PNN – A Bosnian documentary filmmaker described his experience of participating in the funeral procession of the martyred leader of the Revolution in Tehran.
According to the report of Pakistan News Network; Edib Kadić, a Bosnian documentary filmmaker and media activist, appeared on the Sahar Balkan channel’s program “We Must Rise” to criticize the absence of a delegation from Bosnia and Herzegovina at the ceremony honoring the martyred leader of the Revolution, Ayatollah Khamenei. He stated: I feel alone; I stand here by myself, whereas countless officials from Bosnia should have been present.
He added: A generational shift is taking place, and more enlightened generations are emerging—generations that will truly understand who their friends and enemies are. God willing, future generations will appreciate this and possess the insight to recognize these fraternal bonds.
Speaking on a special program aired by the Sahar Balkan channel to mark the funeral of Iran’s martyred leader, Kadić stated: I have always said—and continue to say—that more than 90 percent of the Bosnian people support the Islamic Republic of Iran. I, too, am honored to be here. As soon as I received the email asking if I would like to go to Iran, I immediately replied: ‘Yes, I will go.’
Edib Kadić also detailed his trip to Tehran and his participation in the funeral ceremony of Iran’s martyred leader in an article for the Bosnian-Herzegovinian media outlet Odgovor; the full translated text follows below:
Notes from the funeral procession in Tehran: The only Bosnian among millions.
There was once a university professor who constantly boasted that he was the only professor of a particular branch of literature in the entire world. Apparently, one of his colleagues could no longer tolerate this—or perhaps felt a touch of envy—so he wrote of him in a poetry collection: Alone, like God in the cosmos.
For years, everyone made fun of this whole affair. Now, thousands of kilometers away from my native Bosnia, I find myself thinking: Human destiny is strange; sometimes, the very thing you laugh at in life eventually catches up with you—perhaps so that you may see your own mistakes and mend your ways a little.
Yes, I am attending the funeral ceremony.
When I received the invitation to travel to Tehran for the funeral of the Imam and the Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, I accepted immediately and thanked God for bestowing such a great honor upon me. I wrote a brief email in response, stating that attending an event of this magnitude—a once-in-a-lifetime experience—was a source of pride for me.
I packed my bags in the blink of an eye. There are no direct flights to that region these days, so I was forced to wait over nine hours at the airport for the flight to Tehran.
There was hardly anyone at the check-in counter of the airline serving that route. As the young Turkish agent took my luggage, he muttered something to his colleague; among the Turkish words, the only one I caught was peykar—body or remains. I answered firmly, yes; I am going to the funeral.
Yet, at the same time, a shiver of fear ran through me—born of the long wait and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
The coffin and millions of people—once again
The plane was packed: Africans, Asians, and Europeans; and I later learned there were even passengers from South America and some from North America. They had all come to pay their respects to a leader they regarded as “great and just.”
I said to myself: The world is far vaster than the narrow boundaries the media sketches in our minds every day, keeping us in ignorance and fear of the unknown.
During the four-hour flight, I tried to explain this very point to a young Kenyan influencer who was my fellow passenger. It was his first time traveling to Asia, yet he was well-informed about the conflicts involving Iran, Gaza, and Lebanon, as well as the efforts of young Kenyans to convey the truth to the world. He noted that the Kenyan government leans toward supporting Israel, citing significant political and financial interests and influence at play.
Without exaggeration, I was amazed to see representatives and guests from all over the world in Iran. According to the organizers, more than a hundred countries had sent official delegations to attend the ceremony.
There were massive crowds in the streets. Initially, it was estimated that around 10 million people would turn out; then the figure rose to 15 million, and eventually, it became impossible to make an accurate count.
Lessons Learned from the Past
I was reminded of a documentary produced by Iranian national television following the passing of Imam Khomeini. It recounted how the transfer of the coffin was repeatedly hindered by the crushing crowds and the people’s desperate attempts to touch it, ultimately necessitating transport by helicopter.
This time, however, drawing on past experience, the Iranians had planned everything meticulously. In my view, both the funeral procession and the management of foreign dignitaries were executed with great order. Nothing here is left to chance; every detail is carefully planned in advance.
Being alone was not easy.
Tehran’s Grand Mosalla—which, according to some sources, has a capacity ranging from hundreds of thousands to around a million people—had been prepared for the ceremony.
Various officials arrived one after another; some wore expressions of sorrow, while others appeared steadfast. Some recited verses from the Quran, while others paid their respects through silence.
Yet, there was no official or representative present from Bosnia and Herzegovina.
I do not intend to reproach anyone, nor do I wish to feel ashamed about this, but whenever my Iranian brothers asked me, “Who has come from Bosnia?” it was not easy for me to answer: Just myself.
On one hand, I was proud to be present at such a major event; on the other, I hoped that future generations of Bosnians would come to better understand and appreciate the friendly relations between nations.
Flags That Were Never Lowered
During the war, the people of Iran would gather in the streets every night.
Morteza, a student at the University of Tehran, told me: We gathered every night to show that we feared no one but God. I would have preferred to spend more time in the mosque during the nights of Ramadan, but we felt that our duty was to be out in the streets.
Across Tehran, flags could be seen that had not been lowered since the conflict began. People held them aloft day and night, sending a message to the military forces: You defend the country; we will uphold its flag.
A Perspective from Africa
I was amazed by the level of awareness and motivation among the foreign guests—particularly the Africans who had been following developments in Iran since the start of the war and were active on social media.
Some of them mentioned facing threats, pressure, and even the risk of arrest due to their activities, yet they continued their work nonetheless.
One of them, Mbuyiseni Ndlozi from South Africa—who has millions of social media followers—told me: I am not much of a traveler, but I couldn’t miss this event. My motto is that power must belong to the people. I believe the people of Iran have seized this opportunity for unity, and the presence of millions at this ceremony is deeply moving to me.
The Culture of Martyrdom
Many of the Iranians I spoke with believed that the conflict had not yet ended and might resume.
What struck me most was their love for their country and their flag.
Many of them said: Becoming a martyr is a great honor; this status is emphasized in the Quran and Hadith.
At that moment, I reflected on our own fate regarding Bosnia; it was as if we had somewhat sidelined the culture of martyrdom and become overly engrossed in worldly matters, drifting away from values concerning the Hereafter—as though we had strayed from our true selves in an attempt to please others, people who perhaps never truly valued us as they should have.