L to R: My son Adib; daughter Nadia; Farahnaz; myself. Taken in summer 2020

Growing up in Iran

As far as I remember, I have always loved the Faith. I had the good fortune of being born into a Bahá’í family. I am grateful and indebted to my ancestors, going back three or four generations, who bravely accepted the Faith of The Báb and then Bahá’u’lláh for this precious gift to have been passed on through successive generations so that the likes of me can reap the rewards of this priceless gift. I was born in 1965 in Tehran, capital city of Iran. As I passed through the academic years at school, attending from Saturday to Thursday, I also attended Bahá’í children’s classes, normally on the Friday which is the day of rest in Iran. I always looked forward to attending the Bahá’í children’s classes which was not always the way I felt about going to school. Personally, I didn’t suffer any malice towards me for being a Bahá’í but I think I was in the minority and many did.

For a few years from the mid-70s I went to our local school in Golshahr-villa which was an Islamic school. Islamic obligatory prayer at noon was compulsory for the Muslims but I joined in voluntarily and learnt their prayer. I had no problem saying their prayer which is said in congregation, though I used to find it strange that my Muslim friends would be going through the motions standing next to me but instead of reciting the prayer, they would be joking around and making mockery of it, whereas there I was, a Bahá’í child making an effort to recite the prayer, as I had learnt that we accept Islam as a divine religion and should have a respectful attitude whilst praying. During the 1979 revolution in Iran, schools closed down for several months and we children spent those months at home. During the revolution there was a lot of violence. I remember hearing that the mayor of Karaj, which was the nearest town to us, was hanged from a crane, and the next wave of violence was going to move towards us, the Bahá’ís in Golshar. I recall my parents packing the car with what they could and making ready for us to escape in case the mob were to turn on us. Thankfully, it didn’t happen. I think it was shortly after that, my parents decided that we should move to Tehran, feeling we might be safer in a bigger city.

There were summer schools held in Hadigheh which was very well equipped with an auditorium, conference hall, dormitories, food halls and sports grounds. I remember attending several summer schools in the 70s and they were all very memorable. One of these memories is of a fascinating film about Rúhíyyih Khánum and her travel teaching trips in the Amazon. These summer schools were attended by hundreds of Bahá’ís, which made for a very dynamic atmosphere.

I think it was in 1979 or 1980 that we moved to Tehran. On the first day in the new school I came across a classmate, Ali Noori, who had also moved from Karaj to Tehran. That was quite a coincidence as Tehran was a large city even then. Though we weren’t close friends previously, we became so in the new school year. He told me later that the reason he had stayed away from me previously was because he had found out that I was a Bahá’í and had accepted the usual rumours against us as true, but once having known me and my family better by coming over to our house through several months of friendship, he had noticed that none of those deceitful rumours were true. Shortly after the Islamic regime came into power, the persecutions of the Bahá’ís started. One of my dad’s dearest friends Mr Farid, who was a member of the National Spiritual Assembly of Iran, was among the first phase of the Bahá’ís who were abducted, falsely charged and executed. I remember going to a commemoration meeting for him, to which I took my friend Ali, held in one of the Bahai homes in Aryashahr. It was packed with friends paying their respects. Ali was further impressed by the dignified conduct of the Bahá’ís, which was different from what he had experienced in Islamic communities.

A year before finishing high school, I was going to be sent overseas for mainly two reasons. After graduating from high school, I would have been conscripted into the army to fight as a soldier in the war that had broken out with Iraq. Also, as a Bahá’í I would not have been able to continue into higher education. My parents thought it was best for me to leave Iran.

One memorable event which I won’t forget is the day in the summer of 1981 when I was taken to the home of another Bahá’í friend, in great caution and secrecy, and there being signed up and officially registered and declaring myself as a Bahá’í. Though I was never asked if that was my wish, I had absolutely no hesitation as I always considered myself a Bahá’í. Ever since that day, I have built on my appreciation regarding what it means to be a Bahá’í and also have continually received confirmation that I absolutely and unequivocally made the right choice.

