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Election

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."

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