One evening in Tehran in 1980, my grandfather got an anonymous tip that the Islamic Republic of Iran wanted him dead.
That night, he, my grandmother and my 15-year-old mother fled their native Iran on a last-minute flight to Heathrow with the help of a forged passport. With two tightly packed suitcases, they made it out. Eventually, my grandfather’s ingenuity allowed them to immigrate to Australia after three years spent in asylum-seeking purgatory in London. Together, my family built a fresh life in Sydney. We survived.
