Mohammad Reza Shah's gift to President Jimmy Carter: A portrait of George Washington surrounded with Persian designs.
Carter's gift to the Shah -- advising him he must leave the country or face the consequences.
Posted on 03/07/2004 4:39:50 PM PST by freedom44
The Iranians invited the American into their carpet shop in Tehran to chat over tea. Then they locked the door to tell their secret.
A man with serene eyes spoke first. “There is no hope,” he said. “There is no hope. There is no hope.”
The man, who was in his 20s, sat languidly in a metal folding chair, resting his head on the blood-red carpet hung on the wall. His friend, also in his 20s, chain-smoked cigarettes and typed feverishly on a computer.
Two teenagers sat by a metal urn filled with tea. The boys never spoke except to ask if their visitor would like more tea, or perhaps more sugar if he found his drink too bitter.
Over the next hour, the Iranians talked bluntly about a future they had long given up on and a generation of young people whose eyes were filled with sadness. Their words provide a window into a society that often seems closed to the outside world, America in particular.
They saved their most venomous criticism for their country’s religious leaders, who have imposed their strict vision of Islam on Iran since the 1979 Islamic revolution.
“They use Islam as a gun,” the man at the computer said. “It’s not Islam. They say, ‘Do that, don’t do that.’ You ask, ‘Why?’ And they lie and say it’s in the Koran.”
They blamed the ruling clerics for denying the thousands of small freedoms and emotions that make people human.
They could not kiss a pretty girl. They could not read a book deemed inappropriate. They could not listen to the Beatles. It seemed, they said, that they weren’t even allowed to be happy.
To do anything like this, they were told, was not simply illegal but an offense to God.
“Our government says, ‘You must go to paradise,’” the calm man explained. “We should be able to choose whether we want to go to paradise or hell.”
Suddenly, the man behind the computer sprang up. “It works,” he said smiling. The three others gathered behind him. They gestured for the American to come watch.
But first one of the boys checked outside the door to make sure no one was secretly listening. Then the computer man pressed the key, and the contraband sprang to life: Jennifer Lopez, snug in angel-white pants, shook her hips.
“She’s American, right?” the calm man asked. He touched her pixilated butt. “You have to be proud of that.”
The American watched Lopez offend God with each gyration and then said it was time to leave.
But before he left, the Iranians had one question. They were anxious to know if the rumors were true: would America soon attack? The American said that he doubted it, that the United States had its hands full with Iraq.
“You know, some people hope America invades,” the calm man said. Perhaps realizing the danger of saying this, he quickly distanced himself from this view. He had heard such things, he explained, though this was not necessarily what he thought.
“I’ve heard people say that, too” the man behind the computer said and looked at his friend. He said he doubted it would happen, though. America attacked Iraq for oil, he reasoned, and now they’ve got it.
“They don’t need our oil, now,” he concluded, glumly.
Iran, the legend goes, is like a shadowy nightmare for America.
But to visit the country and talk with the people is to learn that not all is quite as it seems.
The most striking experience for a visiting American is the extraordinary friendliness of the Iranians. To say you are an American is to be greeted with a smile and an invitation for supper and cups of hot tea.
Iranian youth delight in talking about the American pop stars and Hollywood celebrities they know from illegal bootlegs. They can talk endlessly about the opportunities they believe America offers. And, invariably, they will ask what Americans think of them.
Most, though, already have an answer: Americans are wary of Iran, they admit, if not afraid.
Young people say this image of Iran embarrasses them; they blame a small but vocal ruling group of clerics for its broadcast.
They would like to offer a new image: On the evening of Sept. 11, 2001, about 200 young people gathered in Tehran in a spontaneous candlelight vigil to express sympathy for the United States. It was the only such demonstration in the Islamic world after the attacks. The next night, the basij, a religious vigilante group, and the police attacked the vigil.
The moment unveiled the forces battling for Iran’s future: young people, if timidly at first, sought to connect with the nation they had for their whole lives been taught was the Great Satan, while the aging religious leaders tried to retain control with violence.
This question engulfs Iran: How much longer can the ruling clerics impose a strict Islamic state on a nation 70 percent of whose people are under 30?
“Five percent of the people support the mullahs,” one Iranian said. “But they have 95 percent of the power.”
An American in Iran faces many obstacles when trying to gauge peoples’ feelings toward their future.
