body. We were in Dezful again. Now my sister was black. The kids were black and Jafar’s death was an opening for the black days which we dealt with later after election. I did not hear any whispers this time. The city was quiet as much as it was before. Nobody asked why Jafar’s body was under the bridge. Nobody asked any questions. We buried him and returned to our home. No one was surprised by his death. It seems we were prepared for the news and he was traveling to somewhere we had already pre-bought his ticket.
Last scene – Right After election in the US – San Francisco, US – 2017
The wind is blowing intensely. It moves the smell of death on the bridge. This orange structure is gorgeous. This Golden Gate is a fuckin’ awesome place for dying! Here is an accountable country. They note everything. They count everything. They even know that after you jump off the bridge, it takes four seconds at 120 kilometers an hour until you reach your final goal of the water. They submit all the records in this country. 1600 people died on this bridge. So people call it the “suicide magnet” — it holds the record for the top suicide spot in the world. Death is the performance here. They take photos of the deaths on this bridge. They even made a documentary movie about the deaths. Now I’m walking on it. Shit! I’m still surrounded by my uncle’s death. His spirit doesn’t leave me even on the other side of the world. Why hasn’t someone figured out how many seconds it took until Jafar reached his final goal? Why hasn’t anybody asked why Jafar’s body was found under the old bridge?