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My full remarks at @LibertyU's Convocation: President Costin and Chancellor Falwell, esteemed faculty, and students of Liberty University, Good mornin...
My full remarks at @LibertyU's Convocation:
President Costin and Chancellor Falwell, esteemed faculty, and students of Liberty University,
Good morning and thank you for having me at Convocation.
On the beginning of Passover and on the cusp of Easter, I stand before you not only as an Iranian, but as a witness—on behalf of millions of my compatriots whose voices have been silenced, whose names you may never hear, but whose courage is reshaping the future of my country.
I come to you as the voice of a nation that has been silenced.
A nation whose people cannot stand here themselves.
A nation that, for 33 days, has been cut off from the world—without internet, without connection,
without a voice.
Let me begin there.
For 33 days, Iranians have lived in digital darkness.
No messages.
No social media.
No way to show the world what is being done to them.
No way to tell their families they are alive.
Think about that.
Not 33 minutes.
Not even 33 hours.
33 days.
How many of you could go 33 minutes without your phone?
Without checking a message, a notification, a headline?
Now imagine 33 days—not as a choice, but as a prison.
A nation of over 90 million people, silenced.
But because there is too much truth to hide.
That silence is not accidental.
It is the sound of a regime trying to kill a revolution in the dark.
We speak often, in this world, about injustice.
You are charged, by your professors and your pastors, to fight against it.
But what is happening in Iran demands a stronger word:
Evil.
Because what else do you call a system that murders its own children?
What else do you call a regime that wages war both on enemies abroad, and on its own people?
In recent years, tens of thousands of Iranians have been killed in wave after wave of repression.
Just this year, less than two months ago, on January 8th and 9th, more than 30,000 protesters were killed.
30,000...
Let me tell you some of their names.
Sina—17 years old—who went out with his family to demand freedom, and was shot in the street, never to return home.
Rubina—a young student who dreamed of studying fashion in Milan—whose family searched through rows of bodies just to find her.
Borna—who said, ‘If I don’t go, nothing will change.’ He chose to go. And he was killed for it.
Kimia—17 years old—shot in the chest by the very forces meant to protect her.
Two brothers—Rasoul and Reza—who stood side by side in protest, and were both shot dead in the street together.
And Bahar—three years old.
Three years old—killed not in war, not on a battlefield, but by tear gas in her own country.
These are not statistics.
These are lives.
But the evil did not stop there.
Young women beaten to death in the streets.
Students dragged from classrooms and executed.
Doctors assaulted in hospitals for treating the wounded.
Women and men sexually assaulted in detention centers.
Nurses and medics raped for gunshot helping victims.
Teenagers tortured into false confessions.
Families forced to pay for the bullets that killed their sons and daughters.
This is not politics.
This is not governance.
This is not even repression.
This is evil—organized, sustained, and unapologetic.
But against that Satanic force stands something extraordinary and pure.
A generation.
Young people.
Students.
Your peers.
Across Iran, universities have become battlegrounds for freedom.
Students chant: “Down with the clerics.”
They chant: “Death to the dictator.”
They chant: “This is the year of blood—this is the end of tyranny.”
And they chant these words knowing they may not survive the day.
Dormitories raided at night.
Classrooms turned into traps.
Campuses flooded with security forces.
Students beaten, arrested, disappeared. Killed.
And yet—they return.
Again. And again. And again.
Because they understand something that no tyrant can erase: Freedom is worth everything. Freedom is worth dying for.
You are students at Liberty University.
You live in freedom.
You worship freely.
You speak freely.
You protest freely.
And that is a blessing.
But let me tell you what a campus protest looks like in Iran.
There are no safe zones.
There are no administrators to negotiate with.
There are no second chances.
There are batons.
There are bullets.
There are prison vans waiting outside your classroom.
In America, students debate ideas.
In Iran, students bleed for them.
In America, you raise your voice.
In Iran, they risk their lives to whisper—and then, bravely, to shout.
And yet, their message is clear:
They do not want reform.
They do not want compromise.
They want liberty.
The young people of Iran are not different from you.
They laugh like you.
They dream like you.
They fall in love, they plan their futures, they hope.
But their lives have been overtaken by something you should never have to experience: A regime that fears them.
Because it knows they will bring it down.
While you sit in classrooms, they sit in prison cells.
While you plan your careers, they plan how to survive another day.
While you scroll your phones, they live in enforced silence—33 days without internet, without connection, without the world hearing their cries.
And yet—they do not stop.
So I ask you: What will you do with your liberty, when others your age are dying for theirs?
For those of you grounded in faith, there is another truth.
In Iran today, Christianity is not fading. It is rising. Quietly. Powerfully. Underground.
In homes, in whispers, in hidden gatherings, Iranians are finding faith—at great cost.
Pastors imprisoned.
Bibles are confiscated.
Believers hunted.