A brief passage through Pakistan

I couldn’t legally leave Iran because of my age and becoming a Bahá’í may have also caused me difficulties. I left Iran by being smuggled across the border to Pakistan at the age of 16 in a group of people among whom I only knew one person, Mr. Nakhaei who was also a Bahá’í and a trusted friend of our family. He later became my father in law. My arrival in Pakistan coincided with the hostage taking of the staff at the American embassy in Tehran. This was an important factor in the refusal of my visa into the United States to join my elder sister Haleh, who had gone there a few years earlier as an exchange student but had not returned to Iran because of the revolution that had begun shortly after. I was only in Pakistan for a week or so before managing to obtain a visa to go to Germany and stay with the son of Mr Sadeghian, a Bahá’í friend of my parents. Unable to acquire a visa for the USA, I managed to get one for entry to the UK, and joined my aunt (Mrs Sabeti) and her family in East Kilbride, Scotland.

 

East Kilbride, Scotland

It was proving difficult to find the right place of education for me to start learning English in and around East Kilbride. In Iran we had lived in a small town called Gholshahr-villa outside Karaj, 25 miles from Tehran. We had an amazing and vibrant Bahá’í community there. Our closest Bahá’í neighbour were the Foroudi’s. Their younger son Behnam was my good friend but I knew the whole family. Payam, who was the middle son, had left Iran for the UK to continue his studies. During the 1981 Bahá’í Teaching Conference in Blackpool, I ran into Payam, which was a delightful surprise. As we chatted, I told him that I was looking for a place to attend to learn English. He said he had learnt English at a private school for overseas students, known as English in Chester. He said he would speak to them on my behalf. The school had been so impressed by Payam while he had studied there that they offered me a free place.

Chester

I moved to Chester on my 17th birthday on a cold January day. I had to change trains at Crewe travelling from Glasgow. I arrived there at 4 am and the next train to Chester was after 8 am. It was snowing and somehow the cold made a lasting impression on me. On arriving in Chester, I was met by Payam, who took me to the home of Bahá’ís Sue and Jim Grimshaw. They had kindly agreed to accommodate me until I could find alternative accommodation. I started going to school shortly after and it lasted about 8 months, one of the most memorable times of my life in the UK. I will forever be indebted to Payam and English in Chester for their kindness towards me. The head of the school was Mr Richard Day. A few years ago, after over 35 years, I became Facebook friends with Richard. He was travelling to Scotland with his wife, and my family and I had the privilege of being their hosts for one evening and taking them out to a Persian restaurant in Glasgow, where we reminisced about the past. I am hoping he wasn’t disappointed with the progress of my English through the years. I continued my education at a further education college in Chester from 1982 to 1985 doing O levels and A levels.

Chester had a small but loving and caring Bahai community. From the very beginning of my entering the UK and contacting and getting to know the Bahá’ís, I felt that I already had a whole other family there, which went a long way to mitigating the feelings of being homesick. I attended feasts, firesides, teaching conferences, summer schools and any other Bahá’í events that I could. As I have passed through the years, my love for Bahá’u’lláh and understanding of His Faith has grown. I firmly believe that His Healing message is the only saviour for humanity and there is nothing more joyous and uplifting than to share His message with anyone whose path we cross.

During the summer of 1985 I travelled to the European Bahá’í Youth Conference in Antwerp with a group of Bahá’í friends from Scotland, Iceland and England. One of the main speakers was Mr. Adib Taherzadeh who later became a member of the Universal House of Justice. The UN had named that year the International Year of Youth. During those times I also took advantage of Interrail train travel, with adventures through France, Germany, Austria and Switzerland. Sometimes I would sleep on the train through the night and venture into a new European destination during the day, totally unplanned. During my trip to Frankfurt, a German distant relative I stayed with for a few days took me to visit the House of Worship at Langenhain. That was unexpected and unplanned but it turned out as one of the best parts of the whole trip.

