the green movement – photo essay on the 2009 Iranian election
When in mid 2009 I thought of flying to Lebanon, some Lebanese friends warned me not to go: it was election time, and turbulence was expected. I flew to Iran, instead.
Prior to traveling I did what I usually do: I studied about the country. I looked into maps. Wondered about the Caspian Sea region. The Kerman desert. The millenary year-old Isfahan and its Mosques. The holy shrines in Qom and Mashhad. The marvelous ruins of Persepolis sadly burned down by Alexander, the Great. I wondered about ancient Persia – and its flying carpets. I remembered of my Art History classes from when I was a teenager. I remembered of Ahura Mazda, and Zoroastrianism. I looked into Iran’s political history; the coups, the Shahs, and the recent history. Ironically, I was going to be there exactly during Iran’s presidential election. Ahmadinejad running for reelection. Mousavi, with the support of millions of green-clad young Iranians, was Ahmadinejad’s main opposer. The stage
was set.
As usual, I never stay in hotels or guest houses. I watched everything from down there, as another Iranian, from within their houses and public squares. I grew a beard. I only worn long sleeve -colored shirts, and worn-out pants, just like every Iranian.
What have I found there? Truly hospitable people. And the Green Movement…
With a mix of street smartness, invisible lenses, boldness, and some sort of naiveness (or stupidity, for some), I paradoxically blended these together with a seed of strong compromise that I have living within me, towards social justice.
Tehran‘s, Isfahan‘s and Shiraz‘ streets and public squares were filled with children, adults, and elders, plus tens of thousands of young people. The demonstrations were quite civilized – to a point that it would outstand any organized and non-violent public demonstration standards in Nordic countries. Some days were scheduled for Ahmadinejad’s speech, while others for Mousavi’s. One would see supporters for both candidates walking side by side. Festivity was in the air. I was told by locals that the Basijs (the paramilitary militia) were not acting. People were left with near freedom – perhaps a strategy, for the election results could had already been set?.
The atmosphere was light and cheerful. Every single evening, and over the entire night up to the early hours, one would see thousands of young people driving their bikes and cars, honking nonstop. The streets and sidewalks were literally filled. There were people hanging out from car windows, some on the top of it. Traffic jam was massive. The great majority of people was wearing some type of green cloth. Taxi drivers would have a green string hanging from their rear-view mirror. Trendy young girls from Tehran would have a green lace attached to their backpacks. Some girls would have green laces on their hair braids. Young gentlemen would paint their bikes in green. Some would wear green head bands and caps, as if they were Green Movement superheroes.
Being myself a Brazilian, I felt as if I were in the World Cup. This festivity feeling did not last too long, however. At the night of the election day I was in the airport heading back home. Soon reality became bitter. I found myself in breathtaking Rio de Janeiro, crying in front of the computer. My friends were in real danger. A friend was beaten up by the police, and got his/her camera seized. A friend’s friend wasn’t that lucky. The Basij beat him up and pushed him from the rooftop of a building: he died.
The rest we all watched from our comfortable homes through the cold screens.
Click here to see 20 photos of the Green Revolution.
Pedro Paranaguá 