We'll Build a Bridge

I recently finished a memoir by an incredible woman named Shirin Ebadi. Her book, Iran Awakening: A Memoir of Revolution and Hope, tells her story of growing up under the rule of the Shah, the quick ascent of her legal career, her zeal for the revolution of 1979 and her subsequent struggle under the Islamic Republic. Shirin Ebadi's story is the parallel story of the fate of democratic and intellectual freedom in the last 35 years in Iran. Shirin fought to overthrow the tyranny and brutality of the shah, only to see it replaced with an equally brutal and culturally more-oppressive regime. Now, Shirin and others continue their quest to bring basic human rights and basic freedom to their brothers and sisters.

My timing in reading this book is no coincidence, I wanted to read it because of the recent events in Iran. I wish I had read the book prior to the Iran election, because the events after the election wouldn't have surprised me.

Some of the things from her book supported what I had already learned about Iran, women and democracy. For example, the anti-shah movement was not at all a pro-ayatollah movement. The ayatollah was but one of several factions seeking to overthrow the tyranny of the shah. After the shah fled Iran, it took the ayatollah a year or more to consolidate power and begin the Islamic Republic that we are familiar with today. Also, Iran's cultural view of women is very different than Arab cultures and Iran has long respected some authority for women. One of the difficulties for the Islamic Republic has been their inability to control the women in the country. The scenes of the crowds after the recent election made clear that Iranian women are engaged and taking some leadership.

There were also several things I learned from the book. Probably the most distressing thing to learn was how the Iran-Iraq war solidified the rule of the Islamic Republic. What made that particularly difficult was the role of the United States in furthering that war by supporting Saddam Hussein, even after we knew that Saddam was using chemical weapons against the Iranians. As I mentioned earlier, being anti-shah did not mean you were pro-ayatollah. When the Iran-Iraq war started, there were many factions still working toward resisting the kind of rule desired by the burgeoning Islamic Republic. The weak rule of the government was one of the reasons Saddam knew it was a good opportunity to strike. The counter-productive actions of the United States in that war are too tragic to be mere irony. Though I believe we sincerely wanted peace and democracy in Iran, we managed to help squelch all dissent and cement the control of the hard-line leadership. When I look at the present position of Iran, I see a perfectly human response to 50 years of duplicity and complicity and the occasional direct intereference. In fact, I am in some ways surprised to read about (and see evidence of) a decidedly pro-Western sentiment among the younger generation of Iranians. This was not the focus of her book at all, but certainly a theme that stood out to me as an American.

Ultimately, "Iran Awakening" is a book of hope. The revolution took a necessary pause during the Iran-Iraq war, took several more years to recover its voice, and has been steadily on the rise since 1999. Shirin Ebadi, at great personal cost, has taken that fight one case at a time. As a lawyer, Shirin has picked the ripest opportunities she can find to fight within the system for human rights, and democratic, cultural and intellectual freedoms. Her work has earned her the Nobel Peace Prize. Shirin, and many like her, continue to push for reform within the Iranian systems. They report a growing resentment and strengthening resolve, and the world has recently seen evidence of what is apparently right below the surface.

Shirin's story is far more textured than I've relayed here, and her story reveals as much about the rich Persian culture as it does the gritty reality of today's prison cells. So while I learned a lot about the social and political climate of an important and strategic country, more importantly, I took a trip across a bridge and caught a glimpse of families that love like I love, care for their children like I do, and die like I will.

"As long as there is distance between us and we cannot look in each other's eyes, all sorts of false ideas and images arise. We give them names, make jokes about them, cover them with our prejudices, and avoid direct contact. We think of them as enemies. We forget that they love as we love, care for their children as we care for ours, become sick and die as we do. We forget that they are our brothers and sisters..." Henri Nouwen

One Life With Each Other: Sisters, Brothers

Twice today I had to close the door of my office, just for a few minutes, to allow the tears. The frightened bursts of communication coming from the people of Iran gave me the visual of a light dimming. The light of hope and peace that seemed so bright last Monday was being dimmed by the relentless pounding of black batons, and worse.

