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I grew up in a midsize Iranian city, raised by two former political prisoners. My father had been tortured, but he never revealed any scars on his soul—except once. He worked in the construction industry, and I once helped him move leftover materials from a project site to our basement. As we went to pick up some thick and heavy electric cables, he froze, went white, and said, “They used to beat me with these.” Politics was not just a topic of conversation at home; it was the only topic.




