A Distant Land, A Distant Hope

"Whither Iran?....."

About a year ago, I was itching to go to Iran. I sent out a rousing and somewhat satirical email to friends who might be interested in going, boasting that the “mullahs won’t know what hit them.” To be successful, any such trip would have to be meticulously planned and executed with high caution. But I wanted to whip up support with some cavalier language. I wrote that “ideally, we would be there for the June elections when there is a palpable but distant chance that Ahmedinejad will get upset.” It is a good thing that I wasn't able to get into the country then. Foreign journalists with actual credentials were bullied, harassed, detained, or deported. But any freelancing fool, especially an American, might have it worse.

It does not get worse than Evin Prison, where so many blameless Iranians have wasted away. The dungeon sits right in Tehran, and many accounts of the abuses within have reached Western audiences. The Iranian theocracy takes much the same attitude with Evin as it does with its nuclear bomb-making: “What will you do about it?” We can at least listen to the many tortured voices that ring forth from the prison gates. One such voice is that of Roxana Saberi, an Iranian-American journalist who, in her new book, evokes the many layers of sorrow residing in that monstrous jail. By the end of Ms. Saberi’s 100-day captivity, her plight was finally in the international spotlight. But this was not before she languished for weeks without word to the outside world.

Perhaps it was Saberi’s unique ability to report to the West from Iran that so riled her captors. A comely blend of Persian and Japanese parents (she's probably sick of those preoccupied with her good looks), Saberi carries an American passport and a tongue fluid in Farsi. She arrived in Iran in 2002 to research a book she planned to write on Iranian society. While doing so, she was drawn to the people and decided to stay in the country after her press credentials were revoked. In the early pages of the book, one gets the sense that, despite being a foreigner, Saberi felt somewhat at ease in Iran and unencumbered by the authorities. There was the occasional snooping from the intelligence ministry, but nothing that signaled she was in grave danger.

And then something snapped. Her life was blindsided by self-deluding men accusing her of espionage. The game played by these thugs is frighteningly cynical: "We know you are working for the CIA. Admit this and agree to spy for us, and you will be freed. Deny it and you will stay in prison indefinitely." The "evidence" presented against Saberi was laughable. By the end of the psychological warfare waged upon her, Saberi's captors admit to knowing of her innocence all along.

Why carry out this fakery? I think it was simply an exercise in power for the Iranian secret police. They were angered by Saberi's ability to move about the country without a translator doubling as a snoop. And once they had Roxana in their clutches, they got personal. "How long do you want to be in here?" one of the agents asked her in first day of captivity. "In a couple of years, you will lose your looks." They were trying to reduce her to a pretty face, and a fleeting one at that. As the reader finds out, Saberi is no brittle belle. She forces Evin's hand with a hunger strike and instead offers nourishment to her cellmates with her stories from America. After three months of prison, she emerges a haggard reflection of her former self. Yet despite enduring the evil of Evin, and inspiring many along the way, Roxana is dogged by her conscience. What of her acquaintances and contacts whom the secret police may now take a keener interest in because of her? What of the cellmates she was leaving behind to rot while she resumes life in America? Ms. Saberi will be hard-pressed to find an antidote for her anguish, but she deserves one.

International attention was the tipping point in Saberi's case. Despite all of their suffocating methods, the authorities could not keep Saberi completely hidden from the public eye. Once, in transit between courtroom and prison, a young woman caught her eye and smiled subtly while saying, "You must be Roxana. The whole country knows about you. We are praying for you." The support of the Iranian and American people sustained Saberi, and showed that shared compassion can sometimes outmaneuver politics to good effect.

With Iran being the steel trap to Americans that it is now, I am forced to read about the country from the safety of my dust-ridden couch. Most of this reading will be rather depressing tales of persecution and suppressed talent. But I look forward to using this blog to highlight examples of a resilience that will hopefully carry the Iranians through this perilous time. No one knows when it will come to pass.

Roxana Saberi with Mohammad Khatami, Iran's president from 1997 to 2005 and a current member of the opposition movement.

