I have, with bated breath, been witness to the brouhaha (I do love that word) over the Iranian elections in the last few days. With my own knowledge of the situation, which is admittedly limited, there did not seem to be a scenario that would find the reformist Moussavi victorious. I had wished for his victory, but not hoped for it. A reformist former president who supports broader freedoms for women versus a sitting president who possesses infallible Islamist credentials and enjoys massive popular support in rural Iran. It is not a contest one would enjoy betting on, especially with regard to who would enjoy the Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khamenei's favour.
And then, about a fortnight before the election, the tide began to turn, in increments, just a little bit here, and then a little more there. And suddenly, there it was, that elusive thing, hope. Perhaps there was a chance after all that the next president of Iran would not be a Jew-hating, Israel-bashing, Holocaust-denying fundamentalist. The election day came and went, with nary a story of violence or criminal conduct. The Iranians, it would seem, enjoy a civilized and robust exercise of their franchise. Polls were extended for hours as people came out to vote in numbers that startled the government. And then, inevitably, the results. Which is when circumstances began to more closely resemble a Chaplin comedy than real life in the 21st century.
Here we are now, less than week after the results were announced(more than 65% in favour of Ahmadinejad, in case you're interested). Anger, so much a part of my own personal being, is radiating outwards from Iran; from Tehran, where thousands gather in crushing mobs, to London, Paris and New York, where former Iranian nationals watch spellbound as their once-home is now awash in green. Iran has all but been shut down, no one in or out. But that has not stopped the velvet revolution from fervently and vociferously announcing its intentions. They are protesting out in the streets of Tehran today and through the internet, through Facebook and Twitter, even as they are arrested in hordes and beaten and killed in the dozens. And I, a mere voyeur and participant in their collective anguish, am with them, if only in cyber-spirit.
And then, about a fortnight before the election, the tide began to turn, in increments, just a little bit here, and then a little more there. And suddenly, there it was, that elusive thing, hope. Perhaps there was a chance after all that the next president of Iran would not be a Jew-hating, Israel-bashing, Holocaust-denying fundamentalist. The election day came and went, with nary a story of violence or criminal conduct. The Iranians, it would seem, enjoy a civilized and robust exercise of their franchise. Polls were extended for hours as people came out to vote in numbers that startled the government. And then, inevitably, the results. Which is when circumstances began to more closely resemble a Chaplin comedy than real life in the 21st century.
Here we are now, less than week after the results were announced(more than 65% in favour of Ahmadinejad, in case you're interested). Anger, so much a part of my own personal being, is radiating outwards from Iran; from Tehran, where thousands gather in crushing mobs, to London, Paris and New York, where former Iranian nationals watch spellbound as their once-home is now awash in green. Iran has all but been shut down, no one in or out. But that has not stopped the velvet revolution from fervently and vociferously announcing its intentions. They are protesting out in the streets of Tehran today and through the internet, through Facebook and Twitter, even as they are arrested in hordes and beaten and killed in the dozens. And I, a mere voyeur and participant in their collective anguish, am with them, if only in cyber-spirit.
1 comment:
I agree wholeheartedly, Chelsea Dagger....Bravo, Iranians....
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