current | archives | profile | notes | contact | rings | host




The proud Persian meets the dragon's wrath

July 10, 2002 ~ 2:06 p.m.

I learned two things this morning: One of the world�s largest cities can suddenly become such a small world, and that my temper can really end up causing me the most agonizing humiliation.

I was snaking my way through Victoria station, perhaps the most hectic in Britain during the rush-hour peak, strolling way ahead of the slow-pokes as I always do � I�m from Boston, so it naturally follows that I eat, think, talk and walk real fast. Sometimes, you bump people and it�s not deliberate. You just accept it as part of the hustle-and-bustle of city life, and only people who lived in the country all their life would think to take offense.

However, on my way toward the Underground (subway) entrance, I walked directly into someone. It seemed to me that he had placed himself right in my way. The force of impact with him knocked my train pass right from my hand. In panic, before anyone could step on or kick it away, I scooped up my pass and turned on the man, and I was seeing so much red that I did not recognize him. Things get hazy when I�m angered. He held me at arm�s length, as if to restrain me. I couldn�t believe this! This guy wanted a confrontation. I shoved him hard and growled, �what the fuck!�

Then I recognized who it was. A soft, Middle Eastern face smirked apprehensively at me. It was Yousef, one of only two people I used to work the night shift with at the advertising agency. And I was so thankful that I had only shoved him � before the haze cleared, my first instinct was to deck him. While my consciousness was telling me to lay him out and ask questions later, my sub-consciousness was pleading with me, Don�t do it, dragon, keep your cool!

�Rough morning, my friend?� he said in lightly accented English.

I was completely and thoroughly chagrined. I apologized about a hundred times, patted his back in sort of a semi-hug (I have to be seriously drunk before I would fully hug any of my friends), and made small talk with him. �So, what are you doing around here?� I asked dumbly, my face flushed with humiliation, my nerves reeling from the roller-coaster peaks and troughs of adrenaline flow; whereas the adrenaline had been pumping insanely just moments ago, it was now draining away like water down a drain.

If there�s one thing I would change about myself, then this confounded temper of mine would be history.

* * *

Yousef is Iranian, but has been living in England for nearly twenty years. Having originally supported the Islamic revolution that overthrew the Shah in 1978, his eventual disgust with the tyrannical regime of the Ayatollah Khomeini led him to emigrate in the mid-�80s.

Iranians � or Persians, as Yousef prefers to call himself � are proud of their heritage and culture. While Yousef was no fan of the Shah for Westernizing Iran beyond recognition, he did not welcome the theocracy to which Iranian citizens were subjected during the Ayatollah�s reign.

�What we Iranians really want, the majority of us, is a middle ground. The Shah could not ignore and subvert our culture. Persians are too proud. The fact that we overthrew him, you cannot blame us. We want our culture, and we want our religion too,� Yousef explained to me one night. �But we never meant to get that carried away. The Ayatollah � if only we�d known how hard life would get under him, we might not have supported the Revolution. I was lucky to escape. I�m glad to be in England.�

As someone whose experience with Iranians was nil before I moved here, I�m fascinated to have had the chance to get to know one on a friendly level. To hear one speak so honestly about life in Iran. To know that there are others like him, who respect the West and loathe the government that took over their homeland. To have one share his philosophy and inner thoughts to someone like me. In many ways, the man is an unsung hero.

And that�s why this morning was so agonizing for me.

� M.E.M.

[Sign My Guestbook] [View My Guestbook]
Powered by E-Guestbooks Server.

Copyright � 2001-2007 by M.E. Manning. All material is written by me, unless explicitly stated otherwise by use of footnotes or bylines. Do not copy or redistribute without my permission.

Old Cinders | Fresh Fire

AMERICA FOR TRUE AMERICANS!

-