Axis of Evil World Tour - An American's Travels in Iran, Iraq and North Korea

by Scott Fisher

  Home of the Mullahs – Qom

  I’d been told by one Iranian that, “an American in Qom is like an Al Qaeda in the White House.” So I was a little nervous about this stop, and I could tell Professor was too. Qom (rhymes with ‘gnome’) is home to one of Iran’s (and Shia Islam’s) holiest sites. The city itself is a stronghold of the current conservative government and served as Khomeini’s base for the revolution in 1979. No liberals or opposition groups here; this is the center of mullah control over the government, culture, and politics of Iran. From this city spreads Iranian religious and political influence into Iraq, Lebanon and Hezbollah, Palestine and Hamas, and a host of other organizations and countries around the world. While most international attention focuses on the nuclear program down in Natanz, or the politicians in Tehran, it’s the clerics living in Qom that currently control the fate of Iran.

  All of the guidebooks, media, and talks with people along the way caused me to approach Qom with a sense of dread. The nervousness reminded me of how I had felt boarding the plane into Iran a couple of weeks previous. Then, the man on the plane doing his giant book of puzzles and mazes had quickly displaced the sense of the ominous. Pulling into Qom, all darkness and seriousness, the spell was broken by a giant Ferris wheel sticking out over a gaily-painted amusement park. I actually laughed out loud, getting a weird look from a still-nervous Professor, at the incongruity of my preconceptions and the happy little carnival.

  Still, I was entering the heart of the beast, so to speak, and judged not a lot of people around these parts would be too enthused over my nationality and objections to their nuke program. Whether due to the buildup or not, the place felt sterner and colder than any we’d visited. Unlike other cities, there were no light headscarves or chirpy jackets on the women here – all were in full headgear and body coverings, mainly in black and more black.

  The shrine we were heading towards is one of the holiest and, due both to its location in Iran and its recent history, one of the most conservative, in Shia Islam. Shia pilgrims and religious scholars come from all over the world to visit the Shrine of Fatima but, everyone plus the guidebooks told me, non-Muslims are never allowed inside. This is not a recent rule – even some of the historical accounts I’d read of non-Muslims visiting Persia describe how they were prevented from entering the shrine. We’re allowed to view it from nearby, and take pictures from outside the walls, but under no circumstances are we allowed inside the actual complex.

  After parking the car, Professor and I, feeling somewhat self-conscious, walked down the street toward the shrine. Around us the city went about its business, which in the case of Qom is heavily related to Shia visitors and religious scholars. As we neared the shrine we could see groups of pilgrims ahead of us. The shrine’s attraction to these pilgrims, some of whom stay in Qom and study for months and years on end, strengthens Iran’s worldwide influence over Shias and related groups – some are perfectly harmless, others, like Hezbollah, very far from harmless. For the first time since the Tomb of Daniel I actually felt nervous.

  Walking the small causeway leading up to the shrine I apparently didn’t stick out as much as I thought – a couple of people actually called me ‘hajji’ (‘religious pilgrim’) as we walked by, reconfirming my decision to grow a beard. When we approached the outer gate and first set of guards, Professor asked how much further a non-Muslim could venture. The guard just smiled and waved us through.

  At the next guard post, Professor again asked how far we could go. It was the last stop before actually entering the shrine and we both assumed this was the limit. I prepared to turn back, even getting my camera ready for a last picture. To our surprise though, the guard said to wait a minute while he made a call. A couple of minutes later he got off the phone and said someone from the shrine’s international affairs office was coming out to meet us.

  International affairs office? That sounded different. Professor and I stood there waiting, wondering what was about to happen. He’d been here dozens of times, but had no more idea what was going on than I did. I tried not to attract too much attention, as pilgrims filed past into the heart of the shrine.

