Laughing Without an Accent

Firouzeh Dumas' second book may not throw you off the bed with laughter as the Funny in Farsi does, but it certainly warms your heart as much as any humorous work of art might.

Like her previous book, if there is one unified theme I can point at, it is our humanity which makes us like each other. Reading her memoir, I thought I had already heard each story. They were all familiar and all humane, whether her father's stubbornness, her mother's naiveté, the childishness of most the adults in her own childhood mind; whether she criticizes some Iranian traditions or American modernism, whether she praises the “less” and “limit” or criticizes the abundance and waste, all this makes a point: our humanity.

As someone who has a keen eye and an acute taste for pattern, I could not detect any particular pattern in the collection of her memoir. However, the randomness of the stories is not devoid of merit; it fits into the nature of humor which is itself random and unexpected.

By the first two chapters of the book, I came to expect a more mellow kind of humor, until I moved to the second story, My Achilles’ Meal, when I laughed so hard that tears ran from my eyes. Oddly enough, it was not the language and the text which sounded funny but the imagery implied by the story. It was the visualization of this toothless ancient women in her nineties (? ) who kept making French fries for this little girl was even more hilarious than them winding up in the water closets of department store while looking for bathroom in a story from Funny in Farsi.

The chapter on Iranian style education was my treasure. Besides her praises for Fedowsi and Hafez and Saadi, her acknowledgment of Dr. Mohammad Ali Mojtahedi, the principal of Alborz High School, was past due. Alborz College (as it was called) was indeed a phenomenal institution. It was not a token institution. (It was a trend to have a token of every thing in pre-revolutionary Iran.) Rather, it was a model institution which, thanks to Dr. Mojtahedi, set an standard and kept up to it. He was one of the several dedicated individuals who were the founding fathers (and mothers) of our educational system; and God bless them all, they did a fantastic job.

Maid in Iran was a delightful narrative about the maids in her childhood years in Abadan, who came with their own stories and left. Not only is it a tribute to the all those loving people who were part of the Iranian household, but it was a little corner of Iranian life which really deserves to be exposed. No, it was not the heartbreaking tales of cruelty, abuse, and exploitation of servants, and did not have the slightest resemblance to the Hassan’s fate in The Kite Runner. It was a human relationship in which the less advantaged benefited from the generosity and compassion of the privileged.

Last year, a friend of mine visited me from Iran. Talking about her children who did not have such a passion for education, she said now a days it is the children of servants and laundresses who attend universities and became doctors and engineers. Exaggerated as it may sound, this is good news for Firouzeh and all of us that the children of gardeners do not need to be gardeners themselves (though I should confess choosing between being a gardener and a stock broker, a financier, a dentist, and even a lawyer, with due respect to all, I would not hesitate to choose being a gardener.)

Though the cultural clashes are the main source of humor in her stories, still the greater emphasis is on the similarities which unite us all, and how differences could complement each other. The 444 Days is a delightful example of how deep down we share humanitarian values when we surpass the structural forms and focus on the essence, and when we transcend appearances for the sake of higher goals.

Humanist that she is, she is indeed very critical of American fad culture: excess and proliferation of almost everything, workaholism, the money culture, competition, a misplaced work ethics, as well as some the nuances of Iranian culture: excessive pleasantries, biases, rigid discipline, and “not letting go.” However, she still finds a way to look at the maladies with compassion. Her parents are the permanent target of her wit (whose parents aren't?) and when she picks on them, either it is over their inability as to change the way of the past and let go of the habits, their ideas, or even their clothing and other paraphernalia, or their inability to sense the world beyond their personal world. But after a good laughter she realizes it is time for peace and understanding and she goes on like this:

I’m convinced that she [her mother] holds on to things for the same reason we hold on tight during roller coaster rides; we think we have to. Perhaps with every shipment to the house, she is letting go a little bit. And perhaps she sees that even when she lets go and unexpected things happen, like a revolution that displaces her forever, she still does not fall off.

As much as I admire her peace-loving soul and her ability to wield human beings together through her finding common ground and above all humor, or finding virtue in failure (Mr. Potato), I still wish for a little of Tom and Jerry in her to manifest itself in her writings as well. A while ago I was listening to her interview one of the hostages taken in Iran who, while in the custody of the so-called students, used to tutor one of them who was preparing himself for some board exam. Firouzeh asked her, “Did you really help him?” “Yes indeed.” She answered. “You should have told him ‘the name of the organ which is big and red and pumps the blood into your system is the kidney.’” They both laughed. It was indeed another “I’m sorry” with wit.

I always take delight in reading a book which leaves me thirsting for more, for a “what if she had talked about this or that.” I wished she had talked about her speech in Of Mice and Mandalas even if it would have been irrelevant. I think that means I loved her piece Pomp It Up. That was indeed a great graduation speech. I’m sure those who listened to it had benefited from it tremendously, particularly what she said about brushing the teeth and flossing. I mean it.

And finally she did great on the subject which is forever in the heart of every emigrant “to change or not to change, that is the question.” She says “yes” to the “celebration of life” when someone dies at ninety leaving a wonderful legacy behind, instead of traditional Iranian mourning, and places a question mark on the wedding anniversary of those who have gone through an arranged marriage more that half a century ago, as if to say, “Our families decided we should marry even though I had never met you and frankly, it’s not working out so well,” Particularly when there is not even a Hallmark card saying: “Roses are red, violets are blue, on the day we got married, I couldn’t stand you.”

Laughing Without Accent is another wonderful book to have next to your bed for those nights which the rush of the problems keeps you awake.

And on the last note, as the author of the book requested and the reviewer recommends, please buy your copy of this book (If you buy it at all) from your local independent book store and please buy several copies and give it as a gift to those you love and want them to be happy.

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The Universalism of the Ahamdinejad’s Government

Serge Barseghian wrote a beautiful anecdote in his article on the Universalism of the Ahamdinejad’s Government.

Once upon a time, there was a king in a nearby country who was very dictatorial and would do whatever he pleased. Luckily, the people in his kingdom were very meek and peace-loving subjects and never protested and would obey their monarch's most unreasonable demands ...


One day, he become very frustrated by all this obedience and wished for some protests or disagreements. He made a new arbitrary rule, that those who want to enter the city should pay a certain amount and then receive a sharp slap on the neck, after which they can enter. The monarch hoped that this utter unreasonableness would stir some anger and protest. This rule was announced and the next day people lined up behind the city gate; they all paid what they were supposed to and extended their necks and received the harsh slap and got their pass and entered.

Days passed and, like everything else, it became a routine. There was no protest. The king was really upset. It was so boring not having any disturbances and or complaints. Finally, he ordered his grand vizier to investigate the matter personally. The vizier went to the gate and saw with his own eyes how orderly the people were, almost as if they were delighted with the new ordinance. He gave the news to the king and the king, now quite furious, said it was impossible that not even a single person should not protest. He urged the vizier to look more carefully and find at least one.

The next day, the vizier went to the gate and announced “Hey people, is there any one among you who is unhappy about this new law?” No one answered. He repeated and repeated and finally, an old man raised his hand and said, “I'd like to protest.” The vizier became very happy and brought him before the king.

The king was glad to be relieved of his boredom, although he was angry that someone dared protested against his rule. He asked him what his complaint was. The old man, a bit frightened and nervous, said: “Your majesty, I do have a complaint. I just wanted to tell you that there are too few guards to slap the people and so we have to stay in line for a long time to receive the slap. I wanted to suggest that you increase the number of guards.”

Barseghian, a member of a non-Muslim minority himself, I believe, leaves out Amadinejad's proclamation of his affinity with the Twelfth Imam. However, he argues, still daringly, about Ahmadinejad’s mission that he has taken upon himself, or which had been invested in him by the Hidden Imam, i.e., the management of the world. He is wondering to what extend this world’s managements will continue, and what price Iranians will have to pay for this lunacy.

But there are other critics who are in a position to protest against Ahmadinejad's premature end of the Occultation and his “world’s management” mission. Ayatollah Mahdavi Kani, for one, has stated that the reappearance of the Imam, the end of Occultation, is the domain of the high rank clerics and not a layman such as Ahmadinejad.

Ayatollah Karoubi jokingly objected that attributing this lousy management, with this high inflation, to the Occult Imam would give the people the wrong idea, as if saying all these harsh conditions were his fault, and thus damage the people's faith.

