Tehran. It is 6.30pm on a Monday night in Tehran. I just returned from work, had some chai, and I am now staring at this glowing computer screen with a Honey Vanilla candle burning in front of me and a beautiful album of Shirazi folkloric music playing in the background, which I acquired on my recent trip to that poetic city hoping the energetic melody of these women's voices allows me to correctly articulate the sounds, smells, experiences, and emotions of the past few weeks. 

There is the constant soothing sound of water flowing in the joobs of Tehran watering the greenery that Iranians are adamant on keeping despite the growing concrete of this city. The smog makes breathing difficult, but the city is determined to keep oxygen flowing through its many street-side trees and its amazing parks. In this urban environment, the idea of the Persian garden does not fade. Though concrete
structures have reached a point where they threaten your view of the magnificent mountains of Tehran, the country continues to invest feverishly into the beautiful parks of each of its cities. In this hostile environment where water can be hard to find, the greenery that surrounds you is a testament to Iranians love of the outdoors. And, as I walk through the side streets to reach my house with my cousins at 2am after a late party, a beautiful smell demands my silence and full attention. The watering truck just passed through the street, spraying water on all the trees. These perfume makers, disguised as late night workers, bless all the residents with a sweet sleep potion as the beautiful mixture of tree, dust, and nighttime air allows the residents to dream in this magical aroma, and awaken, refreshed for a new morning. It is the smell of a city asleep and calmly ready to bear the night and give birth to the morning. And as this smell intoxicates me in my steps, the perfume makers ride on to other neighborhoods, gifting them with this natural perfume like a Santa Claus.

The demonstration. On a Monday two weeks ago at the University of Tehran, it was Freedom of Expression and Thought Day. It marked the anniversary of the jailing of the university professor Hashem Aghajari, a historian, who gave a lecture two years ago urging Iranians not to act like monkeys in their religious practices (i.e., to not listen to the dictates of the government), but to seek religion individually. Aghajari was jailed and sentenced to death shortly after, which caused a series of protests by students in December 2002.  He was subsequently released from jail by the Supreme Leader of the country, given the popularity he accrued upon his arrest. So, on this day, the Islamic Students Association, a prominent student group in the University which widely supports the reformist movement, invited Aghajari to lecture at the Faculty of Engineering. Not
only was this the first time since his release that Aghajari would be lecturing at a university, but it also coincided with the recent attack by hardliners on the chancellor of the University of Science and Technology the previous weekend. Students, angry by the recent attack on a university, were ready to make the Aghajari lecture a manifestation of their refusal to bow down to conservative pressures. 

Security was intense as I walked into a noisy and packed Chamran Auditorium. The energy was overwhelming as students sang revolutionary songs and clapped in rhythm. There was a determined feel to the air, a feel of urgency, of fear, of defiance.  Everyone knew there was the possibility of this meeting being broken up by
hardliners, but that made the students even more resolute. There was no room left as I walked into the auditorium, and I had to squeeze my way to the side stairwell, finally finding a few inches where I could plop down along with the hundreds of other students who blocked the stairways of the auditorium. As usual, the event started much later than announced, but every time students would get restless, a new song was put on the loudspeaker, and soon enough, everyone joined in singing the revolutionary song and clapping in beat. 

Before Aghajari himself came on stage, numerous leaders from the various branches of the Islamic Students Association took the mic and they were amazingly outspoken. All of these students spoke of the need for drastic reforms in the country, but it wasn't really what they were saying that was amazing, but the words they used and the manner in which they expressed themselves that demonstrated urgency and screamed enough is enough.  Each speaker, except for one, had shaking hands and wavering voices as he took the podium knowing that his speech was a risky move, given the current state of the regime in which the conservatives have regained power. But, as soon as he started talking and admonishing the government, the outbursts of clapping which emanated from his classmates hands reassured him, and his speech lost its waver and gained its confidence. These speakers called out the government on its lie as fronting as an Islamic Republic, when it is neither truly Islamic nor a Republic; each speaker denounced the attack on the chancellor of the University of Science and Technology, saying that this regime has turned the universities into jails and the jails into universities. They warned of the comeback of the conservatives into power and called on the students to continue their fight. 

