The Green Party

As the rainy season comes drizzling into Southern California I wonder what happened to the summer of 09 for us Iranian Americans. It feels that the elections in Iran that swept our emotions away like a cheesy but catchy pop song were both yesterday and some long time ago in our fading memories.

Days before the September elections I emailed my cousin and he told me the streets were packed, the youth were already celebrating, and that the green movement felt more like a revolution than a partisan movement. And just as quickly as Mousavi captured the Iranian psyche with promises to open the economy, establish better relations with the West, and relax mandated social restrictions, Khameini slapped reality back into the faces of Reformers and their like. It was a cold blow no doubt. It was a reminder to a newer more hopeful generation that the old Iranian birth-given cynicism that all decisions are made behind the scenes is actually the most reliable postulate to live ones life by.

It did not take long for youth of Iran to take their anger out on the streets, and the youth here in America, for the first time, found something to support back home. Instead of hiding from an embarrassing president, we celebrated our defiant generation back home. We called them brothers and sisters. We felt united and it was us who took to the streets here, though the irony was clear from day one. While back home they were met with batons and guns, the most violence we witnessed here was mostly when Shah supporters and green movement supporters engaged in chest beating shoving matches. The message was simple, even in freedom we cannot exist peacefully, one side has to be wrong and one side has to be right.

We did not stop going to the protests however. After all, how could we? We were angry too and we had to do something, however useless it may have ultimately been. Also, if anything, we knew we’d run into old friends and exchange phone numbers and facebook accounts. As one friend who refused to go to the protests said to me, ‘I’m not going to a protest where in between chanting ‘Death to the dictator’ they’re making plans about which nightclub to go to.’ And I couldn’t blame him. The green movement in Iran was becoming a green dance party in America. Facebook accounts were changed to ‘Irani’ and ‘Azadi,’ and every five minutes someone was posting the latest CNN article update about Iran. It was a frenzy for us Iranian Americans and we let our emotions carry us through these disturbing times as videos of young Iranians being killed popped up on our internet screens. Then Michael Jackson took into his bloodstream one too many drips of pain killers.

Some of us stayed faithful to the green movement while the rest of us changed our profile pictures on facebook to honor the King of Pop. And instead of protests we attended Jackson memorials. We were united again, somewhat, but this time behind a talented musician who played part time pedophile. And it’s not entirely our fault. The green movement was a powerful spark of righteousness (supposedly) and comparisons to Eastern European color revolutions were inescapable. But the leaders of the movement were not fighting foreigners, as in the Eastern Europeans, and in the end, whether mercy or practicality prevailed, the green movement leaders took a softer stance as the death toll rose. They fought and those that could, ran away.

Sitting in my house on this rainy October day getting nostalgic about the emotionally tumultuous summer of 09 I cannot help but be bitter. Not for us who forgot about the green movement as quickly as we heard about it, but for the millions strong who thought their vote meant something. Who thought that by taking to the streets their voices would be heard, that cooler heads would prevail once the powers of the country had seen what they had done. I haven’t even bothered emailing my cousin since just before the elections. I have no words to soothe his emotions. I can now only passively sit back and be cautiously hopeful that Obama appears to be taking a rational approach about all that is going on in Iran, and endlessly grateful that this didn’t happen under the presidency of George ‘The Destroyer’ Bush.

My issue with racism in Entourage

Sunday’s Entourage has got me wondering about where I draw the line on racist jokes. The episode opens with three Israelis joking about one Palestinian girl asking another Palestinian girl if her ass looks big with a bomb attached to it. The creators went so far as to subtitle this joke that is never mentioned again or brought back in any relevant, or even irrelevant, way again. I can only assume it was put in this episode to show that the guards protecting the main character are Israeli and they probably dislike Palestinian girls, if anything at least from an aesthetic viewpoint. Why they went this far to show this I don’t know. Though this joke may be big in Israel, or maybe just among the writers of Entourage, I decided that due to that tasteless joke, coupled with this season’s less than impressive, already been there done that writing, it was time to give up on this show that for the past several years, if nothing else, has delivered on a few good laughs.

