Evil in Jitters
A natural yearning for freedom
and justice in the Middle East is (thanks to the United States of
America) turning to impatience
February 19, 2005
My mentor, Ulrich Von der Shtrapp, has always given me the best advice. He said, "Shtrubbel
Cack-zee Voorde Poop."
Concepts were his trade ("Ayy-emm-e-koncepchul-thinkka," he
once said, firmly grabbing and shaking me until I almost had a
brain haemorrhage). When I failed to gain admission to Cambridge
University (the admissions tutor writing that I was "an uncommonly
shallow young man"), I wept and I raged, but Ulrich counselled, "Kek-fe-Khshtruuble
van Gangen Klump."
Would that he were here now, to advise me not to get "mad" when
reading the opinions of Lawrence
Ershaghi - do you mind
if I call you Larry? Larry Ershaghi -- Larry "Are-You-For-Real?" Ershaghi,
an authentic Persian nationalist, concerned patriot, and friend
of the people, currently forced to live in that dreadful United
States, with its appalling universities, its alleged "rights
and freedoms," cinemas, restaurants, and a piffling multi-billion-dollar
economy that turns decent, idle people into "job-slaves." Is
it any wonder desperate people risk their lives to cross into Mexico?
Who are the beastly people forcing you to waste your precious
life in the States, when you could have spent quality time - indeed
your entire youth - strolling in the Park-e Mellat, admiring large
bill-board portraits of Khalid Islambuli, or dreaming the days
away at a marvellous desk job in the ministry of marvels in Tehran
("Aqayeh Doktor Ershaghi, befarmayid daftar-e
Herasat Haj Aqa karetun darand... naaa chizi nist, tou oun form
chand ta so'al raje'be kharej hast keh
por nakardin, ba ki raft-o-aamad mikardin
farda bare-bacheha-ye hefazati chand daqiqeh sohbat dashtand
zemnan, natarsid e'dam nemishid, he, he, he, he.. ajaab.. khob
amri, farmeyeshi?" -- my, my, what wonderful colleagues
you would have, observing you all day, every day, hanging onto
every word, registering your little opinions for later reference,
Larry, I know you won't let a little thing like parental hysteria
- or tremendous personal inconvenience -- prevent you from returning
to Iran, to serve your country and admire its lofty values (like,
erm, compulsively cheating and lying, or, erm, making a mockery
of religion): hence your one-way ticket to Tehran -- if only to
counter wild accusations of hypocrisy, say, by crazy neo-con monarchists
who care nothing for Iran (how could they, many live in AMERICA).
Soon, I shall do my bit to make the world a better place, Inshallah.
I hope to provide our Iranian readers with a list of key cafés
in Madrid: locations, prices, their newspapers (two have the Herald
Tribune), comparative coffee-cake-croissants charts, service: sharp,
focused, "ticker-tape" information, bam, bam, bam.. That
is the whole point of the Internet: to circulate useful, constructive
information: not crowd the airwaves with frivolous articles that
say nothing and anything, with a few obscenities thrown in.
But I wish to discuss an important issue now, the news. The news
is good. Like good storytelling, it condenses an immense, disparate
set of experiences into an essential thread. And like any engaging
tale, it triggers tension, anxiety or excitement. For days now,
I have followed the narrative of the assassination of Rafiq Hariri,
and subsequent recriminations, Syrian denials (criminals never
lie, Larry, only Republican administrations), and the simmering
wrath of the Lebanese at Syria's depressing presence in their country.
The gist of the story is: a natural yearning for freedom and
justice in the Middle East is (thanks to the United States of
turning to impatience - and some evil folk are getting jittery.
The writing is on the wall for Middle Eastern fascism and the
ghastly ideologies of the 20th century: Mene Mene Tekel Upharsin,
Desirous of contributing to this historical process, I solemnly
say to Bashar al-Assad and, generally, the Syrian government: "K*ndeh
boro b*deh be oun milisha-t..."
Ooh I say, I think the lines got mixed up.
My, my, as I was saying, ladies, when planting begonias, try
not to tuck them too firmly into the soil: they wilt. Let them
breath, give them space, and, if you can, hum a tune when sprinkling
twice a week, no more. My pioneer friend Ulbricht de Zloty used
to sing a song when planting daffodils, you know the one: "Uzh-puzh
Frishta kishta Shtvuul-shtrunk - hozh fizsh truka-frucka shtaan
klunck.." (Push comrades, push them bulbs into the mud like
the heads of the bourgeoisie -- Push them till your teeth go "Clunk.")