During one of these emotional interludes I caught myself, for a moment, thinking "Wow, almost everyone around would think I'm overreacting. Am I overreacting?" I soon recalled something I read from William Wilberforce: "If to be feelingly alive to the sufferings of my fellow-creatures is to be a fanatic, I am one of the most incurable fanatics ever permitted to be at large.” By the time I was collecting myself, it seemed crazy NOT to be reacting to the suffering. Real people are being killed, beaten and terrorized.

It was Tuesday around ten in the evening, when I first heard of my son’s arrest. I got shocked and I found myself in total despair. Amin is only seventeen years old and is currently in eleventh grade and attending the program in his school. I immediately started to look for him, experiencing very hard and painful moments. Moments that neither cinema nor any other kind of art will ever be able to express. What I went through and witnessed that night is not easy to describe…I had no idea where they had taken my son to, therefore I stared looking in every ambulance, every police station and every hospital in town. I came face to face with other parents looking for their children as well. Mothers screaming and calling the names of their sons and daughters. Fathers weeping silently. Terrified kids in police stations awaiting their faith…it was a total nightmare.

As I mentioned a few days ago, the close proximity (via technology) of this suffering makes it unique and adds the personal dimension I'm just not used to in world politics. I don't get to read the blog of a mourning North Korean mother whose son was falsely accused and publicly executed. I don't get frantic Twitter updates from a woman in the Congo as she tries to escape the militia's rape squads. I didn't have fresh cell phone video of the last moments of the 50-60 Iraqis killed by a bomb in Baghdad today. It's hard to imagine my reaction if I did have that access. I'm almost thankful I don't, but it's no less real.

Am I overreacting? I think I've barely even begun to react...

The Courage to Walk Out Into the Street

"In retrospect, all revolutions seem inevitable. Beforehand, all revolutions seem impossible." Michael McFaul

I am drawn to the Iran election protests. By drawn, I mean I feel a magnetic pull radiating from my solar plexus toward the men and women demonstrating bravery and independence in the face of violence and death. I see the massive crowd walking in quiet defiance, and I want to be there. I see the peaceful response to violence, and I am in awe. I see videos of beatings, and I want to offer protection. I hear the haunting shouts of Allah-u-Akbar from darkened rooftops in Tehran, and I get chills. I see a video of the moment of a young woman's death, shot to death by militia trying to stop the protesters, and I beat my chest in sorrow. I can't link it, it's too awful, but you can find it if you try. Her name was Neda.

Why are my emotions so strong for my Iranian brothers and sisters? Is it because for the first time in history the revolution is actually being "televised"? Because I can read and see and hear the struggles within minutes of it happening? Before I went about my day this morning, I watched a newly uploaded video of the streets of Tehran. Knowing that this is literally happening during my day, and I can easily see it, how can that NOT affect my day? According to someone who says they were with Neda when she was killed, she was shot about 9:30 a.m. my time. I saw it about 3 p.m. the same day.

Is it because the people look like me? It's certainly a more "Western" side of Iranian culture than we usually get to see. The young woman dying on the street looks like someone I saw at the store yesterday. The young man getting clubbed looks like me. The disillusioned revolutionary running down the street looks like my good friend. The pervasive presence and use of technology looks like me and my friends.

Is it because my soul is awake to its purpose and is inherently drawn to the suffering of my human family? Is it because my deep-seated pride immediately rebels against the boot of dictatorship?

I say yes to all, and more reasons I can't even describe yet.

So now what? I feel helpless. I am helpless. The revolution still feels impossible, and even if successful the result is an unknown. But enough has happened already to warrant real emotion, and I agonize for an action. If all this does is make me more grateful for my insanely peaceful and easy life, that seems like I would have wasted an opportunity. It doesn't seem enough that I simply gripe less, and be a kinder and more peaceful person. Am I stuck with the feeble Butterfly Effect of my choice to live nonviolently? These questions are not just rhetorical, they beg for an answer, even if that answer is not a satisfyingly-definable action. Please, offer your thoughts.

I'll keep working toward an answer, but for now, my feeble peace and love are better than nothing. Today, my brothers and sisters, I am Iranian too. Allah-u-Akbar!