Ashura Bloody Ashura

January 18, 2010 in Selection 88 by P. Umpire

There is nothing like the smell of tear gas in the morning. Today, when we caught the first whiff of tear gas at 10:30 AM, a tense atmosphere had already settled on Enghelab Avenue. Judging the numbers though, we knew if people could meet up at Enghelab and march, the day would be like 25 Khordad. Four hours later when I walked out of the area, alone and sick with worry, the day looked like no other in the past six months. I am tired and incoherent, but let me start the story from the night before.

Saturday – Tasou’a

A friend and I decided to walk up Niavaran Avenue in the evening. We were not planning on going up to Jamaran where Khatami was giving a speech, as it was already 6:30 PM and too late for that, but we still wanted to see how large a crowd would show in the area. Traffic was at a standstill and people had started honking here and there when we got to the Police station on Niavaran across Jamshidiyeh. A crowd was walking down towards Niavaran chanting “Allah-o-Akbar”. Some bystanders were watching from the sidewalks, and we stopped as well. A man, holding a little boy’s hand, asked me in an Esfahani accent “what is happening? How come there is a protest here?” I told him that Khatami was at Jamaran.

When we passed Jamaran Street, Police had already blocked the entry points to the area and was redirecting traffic off Niavaran. Jamaran was packed with cars all the way up as far as the eye could see, and police were not letting anyone else drive up anymore. We turned back.

Halfway between Jamaran and Jamshidiyeh, the crowd we saw earlier had grown much larger, and was walking down Niavaran towards us, chanting slogans. Many people came out of their homes to watch, and we stopped on the sidewalk too. We started debating whether to join the procession or not and my friend was uneasy and against it.

A few minutes later, the first shot of tear gas effectively ended our debate. We immediately decided to join the crowd in fleeing. As we ran, security forces kept firing more tear gas, each time a little closer. Someone opened their garage door and some people ran inside. We continued running up Niavaran when another tear gas landed right in front of us. There was no time to change course. We jumped over the canister, through the cloud, and landed on the other side. I continued running, but I couldn’t breathe anymore. I gasped for air. My throat wouldn’t open up. I stopped, and pictured myself laying on the sidewalk. I breathed in again. Useless. I thought my poor friend who was altogether against going to Niavaran would have to drag me out of the scene now. I would slow him down. We’d be arrested. I tried breathing in once again. This time it went through. I started running.

A little further I saw the Esfahani man and his child running. A guy behind me yelled at the man: “why did you bring the boy to this place?” The Esfahani answered: “Did I know Niavaran would be like this?”

Half an hour later, we were out of the area. We made our way through the back alleys off Niavaran, and choked all the way home. I took a pill for the nasty headache that followed and that was that.

Ashura

10:15 AM
I got to Enghelab Avenue with some of the closest and dearest people to me. We were five. People were walking west on the sidewalks and there was some chanting and few V signs, but hordes of security men and anti-riot police were present.

10:30 AM
When we got to the corner of Hafez and Enghelab, the first gang of riot police on motorcycles showed up and fired tear gas to disperse the crowd. We ran up Hafez and turned West towards Vali-Asr. It was clear that the security forces’ goal was to prevent people from getting to Enghelab avenue, but the sheer number of people who were still coming to the area gave us hope that taking over Enghelab might be possible.

A large crowd had gathered on Vali-Asr, chanting slogans. I looked north and saw more people coming towards us. The chanting went on for about ten minutes, until a group of anti-riot bikers showed up from the south and started firing tear gas again.

We ran up Vali-Asr and sat on the sidewalk for a while, lit a few cigarettes and waited out the effects of the tear gas. The crowd started moving back towards the intersection and chanting once more.
The game had begun. Government forces would disperse the crowd with tear gas and beatings, but people would come back and take over the intersections as soon as they were gone.