Broadway Makes Waves

In a bid to broaden his repertoire, your correspondent donned the cap of a theater critic and boarded the Intrepid, a massive carrier docked off the west side of Manhattan for "Fleet Week". The occasion was an hour-long medley of Broadway hits performed by the casts of The Addams Family, American Idiot, Hair, Million Dollar Quartet, and Promises, Promises. Having heard about the rip-roaring energy of American Idiot, I envisioned a swell of boisterous sailors moshing to this punk-rock opera. That this vision failed to materialize did not make the American Idiot cameo any less jolting. The frontwoman was flanked by three of her female colleagues on each side. The lead singer carried the day, as much with her inimitable expressions as with her scorching vocals. It felt like Green Day with a slap of femininity across the face.(The promoters of Idiot tell us that you don't have to like Green Day to like the musical. I'm the wrong person to test that theory on, but there appeared to be many people aboard the Intrepid who didn't know "Basket Case" from "Brain Stew". The idea to expand Broadway from the teeming Theater District to the shores of Manhattan was a hit.)

The Periscope has a seat at Monday's performance of Idiot on Broadway. Your correspondent expects the energy he saw at Fleet Week to be magnified on stage.

Let His Name Sink In

Abdullah Abdullah stood dapper before his Upper East Side audience, one arm resting regally on the podium. But his face was grim and words measured when he told us: “He thinks you will be there forever.” The “he” was Afghan President Hamid Karzai, and the “you” the American military. Throughout his appearance at the Asia Society in Manhattan, Abdullah scarcely referred to the man who evidently stole the presidency from him by name. He chose a distant tone, as if he were speaking of an estranged relative. This solemn, sobering voice grew more evocative when it spoke of the many young Americans, and many more Afghans, who have perished in his great pasture of a country.

Abdullah Abdullah deserves a bigger stage for his message. This isn’t to call the Asia Society quaint, but to call for a greater understanding among Americans of exactly whom we are defending in Afghanistan. It is more for men like Abdullah Abdullah than for an abstraction like “freedom” that we fight. Abdullah has been resisting the tyranny of the Taliban for decades. He knows that American troops will never be able to completely drain the swamp of extremism, so we might as well acknowledge what is at stake for Afghans in this war.

“The worst thing the U.S. can do is blur the line between the friend and the enemy,” said Abdullah Twice. Discern, do not alienate, he beseeches us. Most Pashtuns (the ethnic group from which the Taliban draws most of its recruits) do not want the Taliban back in power. They want respite from the clutches of barbarism. Nor do Pashtuns want to live side-by-side with NATO soldiers the rest of their lives. This is a simple yearning for dignity. It should not have taken the American command eight years to place the utmost importance on avoiding civilian casualties. When it comes to their livelihood, people will prefer the occupiers who kill less of their children. Sadly, between drone strikes and checkpoint fiascoes, the score is closer than it should be.



Abdullah Abdullah talks with Joe Klein of Time Magazine at the Asia Society in New York. This photo was obviously not taken from press row.

Start Befriending Imams

The failed bombing of Times Square has reopened a debate in the mainstream American press about the roots of radicalization. The would-be bomber, Faisal Shahzad, was a gentrified and presumably “well-integrated” Pakistani-American living in Connecticut. His father was a high-ranking officer in the Pakistani air force. The boy attended a school in Peshawar famous for sons of the wealthy. Then he won a scholarship to study in the United States.

Shahzad did not live the life of an ascetic in his first few years as an exchange student in Connecticut. According to a New York Times profile, he stood out from the 14 other Pakistani students on the University of Bridgeport campus. Shahzad “walked with a confident air, showing off his gym-honed muscles in tight T-shirts”, “had a wider circle of friends and a fuller social calendar (than his compatriots)”, and “hit New York City’s Bengali-theme nightclubs” on the weekends. Rounding out this portrait of machismo is a quote from a former classmate saying that “(Shahzad) could drink anyone under the table.” Sounds like a good candidate for any self-respecting fraternity.

But next, of course, comes the plunge into extremism. Well, not just yet. First, Faisal marries a Pakistani-American from Colorado and has two children by her. He earns a master’s degree in business at the University of Bridgeport and grows more affluent at a new job. He barbecues and tends to his lawn. He lives American.

