by Jeff Nesbit
Ahmadian had rolled into power with the blessing of Iran’s Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Amir Shahidi, and had promptly electrified the world with apocalyptic speeches at the United Nations and elsewhere that predicted the imminent return of the 12th Imam—the Mahdi—and the imminent demise of Israel.
“I will wipe Israel off the face of the map,” Ahmadian had said on more than one occasion.
Ahmadian’s actions and words had taken a toll on the sensibilities of Iran’s moderates, and several important clerics had quietly withdrawn their support of him over the years. The “principalist” clerics had pressed the Supreme Leader to disown his hand-picked president. But Shahidi had remained steadfastly behind Ahmadian and embraced him publicly after a highly contested national election that had led to violence in the streets of Iran and hundreds of arrests.
Iran’s Revolutionary Guards had long targeted Razavi as the leader of a velvet revolution, accusing him of working with British and American operatives to incite violence and turn the people against Ahmadian and the elected leadership of Iran.
There was some truth to it, of course, though it was much more complicated than it appeared. Yes, Razavi was deeply involved in opposing Ahmadian and had the backing of the West in that opposition. But Razavi also had the blessing of several Grand Ayatollahs who were appalled at the bluster and naïve insensitivity of Ahmadian. Many of them would be outraged when they learned of Razavi’s house arrest.
A split had grown in the religious leadership of Iran, and Razavi had worked hard to win the hearts and minds of senior clerics who hoped to see Iran move back into the good graces of the world community. He’d come close to reaching a majority among those clerics—but not enough to convince Iran’s Supreme Leader to back him.
Reza was an enigma to some. He was very political—and adept at dealing with the highest levels of power and authority in Iran. But he was also just as comfortable dealing with the religious leaders and hierarchy. And, at an even deeper level, Reza was comfortable in his own skin, with his own beliefs.
It was obvious to even the most casual observer that Reza Razavi was a man of deep personal beliefs and convictions. He never defended his religious beliefs—he lived them.
That belief—and his willingness to act forthrightly based on it—was what allowed him to operate in both the religious and political spheres in Iran. He was at home in many worlds. It also allowed him to very clearly see the current president for what he was—a political leader with very little real substance, but who was adept at saying things the masses adored.
The irony, Razavi knew from several sources, was that the Supreme Leader was no longer enamored of Ahmadian and hoped to see him removed from office eventually. But neither could the Supreme Leader afford to let the West dictate Iran’s leadership, so he had swung the full force of his office behind Ahmadian after the contested election.
The senior commander of the powerful Guards—who also controlled Iran’s covert nuclear weapons program—had gone on the offensive within weeks of the election, repeatedly condemning Razavi on Iran’s state-controlled television for inciting unrest in the country. He’d demanded a trial by the judiciary. It was for this reason Razavi had known it would only be a matter of time before the Guards found a reason to arrest him.
But Razavi had prepared for this day well. And, since his arrest, he’d spent his time productively, monitoring world events through mVillage—now the principal way in which many Iranians received and sent real-world news of events and stories in Iran.
Razavi was amazed at the simplicity and elegance of mVillage. It rivaled the creation of the Internet once upon a time. With just a cell phone, Razavi could now create and send video messages that completely bypassed the state-controlled media to millions of followers.
More important, millions could continue to take part in democracy in Iran through mVillage, despite the government’s attempt to control access to the Internet and media from the West. Iran’s Revolutionary Guards had almost shut down the cell networks in the country to block mVillage but had quickly learned that doing so would end cell coverage in the country. That alone would likely be a tipping point and turn the country permanently against the ruling leadership, so they backed off from that threat. The mVillage network remained.
Razavi had taken a momentary break for a snack. But now he turned on his cell phone again and logged into mVillage. The video of his house arrest had triggered a tidal wave. There were dozens of media-rich text messages from all over the country in his inbox. Nearly all were from well-wishers and others in his immediate network who urged him to remain strong. More than a few promised to sound the alarm.
Iran had made the political decision to test a nuclear weapon, and people were beginning to broadcast this to the world through mVillage. No one had hard proof of the decision, but enough had heard from dissidents within the government’s ranks to know it was likely true. Iran had gambled that silencing opposition and student leaders would buy them time. The exact opposite appeared to be happening, thanks to the video of his house arrest.
Based on what he was seeing in mVillage, Razavi knew it must be true. He was surprised Rev. Shahidi had blessed Ahmadian’s decision to let the Revolutionary Guards go critical and cross the nuclear threshold. But it was a curious time in Iran, with Ahmadian predicting chaos that would usher in the return of the Mahdi and at least some part of the clerical theocracy buying into that political philosophy.
Troop activity on the western borders, read one mVillage message. Razavi opened the message and watched a video taken with a cell phone that clearly showed grainy images of jets taking off in the gathering darkness of dusk at an airbase somewhere in Iran.
Late night for the Supreme Leader, said another. The video embedded in that message, also shot with a cell phone, clearly showed Shahidi with an entourage entering a building somewhere in Tehran long after the sun had set.