11:00 AM
We walked up to the corner of Taleghani and Vali-Asr. People were making roadblocks using  sandbags provided in bins around the city for the snow. There is no snow this year, but they come in handy in war too. After a short session of chanting, there was a serving of tear gas for everyone again. We ran up Vali-Asr. A man was sitting on the sidewalk surrounded by a few people. Someone said he had been shot in the leg. I took a peek.

I remember we were sitting on the sidewalk again and recovering from tear gas when some bikers appeared and started beating people. They drove past us and turned around. One of the last bikes stopped in front of us about ten meters away and the guard riding in the back pulled out his tear gas gun, pointed it at us and said: “shall I shoot you?” My only reaction was to look at him. After asking the same question a couple of more times, they drove off.

We got up and started walking toward Hafez Avenue on Taleghani. By now the area was full of smoke from tear gas and burning trash bins. There were battles fought at every intersection, where the Basij and anti-riot guards would attack and drive people back, and a few minutes later people would rush them and take the intersection back. Occasionally we would see clouds of thick dark smoke rise up and we knew they were Basij and Police bikes that were set on fire.

We got back to Hafez Avenue, ran into some friends and everybody agreed that it was time to get back to the car and drive out of the area.

Back at the car, there was no point in getting in, as a large crowd was swarming in the street, marching west. It seemed like many separate masses had finally come together at that point. We joined in, marched and chanted.

We turned northbound on Hafez Avenue, and then turned west on Taleghani. It seemed like the idea was to keep marching west parallel to Enghelab Avenue, but at the Taleghani and Vali-Asr intersection a large group of security forces showed up and a battlefront was formed there. The security forces started firing tear gas into the crowd and those at the frontlines were picking the canisters up and throwing them back. The crowd started to slowly move back toward Hafez, as there was no room to run because of congestion. We were also helped by the fact that a breeze was blowing west, pushing the tear gas back towards the anti-riot guards, so we could take our time.

We inched back toward Hafez when suddenly riot police showed up on the bridge and started to throw rocks down at us. I don’t know how many people got injured there. We were now stuck between tear gas from the west and flying rocks from the east, so everyone just stopped and took cover. Some people at the eastern front picked up the rocks and started throwing them at the riot police on the bridge to drive them away from the edge. At some point, the rock hurling stopped momentarily and the riot police backed off, so we decided to run for the bridge and take cover under it. In the mess, a friend and I got separated from the other members of our group.

Once we got under the bridge, I noticed people had blocked the northern end of it with burning garbage bins and rubble. I saw two fire trucks stuck in the crowd a little further up Hafez Avenue. Apparently the greens had taken over one of them since someone was shouting “Ya Hossein” from the truck’s loudspeakers and people were responding with “Mir Hossein”. Some were trying to break into the other truck when the driver said in the loudspeaker: “We are firemen…please…we are with you.” But people kept rocking the truck and climbing it. Finally the driver said: “Ok…ok…death to the dictator….death to the dictator,” which was met with wild cheers from everywhere.

12:30 PM
We ran into Taleghani and tried to make our way back to the car, hoping the others would do the same. There was war at every intersection, and we had to run away from batons, chains and rocks everywhere, so the decision on which way to turn became almost random. When we turned south on Nejatollahi Street, we saw a group of Basijis driving up on their bikes. One of them was waving a gun above his head and screaming. It was time to run again.

We finally got close to the car. We were about fifty meters away when a group of Basijis attacked from the front and we had to run into a narrow street. When we came back, the goons were gone. I asked my friend to wait there for just a minute while I went to check if the others in our group were there already. Another attack came from the front. I ran back and realized more Basijis were coming out of the very street my friend and I were just in. In the chaos that followed, I lost her.