Converts threatened with execution.
Families torn apart.
And still, they gather.
Still, they pray.
Still, they believe.
Because faith that survives persecution is unbreakable.
Because the light shines brightest in the darkest places.
You study stories of persecution in your history.
Christians have often faced this.
In Iran, they are happening every day.
There was a time when Iran stood for something very different.
Over 2,500 years ago, Cyrus the Great—a Persian king—freed the Jewish people from captivity.
He restored their rights. He respected their faith.
He is remembered in Scripture not as a tyrant—but as a liberator.
This is Iran’s true legacy.
A nation of tolerance. A nation of dignity.
A nation that once stood on the side of freedom.
The regime that rules Iran today has betrayed that legacy.
It does not represent the Iranian people. It fears them.
And it will fall because of them.
The Iranian people are doing their part.
They are risking everything.
They are leading this fight.
But they cannot—and should not—stand alone.
America must be clear.
There is no negotiating with evil.
There is no reforming a system built on brutality.
There is only one path forward: The end of this regime.
To the people and leaders of this nation: Do not waver. Do not retreat. Do not legitimize those who murder their own people.
Stay the course. Finish the job.
Stand firmly with the people of Iran—not their oppressors.
Because when America stands with moral clarity, it gives strength to those fighting in the shadows.
But to you—the students—I say this: You must feel something today. Not indifference. Not distance.
But righteous anger at what is being done.
And at the same time, righteous love for those who are suffering.
Hatred for evil. Love for the oppressed.
This is not contradictory.
This is the foundation of moral courage and the strong faith you each have.
Let your anger move you. Let your faith guide you. Let your voice be heard.
Speak for those who cannot. Stand with those who are alone.
Refuse to look away.
I have not lost hope.
Because I have seen the courage of my people.
I have seen young women stand unarmed before guns.
I have seen students refuse to kneel.
I have seen a nation rise, again and again.
The end of this regime is not a dream. It is approaching.
And when that day comes, Iran will not be a threat to the world.
It will be a partner. A friend.
A nation reborn in freedom.
Let me leave you with this: Right now, in Iran, there are young people your age who cannot speak.
Who cannot connect. Who cannot even tell the world they are alive.
For 33 days, they have been silenced.
So today—be their voice. Carry their message. Stand in their place. Pray for them.
And when history asks what you did in this moment—
Let it be said that you did not remain silent.
That you stood.
That you spoke.
That you helped bring freedom to a nation that has waited too long.
Thank you.
God bless you.
And may God bless a free Iran.
Photo credit: Liberty University
President Costin and Chancellor Falwell, esteemed faculty, and students of Liberty University,
Good morning and thank you for having me at Convocation.
On the beginning of Passover and on the cusp of Easter, I stand before you not only as an Iranian, but as a witness—on behalf of millions of my compatriots whose voices have been silenced, whose names you may never hear, but whose courage is reshaping the future of my country.
I come to you as the voice of a nation that has been silenced.
A nation whose people cannot stand here themselves.
A nation that, for 33 days, has been cut off from the world—without internet, without connection,
without a voice.
Let me begin there.
For 33 days, Iranians have lived in digital darkness.
No messages.
No social media.
No way to show the world what is being done to them.
No way to tell their families they are alive.
Think about that.
Not 33 minutes.
Not even 33 hours.
33 days.
How many of you could go 33 minutes without your phone?
Without checking a message, a notification, a headline?
Now imagine 33 days—not as a choice, but as a prison.
A nation of over 90 million people, silenced.
But because there is too much truth to hide.
That silence is not accidental.
It is the sound of a regime trying to kill a revolution in the dark.
We speak often, in this world, about injustice.
You are charged, by your professors and your pastors, to fight against it.
But what is happening in Iran demands a stronger word:
Evil.
Because what else do you call a system that murders its own children?
What else do you call a regime that wages war both on enemies abroad, and on its own people?
In recent years, tens of thousands of Iranians have been killed in wave after wave of repression.
Just this year, less than two months ago, on January 8th and 9th, more than 30,000 protesters were killed.
30,000...
Let me tell you some of their names.
Sina—17 years old—who went out with his family to demand freedom, and was shot in the street, never to return home.
Rubina—a young student who dreamed of studying fashion in Milan—whose family searched through rows of bodies just to find her.
Borna—who said, ‘If I don’t go, nothing will change.’ He chose to go. And he was killed for it.
Kimia—17 years old—shot in the chest by the very forces meant to protect her.
Two brothers—Rasoul and Reza—who stood side by side in protest, and were both shot dead in the street together.
And Bahar—three years old.
Three years old—killed not in war, not on a battlefield, but by tear gas in her own country.
These are not statistics.
These are lives.
But the evil did not stop there.
Young women beaten to death in the streets.
Students dragged from classrooms and executed.
Doctors assaulted in hospitals for treating the wounded.
