“Wild, Wild, West”: The Right Hemisphere of Islamic Republic.

Eye opening , if not shocking, Serge Barseghian’s interview with the producer of the controversial film The Execution of Pharaoh baffled me more than the even the news of Photoshopped photos of missile tests.

Barseghian introduced the producer as one of the so-called students who climbed the American Embassy’s wall and “fell on the right side of the Islamic Republic’s political arena.” Indeed it was a good analogy, this division of the Republic’s right and left side. But as to the nature of its “right side,” Barseghian, a highly professional journalist, skillfully gives the interviewee a chance to portray it better than any of us could imagine.

Thanks to Serge, the interview took me to the imaginary “Wild Wild West” (if anyone is old enough to recall that popular late sixties TV western serial) where I found myself in view of the Islamic Republic’s right hemisphere which, oddly enough, in spite of all its anti-American diatribes, is politically modeled America’s own neocons. The interview revived the memory of the early days of the Revolution when independent groups led by self-appointed sheriffs took the law in their own hands and, with their private armies, were about to rule the way they wanted. Many of those sheriffs survived and indeed have been promoted to high offices.

Foruz Raja’ifar, one of those promoted sheriffs, is the producer (compiler?) of the controversial series, The Execution of Pharaoh, a derogatory title for a film on assassination of Anwar Sadat, the late president of Egypt, who had given refuge to the Shah after the revolution, by an Islamicist named Eslamboli. Apparently a street in Tehran is named after “Shahid Eslamboli” either in simple appreciation of his religious bravery to kill Sadat or to get even with Egypt’s naming a street for Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi or purely as an act of provocation. The government of Egypt, after some deliberation, responded to the Iranian demand to change the name of the street and probably as a good will offering, changed it to something even worse in the eyes of Islamic Republic, Dr. Mosaddegh Street, and demanded the Islamic Republic reciprocate. The second city council, with an overwhelming fundamentalist majority, voted in favor of this, though it never took placed due to a strong protest from a staunch fundamentalist Islamic group, the Organization for Honoring the Martyr of the International Islamic Movement, headed by Foruz Raja’ifar, who generously offered, “One street named Eslamboli? All of Tehran is nothing but Eslamboli.”

As why a film with such an inflammatory title should be made in such sensitive times in Iran-Egypt relations, the country which apparently had been instrumental in Iran—American relations, without the permission of the government, was answered by Raja’ifar, “Making this film was publicly announced. As a civil organization we are not obliged to obtain permission from any governmental institutions. Indeed, the government agencies knew we were making the film and they should have pursued it, and if they needed some clarification, we would have answered if they would have asked.” And her reaction to the Iranian Foreign Ministry, which announced that the film does not represent the Iran’s official position? “Hearing this, I thought I was dreaming. Did not the Imam say that this Eid-e Ghorban is more holy and cheerful since Sadat has joined Pharaoh?”
Barseghian tries to argue that if the government, a fundamentalist, and not a reformist, tries to established relationship with Egypt, it must have had the support of the Supreme Leader, and the making of a film as such expresses the opposite of what she and her group advocate. It is more a display of conflict with the government they claim to support. To that, Raja’ifar is very blunt: “I need to hear it directly from the Supreme Leader. Then we would be the first to comply with his wishes” She continued, “We asked the government about the establishment of relations with Egypt and why it was happening. Has anything changed? Have we changed? Has Egypt changed? They have not responded yet, and we are still waiting.”

Raja’ifar seems to have a full autonomy in her own domain, with her own rules and laws. She questions the legitimacy not only of the institutions of the presidency or the foreign ministry, but those of the city council, Islam (Is opening a grave permissible in Islam?), the constitution, all the Iranian traditions, and human decency. She is still demanding the extradition of the Shah’s skeleton. (What does she want to do with few pounds of bones?) She had collected 60,000 signatures from the various protestors who were ready to get involved in “martyrdom operations” abroad. (The mission was never accomplished due to some considerations she prefers not to discuss!)