Some laymen have indulged in discussing the issue from the point of view of how the “enemy” will take advantage of such talk and would produce a “false” imam as had happened in the past. (I assume they are referring to Babism and Baha’ism.)

The most diplomatic one came from Abtahi’s blog. A wealthy merchant is robbed on a road. All of his belongings in a box are taken from him. After a while, the thief returns his box untouched. Surprised, the merchant asks the thief for an explanation. The thief points to the prayer attached to the box for its protection and says, “I noticed it when I left you.” “So?” asks the merchant, still puzzled. “I’m a thief of money and valuable goods, I’m not a robber of faith. I read the prayer on your box which was supposed to protect it against evil. If I rob it, I’m robbing your faith and trust, and that I will not do.”

Well, I don’t think we need any further conclusion than asking “Mr. President, what are you up to?”

Indeed, Mr. President has a very good explanation. He said, “If the Imam is coming someday, who said that it will not be in the next months or years.” Whatever we say about Ahmadinejad, I should admit this was not a bad explanation at all. Truly, faith is faith. There is nothing wrong with dreaming of the Imam, imagining him, talking to him, sensing his presence, and even striking up a friendship with him. There is nothing wrong with filling one’s mind and heart with the love and trust of divinity and seeking guidance and protection from him. There is nothing wrong with all this then, and there should not be anything wrong with it now either. This is the meaning of faith, and faith is part of any religion. No one can take it away from people and our beloved president, like anybody else, has a full right to his faith.

However, the two anecdotes above show that there is a limit and that the President has gone way beyond it.

But who is really to blame? Do we blame the children for their excess mischievousness when they take over their parents' and neighbors' lives? Or do we blame the parents who have not drawn a line to show them their limit. Ahmadinejad is the product of a “bad parents” who did not draw a clear line for him to show him his boundaries. He is a rowdy, raucous child who does not know his limits while, it seems, he entertains many with his hijinx. Sounds familiar? I think we all have come at least once to know a child like him, and we have not blamed the child for it.

Objecting to the president’s un-presidential speeches and behavior because it “gives a tool to the enemy” or by reducing it to a joke is futile, since the former is abused so much by the government itself and so has turned into a joke already, and the latter? Do we need Mehdi Karoubi while we have Ebrahim Nabavi and Ebrahim Raha? We have quite a good number of satirists to bring a smile to our faces; what we do not have are politicians interested in solving the country's problems and giving the people peace of mind.

However Ayatollah Mahdavi Kani’s statement is worth pondering: “Only high-ranking clerics can talk about the end of the Occultation.” As far as I know, he is one of the rare clerics who is willing to accept responsibility, at least partially. Yes, Mr. Kani, we are listening, tell us, educate us. We would like to know a few things:

Is He coming at all?

If He is coming, is He coming physically, like a person, or He comes spiritually, through some signs and some other representations?

What will happen after He comes?

Is it going to be the end of the world after His appearance? Could it be in the month of June or July?

Would everything vanish after His appearance? Or does everything resume at a perfect life?

Does His reappearance effect only Iran and few other Shiites lands, such as part of Afghanistan, 60% of Iraq, and 25% of Lebanon, or the whole world?

Please Mr. Ayatollah, if you know something, say something! Who is supposed to explain this to the people? Ahmadinejad is Ahmadinejad. He is doing what he is doing. He is an unruly child, but where are the parents and where is his room that he should be sent to? Who should send him to the corner? (Please do not tell us the Parliament, whose deputies were all confirmed by the Hidden Imam!) In the absence of such disciplinarian parents, our child-president, with his rowdiness, entertains millions of Iranians, and this in addition to the management of the world that might have been part of his mission!

The problem is that none of the ayatollahs really want to set limits for Ahmadinejad. So far, we do not have a clear, or even semi-clear, vision of the nature of the Hidden Imam. Those millions who go for pilgrimage to Jamkaran to visit the Imam’s wells in which he is hidden (and it seems that there are now two wells there), what would they do if they found out that there has never been any Imam in either of them? What would happen if the children and the grandchildren of the cleric who was the proprietor of that property, who have played, run, bicycled, fought, and pull each others hair right in that property, would testify that they had never visited any well with or without the Imam there?

I’m afraid Ayatollah Kani’s declaration would not withstand even a simpleton such as Ahmadinejad. For a change I agree with the president; why shouldn't the Hidden Imam come tomorrow?

Those who have the concession on the issue should at least use the right which is given to them and speak up. What are they waiting for? The Guardian Council is to appoint them or the Supreme Leader? Talk, Mr. Ayatollah, talk and talk soon, before Shariatmadari of Keyhan pulls a few pages of Imam Khomeini’s Sahifeh and declares that only Basijis have the right to declare the end of Occultation. You know, Mr. Ayatollah, “These are strange times, my dear!”

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Anna Karenina

My article (in Persian) on Anna Karenina. To read the rest, click here.

When Tribal Men Talk about Women

The following is a translation of a wonderful article by Mas`ud Naseri about Bijan Bahadori Kashkuli, "The Wind Painter".(1) It was conducted on May 4, 2008.

Bijan Bahadori is a tribologist who depicts the life and the culture of his tribe, the Qashqais, in his paintings. He works in the Naïve School of painting, very much like Mokarrameh Ghanbari, the peasant woman from northern Iran. Bijan employs vivid colors, simple images, and mixed perspectives (direct angle as well as distant views). He uses contrast to create harmony and rhythm, an atmosphere full of energy, movement and life which is the secret of tribal life. As portrayed in Bahadori’s paintings, tribal life owes its energy and vibrancy to its women, and this is the secret of tribal life he tries to reveal by depicting them in his paintings. His paintings have been on exhibit in Iran, France, England, the Netherlands, and Turkey.

Bahadori was born in one of the black tents of the Qashqai tribe. He says he is seventy or even sixty years old, but his wife, Bibi Iran, jokes, “Sixty or seventy? He is ninety years old!”

Undoubtedly, he has sucked the milk off his mother’s breast perfumed with clove and rosemary and slept in a bed covered with salt flowers, sea shells and love rings dropped off snakes when copulating, with the lion’s nail hanging over his crib. He has dreamed of climbing his mother’s delicate silky head gear and has witnessed the life of “tribal women and men who are born on horseback, live on saddles and die while riding.”(2)

Very likely he has spent his childhood in the saddle of new brides riding hill and dale in a Gabbeh and Qashqai tribal klims that he recalls with joy and ecstasy:

I loved painting. There were no tools for it in my tribe, even a pencil. I designed over stone slabs with the sharp edges of pebbles. I would draw horses, goats and camels. My tribal elders showed my paintings to each other and would say, “See, they look very similar to horses and camels.” They would encourage me with their tribal simplicity. Later on, I drew over the blue and while papers wrapped around the Belgian sugar cones. There was no paint or pigment and I had to use the juice and essence of various herbs and plants. I would smash the grass and thought I would make green dye, but after drawing it would yield only a dull brownish color. Despite the lack of facilities, I loved painting. The head of our tribe, Elias Khan Kashkooli, was a cultured man. He liked me and tried to make a good painter out of me. He introduced my paintings to everyone. He even sent me to school so I could learn Persian. In fact, he revived me a and gave me a new life. He introduced me to Mohamad Bahman Beigui, who had a great impact in my life. Later I became an art teacher myself and taught painting and calligraphy to the tribe kids.

Then, he could paint the bluest of the blue sky of his tribe, and “listen to Qashqai music that was nourished from the modest and generous breast of Mother Nature.”(3) He traveled and became a companion to troubadours, storytellers, camel drivers and stevedores, and listened to the magical happy songs of Vasunaks, the sad melodies of Kakams, the exciting and energetic music of Koroghlus, the love songs of Sanan, the lamentations of Aghoriles, the heart-breaking songs of Guriely Khavar, and the epic lyrics of Jongnamehs. He translated them all into the colors and images to his tribal people on his return.

My paintings are narratives from tribal life: women and men and children, migration, hunting, stick games, erecting winter and summer tents, handkerchief dances, weaving klims and gabbehs, spinning wool, horseback riding, cooking food, rebellion, war, and peace among the tribes, nature, local animals, and rain prayer ceremonies in which a designated person with beard and moustache (often artificial) would lead the prayer and sing:

I’m the bride’s drum.
I’m the golden horn.
I bring the wind, I’ll bring the rain.
I do not want anything in return.
I want only some sweet.

