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The men and women whose stories you can read on this page are now all citizens of a silent city named Omid ("hope" in Persian). There, victims of persecution have found a common life whose substance is memory.
Omid's citizens were of varying social origins, nationalities, and religions; they held diverse, and often opposing, opinions and ideologies. Despite the differences in their personality, spirit, and moral fiber, they are all united in Omid by their natural rights and their humanity. What makes them fellow citizens is the fact that one day each of them was unfairly and arbitrarily deprived of his or her life. At that moment, while the world watched the unspeakable happen, an individual destiny was shattered, a family was destroyed, and an indescribable suffering was inflicted.
Though not politically active, Mr. Mojaher went out among the election protestors that night. He called his sister from Azadi Square: lots of people; everything’s calm.
She was a loyal staff member of the Argentine Israelite Mutual Association, while raising three children alone in Buenos Aires. “Mother liked working where she did,” said one.
Behnam Rahimi was a Sunni Kurd of the Safe’i religion and had memorized 10 sections of the Qur’an. He had married just weeks before his arrest and had worked at a kabob shop.