The professor. Soon after, Aghajari began to speak. He attempted to reinterpret the Quran to prove that the current reading of it by the regime is incorrect, and that Islam allows for freedom of expression and thought. As his long speech took twists and turns and finally culminated two hours later, I couldn't help but think that Aghajari is only a piece of the puzzle, and it's only when these students in the auditorium take power in the inevitable generational overturn that Iranian politics is bound to reform. The statements by the students who spoke prior to Aghajari could not be compared to the speech made by the arrested professor. Aghajari's speech was cautious and limited; his predecessors were bold and relentless. Some of it is probably due to youthful energy and idealism, but more than that, it is the context of the demands that differ in this generation, the children of the Islamic Republic, who will eventually reform, if not slowly break the back, of this system. 

And, as I sat there observing the scenes in front of me, I couldn't help but notice that the students who clapped the loudest and most energetically were the young women in chadors (who were in the minority among the female students, who mostly go to the universities in either maghnamehs or increasingly, loose roosaris).  It reaffirmed my belief of the danger of looking at Iran with closed eyes, or even half-opened eyes, without understanding the complexities of this society. To many, these chadori students signify oppression, silence, backwardness. But, once they open their mouths, their demands for reform often ring louder than any other sector. Outward appearances are rarely a mirror into the mind or soul, especially in this society. 

It is for this reason that I got into a confrontation with an Italian television crew that was at the University last week making a documentary on contemporary Iran. They came into our Islamic Political Thought classroom, taught by an intelligent and reform-minded cleric. The cameraman hoisted his heavy instrument on his shoulder and began shooting automatically. I kept wondering if he understood the weight and responsibility of that great weapon of communication which he handled with such expertise. Did he understand the responsibility of adequately representing one of the most misrepresented countries in the world to a Western audience? Especially in this political climate, at this specific time? 

No, not in my opinion. He moved around the classroom with such ease, pushing his lens wherever he saw fit, violating the rhythm of the classroom. The more he moved about, the more agitated I became.  He continually focused his lens on our professor, not understanding a word of his complicated and intelligent lecture on Islamic philosophy; all he cared to portray was that university classes are taught by clerics (a false portrayal, because in actuality, our professor is among only two clerics who teaches at our Faculty). He continued moving about the classroom, but he only filmed chadori women and bearded young men - both groups among the minority in our big class. The cameraman did not bother to film the rest of the class, who neither had beards nor chadors - the majority did not matter to him, as he was only concerned about the images that the Western world mostly associates with Iran, that of chador-clad women and bearded men. He didn't bother talking to any of the students he chose to use as puppets to further the one-sided and incorrect view of his audience. I couldn't help but confront him and his crew and express how unfair I thought his selectivism is as he chooses to ignore the multi-faceted society of Iran and instead further perpetuate stereotypes to an uninformed audience.    

I wish this group would choose to portray the staff at Sharq newspaper, for instance (one of the most popular and reformist newspapers in Iran today) which I visited with and met the staff today. This comprehensive newspaper is put together by a team of extremely young journalists, most under the age of 35, who are busy providing critical journalism while walking the fine line of politics in Iran. For, despite the challenges that remain in this society, it is one that is in constant movement, and that movement is a conscious one on the part of its population. It is not the static, helpless society that Western media portrays, or that Iranian expatriate satellite television likes to declare, in their condescending language. This is not a nation of weak, helpless individuals who are waiting for us (insert: the U.S., or Iranian exile groups who are out of touch with this society's reality, or the free Western world, or any other group/nation who makes such patronizing claims) to free them and set them on the right path. This is a country in movement which is slowly evolving and defining itself 25 years after its Revolution.  There are not clear cut lines of Islam, culture, tradition, right, wrong - it is a complex society where human beings reside and live, like any other. But, this simple concept is becoming increasingly harder to get across as Western media portrays the Middle East or islamic world (as if one such homogenous entity exists) as a region devoid of humanity and normalcy.   

And, as I think of the life and humanity in this amazing society, I can hear the sound of music outside my window which squeezes its way out of old accordions and out-of-tune violins played by men and boys from the many colorful provinces of Iran. These impromptu musicians tour the vast neighborhoods of Tehran with their mobile concerts playing folkloric music in the hope that the melody of their songs will elicit forgotten times from the dusty corners of the now-urbanized memory of established Tehranis, and lead them to reach into their pockets. As this oddly beautiful song continues, my belief that we need to challenge the simplistic views imposed on us by the media and our governments, especially today, is further solidified.