The sweet he requests is wheat flour that people would give him willingly. They believe that God would listen to him and send them rain. But, more than anything else…

Love and loving is a different story. Whenever is on top of the mountain, next to the valley of Khosrow and Shirin, such as a ghazal, golden and silky, running under the light of sun or moon, the natives believe to be the Lady of Ladies, the daughter of the chief, with strings of rubies and safire and Kahroba, and delrob on run.

We do not know where and when Bijan Khan and Iran Banoo bound their heart together, but we know Iran Banoo was a rider of the Chariot of Wind.

We do not know whether or not Bijan Khan, when he met Iran Banoo riding on the back of Badjani(4) said in his heart: “You dark-skinned tribal girl, do not boast of your skin color, tell me what you have in your bosom? Is it clove and rosemary that takes away from you the sweat of sowing, weaving, knitting and milking?”

But we know for sure that if Iran Banoo would have asked Bijan Khan, “You, young man, what do you have in your leather arms?” Bijan Khan would have answered without hesitation: “I have my paintings of our tribe.”

Not only are his paintings the images of Iran Bibi, but of all those women who have born Iran Bibis, those who themselves were born on the road, sometimes during the migrations and sometimes while fleeing from an enemy, the women who have ornamented the harsh tribal life with the colorful rainbow of their womanly love and wisdom.

I like wedding scenes. I remember my own wedding. I wore pants and a jacket. Iran Banoo had worn local dress. But I don’t know why I never painted our own wedding. In Qashqai’s weddings other tribes would get invited and the celebration would take a week to twenty days. The guests participate in the wedding by bringing lambs and rice as gifts (to help them out). They would play music, young men would dance with sticks and women with colorful kerchiefs and do kel (a joyous sound women make in weddings). Everybody would be happy. Men would shoot and exhibition riding and other sports. In all events, men and women would all be together and never separate, never. The bride would ride on a horse along with a little boy on the saddle as a sign of good omen and good luck. At nights they would set some stones around to make a fire. Every day they would feast, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with tea and yoghurt drinks in between. Of course there are some unfortunate times that wedding turns to mourning… I have painted them all not to get lost.

One of the memorable stories in Qashqaii tribe is the tale of Gureily: The bridegroom went to the mountain to hunt an animal to offer to his bride as a gift, in accordance with tribal custom. While he is setting his traps for his hunt, he is attacked by a tiger. He kills the tiger but at night, fearing an attack by other animals as well as the mountain cold weather, he hides himself inside the tiger’s coat/skin and sleeps there to return to his tribe the day after. At dawn his friends and relative, worried for him, go to the mountain looking for him. A strain of blood leads them a sleeping tiger. Thinking the tiger had killed him, they shoot the tiger. When they get closer, they scream loud enough to shake all the mountains. The bride with her colorful wedding dress climbs the mountain and when she finds out about her husband’s death, she cries and sings heart-rending hymns. A song is composed based on this story which is called Grielly or “Leily’s Crying”(5)

Bijan Khan did not paint this story but he draws plenty of wars, peaces, and quarrels between the tribes which have caused painful divisions or joyous marriages among the young lovers in the tribes.

“Iran, tell them that I hunted a tiger too.”

“Yes, it was in the Spring.”

“I think it was five or six years ago.”

“Five or six? It was thirty or forty years ago!”

Bijan Khan has no intention of getting old… In the cool shadow full of love and affection of the wise and capable women of the tribe there is no way to become old… He expresses his wishes childishly to his wife Iran Bibi and to us as:

“I wish I had a forty foot length of paper on which I could draw the life of our tribe and its beauties.”

Images, color, colorful paintings of life, tales of happiness and woe, struggle and patience, defeat and victory … Bijan’s paintings are filled with the colorful spring rain drops in the meadows and the plains of Fars and the blissful hands of the women that have places these drops one by one in his loom.

If one looks carefully at the tribe’s women, one can find Jahaneh Bibi Kashkooli, who has been an innovating designer and the colorist of the tribal carpets and an innovating expert in agriculture and animal husbandry.

Khadijeh Bibi Kashkooli was the famous wife of the chief of the tribe who was, like her husband, a brilliant fighter. According to an anecdote, Reza Shah had said we have to give this women an honorary army medal … One of the tribes’ popular tales says of her that after her husband was killed by one of the Reza Shah’s men, when she received her husband’s body, she sent a message to the Shah saying, “ Oh kind and just King, I received your honorary military award.”

Bijan Khan still talks about the tribal women and paints them, although he knows that today’s tribal life does not have the color and sound of the past. But he continues painting lest nothing is lost and he sing the song:

Oh, the tall mountain, may I sacrifice my life to your soil and rocks,
Give me a signal until like an eagle,
I fly to your arms
To reach to your peaks,
And gaze on my tribe from your heights.
Where is that massive Qashqai tribe?

Footnotes:

(1)“Wind Painter” was the title exhibits of the painter in 2005, in Netherland.

(2) Ashayer Iran, Nasrolah Kasra’ian and Ziba Arshi, Mo’alef publication, 1373.

(3)If there were no Ghareh ghach, Bahman Beigui, Novid Shiraz publication. 1381

(4)Racehorse

(5)kouch ba Eshgh-e Shaghayegh, Manouchehr Kiani, Kian Nashr-e Shiraz Publisher, 1377
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The Blood of Flowers

Against the backdrop of Persian art and craft of carpet weaving, wrapped in seven sheer layers of Persian folkloric-mystical tales, Anita Amirrezvani weaves her narrative of The Blood of Flowers, her first novel.

The story’s unnamed narrator tells her life story, woven delicately among the colorful flowers and leaves and birds and animals which gradually appear as five carpets are woven. The seven tales, alluding to the seven mystic steps Sufi masters have set to lead seekers of absolute truth or love to the most inner self, serves a two-fold function: to help the narrator demystify the ambiguities of her own fate and destiny and to encourage her to bear it courageously and to keep the reader from losing patience while confronting the extremities of pains and hopelessness woven into the fabric of the narrator’s life.

The art of carpet weaving is not used decoratively, informatively, or even metaphorically, as has been suggested by some reviewers. Indeed it plays a structural as well as an instrumental role in her story, functioning just as the art of illustration and miniature did in Orhan Pamuk’s celebrated novel My Name Is Red.

Anita Amirrezvani successfully, with a fairy tale style narrative, tells us a magical tale which unfolds in a magical land and a magical time. Though the setting is too far away in Isfahan and in the seventeenth century, the carpet design lends its lack of perspective to the characters in this tale, allowing them to transcend time and space to connect to us, the reader, here and now. However this universality never diminishes the liveliness, vividness and individuality of the characters, thanks to our author’s skillfulness.

The story’s narrator is a carpet weaving villager who is caught in a web of misfortunes but manages against all odds to pull herself up into the centre of a male-dominated carpet industry as a major designer. In a charming and engaging, though very sad, story we follow her obsessively from the profound depth of her misery to the peak of her glory as if it is our own fate. Exaggerated as it appears, the story is an idealized narrative of an intense infusion of centuries of epical struggles of Iranian women to overcome the obstacles of male-dominated tradition, religion, and politics which hinders them. (I very deliberately and consciously avoid the term culture when the suppression of women is concerned. I very strongly feel that Iranian “culture” is not misogynistic and it seems, judging from the two male characters in the story, that the narrative’s father and her uncle, Amirrezvani agree with me.)

The sharp contrast between the wealthy and haughty and the poor and humble, the glory of the city of Isfahan with all its magnificent bridges, mosques, palaces, and public squares and the extreme poverty, disease, filth and squalor of the narrator’s life, are effective in giving the idealized characters a vivid life, just as the play of colors separate the various idealized layers of images in the carpet designs. The dichotomy of two worlds is also used to advance various themes in the novel as well, such as sexuality, child bearing, marital discrimination, and luck and chance versus merit.

