Watching the West

While some of the most important topics of debate among the Iranian net addicts, and the blogsphere, seem to be about democracy (where it is not about treason and conspiracy) the real changes are taking place not among the Iranians, or in Iran, but in Turkey and in parts of the Arab world. Unfortunately, we as Iranians, did our bit a while ago, and Khomeini was just ready enough to decapitate whatever intelligentsia was truly, excitingly, capable of having any seriously positive effect on the Iranian community probably for more than a couple of generations. And Khomeini's acts are still shadowing the opportunities that the Iranian community can take>>>

هزارتوی شرقی

نویسنده ی شرقی همچون مادر نقال خود "شهرزاد"، دروغ می گوید، چرا که دروغ تنها واقعیت قابل پذیرش درجوامع بسته است. در اینجا(خاورمیانه) مجاز نیستی خود را برهنه کنی و رازهایت را بر آفتاب بیافکنی. باید از آن "خودی" بگویی که نیستی. باید از ناممکن ها، از خیال، از "ای کاش"ها بگویی. گفتن از آنچه می خواهی باشی، بیشتر به آرزویی محال می ماند. روی زمین ارزوها ملموس اند و گفتن از آرزوهای دست یافتنی (از امروز و فردا)، خطرناک است، چون "آنها" نباید بشنوند یا بدانند تو از کدام محله یا خانه صحبت می کنی! "آنها" کیستند؟ به راستی نمی دانیم! تنها می دانیم که "آنها" هستند! در جایی وجود دارند و "نامحرم" اند. مخاطب(خواننده)، خود روشن می کند که از خودی هاست، یا از "نامحرمان". نویسنده ی شرقی برای "خودی ها" قصه می گوید و این "خودی ها" خود را در آینه ی اثار او باز می یابند.>>>

هياهوئی برای هيچ

اگر نگاهی به کره زمين بيافکنيم می بينيم که، با يک تقريب نود درصدی، اعضاء جنبش غيرمتعهد همان کشورهائی هستند که در مجموعهء ديگری به نام «جهان سوم» هم جمع بندی می شوند و نام ديگرشان چيزهائی همچون «عقب مانده»، «توسعه نيافته»، و «در حال توسعه» است؛ کشورهائی با توليد ناخالص اندک، رانت خواری شديد، حاکميت های استبدادی و ايدئولوژی زده، و ديوانسالاری های سراپا غرقه در فساد. و درست همين دولت ها هستند که بی اتکاء به انتخابات دموکراتيک و صرفاً از طريق اعمال زور و سرکوب بقدرت رسيده اند و همگی در سراسر نيم قرن گذشته بصورتی پنهانی و نامشروع و ضد ملی به قدرت های بزرگ دوران خود وابسته بوده اند. >>>

Mission possible

The war between the United States and Iran is on. American taxpayer dollars are being used, with the permission of Congress, to fund activities that result in Iranians being killed and wounded, and Iranian property destroyed. This wanton violation of a nation's sovereignty would not be tolerated if the tables were turned and Americans were being subjected to Iranian-funded covert actions that took the lives of Americans, on American soil, and destroyed American property and livelihood. Many Americans remain unaware of what is transpiring abroad in their name. Many of those who are cognizant of these activities are supportive of them>>>

Time's up

Negotiations over the future role and status of America’s armed forces in Iraq have been underway for some time, while any sign of agreement between the respective parties appears inconclusive and highly precarious. With the July 31st deadline already passed, the ongoing dispute over the Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) shows little sign of resolution. The Bush administration has been somewhat desperate to push the measure through and establish a legal framework for the continued presence of US forces in Iraq since the UN Security Council mandate is due to expire this December>>>

Glowing ever so brightly

On our 3rd day in Tehran, we visited a couple of museums and then went to the House Of Artists. On our way back, we were passing through Fakhrabad, one of the old neighborhoods in central Tehran, when my niece pointed at a glass gallery. The contrast couldn't have been more. In the middle of all these narrow and car packed streets, and among all these shops, there it was a small and beautiful gallery glowing ever so brightly! Since we were tired, we decided to visit the next night. On Wednesday night, we headed for Fakhrabad again. We parked the car a block away and walked to the gallery >>>

My Heart Knows Best

To my battered heart
By the thought of a new love
I keep screaming … ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!!!
But my heart shrugs it off, as if HE is the one in charge!
While the shadow of her smile
still covers the rays of my sun
While the sound of her name
still rings into my ears >>>

هيچ معجزه ای نيست!

هنوز نمی دانند
قهرمانان بازاری اند
پيامبران فرسوده
هيچ معجزه ای نيست
مگر عشق
ـ همان حيات هوشمندی که
تنها در سياره های زنده نفس می کشد،
از فرمان خدايان سر می پيچد،
و بر تن سيب بوسه می زند. >>>

Something missing

Today and about three weeks after the conference, I am sitting here going through my notes and reading some reports of the conference, thinking something is missing. I see an empty space for a critical review of this lively and interactive conference, the 19th IWSF conference; a review which doesn’t lack the essence of critical thinking: a review that not only praises the strengths of this conference but also points out the ways to improve weaknesses for the future conferences. As a member of the audience, I was not drained of my previous education, studies and personal beliefs and biases >>>

In the comfort of New York strangers

The guy was Arnold Schwarzeneger look-alike, all muscles and towering over me, obviously a red neck who wasn’t used to dealing with a Spanish detective before. “Sit down, will you?” I ordered and he obeyed, casting a half-inquisitive, half-demeaning stare at me. I pulled a chair and sat across the table in the interrogation room staring back at him until he buckled. “So what’s your question?” ”Why did you have to kill him?” I asked. He laughed and said, “what the hell was I supposed to do, invite him to dinner, Mr. burglar?” >>>

Unspeakable

Flies and mosquitoes. An eagle flies above the trees, above the lake, above the sandy road, above the tent. I zip up the little window. The tent is hot and humid. My right hand is swollen. It’s 3 PM by Sucshahaungxuiamaulta lake. The wind is going to blow tonight. We have already burnt all the wood and all the marshmallows. But it doesn’t matter since tonight it’s going to be too hot for sitting around a fire.
“Too hot,” I say. “I’m dying.”
“Wait till the night,” Q says. >>>

استخاره

نوش آفرین بیحال روی تشک افتاده بود و ناله میکرد. رقیه سادات قابله کنارش روی زمین چمباتمه زده بود و هاج و واج به او خیره مانده بود. پیش پای نوش آفرین، روی تشک، یک نوزاد قنداق شده از ته حنجره فریاد می‌کشید. شو هر، برادر، و پدر نوش آفرین بیرون، پشت در اتاق گلی ایستاده بودند. نوش آفرین دو قلو حامله بود ولی‌ بچه دومی بیرون نیامده بود. فقط یک دست کوچک، از آرنج به پایین،دیده میشد. رقیه سادات میدانست که بچه به آین طریق خارج نخواهد شد و مانده بود چکار کند. بعد از گذشت مدتی صدای شوهر نوش آفرین، که دیگر طاقتش به سر رسیده بود، از پشت در آمد که "ننه علی‌، چی‌ شد، چه خبره؟" >>>