 

Back home in Tehran

Later I learnt that a few years back, the authorities had come to look for my father as he had previously been a member of various Bahá’í institutions. Failing to capture him as he had moved away from home, they harassed my mother Behjat and my younger sister Hedieh. They describe how the agents came to the house, terrorising them with their guns and insulting them verbally and breaking the pictures framing Bahá’í Holy places and Abdu’l-Baha, tearing Bahá’í books and stamping on them and then asking Behjat and Hedieh to leave the house, and sealing it. Hedieh was about 14 at the time. She’s definitely braver than me in some ways. She describes how she told them sternly to stop what they were doing, they pushed her to the ground and put a gun to my mother’s chest. I can only imagine how terrifying it must have been but I’m certain they were being supported and protected by Bahá’u’lláh. Hedieh told me how she would come back after school and just sit on the stairs outside the sealed house. Later when Hedieh was sitting for the end of year exams, armed government agents walked into the examination hall and took Hedieh away in front of her friends and classmates (even though her headmistress had bravely but unsuccessfully protested), held her hostage in prison, and tortured other Bahá’ís in front of her, so she would reveal the whereabouts of our dad. Because of protests by other countries through the efforts of Bahá’ís, encouraged by the Universal House of Justice, the authorities at the time were embarrassed by being accused of hostage taking, and Hedieh was released.

 

Leeds

At the end of summer 1985, Payam came to my rescue again and helped me move from Chester to Leeds where I had been accepted to do a degree in Manufacturing Systems Engineering. On arrival at Leeds Polytechnic, I dropped off my belongings at the hall of residence. Payam knew a Bahá’í in Wakefield, Farzaneh Shahbahrami, who was an Iranian girl from a Zoroastrian background. We went to pay her a visit in Wakefield as it is relatively close to Leeds. Having had to relocate to a new place, I was beginning to feel homesick again, and visiting Farzaneh and making that connection with Iran made a difference. I was staying in a student hall of residence and shortly after arrival, my course started. I remember two particular Bahá’í families among others in Leeds, Pakroohs and Fatheazams. Dr Shahin Fatheazam was the brother of Hooshmand Fatheazam (who was a member of the Universal House of Justice). We had a vibrant Bahá’í community in Leeds. As soon as there were a few Bahá’ís at Leeds Polytechnic, which I think it may have been during my 3rd year, we started a Bahá’í society.

The following year, 1987, I was given the opportunity to attend my first pilgrimage. There I met Mr Furutan and Dr Varqa (the Hands of the Cause) for the first time. It was an amazing experience but its significance has sunk in more and more with each passing year. I had seen pictures of the Holy places previously but pictures don’t do justice to their grandeur and the way they make you feel when you’re physically there in person. Something that I noticed was that pilgrims are treated as guests of the Universal House of Justice. It’s a very humbling experience. Our guide told us stories about the early pilgrims who were looked after as guests by ‘Abdu’l-Bahá and it seems the same tradition has been preserved. In the Garden of Rizvan I was mesmerised by a very large orange hanging from a very thin branch. On noticing my sense of awe, our very kind and observant guide told me “One is never tested beyond one’s capacity”. Those words of wisdom have always been a reassuring reminder for me which I also share with others. Another memorable occasion was meeting with the members of the Universal House of Justice. Feeling very insignificant, I wondered where else the members of a world governing body would make time and lovingly interact with the masses. The Pilgrimage experience was and still is a unique experience and I often think about the Holy places in Haifa and Akka as an experience that is the closest thing to being in heaven on Earth.

One of the enjoyable and memorable occasions was walking towards the House of Abud in Akka. There was a street vendor selling tombaks [an Iranian goblet drum, considered the principal percussion instrument of Persian music]. Our group bought almost all the tombaks he had and we all entered the House of Abud with Tombaks under our arms. I still have mine though it’s been broken a couple of times and been glued together again.

At that time I was studying Manufacturing Engineering, in Leeds. Our Bahá’í society did what it could for proclamation, which was mainly meetings held in the Students’ Union building with invited speakers. On one occasion, we drove to Skipton to attend the Feast at the home of Bill and Madeline Hellaby. It was the first time I had met them, and I learnt that Bill had been a clergyman and had become a Bahá’í, which is remarkable. They were the only Bahá’í family in Skipton and they didn’t know we were coming to their Feast. Later, while on pilgrimage, I was even more impressed to learn that their son Mark worked at the World Centre translating the Writings from Persian and Arabic into English.