Revolutionary Guards mobilizing, said a third, with the accompanying mobile video showing a montage of activity in and around the Guards’ national headquarters.
Security tight around Kahrizak, said a fourth, with video showing troops mobilizing to fortify around the detention center in south Tehran that held many of the dissident leaders accused of fomenting the soft revolution.
It was enough, Razavi knew. The day he’d feared for some time had, in fact, arrived. Ahmadian and the Revolutionary Guards were making their move, and it would only be a matter of time before the Israelis responded. Perhaps they were on the move even as he viewed these messages through mVillage.
Razavi pulled out the portable keyboard he’d managed to secure from a friend and plugged his cell phone into it. There may have been no computers in the house, but he didn’t need one. His mobile was more than enough to send a message out to his followers through mVillage. He would do so as a “friend of Razavi.” But those who paid attention would know.
Be strong, Razavi began to type. We will face a test in the coming hours and days. We must remain firm in our commitment to usher in a new era of democracy. We must not respond foolishly, or in anger, as the world rushes again to our doorstep….
09
LILONGWE, MALAWI
It always humored—and often exasperated—Nash that his father almost religiously refused to answer his cell phone. Nash had built a global public health empire around the use of mobile technology, yet he couldn’t get his own father to answer a call—even when his dad had just left him a voice mail.
Yeah, he knew his dad was an ambassador for one of the United States’ most important allies, but he could still take a call from one of his kids, for crying out loud.
Nash had tried his dad’s cell several times before arriving at his friend’s house, then gave up. He finally excused himself, stepped outside the pastor’s modest one-bedroom apartment, and called the after-hours number at the embassy. He eventually tracked down his dad’s executive assistant.
“Cynthea, is my dad around?” Nash asked, trying not
to let the exasperation he felt bleed through. “He sent me a text on my mobile.”
“He’s just finishing up a call.”
“You’re still in the office?” Nash asked, surprised. He glanced at his watch. It had to be almost midnight in Tokyo.
Cynthea sighed. “Yes, still here. Your father has been on the phone the entire evening.”
Nash couldn’t help himself. He was intrigued now and wondered why in the world his father would track him down in the middle of the night.
“What’s up, Dad?” Nash asked when Cynthea finally connected him. “You called?”
There was a brief pause at the other end of the line. When Ethan Lee—Ambassador Lee to everyone but his kids and a few friends—finally answered, Nash could hear the exhaustion in his father’s hoarse voice. He was obviously nearing the end of a very long day.
“I did call,” his dad said. “By the way, where are you, anyway?”
Nash chuckled. Just like his dear old dad not to know where, exactly, his son was. “Lilongwe. I’m testing a new project with the new diagnostic kit.”
“Ah, the one you’ve been bench testing at UCLA,” his dad said. “So you’re taking it into the field?”
“That’s right, Dad. Good for you.” Nash laughed.
“Hey, I try to keep track of what you’re up to,” his dad said. “How’s it look?”
Nash leaned up against the tree and glanced out over the gathering darkness of Malawi. He loved this country. He always returned to the warm heart of Africa whenever he could to test new parts of VHC.
This new project was revolutionary, and he’d wanted to get it right before rolling it out to hundreds of clinics. VHC had developed a mobile diagnostic kit that could take high-resolution images of blood work—at the point of care, anywhere in the world—and run analytics right there, on the spot. The mobile diagnostic kit, a cell phone, and a personal solar panel would allow a village health worker to estimate CD4 counts in order to titrate AIDS therapy or test for malaria or TB.
The entire mobile health system was a game-changer. NGOs previously had to roll expensive mobile clinics into remote and rural areas to test for such things. The new mobile VHC kits would be able to handle the same scenarios previously covered by the mobile clinics—at a cost of thousands of dollars per test—for just pennies.
Of course, Nash’s non-profit company made no money on the new system. But that wasn’t what mattered, as far as Nash was concerned. VHC was all about social innovation and solving global health problems. Spin-offs of the tech solutions more than covered the costs of doing good globally.
A good example was mVillage. Pieced together from multiple open-source systems and then wrapped together with some software development paid for by a foundation grant, mVillage had begun to eclipse Twitter and some of the other more popular social media tools in global use and bandwidth.
Nash knew, of course, that mVillage was just the new toy, and that something else would come along shortly to replace it, which was fine. He had no grand illusions of serving for very long as a tech industry titan straddling the world of media, finance, and technology. He was more than happy to do his thing and move on to the global public health pursuits that had gotten him involved with such things in the first place.
“The mobile diagnostic kit’s going to work, big-time,” Nash answered. “The first tests are confirming exactly what we’d hoped.”
“You can get accurate CD4 readings, enough to estimate the right therapy?”
Nash grunted. So his dad had been paying attention when he’d talked about this with him in past conversations. “Yep, we can.”
“The pixel and image resolution is good enough?”
“It is. Depends on the cell phone, but the newer models work just fine.”