Most notably, a visitor must understand the schizophrenia of Iranian life that splits its personality between the public and private world.
The popular example - and the transformation most spectacular to behold - is of the woman who in public covers herself in a chador, the long dark cloak designed to cover curves, then, once home, unveils trim designer clothes and a cascade of frosted hair.
This leaves one seeking subtler clues to the people’s mood - in the questions they ask when they learn a visitor is American; in the graffiti sprayed on city walls; in their criticisms of other Middle Eastern countries as much as their own; in the way young women subvert the strict dress code.
These clues illuminate a young society trying to stay human through small, private acts of rebellion.
The questions Iranians have for American visitors are embroidered with their secret hopes. Some ask when President Bush might invade, but many more ask when American and Iran will have normal relations. They ask how hard it is to visit America and if Iranians are treated well there. They want to talk about the music and movies they are not allowed to see.
Young Iranians have linked American musicians with the idea of freedom and rebellion. There is no anti-government graffiti on the street walls; instead, the names of Eminem and Avril Lavigne are crudely spray-painted.
Young women have begun rebelling through fashion. Legally, they must obey Hejab, modest Islamic dress designed to enforce a kind of sexual anonymity. The unintended side effect is that any variation in a woman’s dress serves as a political statement.
Standing on a city street, it is possible to witness a timeline of the last 25 years of Iran’s history. Older women wrap themselves in black chadors, clenching the fabric in their teeth to keep their hands free.
Younger women, especially around a university, wear a slim black jacket that stops short of their knees, tight jeans and a scarf balanced at the back of their head. Black eyeliner circles their eyes like moats, foundation cakes their cheeks - and white bandages embrace their noses. (Nose jobs have become common practice for rich girls in Tehran.)
The most direct channel to peoples’ mood, of course, was in private conversation. Alone with an American, one woman admitted that whenever she hears that another U.S. soldier has died in Iraq, she thinks “what a waste.”
From her satellite dish, she has heard President Bush justify the war as a means to achieve democracy in the Middle East. “They could have democracy in Iran without dropping a bomb,” she said. “Just support the reformers.”
Even in private, some people would only criticize their government through a less than direct route.
Two young men in a fabric shop in Esfahan, a city of turquoise-tiled mosques 250 miles south of Tehran, focused their attack on Saudi Arabia before shifting close to home.
“We all hate Arabs,” the tall one said, reminding a visitor that Iranians are Persians. “Arabs brought Islam to Iran 1,400 years ago. That is the whole problem now.” His friend agreed. “Saudi Arabia is crazy. They still love Islam. They love it. We hate it.”
Other Iranians used black humor to make their point. A man in a carpet shop in Esfahan asked, “Would you like to hear a joke? What is the difference between a madman and a mullah?” He paused, then delivered the punch line.
“Nothing.” He didn’t laugh.
Photo by Devin Foxall Iranian girls Yasaman and Nazila stand with the author at a café in Shiraz. Public flirting is scowled upon in Iran; for some, though, it is sometimes worth it to make exceptions. The cafe
In a cafe in Shiraz, a city in the southwest of Iran known for its nightingales and tombs for Persian poets, two girls ask an American if he would like an espresso or a chocolate sundae. Over the next half-hour they lightly flirt and - due partly to the girls’ faltering English - talk about nothing much in particular.
In almost any other country, this would be unexceptional. But in Iran, the conversation and, more importantly, each tiny gesture is packed with meaning - and even criminal rebellion.
The brown hair of one girl spilled from beneath her scarf and onto the front of her shoulders. Her friend would every few minutes liberate a strand of hair - the color of starless night - and let it fall across her cheek.
Soon, the girls let their scarves become so loose that they would take them completely off - offering, perhaps, a momentary vision of Iran’s future - allow a moment to retie them and then slip the covering back on.
The laws concerning social behavior here seem to be in perpetual flux so there is rarely any consensus on what is allowed. In general, public mingling of the sexes is best avoided, people warned a visitor, and to flirt is to invite harassment. Physical contact of any kind, including a handshake, could, if the wrong people were watching, mean the girl’s arrest.
And so here, in a tiny cafe hundreds of miles from the capital, the quiet revolution of Iran’s youth took another step forward. When it was time to leave, the girls extended their hands with the hope that the American would share the moment’s rebellion.
...unlike the Democrats.
That's an eye opener for me.
miserable failure miserable failure miserable failure miserable failure war criminal
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