Politics

The Strength I Didn’t Know I Had
The Strength I Didn’t Know I Had ‎BY: Ubaid I used to think strength was loud. It was the kind of thing you saw in movies—people standing tall, never breaking, never crying. Strength meant having all the answers, never doubting yourself, never feeling afraid. At least, that’s what I believed… until life proved me wrong. Because the strongest version of me? I didn’t even know it existed. It started on an ordinary morning that didn’t feel ordinary at all. My alarm rang like it always did, but I didn’t move. My body felt heavy, like something invisible was holding me down. The room was quiet, but inside my mind, everything was loud—doubts, fears, regrets. “You’re not good enough.” “You’re going to fail.” “You can’t handle this.” Those thoughts had been living inside me for a long time. I had just gotten used to ignoring them. But that day… I couldn’t. I sat up slowly, staring at the floor. My reflection in the mirror didn’t look like me anymore. It looked like someone tired. Someone lost. And for the first time, I admitted something to myself. “I’m not okay.” That sentence felt heavier than anything I had ever said before. Because saying it meant I couldn’t pretend anymore. For weeks, I had been trying to hold everything together—smiling in front of others, acting like everything was fine, convincing myself that I could handle it all alone. But the truth was, I was breaking… quietly, invisibly. That day, something inside me shifted. Not dramatically. Not like a sudden burst of confidence or courage. It was smaller than that. Softer. But it was real. Instead of forcing myself to “be strong” the way I thought I should, I did something different. I allowed myself to feel. I cried. Not the kind of tears you quickly wipe away so no one notices—but the kind that come from deep inside, the kind that carry everything you’ve been holding in for too long. And strangely… it didn’t make me weaker. It made me feel lighter. That was the first time I realized something important: Strength isn’t about pretending you’re okay. It’s about being honest when you’re not. The days that followed weren’t easy. Nothing magically got better overnight. I still had bad days—days when getting out of bed felt like a victory, days when my mind tried to pull me back into that dark place. But now, something was different. I stopped fighting myself. Instead of ignoring my fears, I faced them. Instead of running from my problems, I took small steps toward solving them. And instead of expecting myself to be perfect, I gave myself permission to be human. One day at a time. That became my rule. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Just today. Some days, “strength” meant finishing all my work. Other days, it simply meant getting out of bed. And I started to understand… both counted. There was a moment—I remember it clearly—when everything truly changed. I was walking alone, the sun setting in the distance, painting the sky in soft shades of orange and pink. For the first time in a long time, my mind was quiet. Not completely free of thoughts, but peaceful enough. And I realized something. I had survived. Everything I thought would break me… didn’t. The sleepless nights, the overwhelming pressure, the constant self-doubt—I had carried all of it. And somehow, I was still standing. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not confidently. But I was standing. And that’s when it hit me. The strength I had been searching for… was never something I needed to find. It was something I had been building all along. In every tear I allowed myself to cry. In every moment I chose to keep going. In every day I didn’t give up—even when I wanted to. That was strength. Not loud. Not obvious. But unbreakable. I used to think strength meant never falling. Now I know… it means getting back up, even when you’re not sure you can. And the most surprising part? You don’t always feel strong while you’re being strong. Sometimes, you feel scared. Sometimes, you feel lost. Sometimes, you feel like you’re barely holding on. But even then… you are stronger than you think. I am stronger than I thought. And maybe, just maybe… you are too.
