SEEDS FROM A PERSIAN GARDEN

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With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,

And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;

And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd--

"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."

?????????????????-- Omar Khayyam, The Rubaiyat, Quatrain XXVIII

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Blessed are the peacemakers,

for they shall be called the sons and daughters of God

--Jesus, Matthew 5:9

Scholars and literati dispute the provenance of the 101 quatrains of Omar Khayyam’s beloved Rubaiyat, just as New Testament exegetes quibble over what Jesus said and did not say, but the fact is that these words live.?They are like the Rubaiyat’s seed of wisdom which, once planted and watered, cannot but grow and produce more seeds.?And Jesus’ word and promise lives also, a living promise to those who do the hard, thankless, dangerous work of peacemaking, whether in the streets, in the halls of government, whether concealed in police detention, torture and execution, or at a geographic distance from the Islamic Republic of Iran, in tribal areas of the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan, in stoning pits for those whose crime was to fall in love—they shall be called the sons and daughters of God!

But it is pleasant, I think, to remember and to celebrate times and places when and where ears were receptive to those sowing the seeds of peace, of mutual discovery of peoples, of smiles shared and hope for the world in its youth. The American Field Service (https://afs.org/) is dedicated to fostering just such planting of seeds of peace.?I can personally attest to one instance in which a peace crop was planted that is still bear a high yield today.?

The school year was 1966/67, my sophomore year in high school and the year before I got my driver’s license.?The place was a small town, albeit a county seat, in South Texas, not far from the metropolis of San Antonio which would hold a world’s fair in 1968, but a very long way and a very far cry from that cosmopolitan cradle of civilization, Teheran, capital of Iran.?At that time, Iran was perhaps our most stalwart ally in the region along with the Kingdom of Jordan, Lebanon, Turkey and Israel, but times change.?So there was nothing unusual in 1966 about hosting an AFS student from Iran and its capital, except that the student herself was so unusual, quite apart from being positively the most beautiful creature I had beheld in all my nearly sixteen years.?

Minoo A. was introduced at a school assembly that hot Texas September, during which she replied to the school superintendent’s question about how she liked Texas so far and the Texas heat by laughing a little, then speaking a little like Queen Elizabeth and saying graciously, “Well, everything is so BIG here, and as to the heat, perhaps you should try what we have in Iran!”?Laughter and applause from a united and pleased Student Body followed.?Nobody likes to be told that things are ‘so big’ quite so much as a Texan.?Either Minoo had worked that out for herself, or somebody from AFS or the USIA had coached her.

Astonished I was to learn that the very next week Minoo would be speaking in person and up much closer than an auditorium stage at my very own church youth group, of which I was a low-ranking officer.?

To this day, I do not know how I managed it, but I believe I remember just about everything she said.?She started off by saying “I’ll bet you know another name for my country.?Can anyone say it?”?Nope.?Nobody could.?“It’s Persia!” Then some knuckle-headed kid in the back said in a heavy South Texas drawl, “Oh, like them flying carpets.” Minoo laughed and nodded and said, “Yes, but ours don’t fly, ?They just look pretty, and in point of fact”—so like the Queen she spoke—.I have some pictures of Persian carpets for you right here."?Then came the slide show with Persian Carpets, a picture of Omar Khayyam, historical monuments and houses of worship, museum jewels, ?peacocks aplenty and other illustrations of the geography and culture of Iran as a whole, including cars and motorcycles, no camels, on which people got around.?Then Minoo zeroed in on ‘her beautiful city’ which I think she said was known as the Paris of the Lavant or something, but I remember wondering why they didn’t call Paris the Teheran of the Seine.?I was good at geography.?I remember viewing those slides of Teheran in the darkened and air-conditioned church hall, some in color and some in black and white.?I wondered if that was a family collection of hers or whether her school had supplied her with equipment for her journey and mission.?I hoped that it had been the school and her teachers and classmates, kids like us.?I know Minoo showed us a picture of it, a girl’s school as I recall.