With Shahzad, there never really was a “plunge into extremism.” His anti-Americanism seems a long time festering. He reportedly watched the Twin Towers burn with a sense of justice. “They had it coming,” he told a friend. Who exactly are “they”, Mr. Shahzad? Do the 9/11 victims who were from Muslim countries give you any cognitive dissonance?

The last two attempted terror attacks on U.S. soil came courtesy of upper-class jihadists. (The Underwear Bomber is the son of a prominent Nigerian banker.) They are two men who sucked from the teat of Western capitalism and open societies, only to spit their privileges back out in indignation. “Can you tell me how to save the oppressed?” Shahzad wrote to a group of friends in 2006. “And a way to fight back as rockets are fired at us and Muslim blood flows?”

Some radicals are irreversible. They have chosen martyrdom and there is nothing we can do about it. But the delusion of some has been helped on less by ideological factors than by material ones. Endless poverty or the loss of a loved one might spin these impressionable youths out of society's orbit and into the arms of extremism. We must do what we can to catch these wayward souls before they ricochet back into us to devastating effect.

One man up to the task is Hesham Shashaa. Mr. Shashaa is an Egyptian of Palestinian extraction who makes his living as imam of the Darul Quran mosque in Munich. Imam Shashaa follows the strictest form of Islam, Salafism. Yet unlike some of his colleagues across Europe who have denounced terrorism but sympathized with the causes of Al Qaeda and Hamas, Mr. Shashaa declares these groups to be violators of Islam. He visits Muslim communities across Europe to preach the incompatibility of violence with the Muslim faith. He had the courage to go to Pakistan to inform students at a madrassa that bin Laden and Mullah Omar (the head of the Afghan Taliban) were phonies. "It must be the head of state or caliphate who announces jihad", said Mr. Shashaa, adding that jihad must also be limited to self-defense. "What they (bin Laden and Omar) do is not jihad." A man in the audience stood up in a rage and called for Shashaa's head. The globetrotting imam responded resolutely, "If you can show me in the Koran or the Sunnah that I am wrong, then I will be the first one who would take a gun and join them, but you won't be able to find something like that." Shashaa knows that scripture vindicates Islam as a religion of peace. Let him win as many doctrinal arguments with the brainwashed as he can.

We hear a lot about how Muslims are confined to the margins of European societies. The gruesome murder of Dutch filmmaker Theo Van Gogh and the French quest to ban the burqa are two flashpoints in post 9/11 Islamo-European relations. Because of the proximity of Europe to the “Muslim world”, a different kind of tension permeates the immigration debate across the pond. Authors like Ian Buruma write of “Eurabia”, or the coming tectonic collision between these two civilizations. But people like Imam Shashaa can help quiet the tremors. His sense of humor is a start. The man looks like Osama bin Laden and has been heckled by Westerners for it. So Shashaa shuffles through the streets of Munich wearing a sign that reads, “I am not Osama bin laden. I am Hesham Shashaa.” He also charms his onlookers by God-blessing them in the German tongue.

The German police coordinate well with Imam Shashaa. But they should not see the imam as a means to an end. For cross-cultural trust to grow we must cross these lines anytime we can, not just to gather intel. Muslims in Europe and America feel unfairly targeted by authorities. Counter-terrorism efforts have involved bugging mosques and placing agents among the congregation. This is sometimes necessary work, but it should be avoided when possible and complemented by an unclenched fist to Muslim communities. This outreach is not just about combating terrorism; it’s about realizing a brotherhood of man. Imagine it.

I am Hesham

Bradley Lays Down His Cards (Part I)

If I felt so compelled, I could launch an offshoot of this blog dedicated solely to soccer, both the electronic and real-life versions. That has yet to happen, so my legions of readers better gear up for a summer of incisive reporting on the biggest party on the planet.

For starters, have you seen the ad previewing the World Cup narrated by Bono? It has a slick lyrical rhythm to it and crescendoes nicely to get you excited for the matches. The premise of the ad, however, is debatable. "It's not about politics..." Soccer is very often political. I have written about this in a previous post, and don't feel like going into detail now. Plenty more on that in forthcoming soccer posts.

