Muslim Woman Dies in Tehran Jesus Reveals 5 Future Events
My name is Suraya Meani and I am from Thran, Iran.
I now live in the United States and I am telling you what happened to me because I cannot stay silent anymore.
Not after what I saw, not after what he showed me.
Why?
Not after dying and coming back with a message burning in my chest that refuses to stay quiet.
Let me start from the beginning because the beginning matters.
You cannot understand what happened to me on that hospital table without understanding who I was before I got there.
And who I was was not a simple woman.
I was not the kind of Iranian woman who stayed home and raised children and kept her opinions to herself.
I was educated, ambitious, and dangerous in the way that the Iranian government likes its women to be dangerous, useful, controlled, pointed at a target.
I was born in Tehran in the Sheaman district in the north of the city where the mountains rise up behind the neighborhoods and the air is slightly cooler than the rest of the capital.
My father Mahmud Mehani was a professor of political science at the University of Tehran.
He was a serious man.
Thinface, wire rimmed glasses, a man who measured every word before he allowed it to leave his mouth.
He had survived the revolution in 1979 by being smart enough to praise the new government loudly in public and keep every private opinion locked behind his eyes.
That survival instinct passed directly to me.
My mother fesh was a secondary school teacher who taught Persian literature.
She loved poetry the way other women loved jewelry.
Hafi and Roomie and Farug Farukadad were spoken in our house the way other families spoke about neighbors and food and daily life.
My mother recited verses while she cooked.
She wrote lines of poetry on small pieces of paper and tucked them into my school bag.
She was a gentle woman with an iron spine.
And she taught me two things above everything else.
First, that words have power.
Second, that a woman who controls words controls more than people expect.
We were Muslim, not the kind of Muslim family that debates theology at the dinner table or attends the mosque for every prayer.
We were the cultural kind.
We fasted during Ramadan because everyone fasted during Ramadan.
We observed the Islamic dress code because the law required it and the consequences of not observing it were unpleasant.
My father prayed when he remembered to.
My mother believed in God in the quiet, private way that intelligent women sometimes believe.
Not loudly, not with performance, but with a steady background faith that she never examined too closely because examining it might unsettle things.
She preferred not to unsettle.
I was a good student, better than good.
I was the kind of student that teachers remember for the rest of their careers.
I had a memory that held everything it touched.
Languages came to me easily.
I was fluent in Farsy from birth, obviously, but I picked up English from my father’s academic books and BBC radio broadcasts that he listened to quietly in his study.
By the time I was 15, I could read English newspapers without a dictionary.
By the time I was 20, I thought in English as easily as I thought in Farsy.
I studied journalism at Alamehabati University in Tehran.
This was a deliberate choice.
My father advised it.
He said in Iran, the safest place for a sharp mind was inside the media apparatus because the media apparatus had power and the government protected what gave it power.
He was right.
Journalism in Iran was not the kind of journalism you practice in America.
It was not about uncovering truth and speaking it to the public.
It was about managing truth, selecting which parts of reality to show and which parts to bury.
It was about constructing a narrative that served the Islamic Republic and presenting that narrative with enough polish and credibility that people accepted it without question.
I was very very good at this.
After graduation, I was hired by IRB, the Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting, which is the state controlled television and radio network.
I started as a junior writer and within 3 years I was producing news segments.
Within 5 years, I was one of the senior producers for the English language international division.
This was significant work.