"It was a time unlike any other"

"But there are some of us that are able to get to self-realization even when the financial needs are not satisfied," says Ejad Nader, 45, teacher; with 9-month-old son, Daniel.

“I spent a year at the front [in the Iran-Iraq War]. I came back with memories that will never leave me.

“It was a time unlike any other. Everyone was equal, from the general down to the private. And everyone was sacrificing everything.

“During the battle of Karbala 5, the largest battle we fought, we were determined to give the nation a New Year’s present. But the price we paid was enormous. Of battalions of 2,000 to 3,000 men, usually only 20 to 50 would return and they were all messed up too.

“The night before an attack they usually fed us especially well—sometimes a whole chicken per person. We’d tell each other, ‘take note; tonight we had chicken. Something’s up.’

“The Iraqis were pounding us with a powerful missile called the ‘French missile.’ It glowed red hot on approach but the glow would vanish four or five kilometers to target and then you had no idea where it would land.

“I recall one boy from Isfahan in our dugout who was afraid of the dark. A French missile hit nearby and our power generator went out.

“The Isfahani became emotional. Another guy asked him, ‘what are you going to do when you’re in a grave? It’s dark in there too.’

“The boy said, ‘I won’t be able to stand that either. My last will is that you bury me in a grave with a light inside so that I won’t be scared.’

“He had gone outside an hour later when another missile hit and it hit within a meter of our friend. I can’t describe the feeling when we found him, only that we had to bring a blanket in order to carry all the pieces.

“Another time, I saw a Toyota truck coming toward us. From far away, it was as if there was no driver. But it had such a heavy load the back was almost touching the ground.

“When it got close, I realized I couldn’t see the driver because it was a really short guy behind the wheel. And the load—it was nothing but body parts, nothing but arms, legs and heads.

“I screamed at him, ‘why didn’t you at least cover them with a blanket,’ and he said he tried but couldn’t find anything.

“The war, of course, will never let me go. I was exposed to mustard gas [used by Iraqis]. I’ve lost 10 kilograms in the last five years. I quickly lose my breath; I can’t be exposed to cold air. Normal people recover from a cold in a few days. It takes me 40 days and after Penicillin injections.

“You never know what awaits you in life. After I came back from the war, as a reward for my service, they sent me to a good school to teach. I had a bachelor’s in teaching. That’s where I met my wife. I had no relatives with me so I went to khastegari on my own. I was wearing nothing but these old, dirty clothes. I said, ‘I have nothing in the world but devotion and honesty to give to your daughter.’ Her father liked that but said it’s up to his daughter to decide and she wasn’t home at the time. So I had to go back a second time a week later.

“This was my father-in-law’s advice: ‘If you are good to each other, God will provide for all your wishes. If you are not, then the little you have will vanish too.

“He was right. Back then I spent all my time in school because there was no home to go to. Today I have several pieces of land in my children’s names. I’m still just a teacher, but my co-workers always say, ‘Mr. Naderi never lacks anything.’

“We human beings have many needs. Some needs are elementary, like food, housing—the financial part. Those have to be satisfied before we can get to self-realization.

“Perhaps 50-percent of Iranians are consumed with finances. That’s what their lives are about until the end. We tend not to know how to enjoy life from the within.

“But there are some of us that are able to get to self-realization even when the financial needs are not satisfied. This is the definition of the fortunate person.

“What is goodness? Goodness is honesty; honesty toward oneself and toward others.

“Despite objections from some parents, I require my students to keep a daily journal so that they remember their lives, so that they exercise their minds and learn from experience.

“I had a cousin who died horribly during the early days of war. He would not retreat with the others and the Iraqis shot him in the head from a distance because they had scopes on their guns.

“He is gone forever. But I have something precious from him. One day he had come to my home while I was out. He wrote in my journal, ‘I was here. I had something to eat. I am sorry I missed you.’

“He gave away everything he had before he went to the front because I guess he had a premonition of his own end. But to me this piece of paper with his handwriting is worth more than anything else he could have left behind.”