  While standing there viewing the multinational parade, I watched as the guard prevented anyone from entering with a bag or backpack. Given that Iran is Shia, and most other Muslims are Sunni, Iran, specifically including this shrine, has been targeted by Sunni terrorists numerous times. Due to previous attempts to blow up the shrine and all those inside, the no-bag rule was strictly enforced – even old women were being stopped.

  A few minutes later, a young man, apparently one of the many at the complex studying to become a mullah, came out to meet us and said he’d been told to escort us inside! Professor and I were shocked. Non-Muslims, especially, one guesses, non-Muslim Americans, simply never get admitted to this place.

  The young man quickly escorted us to the international affairs office near the center of the shrine. Me gawking (but trying not to look like I was gawking), the whole walk over. Perhaps just as strange, I’d even been allowed to bring in my small backpack. Nasty American or not, I guess I don’t fit their terrorist wackjob profile.

  Once in the office we were met by the old mullah in charge, who asked us to join him for tea. For the next hour we sat and talked, Professor very nervously (he figured the mullah spoke English and was testing him) interpreting the whole time. We talked about Islam, U.S.-Iranian relations, and, since the mullah said to ask anything, the taking of the U.S. hostages at the start of the revolution.

  I was surprised at how forthright he was, saying their system had problems and inviting me to criticize and question it. I was also surprised by how much he disliked the Taliban and Al Qaeda; calling them terrorists and embarrassments to Islam. He explained that one of the first places the Taliban and Al Qaeda had attacked was Iran, including the very shrine we were sitting in.

  The talk started with him asking if I had any questions about Islam. I countered with the standard, “tell me what you think I should know,” I ask everyone. He said first I should feel welcome here, as all true Muslims regard everyone as their brother, kind of like a giant extended family. After an introduction to Islam he asked if I had any more questions, saying he’d be happy to answer those of an international nature as well.

  I took him at his word and asked, if we are all supposedly brothers, why the Iranians had seized the U.S. hostages. Professor’s eyes nearly popped out of his head on that one, I believe he literally pictured the cell doors slamming shut. But, to his credit, he interpreted the question, though probably making it sound much more delicate.

  From watching the face of the mullah you could see he was using Professor’s interpretation mainly to confirm what he thought I said, rather than relying on it exclusively. Professor noticed this also and it made him even more nervous – I could see him literally willing me to be cautious.

  The mullah thought about the question for a moment, then started talking for thirty minutes straight, pausing only for translation. During that time he even received a call on his cell, which he quickly took out from his robes, turned off, and went back to focusing on our conversation. Say what you want about his politics, that gesture of personal politeness impressed me.

  His answer started by again stressing that true Muslims think of everyone as their brother, pointing out once again that people like Al Qaeda and the Taliban are terrorists, not Muslims. He brought up their lack of religious knowledge and the dangers this posed not only to the U.S., but also to the world in general. After pointing out that the first country they had attacked was Iran, he went on to say that long before 9/11, Iran had been fighting, “these people” (i.e. Bin Laden), even while they were still being trained and supplied by the U.S. during their fight against the Soviets.

  Next, still sticking with the brotherhood analogy, he said since even close family members can disagree it’s natural for people from a family as extended as Iran and the U.S. to criticize one another, “All thinking people have
a right to disagree.” He then went on to apologize for saying anything that might offend me or the States.

  Finally, he got down to the hostage-taking. On the day of the hostage-taking (4 Nov., 1979) crowds of students were already planning to gather in front of the embassy for a protest. Many of those protesting were angry at the U.S. for allowing the Shah, recently deposed, to enter the U.S. for medical treatment. Plus, the Shah’s downfall had left the country and the Iranian government extremely fragile, with various groups vying for power.

  At the 4 November protest, one of many that year, a group of Muslim students loyal to, ‘The Imam’ (Khomeini), following a pre-arranged plan, suddenly stormed over and through the embassy gates. Interestingly, they were able to bring up bolt cutters unbeknownst to the Marine guards by smuggling them under the chadors of the women. Their goals were to embarrass the U.S., while strengthening the factional position of Khomeini. Once inside, the students re-closed the gates to keep out other factions and ensure their control.