Perhaps this provocative film has been made with the knowledge of the government official. Otherwise, it is one of those secrets that we won’t discover any time soon, and probably not in my lifetime. But judging from the last thirty years of the Islamic Republic’s affairs, I’m not surprise at the emergence of these self-appointed guardians and spokesmen ever so conveniently exercising their right of freedom of expression. I’m not so sure as to the production of a film with such a scope in this stage of our history would be just a mere coincidence or the simple documentation of an historical event; but it certainly resembles many of the coordinated political events occurring in the Iran, as parts of an ongoing Islamic Republic political maneuver, and their way of sending a message and communicating their diplomacy with other nations.
If that is the way the Islamic Republic is managing its affairs, so be it. I can even desensitize myself to the emergence of these autonomous ringleaders, and their activity. But it is difficult to ignore their effect and its reflection on us all. A film as such portrays us, the Iranians, as Raja’ifar intents, as hateful, aggressive, wild, unbridled horsing around a lawless land. It is interesting that the government officials who are so sensitive towards “protecting the public order and social stability” turn a deaf ear to all this rowdiness.

Raja’ifar, in her interview not only takes us to that other side of the Islamic Republic, to the wilderness in which no one is accountable to any one else anymore, a primitive wilderness in which a chief rules by virtue of his power and nothing else. She asserts her chieftainship as well when she claims that it is the government that should respond to her regarding foreign policy! I wish we all had so many rights! Wow! Such a respect for democracy, for people, for law, for government! Such a distinguished model of citizenship!

Oddly enough, Raja’ifar is not alone. There are whole range of these wild ringleaders in the country who do whatever they want and say whatever comes to their mind, and all are under the umbrellas of the “revolutionary zeal” and “devotion to Imam Khomeini and the Supreme Leader,” while in reality they might very well provide a cover and shelter to the government to get away with many of his wrong doing by claiming, “Well, it is not our position and these are private citizens expressing their ideas!”

It is interesting that as the result of this film, which, even though it is not being distributed, has found its way to Sadat’s family, the relationship between the two countries has deteriorated; the soccer game they had been scheduled to play has been cancelled, the diplomats have been recalled, and still no one is questioning anybody regarding this film. In part of her interview she said that, “The Egyptians are not free in their country to say what they want and do not understand that in our country there is the freedom of speech and we can express ourselves freely.” Truly, I did not know that either. I bet lots of journalists and activists in jail do not know it either, but we all know it now. Yes, we have freedom of expression in our country, but just in the right the side, remember!

Still, there is something more to this interview. It legitimizes the use of pronouns “they, them, and you” not according to the rules of grammar, but as opposites to “us.” I confess that I have used the pronoun “you” and “they” here and there occasionally in my articles non-grammatically, and I should admit that drawing that line never came easy and it won’t be easy now either. However, the pain of being part of the wilderness and lawlessness is much too strong to stop me from continuing this practice.

Furthermore, a film as such, even if it is necessitated and sanctioned by the Islamic Republic’s diplomacy, still bears bitter results. A film, like a book, is an artifact which remains forever. For years to come, there will be “Iranians” making an insulting film about some other country’s leader, there will be “Iranians” who demand such a barbaric request as to extradite the skeleton of a man who died years ago and happened to be a dictator in his life time, oddly enough very much like the current regime but a little less murderous and a little more lawful.

But really, who are these people who dare to talk in our behalf? Who are these Raja’ifars who equate our cities to a terrorist? And who are these people who are so immersed in the pool of hatred and revenge as to demand the skeleton of a man who died thirty years ago? And who has given them that authority?

What sort of civilization do they represent? Is it that of Islamic civilization? Surely it is not Iranian. We all come to the world, live for a while, and go. Whatever our relationship with each other in this life and in this world, when we die our body is respected regardless of how sinful our souls and how malicious our relationships were. The body should be disposed of with respect, whether it be the Shah’s or anyone else’s. Raja’ifar and all her 60,000 signatories could portray themselves as evil as they want, but they should leave our nation out of it. We do not demand anybody’s body for better or worse. Not us, we do not wish to be included in this wild, wild world, although we are included if we do not separate ourselves, the last remedy left to us.

