After four months of badgering the Islamic Interest Section at the Pakistani Embassy in Washington, D.C., I finally received my Iranian visa in the mail via FedEx a mere two hours before departing for JFK airport in New York City. Since the United States cut off diplomatic relations with Iran after the revolution in 1979, obtaining an Iranian visa is a Sisyphean battle for American citizens. And the U.S. State Department warns that it does not provide "protection or consular services" to Americans traveling in Iran.
Iran is admittedly not a popular destination these days; however, as a Zoroastrian, Persian blood runs deep in my veins. Zoroastrianism is the world's oldest monotheistic religion and originated in what is today called Iran. While Muslims constitute more than 98.5% of the country's total population of 65 million, Christians command a population of 0.7%, Jews 0.3%, Zoroastrians 0.1%, and the followers of other religions 0.1%. My parents are two of the world's remaining 120,000 Zoroastrians and they raised me in the ancient faith. The religion professes that humankind is designed to evolve toward perfection, but is complicated by evil forces such as greed, lust and hatred. These evil forces must be challenged proactively by developing a "good mind" and embracing a life of good thoughts, good words and good deeds.
When we landed in Tehran, the voice of a British Airways stewardess on the intercom reminds passengers to observe Islamic dress code, dispose of alcoholic beverages and refrain from taking photos in the airport. Outside the window are shades of beige, and a military chopper whirs in the background as we descend from the plane. I collect my baggage and notice that the girls in a toothpaste advertisement are covered in Islamic hijab (headscarf). I quickly touch my own head to make sure my scarf is in place. In Zoroastrianism, there are no rules about clothing so I'm unaccustomed to having a thin silk sheet pull back my hair for the benefit of potentially lustful men. How women wear their hijab in Iran is a reflection of their political disposition: liberal women wear it loosely and allow wisps of hair to escape, whereas conservative women wear two or three layers that cover part of their forehead.
Traffic here is lethal and I hear Tehran has one of the highest numbers of pedestrian deaths. The taxi driver jokes over blaring Persian music, "people need to take some strong medicine before attempting to cross the roads!" It worries me that he is simultaneously driving and reading a newspaper, but he seems to navigate the crowds effortlessly. Store signs are in flowery Farsi language script, while men and women bustle across the streets reminding me of New York. Women here are allowed to drive cars but not motorcycles or bicycles. Entrances for the buses are gender-segregated as is restaurant seating.
When I arrive at Ferdowsi Hotel, I am greeted by Priest Firouzgary, the head priest of the Zoroastrian community in Tehran, and a government minder who is mandated to accompany me for the duration of my time in Iran. Firouzgary and I exchange glances but do not recognize each other although we had swapped photos. He later exclaimed, "I thought you were a Persian, not an American!" I remind him that all us Zoroastrians look the same, as the old joke goes. He is a charming man with a wispy mustache and easy laugh. It's true that I am blending in more than I would have expected; everyone here speaks to me in Farsi. It's strange to feel so accepted in a country that seems so foreign. My minder quickly makes it clear that I won't be able to accompany Firouzgary on the meetings he previously arranged for me with members of the Zoroastrian and Jewish communities. "We have an itinerary," said my minder. "It's been approved by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs so we must follow it closely." As an aside he says, "We've had problems in the past with Americans so you must stay with me. You know, they kidnap people like you and throw them in jail." He isn't kidding; four American Iranians were recently held hostage by the Iranian government. I figure a 22-year-old Zoroastrian wouldn't interest the authorities very much so I pay my minder little attention.
I am disappointed that I won't be able to keep the appointments we had arranged over e-mail but am aware of the deep suspicion surrounding my visit since lone Americans are a rare sight here in Iran. Although I am a bona fide Zoroastrian, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs views me as an American citizen who may engage in espionage and therefore warrants constant supervision. I reluctantly say goodbye to Firouzgary after sharing a cup of tea with him in the hotel. I apologize for the change of plans but he doesn't seem too fazed. "I thought this would be the case because the government just says 'yes, yes, you can do everything' but they only want to give you an appearance of freedom.'"
My minder—an inscrutable man in his late 30s who speaks English flawlessly—is also critical of the government, but cautious: As we walk out of the hotel, I ask him if I can meet Firouzgary later in the evening. "You are in Iran and we do things a little different than in the U.S.," said my minder. "I'm sorry but this is the way it is."
We visit the Sa'ad Abad Complex to see the Green and White palaces of the former Pahlavi kings and my minder prattles on about Tehran's history: The word 'Tehran' means 'warm slope' in Farsi; there's 30 percent inflation right now; people don't have enough money so some teachers double as taxi drivers; and, gas is rationed so traffic is less than normal. The opulent palaces are mind-numbing and it's easy to understand why the Iranians resent American support for a monarchy that lived luxuriously while many people were barely surviving.
I tell my minder I'm Zoroastrian and he seems pleased. "Zoroastrians are the true descendants of Persia but most had to leave because of persecution." He added, "Many of the temples and castles still have Zoroastrian motifs because they are well respected here."
My minder proceeds to talk about the snow, the traffic and global warming. "We used to have snow for three months but now we only have it for a week at most." I must look bored because he changes the subject as we walk past a cafe. "You know, our fast food is probably healthier than yours because we don't use much oil," he says. I sigh and meander off in my own direction.
I meet a Sufi, Moji Agha, who tells me that every Iranian has three identities: ancient Persian, Islamic and modern Western. "These three identities are expressed to different degrees." He is also pleased to learn about my Zoroastrian identity. "Of course, Zoroastrianism, like all other religions, has its share of crap." I'm shocked and humored by his candor. On the way back, we pass Tehran University where students convene for prayer atop a blue roof.
I spend the rest of my time in Tehran meeting people at Ferdowsi Hotel with my minder never far way. I speak with Priest Firouzgary again in the hotel atrium and meet two young Zoroastrians as well as one of the priest's friends from India. The meeting is tense and, at one point, Firouzgary's friend says, "We would like to talk more but we're not sure who is listening."
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Anonymous, 2007-08-01 19:57:09 -- Flag for review