Active Duty Military Army Navy Air Force Marines Coast Guard Reserves Veterans

'Where do you think I am from?'

By Todd W John

"Where do you think I am from?" he asked with a coy smile. It was a question that I had learned could sometimes be dangerous to answer. Traveling in Asia and Europe, you come to learn that some people may take offense at a wrong answer. He seemed different though, with his jovial spirit and warm smile, a smile that said there was no way I would guess correctly.

Judging from his naturally dark complexion, black hair and an accent that I could recognize only as Middle Eastern or Arabic, I answered tentatively and I hoped safely, "Jordan."

He laughed and then asked seriously, but with the same enduring smile, "You think I am Arabic?"

Feeling obligated to attempt another answer I searched my mind for another appropriate yet neutral answer. About the same moment that I decided Turkey would be the next best answer, he spared me further embarrassment and proclaimed that he was Persian. Knowing that most of what was once called Persia is now Iran, I ventured further with a bit more confidence, "So you are Iranian."

His look grew serious and he contemplated the question, but only for a moment before answering that he was. As the conversation continued I found that while he recognized that he was an Iranian citizen, and that was what his passport said, he in fact felt Persian. In explaining that he was Persian it became important for him to make clear that he was also not a Muslim.

It was just another hot evening in Bangkok and rather than sitting in my small room listening to the ceiling fan laboring to move the thick, humid air, I chose instead to sit reading the Bangkok Post in the central garden of the small guesthouse. In the two months I had spent working in Bangkok, I had met many interesting people passing through. Europeans off to Phuket or Pattaya for a relaxing holiday, an Indian on his way to Cambodia and Vietnam for his work as a importer/exporter, and an Italian who had no idea where his journey would lead him next, but assured me the wind was at his back.

Azad the Persian was another colorful character. He guessed immediately and correctly that I was an American. Our conversation had begun that December evening debating the possible war in Iraq, which was by then a daily topic in the news and provided the lead headline of my newspaper. It was interesting to me that Azad was a staunch supporter of the coming war in Iraq. However, when he continued by saying that he hoped that after America toppled Iraq's Saddam, the US would turn its guns on his homeland and do the same in Iran, I was shocked.

"You must understand that I am an ethnic Persian, but I live under the rule of ethnic Arab Muslims who rule Iran. An Iran that should be Persia. Iran's history has been one of oppression. Oppression of Persians, our language, and our ideas by Muslims," he explained. "Many people feel the same as I do, but we live in fear of reprisals, jail, even death, if we question our leadership. It is not free like America," he concluded with a now trademark smile.

I liked Azad very much and enjoyed our long conversation. During that time I learned the purpose of his trip. He had saved for 16 months to afford the 10-day holiday in Thailand, but for him it was much more than a holiday. Against the wishes of his family and friends he had come to Thailand with a purpose, to see America. Specifically, to go to the US consulate and apply for a visa, any visa they might be obliged to issue him. He had seen America that very day, though, or at least as much of it as he was ever likely to see. He described it for me in enthusiastic detail.

"I waited outside the embassy for them to open with several other people. I was so excited and I could not stop smiling." This I easily believed of the spirited Persian man. He continued, "Finally they began letting us in and I was just overwhelmed. I saw the flags of the USA and they had a big picture of President Bush on the wall. It made me so happy, I felt like I was in America and it filled my heart with joy. Everyone was very helpful and helped me apply for my visa," he was beaming.

He told me that he didn't even want to leave after he finished the application process. So he sat in the waiting room for a while, "enjoying America" and smiling broadly, I am sure. It was clear to me now that Azad had a dream, an American Dream.

In the post-September 11 world, I couldn't help thinking that he might never realize his dream; America had tightened its immigration standards considerably. There was no way I would broach this topic, but he made it clear he knew it was hard to get a visa to America, but at least he had tried. He discussed what he would do if he could not get a visa. Instead of returning directly to Iran, he said he would go instead to Pakistan and cross into Afghanistan where he would try to get work with the United Nations as an interpreter. As he spoke and read English and Persian, he thought he had a good chance, and anything would be better than having to go back to Iran.

"The place is disgusting," he told me. "I cannot even explain it to you. I hate Iran and I hate being there. Everything is wrong there. I pray that one day America will free Iran."

His opinions and beliefs never ceased to intrigue me. He professed a deep love for the Israeli people and said that he hoped one day he might have the opportunity to visit this "very special place". Azad believed that what the Palestinian people were doing was wrong, yet another instance of Muslims trying to extend their rule and influence.

It startled me that his opinions were so anti-Arab and anti-Muslim, being that he was from Iran. I of course knew that there were people who disagreed with their government and who might not be Muslim, but I found his thoughts on the subject more Western-centric and progressive than I would expect.

Days later I saw him in the guesthouse garden having breakfast. Upon seeing me his already bright demeanor glowed even more. He told me he was off to Koh Samui for a few days of relaxation before leaving for Pakistan.

"Unfortunately the US embassy denied my visa application," he said, his smile fading a bit, "but I did have the chance and tried. Maybe I will be able to try again someday." With that, his smile returned.

