I teach in a summer course called NeuroBridges, which brings students from the countries of the Middle East, including Israel and Iran, to a village in France for 10 days. The course teaches the students about the brain, but more importantly, by having them live together, eat their meals together, and do projects together, the course teaches them about each other.
Today I received a note from one of those students. She lives in Tehran. Her note gives you firsthand experience of what it’s like to live in a city that is being bombed, and what it’s like to be young and feel despair about your future. Below is an excerpt of her letter, followed by my response.
------------------------------
I finally managed to connect to the internet, and I was wondering if you might have a little time for me. I really just wanted to talk for a moment and share what’s been on my mind. You’ve always been such a valuable mentor to me, and I truly trust your wisdom.
In Iran, every day things get worse than the day before. People are slain. Infrastructure is being targeted — historical sites, hospitals, schools. We constantly hear the sounds of air defenses and missiles, and every time it happens I feel a wave of anxiety, wondering whose loved ones might be lost next… or whether the next missile might hit my own loved ones. I remember your wife saying that even in the worst situations, you always manage to find positive points — something to be grateful for. I’ve thought about that a lot. I truly tried to look at things the way you do and find some positive meaning in all of this… but honestly, I couldn’t.
If you were in my place, how would you endure this situation? And what positive point would you try to hold onto?
I am deeply worried about the future — not just mine, but
everyone’s. Even if the war ends, there will be severe economic hardship, instabilities...
I’m also afraid that I might not be able to reach my long-time dream of
starting a PhD in Europe. With the situation worsening, there will probably be
more sanctions, and universities may become even more hesitant to accept
Iranian students.
At the same time, because of the war and constant
internet disruptions, research in the country has almost completely stopped.
Universities are closed. We were working on an animal neuroscience project that
had progressed really well, but because of the current conditions we had to
sacrifice the mice and stop the project. You might imagine how hard that feels
Sometimes I feel that when a professor chooses a PhD student, they will tend to
choose someone who has had uninterrupted research opportunities in a first-world
country, rather than someone like me who has fallen behind simply because of
war, instability, and internet shutdowns. They might not even be able to imagine what it’s like to continue doing
research while worrying about basic financial survival, or while your country
is going through so much turmoil. I used the PhD example just to explain how
unfair and discouraging things can feel right now.
And it’s not just me. There
are hundreds, maybe thousands, of ambitious young students who love science and
are facing the same uncertainty.
If you have the time, I would really appreciate hearing your thoughts. If you
were in my place, in a situation where your home, your dreams, your goals, and
the safety of your loved ones all feel threatened at once, how would you keep
going?
Excuse me for taking your time.
-----------------------------------
I read your note with great concern. I’m so glad that you’re OK. Thank you for writing.
War is often the consequence of a long series of bad decisions by misguided leaders on both sides of the conflict. You are an innocent citizen who is suffering because of their mistakes. I am so very sorry.
It hurts to have lost the research that you had invested so much time in. These bombs are not just killing people and destroying buildings, but the rubble that they have produced might forever block the path that you had planned for building your future.
When the bombs stop falling, and they will, life will restart, tentatively at first, but then with vigor. You will see small ordinary things anew. Like a child, you will examine the new leaves on a tree and smell its bark with delight. You will share a cup of tea with a friend and look in her eyes and listen to her voice as if for the first time. You will travel to the Caspian and place your toes in the sea and close your eyes and feel joy.
And you will restart your research, and you will apply for graduate schools in Europe and America. And when the professors read your application, they will see something extraordinary: a young woman of magnificent perseverance who pursued her dreams despite war, bombs, and despair.
As Walt Whitman wrote, “What good amid these, O me, O life? Answer: That you are here—that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.”
image credit: Atta Kenare/AFP
No comments:
Post a Comment