Our narrator’s divided city, with all it contrasts, is a natural setting to tell us that once upon a time “chance and luck” overrode merit; women’s life was glued to only one tiny thread, the child or the children she bore; the only value in a woman was in the pleasure she could bestow; at the age of thirty she was considered old; her dowry was the price she had to pay to buy a life; the world was divided into two halves, those who lived it and those who stare at those who lived it; some did not even have the right to a lawful marriage; others were destined to a term marriage for a limited time only, sigheh; and the institution of family was the prize not for all but for a privileged few.

Our narrator’s divided city is a two-colored life, and our narrator is a denizen of the dark and unfortunate side. Her struggle is not only to achieve happiness, in spite of what was destined for her and many other women throughout the centuries, but an effort to redefine “happiness.” The narrator, to her own disbelief, succeeds in bringing a new life and a new meaning to a concept which for centuries was imprisoned in rigid cliché.

“I had never imagined that a woman like myself, alone, childless, impoverish—could consider herself blessed. Mine was not a happy fate, with the husband and seven beautiful sons, that my mother’s tale had foretold. Yet with the aroma of the pomegranate-walnut chicken around me, the sound of laughter from the other knotters in my ears, and the beauty of the rugs on the loom filling my eyes, the joy I felt was as wide as the desert we had traversed to reach our new life in Isfahan.”

Not only has the narrator crossed a line to change the definition of happiness, but she dares to see the boredom and unhappiness in a life that for centuries was considers ideal and desirable. When she crosses that border and reaches the land of her dreams, she finds just sadness, waste, and loneliness—nothing but a gilded prison. She considers herself lucky not to dwell in that realm. She finds that in reality it is the habitants of that life who are deprived, since they cannot make a mistake and learn from it, since they live an unworthy, unexamined life which is nothing but a gradual death.

“I did not envy her. Each time a gate closed with a thud, I was reminded that while I was free to come and go, she could not leave without an approved reason and a large entourage, she could not walk across the Thirty-three Arches Bridge and admire the view, or get soaked to the skin on a rainy night. She could not make the mistakes I had and try again. She was doomed to luxuriate in the most immaculate of prisons.”

There is a myth in carpet weaving circles that the carpet weavers intentionally leave at least one erroneous knot in the carpet as a sign of humility and submissiveness to God, since it is only He Who is perfect and can create perfection, while some experts in Iranian medieval arts hold that there is no such thing as an intentional error in art and that this myth is just a clever justification for the unavoidable. After all, a work of art as massive as a carpet with such a complexity of design is never devoid of mishap.

Following the carpet weavers’ myth, Amirrezvani, intentional or otherwise, leaves some missing knots in her tapestry. I found it troubling that it ends so rapidly and so “heavily” in a very uncustomary way. The long paragraph running from page 359 to 360, just eight pages to the end of the story, is a much-delayed explanation of the narrator’s “trade of life of occasional opulence” for the life of “hard work.” One needs to know this when the narrator makes the decision or at least shortly thereafter. The sophisticated explanation, attributed to her learning from her uncle, with all the mystical tone in it, obviously justifies the expectation. As she gains in knowledge gradually and step by step, as she strengthen her self-confidence through her experience and her learning, and since she distances herself from her sigheh, physically, mentally as well as metaphorically, she waits too long to talk about it, and that only too little.

The other missing knot, which I’m impatient to air my feminist’s view of, is the letter that the narrator writes to her friend Naheed expressing her regret for not “doing her best to stop her renewal of her sigheh,” which had been decided upon by her relatives even prior to her knowledge of Naheed’s engagement. I wonder why she did not ask Naheed what she would have done had she known about her sigheh. Would she have broken off her engagement and consequently her marriage? Would it have been for her sake? Or for finding Ferydoon, (her temporary husband and now Naheed’s permanent husband), no longer worthy of herself ? Indeed, this short letter deserves good amount of consideration from a feminist perspective. There is a solid tone of inferiority embedded in the narrator’s guilt and consequently her asking for forgiveness. I wondered why she felt so obliged to her friend and not the other way around.

However, neither of these two objections diminishes the joy of reading such a well-crafted tale. Indeed, I expect the book to stir much discussion both in Iranian literary circles as well as among feminists on these two issues, as well as many others, particularly over the aesthetic aspect of story. Amirrezvani may have philosophical and aesthetic views on both objections. She may believe that more time was needed for the narrator to achieve a status on par with Naheed’s, or even some moral consideration which is left unclear in the story. I’m looking forward to hear her comments on these issues.

One last point. This book may be of interest for art historians for many reasons just as My Name Is Red was read and used widely by those interested in all aspects of the Iranian and Ottoman miniature and illustrations. While a little knowledge of Iranian medieval art would help the reader, particularly non-Iranians, enjoy the book more, I very much hope the book itself would encourage the reader to learn more about our magnificent heritage. A few years ago at NYU, Orhan Pamuk gave a talk, and an Iranian in the audience exclaimed to a friend of mine, “What if we had a writer like him!” I hope this audience member discovers Amirrezvani; she might be the writer she was looking for.

I extend my warmest thanks to Ms. Amirrezvani for her massive work, which is truly the labor of love.

PS: The author's publicist has kindly offered to give free copies of the book to the first five readers of Iran Writes to ask for them. Don't be shy!

To read the rest, click here.

Explosion of Hatred in Shiraz

The blast at Masjed ol-Shohada in Shiraz, which was a center of anti-Wahhabi and anti-Baha'i sermons, has become a major topic in the newspapers and blogs these days (ranking next to Alami’s speech in the Majlis.) Twelve people were killed and two hundred were injured. The official news gradually announced the casualties, starting with two deaths and a few injured. Within two days, the government announced, prematurely, that the investigation determined that it was due to an “unspecified accident” due to the remnant of explosives left from an exhibit years ago!



Various newspapers and blogs expressed their concern over the issue, voicing their doubts that the government’s controversial reports were true, or just a means of closing the subject. Some tried to challenge the government’s dismissal of alternate explanations of the explosion. Most indicated that there were dissatisfied minorities or elements that might be suspect, while others tried to put the government in a corner by reminding it that their handling of the incident of the Sufis mosque in Khorramabad [.pdf] effectively encouraged “others” to commit similar acts of violence.

Jamileh Kadivar’s article in her blog Maktoub prominently took this line and was republished in various sites. She argued in favor of the explosion theory based on the existence of sufficiently motivated groups such as Wahhabis (I assume she meant al-Qaeda), the People’s Mojahedin, various individuals connected to certain illegal groups (monarchists?), and Baha’is. Were she not a faithful reformist, a devoutly religious person, a mother, a one-time Majlis deputy, a university professor, and a writer, I could have dismissed her writing as just another piece with which I disagreed. But any of the above would lead me to expect a kind of responsibility which was regrettably lacking in her article.

With good intentions and as a politically concerned citizen, she was one of the first to come forth and challenge the government’s hasty verdict. I admired her for that, though mentioning Baha’is as possible suspects was so cruelly irresponsible that it could not be dismissed lightly. It should be noted that Kadivar is from Shiraz, the cradle of Babism and then Baha’ism, where the Baha’i community had a great temple (destroyed after revolution), where Mohammad Ali Bab, rest in peace, was buried, where the Faith suffered its harshestblow after the Islamic Revolution, where innocent men and women were executed simply for their beliefs, a group of them even hung in public. As a deputy to the parliament, she ought to be aware of the situation of the Baha’i community, that they cannot have government jobs, cannot have any trade without having a Muslim as a front, and in many places they cannot even have a cemetery and must bury their dead in someone’s property or carry them to a distant city where they could have access to such property. As a religious person, she should be aware that the business of the truth of a faith is not her job to judge but only God’s. As a mother who is so proud of her seven years old child for having translated a book, her heart should ache for all those otherwise qualified young people who were not permitted to attend universities this year because of their faith. As a teacher and writer whose job it is to touch the people’s hearts and minds, to nurture and to cultivate them, she should know that diversity in society is the cornerstone of anything we might call a rich and healthy culture. But, as a reformist, she is a total failure if this single article were any indication of the kind of reform she wants to bring to our society. Did she ever noticed that since the dawn of the Faith there has never been even one incident of murder, robbery, child abuse, or even domestic violence with Baha’is involved? Did she ever have any experience otherwise?

The Baha’i faith has gone through a massive hardship, particularly after the revolution. In spite of all the abuses and persecution, executions and imprisonments, they never appealed to violence. The teaching of the Faith bars the Baha’i not only from violence but from politics to keep them away from any possible confrontation, and the Baha’is have full-heartedly followed the teachings of their Faith.

