Flying into Tehran on the President's own jet, after a secret itinerary that encompassed several foreign countries so as to avoid travel restrictions imposed by the United States government, Betcha touched down in what he described as a "war zone" this week to be blindfolded, tied up, and frisked at the airport. It seems
even the most trusted reporter in the business cannot get close to the President--ever more fearful of assasination attempts--without a full body search and other such precautions. Other than the fact that the Revolutionary Guard seemed to enjoy the body search
a little too much, the process was rather uneventful. Whisked away in a government limo following a circuitous route to avoid any possible tails, Betcha arrived at a back alley entrance to the President's office at an undisclosed location overlooking the demonstrations. There he was frisked again, forced to undergo yet another strip search and run through a metal dectector to ensure that even he--
the most trusted name in journalism--did not carry a weapon. Satisfied that he was no risk, Betcha was led blindfolded into the President's office for the ostensible interview. Upon entry, his blindfold was removed and the door shut behind him.
Curiously, when the reporter opened his eyes, the President of Iran was nowhere in sight. As he scanned the room for his interviewee, Betcha heard a rather quiet "
Pssssst!" emanating from the direction of the President's impressive walnut desk. As he approached the rather disorganized desk, on which sat a curious collection of items including "The Audacity of Hope," "100 Places to See Before You Die," a half full bottle of vodka, a couple of half-smoked doobies, assorted columns from the Canada Free Press, and a "Moscow Visitor's Guide," a whispered voice in broken English summoned him. "Down here," the voice beckoned, whereupon Hugh noticed the President of Iran crouched down under his desk, wearing a helmet, flak jacket, and holding a 9 mm pistol. "What are you doing down there Mr. President?" the reporter asked. "Hiding from the terrorists," he replied nervously. "What terrorists?" the reporter asked, curious. "The terrorists in the streets down there. Until the Guards quell these demonstrations, I was ordered by the Supreme Council to remain here." "You mean the students, intellectuals, and women who are demonstrating for democracy, freedom, and the right to have their vote counted in a fair election?" The President did not answer.
The reporter knelt down in order to get closer to the President, who was speaking in a halting whisper, pale, and trembling in fear of the events unfolding below in the streets. "Isn't it ironic?" the reporter asked, "Just 30 years ago you too were in the streets overthrowing a government, taking Americans hostage and protesting for freedom." "
Ah, but that was very different" the President protested. "Our revolution was a
righteous one. Are you naive? We did not have a revolution to promote democracy" he replied sternly, "we had a revolution to usher in an Islamic government.
That is true freedom--the freedom to study the Koran, the freedom to return to the values of the 7
th Century; the freedom to be ruled by elderly Muslim Clerics who tell us how to live under strict Sharia law. Like our brothers in the Taliban, we wanted to bring back
the good old days, when women knew their place, kept everything but their eyes covered so as to not be so provocative; when women were subservient to men and could be stoned to death for marital infidelity--although a man could have several wives.
The good old days, when there was no internet, no cell phones, no blue jeans, no McDonalds, no rock and roll, no rap, no decadent videos--only the words of the Prophet to guide us. That was our goal in 1979. There was no thought of this decadent Western liberal
democracy where everyone can think and act like they want; where the people have the right to assemble anywhere, and any time, to protest the government , where religious freedom is practiced and Christians, Jews and other infidels are allowed to live in society without fear of reprisal or death.
The good old days, when alcohol was forbidden, public affection was not allowed, where non- believers were punished, where there were no homosexuals--
we have none you know--and where the 85 year old mullahs told us how to live and how to think. Yes, those were
our ideals and the goal of
our revolution. Now, those people down there, " he continued, pointing at the demonstrators, " they scream for freedom--to vote, to assemble, to speak out against our holy men and myself, to embrace decadent Western values which are the tools of Satan.
Do you know the women actually wear Calvin Klein jeans under their chadora? How can any society prosper which lives like this? Most of those in the streets are mentally ill, CIA agents, Zionists, and Fox News reporters, sent here to foment insurrection."
Asked how he planned to stop the revolution in the streets, Ahmadinejad replied: "This 'freedom' is a disease that must be cured by any means necessary. We have plenty of caustic chemical spray, tear gas, bullets, tanks, and troops. Our cause is righteous and they will see that in time.
Or, we will kill them all. There can be no compromise. It is Allah's will. As a Revolutionary Guard, I executed hundreds after our revolution--it means nothing to me. I am doing the work of Allah. Excuse me," Ahmadinejad said as he opened his Blackberry and began texting, "Khameini just sent me a message. Something about meeting at his bunker for tea. You must leave now, sorry."
As the confused
Stoos Views reporter abruptly took his leave of the President to return home and report the results of his interview, Ahmadinejad grabbed his arm: "And you will tell your readers the truth won't you? " he said sternly. "You will, of course, tell them that the President of Iran was confident, fully in control of the situation, bravely leading the Revolutionary Guards against the terrorist hordes, and running the government from his desk in Tehran, won't you?
After all, we do know where you live...."
-Satire
After receiving a frantic call from the beleaguered President of Iran requesting a meeting with the most trusted journalist in America, Stoos Views' on ace reporter and Chief of the Middle East News Bureau, Hugh Betcha, was dispatched to Tehran to meet the President under the cover of darkness at his office.