In the absence of any wisdom to remind these fellow “wild” and “free” citizens that every inch of Iran belongs to all Iranians, Moslem or otherwise, and Khaled Eslamboli has no right to any of it, we, the residents of the left hemisphere, have to remind them that at some point their reign is going to end, just as it did for all who invaded this great country of ours; and what would remain of them is what has remained of others, just a name. The only difference would be that there would be left more records of the Islamic Republic than that of the Mongols, or even Pahlavis for that matter, thanks to professional journalism and multimedia. If the past history is registered just with scattered references to terror and violence, the Youtube abundantly spices the Islamic Republic’s violence with a bitter and sad laughter and holds them all afresh and intact for ever. Though I’m not sure that the generations coming, long after we all are gone, will be able to have even a sad laughter at these dark pages of history.

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Just Stay Aside and Be A Viewer

[The following is a translation of an essay by Bijan Safsari.]

In his memoir, Bozorg Alavi, the famous Iranian writer, recalls:

Ostad Dehkhoda would come to visit us occasionally. During the summer, we would gather together in one of the cafés in Lalehzar Alley. The café was inside a large garden. There was a little path in this garden leading to a little pool. An assortment of geraniums planted in clay vases was placed all around this pool. One night, we were sitting together ten feet away form this scene and nagging. We thought we could straighten out the whole world. Ostad listened to our conversation, our criticism, or our fault-finding, and, realizing that we were all unhappy with the current situation, looked at the pool shimmering under the light cast from a lamp above, and said, “What’s the matter with you guys? Why you are so sad? Look at that scene under that light and see how it emits beauty and freshness. Just try to enjoy it. Why do you want to go closer? Each one of these mosquitoes and insects carries thousands of malaria, cholera, and hepatitis germs in them. Let them do their job and you sit aside and watch the beauty and charm.”

This anecdote is very similar to the story of some of our friends and colleagues who unnecessarily expose themselves to the dangerous and deadly mosquitoes of the world of politics without being aware of the political guile, with the hope of regaining lost opportunities. They may nurture a vague idea that if they succeeded, they would leave a good name behind and would be remembered as a savior and a hero in the struggle for freedom. What they are not aware of is that in this chaotic market of politics there is no commodity but lies, deception, and tricks, and what may appear as freedom and liberty in this desert is none but a mirage.

Many might criticize the writer of these pages and object, how could one gain freedom without struggle since it is an ancient proverb that “Rights must be taken” and in the entire history of struggle for justice among the nations, people had never gained any liberty, freedom, or independence by sitting idle. Iranians, too, have never done any different than this ancient wisdom.

In my humble opinion, while agreeing with these words of wisdom, we have to note that what we have all read and learned about struggling and fighting for freedom and justice belongs to the time which today is considered ancient history and old legends. Our time is not the same as our ancestors’, nor are we ourselves the same as our forefathers. There is an anecdote that once [Prince] Zell ol-Soltan visited one of the stables of one of the Bakhtiari tribe’s khans. After the khan showed all his horses one by one and bragged about their breeds, Zell ol-Soltan, nostalgically, said “Khan, what happened to horses like Rakhsh, Samandar, and Shabdiz? Why we do not have those breeds anymore? Where did they disappear to?” The khan answered, “Your highness, those horses where ridden by men like Rostam and Parviz and are gone with them.”

Now why are we neither like our ancestors nor our time like days gone by? I can see only two reasons for it.

First: Thirty years has past of what we mistakenly called a “revolution”, and we are still dreaming and longing for what seems to be impossible. Since a century ago, we, the people of this old country, have faced and borne the wounds of swords, daggers, and bullets in our chests in order to have a house of justice, a house of the people, but alas, no law and no justice obtained. After any change and movement in the system or even the governments in our old history, it took us at least half a century to live in injustice just to find out:

I expected to find a trace of the Kaaba
But found that all roads lead to Turkistan.