I have been on pilgrimage on two more occasions since and each time has been more precious and meaningful.

 

Writing to the House of Justice about my friend Ali Noori

During the late 80s I was contacted by my friend Ali Noori. He had gone on to complete his National Service in Iran, and luckily had survived the war. He had then travelled to West Germany and applied for asylum. He had kept in touch with my family through the years and now that he was an asylum seeker in Germany, he wrote me a letter explaining that most of the other asylum seekers from Iran were forging stories claiming their lives were in danger in Iran, to justify their applications for asylum. He didn’t want to go down that route and was asking me if there was any way I could help him. I was overwhelmed by his request as I couldn’t think how I could be of any help to him. All I could think of was to write a letter to the Universal House of Justice and ask for prayers for him and that’s what I wrote back and explained to Ali to do. After a while, he contacted me and told me that The Universal House of Justice had asked the National Spiritual Assembly of Germany to appoint a lawyer and on the basis that Ali had been a close friend of our family, had managed to get his asylum application approved. I was absolutely taken back, awash with such diverse feelings, amazed and at the same time embarrassed to have burdened our supreme Institution with Ali’s dilemma. I felt very insignificant and humbled. Unbeknown to me at the time, Ali’s brother had been a representative of the UN in Iran and had publicised the abuse of human rights of the Bahá’ís in Iran. His activities had put his own life in danger. Ali never became a Bahá’í but he was very close to the Faith.

In 1989 I completed my studies in manufacturing systems engineering and went on to work in the engineering department of Allied Bakeries. After completing the training, I decided to return to university for a Master’s degree. I had also been feeling that I needed to look for my life companion and during my studies I started seeing my future wife, Farahnaz. She lived in Scotland and I still lived in Leeds so we only saw each other a few times. In the spring of 1991 at Duck Bay marina restaurant by the shores of Loch Lomond, I managed to stay calm enough to pop the question and fortunately she said yes. That was a very nerve-wracking experience and I am glad I don’t have to do it again!

Our wedding took place in December 1991. The long story of how my parents were able to leave Iran and attend the wedding is full of drama, but perhaps is best recounted elsewhere.

 

Teaching booth

During the early nineties I was asked by our institutions to create and man a booth for teaching purposes in the centre of Glasgow. I was getting some training at an engineering workshop at the time. I purchased some aluminium pipes, cut them to size and with the help of clamps I created a structure which we would cover with a tarpaulin. We would then set up a decorator’s table made more presentable with a blue table cloth, beneath this stall- structure, and fill the table with a diverse range of Bahá’í books and pamphlets and exhibition stands. Staffing the booth, in addition to local Bahá’ís Robert Geelan, Peter Ballantyne and Allan Forsyth, was a Bahá’í from Trinidad and Tobago, Ellis Burris. Our presentation took place almost every Saturday for several years. The structure was like a sail, and with the slightest gust of wind, would blow away if we didn’t hold on to everything. Quite often we would have to run after the pamphlets wafted away by the breeze. It was as if the Hand of the Almighty were bringing the message to the masses if they were not prepared to come forward. I’m sure it was a successful proclamation tool. We had some interesting encounters. Born-again Christians would come and place their hands on our heads and tearfully pray for us to be guided unto the right path. Others would stand and argue, but mostly those who showed interest were willing to take a pamphlet away with them. Our blue table cloth also attracted the wrong crowd. On more than one occasion, mostly young men came forward thinking we were supporters of Rangers football club, thinking we were there to promote and/or sell tickets. It’s a shame their interest didn’t go further. The Faith would have transformed their lives. For some, football is not unlike a religion. One encounter was an experience that I wouldn’t forget. I noticed someone who looked like a tramp, walking towards us with his dog and I am not proud to say that I privately made the usual judgements. As he approached, he recognised that we were representing the Bahá’í Faith. On arriving at the stall, he immediately started reciting one of the Hidden Words. I was mesmerised. That was the last thing I expected. He said he had seen the writing on a grave stone in one of the cemeteries in Glasgow where he went for a walk and he liked that quote so much that he memorised it. That made my day and it also taught me an important lesson, not to judge a book by its cover, or indeed not to judge at all. Even our grave stones can be silent teachers.