By Ubaid 7 months ago in Chapters
From Rock Bottom to Rising Again
From Rock Bottom to Rising Again BY: Khan There was a time when I believed I had everything under control. From the outside, my life looked steady—almost perfect. I had a job that paid just enough, a small circle of friends, and dreams that felt within reach. But beneath that carefully maintained surface, cracks had already begun to form. I ignored them, thinking they were temporary, something I could fix later. Later never came. It all started falling apart quietly. A missed opportunity here, a broken promise there. Then came the bigger hits—losing my job, drifting away from people I once trusted, and watching everything I had worked for slowly slip through my fingers. I told myself it was just a phase, that things would turn around. But they didn’t. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. I found myself stuck in a place I had never imagined—alone, uncertain, and overwhelmed. The silence of my room became louder than any noise I had ever known. It echoed with my doubts, my regrets, and the constant question: How did I end up here? Rock bottom doesn’t feel like a sudden crash. It feels like sinking—slow, steady, and suffocating. I stopped trying. I stopped believing. Even getting out of bed felt like a battle I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight anymore. Every plan I had made for my future seemed distant, almost laughable. I felt like I had failed—not just at life, but at being the person I thought I was supposed to be. One evening, as I sat staring at the ceiling, something shifted. It wasn’t a big moment. No dramatic realization or life-changing event. Just a quiet thought that crept in: If this is rock bottom… then there’s nowhere left to go but up. At first, I ignored it. It felt too simple, too naive. But the thought stayed. It lingered in the back of my mind, repeating itself until I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there. The next morning, I did something small. I got out of bed. That was it. No grand plan, no sudden burst of motivation. Just one small step. But it mattered. Because for the first time in a long time, I chose to move forward—even if it was just a little. From there, I started rebuilding my life piece by piece. I made a routine. It wasn’t perfect, but it gave my days some structure. I started taking walks, even when I didn’t feel like it. I reached out to people, even when it felt uncomfortable. I began learning new skills, slowly reminding myself that I was still capable of growth. There were setbacks, of course. Days when I slipped back into old habits. Moments when doubt returned stronger than before. Times when I questioned whether any of it was worth it. But something had changed—I didn’t stay down as long as I used to. I had learned something important at rock bottom: pain doesn’t last forever, but giving up can. So I kept going. I celebrated small wins—the first time I felt genuinely happy again, the first opportunity that came my way, the first moment I looked at myself and didn’t feel like a failure. These moments weren’t loud or dramatic, but they were real. Slowly, my life began to shift. I found new opportunities, met new people, and discovered strengths I didn’t know I had. I started to see my past not as a series of failures, but as lessons that shaped me. Rock bottom wasn’t the end of my story—it was the turning point. Looking back now, I realize something I couldn’t see before. Sometimes, you have to lose everything to understand what truly matters. Sometimes, you have to fall apart to rebuild yourself stronger than before. And sometimes, rock bottom is exactly where you need to be to find your way again. I’m not perfect. My life isn’t flawless. But I’m no longer the person who felt trapped in that dark place. I’ve grown, I’ve learned, and most importantly—I’ve risen. If you’re reading this and you feel like you’re at your lowest point, I want you to remember something: This isn’t the end. It may feel heavy right now. It may seem like nothing is going your way. But even in your darkest moments, there is a small part of you that still wants to keep going. Hold onto that. Start small. Take one step. Then another. Because rising again doesn’t happen all at once—it happens in moments, in choices, in the quiet decision to not give up. And one day, you’ll look back and realize that rock bottom wasn’t where your story ended. It was where it truly began.
By Khan 7 months ago in Chapters
Sacrifices For The Balance Chapter 10: Two Meetings, Two Very Different Groups
The SUV pulled up to the gate just outside the headquarters of the Double L Bar Ranch. The ranch had long stopped ranching, and had become the corporate headquarters of the company. While there were still cows on the land, it was a small herd for show purposes. The land itself was mostly a wildlife sanctuary, with some tourism; the tourism was about one-third bird field researchers, one-fourth actual tourists, and the rest were bird watchers. What little area was left was for the research area, where they were always trying out new farming techniques. Lady Astor parked and walked into the main building.
By Jamais Jochim8 months ago in Chapters
Dragon Horse. Content Warning.
Nikolaos's shoulders stiffen when at his parents’ voices crackle in his ear canals. He’s forgotten to take off his hearing aid.
By Wen Xiaosheng8 months ago in Chapters
A Most Lethal Weapon - Chapter 2
Kira’s mornings always began with a soft chime that sounded more like a bird than an alarm. As the walls of her apartment shifted from their deep indigo night mode to a pale golden hue, she stretched lazily, her toes brushing the warm surface of the floor. It was a small luxury, the way everything in the Universal Growth Administration (UGA) seemed to adjust to your needs before you even realized them.
By C. Sinata8 months ago in Chapters
A Most Lethal Weapon - Chapter 1
Kira shifted in her seat, the smooth contours of the classroom pod conforming effortlessly to her posture. The Anthropological AI Studies Hall was designed with precision—soft, ambient lighting illuminated the rows of students, each sitting before holographic desks that displayed layers of interactive data. Behind their instructor, the translucent walls projected the bustling cityscape of the Universal Growth Administration (UGA), its gleaming towers reflecting a golden afternoon light.