And that is while our ancestors were not as we are today. They never gave in to injustice, nor did they ever leave a day’s work for the day after. They were not delusional, waiting for a hero or savior.

Second: in our vernacular, this is the age of treachery, and as a matter of fact, this term connotes politics. What has passed to us these last thirty years is testimony to this claim. From the time that they witnessed the picture of the beloved in the moon to today, where they are wheeling and dealing behind closed doors, when every passing day by revealing some crime, the foundation of the nation’s trust is shattered so badly that it has become difficult to differentiate between friend and foe. For instance, have a look at the figures indicating that American exports to Iran has grown by a factor of ten after they labeled us “terrorist,” and this while the whole world, on America’s insistence, is barred from having any economic or commercial relationship with Iran. In addition, our statesmen, in spite of calling the United States an enemy of Iran for the last thirty years, have make a deal with this “Great Satan” behind the scenes. During the last few days on Saturday, July 12, in the Voice of America which has become a major source of news for many Iranians in Iran, in an interview with a retired official of the United States State Department, the secret meetings (as well as some open ones) between the Iranian and American high officials were revealed. Though, it may have been a political trick to embarrass and discredit its rival; still the quick and easy shut down of the opposition’s broadcasts and agreement reached regarding the final part of the program, lead us to put aside our optimism and believe our statesmen’s claim that the possibility of the US attack should not be taken so seriously.

Now, given it all, shouldn’t we take Ostad Dehkhoda’s advice and just sit aside and be a spectator?

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Good Hejab by Choice

One of the first questions raised by Iranian women when Khomeini first appeared was if the Islamic hejab was going to be mandatory. Imam Khomeini’s answer was a blunt, “No.” I think he kept his promises and never issued any order in that regard. However, a year later, when the regime established itself and no one would dare ask such questions, his son-in-law, Ali Eshraghi, who has gone to Khorramshahr to investigate the oil worker crisis, came back with the solution of mandatory hejab! Of course, before that some ministries, such as the Foreign Ministry (of which Ebrahim Yazdi was in charge) had placed big boxes of rupushes and maghnes at its entrance for free to encourage modesty.




Prime Minster Mehdi Bazargan, more experience in politics and more familiar with Iranian culture than anybody else around in the government, disagreed with the whole issue. It is well known that he told Eshraghi, “Don’t wake up this sleeping elephant. If you let it out, you can never get it back into his cage. Do not touch the women’s hejab.”

Well, the hejab became mandatory, women protested, but demonstrations were brutally crushed. I heard from several women that during those days of protest, if it had not been for the generous help of shopkeepers or families along the way, they would have been killed.
With the start of the war and its escalation, the hejab, along with other women’s issues, became secondary issue and gradually turned into law without being challenged. But as soon war ended, women, the younger generation in particular, started their own innovative ways to express their dissatisfaction with hejab as well as other issues, forming a variety of associations, publications, NGOs and online institutions.

Some thirty years later, this piece of cloth over a woman’s hair has turned into a major tenet of the Faith. It is no longer a sign of discriminating believer from infidel, its original intention in the time of the Prophet Mohammad, peace upon him; it is not the sign of modesty, as interpreted by the clerics in our neighboring Islamic country Pakistan, with over a hundred and thirty million Muslims; it is not incorporated into our traditions and customs, as has happened in South Asia and Africa; and it does not even indicate piety, since it has been used by a wide variety of women, including those of ill repute. Instead, it seems to have become a weapon as well as a shield: a weapon in the hands of the ruling authority to curb the most active, united, and organized population in the country, of course with minimal success, and a shield for many women who think covering themselves in this fashion would bring them the reward of a few inches of room in the assembly of the holy, with no greater success.

However, I have known quite a number of pious and religious women before and after the revolution who wear the chador, not to show off their religiosity, but as a modest covering simply to draw less attention and somehow be invisible. The sincerity and honesty of their intent always aroused our deep respect for this article of clothing. I do not know of any Iranian little girl who has not been drawn to this fanciful, cozy device at a certain age. It was a natural stage of life without the interference of any police chiefs or basij officers!