Exchanging email addresses, we promised to keep in touch and I told him how much I enjoyed meeting him and talking with him. Saying he would write soon, he turned with a smile and a wave and strode away. I couldn't help thinking that he had probably even walked out of the US consulate with a smile. Some people seem to just know how to endure.

Weeks later I got the first email from him. Koh Samui had been nice he said, absolutely beautiful. He made the observation that Thai women are much more liberated than Iranian women and quite a bit more friendly. He hoped that he might be able to visit again one day. Azad was in Afghanistan and trying to get a job with the UN, as he planned. It sounded like it wasn't going well and he planned to return home soon. It was obvious that he was disappointed.

A month might have passed and I received a package at the office. It was from Azad in Iran. He had sent me a traditional chaffe, a scarf that is often used a headdress by men throughout the Middle East. Enclosed in the package was a short note saying that he was okay, but back in Iran. I wrote him an email thanking him for the kind gift and asking more of his work and family. He answered instead by complaining again about how disgusting Iran was and that he wanted to leave. His family, he said, worried about his safety.

Possibly for good reason. After exchanging nearly daily emails with him for the next month, always speckled with his own brand of thinking on US foreign policy, Iraq and Iran, the messages suddenly stopped. At first I thought nothing of it but the days passed and I began to worry. I sent a message to him asking him to confirm that he was all right. More days passed with no word from him.

Finally one day a few weeks later he did respond. His message was disturbing. "I cannot write to you now. Please do not respond to this address anymore. I will contact you again soon," he wrote.

A day later he contacted me from a new email address. Azad had been at work when he was approached by police and men from his government and taken into custody. His mother, hearing this from his brother and father with whom he worked, rushed to his house and burned stacks of his documents, letters and address books, and fled frantically for fear of being caught herself. She wanted to protect her son and his progressive thinking from the oppressive and suspicious government. He spent over two weeks in custody but was never charged with a crime. He was interrogated repeatedly about his recent travels, activities, his friends in Iran and abroad, and his thoughts on the government. Finally they released him and he returned to the ransacked and charred remains of his house. Most was destroyed and looted by government agents, and while the fire may have been helpful, it only compounded the destruction now. He told me he cried by himself. I am pretty sure that I am the only person who knows that.

It saddened me to hear the current plight of my friend. I knew him only with that enduring smile and could not image his spirit crushed as it had been. He avoided answering anything specific about his treatment while in jail and during the interrogations.

In the weeks that led up to the war in Iraq his zeal returned and he spoke with the voice and vigor of the young man I had met in Bangkok.

His messages took on his usual pro-American thinking and anti-(Islamic)-establishment views. Only days before the war he sent me a message blasting France, Germany and Russia, saying, "They are cowards. They do not want the US to free Iraq because once America is there they will find evidence that they [France, Germany and Russia] supported Iraq and violated UN sanctions to help them. The cowards also have their own economies to worry about, all of them face extensive financial crisis. With Saddam in power they can continue to exploit financial gains they make through oil contracts. I hope America invades Iraq without them and they lose their rights to their contracts, maybe it will further destroy their economies and the traitors will no longer be world powers."

Now I don't know where he gets his news from, but it certainly isn't al-Jazeera. On the first day of the war I got several messages from him. They were sort of "play-by-play" accounts of what he was hearing and seeing through the media in Iran. "I know you are proud to be an American today," he said, "You are very lucky to have George Bush as a president, he is a very smart and brave man."

I had my doubts about the war; whether it was wholly justified or the right move in the "war on terror". Azad and like-minded individuals aside, I did not want the Muslim world thinking America was bullying the world with its foreign policy and targeting a Muslim nation. This might only serve to further Islamic hatred and fundamentalism against the US. In sharing my thoughts with Azad, he assured me that what American was doing was right and the people of Iraq would be happy. I still wondered.

On April 11, when US troops were poised outside Baghdad and the fall of Saddam's regime seemed inevitable, I received a message from Azad that suggested he had reached fever pitch. "God bless America!" the message began. "Soon Iraq will be free and the world will see the cruelty of Saddam. I pray that America will come to Iran next."

During and since the war in Iraq it seemed that Azad's wish just might come true. Washington increased its rhetoric against Iran, made veiled threats, and now is scrutinizing Iran's nuclear ambitions. However, for now, America's policy seems to be one of destabilization and containment, not preemptive military action.

Civil unrest in Iran has been commonplace in recent days. Despite threats of the ruling clerics that they will crack down on the protesters, the demonstrations continue. Three consecutive days of protests near Tehran University and the Intercontinental Hotel have seen protesters calling for the death of supreme leader Ali Khamenei. Shouts and chants of "Khamenei the traitor must be hanged," and "Student prisoners must be freed."

I don't hear from Azad as often these days. I get the impression he must be very busy, though he usually is very short on details in his messages. Something tells me that Azad is among those protesting in Tehran with other young Iranians.

The American policy of containment and destabilization might effectively deal with the "axis of evil", in this case Iran, as defined by the Bush administration. Young Iranians have made clear through their protests that they are willing to assist by creating instability from within. Azad, though, still waits and hopes for American intervention to free his country, to free Persia. With this his dream lives on, his American Dream of freedom.