By C. Sinata8 months ago in Chapters
The Day I Stopped Being Afraid
The Day I Stopped Being Afraid BY: Khan Fear had been my quiet shadow for as long as I could remember. It followed me into every room, every decision, every dream I almost dared to chase. Most people couldn’t see it, but I felt it constantly—like a whisper in my ear reminding me that I wasn’t brave enough, smart enough, or strong enough. For years, I listened to that whisper. I avoided risks. I stayed silent when I had something important to say. I chose comfort over opportunity. Whenever life presented a door, fear convinced me not to open it. “What if you fail?” it would ask. And that question alone was enough to stop me. One rainy afternoon, I was sitting by the window of a small café, watching people hurry through the streets. Some were laughing, some were arguing, and some simply walked with purpose. They all seemed so certain about where they were going. I wondered what that felt like. My coffee had gone cold, but I hadn’t noticed. My mind was busy replaying every opportunity I had let slip away. The job interview I never attended. The conversation I was too nervous to start. The dream I quietly buried because I thought it was unrealistic. It suddenly hit me that fear had stolen more from me than failure ever could. That realization felt heavier than anything I had experienced before. At that moment, something inside me shifted. I realized that the real danger in life wasn’t failing—it was never trying at all. Later that evening, I walked home through streets that looked different somehow, even though nothing had changed. The same buildings stood tall, the same cars rushed by, and the same cold wind brushed against my face. But inside me, something was different. For the first time, I asked myself a question I had never dared to consider before: “What if I’m stronger than my fear?” The thought was strange but powerful. The next morning, I did something small but terrifying—I spoke up during a meeting at work. Normally, I would have stayed quiet, letting others lead the conversation. But this time, my voice rose before my fear could stop it. My hands trembled slightly, and my heart raced. But I spoke anyway. To my surprise, people listened. No one laughed. No one dismissed me. In fact, a few of them nodded in agreement. It was a simple moment, but it felt like climbing a mountain. That day became a turning point. I began doing small things that once scared me—sharing my ideas, trying new experiences, and stepping outside the safe routines that had defined my life for so long. Each step felt uncomfortable at first, like learning how to walk again after years of standing still. But with every step, fear grew quieter. I realized something important during that time: fear doesn’t disappear overnight. It lingers, waiting for you to retreat back into safety. But courage isn’t the absence of fear. Courage is choosing to move forward despite it. Weeks passed, and life slowly opened in ways I hadn’t expected. Opportunities that once felt impossible started to appear. Conversations became easier. Decisions became clearer. The world hadn’t suddenly become less frightening. I had simply stopped letting fear control me. One evening, while walking home under a sky painted with shades of orange and purple, I paused and looked around. The city lights flickered to life, and people continued their endless journeys through the streets. For the first time, I didn’t feel like a spectator in my own life. I felt like a participant. That was the day I truly understood something powerful: Fear had never been the enemy. The real enemy was the belief that fear should decide my path. And the day I stopped letting it make my choices was the day my life finally began. Since then, fear still visits me from time to time. It still whispers its familiar warnings. But now, I answer back. I remind it that I’ve already faced it once before. And I survived. Because the truth is simple: The day I stopped being afraid wasn’t the day fear disappeared. It was the day I realized I was bigger than it.
