I've been spending the last few days in Tweeterville.
A little like watching fruit flies on amphetamines.
Words zip past in poorly formed sentences.
Sometimes they contain pithy phrases like
"You can't beat our grandmothers.
If you do, we're ALL in the opposition."
-- Melody Moezzi
Sometimes they are just echoes of others.
Echoing others.
Echoing others.
But in the noise are links and some of the links are worth passing on.
Now, I am passing on a resource to you that is well worth bookmarking.
His name is Roger Cohen and he writes for the NY Times International Herald Tribune.
He is in Iran.
He is on the street.
He is in the thick of it.
How he functions amazes me.
An American?
An American Journalist?
An American Journalist who's a Jew?
An American Journalist who's a Jew and speaks Farsi?
Actually, he was born British. But his family lives in Brooklyn. And he doesn't speak much Farsi. He travels with a translator.
But the man can write. Hemingway would be proud to call this work his own. Reading his material you can see why he has been nominated for two Pulitzers.
This isn't his first conflict either. He covered the Bosnian War and the related Bosnian Genocide. His expose of a Serb-run Bosnian concentration camp won the Burger Human Rights Award from the Overseas Press Club of America. He was very harsh in his criticism of Hillary's fabricated claims about dodging sniper fire. He was there. One of his many pieces describes the personal impact of seeing that war. Written in 2008, long after the war, it's called Karadzic and War's Lessons (h/t to teacherken for pointing it out in the comments).
In April 2009, when Netanyahu was beating the war drums, he wrote a scathing article Israel Cries Wolf.
After listing several similar attempts he notes:
You can’t accuse the Israelis of not crying wolf. Ehud Barak, now defense minister, said in 1996 that Iran would be producing nuclear weapons by 2004.
Now here comes Netanyahu, in an interview with his faithful stenographer Jeffrey Goldberg of The Atlantic, spinning the latest iteration of Israel’s attempt to frame Iran as some Nazi-like incarnation of evil:
"You don’t want a messianic apocalyptic cult controlling atomic bombs. When the wide-eyed believer gets hold of the reins of power and the weapons of mass death, then the entire world should start worrying, and that is what is happening in Iran."
I must say when I read those words about "the wide-eyed believer" my mind wandered to a recently departed "decider." But I’m not going there.
Little wonder his critics say he crosses the line from reporting to advocacy. But then one has to wonder what kind of person could watch war up close and not advocate for peace?
His reporting from Iran is powerful because of its small picture focus. He is aware of the context and the politics, but his eye is on the people in front of him.
The piece that caught me by surprise is My Name Is Iran.
At the immense opposition demonstration earlier this week, I asked a young woman her name. She said, "My name is Iran."
That is where he begins, then goes on to note:
The regime’s fundamental mistake was to insult the intelligence of Iranians. A proud people, they do not take kindly to being treated as puppet-like fools.
He then goes on to offer a general critique of the "amateurish" nature of the vote-rigging and suggests that Ahmadinejad will ultimately be thrown under the bus.
After the reporters from CNN and other American organizations were forced to leave, he somehow remained. His next piece, City of Whispers, begins very ominously.
This has become the city of whispers. Many of the people I spoke to when I arrived last week are in prison. Stabbings and shootings punctuate the night. Fear rushes down alleys and dead ends. Still the whispering continues.
His eye for detail and his penchant for opinion are clear in his work. He makes no effort to hide it.
The whispering is heard in the throng’s silence. It is the word-of-mouth switching mechanism of Iran’s uprising. I’ve never seen such discipline achieved with so little, millions summoned and coordinated with hardly a sound. "Silence will win against the bullets," says one banner.
The odds must still be against that. But Ahmadinejad, in his customary bipolar (but tending manic) fashion, is making nice. "We like everyone," he now says. I suppose he must mean those who are not in prison, hospital or a cemetery.
Even in the midst of this he does not succumb to the notion of so many op-ed writers, that he is prescient or even that important. He is just a messenger. He knows where the real power lies.
I underestimated how brutal the regime could be. But my critics underestimated how strong and broad the Iran of civic courage and democratic impulse is, and they misread how important this election was, dismissing it as the meaningless exercise of a clerical dictatorship.
I still believe there is no alternative to engagement. But it is not the time for Obama to talk about talks. He should be talking about his outrage at the violence.
This is the city of whispers. Its people crave to know that their hushed voices are being heard. Obama, lover of words, is the message man. "Message received" is what he must convey.
