An American in Iran

My trip to one of the world’s most sensitive hotspots began ominously enough.

I was pulled out of the immigration line at Imam Khomeini International Airport and told to wait as the uniformed officer carried off my passport.

“They don’t usually do that,” said a passing Scandinavian visitor who noticed my predicament.

A second officer then motioned me into a small room, where I was electronically fingerprinted. Once. Twice, then three times. No explanation. No English.

Finally, 80 minutes after my arrival in Tehran, I was allowed to proceed to baggage claim, where my host matter-of-factly explained the detention.

“It’s because you are American,” he said.

I knew coming in that the 1979 revolution that included the violent takeover of the U.S. Embassy remains a pivotal moment in modern history for Iranians. Indeed, I would be told that the seizure of the compound and 52 hostages remains “a source of pride”.

But the lingering animosity has found new fuel, one that oddly places Iran on the side of its historical enemy.

Just about every person I met said they didn’t like George W. Bush because he went to war with Iraq.

“I like people, I like all countries, but I hate Bush. I don’t like war,” said Roheleh, a 28-year-old shopkeeper.

My visit was at the invitation of the Asia-Pacific Institute for Broadcasting Development (AIBD), based in Malaysia, and Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting (IRIB), the government-run TV and radio operation. I was asked to provide workshop training on TV anchoring and the international style of news, more than likely because of the startup of Iran’s Press TV, a 24-hour English news channel seen around the world.

I was happy to accept, having previously helped launch several international TV operations. And I was curious to see a land usually off-limits to American journalists.

But I thought privately about a larger goal – might what I say about my profession’s ideals of truth and fairness have some impact in a country known for its restrictive society and media?

In any case, the concerns began as soon as people heard about my travel plans.

“You sure they’re going to let you in as a U.S. citizen?”

“You sure they’re going to let you out as a U.S. citizen?”

“Do their journalists want to learn about truth?”

“Can you survive without any fun?”

After three full days on the ground, the answer to all of the above?

Yes. But barely to the fourth question.

The workshops would turn out to be sessions of mutual education. I wanted the dozen participants to hear things that they probably never heard before. And I wanted to know what they could and couldn’t do in their jobs.

The restrictions were made immediately clear.

“We’re not allowed to say ‘Israel’ in news stories. We must refer to it as the ‘Zionist Regime’,” said a producer citing one political example.

“I wanted to include the female members of a group in my report on pop music, but that was edited out,” said a reporter, herself clad head-to-toe in a black chador that exposed only her face.

The more I listened, the more I understood that these professionals know what acceptable news practices are in other parts of the world. They just can’t do it while working in Iran.

One participant pointed out a more cosmetic difference after viewing a sample of my Metro TV program Indonesia Now.

“I couldn’t help but notice your glass table. You could see your (female) co-anchor’s legs quite clearly,” he said, which would be a punishable offense in Iran.

I told them that in countries with a free press, reporting the truth is always the goal, and is always defendable. That, for example, if you uncover a problem that the public needs to know about and that traces responsibility to a government leader, it’s our duty to report it.

“But sometimes you shouldn’t tell all the truth, right?” asked one older participant.

“You can always defend the truth,” I repeated, while thinking “but maybe not in Iran”.

I had only a few hours in total to step outside the IRIB workshop site in north Tehran to play tourist. And what I found were more examples of people knowing what the rest of the world does but unable to do so themselves.

At a sidewalk newsstand, there must have been 50 different newspapers for sale, with double that number of magazines. “But they all have the same headline,” said my translator Azizi.

There may not be a McDonald’s here, but you can find a cheeseburger with fries for $3.50 at the fast-food chain Superstar.

And a passing glance at a storefront window stopped me in my tracks. Miniskirts, sexy tops and lingerie filled the display.

“That’s for home… behind closed doors,” smiled Azizi.

On the workshop farewell day, we exchanged gifts, e-mail addresses and promises to maintain friendships that had sprung from the instructional setting. One young man even offered to show me “surprising elements of the city” on my next visit.

I would have no hesitation going back. And they already have my fingerprints.

 
Hawaii native Dalton Tanonaka is the co-anchor of Metro TV’s Indonesia Now program, seen on Saturday mornings at 7 a.m. and Sundays at 1 a.m. He can be reached at dalton@metrotvnews.com.

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