  According to the mullah, originally the Iranian government, including Khomeini, was against taking hostages and wanted to arrest the students. However, once inside the embassy, the students found radios, encoding devices, and documents (both shredded and otherwise) that, “showed U.S. spying and plans for a coup.” Once this became public, Iranian anger against the U.S. rose to such a level that the government had no choice but to back the students.

  The mullah’s description did its best to put Khomeini and the Iranian government in a favorable light. When the mullah said that Khomeini had no knowledge of the embassy attack beforehand, which by most accounts is true, he left out a 1 November speech, among many others by Khomeini, which called for demonstrations against Americans, including at the embassy. Also unmentioned by the mullah, and the students at the time of the hostage-taking, was that much of the spying equipment and related items were for use against the Soviet Union, Iran’s northern neighbor, not against Iranians.

  That said, I found no reason to doubt the assertions made by the mullah, and in other research since, that Khomeini and the Iranian government had originally been against the hostage-taking. With so many factions vying for power, such an aggressive plan could easily have backfired and harmed, rather than helped, Khomeini’s chances for control. However, there few doubts that once the, “spy material and coup documents,” were discovered, Khomeini shrewdly cast in his lot with the students.

  After the long discussion of Islam and the hostage-taking, we finished our tea and talked of simpler things. I told the mullah how much I was enjoying my trip and thanked him for inviting us inside. The mullah even switched to English for a while during the more informal chat, telling me of his degree in Psychology and how much he enjoyed the writings of Dale Carnegie, of all people.

  Once we finished, the mullah had the student take us on a personal tour of the shrine, even allowing me to take a couple of pictures. As I mixed with the pilgrims, the amount of staring was huge, though it seemed more curious than angry. I also noticed that our student escort carried a special baton that signaled to everyone his official relationship with the shrine – perhaps what kept people from attacking the infidel and his guide. The picture I have of myself standing in front of the shrine, a place few non-Muslims have ever tread, is one of my favorites of the trip.

  I guess it pays to go in the off-season.

  Tomb of Khomeini

  After leaving Qom, we continued north to Tehran on the best road of the whole trip. It was a wide, flat, recently resurfaced expressway that looked straight out of the American west. We even stopped for lunch at a rest stop where I saw my first, and only, stand-up urinal in Iran. Apparently for religious reasons, Iranian/Islamic men are supposed to sit or squat, no matter what they’re doing in the bathroom. I had yet to see a single stand-up urinal in the whole country, until I walked into the men’s room of this brand new rest stop. I almost took a picture I was so surprised. Professor saw my face and laughed.

  Still recovering from my surprise at the urinals (on the road to the holy city of Qom no less!), we quickly ate lunch before getting back on the road. Heading north, the pollution that forever hovers over Tehran soon obscured the horizon with a giant black haze. It was so dark it felt like driving into an eclipse.

  On the southern outskirts of Tehran, near where we’d passed almost three weeks before on the way out of town, sat the giant, and still growing, Tomb of Ayatollah Khomeini. From afar, the minarets and domes made it look like a giant mosque, but up close, images of ‘The Imam’ revealed the tomb’s true purpose.

  Khomeini is a revered figure in Iran. Even many people I met who would complain about the current government would rarely criticize Khomeini. Anything negative from his rule is blamed on outsiders or the shortcomings of his underlings. In many ways, it reminded me of how even those North Koreans who had fled their country would rarely find fault with the nation’s founder, Kim Il-sung. Something about the personal history and charisma of these two founding leaders make their countrymen overlook faults and see only that which they can respect.

  Since many of my first childhood memories from the news are of an evil, threatening Khomeini, the idea of visiting his tomb had me on edge. The images of Khomeini in my mind were anti-Americanism and mobs wanting to kill my countrymen. It had admittedly been a strange day so far, what with the Korean at breakfast, troublesome call about state security in the car, and a private meeting with a leading mullah at the shrine in Qom, but could I honestly expect a friendly reception at Khomeini’s tomb?