Here is my dilemma: had this season been up to my standards, as far as funny was concerned, would I have given up on the show? Would my cultural sensitivities have barred me from a show that gave me joy and pleasure? Entourage is to young men what Sex and the City is to women, a show based on the hyper-reality of a privileged few whose lives resemble people we’d either like to be or people we’d like to know. Everyone has a Carrie or a Turtle in their life, but only to a point. These characters are more caricature than character. What keeps us watching is not its strict adherence to reality though, but exactly the opposite. It is that we can escape into the lives of these caricatures for 30 minutes as they remind us of fantasy lives we would have liked to live, if only for a brief moment of our lives. They are undemanding shows for an audience that demands to get away from the day to day demands of life, and we all know this and we are grateful for it.

But when this show stops serving its purpose, when the story line falls flat, when the writers and creators seem bored or uninterested in making us laugh, when they rehash old jokes or old subplots for the tenth time, then, at this point, do more secondary concerns, like cultural sensitivities, become the deciding factor as to whether or not we stay on as a devoted audience member? I have to confess that I continue to listen to the Adam Carolla podcast even though I find his Muslim bashing unfunny and filled with more ignorance than insight. But his show is more often than not, funny, intelligent and illuminating. His format is unique in radio, or that is podcasts, and there are few that can dissect the entertainment world with as much wit and insight as him. So I continue to be a loyal listener, willfully ignoring what is most probably his strong dislike of Muslims and their (my) religion.

So where do I draw line? I don’t know. Up to now, I have never asked myself if Asians found Ari’s racist jokes towards Floyd (his Asian assistant) insensitive? And even if Asians were upset by him would I have cared? Would I have stopped watching a show for a joke aimed at another group? Truthfully, probably not. I certainly found Ari’s gay jokes aimed at Floyd funny. At least the first several times I did, and I must admit that even when these jokes stopped being funny I continued to watch, hoping there would be a worthwhile story line, or funny joke around the corner. And here is the distinction I use to justify my tolerance for jokes aimed at others: I’d say you guys are getting roles and playing yourselves. I’d say every time you are mentioned or shown the worst part of your culture is not the first, the last, and the only thing mentioned. I’d say cast us in these shows and I’ll send you Muslim jokes free of charge. I’d say mention us without mentioning terrorism just once and see if you can do it. And I use this justification but it has never consciously occurred to me before this episode why I feel it is okay to draw that line.

I don’t know if any of this makes it wrong or right. And I hope I am not somehow calling for a form of censorship. Economic censorship, self censorship, sensitive political, religious, or racial censorship for certain groups is definitely part of the culture here in America, and with good reason. Michael Richards screaming n***er at a heckler should not be tolerated by club promoters, period. But there is a line. Black comedians can use that word, I feel. A racist in a movie can use that word, I feel. The hero of a movie should not use that word, unless he is redeemed at the end perhaps (though this conjures every typical Hollywood happing ending with a moral lesson sprinkled on top). But if the hero does use this word without consequence should we, should I, support this with my time and money? I don’t know. I would like to say I hope not. I would also like to say that I have found the line. But I have not. I guess all that I can say with any level of certainty is that if you are going to make jokes aimed me or my group, you better have a damn good show, otherwise, it may be the straw that breaks this camel’s back.

Poem about Reformers by Arash Kamangeer

Oh, you Reformers of Persia
Who call the youth to the streets,
Where are your children tonight
As you plot behind the scenes?

How much blood will spill
As you fight for Persia’s soil?
How long should they chant
Before you take Persia’s oil?

Don’t be fooled, you Reformers
The slogans are nothing new
They’ve been aimed at others
And one day they’ll be aimed at you.

You promised great changes
As you schemed for Persia’s mantle
But you too may steal
Everything you can handle.

Then one day you too will feel
The rage of the oppressed.
Remember, it’s not you who the youth supports
It’s who they’re against.

So be cautious, you Reformers
When you incite the young.
They’re tongue may lash at you too
When all is said and done.