What brought me back to this piece of clothing was a report from Paris and few photos from Oslo. The report from Paris was that of Fakhr os-Sadat Mohtashamipur, a reformist and a women activist, participating in a conference of women scholars. She had delivered her talk while covering herself in a black chador. Noticing the oddity of the situation (credit to her), she felt obliged to explain it to her audience. Apparently, prior to her trip, one women friend half jokingly told her, “No one will listen to what you say if you appear in that outfit,” referring to her chador. To prove her wrong and also, as she said, “being hurt emotionally by all the debates of these last few months regarding the superiority of chador over the scarf (she indicates she has chosen the chador of her free will), she decided to vent her frustration as well as to prove that “people would listen to ‘just words’ even if one wears a chador,” using the platform provided to her by Association of Women Researchers. (It is interesting that since last year, when the ruling authority started to abuse their power to brutally treat women who are “bad hejab”, we hear more about the complaints of women who are “good hejab by choice”—lets call them GHBCs. They are upset because they are considered by those “bad hejab” not as friends but as foes. The unkind looks and sometimes hostile glares of the “bad hejabs” became very hard and unbearable for these GHBCs!)

I do not know what sort of reasoning she used to convince herself, but to my ear it is most incongruous and odd. If a friend makes a joke, one can either take it lightly or answer it in kind. Why should she take it so seriously? Also, what possessed her to think that we who dwell in the West and are educated here pay any attention to appearances one way or the other, or place the same importance on them that the mullahs do in Qom? Most of us receive our information via radio or internet or books, and most of the time we do not know what the speaker or writer looks like or what he or she wears. How did she manage to form such a superficial impression of us?

But given all this, how did she come to the conclusion that she achieved what she was after? What evidence does she have that we, the audience in West, were not overwhelmed with her appearance and listened to her “right or just words?” We might not have! Indeed, we may have been so turned off by her arrogance and her self-righteousness and not by her chador as she expected, that we said to ourselves, “The hell with it, lets take a nap!”

But really Ms. Mohtashemipour, what did you achieve? We here have a life to run and frankly we do not give a fig how you appear on a panel discussion, and it does not matter if you want to cover yourself in hundred layers of chadors voluntarily or otherwise. When you appeared on stage with that outfit, you appeared mostly as a confused, immature woman who did not know what is appropriate. Your further remark and explanation, as it was posted on your blog, embarrassingly enough, confirmed that you cannot even separate your emotions from your work or at least set a priority. Ironically, it was you who placed such importance on your appearance that you forgot to do your homework right and began with a statement like, “Women stepped into the social arena with the founding of the Islamic Republic.”

Let’s imagine that you had used your platform to say the following instead:

My choice of cover is the chador, and that is what I have worn voluntary all my life, but today, as a sign of solidarity with millions of my sisters back home who are forced to wear it against their belief and will, I would like to present my talk with my head uncovered, first to express my sympathy to those who are doing what is painful to them and second to tell those pious Moslem that fresh air touching my hair does not take the least away from my piety and religious zeal, though I feel pained by doing so.

Let me assure you as to what would have happened: You would have ended up jobless upon your return, if not in Evin Prison. Needless to say this would not have been for displaying your hair, but for your solidarity.

(There is one issue I can not resist mentioning. In our Western education, we have learned that choice is meaningless if there is no freedom and liberty and if variety is not provided. Choosing the only option “imposed” on us is in fact a psychological trick to deliver ourselves from the pain of humiliation caused by the helplessness of being forced into a situation. The Christian doctrine of “turning the other cheek” based on the above-mentioned principal was advised when the Christians were under Roman occupation and enslaved. It was meant to ease the pain of the torture and hardship they were suffering. While millions of women in Iran are forced to wear a dress that they resent without having any other option, “chador is my dress of choice” is either a euphemism, tinted with manipulation, or just giving up the shirt when our jacket is stolen, just to relieve ourselves from the pain.)