In the mid-nineties, I decided to go back to Iran for a visit after about 14 years. My parents had to pay a fair sum of money to buy my exemption from Iranian national service. I had previously applied for an Iranian passport because it would have been too dangerous to go to Iran with a British passport as an Iranian national.

At the time of making an application in London for the Iranian passport, I had to explain everything I could remember about how I had left Iran for which I had to pay a fine and they put stamps in my passport which was clear evidence of illegal departure. Though penalising me with a fine was the maximum penalty Iran could impose on me in Britain, anything could happen on setting foot in Iran. On the day before Naw-Ruz 1996 I touched down in Tehran. It was exciting to be there, and a little scary at the same time. At the passport checkpoint, as soon as they noticed the stamps previously mentioned, I was told to go and wait round the back. I asked if there was a problem, the passport controller told me quietly that he would have also left Iran given the chance. I went round the back of the passport control and noticed a dozen others who were also there in a similar situation waiting. None of them were Bahá’ís and they were all very displeased at the way they were being treated and they showed their displeasure but I knew that as a Bahá’í I had no human rights and the authorities could do whatever they wanted with me, hence I sat there quietly trying not to attract any attention. After a while they distributed some forms amongst us and we were asked to fill them out. I remember all the questions were typed out but I don’t remember them. Every hour this would be repeated. The questions were similar but not exactly the same and I think they were trying to catch people out to see if their answers were inconsistent. The last set of questionnaires had religion added to it by hand. I wasn’t feeling brave so I left that blank. After about six hours, they started questioning us one by one. When the question of religion came up, I said I am a Bahá’í. I was ready for some form of negative reaction. Nothing happened. Those of us who had been detained were told to attend a tribunal hearing after the Naw-Ruz celebrations which in Iran lasts for 13 days. As for bail, it was generally the deeds of a house that had to be submitted in return for our release. My parents were already aware of this and they had turned up with the deeds of their house.

After the Naw-Ruz celebrations I did attend a tribunal at the airport and so had nearly a dozen other people who had also been detained like me. We were tried by a mulla asking various questions such as why we had left Iran and what we did overseas and what our qualifications were. This was widely known to be used as an assumption that the higher your qualification, the wealthier you’re likely to be so the higher the penalty. Everyone received the maximum penalty on that day. It was thought up as another ploy to extort money. Since my passport had been taken from me, I was then told I would need to chase that up at the passport office. It took many visits over several weeks to get my passport back and even though I had applied in the UK and received my exit visa from Iran for repeat visits, it had been cancelled and I had to apply again.

Despite all this, I had a great time being back after about 14 years. Even under the repressive Islamic regime, the Iranian Bahá’í community was united and strong, even more so than before the revolution. It’s interesting that tests and difficulties brings us closer to God and each other and makes us blossom. I travelled to Mashhad where I had a number of relatives, aunt, uncles and cousins. On one occasion, when one of my cousins arranged for a few young Bahá’ís to get together, I recall one of the young men, Kami Ruhi. My cousin told me quietly that that young man was having to go to prison from the day after for three years, because he had opened up his house to junior youth to come and display their art. His father had been martyred not long before in Bojnord; Kami was only 18 years old. He had taken up photography to try and support his mother and young sister. Now the only bread winner in the family was being sent to prison. It was very hard to comprehend. Passing through Bojnord on our way back to Tehran, we visited his father’s grave which was in the middle of nowhere outside the town, but people from the surrounding villages had started burying their loved ones there too and gradually it was turning into a cemetery. He had had to wash and bury the body of his own father at such a young age, with the help of other Bahá’ís. Almost everyone had a story to tell about the abuse of their rights but they had the love of Bahá’u’lláh in their hearts, they were not sad and they knew the reason for their sacrifices. The story of our community is not dissimilar to what Bahá’u’lláh and his family went through, it’s the story of crisis and victory. I felt that those outside the Bahá’í community who had more freedom were not as happy and as hopeful about the future as the Bahá’ís.