By Khan 8 months ago in Chapters
I Never Meant to Fall for You
I Never Meant to Fall for You BY: Ubaid I never meant to fall for you. That was the plan from the very beginning. When we first met, you were just another person passing through my life. It was a rainy afternoon at the small coffee shop near my office. I had stopped there only to escape the storm, hoping for a quiet corner where I could finish some work. You walked in a few minutes later, shaking the rain from your jacket and smiling at the barista like you had known her for years. There was something strangely warm about that smile—something that made the gray afternoon feel a little brighter. But I didn’t think much about it. You noticed the empty chair across from me and asked politely, “Is this seat taken?” I shook my head. “No, go ahead.” That was supposed to be the end of it. Two strangers sharing a table because the café was crowded. Nothing more. But somehow, conversations have a way of starting when you least expect them. It began with small talk. The weather. The long lines at the coffee counter. Complaints about traffic. The usual things strangers say to pass the time. Yet the minutes kept turning into hours. You had this way of listening—really listening. Not the kind where someone waits for their turn to talk, but the kind where they truly care about what you're saying. I realized I was telling you things I rarely shared with anyone. About my dreams that felt too big. About the mistakes I wished I could erase. About the quiet fear of not knowing where life was heading. And you didn’t judge me. You just nodded, occasionally smiling, occasionally offering a thought that felt surprisingly honest. When the rain finally stopped, we both looked outside like people waking from a dream. “Well,” you said softly, “I guess the storm’s over.” I smiled. “Yeah… I guess it is.” We walked out together, said goodbye, and went our separate ways. At least that’s what should have happened. But life, as I later learned, has a strange sense of humor. A few days later, I saw you again. This time at the bookstore down the street. You were standing in the same aisle I loved most—the one filled with old novels and forgotten stories. You looked just as surprised as I felt. “Rainy day friend,” you said with a laugh. From that moment on, it felt like the universe kept placing us in the same spaces. Coffee shops. Bookstores. Parks. Even the subway once. Eventually, those coincidences turned into plans. We started meeting on purpose. At first, I told myself it was just friendship. You were easy to talk to, easy to laugh with. Being around you felt comfortable in a way that didn’t require effort. But feelings are quiet things. They grow slowly, like a seed you don’t even realize has been planted. I noticed the little things first. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about your favorite movies. The way you always remembered small details about my life. The way silence between us never felt awkward. One night, we were sitting by the river, watching the city lights ripple across the water. You were telling a story, something funny about your childhood, but I wasn’t really listening anymore. I was watching you. And that was the moment it hit me. A quiet, undeniable realization. I had fallen for you. It wasn’t dramatic. No fireworks. No sudden rush of music like in the movies. Just a simple thought that settled gently in my chest. This person matters more than they should. And that terrified me. Because I never meant for it to happen. I had built my life carefully, protecting my heart from the kind of vulnerability that love demands. Falling for someone meant risking everything—your peace, your certainty, even your sense of control. But feelings don’t ask permission. They arrive quietly, take root, and grow. One evening, as we were walking home, you suddenly stopped. “Can I ask you something?” you said. “Sure.” You looked at me with an expression I had never seen before—serious, almost nervous. “Do you ever feel like some people come into your life for a reason?” I laughed softly. “That sounds like something from a movie.” “Maybe,” you said. “But I think it’s true.” There was a pause between us, filled with unspoken words. And then you said it. “Meeting you… it changed something in me.” My heart skipped. Because I knew exactly what you meant. For a long moment, neither of us moved. Finally, I smiled and said the only honest thing I could. “I never meant to fall for you.” You smiled back, the same warm smile from that rainy afternoon. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Me neither.” But somehow, it was the best mistake we had ever made.
By Ubaid 8 months ago in Chapters
What was said about Afghanistan at the UN Security Council meeting?
The United Nations Security Council held a mNew York, Uni, to discuss the situation in Afghanistan. Representatives froGeorg, the head of the United, exchanged views on the situation in Afghanistan. In the UNAMA delegation’s remarks, several issues were covered, ranging from the situation of women and girls in Afghanistan to security concerns and recent clashes with Pakistan. At the beginning of the meeting, she said that the Council hopes that “Afghanistan will become a country that lives in peace with itself and its neighbors, is fully integrated into the international community, and fulfills its international obligations, particularly in the areas of women’s rights, human rights, and counter-t Ms. Georgette referred to the recent clashes and violence between the Taliban government in Afghanistan and Pakistan and called on both sides to immediately stop the fighting, declare a ceasefire, and resolve their differences through diplomacy. She also emphasized the protection of civilians and the delivery of humanitarian aid in Afghanistan, saying that after routes through Pakistan were closed, Iran had be According to Ms. Georgette, Afghanistan’s isolation has not proven effective in addressing issues such as economic self-reliance, security cooperation, counter-terrorism, human rights concerns, and the humanitarian crisis. If these issues are not addressed, Afghanistan could once