Memories of Ashura… A city dressed in black, mourning for others, when it should be crying for itself.

Today I left the house to buy some fruit and vegetables. The whole city is covered in black. If you don’t know why, let me tell you an old story.

Once upon a time, 1400 years ago, on a day like this, a man named Hussein — the grandson of Prophet Muhammad — along with 72 of his companions, rose up against the Islamic government of that time. They were beheaded in the desert of Karbala by the regime’s forces. Back then, anyone who rebelled against the Islamic ruler or stood against the Caliph was labeled an “outsider to Islam” and had to be executed.

(P.S. This same situation still exists in almost every Islamic country today, but no one dares to speak about it.)

So why do Shia Muslims mourn and wear black for it? Because they believe Hussein, as the grandson of the Prophet, was the rightful heir to the leadership of Muslims through bloodline. (It’s funny how these Shia don’t even realize how obsessed they are with blood and hereditary rule.) Anyway, when you live in a Shia Islamic country, you have no choice but to endure the entire city turning black, people beating their chests, and mourning processions filling the streets.

Even if you just want to buy some fruit, the mourners block your way and make your life difficult. Never mind that everything has become so expensive we can barely afford anything.

It’s not because of a shortage — the shops are full of food. The tragedy is that prices have skyrocketed so much that people have completely lost their purchasing power.

The price of meat is so high that many people don’t even go near butchers anymore. Everyday items sometimes jump 50% to 100% in price overnight.

Do you understand what a 100% increase means? It’s terrifying. The chicken you bought yesterday for 150,000 tomans suddenly becomes 300,000… then 600,000.

I don’t buy meat, chicken, or rice anymore. Just vegetables and sometimes fruits when they’re on discount, bread, and that’s it.

I was standing in front of the fruit shop while the seller was separating the good fruits from the rotten, wormy ones.

He complained about the heat and said, “The weather is horrible! I’m wearing a tank top under this black outfit.”

 I told him, “Then take it off!”

He replied, “No way! We’re not allowed. If we wear anything other than black, the authorities will come down on us and cause trouble.”

I said angrily, “So people aren’t even allowed to choose the color of their own clothes anymore?”

I left the shop with my head full of dark thoughts. I just wanted to get home safely on this cursed day.

While I was pedaling my bike, I got stuck behind a mourning procession. It wasn’t a big crowd like in previous years.

This one was mostly 11–12-year-old boys wearing military-style clothes and carrying big black batons.

Only a handful of adults were with them. I thought to myself: “Is this a mourning procession or a suppression squad? Why are these little boys holding batons?”

When I finally reached home, I opened the door and pulled my bike inside. I stood there for a moment and watched the procession moving past. The boys were playing the cymbals and drums, while the few adults at the back walked with their heads down. While the ignorant boys kept their heads high.

THAT’s RIGHT!

“Ignorance is its own blessing!” Yes, keep your heads down! Just four months ago, your own people were massacred in these same streets. And now here you are, wearing black and mourning 72 Arabs who were killed by other Arabs 1400 years ago?

THAT’s RIGHT!

Black suits you perfectly. You should wear it.