Shades of Grey

While travelling across India and Iran I have been trying to observe the life, history and politics of both countries from the perspective of locals, partly from a desire to understand their cultures as they relate to long stories of struggle and national identity, and partly to give myself a better perspective on the life experience of being born in Australia – a new nation, yet one with opportunity to develop in many exciting directions. So far while learning, meeting people and asking questions, the dominant theme of my thoughts has been the tension within Iran and India between traditional cultures and the pull of globally accessible information about modernity and consumerism in the West. This is particularly felt by Iranian young people living in cramped, repressive situations, but it also expresses itself in the rise of the ambitious and modern Indian middle class, something which seems incongruous or unfair in a country where traditions and also poverty are so vividly visible in daily life. What does the desire for a ‘Western’ lifestyle imply about how our media has created images of boundless wealth and freedom available for all? Is this image sustainable? Is it real? These are questions for a Western audience, but what I wish to describe is the impact that these ideological ideas of the West have in Iran, a country which has recorded a “brain – drain” of up to 150, 000 highly educated emigrants per year leaving the country for a better life. What is it that drives them away? What is it that pulls them in? And is the idea of western democratic capitalism really the best model?

Tension between tradition and the West can express itself in startling ways. Two weeks ago in Shiraz, I experienced the most humorously incongruous situation of my trip so far. During the afternoon I met up with a friend made over the networking website Couchsurfing. I’ll call him Reza. Reza took me around Shiraz, then back to his family home for dinner, and then suggested that we visit his friend Ali, who he furtively explained had some illegal alcohol that he’d like to share with us. Now as Iran is an Islamic Republic, any form of intoxication is prohibited by law. But drinking bootleg liquor is an Australian, nay a human tradition – so I figured that I’d better go along for the ride.

Ali, as he explained when we met him some 20 minutes later, was a proud atheist. His hero was Richard Dawkins, and he reserved his disgust for Arabs and Islam. When I foolishly asked if that was a picture of the Imam Hossein on his zippo lighter[1], he laughed out loud and shouted “Fuck Imam Hossein!” In Iran, that’s probably enough to get you killed. Let alone the solid litre bottle of Ballentines Scottish Whiskey in his hand. The drinks and conversation flowed freely from there. Ali’s brother Mohammed joined us, and all three men set about arguing over the position of Allah in their lives. Reza made his prayers daily, though not with the devotion of a committed Moslem. Mohammed’s position was best described as agnostic. He didn’t pray, but believed in a force of Allah, or something like it as the inspiration for the world. From religion we turned to life in Iran and global politics. Like most young Iranian’s that I have spoken to so far (and by young I mean between 20 and 35), these men disliked the control that Islam had over their country. They felt trapped within Iran, and resented their inability to travel. Both Ali and Mohammed were professional English Teachers, and Reza was writing his Thesis for his Masters in English Literature. Their awareness of their unique situation in Iran, and their perception of the outside world and it’s dominant ideas was very strong, and it was with relish that I added to their curiosity by relating tales of Kangaroos, Platypus and Ned Kelly, before I began feeling rather homesick.

It was around 1.30am that the hilarity of my situation hit me. As conversation receded, and the comfortable fog of whiskey-drunk descended, Ali brought out his laptop and began playing television programs he had recorded from satellite TV broadcast in Saudi Arabia. To my amazement the show he put on was Oprah Winfrey’s Christmas Special with Barack and Michelle Obama in the White House. Given that we had just spent the last three hours vigorously discussing religion, politics and the place of Iran in the modern world, this sudden shift into the fantasy land of American television was a jarring mental experience. The improbable juxtaposition of watching three powerful and famous Black Americans in the White House discussing global politics, while sitting on the floor in a sparsely furnished living room drinking bootleg liquor with an Atheist, an Agnostic and a Moslem Iranian, made clear to me the gulf felt by Iranian’s between their life and the world outside. Travelling on an Iranian passport can limit you to a few nearby countries such as Turkey, or the United Arab Emirates. Few people have been further than this. So when the lush furniture of the Oval Office came into view on the screen, and the fatherly, trustworthy tones of Barack Obama began, I saw just for a second through the eyes of my Iranian friends into a world of plaintive longing. Longing for the opportunity that allows a Black man to become president of arguably the worlds’ most powerful nation. A nation founded on slavery. The longing for a leader who speaks in whole sentences and refers back to rationality, responsibility and democratic participation, in comparison to Ahmedinijhad  who is widely held to be irresponsible, corrupt and insane. And for some reason witnessing this longing worried me greatly. Being thrown into the fantasy land of Oprah’s America™ I responded with my usual cynicism, snorting at Obama’s platitudes and Oprah’s dumb questions. I retorted angrily while Obama casually referred to America as the “greatest country in the world” and Oprah flattered him as “the most powerful man in the world”. But there was a hurt look in Reza’s eyes when he told me that “This is an ideal for us”.