The verbal abuse in the meetings of the Rahpuyan-e Vesal Mosque was not an isolated or unprecedented event. The community is used to it by now. Indeed, being fully aware of how unprotected they are, along with their religious teaching, they even refrain from complaining about it. They are fully aware that even if they are murdered, their blood is void of any value according to the Islamic Republic’s laws. Were not tolerance imbedded in Iranian culture and the extreme sense of humanity and peacefulness which has always been a value of the majority of the population, life would have been practically impossible for this community. Indeed, in spite of all maltreatment by the authorities and the religious establishment, the Baha’i community thrives with dignity. Young Bah’is, strengthened in their belief, continue their healthy and peaceful way of life.

Ms. Kadivar is deluding herself if she thinks she can detach herself from segments of our society, from those who do injustice and those who suffer as well. What happens to any minority, lawful or otherwise, happens to all of us Iranians. We all have to live with that shame, and our children will inherit it as well. It is about time we face the fact that we are going to be the second or third in rank in genocide to German and Turkey. As the Holocaust left a black spot on German history and the Armenian genocide for ever will remain as a blemish on Turkey’s face, the Baha’i genocide will be our darkness.

In answer to a reader, she recommended that he or she should read that paragraph again and pay attention to the words “guessing” and “possible.” As a matter of fact, I read the entire article several times; indeed, both words are the source of the problem. As neither of us are criminal investigators, our guess is just based on our common sense, our reason as well as our biases. I have no idea what possessed her in her guesswork to include the Baha’is and exclude us, the reformists. Yes, we, the reformists, who have been badly beaten, abused, and humiliated by the ruling fundamentalists; we the reformists who are angry, bitter, and well-motivated for revenge, and not only few thousands of us, like Baha’is, but millions of us. What makes us immune from being suspect, from any possibilities, and not the Baha’is? Is it our peacefulness? Our not having a criminal record? Our being victimized? Don’t we share all these with Baha’is?

Also troubling was her further remark that, “I respect the rights of all citizens, regardless of their beliefs and ideas. Indeed, all my life and my writings testifies to this claim.” I’m afraid a little manipulation is involved here, and as teacher she should be aware of it as well. To believe that all the citizens’ rights are respected, regardless of their beliefs, does not automatically imply that the Baha’i’s citizenry rights are respected. I’m afraid that Ms. Kadivar’s record, as well as that of everyone else who had held any position in the Islamic Republic these last thirty years, does not indicate a regard for the Baha’is as equal to others. As a matter of fact, she is not permitted, indeed does not dare to, refer to Baha’is directly in her writings except in a derogatory fashion. No one can do otherwise!

Unfortunately, the situation is as such that no one can acknowledge the existence of this minority in our country. This of course does not mean that everyone agrees with this situation, rather it is the circumstances that require them to behave this way. Unfortunately, this is exactly the problem, the circumstances! What are those circumstances, and when should we overcome them? Is not the twenty first century about the right time to put an end to this close-mindedness and fanaticism? And who should take the first step? And where does the first step begin? It is fortunate that we Iranians have the most magnificent blueprint for our conduct. Good words comes first which leads to good deeds. We should talk. As a matter of fact, there is a general consensus in this regard as the Torah declares that creation begins with God’s word, the Gospels declare the same, and the Koran appears as a spoken revelation to the Prophet, and God’s command for him to recite.

Why after all should I pick on Ms. Kadivar? Should we expect more from her? Well, it is the last statement in Ms. Kadivar’s response to her reader that settles it somehow. “My robe is so clean, I would not be worried about it if people like you would not smear it.” That is why. It is that clean robe that one needs to endeavor to keep pure in words and in deed. As a matter of fact, those with the cleanest robes are the ones that should take the first step because no one would accuse them of anything. (Or I’m wrong on this too?) Is she willing to place “Baha’i” in a positive context such as, “Baha’is are the citizens of this country and all their rights should be preserved?” If not, she need not worry; she is in a good and copious company—Khatami, Abtahi, her brother Mohsen Kadivar, her beloved husband Ata'ollah Mohajerani, and all the rest of the religious reformists. I am sure that they are all wonderful people and between them and those in power I do not hesitate even a minute to go along with them. But this is not the point. The point is that sometime in the future when she is gone and I am gone and many Baha’is are gone, someone will go to our records and see that she and I and Khatami and Abtahi and Mohsen Kadivar and thousands more just kept quiet while crimes were committed right under our nose. Even if our offspring gave us the benefit of the doubt and read our records in the most generous way, we still would be convicted of the crime silence. Indeed our children would be dumb with shame even if they speak twenty languages fluently.

There is no hope if our reformist friends, if our intellectuals, if those who want to bring about a better future, those who once had a voice in politics and want to recover it, God’s willing, do not see us all as equals. And worse, it would be a horrifying world if we think that one day we would not be ashamed when we look back to find out that we had kept quiet when injustice, hate, and discrimination had crept into our lives and that we did not even notice.

I do not want to believe those who recited this poem of the immortal Saadi many times in private and public

بنی آدم اعضای یک پیکرند که در آفرینش ز یک گوهرند

Human beings are the members of one body since they are born of a single essence.

did not feel the pain already inflicted on Baha’is, and indeed themselves added to their suffering.

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Khatami in Spain

Once more, President Khatami gave an elegant, beautiful and intelligent talk not in Iran, but in Europe. I read the speech in Emrooz online. While enjoying it tremendously, I wonder why is it that all these good talks should be delivered outside Iran. As a matter of fact, most of his speeches in Iran, except one that he delivered on the occasion of Hazrat Fatima’s birthday somewhere in Iran, are mostly mediocre.

I can only speculate that

1- He does not think that his Iranian audience deserves better than what they get. I’m almost sure he won’t admit this, so let’s take it off the list.

2- In Iran, he feels he is among friends who love him no matter what, so he goes to various meetings without bothering about what he is going to say, just as when one goes home to visit ones parents, one does not write a speech beforehand. Of course, he is right to feel that way, he is indeed very well-loved, but I’m sure he would not abuse people’s love and understanding. So let’s take off the list too.

3-He does not feel comfortable (or, better, he is afraid) in Tehran, or other parts of the country beyond Yazd, where he spends most of his time when he is in Iran. That makes sense. We Yazdis keep too much to ourselves. Not that we do not like others, but there is “us” with a wall around us and “others” outside the wall, just like Yazd itself. And to defend ourselves, I should say we are right to be so, because we are surrounded by desert; and charming and picturesque as it might be, it is really scary. We are a bit afraid and get intimidated by the outsiders, and we have a right to be that way. If we ever let the outsiders in, they can do horrifying things to us and we won’t have any other choice but to submit. See what the outsiders did to us: Sluggishly, and carelessly, they interpreted all this into our being “cowards” and have commonly ignored how all these natural conditions have turned us into industrious and creative people. Yes, I should say, there are “others” out there that we are afraid of.

I’m afraid that I have to keep this guess on the list. I’m half Yazdi myself and as an insider I can testify to the accuracy of this bit of inside information that President Khatami has this “Yazdiness” in him. See how he talks differently and courageously whenever he is in the vicinity of Yazd, like when he recently said, “People have the right to change their government if they want too.”

4- He feels freer outside Iran. This is true and I’m certain that is the case, and even if he denies it and swears to God or anything else, I won’t believe him. There is more freedom outside Iran and there is no use denying! But doesn’t he get into trouble when he comes back? I hope not, and so far he has not, though after his trip to the United States, Mrs. Elham (Rajabi) called for his being defrocked. That did not happen either. Anyhow he feels free out there, therefore he says more intelligent things, like what he said about liberty, freedom and justice. I personally do not blame him. One cannot talk about those things in Iran. Europeans understand them better. They wanted to be free and have the liberty to decide for their own lives, so they formed their lives and governments on that basis, while we did not. Didn’t we vote for Islamic Republic? Didn’t we choose to be slashed in public? Didn’t we choose to be stoned to death? Didn’t we choose those few unelected people to decide over every aspect of our lives? And justice? Yes, that too. Their notion of justice is based on equality, all are equal according to law and everyone has equal rights to basic human needs. No one is to be denied education or access to health care or the ability to secure ones livelihood. People may have to pay different prices to receive different quality of their needs, but they have the right to have it, while our notion of justice is based on charity and benevolence. There are the poor and there are the rich, and the former must rely on the latter’s benevolence. There are the wise and there are the ignorant and the ignorant should be at the mercy of and guided by the wise. There are the powerful and there are the weak and deprived, and the later are definitely at the mercy of the former. Let’s call this Islamic Justice. The velayat faqih is the embodiment of this notion of “benevolent justice.” So naturally Khatami can never deliver those speeches in Iran saying that “justice is not real justice if it is not coupled with freedom and liberty.” How could we entertain such an expectation?! How could he talk about freedom in the country in which even Google is filtered? Yes, that could be his concern, and he is right. He had better say all these things in Spain and Germany and Italy. So let’s keep that on the list.