again become a source of instability for the region and the world through i She also pointed out a reduction in poppy cultivation in Afghanistan, saying that it has decreased by 20 percent compared to 2024 and has significantly declined compared with the past. She emphasized the need for greater cooperation from the international community to sustain progress in combating drugs. Ms. Georgette also mentioned projects initiated by the Taliban government, saying, “The authorities have launched major infrastructure projects which, if completed, could help Afghanistan’s economic development.” She also referred to the return of nearly 5.5 million Afghan refugees over the past two and a half years, saying that there are no clear signs of social unrest even if international aid decreases. Ms. Georgette condemned the restrictions imposed on women and girls in Afghanistan and called for their removal. She said, “The unacceptable situation for Afghan women and girls continues. They are now entering their fifth year of being completely excluded from public life and education beyond the sixth grade.” “Solutions for girls’ education exist, and we urge the authorities to address this issue… The international community is ready to help create acceptable conditions.” Ms. Georgette also described the latest punishments imposed by courts as “discriminatory” against women and religious minorities. In her speech, she described the Taliban government’s actions against ISIS-K as effective but added that Afghanistan’s neighbors still have concerns about the spread of militancy from the country. She referred to a report by the sanctions monitoring group indicating that the unresolved conflict regarding the Pakistani Taliban (TTP) is approaching a full-scale conflict between the two countries. “In general, the potential threat of terrorism from Afghanistan remains a major concern for the entire international community.” What did the representatives of countries say at the Security Council meeting? U.S. Representative
By Real content8 months ago in Chapters
The Love I Had to Leave Behind
I never imagined that loving someone could feel so right and yet be so impossible at the same time. BY: Ubaid When I first met Daniel, life felt simple. It was a rainy afternoon in a small café where the windows were fogged with steam and the smell of coffee filled the air. I had gone there to escape the chaos of my day, but instead, I found something I never expected—him. Daniel was sitting at the table beside mine, quietly reading a book. At some point, our eyes met, and he smiled in a way that felt warm and genuine, like we had already known each other for years. That was how it started. Our conversations began with small things—books, music, and the strange weather that never seemed to make up its mind. But slowly, those conversations turned into something deeper. We talked about dreams, fears, and the kind of future we both hoped to build one day. For the first time in my life, I felt understood. Daniel had a calmness about him that made the world feel less heavy. When I was with him, everything made sense. My worries faded, and the constant noise in my mind finally went quiet. Weeks turned into months, and somewhere between late-night phone calls and long walks through quiet streets, I realized something. I had fallen in love. But life rarely lets things stay perfect for long. One evening, as the sun was setting and the sky was painted in soft shades of orange and purple, Daniel told me something that changed everything. He had received a job offer in another country. It was the kind of opportunity people wait their whole lives for. A chance to build the career he had always dreamed of. A chance to start a new chapter. And yet, as he spoke about it, I could see the hesitation in his eyes. “I don’t want to leave you,” he said quietly. Those words stayed with me long after that conversation ended. The truth was, I wanted him to stay. Every part of me wanted to ask him to choose us instead of the opportunity waiting for him across the world. But love isn’t always about holding on. Sometimes, it’s about letting go. For days, I thought about what to say. I replayed every possible conversation in my head. I imagined the life we could have if he stayed, and the regret he might carry if he didn’t follow his dream. Eventually, I realized something difficult. If I truly loved him, I couldn’t be the reason he gave up his future. The night before his flight, we met at the same café where we had first seen each other. The rain was falling again, almost like the universe had decided to repeat the beginning of our story. We sat across from each other, surrounded by the familiar sounds of clinking cups and quiet conversations. Neither of us spoke for a while. Finally, Daniel looked at me and asked the question I had been dreading. “Should I stay?” My heart wanted to scream yes. But instead, I took a deep breath and smiled, even though it felt like my chest was breaking. “You should go,” I said softly. “You deserve the life you’ve been working for.” He stared at me for a moment, as if trying to understand how I could say those words so calmly. But the truth was, I wasn’t calm at all. Inside, I was saying goodbye to the person who had changed my life in ways I could never explain. Daniel reached across the table and held my hand. “I’ll never forget you,” he said. I didn’t reply right away. Instead, I held his hand a little tighter, memorizing the moment, knowing it wouldn’t last. The next morning, I watched him walk through the airport gate, disappearing into the crowd of travelers and distant destinations. And just like that, the love that had once filled my world became something I had to leave behind. Years have passed since that day. Life moved forward the way it always does. New experiences, new people, new chapters. But sometimes, on quiet evenings when the rain taps softly against the window, I think about that café and the boy with the gentle smile who once sat beside me. Some loves stay with us forever—not because they lasted, but because they changed us. Daniel was that kind of love for me. The love I had to leave behind.
