“Imagine, Kim, if the United States made peace with Iran. You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.”
A pretty Iranian teacher chats me up at Ali Qapu Palace in Isfahan. The view of Naqsh-e Jahan Square is killer, a potential Kim’s View. Two days earlier, Iran’s farm team, Hamas, slaughtered thousands of Jewish women and children to start the latest Muslim – Jew shitshow.
“Where are you from?”
“I’m American.”
“Your government caused this war, which side do you support?”
Technically, her government caused this war, too, by supporting Hamas. But I don’t feel like quibbling.
“I support both sides, I support peace.”
My British tour mate sniffs out the incoming tongue lashing and skedaddles. But after a contentious start, my conversation with sensei turns friendly. “I’m a health teacher,” she says. I confess that I’m a poor, old backpacker. She’s on a field trip with her female students. Her Charger-powder-blue overcoat contrasts well with her Raider-black hijab. We yack about Isfahan’s tourist sites and, surprisingly, American politics.
Imagine if we reconcile with Iran, Kim. It sounds crazy, especially now – with the Israel-Hamas war raging – but I’m sick of being spoon-fed anti-Iran propaganda.
“I reject American warmongers we often see on Faux News.”
Iran’s mullahs need to forgive Great Satan’s sins, and the US government needs to forgive Iran for attacking our embassy, forty-four years ago.
The former US embassy in Tehran is now the US Den of Espionage Museum. The outside walls are painted red, white, and blue with scenes of American soldiers chasing children, McDonald’s French Fries filled with barbed wire, Mickey Mouse firing a pistol, and the American eagle clenching bullets and drug syringes.
The “US Den of Espionage” is, well, a den of espionage. It’s embarrassing and humbling to see my government’s tools for spying. I get a good look at Lady Liberty’s skid-marked panties hanging out to dry. It’s clear that Americans were spying on Iranians, and the US government tried to keep douchebag Shah in power. Iran’s Mohammad Reza Shah taught Syria’s Bashar al Assad everything he knows about suppressing dissent and killing peaceful protesters.
“The US government needs less arrogance, and more empathy.”
Our tour group runs into sensei and her students again. We discuss more politics, “Iranians love Trump because he put pressure on the mullahs.” Later, another local confirms that Trump pressured Iran’s religious leaders, but disagrees with sensei, “Iranians do not love Trump.”
I score Kim’s View from Qeysarieh Café at sunset, overlooking families picnicking in Isfahan’s Imam Square. Four hundred years ago, Persian royalty watched chovgan matches here, long before we started calling it polo.
“You graduated in French, Kim, so you can appreciate all the English words that come from Farsi.”
English borrows a ton of words from Farsi, including algebra, bronze, and caviar. But my favorite Farsi word is assassin.
Imagine the shitstorm, Kim, if Iran assassinated an American five-star general – off the battlefield – with a drone strike. The US military “neutralized” Iran’s General Qassim Suleimani, in Iraq, and made him a martyr to many Iranians. I see General Suleimani memorials everywhere, but I also meet Iranians that disagree about his sainthood.
“We don’t think Sulemani is a hero, he murdered women and children in other countries.”
What if Palestine became the world’s newest country? United Nations member one hundred ninety-four. Imagine, Jews and Muslims living side by side. In peace. Then Iranian extremists couldn’t drop a nuclear bomb on Jews – “to protect their country” – because they’d wipe out too many Muslims.
A local entrepreneur chats with our tour group at a rest stop, glancing over his shoulder to see who’s listening.
“Here [in Iran], people report their neighbors [for bad behavior], that’s how this government stays in power.”
“Do they get money [for ratting out their neighbors]?”
“No, they’re just ass kissers.”
Gas in Iran costs $0.07 cents a liter. Seven cents. But many Iranians still struggle to make ends meet.
“US sanctions hurt average Iranians, not the mullahs.”
“Teachers make $300 a month, so even [7] cents is expensive.”
“Do Iranian people get money from the oil?
“No, it [Iran’s oil money] goes to Lebanon and Syria to support terrorists.”
Shiraz is Iran’s artistic and liberal capital. Compared to Tehran, I see more uncovered women. A café owner tells our young waitress to cover her hair and button up her jacket. She puts on her scarf, but after he goes outside to smoke, she protests to her fellow waitress and unbuttons her jacket to show her midriff.
“Iranian women must fight [for freedom] with their family first, not the government.”
“We joke that, ‘If you ever need the police, take off your hijab.’” Near Eram Garden’s entrance, two female morality police wearing black chadors sit at a desk, reminding women to “observe their hijab.” A Chinese tour group stops in front of their desk, yakking loudly as usual. The larger policewoman gets up and shoos them away.
A grubby man wearing puffy laborer pants and sporting a Taliban-chic beard stares at my bird legs in our pitstop bathroom. Without making eye contact, he stares at my bare calves again at the coffee counter. Apparently, home boy didn’t get the infidel memo; short pants are cool for our five-hour bus ride from Yazd to Persepolis. Before we reach Persepolis, I put on my long pants.
Persepolis was the hometown of our planet’s first superpower. China’s Han dynasty fans will beg to differ, I’m sure, but Cyrus the Great quarterbacked Persia to blowout victories over Europeans, Egyptians, and Indians.
“Way before the Steelers, Cowboys, or Patriots, the Persians were the world’s first Super Bowl dynasty.”
I score our second Kim’s View–Iran in Persepolis, at another Persian, hall-of-fame quarterback’s tomb, Darius III.
Dowlat Abad Garden is older than the United States and is home to the world’s tallest badgir windcatcher. Cyrus the Great didn’t just win Super Bowls, he started creating “paradises on earth,” Persia’s famous walled gardens, in the middle of the desert. Paradise is another English word originating from Farsi.
At the base of the world’s baddest badgir, I meet an Iranian man wearing a USA t-shirt that says, “We Want Reconciliation.”
“We need US – Iran reconciliation to grow from nothing, like a Persian Garden.”
Mom and Dad will be a tough sell. Dad keeps asking me, “You’re not going to that country, are you?” I remind him that Iran is indeed a member of the United Nations, and every UN country needs a Kim’s View. The problem is their only news source is Faux News. It’s weird, I love Fox Sports, but I hate Faux News.
Imagine, Kim, if Faux News jumps on our reconciliation bandwagon and starts a special segment called “Making Peace with Iran.” You’re right, when hell freezes over.
I meet kirei sensei for the third time in the Naqsh-e Jahan bazaar – bazaar, you guessed it, another Farsi word – and I ask her to take a photo together. Surprisingly, she agrees. After our photo op, empathy overwhelms me. I offer an old fashioned, Yankee reconciliation handshake.
Bad idea.
“You shake my hand, no good.”
I forget about Muslim, male-female etiquette – no touching, no PDA. Doh! But despite my touchy-feely faux pas, Kim, one of her students blows me a goodbye kiss. KV
Check out our Kim’s View Iran Gallery.
