I wish to return to Iran. For the same reason I left it.

I left the country ten years ago because I felt that writing and publishing in Iran would become increasingly difficult by the day. As a writer, satirist, and journalist to an extent, I have published more than 4,000 pieces of humor and 26 books during the 3,830 days that I have not lived in Iran.

Now I feel that I need to return to my own country. I certainly don’t yearn for prison walls, and not even delectable Persian cooking is what I miss. What I long for is the Persian vocabulary; I long for the language in which I have written 70 books. I miss Iranian booksellers, and for the spirited and impassioned Iranian readers who continually inspire writers to write.

Every day for eight years I wrote satire in opposition to that insane Ahmadinejad. Then when career diplomat Hassan Rouhani declared that he would run for the presidency as a moderate, I supported him with all my energy, unlike many dinosaurs in the Iranian opposition who wish to return to the now irretrievably lost days of 40 years back. I did not support Rouhani in the hopes of a return to the Khatami era, or even the monarch’s reign. I know well that no river ever flows backwards. I hoped and hope still that the new government will be able to prevent war, stem corruption and extremism, and create an atmosphere favourable to social justice and free expression.

I hope that when I turn 55 this month, I will pass that day in Tehran. Just now it seems unimportant if I were to be in a prison cell or at home with friends. The important thing is to return and be with the readers of my work. I do know I’ve been selfish enough not to sacrifice myself as the first returnee. Over the last few months, dozens have gone back ahead of me.

Of course, I have heard that Tehran’s solicitor general has declared that every one in opposition residing abroad would be detained upon arrival. I have also heard that the Ministry of Information has said that anyone who has no record can return to Iran, and I know that the new president has said that Iranians overseas have the right to come back. In truth, I am not counting on any of these pronouncements. There is no real rule of law in Iran, and no one’s word is definitive – not the information minister’s, not the president’s, not even the supreme leader’s. As Napoleon said, it is not sufficient for us to be courageous, we need to be a bit lucky too.

When you are imprisoned in Iran, they may free you ten days later with no explanation, even if you were handed a ten-year term by a judge. Or they may hold you in prison for ten years without anyone able to review you file. International protests don’t really resolve anything, nor is popular support sufficient. A writer’s life in Iran is like taking a romantic stroll through a minefield. You might get lucky and make it through unscathed, or you might lose your legs in that first hour.

If you really want to know why this writer wishes to return to a prison where the warden has swallowed the key, to a minefield which may blow up at any moment, the answer is quite simple. My vocation is writing in Persian and I have to work in Iran to be my most useful and effective.

The situation in Iran is changing. It has to change. Of course, altered conditions will certainly not meet the approval of everyone, certainly not those like crazy Ahmadinejad who have at least the vote of 10 percent of Iranians. But the world doesn’t need the permission of dictators and madmen to change. To work as a writer, in my own country, I have to struggle. True, the Internet has reduced the distance between my readers and me, and I have a Facebook page with a hundred thousand friends. Yet I need to to be present in Tehran, surrounded by the literary scene where I first found inspiration and where the heart of my readership lies.

What assurance do I have that I’ll be able to publish my books if I return? None. I have no guarantees. I have to struggle and strive to succeed.

The further away Tehran gets from the Ahmadinejad winter, the longer the days get and the brighter the skies. I am certain that in the next two or three months, the space for free expression will be wider than it is today. I am certain that we will be able to publish our work and create an active cultural, publishing, and media space. But I am not returning with the wish that everything will get better, I am returning to help make sure that it does.

The Iranian society is dynamic and lively, with all its wonders and shortcomings. I am a satirist and have to write in the language of the people. That language changes remarkably not every fifty years, but every ten. I knew all this when I was leaving Iran and for that reason I never thought that I would live in Europe forever.

I came here to stay alive and to be able to continue with my work. Now I have to return for my words to stay alive. After years of going to bed with dreams of returning, I am determined to make my dream come true.

Many friends advise me to wait and return when things get better. But I believe things will not get better until I come home. To land at the Tehran airport you just need to buy a ticket, but to get home from there you have to go through a tunnel of horrors. In Ahmadinejad’s era this tunnel seemed almost infinite. The tunnel is not so arduous now, though it has not vanished yet. And it will be still better when I return.