By Ubaid 8 months ago in Chapters
I Chose Myself This Time
For years, I believed love meant sacrifice. BY: Khan Not the beautiful kind you see in movies, where two people give a little to meet in the middle. I believed love meant giving everything—even the parts of yourself you desperately needed to survive. I gave my time, my energy, my patience, and slowly, without realizing it, I gave away my voice. It didn’t happen all at once. At first, it was small things. Cancelling plans with friends because they didn’t like them. Changing my opinions so arguments wouldn’t start. Apologizing for things that weren’t really my fault. “Relationships require compromise,” I told myself. So I compromised. Again and again. Until one day I realized I had compromised so much that I could barely recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror. The strange part was that no single moment broke me. There wasn’t one dramatic fight or a single cruel sentence that ended everything. It was the quiet accumulation of moments. The times my feelings were dismissed with a shrug. The times my dreams were treated like childish fantasies. The times I felt completely alone even while sitting right beside them. Loneliness inside a relationship is a different kind of pain. It’s subtle. Confusing. You start wondering if maybe the problem is you. Maybe you’re too sensitive. Maybe you expect too much. Maybe you just need to try harder. So I tried harder. I loved more. I forgave faster. I stayed longer. But the harder I tried, the emptier I felt. One evening, after another exhausting argument that somehow ended with me apologizing again, I walked outside just to breathe. The air was cold and quiet, and the streetlights painted long shadows on the empty road. For the first time in a long while, everything was silent. No voices telling me I was wrong. No pressure to explain myself. No need to defend my feelings. Just me. And in that silence, a thought appeared—simple but powerful. What about you? I had spent so long thinking about how to fix the relationship that I had forgotten to ask a much more important question: Was I happy? The answer came immediately. No. Not sometimes. Not a little. Not “it could be worse.” Just no. Admitting that truth felt terrifying. Because once you admit it, you can’t pretend anymore. You can’t keep lying to yourself. That night I stayed outside for a long time, thinking about the person I used to be before everything became so complicated. I remembered the version of myself who laughed easily. Who had plans, dreams, and confidence. Who believed their feelings mattered. Somewhere along the way, that person had slowly faded. And suddenly I realized something painful but freeing at the same time: No one else had the responsibility to bring that person back. That was my job. The next morning, the decision still scared me. My heart raced and my hands shook as I spoke the words I had been avoiding for months. “I can’t keep doing this.” There were questions. Confusion. A few promises that things would change. But something inside me had already shifted. I had heard promises before. I had waited before. I had hoped before. This time was different. This time, I was listening to myself. Leaving wasn’t dramatic. There were no slammed doors or shouted goodbyes. Just a quiet ending to something that had slowly been breaking me. The days that followed were not easy. Doubt visited often. Some mornings I woke up wondering if I had made a mistake. But slowly, something else began to appear in the empty spaces that relationship left behind. Peace. I started reconnecting with friends I hadn’t seen in years. I began doing small things that once made me happy—reading late at night, walking without a destination, dreaming about the future again. Little by little, I felt something returning. Myself. I realized that choosing yourself doesn’t mean you never loved the other person. It simply means you finally love yourself enough to stop disappearing. And maybe that’s the hardest kind of courage there is—not staying, not fighting, not trying to fix something that keeps hurting you. But walking away with quiet strength and saying: “This time, I choose myself.”