I decided to wait on the sidewalk for a minute to see if I can see her. Three old women in black chadors and an old man were sitting on a ledge on the sidewalk and I sat next to them. A few seconds later, the group of Basijis attacked a brown Peugeot with their clubs and smashed it to smithereens before us. Four people were in the car. One of the Basijis spotted us on the sidewalk and ran towards us. He then stopped, turned around and yelled at the others that they should come get us. I told the man and the women next to me that it was time to go. They got up and one of the women said “but we can’t run.’ I told them it was better not to run anyway, as Basijis tend to ignore you when you walk, that they like their prey running. So in the bedlam, we walked away together and soon disappeared in the back streets.

1:30 PM
I was now alone and very worried about the others. We have a rule for days like this. Whenever you are separated, you walk out of the area to somewhere quiet, find a ride and get yourself home or somewhere safe. I did the same and hoped that everyone else would too. On my way out and everywhere I turned, I was met with a group of unleashed Basijis wielding chains and clubs, but I finally made my way through the side streets to 7-Tir Square.

I walked north, past the Basij and IRGC forces stationed at the unusually quiet 7-Tir and waited for a taxi. There were no cabs at the square, and after waiting for a while and chatting with others next to me, a man stopped and gave us a ride up Modarres Freeway.

“Were you in the war zone today?” the driver asked me.
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah. It was hell. The police were chasing people with cars today.”
“Chasing?”
“They were trying to run them over. I was running for my life right here on Karim Khan a little earlier.”

I found myself at a friend’s house by 2:30 PM. Mobile service was cut off, so the rest of the afternoon was about waiting, teary-eyed, to  hear from the rest of the group. Everyone was fine.

* * *

On 13 Aban I said I had never seen so much violence perpetrated before me in my life. Ditto for Ashura. The difference is that on Ashura the security forces were subjected to the people’s wrath as well. I didn’t mention every rock that hit a head, or every baton that landed on bone in my story above. They are just too many and on days like these I generally remember snapshots of events anyway. The area was a warzone though.

It was clear that the security forces had completely lost control of the situation and were resorting to hit and run tactics. They would attack the crowds with clubs and tear gas and quickly retreat. There was almost no attempt at crowd control or holding an area. For this reason they stepped up their fear tactics, such as smashing cars and flashing guns, in order to get the people to just leave. But people kept coming back with sticks and stones.

I still believe violence will be detrimental to the green movement in the long run, but today may have been a necessary evil in the face of a regime that leaves its people with no outlet. The violence on the part of people was controlled and targeted. Had they chosen to turn to rioting, central Tehran could have been laying in ashes by now. Not a single gas station was protected in the area I covered. Ashura was a mere slap on the regime’s wrist.

If Ashura doesn’t wake the regime up to the fact that people are getting tired of being punching bags, then I guess all hell has to break loose before they realize it. It should also give a little message to the mercenary forces: that the money they are paid for beating people up on the streets may not be worth it the next time. I imagine they had many casualties today as well, but the regime certainly will not be publishing those.

I just remembered one of today’s strangest scenes. It was on Somayyeh Avenue and close to Hafez. Amidst the smoke and screams, while people were running in all directions, and while rocks were flying in the air not thirty meters away, we came across an old couple. The man was probably in his seventies, tall, and blind. The woman was wrapped in a black Chador. They were standing on a green prayer rug, their shoes neatly set on the sidewalk. Like two ghosts, not among us anymore, they were praying; perhaps for this war to end someday.

(Late post, due to the lack of a “proper” internet connection.)

All Your Base Are Belong To Us

December 18, 2009 in Selection 88 by P. Umpire

twitter-hack

If last night’s hacking of Twitter was the doing of our Cyber Imbeciles, then I apologize to Twitter users and administrators for the inconvenience. You were caught in the middle of our feud and I hope you understand they are very upset and don’t know how to behave.
We’ll rein them in soon and what we really count on is their stupidity both in strategic decision making, and in implementation.

Let me leave a note for them in case they are reading:

Oog,
Green are thank you. You show world Twitter scary. Hack games not intelligence. Human not like you already, will not like you more. Now bigger humans who not know #iranelection, know #iranelection. More twitterization.
Me tell yous big heap advice: you needing stimulation.