The Way We Used to Die

Abdul-vahid Shariati, middle school principal, Village of Kharaghani, NE Iran, with son, Mehdi, 7.

“I volunteered to go to [Iran-Iraq 1980-88] war when I was 15. For the next eight years, we would go for specific battles and then return home.

“It was a different time and feeling. Death was everywhere. I saw people get killed in front of me many times.

“I remember one time, we were trying to capture a hill but every person who’d get up would get shot. There was this one guy who said he could outrun the bullets. He got up and started running. Then I saw him get hit directly by RPG. I saw him turn into powder in front of my eyes.

“Seeing the carnage didn’t bother me. Just the opposite, we had been so conditioned that we all wanted to die. Those who survived were upset that it wasn’t us who had been the shahid [person who dies in defense of Islam].

“Death was expected. Living was the unexpected. During one battle, of the 450 who went from this area, only 30 returned.”

“No, not at all. It’s a different time today.”

Who has time for War?

Mother and children on the way to school, town of Bastam, NE Iran.

Everywhere I go in Iran, I see people preoccupied with survival and raising their own as best they can. Who has time for hate when just raising a couple of rug rats takes so much energy?

Funny, people in America are also preoccupied with the same kind of things.

So where is all the fear-mongering coming from?

Next time, my fellow American, you’re clicking through another hate-fest on cable “news” or come home from church so convinced that Islam is driven to destroy your way of life—think about whom the talk serves.

Is it really the average Moslem mother and father who wants to hurt you or maybe, just maybe, the people who generate the slogans have something to gain?

Would Blue Eyes Make a Difference?

Akbar Bashteeni, laborer, with daughter, Mahnaz, 3. In the village of Bashtseen, 40 kms. west of Sabzevar, NE Iran.

“When my daughter was born I couldn’t believe her eyes were this color. Her mother’s eyes are dark. My eyes are dark. Everyone on my side of the family and hers have dark eyes. Our parents and their parents all had dark eyes. We couldn’t believe our daughter had such blue eyes and white skin too.

“People here don’t like blue eyes. They take it as a dark omen. I love my daughter but she probably will experience some bad reactions in her future.

“There have been other tourists who’ve stopped to take pictures. She gets a lot of attention.

“This will probably be my own only child. Life is too difficult today to have any more. I am so sorry that I never studied beyond the fifth grade. I hope my daughter does better. I even hope someday she’ll go to college.”

Blue eyes are not popular here partly because of the belief that those who hunted down and killed Imam Hussein had blue or green eyes.

Also plenty of blue-eyed people came through here with ill intent, such as Alexander the Great or the 18th- and 19th-century British soldiers.

Ironically, though, the Aryans, the very people whose descendants helped build the Persian empire 2500 years ago in central Iran probably had plenty of blue eyes among them.

Pottery and other artifacts found here indicate the Aryans came through and lived in this very area, starting from 5,000 years ago, on their way south, before they spread out to populate Europe and Central Asia.

Seeing Mahnaz threw me into turmoil. As we sped back to Sabzevar to end the day’s fast (25th day of Ramadan today), I watched the sun drop behind the bluish desert and my mind again drifted back to the subject of war and how others living on the other side of planet permit their governments to drop bombs on these people.

To kill, first the mind has to dehumanize the victim. Would seeing a child that looks like a Norman Rockwell character impede that process?

If the people of Iraq all had blue eyes and white skin, would fewer than 90% of American taxpayers support the Iraq slaughter in its early days?

Would Hillary Clinton have stopped preening herself for 2008 for just a darn moment and realized that there are lots of children and villages in Iraq too?

If Afghanis had blue eyes, would the Pentagon’s finest, in their hunt for a single man, suggest some strategy other than sending the blind and dumb B-52’s?

To the American soccer moms who voted in Bush and continue to believe in Dick’s lies, I say: please, just look into the eyes of Mahnaz. Can you, would you, just for a tiny moment try to see your own?