By Khan 8 months ago in Chapters
Mojtaba Khamenei Becomes Iran’s New Supreme Leader After Death of Ayatollah Ali Khamenei
Iran’s Assembly of Experts has elected Mojtaba Khamenei as the country’s new Supreme Leader, succeeding his father Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. The announcement of Iran’s newly appointed Supreme Leader was read on state television by an anchor, citing an official statement from the Assembly of Leadership. The statement said: “Despite severe wartime conditions and direct threats from enemies against this public institution, and even though several members of staff and the security team were martyred due to the bombing of the secretariat offices, there was not even a moment’s delay in the process of selecting and introducing the leader of the Islamic system.” It should be remembered that U.S. President Donald Trump had previously said that selecting Mojtaba Khamenei—the son of Iran’s Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, who was reportedly killed in U.S. and Israeli attacks—as his successor would be “unacceptable.” The U.S. president had insisted that he should also have a role in the selection of Iran’s new Supreme Leader, similar to what happened during the selection of new leadership in Venezuela. During an interview, Trump acknowledged that Mojtaba Khamenei was the front-runner for the position but made it clear that he considered such an outcome unacceptable. Iran’s Supreme National Security Council Secretary Ali Larijani said Tehran’s “enemies” had hoped that the country would fall into paralysis after Ali Khamenei’s death, but the Assembly of Experts ultimately completed the process of electing Mojtaba Khamenei. Unlike his father, Mojtaba has remained largely out of the public spotlight. He has never held any official government position, nor has he delivered public speeches or interviews. Only a limited number of photos and videos of him have ever been published. However, for many years there have been rumors about his significant influence, suggesting that access to his father often required going through Mojtaba. According to The Associated Press, U.S. diplomatic cables published by WikiLeaks in the late 2000s described him as “a power behind the cloak,” widely regarded within the government as a capable and powerful figure. The son who spent decades working in his father’s shadow has now taken his place. Mojtaba Khamenei also has close ties with Iran’s powerful Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC). He joined the force immediately after high school and later pursued religious studies under senior clerics. Following his selection, the IRGC issued a statement expressing “respect, devotion, and obedience” to Mojtaba Khamenei and said it was fully prepared to follow his orders. Two years ago, Ali Khamenei had rejected the idea that Mojtaba might succeed him, saying he wanted to avoid the hereditary style of governance that the Iranian Revolution had sought to abolish. However, after his death, the remaining religious system now faces a crisis over its future. At present, real power lies with the Revolutionary Guards, who control nearly all major sources of state authority. His appointment also sends a clear message of resistance to Donald Trump, who had called his selection unacceptable, and to Israel, which has reportedly threatened to assassinate him. Who is Mojtaba Khamenei? Mojtaba Khamenei was born on September 8, 1969, in the northeastern city of Mashhad. He is the second of six children of Ali Khamenei. He completed his secondary education at the religious Alavi School in Tehran. According to Iranian media, at the age of 17, Mojtaba briefly served several times in the military during the Iran–Iraq War. The eight-year conflict made the Iranian government even more suspicious of the United States and Western countries, which supported Iraq. In 1999, Mojtaba moved to Qom—a holy city and major center of Shiite theology—to continue his religious education. Notably, he had not worn clerical robes until that time, and it remains unclear why he entered the seminary at the age of 30. Mojtaba is currently considered a mid-ranking cleric. In recent days, Iranian media outlets close to the centers of power and some officials have begun referring to Mojtaba Khamenei as “Ayatollah,” which is a senior religious rank. Some observers believe this change reflects an effort to elevate his religious status and present him as a credible candidate for the country’s highest leadership. Within the seminary system, holding the rank of Ayatollah and teaching advanced religious studies is seen as a sign of scholarly authority and is often considered a requirement for future leadership. However, there is already a precedent. When Ali Khamenei was elected Iran’s second Supreme Leader in 1989, he too was elevated to the rank of Ayatollah beforehand. Allegations of Political Interference Mojtaba first came into public attention during the 2005 presidential election, which resulted in Mahmoud Ahmadinejad becoming Iran’s president. In an open letter addressed to Ali Khamenei, reformist candidate Mehdi Karroubi accused Mojtaba of interfering in the voting process through elements of the Revolutionary Guards and the Basij militia, claiming they distributed money among religious groups to help Ahmadinejad win. Four years later, Mojtaba faced similar accusations again. Ahmadinejad’s re-election triggered widespread protests across the country known as the Green Movement. At the time, Deputy Interior Minister Mostafa Tajzadeh described the election result as an “electoral coup.” He was later sentenced to seven years in prison and said the decision was “a direct wish of Mojtaba Khamenei. Two reformist candidates, Mir-Hossein Mousavi and Mehdi Karroubi, were placed under house arrest after the 2009 election. Iranian sources reported that in February 2012, Mojtaba met with them and asked Mousavi to end the protests. Many observers expect that Mojtba will continue his father’s hardline policies. Some also believe that a person who has reportedly lost his father, mother, and wife in U.S. and Israeli attacks may be less likely to yield to Western pressure. However, he now faces the difficult task of ensuring the survival of the Islamic Republic and convincing the public that he is the right person to lead the country out of political and economic crisis. His leadership record remains largely untested, and the perception that Iran may be turning into a hereditary system could deepen public unrest. It should also be noted that Israel’s Defense Minister has stated that eliminating any successor of Ali Khamenei would be a clear objective.
By Real content8 months ago in Chapters