 I
voted. In Los Angeles.
Yes I did it. I voted because
I believe participation in our future and our politics is what
my country and my people
need the most at this time
Pedram Missaghi
June 20, 2005
iranian.com
I am an Iranian-American.
And I voted Friday in the Iranian presidential elections.
I returned from one of the polling stations in Los Angeles.
Even though I am glad I participated, it was one
of the most difficult and discomforting experiences of my life.
My family and I left Iran when
I was only 15-years old. I have lived in California for the past 16 years of
my life, living a typical American life: High school prom, college parties, exchange
program to Europe, independence at the age of 21, movies, July 4th picnics, etc.
During all this time tough, I have
always retained my Iranian identity.
I converse in Farsi at home, read my Iranian.com
and BBC Persian on a daily basis, listen to Persian music from
both inside and
outside of Iran, follow Iranian
cinema, follow the daily lives of my friends by reading their blogs. I even
work in an Iranian owned company. I would like to think, I am very much up-to-date
with the current events of my country of birth.
For those reasons
I felt it was a
patriotic duty of mine to vote in the elections. I had voted in last year's
U.S. Presidential elections, and wanted to experience the same
joy I felt when I voted for my favorite candidate. I have
lived in
a democratic country and would love to be part of a movement that will eventually
bring freedom and democracy to my
motherland.
But what I experienced Friday was far from my
expectations.
As I drove into the driveway of the Commerce Hotel in East Los
Angles, I was confronted by a group of 5-10 Iranians who were demonstrating
in front of the
hotel drive way. They were stopped by the police and the fire department
truck was standing near by in the parking lot. The men and women
had covered themselves
with the Iranian Lion-and-Sun flag and holding signs that read "FREE IRAN",
"NO TO
ISLAMIC REPUBLIC".
A fat policeman was pushing them back, asking them not
to get close to the lobby. A lady in her late 40s was pepper
sprayed and
was screaming in pain,
crying loudly
and shouting "Please don't vote". Some people, including the
hotel management were trying to help her wash her eyes. but it was of no
use. She was in extreme
pain... Americans were stunned and were all wondering what was going
on.
IRI officials were so afraid of protests that they had not released the
address of the polling stations in Los Angeles until early Friday morning. They
did not
even
dare
hold the elections in heavily Iranian-populated areas such as West Los Angeles,
or
in
the
Valley,
knowing
very
well
the polling station would be smashed.
So
they
chose to set up a polling station at a
remote location in an industrial part of Los Angeles, next to a dirty Casino.
I kept wondering who the hell would even bother to drive this far
to vote on a work day? The only reason why I was
able to make it
was due to the fact that I worked just 10 minutes away.
Not many
Iranians live, shop or work in this part of town.
 As I walked past the crowd and
made my way into the 2nd floor of the hotel I started doubting my actions again.
Should
I vote? I asked that question
from myself many times in the past few weeks. Do I follow heroes like Akbar Ganji
and student organizations like Tahkim-e Vahdat, and boycott the elections, or
do I join the young and the hopeful in Iran, pushing for yet more reforms in
my motherland?
As I entered the small, dirty banquet room on the 2nd floor, I
was greeted by a badly made-up lady with a moustache, wearing an ugly blue
scarf. The room was completely empty. There was no one there. No
one.
I was
the only person voting.
I took out my brown shenasnameh -- Iranian birth certificate -- and looked
at it one more time. It was only this morning that I had noticed
my
new birth certificate
only
has
my
birth date in Iranian
solar and the Islamic lunar calendars. No mention of the Western calendar;
as if we are not
part of the international community.
I kept staring at my birth certificate having an
argument with myself. "Am I endorsing this government by voting for the
reformist candidate?" "Will he be able to do anything beyond what
Khatami did for us?" " Am I not going against all those people who
I admire
by voting in this election?" The people behind the desks looked at me in a strange
way. Having taken a lunch break from work I had walked in there with a business
suit
and tie, clashing with everything and everyone in that room. I wanted to turn
around and leave. Aside from my internal conflict, the crying lady outside reminded
me of those Iranian brothers and sisters of mine who had lost family members
to this regime. Their words outside, begging me not to vote made me sweat
with embarrassment. What was I supposed
to do?
I wrote Dr. Moin's name on the blue paper, and looked at the white box
in the corner of the room... my hands
were trembling.
It was a hard decision, but I voted anyway. Yes I did it. I voted because I believe
participation in our future and our politics is what my country and my people
need the most at this time. I wish this regime was not ruling our country, but
I don't want to live in a dream like those guys who run the Los Angeles
based 24 hour Iranian TV stations. I got my reality check when I sent my green
covered Lion-and-Sun birth certificate to the Iranian Interests Section in
Washington for renewal and got the new brown-covered one back, reminding me
the beautiful
old days were
long gone.
 As I left the hotel, I saw the
crowd still shouting there. More policemen had arrived and they were putting
an old man who was also pepper sprayed in an ambulance.
On the other side of the crowd, under the burning sun, there was an old Iranian
lady sitting on a wheelchair. In her old, frail hands, she was holding a sign
reading "NO TO ISLAMIC REPUBLIC".
That's all I needed to break down. I wanted to go over and kiss her hands.
Seeing her old, fragile hands holding that sign in the summer heat filled my
eyes with tears. What had I done?
In my car while listening to Marjan singing "Ey
Vatan", I started having a conversation with our future would-be president.
I imagined myself standing in front of him the day after his victory telling
him "Dr. Moin... Shame on you if you do not deliver on the promises
you made to our people during your campaign days. Shame on you if you take advantage
of our good
faith in you... I turned my back to those people, to that old lady on the
wheelchair who could be my grand
mother, and voted for you today... I will never forgive you if you dishonor me
in eyes of that poor old woman ... Never."
|
I
voted. In Los Angeles.
