The discussion disturbed me because I felt like, repeatedly, people were ignoring the obvious: they want a secular government. To me, that's what is meant by "joining the world." I don't know what Doug meant by that. I've been trying to figure out which of the many great passages in Moaveni's books illustrate what she might mean by that, were she to use the phrase. I think somewhere, she said something like this, but it's often hard to leaf through 800 pages between the two books to find it.
Paging through the books, one's a library book so I can't mark it up, the books are littered with ripped envelopes and newspapers, marking the places that are marvelously illustrative of so many things that we spoke of in my reading group and we are discussing here.
I despaired of having the time to transcribe, so I could share the very excellent ways Moaveni describes what's at stake.
And then it dawned on me. It was as if Moaveni had dreamed of this discussion before we ever had it. The first chapter to her second book is entitled, "Tell Them We Are Democrats."
Via Moaveni, let me share with you what her government minder thinks being "part of the world" means.
On her return to Iran to cover the 2005 elections, she immediately contacts Mr. X. She has written about him in unflattering ways, and she is worried how he might react.
"When I lived in Tehran during 2000 and 2001, my relationship with Mr. X was a complicated dance of avoidance, in which I would refuse to do any of the things covered by "cooperation," and he would try through alternating tactics of intimidation and persuasion to bring me over to his side. We met quite regularly....and for a long while he behaved like a controlling husband. He wanted to know every last detail of my life.. and grew suspicious and nasty when I could not recall (or would not disclose) information with sufficient accuracy. He knew all about my friends, and would sometimes drop their names causally .. to convey just how much he knew about my social life. Once, for no particular reason i can remember, he went so far as to make a macabre joke about my committing suicide. I was stunned. I hadn't expected such malice from Mr. X, whose immaculate plaid shirts and close-cropped hair made him look like a harmless preppy. (nb, shag: she recounts the suicide story in the first book.)
The physical locales of our meetings -- secluded, anonymous apartments, empty hotel rooms in unmarked establishments -- created the theater of intimidation Mr. X so cunningly used to his advantage. he knew that it frightened me to meet in such places, and also that I could not refuse to go. If I screamed, no one would hear; if I called on my mobile phone for help, it would take forever to describe where I was. I could easily be transported elsewhere against my will without anyone noticing.
...
Though his presence was undeniably creepy, Mr. X strove to be more than just a menace. Sometimes he behaved almost sociably, softening the expression in his brown eyes and asking politely after my family. He had on occasion actively facilitated my reporting, going out of his way to clear some bureaucratic obstacle to a trip, or authorizing an outing, whose permissibility seemed in doubt. ...
I had written openly about Mr. x in my book, violating many taboos at once: I revealed that such meetings took place..., disclosed their content, and, perhaps worst of all, described in a book of nonfiction the secret thoughts I imagined he harbored. Part of me felt relief at having exposed him, voiding the insistent admonitions that "no one must know of our meetings." Mr. X now existed on the page,and this took away the power of secrecy he had always cultivated. But surely he would be furious to seek to avenge himself.
...
'Would you like tea or coffee?' Mr X asked, busying himself in the kitchen. He poured us both tea, and then took a seat at the dinner table across from a plate of cream puffs. Eating pastry under duress was another hallmark of my meetings with Mr. X. During our initial encounters I had refused to eat anything.... But this caused him offense, and I began to accept whatever I found on the table, eager to win his good humor.
...
'I have read your book,' he began. 'And the question I have is this: what is this ash-e gooshvareh (earring stew) of which you write? We have no such stew.'
...
'"It's Azerbaijani,' I replied.
'Okay." He looked unconvinced.
Someone knocked at the door, and Mr. X opened it to admit his partner, whom I had described in my book as Mr. Sleepy. In our meetings he was usually either asleep or menacing, the bad-cop foil to Mr. X's slithery inducements and intimidations.
We spoke very briefly about my book tour. Mr. X offered me a cream puff. And then he made a gesture of wrapping up his papers.
'We would like you to know that we consider your book worthy of appreciation,' he said.
I sipped tea silently, waiting for the condemnation that would surely follow. But Mr. X and Mr. Sleepy began smiling openly, as though they were having tea with a favorite aunt.
'So didn't people ask you, If Iran is so repressive, then how do you write these critical articles and travel back and forth/"
'Yes, I was asked this all the time. And I told people that Iran tolerates some measure of dissent, that this is what makes Iran so special' I went on to describe Iran as an island of Persian practicality in a sea of brutal Arab dictatorships.'
...
"It is true, we are enlightened people, and we believe in democracy, freedom of expression.'
'Of course.'
'So do not be worried. Go back to America, and tell them we are democrats.' He leaned forward and began gathering his papers in a sign that we were finished. 'You are yourself proof.'
pp 9-13, Honeymoon in Tehran
I don't know about anyone else, but I find this passage fascinating. Is she serious? She seems genuine, especially since she views this as reason to gloat later, telling her family that she's not only not going to be arrested, but she has pleased the guy and his bud.
Tell them we are democrats, says Mr. X, who apparently wants her to go back to writing for Time (she's only there temporarily for the elections) and to tell Americans that Iran is a democracy and is, having already "joined the world" in his view, now going about working on securing its place in the world, a proud democracy: she herself is proof.
Why does Mr. X care what Americans think anyway. An ardent supporter of the system, what could it possibly matter to him? he's employed by a government, represented by a president, who surely does not seem to care.
I think Moaveni's point is that, oddly enough, even the Mr. Xs of the Iranian world appear to care about world opinion, and especially u.s., opinion -- and they may even want approval, even *as* they do their jobs in the service of a theocratic state. Maybe it's their own game of "as if": if we just operate "as if" it's a democracy, then it will be so. But why should it be so imoprtant to them to want to be perceived as democrats. I could see why they should want to play the game of "as if" with their own people, to delude them into going along. If you say it enough times, it's true.
But why should he possibly think that Americans should think they are democrats. Mr. X?
Of course, to understand all this it needs the context that Moaveni so richly provides in her discussion of the schisms, divisions, layers and folds of contradiction that characterizes Iran and its attempt to forge democracy while retaining theocracy. For Moaveni, she doesn't think this is possible. As she will later explain, people like Mr. X and the reformists did and do. This is a basic cleavage that animates contemporary Iranian politics. But through it all, people like Mr. X, the people we imagine voted for Ahmadinejad appear to care about "joining the world" and being rewarded with its esteem.
sleep. sleep. i neeeed sleep.
Maybe I'll spam the list tomorrow with passages. :)