IRAN
Enemies Never
Remain Forever
STORY AND PHOTOS BY TIM BOXER
FTER much conflict, the
United States has reconciled with Germany, Vietnam, Russia
and, most recently, Cuba. Now Barak Hussein Obama is trying
to burnish the legacy of his presidency by restoring
relations with Iran through a nuclear deal.
If the Islamic State of Iran truly
wants to bury the hatchet, and keep its nuclear power
facilities intact, it will have to alter the urban landscape
of its capital. It will have to stop preaching hatred of
America.
When I visited Tehran in 2008, the
city was festooned with benevolent images of ayatollahs and
mullahs. They communicated their messages on giant banners
fluttering from light poles on the streets, proclaiming
"Death to America." Hateful words, in Farsi and English,
painted on buildings, condemned the Great Satan (U.S.) along
with the Little Satan (Israel).
I strolled down the streets and
gazed at the repugnant signs. It was a sorrowful sight—pure
propaganda to incite an unwilling public to despise the
world’s foremost social and scientific powerhouse, home of
the free and envy of the world.
Iran’s state enmity with the
United States has raged for more than three decades, ever
since the 1979 revolution when militants overthrew the
pro-American Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, installed the
fiercely un-American Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini as ruler,
and stormed the U.S. Embassy where they seized 52 hostages.
I asked my driver and guide, who
have been extremely accommodating all week, to take me to
the former U.S. Embassy, now a bastion of the Islamic
Revolutionary Guard Corps. They parked a block away, while I
walked toward the embassy compound which was surrounded by a
thick wall. I thought it best to stand across the street
while taking pictures. A guard, in civilian clothes,
standing in the entrance, waved his hand in a negative
fashion. I put my camera down, walked a few feet on the
sidewalk, stopped, and took some more pictures.
The walls around the compound were
emblazoned with hateful words bearing the ubiquitous tidings
of "Death to America" and Israel.
Of course this was the official
party line generated by the reigning mullahs, overseen by
Ayatollah
Ali Hosseini Khamenei, 74, the Supreme Leader since 1989.
That state of mind, I
discovered—much to my –pleasant surprise—did not necessarily
reflect the temperament of the people. Iranians are experts
at hospitality. Everywhere I went I was warmly received
(except at the former American Embassy). Even under the
ever-present slogan of "Death to America" on banners hanging
from telephone poles, people greeted me with friendly
smiles.
One day I was photographing in
Hassan Abad Square. It was teeming with women shopping and
men going about their business. A typical working day. I
stopped at a yarn shop where black clad women were crowding
in the open doorway. I aimed my camera. Suddenly two men
appeared. I didn’t even see them coming. They looked
domineering in their leather jackets. Did I run afoul of the
law? I sheepishly put my camera down, ready to be
interrogated.
"Are you Russian?" one asked. "We
don’t like Russians."
"Where are you from?"
"New York."
Suddenly they became amiable. "You
are American? We love Americans."
I aimed my camera. They smiled as
I snapped their pictures. We shook hands, and they went on
their way.
I told my guide I was interested
in photographing a synagogue in Tehran. I found an address
on the Internet. The driver had difficulty locating the
place. He stopped in the middle of the street to ask a
traffic cop. The police officer, smart looking in his spiffy
white uniform, gazed in the car. The driver identified me as
a journalist from America. The cop’s stern inquisitive face
melted. Again, that warmhearted Persian smile. I asked if I
may take a picture. His smile broadened even more.
Everywhere I went I found my
encounters with the people to be courteous and warm,
especially when they heard New York. Unlike the clerics,
ordinary people harbor a deep affection for Americans. They
welcomed me everywhere with open arms. I was having a
wonderful time.
Several people proudly told me
about family members living in the United States, whom they
visit on occasion.
In Isfahan, the country’s second
largest city after Tehran, I was walking in the park at dusk. I
must have looked like a tourist with money to burn because a
young man, apparently on the prowl for customers, pleaded
with me to come see some wonderful tablecloths at his store.
I had no interest in tablecloths. He asked where I’m from.
"I haven’t seen an American in
months," he exclaimed. "We want more Americans to come."
FINALLY BACK