It Will

December 15, 2009 in Selection 88 by P. Umpire

It has been a long time and I would like to ignore the reasons for it and go straight to a belated post on 16 Azar:

We started to roam around Tehran University at about 4 PM, looking for some action, but the protests were confined to university campuses. The atmosphere was tense, as if the dust had just settled after a fight and we knew there had been some skirmishes here and there in the area, but it seemed like we managed to miss them all. In the end, our role was reduced to jamming the traffic and sitting in the car motionless for long long stretches of time, smoking, honking and cussing, and occasionally blocking the movements of Basiji bikes. From time to time we’d see buses pass by on Enghelab Avenue loaded with people who were screaming slogans and disappearing into the darkness.

People did show, to a smaller extent compared to other protests, which was mainly because 16 Azar was viewed as “a student thing”, and just like us, most of those who showed stayed in their cars too. There was no other choice. There were countless security men standing next to their vans and buses, at every intersection around Tehran University.

But you already know all this. You also know that the 16 Azar protests were intense inside the campuses and the fact that it hasn’t really ended yet. So, instead, let me tell you about the piece of action that we finally got: a verbal fight in a bakery.

Sometime around 6 PM, we saw a Sangak bakery in one of the back alleys off Enghelab Avenue, and thought it would be nice to get some hot Sangak. As we stood in the queue, my friend who was more upset than I about the lack of a large protest, asked the baker:

“So how much does a Sangak cost these days?”
“Five Hundred Tomans. (About 50 cents).”
“Ahh…that’s it then. We need to wait a little longer.”
“For what?”
“For bread to hit two thousand Tomans. For the knife to reach the bone (meaning extreme hardship).  That’s when everyone will hit the streets again, not just students.”

A woman behind us turned red and started yelling:

“What do you mean? The knife has already hit the bone. Five hundred is a lot of money for bread! They’re already selling for a thousand at some places.”
“But not enough people are showing at the protests. There are only students today.”
“I showed. I’m here. I tried to protest. Did you see how many security men were out there?”

At this point a man in his early sixties with a trim goatee, who was further down the line said:

“You’re wasting your time. Nothing will change.”
“Why won’t it?”
“That’s how it is with this country. They’ll remain in power and there’s nothing people can do.”
“Exactly as you said. Look at this country. We’re having a major change every thirty or forty years. No?”
“Not until somebody out there wants change. That’s when change comes. So you can go home and save your energy.”
“What do you mean?”
“Until America and Britain want to change this place, nothing happens.”
“Aw…come on, that’s ridiculous.”
“No it’s not. Look at history.”
“Good then. Just stand on the sidelines as usual and forget about it. But don’t say it won’t change.”
“It won’t.”

After a few more similar declarations from the gentleman, the argument got heated and voices were raised. Someone shouted that the gentleman belonged to the generation that got us here, and that he was taking this line out of shame. After this I don’t know who said what to the man, but it went like this:

“You can’t even reason, you just keep saying if so and so want it.”
“You don’t need reason, that’s how it is. It won’t.”
“Yes, it will.”
“No, it won’t”
“It will.”
“It won’t.”
“It will.”
A voice from another side said:
“Maybe if you wait long enough, Emam Zaman (the twelfth Imam) will show up and fix it for you.”
Everyone laughed.
“Won’t.”
“Will.”
“Won’t”
“Will.”
The baker suddenly chipped in:
“Stop arguing. I had dinner with Emam Zaman last night and he told me it will. End of discussion.”

We then got some cheese from the store next door and were on our way to sit in the hellish traffic for another two hours.