Women and men sexually assaulted in detention centers.
Nurses and medics raped for gunshot helping victims.
Teenagers tortured into false confessions.
Families forced to pay for the bullets that killed their sons and daughters.
This is not politics.
This is not governance.
This is not even repression.
This is evil—organized, sustained, and unapologetic.
But against that Satanic force stands something extraordinary and pure.
A generation.
Young people.
Students.
Your peers.
Across Iran, universities have become battlegrounds for freedom.
Students chant: “Down with the clerics.”
They chant: “Death to the dictator.”
They chant: “This is the year of blood—this is the end of tyranny.”
And they chant these words knowing they may not survive the day.
Dormitories raided at night.
Classrooms turned into traps.
Campuses flooded with security forces.
Students beaten, arrested, disappeared. Killed.
And yet—they return.
Again. And again. And again.
Because they understand something that no tyrant can erase: Freedom is worth everything. Freedom is worth dying for.
You are students at Liberty University.
You live in freedom.
You worship freely.
You speak freely.
You protest freely.
And that is a blessing.
But let me tell you what a campus protest looks like in Iran.
There are no safe zones.
There are no administrators to negotiate with.
There are no second chances.
There are batons.
There are bullets.
There are prison vans waiting outside your classroom.
In America, students debate ideas.
In Iran, students bleed for them.
In America, you raise your voice.
In Iran, they risk their lives to whisper—and then, bravely, to shout.
And yet, their message is clear:
They do not want reform.
They do not want compromise.
They want liberty.
The young people of Iran are not different from you.
They laugh like you.
They dream like you.
They fall in love, they plan their futures, they hope.
But their lives have been overtaken by something you should never have to experience: A regime that fears them.
Because it knows they will bring it down.
While you sit in classrooms, they sit in prison cells.
While you plan your careers, they plan how to survive another day.
While you scroll your phones, they live in enforced silence—33 days without internet, without connection, without the world hearing their cries.
And yet—they do not stop.
So I ask you: What will you do with your liberty, when others your age are dying for theirs?
For those of you grounded in faith, there is another truth.
In Iran today, Christianity is not fading. It is rising. Quietly. Powerfully. Underground.
In homes, in whispers, in hidden gatherings, Iranians are finding faith—at great cost.
Pastors imprisoned.
Bibles are confiscated.
Believers hunted.
Converts threatened with execution.
Families torn apart.
And still, they gather.
Still, they pray.
Still, they believe.
Because faith that survives persecution is unbreakable.
Because the light shines brightest in the darkest places.
You study stories of persecution in your history.
Christians have often faced this.
In Iran, they are happening every day.
There was a time when Iran stood for something very different.
Over 2,500 years ago, Cyrus the Great—a Persian king—freed the Jewish people from captivity.
He restored their rights. He respected their faith.
He is remembered in Scripture not as a tyrant—but as a liberator.
This is Iran’s true legacy.
A nation of tolerance. A nation of dignity.
A nation that once stood on the side of freedom.
The regime that rules Iran today has betrayed that legacy.
It does not represent the Iranian people. It fears them.
And it will fall because of them.
The Iranian people are doing their part.
They are risking everything.
They are leading this fight.
But they cannot—and should not—stand alone.
America must be clear.
There is no negotiating with evil.
There is no reforming a system built on brutality.
There is only one path forward: The end of this regime.
To the people and leaders of this nation: Do not waver. Do not retreat. Do not legitimize those who murder their own people.
Stay the course. Finish the job.
Stand firmly with the people of Iran—not their oppressors.
Because when America stands with moral clarity, it gives strength to those fighting in the shadows.
But to you—the students—I say this: You must feel something today. Not indifference. Not distance.
But righteous anger at what is being done.
And at the same time, righteous love for those who are suffering.
Hatred for evil. Love for the oppressed.
This is not contradictory.
This is the foundation of moral courage and the strong faith you each have.
Let your anger move you. Let your faith guide you. Let your voice be heard.
Speak for those who cannot. Stand with those who are alone.
Refuse to look away.
I have not lost hope.
Because I have seen the courage of my people.
I have seen young women stand unarmed before guns.
I have seen students refuse to kneel.
I have seen a nation rise, again and again.
The end of this regime is not a dream. It is approaching.
And when that day comes, Iran will not be a threat to the world.
It will be a partner. A friend.
A nation reborn in freedom.
Let me leave you with this: Right now, in Iran, there are young people your age who cannot speak.
Who cannot connect. Who cannot even tell the world they are alive.
For 33 days, they have been silenced.
So today—be their voice. Carry their message. Stand in their place. Pray for them.
And when history asks what you did in this moment—
Let it be said that you did not remain silent.
That you stood.
That you spoke.
That you helped bring freedom to a nation that has waited too long.
Thank you.
God bless you.
And may God bless a free Iran.
Photo credit: Liberty University
