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He was a terrific guy. His family had sent him here for college. His father had a government clerical position of some sort, not an important one, for he had little money. I met my friend when he took a part time job at the factory I worked at - said he had to help pay for his living expenses or his family couldn't afford his education here. I guess we became friends because I sought him out to learn about his country and to make him feel more welcome, and he hadn't met many progressive Americans who welcomed him to the south.
He invited me to his place for dinner one night. He lived in a communal setting, a large apartment with about half a dozen other Iranian students. They were all delightfully warm, friendly, and welcoming to me. We had a wonderful time over dinner, discussing the Shah (they all hated him and how he was propped up by the US government). They told me a lot about the despotism of the Shah. We discussed what they were studying, most of them with an eye to helping their country when they returned (I remember one of the women was studying to become an engineer). Discussing all sorts of things that college students everywhere discuss.
But one of the most fascinating things we discussed was their Americanization. None of them was very much a 'practicing' Muslim. The women had discarded their head coverings. They drank, partied,lived just about like any American college kids. But they all acknowledged that they would have to clean up their acts when they returned home, mostly because their parents wouldn't approve. They didn't see it as hypocritical, more like sowing their oats while they could, while they were young and carefree. Before they had to go back home and get serious about saving their beloved country.
The food they served reminded me of the stuff we threw together back in my own 'commune' days. A big pot of rice with meat (they tried to convince me how much better the dish was with mutton), and herbs that were new to me then, and seemed quite exotic. A few vegetables were thrown in, including okra. We had a great discussion about how much we had in common, the people in Iran and in the southern US because we all loved okra! Wine, laughs, a warm, fun, enlightening evening.
A few weeks later I had a call from my friend. He was going home and called me to say goodbye. I had been watching the Iranian Revolution on tv, showing the huge numbers of people - millions of people out in the streets, demanding an end to the Shah. I knew immediately why he was going, and he confirmed that he simply had to be part of it. He had to get out there on the streets, with his people, and be part of bringing down the Shah, and helping to install a democratic government.
Well, he went. I never heard from him again.
I thought of him so often in the next few weeks and months, watching the people's revolution of Iran succeed so beautifully and bloodlessly. The revolution WAS televised. The people won.
Then watching in amazement and horror as the Ayatollah returned, stepping down the airplane steps like some god in his robes.
Next thing you know the reactionary religious element had somehow managed to co opt everything the people had accomplished. They swooped in and took over. There was some resistance, and then there were arrests, many of the students who had been most outspoken were arrested; some were killed. The most revolutionary elements were mostly done away with (though I would venture to say some of them may have been co-opted, and possibly some became some of the more moderate voices in the government). Still, the counter revolution of the religious nuts was successful.
I have cried for what might have been. Should have been. And I often think of my evening with those wonderful, friendly, politically aware, hopeful kids who were so fond of the US.
Wat
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