Free Assassins of the Turquoise Palace by Roya Hakakian

finding justice for their dead. They had no reason to expect from Germany what the rest of Europe had not given them, no reason to place any faith in German prosecutors, judges, or the justice system. They were certain they would be overruled by the opportunism of politicians. Countries with far less at stake in Iran than Germany had been lenient toward Tehran. Bonn had reason to be even more lenient.
    By 1992 trade figures between the two nations had reached 5 billion dollars, making Germany Iran’s dominant Western economic partner. Iran’s shares in German stocks exceeded 200 million dollars. The two countries had exchanged more than three hundred political, economic, cultural, and legal delegations, half of which included parliamentary members from both sides. In every international summit, Germany rejected, or at least tempered, the tone of American proposals against Iran. Since the end of diplomatic relations between Iran and the United States in 1979, Europe had vied to fill the gap America had left behind. At last, Germany was about to step into the coveted space.
    Its close ties with Iran had raised Germany’s standing as a global broker between Iran, Israel, and the United States. German officials championing the cause of Iran had initiated a continental effort to recast the image of Iran as an authentic, albeit imperfect, regional democracy. The campaign had been launched that July, only a few weeks before the murders. It was widely trumpeted as the “Critical Dialogue,” a diplomatic roundtable with senior Iranian and European officials, with future meetings scheduled for the following December.
    With resolute expressions upon their faces, the protesters chanted their slogans. But resoluteness was only a mask. They believed Germany’s stakes in Tehran were too high to afford justice for their dead. They were chanting to affirm to each other that they were alive, knew the truth, and were not afraid to be seen or sing their song of perseverance. They knew who was behind the murders but it was immaterial—they were adrift and powerless. They made their demandsthough they were consumed by a despondence that would prey on their peace, even as they made promising gains.
    Two of the leading stars of the Social Democratic Party had agreed to represent the victims’ families. The law firms of Otto Schily, who would become interior minister, and Wolfgang Wieland, who would become a member of the Bundestag, Germany’s parliament, took on the case pro bono. These names raised the profile of the dead, but that was not all. The second firm also added its most seasoned criminal attorney, Hans Joachim Ehrig, to the team.
    Ehrig was the lesser known of the attorneys but an equal in wisdom and passion. He was one of those rare members of the 1960s generation who had adapted admirably to the 1990s. His gaze was still fierce behind the perfectly round lenses of his rimless glasses, his old unruly beard trimmed down to a neat mustache. In him, all the formative bohemian ideals of his youth remained intact without dulling his taste for luxuries like silk ties or sailing. (His sail boat was docked in a lake near his villa in north Germany.) But between ideals or luxuries, the choice came effortlessly to him. He was on his way to spend a long weekend in the countryside at an arts festival when his assistant dropped the Mykonos file on his desk. After scanning it, Ehrig rolled his suitcase into the office closet and was off to a meeting with the victims.

7
A few days after Ayatollah Khomeini issued a fatwa for my death, a delivery man brought a package to my door. Not recognizing the sender’s address, I didn’t dare open it. Finally I thought, “Hadi, you can’t keep being afraid. You’ve got to live your life.” So I opened it. And do you know what I found inside? Not a bomb, oh no! A pack of opium, and what superb opium it was.
    —Hadi Khorsandi, exiled Iranian satirist
    Yousef Amin was grieving for a loss of his own.