By Kam Zarrabi, Intellectual
Discourse
When the Ghajars
handed over Iran’s
oil reserves, lock, stock and barrel, to the British interests early in the
20th century, the people were not asked whether they'd approve of
that generous gesture. Neither was it put to a public referendum whether the
nation would accept the young son of Iran’s deposed Pahlavi monarch to be
installed as the new Shah by the victors at the conclusion of WW II.
The nation did
decide to rise up and make itself heard in 1951; but that attempt at democratic
reform, nationalism and independence was decapitated by the unpopular military
coup of 1953; yet another “imposed” blessing! The ensuing infrastructural and
industrial developments, the unavoidable global phenomena of the mid
20th century world, introduced the fruits of the Western civilization
into the awestruck nation in intoxicating heavy doses. Modernization, in a sense
not yet quite digestible to the masses, rapidly took hold and marginalized much
that used to be cherished as traditional values.
The burgeoning new
bourgeoisie, attempting to mimic and blend in with the established aristocracy,
immersed itself in consumerism, like sharks in a feeding frenzy. And, by the
time plays by Berthold Brecht and music of Karlheinz Stockhausen began to be
staged at the annual Shiraz Arts Festival, it was clear that the fast moving
trendsetters were not going to slow down and look back at the bewildered masses
they were leaving behind. The nouveau riche gagged at the unfamiliar flavor of
Caspian caviar until they adopted a taste for this aristocratic treat. They
bought the costliest imported cognac or scotch and, to make it palatable,
diluted it with “Kooka”, as they drooled over scantily clad dancers at the
Shokufeh-No night club.
It became a source
of decadent snobbery for the uppity West-struck pretenders, donned in
fashionably worn-out blue jeans and Dior sunshades, to visit “prehistoric”
Kashan or Kerman
and show off their flair for the avant-garde chic to the “primitive” natives.
They'd intentionally sit in a visibly uncomfortable position on the floor of the
typical Ghahveh Khaneh and casually order pamplemousse and eggs-benedict for
breakfast. Of course, they knew fully well that those “backward” people would
have no clue as to what these strangers were asking for. Actually, better than
ninety percent of the people were quite out of touch with what was happening
around them, to them, and to the spirit of their nation in those days of runaway
modernity and Imperial Glory. They didn’t even know who or what that “Light of
the Aryans” stood for; but, who cared?
Nobody ever asked
them what they'd prefer.
The disenfranchised
peasantry swarmed into the ghettoes in the margins of the Capital, attracted by
the glitter of neon lights like moths around a lantern, hoping to eek out a
living at the zillion construction sites all over town. Modernity had not spared
them, either. Those among them who could afford it, would pile onto small
three-wheeled pickups and fight the heavy traffic for most of the day to the
elegant foothills of Shemiran on weekends. There they’d wait in long lines to
taste the ultimate symbol of otherworldliness, the wonderful “hambergerd”, as
they called the tasteless, leather-tough, hamburger; after all it was “gerd”,
round, that is!
Yes, those were the
good old days, days of technological advancements and rapid industrialization;
money was good and millions were made left and right. Many made unimaginable
fortunes in real estate; formerly worthless acres of land outside the cities
were now gobbled up and slated for housing developments.
We were all doing
well, all of us riding the crests of the waves, of course; and laughing at the
folks on those ridiculously overloaded three-wheelers heading for the hambergerd
stands was a way for at least some of us to hide our discomfort and anxiety; we
wondered when our house of cards was going to come down.
Come down, it did;
and how!
Now, twenty-six
years later, those same aristocrats, along with their wan-o-be counterparts, and
with their children who have been born and raised in the United States or Europe
and know hardly anything about Iran, are awaiting the return of the same glory
days for the forsaken homeland. In the comfort of their luxury homes they can
picture themselves driving their Porsche Cayenne or Hummer SUVs on now widened
and paved roads to Kashan or Kerman, where they are sure the innkeeper will
know, or can be taught, what Pample-effing-mousse or eggs-effing-benedict
is!
O, yes; they want
nothing but democracy for Iran. They are really sick and tired
of what they often call the “mullacracy” that has kept Iran
from returning to those familiar days. But, if they could just calm down a
minute and think about the meaning or the spirit of the word democracy, they
might easily change their minds.
“Democracy”, they
all cry out for. Democracy means that it is the will of the people that decides
how and by whom the nation is to be governed; the PEOPLE, the majority, not just
a select or advantaged group who’d like to be the voice of the people. They like
to discredit what they call the unelected leadership of Iran’s
theocratic regime; implying that, were the PEOPLE to decide, the regime would
return to a secular Western style democracy overnight. The question is: What
PEOPLE are they truly talking about?
Are the people who
are to participate in the anticipated reform movements for a future democratic
Iran those who can pronounce the word pamplemousse with the proper French
accent, or are they the people who’d rather eat fresh farm eggs fried over
charcoal fire in animal fat, sunny side up and crisp on the bottom, in large
blackened frying pans, people who, on a good day, might have some goat cheese
and walnuts on flatbread on the side, and slurp their scorching hot tea from the
edge of the saucer decorated on its edges with those small winged angels.
Have they really
ever bothered to ask what these PEOPLE would prefer? I do believe these PEOPLE
would insist on being asked this time around. Don't you; or don't you think they
deserve to be considered now, either?
