My imaginary interview with a newly condemned Iranian

With the election of hardliner Mahmoud Ahmadinejad as Iran's new president, extremists now appear to control all levers of power in that country.

Always a journalist in my unrealized dreams, I imagined myself interviewing an Iranian man-on-the-street. But in my daydream, my Iranian man-on-the-street turned out to actually be a nineteen year old woman-on-the-street. I wanted his, ahm, or rather her, impression of the election's outcome.

Her name was Shirin Gharagoz, currently a student at the University of Science and Technology majoring in nuclear engineering. (In Iran, I couldn't decide if that was a career field with a very bright future, or one that guaranteed certain unemployment.) I asked her, "What do you think of your new president?"

Staring through me, she paused briefly, dragging on a Marlboro cigarette. She smirked, exhaled and shrugged her shoulders.

Shirin had been in a co-ed group of fellow students taking pictures of each other in a kind of farewell-to-open-education and society just moments before consenting to join me.

Persisting, I asked, "Are you pleased with the outcome of yesterday's election?"

Shirin reluctantly surrendered her opinion. "Days, no weeks even, before Iranians went to the polls to elect 'Mo-mie' president, your President Bush declared our election process rigged. He said no matter what the outcome, Iran would be truly ruled by men who 'spread terror across the world.' Hardliner, moderate, it doesn't matter to your Bush. After the election we would all become terrorists," crushing out her smoke and lighting another.

"And do you really believe that?" I inquired.

"Why not? If Bush says our election results are rigged, who should doubt him? Rigged elections are the forte in which your Bush excels. If the fix was in he, of all people, should know. As to us all being labelled terrorists regardless of who won, I disagree. We're terrorists no more than all Americans are terrorists because Bush stole another election."

"I notice you're chain smoking?" I had to ask.

"Yes, soon all women will be in black chardors." (Note: the Iranian birqa style garb.) "Do you realize the tremendous increased risk of death by fire if you smoke while wearing a chador? Besides, if a burning birqa doesn't get me, Bush's bunker busting bomb will," she rued almost inconsolably.

"I suppose you have a point," I conceded.

Thanking Shirin for granting me a few moments, we parted. In honor of her waning freedoms, I was moved to ask if it might not be appropriate if, instead of shaking hands, I might give her a hug right there in public. She consented.

As Shirin absent mindedly drew another Marlboro and turned to go, I caught the glint from drops of moisture welling in the bottom of her eyes.

Later, trying to call my report into various U.S. news sources such as CBS, CNN, the Times, the Post, I became more frustrated with each unanswered call. I sadly gave up conceding, "They must all have caller ID."

I reflected upon Shirin; teary eyed and afraid of the new world about to unfold about her under her new extremist president, Ahmadinejad. My mind then flashed to "Bush's Brain" extremist Karl Rove. Drops of moisture welling up in him too. Only his were drops of drool; little spittle puddles in the corners of his fiendishly smirking mouth.