5- The real face of Islam? Most of President Khatami activity is hooked to that tiny little phrase. All those talks and all those lectures and smiles and comings and goings and fancy cloak and turban and neatness, all those quotations from Leibniz, and Kant and Descartes, all that talk about justice and freedom, all and all are aimed at one end—to show the “true face” of Islam to the world. That is why we do not hear any of it in Iran, where we don’t need it. We are Islam, we see it ourselves everyday and every night. We know how just it is, how fair it is, how humane it is, how free it is, how it respect liberty. We know all that, we live with it day and night. We do not need to hear about something that we have hands-on experience of.

Some of Khatami’s followers have complained about why Iranian television and radio do not broadcast these talks. I think these people are out of their minds. Why should the government broadcast that recent speech, in which every phrase is precisely against all the government’s actions? Indeed, if Khatami himself wants to say any of these things in Iran, instead of all those mediocre talks he usually delivers there, he could go to Tehran University or any of hundreds of universities throughout the country and deliver them his speech in Persian. Or even better, he could go right into the office of the Supreme Leader and say what he has in mind and see if he agrees with him.

I’m afraid I have to keep this on my list and insist that this is the most frightening and disappointing and yet the truest guess in my list, and I dare say it is the one I prefer to be wrong on, but don’t think I am. Khatami is the Islamic Republic’s show case, he is the only presentable character they have. We are not his targeted audience and indeed we are deluding ourselves if we consider him one of our own. It is true that we love him and more than that we need him. But how many times, and with what language should he tell us that he does not need us, he is not concerned with our needs, and he cannot help us. He has a different mission in life and is doing his job fine.

To read the rest, click here.

Innovation and Flourishing

In an speech on the occasion of the Iranian New Year, Supreme Leader of Iran Ayatollah Ali Khamenei not only expressed his satisfaction with the last year’s government of Mahmud Ahmadinejad, giving him an A+, but he expressed great optimism about the coming years. He seemed confident that all the efforts of the last year should bear some fruit in the next. He scored the government’s performance well enough to predict that the coming year would undoubtedly be a year of “Innovation and Flourishing.”

As has been the pattern with the Islamic Republic, these kinds of speeches indicate not merely a wishful expectation but a suggestion for a future agenda. Whether this tradition is rooted in Islamic teachings or was introduced by the Iranian revolution I have no idea, but I do know that it appeared from the time of the hostage crisis, when Imam Khomeini would “hint” almost every day how the so called “students” would feel, think, and act, and they would do exactly the same by the evening.

And so, innovation started right after his speech. Ahmadinejad, who himself is always full of innovation, came up with something that surpassed whatever innovation an ordinary human being might have come with, i.e., “being appointed for the Divine Management of the world.” I’m sure there are some people more qualified to explain what he means; and while awaiting an explanation, I cannot hide my amazement at the visual as well as comical potential of this phrase.

While he was busy creating this amazing “Divine Management,” he forgot to mention to his vice president that he would change two of his cabinet ministers!

I do not think anyone would be surprised anymore to hear such statements from Ahmadinejad, or even raise a question as to why a president has so many consultants and advisors if he does not consult with them.

However, I was quite surprised when I read that our reformist friend Mohammad Ali Abtahi had “run over his head” at the Supreme Leader’s “signal.” Trying to explain the embarrassing situation that the fellow reformists face in regard to whether to participate in the second round of the elections, knowing that it is not even meant to be a fair election, he wrote in his blog that well, they decided to “participate passively.” (مشارکت غیر فعال)

But the one who did not hear the supreme leader’s speech, or if he heard it, played deaf, was Saffar Herandi, the Minister of Guidance. Without out any apology, and quite insensitive to the Supreme Leader’s signal, he continued the same outdated, boring, routine rhetoric. He said that all the artists who protested against the outdated, non-innovating system of censorship and who said that the situation is worse than before “must be out of their minds not to see all these achievements. We are not here to help creating cinema and film, but the right kind of film.” He then proceeded to call the artists some other not very nice names. These were exactly the sort of words that have been used over and over again for years. Even the insulting words were all copied from what Ahmadinejad has used many times before. Mrs. Elham (Fatemeh Rajabi) had also used them in the most variety of forms, in fact more elaborately and sometimes more graphically many, many times in her blog. Indeed, there was nothing innovative in Harandi’s speech, neither in form nor the meaning, as if he had not turned his radio or TV on in Norooz.

But seriously, a few words with the Supreme Leader. Why not? He called for innovation, didn’t he?

Dear Supreme Leader,

Once, the Prophet Mohammad, peace be upon him, while contemplating, heard God’s Angel’s voice tell him, “Read!” and the Prophet answered: “I cannot.” The Angel then repeated, “Read!” Since it was God’s will, it happened that the Prophet, who was not literate, start reading.

With all due respect Mr. Khamenei, you are not God, and none of those whom you addressed in your speech are the Prophet Mohammad. Innovation is not achieved by orders, even yours. It is a kind of talent given to people by God. Some have it more and some have it less. One can learn to be more creative by various practices, but the kind of creativity that brings about innovation is not achieved even by regular exercises. Look at the former Soviet Union or China, your esteemed models. No art ever came from them since their revolutions except ballet and skating from Russia, and nothing at all from China. As a matter of fact, those arts they had before died away after their revolutions. Forced practices brought about good discipline, but did not produced good creative artists. Their painters are skillful at copying but not at creating. They have good players for various instruments, but not good musician or composers.

Being a tar player yourself, you should know the difference between what Master Ahmad Ebadi or Jalil Shahnaz do and those who have gone to some workshop and training school just to play. I’m sure there was a big difference between Ebadi, even the first time he placed that instrument on his lap, and those who were not and did not become Master Ebadi even after years of playing tar.

As for the flourishing, do you read at all these days? Did you hear of that wonderful article Ahmad Shirzad wrote on his blog and published on Emrooz Online? It was about Imam Khomeini’s project of Jenat, to make a green road from Behesht-e-Zahra to Qom, the multi-million toman project which any student of agriculture could have predicted would fail. The project materialized without proper research and worse without considering the nature of the landscape and soil. Pine trees were planted, dried, planted, dried and replanted and finally the project stopped. The next time you go to Qom, please turn your head to the side and ask your driver about those piles of brown tree logs on the side of the road and ask him how much money was used to “create” that spectacular landscape and ask him why those trees they planted did not flourish. I insist that you should ask your driver and not anybody else. Drivers in Iran are very good and know everything. They are the best sources of news. As a matter of fact, if you need any other information, ask him. Anyhow, I’m sure you know what I’m getting at. Those who executed that project had not even read one of the books that we would study before the revolution called, the Golestan by our wise poet Saadi, to learn that

زمین شوره سنبل بر نیارد، در ان تخم و عمل ضایع مگردان))

“Tulips won’t grow in salt desert, do not waste seeds and labor on it.”

Flourishing, whether human or plant, needs a proper cultivation of the ground and air and proper nourishment. In the present condition, when cabinet ministers obtain their diplomas from shady universities, when their scholarship is published only in commercial encyclopedias whose pages could be bought, when university seats are awards, when students are barred from education as a punishment (yes, this one is really an innovation indeed!), when the main occupation of government is to filter blogs, internets networks, and informational sites, when shutting down newspapers is routine, when rationing seats in the universities on the basis of gender does not bother you, when government decides to publish a different sets of textbooks for boys and girls (who has ever heard of something like that?), you are creating a salt desert in which nothing can grow, nothing better than Ahmadinejad and his cabinet members, and which bears no better fruit than Mrs. Elham’s blog. If that is what you meant by innovation and flourishing, then at least be a little innovative yourself, since they are there already in full bloom and every day open a new bud, so what else do you need?