I have spent a great deal of time here discussing Australia with people eager to hear of chances at a better life elsewhere. At times I have found their perception of the West; as a bastion of freedom, where life is easy and opportunities plentiful; incredibly frustrating. Yet even as I begin to argue that the situation in Iran is not beyond compare to the West (as they feel with resentment), the words start to stick in my throat. Iran has been described as a land where great contradictions exist between the deeply traditional and in some ways beautiful world of Islam, and the struggles of those caught unwillingly beneath its’ yoke, yearning to breathe free. This epitomises the great question of social determination – just because one is born into a system of laws, government and social organisation, why should one be obliged to follow it without question or the opportunity to make one’s own way? To me, especially arriving here from India, Iran seems demographically to be dominated by the middle class – people who drink clean water, have safe and comfortable homes, access to transport and education, and reasonable incomes with regard to the costs of living[2]. In fact one of my key retorts to people who sing glowing praise for life in Australia is to compare my monthly income and costs of living with theirs. On average as a circus performer/theatre worker I have been making about $800-900 per month. My sharehouse accommodation alone cost me $400 p/m. In comparison, my friends in Tehran pay the equivalent of $1400 for an entire year of living in a modest two bedroom apartment that would cost at least 4 times that much in Australia. One such friend was a professional Petro-Chemical engineer. A highly intelligent and hard working man, he correctly pointed out that his Iranian friends who had moved to Canada were making far more money than he was for the same job. However as I asked him to consider, their costs of living would be markedly higher. This cost of living comparison of mine was usually met with slightly affronted looks by my conversational partner, as though I was in some way defending the quality of life in Iran. Perhaps then the idea of cost-of-living needs to be seen in a fuller analogy, and not just in its’ economic sense.

Through the glasses of youth, living in Iran is hard indeed. All the good things are forbidden! Holding hands with your girlfriend on the street is liable to get you confronted by an angry policeman requesting details of your family, marriage status and decrying your shameful behaviour. This could potentially be followed by a visit to the police station, from where most likely you will receive a hefty fine and possibly capital punishment such as lashes. Drinking smuggled alcohol (although it’s cost works out at roughly the same as in over-taxed Australia) could potentially land you in jail. Converting from Islam to another religion, or heaven forbid (literally) becoming an atheist is punishable with the death penalty. Playing live music is possible only with permission given extremely reluctantly by the authorities, and even then dancing or moving energetically on stage at all will get the plug pulled and your band blacklisted. Females are forbidden from singing in public except in very rare circumstances. Riding motorcycles above 200cc is also forbidden except with a special licence. One day at the motorcross track high above Tehran I watched a group of a dozen riders staring at the road like a pack of skittish horses, waiting for the appearance of the Basij (religious militia/police) as the army and police below confiscated motorcycles held without permits. At the first sign of a car approaching they swiftly mounted their iron steeds and roared off further into the hills, which would be funny if it weren’t so sad. My Iranian friends had to evacuate me from the hill as I began angrily berating the officers for ‘cruelty to motorcycles’! So as you can see the cost of living in Iran is to live without the pleasures of freedom and consumer choice that we enjoy in the West. Discussing philosophy with my friend Ali we touched on Descartes idea that “I think therefore I am”. He replied ‘Yes but here we say “I’m afraid, therefore I’m Iranian”. In a country which practices some of the most inhumane execution practices that i’ve ever heard of[3] there is certainly a lot to be afraid of.

The shades of grey between the position of idealising Western democracy, and condemning Iran’s repressive social structure, for me come into play through my own questioning of our living standards. I believe that these desperately need revaluing, not so that we can create new laws or governmental policies, but so that we may have a better idea of what our overriding social direction for this century is to be. For example, is drinking alcohol a right that is appropriate to admire? What about when it causes huge levels of violence, endangers public safety and health, causes damaging patterns of addiction and destroys families? Is a market based economy the best way to ensure social equality and opportunity? What about when it creates massive disparity between the educated and the under-educated? When the competition that it fosters creates insecurity, depression, and the constant drive to be “better”? When the enormous amount of resources needed to sustain a consumer lifestyle are threatening the earth’s climate and future of life on this planet? And finally, what about when the global political situation relies on the creation of a vast underclass of deeply impoverished people in order to keep the wealthy of the West comfortable? Certainly I can be accused of being didactic here, but it is with a sense of concern that I have witnessed the power of the infectious west here in Iran – where the grass is always greener, freedom is in the air and you shit gold nuggets.

The shades of grey that i have tried to explain to my friends in Iran come from my fear that without a full understanding of what western-style democracy entails, they lend weight to the post-cold war ideological triumph of capitalism over all. This longing for the good life often relies on a distorted or niave perspective about the West. As i have asked above, there are many complicated problems arising in our society, and to mistake the happy wealthy western face for the whole is to conceal great geographies of sadness and frustration. Interestingly, this awareness of social duality was also present in Iran so that when i would say i liked it here the response would be a lecture about the "real" Iran. I never had the heart to turn around and lecture them back about the real West because it seemed that many Irani's simply need hope that another life is possible. Meanwhile i merely wish to keep that idea of possibility as open as it can be, to ideas of change, criticism and renewal. This conversation between societies is definitely a good thing, and now that I have seen inside a system of such elegantly terrifying repression, and also seen how people feel about the west within those societies, I'm now sufficiently confused about both situations to leave this article without an all purpose conclusion that solves everything. Thanks for reading.

Much love from inside a mind on fire,

MITCH

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[1] An Imam is one of the holy leaders revered by Shiaa Islam. It’s a foolish question because devout Muslim’s don’t smoke, so why would they put holy men on lighters.

[2] If they are able to find a job that is. Something that I haven’t found the space to cover here is the massive un/under employment present amongst the youth of Iran. Between people 25-29 it’s estimated to be almost 50%. But something to consider alongside of this is that it’s uncommon for young Iranians to leave the family home, and to continue being supported by their parents until much later than we would think normal in Australia. Personally I can’t think of anything worse than being unemployed AND living with your parents, but I know people in Australia who quite happily live this way (plus the dole of course).

[3][3] Criminals are regularly executed in public by being hung. However unlike the drop used in most hangings which breaks the victims neck thus hopefully ensuring a speedy departure from this world, in Iran the victim is lifted in the noose from the ground by a crane, slowly strangling them in the most painful way possible. On the up side, if they survive this process three times, they’re pardoned.