Nausea

November 6, 2009 in Selection 88 by P. Umpire

A late post due to the usual post-protest internet jams.
Wednesday 13 Aban

A strange sentiment crept in me today. A man in his late fifties was beaten by a group of people a meter away from me, and I enjoyed it. While I neither had the urge to join in, nor the time to think about it, the delight I took in seeing this man’s fearful face pushed me to encourage his assailants. I am glad I didn’t. In the mayhem, as he was begging them to stop, and kept yelling “why are you beating me?” I only thought to myself “you must be kidding”. He was a member of the Basij.

I had never seen as much violence perpetrated before me in one day.  If another day compares to 13 Aban, it would be the 30th of Khordad, the day after Khamenei gave his gangsters the green light to show no merci to Iranians. 13 Aban was worse, maybe because I stayed on longer, or maybe because it was worse indeed. I had not seen so many security forces concentrated in one area before either. I covered 7-Tir Square, Karim Khan Avenue, Vali-Asr Square and the surrounding area today. Thousands of greens showed, mostly without green signs, and were met with thousands of simians, to whom if one grants the label Homo, their qualifications would not allow them to go any higher than Erectus.

The ape forces had one goal in mind, which was to prevent any crowd from forming. Their strategy: indiscriminate violence. At about 10:30 in the morning, before getting to Vali-Asr Square, we passed by the Beheshti metro station. A group of ten anti-riot IRGC members in camouflage uniforms and wielding batons suddenly rushed the station gate, frightening people who were exiting to flee inside. About seven or eight of the security men ran in while the others shut and held the gates behind them. After that, you could only hear the sounds of screams and thuds. Maybe some greens were among them, maybe not. One was carrying a shopping bag.

Something we have learned in the protests is that when the apes charge, you should avoid running, get on the sidewalk close to shop windows and keep walking, or just stand against the walls. They would normally go past you in pursuit of those who run. Today, the apes would get on the sidewalks on bikes, hold out their batons against the walls and drive on. If they were without bikes, they just ran through and waved their clubs, sticks, or chains. It didn’t matter who or what it hit.

I won’t give a moment-by-moment account of the day. Most of it was an uninterrupted sequence of severe beatings, bruises and blood, from which I remember snapshots. I also remember hearing gunshots on a couple of occasions. Arrests seemed to be indiscriminate as well. We saw Basij members picking on the young randomly, forcing them on their knees, handcuffing and blindfolding them, and then taking them away.

On Vali-Asr Avenue, north of the square, a policeman was shouting insults at an old man for having shown up to the demonstration. A young boy went over to the policeman and handed him a flower, to which his response was to slap the boy and throw him on the sidewalk. The boy picked himself up and left.

In the mayhem, we saw security and Basij forces get beaten up or hit by rocks also. On Karim Khan Avenue close to Vali-Asr Square, an eighteen or nineteen-year-old Basiji, wielding a rubber belt, started chasing a man on the street next to the sidewalk.  The man was big and the Basiji was short, chubby, and his beard had barely sprouted. For the first time I saw a technique I’ve read about but difficult to perform, in action. Mid chase, the man suddenly stopped dead, turned around, grabbed the Basiji who was stunned, and slammed him against the side of a car. It took him a few seconds to get up. When he saw a group of people who were now rushing him, he ran, but they got to him and started pummeling him. At this moment, a fifty-something-year-old Basiji with short white hair, the man I mentioned above, appeared from behind a bus and ran toward the scuffle, with the same kind of strap in his hand, attempting to beat and scare the others to get the other Basiji out. Another group of people appeared and charged him. He fell to the ground a meter away from me and started receiving kicks and punches. This is when a group of Basiji apes arrived at the scene, surrounded the two other apes and dragged them away.

Later on, at 7-Tir Square, a Basiji, an older man again, was holding his head and was bleeding profusely. Another was propping him up and helping him cross the square to where their camp was set up.

