WUNRN
Website includes multiple photos of
Iran mothers of their disappeared sons.
By Kerri MacDonald – September 12, 2014
Fatemeh Behboudi grew up surrounded by grief. She was
born in
Throughout the crowds of families
and mothers, there were always anger and sadness. But among a select few, there
was also a glimmer hope. Ms. Behboudi, 28, was drawn to a group of tearful
women she saw time and again — mothers who still hoped to find the sons who had
never made it home.
She wondered, “How is it possible
that this pain and this love is still fresh?”
Thousands of Iranian soldiers went
missing between 1980 and 1988. Ms. Behboudi has photographed 20
Iranian mothers in nine cities whose sons, considered martyrs in
“I don’t have any answers for
this, and it puts me in doubt about my philosophy and my existence,” she said.
“And about what is the truth.”
Most of her subjects are now in
their early 70s. Ms. Behboudi photographed some of them for a couple of
days, but with others, who have grown sick and weak, she could ask for no more
than a few hours. She spent hours looking over her photos, often in tears. The
project made her think about other wars that have torn families apart — not
just in Iran and Iraq, but also around the world.
“There were mothers like this
always in our history,” she said. “And history repeats. Mothers go through the
same story and suffer.”
And they keep hoping, despite the
pain.
In one image, Anbar
Jaberi, one mother whose story is included in the series, is shown
standing by a door, the light streaming in and illuminating her face (Slide 1).
Ms. Jaberi, who lives in
While the image seems
exceptional, Ms. Behboudi said that every mother she photographed felt a
similar kind of hope. “They keep opening the door,” she said. “And sitting or
standing by doors.”
They have faith that someone will
come bringing news of their sons.
Six months ago, Ms. Behboudi
dreamed she had received a phone call. The voice on the line told her that the
first mother she photographed, Zarrintaj Bahrami, was going to find her
son. When she awoke, she called Ms. Bahrami.
“I’m sure that you will find
him,” Ms. Behboudi said.
Three months later, DNA tests
helped locate the body of Ms. Bahrami’s son, Behrouz Sabouri, who had
disappeared 31 years earlier. Ms. Behboudi was there when Ms. Bahrami received
the phone call (Slide 5).
“I just hugged her and I just put
my camera aside,” Ms. Behboudi said.
Ms.
Behboudi grew up watching her father with his camera in hand. He had studied
photography in his youth and traveled to the mountains when she was young to
shoot landscapes.
When she was about 20, her father
encouraged her to pursue a career in art. She spent the next two years studying
photography at the
Last year, Ms. Behboudi
left
Soon, she plans to photograph
Iraqi mothers who lost their sons in the same bloody conflict, a topic she
hadn’t initially planned to pursue. But after spending time with so many
women whose stories have striking similarities — all of them touched by both
pain and hope — she had second thoughts.
“A mother is a mother,” she said.
“And I want to examine this feeling.”
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