(January 2026) This blog is written in the shadow of ongoing violence and mass killing in Iran — carried out by the Islamic Republic regime and sustained by its allies and global bloodwashers who distort, dilute, and manipulate the narrative.
This is not academic, neutral, or detached writing.
ShirinSchool publishes Iran-related content as a responsibility to truth, at a time when the most important reality of our world is Iran — its people, their resistance, and the systematic violence being inflicted on them.
We carry a mirror as vast as our history. Those who look clearly will never unknow. Those who refuse remain in darkness.
Thank you for taking the time to read about Iran.
Iran is the front line of freedom — not only for Iranians, but for the whole world.
It has been over 72 hours since Thursday night, January 8, that Iran has been under a complete blackout.
I am talking about a country roughly the size of Western Europe — larger than France, Germany, and the UK combined.
A country of over 85 million people, cut off at once.
For decades, reality has been diluted.
Everything has been turned into a “narrative.” Women. Minorities. Identity. Pain.
Endless talking, endless framing — often detached from lived reality, from family structures, from social responsibility, from consequence. Attention replaces substance. Language replaces action. There is rarely skin in the game, and there are rarely results.
When everything becomes symbolic, nothing remains real.
This is how urgency disappears. This is how truth is flattened into noise.
I was in Iran until Friday morning, January 9.
I had a return ticket to Georgia for a short educational trip, and I left with tears — not because I am exceptional, but because leaving Iran always feels like tearing something living from the body. More importantly, I knew that leaving meant entering days of uncertainty: not knowing what is happening to my loved ones, my people, during a blackout.
From outside, Iran looks even more alone.
This is not victimhood.
I do not see Iran as helpless or broken. I see Iran as grounded, awake, and exposed to reality without illusion. If the world were a body, Iran would not be a corner — it would be a vital organ. Pain appears first where sensation still exists.
People are being killed in Iran.
This is not new.
Iranians who protest inside the country risk their lives. Those outside — myself included — do something different but still necessary: we resist distortion, silence, and false equivalence. We refuse to make violence abstract. We refuse to let reality be softened into something harmless.
Freedom is not complicated.
Human dignity is not abstract.
What makes it appear complex is the endless reframing — systems that talk about liberation while hollowing out responsibility, erasing fatherhood, emptying womanhood, and replacing lived ethics with performance. This is not accidental. This is how Zahhak operates — not only through violence, but through confusion. I will speak about this more clearly later.
My work is teaching Persian — language and culture — through music and other educational tools.
Language does not exist in a vacuum. If you learn a language with sincerity, you care about the people who speak it and the land it comes from.
Every time I am outside Iran, I imagine touching its ground.
Anyone who has been there — and who is honest — knows this is not sentimentality. Iran is not an idea. It is an experience, and it remains in the body.
ShirinSchool is not a corner.
It is a bridge.
I do not want you to stay here — I want you to become independent, informed, and capable of speaking truth in your own voice. To learn deeply. To resist simplifications. To recognize when freedom is being traded for comfort, silence, or disbelief.
I am not here to sell a narrative.
I am here to name reality.
I am not trying to convince everyone.
Those who understand will recognize the lines immediately.
Those who don’t — that is fine.
Iran is standing.
And those who see it, see it.
Long live Iran, land of free people.
پاینده باد ایران، سرزمین آزادگان