The second jab came from photos of Masumeh Ebtekar, who was sitting next to former president Khatami in a conference in Oslo. It seems she wore two or three chadors, one on top of the other. Here in the United States we have an expression: “Converts are the worse kind.” I think it is true about Ms. Ebtakar. What is the meaning of those chadors and scarves which recently have extended to cover her hands as well? Do these yards of black fabric (exactly eight and half yards make a chador) have any spiritual function or is it just a statement? Clearly being devoid of any piety, it must be the latter, but what is it? That how virtuous we, the carrier of that black tent, are? That we are better than the others, purer, more pious, more clean? Or does it indicate that Masumeh Ebtekar can sit on a panel of significance with this odd and out of place black cloth wrapped around her, indifferent to the surrounding norm? Then what? Suppose that the entire audience nodded their heads as an assent to her existence as such. What is achieved by all this? Where does she want to go from there?

In every society, more or less, there is a sort of standard of appropriateness for dressing in public. Islam’s bar for body covering might be higher than some other cultures. But Iran is not an Islamic country per se; we are Iranian and have our own culture. Even our Islam is very much Iranianized. Thirty years is too brief, next to null, to establish such a bizarre institution in our society. Of course, women should choose their clothing freely if there is any option. If one wants to cover herself completely to be invisible, it is her choice and is respected. I do not deny the force of brutality, I do not deny the fear of physical pain, I do not deny our limits in tolerating humiliation, and I do not encourage anyone to challenge the ruling authorities since I don’t confront them myself. However, it is the least to expect from our reformist friends who claim to be the torch bearers of progress and civil society not to submit, leave alone cooperate, with the ruling establishment in implementing their invented institutions. The chador, even if it is a pure Iranian invention as some have claimed, has never been institutionalized as such in our country. Indeed, its primary purpose was a way of protecting the dignity of the poor and humble who could not travel with the trappings of the rich and haughty. It was never meant to protect the outsider from the evil emitted from our hair.

A century and a half of the dark ages of the Qajar dynasty followed by the totally different era of the Pahlavi dynasty is a good indication that even if the Islamic Republic lasts for a century, still the institutions, which do not fit our culture, won’t take root in Iran. I would like to call those GHBCs’ attention to the pictures left from the parties thrown in various clubs on Women’s Day in commemoration of the abolition of female veiling. It is interesting to see how so many women were ready to leave harems and hejab altogether and grasp the freedom, even if it was just a superficial aspect of freedom. Please go to the family albums and look at the faces of grandmothers and grand-grandmothers, proud and happy in their western cloths with those pretty hats. Even better, look at the pictures of early women’s associations and high school graduations and see how confident and determined those women looked in their western apparel and their new self-image looking forward to their new horizon.

Ms. Ebtekar, Ms. Mohtashamipoor and other GHBC ladies, you can appear in any outfit of your “choice” anywhere as individuals, without any justification, explanation, or apology. However we all should keep in mind that millions of us do not approve of that black cloth and that it means nothing but a cruel means of suppression and domination, and, ultimately, punishment. No, we do not accept it by “choice,” as you may have noticed, and not even by force. You GHBCs, you are not one of us, not because we do not believe you, you really might have “chosen” to be clad in that black shroud quite willingly, but just because you are unhelpful. Do you understand? Precisely when police were arresting innocent women and beating them in public for few strands of exposed hair and “their choice” of dress, you choose selfishly to stick to your favorite piece of cloth, which, incidentally happens to be what the rulers try to impose on everybody. And even worse, you get upset and hurt when those women, while beaten with clubs by another GHBC police woman, with blood pouring out of them, look at you with disgust and resentment. No ladies! “Choice” is not the right term. “Betrayal”? That might do. “Self serving”? A little better. “Opportunist”? Bravo! You said it right.

But sisters, hold on tight to your chadors while climbing up the ladder of your choice, but be careful not to fall off. Remember up there everybody is like you yourself, self-serving and self-righteous. One might have one more layer of covering than you, and that will do! I’m warning you, it is very lonely up there! And lonely down there! Watch out! But still, good luck to you all, if that is all you are and that is all you want and that is all you can offer.

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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!

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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.

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