To read the rest, click here.

Welcome to Serioja

Once more we become a large family of four. We adopted a one year old baby boy Chihuahua.

Evan and I would like to reassure Oshrat, Dovid, Menachim, and Levi that Serioja is in safe hands and we both would do our utmost to love him and take care of him.

Serioja came with a pet name, Snoopy. We changed it to Serioja just to avoid undermining his strong and distinguish personality, as well as to be a sweet reminder of this stage of our life.

I chose the name Serioja in the memory Anna Karenina’s little boy whom Anna was forced to abandon, as a reminder and as a token of my compassion for all those who, under circumstances, are forced to make an “either /or” choices to which no one should ever be subjected. Anna and Serioja’s last meeting, and their last good-bye, is an amazing and memorable event in the world’s literary history. The choice of name was not only the memory of that great loss, but also to acknowledge Oshrat’s pain as well as her courageous decision to make the choice she made.

Serioja is a very special little one, though shy and a little nervous like most Chihuahuas. He is not a pretty dog like Mercutio and Ginger. He is not as handsome as our previous dog, Bill Clinton, though he has some of his Doberman look. As a matter of fact, he looks like a little devil, with his pointed ears, his tail curling up, and his urge to stand on his feet. He is also extremely smart, like a devil, and likes attention like a devil too. Within just a few days, he became house-broken and already knows the way home. He is very mischievous and wants to play all day.

Omar Khayyam, on the other hand, is extremely alert and I hope very soon will learn that we love him even more than before, only he needs to learn to be more compassionate. So far, no trace of anything even close to love and compassion, but gee, something like an extreme jealousy, if you know what I mean! But I’m sure the miracle of love will eventually work.

And on a final note, he does not like Evan at all, and growls at him when he comes close. That is very strange since Evan has been very popular with children and pets.

To read the rest, click here.

Iran-American Relations Conference at Columbia University

On Friday March 28, a conference on Iran-US relations, past, present and future, was held at the Columbia University School of International Affairs. Participating were Ervand Abrahamian, Ali Ansari, Ibrahim Yazdi, John Limbert, Gary Sick, and Wayne White; it was chaired by Richard Bulliet.

I ran into Dr. Yazdi in the hallway during one of the coffee breaks. I could not believe how old he looked. He must be over seventy now, and that reminded me that I’m not that young myself either. I hung around to say hello and ask him about the Iranian elections. I remarked to him (in Persian), “It was a disgrace; why did it happened that way?”

“What way? What are you talking about?”

His red face betrayed him, and he uttered both sentences without even thinking. Surely he knew what I was talking about. Still, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and said, “I mean the elections. It was an embarrassment, wasn’t it?”

“Not really, they should be embarrassed.”

“You cannot dissociate yourself so easily…” I was still talking when three people arrived simultaneously as Ajal-e-Mo`allaqs. My husband wanted me to meet one of his old Iranian leftist friends he knew from before the revolution. Another fellow wanted to know if the weather outside was cold enough and if I knew where the bathroom was. A third came and dragged me aside to tell me, “Show me twenty Iranian intellectuals who could unite,” and proceeded to bombard me with comments about Iranian culture this and Iranian culture that.

“Please don’t put down our Iranian culture like that, there is nothing wrong with it. If twenty Iranian intellectuals cannot agree with each other (and I disagree with this premise) perhaps it is because they did not grow together intellectually. Each of them had grown intellectually independent from the others in separate domains and in separate fields in different part of the world since there are so few of them, and as a result, they do not speak the same language. Unfortunately, our modern educational systems, both before and after the revolution, neglected the cultivation of intellectualism; that is why you don’t see them around a unified pole.”

“True,” he said. “But Yazdi is an old man; he is over seventy years old. I wanted to talk to him about the elections also, but then I thought what I would say to an old man like him.”

Well sir, you do not need to tell him anything, and you did not. I was the one talking to him; I do not think old age a good excuse for mistakes or misleading the people, particularly if you are a political person with Dr. Yazdi’s record and his claims. I do not mind respecting my elders enough to treat them as responsible beings and expect them to respect us as well and not to manipulate us.”

We all walked back to the lecture hall where the speakers were delivering their concluding remarks about how they saw the future of Iran-US relations. I found interesting Ali Ansari’s comments that the international community has to live with Iran as it is, including with its nuclear energy, and should accept it with the hope that it will not willingly endanger their security and that of others.

Dr. Yazdi’s remarks were interesting in that he showed a total detachment from the present ruling clerics in Iran as if they did not have anything to do with him and never had. I should agree that Dr. Yazdi is now more pleasant than he was thirty years ago, without that artificial shabbiness, not playing the mullah with half an inch of stubble and a bottomed-up shirt; he was no longer dressed like the hajji aqa he pretended to be when he would sit crossed leg next to the Imam. He looked very Iranian. In his suit and tie, well-shaven, sporting a well-trimmed and very becoming goatee, he did not strike me as particularly Islamic. He even laughed, and when he spoke, he looked into the faces of men and women alike and was quite at ease with people. Anyway, it seems that his honeymoon with the Islamic Republic has long been over.

Wayne White said something interesting about regime change. Along with John Limbert and Ali Ansari, he said that Iran and the US should talk about all their problems and not one by one and that the negotiation teams should be compatible and consist of people of good will who would be willing to solve problems even if they included a desire for regime change.

Although Richard Bulliet had clearly urged the audience to not make speeches, but ask simple question, our friend, Dr. Houshang Amirahmadi raised his hand and scolded the panel of discussants for talking about or even using the phrase “regime change” since it is very dangerous. In the United States, he declared, we mean by regime change that a president goes and another one comes. In Iran, regime means Khamenehi… Fortunately, Bulliet stepped in and stopped him from rattling on.

This was my third experience with an angels of deliverance. Two years ago, I was talking to Ali Larijani who had said that Ayatollah Abol-Qasem Kashani did a lot for the nationalization of oil along with Dr. Mosaddeq. I asked him where he got that bit of information and if I could quote him. He said his sources were some history books whose names he did not recall and he promised to send them to me. While I was giving him my address and exchanging emails with him, another one of those angels of deliverance arrived, a fellow from Canada, and took me away from him and said that Ali Larijani was right and Ayatollah Kashani did a lot. “Like what?” I asked. “Well, he was the only cleric who agreed with Dr. Mosaddeq on oil nationalization, none of the other clerics even did that much.”

“Credit to him for that, but that does not mean he had any role in the process, never mind that he betrayed Dr. Mosaddeq later on,” I said.

The fellow talked a little more about Larijani’s two other brothers in two different high posts of the Islamic Republic and how brilliant they are and so on and so forth and continued until Larijani who was heading to the airport, got into the limousine waiting for him and left. He asked my name and said good-bye.

(Larijani never sent me a book or anything and I don’t think he has ever read about this subject in any history book, but was just following the Islamic Republic’s party line.)

I guess that those two were self-appointed angels of deliverance. I bet they are around everyone who is not supposed to get involved in conversation casually with big-mouths like me. But why did Dr. Amirahmadi lecture six scholars, surely no less than himself, to keep quiet and not speak their mind. Suppose that Ali Ansari and Gary Sick want to even risk their lives to talk about regime change in Iran, so what? Why shouldn’t they? To whom was it dangerous? Oddly enough, Dr. Amirahmadi is the head of the Middle East Studies Research Foundation in Rutgers University. What sort of scholarly work is possible if one decides beforehand to censor his/her ideas? I wonder where this phobia is coming from. What is wrong with expecting Larijani to have credible sources for his claims and what damage is there in telling Dr. Yazdi that he is more exposed than he wishes he was?

Still, I’m puzzled by all these angels of deliverance that drop in on us just at a sensitive time to save “us” from danger. It seems they don’t know of that super archangel above them all who flies from this part of the world to the other in a second, with all his might, and carries the news in all its forms without their help. On You Tube, someone will make a joke of them in a few minutes and millions will laugh at them. Really, life is not like before and people like Dr. Yazdi cannot hide any more under the veil of intimidation, or even worse, denial. And with all due respect, we are not as shy as we use to be some thirty years ago. Also, some of us with a reasonably good memory remember that Dr. Yazdi was one of the cornerstones of the Islamic regime and the one who was present next to the Imam’s elbow (or, better, the Imam’s knees) from Day One. He was part of every piece of the Islamic Republic and no matter how many cravats he might tie around his neck, he has no right to call them “they.” The only pronoun for him is “we,” and he’d better accept it and find a graceful way out of it; retirement may not be a bad idea.