  The first part of that reception turned out to be bitter, freezing cold. This was as far north as we’d been in weeks and stepping out of the car into the biting wind was literally painful. The fading January light, barren windswept approach to the massive doors, and the surroundings of bare concrete and idle construction equipment added desolation to the frigid atmosphere. Walking up to the huge doors, of course separated by sexes, rekindled the foreboding I’d felt earlier in the day before Qom.

  On slipping inside we were met by acres of carpets and marble. The gaping interior and echoes of voices through the vast emptiness made the place feel more like a warehouse than anything holy. The first thing we had to do was turn over our shoes to an attendant, who jammed them into a footlocker before handing us the key. Once cleansed of our shoes, we were finally allowed to tread Khomeini’s holy floors. Memories of the shoe-covered tour at the Kim Il-sung Museum came to mind.

  Scattered on the floor just past the shoe lockers were groups of people, families mostly, who’d turned a trip to the tomb into a full-fledged holiday. People broke open baskets of food, kids yelled and chased each other, while old men sat talking and drinking tea. The purpose of a mosque, aside from religion, is as a shelter and respite from the world at large. No matter how much that image may have been perverted by terrorists, a mosque is really a place not only to worship, but also to relax and spend time with (same-sex only) friends and family. The Tomb of Khomeini, while not a mosque, appeared designed to serve similar functions.

  After making our way past the families and tour groups, the next step was security. We had to pass through an airport-style metal detector and have our bags searched before reaching the inner sanctum. The concern for terrorist attacks against Khomeini seemed somewhat ironic, given the general view of Khomeini and Iran in the outside world, but I’m sure the threat from Sunni terrorists is quite real.

  The security guys, with few visitors on an early Tuesday evening, proved quite friendly. They had to ask my nationality as part of the check and, as usual, their eyes went wide with surprise when I said America, especially when I said a few words in Farsi. Though they pretended to only joke about having to extra-carefully search an American, I noticed they were more thorough with me as anyone else – even asking me to turn on my camera to make sure it wasn’t a bomb. We spoke for a while, them asking about what I did for a living and how I liked Iran, while I asked about life and work at the tomb.

  So far, wi
th picnicking families and at least outwardly friendly security, the place didn’t seem all that bad. We walked the short distance from security to the giant room housing the actual tomb. Ahead, across about an acre of Persian carpets and surrounded by an ornately gilded glass cover, which for some reason reminded me of a fancy birdcage, lay Khomeini’s remains.

  As we approached the tomb itself I almost made a mistake. There’s a separate area roped off for women, and I almost blundered in there before noticing the signs and quickly diverting to the much larger men’s area. Women knelt and prayed in their area, while men gathered in another, just in front of the tomb. Groups of people, mostly men, were scattered throughout the carpet-covered emptiness of the warehouse-like structure. Some sat and talked, but many were laying on the carpets, dozing.

  That’s when I first heard the wailing. For many Iranians a visit to the tomb is an emotional, religious experience and I saw many people openly crying. They looked into the ornate, room-like little cage as if at a dearly departed family member. Many ran their hands lovingly over the metal and glass; others caressed it as they slowly circled past. Parents held up babies and explained to their children about the man inside. I went up to peer in but quickly felt self-conscious as all eyes turned toward the foreigner.

  The man sitting to my left is ‘undercover’ security.

  Professor and I decided to sit down on one of the thick carpets to watch people come and go. The soft carpet, hum of the overhead heating system, and general quiet (between the funeral wails anyway) soon had me drowsy. I could see why so many others had drifted off to sleep, and why truckers and other travelers sometimes sleep here in lieu of buying a hotel room. It was oddly relaxing – my foreboding and nervousness had utterly disappeared.