He also knows the stakes and his memory is long.
Obama should think hard about whether this ballot-box putsch is not precisely about giving Ahmadinejad and his military-industrial coterie four more years to usher Iran at least to virtual nuclear-power status. He should also think hard about the differences in character: Ahmadinejad is volatile and headstrong, the interlocutor from hell, while Moussavi is steady and measured.
Shrugging away these distinctions like a dispassionate professor at a time when people are dying in the streets of Iran is no way to honor this phrase in his Inaugural Address: "Know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more."
There is no doubt he is in the thick of it, struggling to report accurately while providing context. At the same time facing the reality unfolding before him with honesty that does not shy away from the passion of human suffering. This all comes clearly into focus with his piece from earlier in the week, Iran's Day of Anquish.
She was in tears like many women on the streets of Iran’s battered capital. "Throw away your pen and paper and come to our aid," she said, pointing to my notebook. "There is no freedom here."
Like everyone he is moved by the prominent role women have played in this drama. Like everyone he is moved by the nights filled with the sound of thousands of voices crying to God from their rooftops. Like everyone he is moved to do what he can to make sure those voices are heard.
A harsh clampdown is underway. It’s unclear how far, and for how long, Iranians can resist.
On Vali Asr, the handsome avenue that was festive until the vote, crowds swarmed as night fell, confronting riot police and tear gas. "Moussavi, Moussavi. Give us back our votes," they chanted.
Majir Mirpour grabbed me. A purple bruise disfigured his arm. He raised his shirt to show a red wound across his back. "They beat me like a pig," he said, breathless. "They beat me as I tried to help a woman in tears. I don’t care about the physical pain. It’s the pain in my heart that hurts."
He looked at me and the rage in his eyes made me want to toss away my notebook.
Fortunately, he has not given in to that urge and continues, against all odds, to report. His most recent piece is A Supreme Leader Loses His Aura As Iranians Flock To The Streets.
Again, he starts in the street
The Iranian police commander, in green uniform, walked up Komak Hospital Alley with arms raised and his small unit at his side. "I swear to God," he shouted at the protesters facing him, "I have children, I have a wife, I don’t want to beat people. Please go home."
A man at my side threw a rock at him. The commander, unflinching, continued to plead. There were chants of "Join us! Join us!" The unit retreated toward Revolution Street, where vast crowds eddied back and forth confronted by baton-wielding Basij militia and black-clad riot police officers on motorbikes.
His grasp of the changing scene around him comes through in his contextualizing of incidents. After discussing the political power struggle and the gamble that may fail, he returns to the scene in front of him.
I don’t know where this uprising is leading. I do know some police units are wavering. That commander talking about his family was not alone. There were other policemen complaining about the unruly Basijis. Some security forces just stood and watched. "All together, all together, don’t be scared," the crowd shouted.
I also know that Iran’s women stand in the vanguard. For days now, I’ve seen them urging less courageous men on. I’ve seen them get beaten and return to the fray. "Why are you sitting there?" one shouted at a couple of men perched on the sidewalk on Saturday. "Get up! Get up!"
It is the connection to the reality of the moment that is a central part of his writing that grips my attention. It is the vividness of the reporting that lends weight to his political opining in my book. He is not hysterical, nor cynical, nor given to polemics. Before the invasion of Iraq we had Salam Pax. After the invasion we had Robert Fisk (h/t to NotGeorgeWill for reminding me). During the Gulf War we had Robert Werman. The lack of such a voice during the Bosnian Conflict made it impossible to put a face on it, and Americans basically ignored it. The truth is Americans can barely follow a game with two teams on the field. Make it a tripartite conflict without a clear voice and you can count on Americans to change the channel faster than you can say "Reality TV". Little wonder there are people still living in refugee camps outside Sarajevo. How terrible a fate, to be forgotten simply because no voice came forward to tell your story.
I have no doubt the Iranians will develop their own voice. This is the culture that gave us Scheherazade and a thousand and one tales. Maybe one will emerge from the noise in Twitter, but I doubt it. Until then, for as long as he is able to operate, I heartily recommend Roger Cohen as part of your rotation. He is more than eyes on the ground. He is a head with a heart and good hands.
Later, as night fell over the tumultuous capital, gunfire could be heard in the distance. And from rooftops across the city, the defiant sound of "Allah-u-Akbar" — "God is Great" — went up yet again, as it has every night since the fraudulent election.
But on Saturday it seemed stronger.