In this first installment of my preview of the World Cup, I will focus on the initial 30-man roster that U.S. national team coach Bob Bradley selected this week. This group will be trimmed to 23 by the end of the month as each peripheral player goes under the microscope.

On the whole, Bradley has made some sound choices:

Starting in goal, Tim Howard has two sturdy back-ups in Marcus Hahnemann and Brad Guzan. Goalkeepers are America's biggest export in soccer goods, and this is one position where we top the English (our first opponents of the tournament).

Injuries convolute our back line. When all are healthy and in good form, the starting four should be Jon Specter at right back, Oguchi "Gooch" Onyewu and Jay DeMerit in the middle, and Jonathan Bornstein on the left. Carlos Bocanegra, a savvy player who often wears the arm band, is too slow to play on the flanks and should come off the bench for one of the center backs. Specter is an effective passer, while Bornstein offers something going forward.

The U.S. midfield may be our biggest shortcoming. The Yanks are particularly stretched when it comes to defensive midfielder, a crucial position that, when played right, eases pressure on the back line by gobbling up the opposition's attack. Michael Bradley, the coach's son, is versatile and our best bet in the middle. He is a strong tackler and can rip a shot from distance. But he needs more help than is available. The physicality of Jermaine Jones, a German-American who recently switched allegiance to the U.S. national team, would have allowed Bradley to venture forward without worrying about leaving his back line vulnerable to a counter-attack. But chronic injuries mean Jones will miss the World Cup.

We turn to three talented but unpredictable players in search of Bradley's midfield partner. Maurice Edu would be a solid anchor. He won "Rookie of the Year" in the MLS in 2007 (a more competitive award than it used to be) and gained important international experience with the U.S. at the summer Olympics. Ricardo Clarke has spent more time on the field with Michael Bradley and his tenacity would be welcome. But Coach Bradley should be leery of starting someone who tends to end up in the referee's book. A turning point for America in the last World Cup came when defensive midfielder Pablo Mastroeni was ejected for an idiotic tackle against a short-handed Italian side. Another option in the middle is Benny Feilhaber, a creative player whose first instinct is not to defend. How Bradley designs his midfield may be the biggest determinant of America's fate in South Africa.

The venerable veteran Brian McBride has finally retired, and it is good to see some fresh legs up front. Jozy Altidore is blessed with power and pace. He will likely start, along with Landon Donovan, America's all-time leading scorer. I am happy to see Donovan playing with more conviction these days and he must not wilt on the big stage. Clint Dempsey is a unique player who thrives as a secondary striker and not as a midfielder. Dempsey brings swagger, cunning, and a knack for finding the net (he was our only scorer last World Cup). And, in his own words, "thanks to soccer, I rock more ice than a hockey skate" (click here to watch the explosive music video). Rap may be more closely associated with a sport like basketball, but Deuce proves capable of bringing it to the sidelines of a soccer practice.

A final thought in this abbreviated preview: Charlie Davies should still be on the roster. The diminutive spark plug was the best player in the United States' run to the Confederation Cup final last year. He is remarkably fleet of foot and has the grit that Donovan sometimes lacks. But just as Davies' career was taking off, he was in a disfiguring car crash that left one of his friends dead. This was last October. Doctors and physical therapists understandably ruled him out of the World Cup. Davies had fractured bones in his leg and face. He is lucky to be alive.

Just five months later, Davies was running through drills and vowing to be ready for South Africa. It was to be a rousing return, one that would surely motivate his teammates. But Coach Bradley has decided to leave him off the 30-man roster to allow Davies to make a full recovery. This is a reasonable enough decision, but it hollows out some of the spiritual unity on the team. Bradley knows how this tragedy has affected his team, and he would be right to have Charlie in training camp, even if he will not be ready for the World Cup. Besides, Davies is better on one leg than Eddie Johnson.

The Periscope will be on hand to watch the U.S. team play its final match before heading to South Africa in about two weeks. Since we are not playing a Latin American country, there is a good chance the crowd will be for the home team.