Overall I had a great time being back in Iran, and it was very sad and difficult to leave.

After a few weeks I was back in the UK and reunited with my wife Farahnaz. Our daughter Nadia was born in 1997 and our son Adib in 2001. We were part of the Glasgow Bahá’í community until 1999, when we moved just outside of Glasgow to Bearsden. We were members of East Dunbartonshire Spiritual Assembly for a short time before boundary changes were put in place and we became isolated believers and then a registered group. From time to time we have had teaching activities in our own locality, such as children’s classes, junior youth classes, prayer meetings and public meetings, but for 19-day Feasts and Holy day celebrations we usually have joined up with our mother community in Glasgow.

While I was in Iran I heard about pilgrimage trips to places of significance to the Faith all over the country. I made contact with one of the local friends, who agreed to take me on one of these outings, and he turned up at 5am as he had promised, and drove us a fair distance to the other side of Tehran. We entered the home of a Bahá’í family and gradually more and more friends joined the gathering. One of these friends gave a beautiful presentation, after which there was amazing hospitality by the host family providing everyone with breakfast. We then left the house and boarded a bus. My aunt and I were treated like VIP guests and given the front seats. Later I learnt that two other friends had given up their places for us and there had been waiting lists for the trips. As our guide continued to explain the history of the Faith in relation to Tehran, we were driven to many points of interest such as Hadigheh, the spot where the future Mashriqu’l-Adhkár will be built for Tehran as chosen and purchased during the time of Shoghi Effendi. It is where the attempt was made on the life of the Shah, marking a point in Bahá’u’lláh’s life at which the severity of the atrocities against him took a whole new direction. We also visited the bazaar, the Siyah Chal, Bahá’u’lláh’s house, the house where Tahirih was incarcerated before she was martyred, and the spot where she was thrown into a well, and the place where the seven martyrs of Tehran, their flesh ripped open and burning candles inserted, danced to their martyrdom. We were constantly reminded not to look directly at those places through the bus window, which would raise suspicion. As our bus parked up close to the Siyah Chal and we were being advised to be vigilant and not to stare directly at that spot, our guide noticed that the bus in front was also filled with Bahá’í pilgrims who were leaving their bus to get closer to that sacred spot. Horrified, he left the bus to tell their guide to get those pilgrims back onboard. There were many of these pilgrimage trips organised by various communities and for their own protection they were not made aware of each other’s plans.

Almost at the end of our trip, the bus stopped in front of the old Bahá’í Centre which, like other Bahá’í properties, had been confiscated. It had been turned into a traditional restaurant. The entrance had been tiled and there were inscriptions on some of them. We were all amazed to discover they were extracts from the Hidden Words. An unforgettable pilgrimage in Tehran.

In 2005 my parents were able to come to the UK and live close to us so that we could look after them in their old age.

In 2014, I was asked to visit a Bahá’í at a detention centre. He had come into the UK illegally like many others applying for asylum. Since then I have been asked to contact many other asylum seekers, mainly those who had shown an interest in the Faith (or had used the Faith as a reason for claiming asylum in the UK). The number of these individuals gradually kept growing. I thought the best way to help was to use the institute process and do Ruhi courses with them. A couple of years later, Dr. Hooshmand Badee moved up to Scotland and settled in Newton Mearns near Glasgow, with his wife Dr. May Badee. They started getting involved with arranging regular firesides. At some point there were over thirty asylum seekers participating in firesides and Ruhi study circles.

It has been a tremendous time of service along with tremendous tests. I am thankful and grateful for the opportunities before us to share the healing message of Bahá’u’lláh with those receptive souls.

 

Homan Varghaei

Glasgow, October 2020