As for Dr. Amirahmadi, younger as he is, I’m afraid he had better think of a good location for retirement, too.

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Iran's Parliamentary Elections

“Once again, the people of Iran entrusted the Parliament to the fundamentalists.” This was the headline of Keyhan, the government’s publication in Tehran. There was a change to Saturday’s headline, “Under the wondering gaze of the world, the nation’s vote broke the enemy’s back.” Keyhan’s headlines celebrated what appears laughable but, sadly, is true: “A man wrestled with himself and three of them came first,” a revision of a joke in Sepidaran, Ahmad Shirzad’s blog yesterday, reflecting the reality of our parliamentary election.

I was not surprised to read that, once again, the Islamic Republic performed its miracle, once again we made the whole world dumfounded, along with amazed, bewildered, crazed, astonished, shocked, startled, flabbergasted, and any other synonyms one can find in dictionary, although in reality it was only once that we truly shocked the world (and that only by a narrow definition of world): the presidential election of 1997 which brought Mohammad Khatami to power, and we received political plaudits in some quarters twice again, once for Khatami’s second term and again for the last Municipal election of city councils. However during the past two and half years, our president has announced an earthshaking discovery or innovation or astonishing achievement that either “pierced the eyes of enemies” or “punched them in the mouth” or “slapped them in the face” every single week. Given Keyhan’s headlines as such and Ahmadinejad’s proclamation, there should not be left any eyes, tooth, or cheeks undamaged in the world.

While inflation has been rising, unemployment is out of control, and fraud and corruption are skyrocketing (Sardar Zarei’i’s prostitution story certainly beats our Governor’s story though), and housing in at its worst, the government campaign was ticketed on the supreme leader’s aim that this election would “show our unity to our enemy by our participation in a glorious election.”

The Government and the ruling clerics have very clearly defined themselves as “principalist and fundamentalist” without any further qualifications. They never doubted their own legitimacy, tried to prove themselves, or bothered to appeal to any authority to win over this segment of the population whom they appeal to. Since the Islamic Revolution, fundamentalism has self-confidently strode into Iran’s political arena and marched backward to the dawn of Islam and successfully established all the institutions, as well as a suitable discourse, necessary for an Islamic system to function and survive.

If Parliament is used by this government’s leadership, who does not even believe in democracy, it does not surprise me. If Khamenei would craftily call on the people “to participate in election to beat the enemy,” I’m sure he has a proper audience in mind which could be brought into this. Principalists realistically targeted their potential constituency, those who believe in Ahmadinejad’s halo, the imminent ending of the Hidden Imam’s Occultation, and the location of his well, etc., and developed a core of supporters by establishing suitable institutions and discourse among them. Since the first day of his presidency, Ahmadinejad relentlessly has supplied his supporters with what they needed: the articles of superstition, witchcraft, magic, and miracles touched by superficial aspects of the faith which could be found in abundance in every religion. His campaign on this aim started right after his election and continues still. On Friday, March 14, they all returned the favor and cast their ballots for him.

Reformists, in the other hand, like an army full of generals without soldiers, walked onto the battlefield expecting miracles.

When embarrassed, they accused the pricipalists of departing from the Imam’s wishes and ideas.

When defeated, they claim the victory for having 60% of the 104 seats, according to Mohammad Ali Abtahi's blog of March 17.

While 60% did not participate in the elections in Tehran, the stronghold of the reformists, they claimed they are the legitimate heirs to people’s trust.

While the majority of the people are inherently pro-reform, the reform movement failed to reach them and therefore to receive their support.

While there is a vast reservoir of potential supporters in a country of 75 millions, over half of which is younger than 35, the reformists are still awaiting for the birth of a constituency.

While non-fundamentalists and secular Iranians, who could have been absorbed by the reformists, are finding their own language and establishing their own institutions, the reformists still resort to the same language used by the fundamentalists and emulate their institutions, only a bit fancier.

For months, in meeting after meeting, the best they could come up with was President Khatami’s double-talk, like declaration, “Let us participate in election long-sufferingly, yet cheerfully.” I read this statement a few times back and forth trying to make a sense of it. Still it is unclear to me and many whom they addressed this message to and what it meant. Really, who was supposed to vote? Who wants to sent Zahra and Hasan Eshraghi to the Parliament? What for? What sort of reform they will bring to us? Who are they anyhow? The Imam’s dynasty? Turn back another thirty years?

While the reform movements’ most important achievement was sort of establishing and legitimizing the “opposition” to the ruling hardliners in the regime, what is left of it today is just a “long-suffering voice”. There is no trace of opposition left in it.

This election in fact brought the two segments of the society, culturally, politically, nationally, and even religiously head to head. If this conflict manifested itself in the messages sent by their leaders, “let’s vote to beat the enemy” vs. “let’s vote to show we are long-suffering,” clearly the reformist message did not reflect the voice of its potential supporters. When Khatami, regretfully, issued the above-mentioned statements, the real voice of the majority would call for a real challenge to the supreme leader, saying, “No, the Parliament is not a sports gym where we show our muscles to our enemies, the enemies that you created for us; that it is not place for us to rally to display our unity. We are united but not in your fraudulent front. Parliament is our home for our representative to work on our behalf to secure our interest and well-being.”

Obviously there is a vast cultural division in the country that cannot be denied anymore. While the present government and leadership have found its constituency among the masses who are equally happy with having a parliament as wrestling pit and willing to participate in the match, the reformist leaders simply evade the issue and declare failure cheerfully and invited people to “loose with a smile.”

In fact, the Principlists celebrated not only their own victory, but the reformists’ defeat. A simple look at the voting results will give a clear picture. In Tehran, which is the stronghold of the reformists, only 40% of all eligible voters participated and the top candidate was Adel Hadad, rather than any of the reformists. No matter how discriminatory and unjust the voting process was, there is no justification for this failure. Those 60% in Tehran who did not participate in the election could have cast their votes for all the reformist candidates and they could have taken all the Tehran’s seats in a landslide had the reform movement asked them to. Unfortunately, our reformist friends never reached out to the millions of existing Iranian who could have been their strong supporters; rather they addressed some idealized members of their non-existing party.

The party which came to power with 22 million real votes, crying loud that, “We are with you Khatami, we support you Khatami,” was reduced to next to nothing by the policy of being long-suffering and complaining of “others” and those “absent entities.” I sometimes thought they spent most of their time and energy wishing for some exorcists to cast a spell over those “evil entities.” After twelve years they have not been able to establish any unique institutions or discourse of their own to define reform’s nature. It seems they shied away from average middle class secular Iranians, those big “S” people, those big snaky “S” people who constitute at least 60% of voters and stayed home on Friday, those who really would cherish reform but have no place in the reformists’ mind or heart.

Reformists did not even use what was offered them even to a fraction of its potential. The pledges of 250 young and popular actors and actresses could have brought a few million votes to the reformists. (In the last presidential election, in spite of the serious boycott by almost all, Baran Kossary’s campaign brought one million votes for Mustafa Mo’in!) Instead of a clear message with a clear goal and purpose, the reformists send fuzzy, confusing messages. The wide gap between the reform establishment and pro-reform people could be narrowed if the party would have been willing to define the movement in a way to include those millions, and to employ a discourse suitable for this majority, even at the cost of losing some for whom the movement currently appeals in manipulating religious symbols.

Knowing that there are reformists who know of these missing people, I wonder if we, the middle class secular Iranians, who are the backbone of Iranian society, definitely the backbone of civil society, are ever going to be included as part of the society that the reform movement envisions; if at some point the reform movement quits sticking to the paradox that is created, if at some point they admit there is something essentially wrong in Islamic Republic that needs to be reformed; and if it begins to hear us saying, “No, going back to thirty years ago is no good, there were problems then, there is problem now! We want real reform!”

At this point, we are so far from all this that sometimes I wonder if reform is only a nominal party which must exist just to fill up as an alibi, just in the case!

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