The stage was set. For once in the last 30 years, people in Iran had finally figured out that there was no boogey man. That the fear and intimidation imposed on them by a corrupt and cruel islamic power was based on nothing more than a game of chicken.
They now knew that they were in fact, stronger than militias, stronger than thugs riding two-up on motorcycles, stronger than the emperor and his poorly painted god, and most importantly, that the emperor had no clothes!
The stage was set. Observing, one could almost taste the moment, any moment now, in which an organizer would shout out demands on a bullhorn. Demands for a change in government and a well thought out, reasonable but adamant outright rejection of the grand experiment. Even the color was perfect. Green.
Having gone through the Shah’s White, the Black of Islamic, Green seemed poetic, modern, perfect.The mullah’s, as they always do, had other plans. Plans that needed the slightest respite, the smallest distraction, any distraction, with which to regroup, and reassert their twisted holy mission. Right and wrong, along with the protesters, be damned.
And surely as if commanded by them, via the prayers they foment as the sign of one’s good faith, they feverishly rubbed their beards like genie lamps. And lo and behold, they were granted their wish.
Michael Jackson died.
The greedy speed at which all of the eyes in the world turned to the passing of possibly the world’s greatest entertainer, was much more than a gift. It was almost a sign.
As the cameras of CNN switched from broadcasting introspectives on Neda and the protests, to endless loops of moonwalks, a truly bizarre ranch, and patented gravity defying shoe technology, slowly and surely the mullahs’ plans took form. Revenge, the first and foremost tenet of their perverse brand of islam, was nigh.
First a series of quick sharp threats.Granted, threats were all talk, but a protester who pauses to think about anything let alone consequences, for even a moment, ceases to be effective.
There is a strange beautiful prophesy that chaotic anarchy and disorder can create, in the moment. Stifle the moment, stifle the prophesy. They did, and the movement died.
Here on the outside, where the internet runs free, the next big moment is the too late moment. On July 25, all of us are now supposed to be gathering together all across the world, this time to protest the inauguration of Ahmadinejad. Too late. He’s already President. Besides he’s not really the problem.
You could replace Ahmadinejad today, and tomorrow Moussavi would still be Khamenei’s choice for you. He’d still be a lackey. A cruel giant’s toy, tassed like a meatless bone, to wild animals to gnaw on, as they tussle about the feet of the Supreme Leader, pointlessly.
Let’s face it, there is no hope that overturning the election will solve anything. It isn’t a movement to change, Moussavi isn’t a reformer. it is merely an annoyance to the status quo. Iran is a Religious Monarchy. An all powerful omnipotent, absolute ruler, who selects his successor, and who bases his legitimacy entirely on his position as a (perceived) holy person. And as our monarchs always do, this latest one too has successfully screwed us. Royally. For he has the bulletproof (not literally) conveniently modified in 1989 version, of an amendment-less, constitution, whose final paragraph reads like a knife through the heart, as follows,
“The contents of the articles of the Constitution related to the Islamic character of the political system; the basis of all the rules and regulations according to Islamic criteria; the religious footing; the objectives of the Islamic Republic of Iran; the democratic character of the government; the holy principle; the Imamate of Ummah; and the administration of the affairs of the country based on national referenda, official religion of Iran and the religious school are unalterable.”
That’s right bitch, “…unalterable”. So congratulations. And don’t forget to smile, because it is illegal to change Iran’s constitution. A felony in fact. So putting hope in Moussavi requires him to break the law. And he won’t.
In Iran, oppression is apparently a dish best served with Sholeh Zard.
After the Pahlavis left, after the revolution that was supposed to free Iran, Oops, here we are once again. I don’t know which is worse, an inept cowardly paranoid King like the Shah, or this Holier than Shit version.
This July 25th when we will no doubt come together on the lawns, malls, city centers, and parks of the free part of the world we occupy, and begin all the usual seemingly futile shouting, maybe this time, we should focus and simplify our demands a bit. Instead of asking, Where is my Vote?, maybe we should ask;
What do we want?
Freedom
When do we want it?
Yesterday
And if someone wants to make a sign that uses the MJ moment that says something like, “Hey Mullahs, Beat it!”, or “Billie Jean is not my President!”, or “It don’t matter if you’re Black or Blue”, that would be perfectly fine. I am sure that St. Michael the patron saint of Pop, won’t mind. Plus his lawyers are too busy with the child custody battle to sue for copyright infringement.
But who knows, if we put the right MJ spin on the 25th, CNN might even deem it worthy of that other holiest of anointings, a mention on AC-360!