“Any false positives?”
“None yet. We’re keeping our fingers crossed.”
“Good, good,” his dad said. “Your kit is going to help millions out in the field. It sounds like you have something, then.”
“I believe we do,” Nash said. “Time will tell.”
His dad paused. “But that’s not why I called, though I’m always interested in what you’re up to, of course.”
“I know, Dad,” Nash said, smiling to himself. “No worries. So tell me what’s keeping you—and your staff—working at midnight there in Tokyo.”
“Have you had a chance to monitor any of the mVillage traffic today?” his father asked.
“Not yet,” Nash said. “I haven’t checked with the staff in DC or London at all. I’ve been on a motorbike here in Malawi, going from village to village. I’m at a friend’s house right now. Is something going on?”
“Actually, yes, there appears to be,” his dad said. “My guess is there’s an enormous spike in traffic in Iran….”
Nash sighed. “You know I can’t look up personal or confidential information,” he said quickly. “That wouldn’t be right.”
“I’m not asking you to do that, or break any sort of confidences. But your staff analyzes traffic and trends and will be able to tell what’s driving the spike.”
“True. And the media produced in the system is generally available for everyone….” Nash thought for a minute. It was a point-to-point peer system for MMS and SMS, but most of the users made their content available for others to distribute through the mVillage database out to mass media outlets on several aggregate Internet sites.
“Can you do me a favor, then?”
“Shoot.”
“Can you check and see if you’ve gotten a post that’s headed out to those public-facing community portals? Specifically, can you see if Reza Razavi has contributed anything yet to the mVillage community—”
Nash interrupted. “The ex-president in Iran who’s now under house arrest, courtesy of the Revolutionary Guards? That Razavi?”
“You’ve heard?” his father asked, no trace of surprise in his voice.
Nash smiled. He wondered if his father had known. His dad seemed to know everything. But he doubted even his famous father would know the video of Razavi’s house arrest had been sent to Nash’s personal mVillage account, and from there to the world.
“Did you know that mobile video of his arrest came to me first, and that I had it posted?”
“No, I didn’t, but good for you,” his father said. “It’s not surprising, though. The only videos that ever make it out are coming through mVillage now. What I’m hoping is that Razavi still has a mobile with him—and the ability to reach out.”
Nash glanced again at his watch. It was now too late for someone to be working in London, and too early for anyone in San Francisco. But he had a chance in DC. “Hang on. Let me text DC and see if I can find someone who can check the mVillage server.”
Nash typed in the message and hit Send. It always tickled him that he could connect with anyone from places like this, at any time of day. He got a return text seconds later. Someone was working in DC, and was checking. He waited half a minute and got a second text. Yes, Razavi had just posted a message to the mVillage servers, from a mobile he was obviously using at his house. The person in DC sent Nash the text, which he glanced at quickly.
“Razavi has sent something to the mVillage community portal.” Nash scanned the words. “He talks about a coming test in the next few hours, and not responding foolishly.”
“Good,” his dad said. “That will help.”
“It hasn’t gone out yet to the community portals, but it will shortly. It will go out as a friend of Razavi’s—not from Razavi himself. He seems to be masking the fact he can communicate directly through mVillage—for obvious reasons.”
“Great. Glad to hear it.”
“So what’s he talking about? What test?”
“If you looked at the MMS videos coming out of Iran right now, you’d see them cataloguing military movement, Revolutionary Guards mobilization, heightened security, that sort of thing.”
“Which means Iran’s leadership has made the politic
al decision to go nuclear?”
“Most likely.”
“And Israel will respond,” Nash said softly. He’d listened to his dad talk about global politics—and the way leaders in each nation shaped and fashioned the course of human events related to those politics—enough to know what was at stake.
One of his father’s passions was Israel. Nash had never shared that passion—or abiding interest—in the fate of Israel on the world stage. He cared much more for the immediate needs of the people in Africa and developing nations. He had no time for a country like Israel, which had much going for it already.
In fact, he and his pastor friend had been engaged in a friendly, but heated, discussion about that very topic this evening. His friend had taken the position that global events were moving rapidly in a direction that placed Israel in the midst of many enemies, and that biblical prophecies centered on Israel were starting to make a great deal of sense.
Nash had never paid much attention to biblical prophecy. His own Christian faith led him much more in the direction of social justice and helping the poor. Events on the world stage held little interest for him—which was odd, considering what his father did for a living and the household he’d grown up in.
To Nash, Israel was a special country with quite a heritage and an uncanny knack for defending itself in the middle of a very dangerous region. But, he’d argued, it was not more special than or different from any other developed country. Nash had argued with his friend that evening that there simply had to be a better way to deal with Israel’s enemies, and that none of it had anything to do with biblical prophecy. Nash and his pastor friend often argued about this point.
“Yes, Israel will respond, sooner rather than later,” his dad said. “There’s no question about that, in my opinion. Depending on their success, how certain nations and leaders respond following that action is what will matter.”
