Parviz Fadai presses his hands against his face. He tries to finish his sentence, but cannot. His cheeks redden. Tears well up in his eyes. He presses harder. He doesn't want those tears to spill over.

"It's hard," he says, brushing away the goosebumps on his arms.

Thirty years ago Fadai left his home in Iran, around the same time as the 1979 take-over of the country by radical Islamic cleric Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, who stirred up a wave of religious hatred towards the Baha'is resulting in hundreds of Baha'is executed for their beliefs.

Fadai is a Baha'i.

He remembers the faces of family members, friends, acquaintances who were killed, persecuted, tortured for their Baha'i beliefs. He remembers the leaders of his country demanding the Baha'i to recant their faith in exchange for freedom. He remembers himself being denied a visa to study abroad unless he dropped his beliefs.

And now, watching the news, reading the newspapers, those memories and worries have flooded back.

Earlier this month Iran's government came under fire after allegedly rigging the vote in the June 12 presidential election where incumbent president Mahmoud Ahmandinejad claimed victory. Protests and demonstrations took over the streets in Tehran. Men and women, young and old have been arrested, shot, killed.

Reports of a young woman named Neda, who's death by gunshot was captured on a cell phone video and posted on YouTube, and who is now being considered a martyr, reminds Fadai of another young woman.

On June 18, 1983, 17-year-old Mona was killed by hanging because of her Baha'i beliefs. It is reported that she was told several times that if she recanted her faith, she would have freedom, she would have life. At the execution ground, though, Mona kissed the noose around her neck instead, and recited a Baha'i prayer before she was hanged.

"In 1979, when the revolution started, I was there," says Fadai. "I saw killings. I saw these people give their lives because of their own beliefs, lots of friends of mine ... it wasn't pleasurable to watch. It was heartbreaking.

"I really hope [the current situation] doesn't get to the point where thousands of people have to give their lives away. It's not fair," says Fadai.

Fadai's parents, as well as other family members and friends, still live in Iran. He worries for them every day.

He doesn't know anything more beyond the news reports floating around. It's hard to get ahold of his family out there, he says, and when he does, their conversations are limited.

"Most likely phone conversations are being monitored," he says, comparing the past with the present. "Twenty-five years ago when I tried to talk to my parents and members of my family, we had to be careful what we were saying. My life is here, I don't want to jeopardize their lives."

His brother-in-law and uncle have already spent several years in the prisons because of their beliefs.

And yet, despite a reluctance to discuss the country's politics, for fear of possible repercussions on his family in Iran, Fadai says he believes a change is on the way. More than 55 per cent of the current Iranian population is younger than 35 years old, he says, a lot of whom have good education – both positive signs, he says.

One day, Fadai hopes to be able to introduce his 18-year-old son to his homeland, but not until it's a peaceful country that loves its people.

All of its people.

krobinson@theprogress.com