After a while Minoo stopped being our travel guide, but with a slide still in the projector and on the screen showing a beautiful boulevard lined with palm trees and a kind of Romanesque arc de triomphe. I’m sure about the palm trees, not 100% sure about the arch which was, in my mind’s eye today at least, very classically ancient-looking, not the ultra-modern structure shown in all the photographs of Teheran today.??Then Minoo called for questions.?“What,” her AFS sister asked, “do boys and girls our age like to do in Teheran?”?I think they had rehearsed this at home, but no matter.?“Oh,” Minoo smiled, turning slightly toward the screen and directing our glance gracefully with her left hand, “they love to walk and hold hands up and down these beautiful boulevards, and in the botanical gardens and parks all over my beautiful city.”?How many times did she say ‘my beautiful city?’?How homesick she must have been, and perhaps there was a boy back in Teheran who was heart-sick for missing her.?Then someone asked, I think it may have been an adult—there were lots of them present, youth group sponsors and some parents—“What religion are most people in Iran (pronounced like ‘I ran’).”?I cringed not just because of the accent, but because I knew from being a whiz at geography and social studies that the answer was ‘Muslim,’ which we wrote and pronounced ‘Moslem’ in those days.?But, Minoo did not cringe.?The soul of poise she smiled disarmingly yet again and said, “Most of us are Muslim, and there are quite a few Christians and well as Jewish people, but I and my family are Zoroastrians.”?‘Zoro what!?’ I thought.?But Minoo, able to see the thought cloud over our collective heads, probably not just mine, answered our questions without skipping a beat, “You know!?Like the Three Wise Men, the Three Kings!” Wow!?She belonged to the same church as the Three Kings!?What a woman and what a country!?

Minoo A. being a high school, senior and I a lowly sophomore, there was no chance of any further social interaction between us, except to catch a glimpse from time to time in the halls between classes.?I’m sure she took her already polished slide show presentation to Rotary and Lions Clubs and Chambers of Commerce and Kiwanis Clubs all over our town, some of the neighboring burgs, and perhaps even San Antonio.?They were fortunate whoever heard her speak and laugh and talk about her ‘beautiful city.’?I hope they remembered her in the dark years ahead, during the Islamic Revolution and the embassy hostage crisis that overthrew Shah Mohamed Reza Palavi and brought down a good and decent US presidential.??Though just a public high school, my school used to do a good job of keeping track of alumni to organize class reunions, and though I have never been to even one of those, I heard through the grape vine a few years ago that Minoo and her husband and children had moved to New York City, where I hope they found a new and safe and welcoming home.???Not all places in this country are.

Iran is always in the news, at least during slow news cycles, and every time it is I think of Minoo and what she did for us, for me, to expand our view of the world and to soften our American hearts.?Attending a Julio Iglesias concert at New Jersey’s Garden State Arts Center—today named after a bank—I saw Julio do that night what I had seen him do on stage in New York as an act of enlightened showmanship, at least until that night, when he called a little girl with her father up on stage with him, and then proceeded to speculate on her ethnic heritage. ??“Ah, my little angel,” the Spaniard coed, “I can see that you are a unity of many peoples and races,” whereupon her father felt compelled to gently correct the entertainer.?“Actually, no she is of one heritage.”?“Oh?” said Julio, “and what is that?”?“We are Iranian.?We are from Iran.”?The father replied.?A gasp from the open-air auditorium which must have been audible on the Garden State Parkway arose.?How could they? I thought.?How could they be so cruel and so stupid simultamneously??How could they not know that this family from Iran wanted to be part of this family of America, E Pluribus Unum and all??How could they??They had not heard Minoo.?They had not seen her smile and laugh and be gracious to all.?But I had, and I remember still.

I remember still each time I see a beautiful young Iranian woman reported in the media, boldly refusing to be treated like property of male relatives, of husband, of state, or like a small child who must be dressed by its parents before being allowed outdoors.?I remember each time I see images of them protesting, right in front of the tyrannical state and its absurb ‘Morality Police,’ the state that has highjacked the dreams of this nation that should take its place among the cultural, industrial, technological and democratic nations of the First World.?I remember Minoo, and am so glad she escaped each time I see the portrait of another woman who has had the life crushed out of her in Evin Prison, or other hell-holes around the country, her country.?I cry for Minoo, as she must for Iran, and for her dream of boys and girls, just together, or in love holding hands, being young and full of hope, walking freely up and down those palm tree-lined boulevards of Her Beautiful City.?I remember you, Minoo.?God bless you and God bless the great and courageous women and nation of the Iranian people!

--Guy C. Carter, Worcester, Massachusetts, ?August 1, 2023