The demonstration never took the magnitude and concentration of Qods Day. It was never allowed. Everyone was fleeing from the security forces, regrouping in the side streets, or recovering from tear gas and beatings. The largest group of people I saw walking on Karim Khan and chanting anti-government slogans reached two or three hundred people at best. There were pro-government demonstrators who appeared from time to time, with loudspeakers and chanting. The largest of those were a few hundred people. I remember one of their new slogans: “Death to the velvet dictator.” Whatever that means.

Before I go and crash, as I am beat, grimy, and tired, let me tie in 13 Aban with Rafsanjani’s Super Duper Plan. Since its inception and the supposed detente between Rafsanjani and Khamenei, the plan has been viewed by many in Iran as false hope and a ruse by the Supreme Leader to buy time and create diversion at best. 13 Aban was another promise broken, another U-turn, another glimmer of hope faded.  We are facing a regime in which reform has no practical representative. Neither the leaders of the green movement, nor Rafsanjani or the Marjas, have managed to get meaningful concessions from the Supreme Leader. What I keep hearing is, “What are they going to say now? More of the same?” 13 Aban has left us no doubt about Khamenei’s desire to utterly crush the opposition. Many in Iran view him as a man who does not negotiate, and the perpetrator of all that has happened since the elections.

Something is abuzz in the air in Tehran tonight. It is angry talk about meeting violence with violence. Patience is running out and I am now hearing about switching to the same language as the opponents. How viable that is, or whether we will go down that road will be determined in the future, but 1979 is before our eyes. Take away hope and it won’t be long before reform will give way to overhaul. So far, some are wondering whether reforms have hit a dead end. “Reconciliation” is a funny word now. Maybe it is just a reaction to a brutal day on the streets, or an existential phase, inevitable after six months of going in circles. But one thing is clear. Early on, the movement’s demand was taking back the votes. Today, it is stomping on the Leader for an “Iranian Republic”. He may succeed in crushing the opposition, but may someone save his soul if he fails.

Under The Influence

November 3, 2009 in Selection 88 by P. Umpire

green-13-aban“Green 13 Aban”

green-13-aban2The same, but after a genius only traced the green with white in an attempt to erase it.

The night before a protest is an anxious one, and most of the restlessness is over one question: will they be there? There are long stretches of time between protests now and getting cold is always a concern. So naturally, the conversations tonight hovered around guessing whether the greens will take over tomorrow.

Grassroots campaigning for the rally has been strong again, as it was for Qods Day, but there have been plenty of threats against participating over the last few days as well. While we have witnessed the customary chest thumping by the IRGC and other security forces, a couple of friends said they received strange phone calls supposedly from the Intelligence Ministry today, trying to scare them off. They were told that the Ministry has evidence that they have been manipulated by foreign media and they were put under surveillance.  So we have a new term now: PUI, or Protesting Under The Influence. None of these were the real sources of worry over tomorrow though.

As I am writing this, it is still raining, and although rain is always welcome in Tehran, we wish it gone by tomorrow. That is worry number one. As for number two, tomorrow is a weekday and many do not have the option of ditching work. I found myself yelling at a friend who had scheduled a meeting with a client tomorrow morning. How irresponsible. And worry number three is that the protest is in the morning, which will require many calls to all the slothful to get them out of bed. Other than that, we should be in tiptop shape.

While I sat around thinking that a little boost in morale wouldn’t hurt, the rallying call came. The soothing sound of Allah-o-Akbar was far but strong. We haven’t heard any Allah-o-Akbar since over a month ago, and only get reports about occasional pockets of chanting, mostly from the university dorms.  I opened the window and in a few minutes our neighborhood was drowning out the engines from the traffic in the main street. If my lazy neighborhood is like this, it means the entire city was shouting.

A young man started to chant from the building next door, and I returned the favor by yelling through the open window. We went on for ten minutes. I was out of practice, my throat was burning and I kept coughing. I was louder than him. He had more stamina. At the end of the session, he yelled a “mersi” at me. “At your service”. “Don’t forget tomorrow”.

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