Stand by Me

In 2015, we issued a public call to perform A Memory, A Monologue, A Rant, and A Prayer in solidarity with the global movement to stop violence against women (V- Day). Tehran with this theatrical act of resistance joined sixty-three other locations worldwide. It didn’t matter whether the participants were actors or had any prior connection to theatre—what mattered was their commitment to the cause.
On the day we met with volunteers, a young man walked in—around twenty-five, tall and thin, with a light beard. His appearance fit the stereotype of a "hardcore Muslim." When he performed his piece, it was overacted, full of exaggerated gestures and unnecessary theatrics. I told him honestly, "You’re putting so much effort into overacting that I can’t even focus on the text."
He didn’t flinch. Instead, he asked, "Tell me sir what I’m doing wrong, and I’ll practice. If I don’t fix it by next time, I’ll step aside and take on another task." I pointed out his flaws. The next time he performed, every issue had been corrected. He stayed.From that moment, he became a core member of our group, acting in The Little Black Fish by Samad Behrangi, Hamlet by Ivo Brešan, The Scarecrow by Bahram Beyzai, The Little Prince by Exupéry, The Teachers by Mohsen Yalfani, Honeymoon by Saedi, and more.
On the surface, there was nothing particularly unusual about an actor finding his place in a theatre group. But Exit Group isn’t just about theatre. Ninety percent of those who collaborate with us do so because of the group’s leftist intellectual nature. There’s no financial gain—if anything, involvement often brings political risk. And yet, this young man, fully aware of our precarious position, never hesitated. He never engaged in political discussions, never wavered in his responsibilities.
Over time, I realized he was deeply religious—he never missed prayers, never broke his fasts, never drank alcohol. During Muharram, he participated in mourning rituals alongside his family.

A few years later, when we finally began rehearsing The Teachers, he came down with severe chickenpox just a week before filming. He could barely move. I told him I had no choice but to replace him. He simply said, "Okay, sir. But if I can stand on the day of filming, can I still come?"
I agreed, though I knew it wasn’t that simple—his illness was contagious. But Shirin, was firm: "If my kid can stand, I’ll set up a quarantine room with masks and gloves. He’s coming."
The day before filming, he showed up for the final rehearsal, pale, covered in sores, but determined. I whispered to Shirin, "He can’t go in front of the camera like this.” She said, "I’ll talk to the makeup artist. Don’t worry about the rest."
Luckily, we were filming at our own home. Shirin prepared a separate room where he could rest between takes. And somehow, with the collective support of the group, he made it through.

I tell this story because I learned from him that a person’s worth isn’t in their words but in their actions. It’s not in their appearance but in their essence. And no matter what beliefs he holds for himself, I stand by this man.