Last October I was invited to an Iranian wedding in San Francisco. A doctor marrying a lawyer. Anyone who knows anything about Iranians will know that doctors tend to marry lawyers. That way if they get sick of the marriage, they can simultaneously cure and sue each other, saving money on medical and legal fees.
A friend of mine at MIT says come visit me in Cambridge on your way to San Francisco. I say on one condition: we rent a car and go see the autumn colours in New Hampshire. It’s been my dream to see autumn in New England. All that lush colour basking in glorious autumn light. She agrees. Then my TEDster friend Deborah Scranton who lives on a farm says if you’re going to be leaf-peeping in my neighbourhood, come and stay. So we have this amazing drive through trees and leaves, taking pictures as only tourists know how, and end up at Deborah’s house in time for dinner.
Over dinner the conversation turns to the presidential election and Deborah’s father says: “If I knew you were coming I would have got you tickets to see Obama”. My ears prick up! Turns out tomorrow, Obama will be speaking at a rally in an orchard in Londonderry, but no tickets left. I go to bed a bit down on this whole thing. Wake up at 4 am, still on London time, staring out the window at a full moon looking at me. I’m lying in this silver halo, thinking in a few hours the most historic presidential candidate of modern times is going to be down the road and you cannot miss the chance to see him just because you have no tickets. At this stage I’m not thinking about the headline “Two Iranians gatecrash Obama rally.”
After breakfast I decide, hell, let’s go to the orchard and find a way of getting in. Where there's a will, there's a way.
So we arrive at Mack’s Apples in Londonderry. There’s a long line of people as far as your eyes can see down the country road, all with pink tickets in hand, waiting to go through security. The volunteers show us to other side of the road, another long line, the ticketless hopefuls. We go to the end.
I see how slowly the ticketed line is moving. The security is tight and makes airport security look like a picnic. So, I ask my friend to stay in line while I go looking for plan B. I start walking down the ticketed line asking everyone “Do you have a spare ticket? Do you have extra tickets?” After two, three hundred times asking, one guy digs in his pocket and hands me a single ticket. I hug him. But one ticket is no good. By the time I’m at the end of line facing empty farmland I must have asked over 1000 people. Then this girl runs up to me and asks “Did I hear you want a ticket?” “Yes!” “I think I have one in my car,” she says, “Wait here, I go get it”. And she runs off into the distance for what seems like an eternity. Twenty minutes later she runs back, sweating, sorry, glowing, with a ticket in hand. I hug her, in spite of her glow, and run back to the end of the line, grab my friend and we hop and skip across the road to the ticketed line.
So, now we’re inside. The big moment arrives. Obama comes on and speaks. And boy, does he know how to speak! We’re enthralled, mesmerised and uplifted. Every now and then look at each other not believing we are here. It begins to rain, and I think even the heavens are crying with joy at the prospect of him becoming president.
The speech over, people start to shuffle out, but I think we’ve come this far we’ve got to see the man up close, shake his hand. I want to be touched by the hand of history. At this stage I’m not thinking about the headline “Obama palls around with Iranian terrorists from the axis of evil” and the how this could lose him the presidency. "Palling around with terrorists" is at this stage the slogan of choice for the McCain/Palin campaign.
So, we push our way to the front and wait our turn as he goes on a walkabout surrounded by eagle eyed security men. He gets closer and closer and I am filming and my friend is taking photos, people are jostling and pushing to shake his hand. The bodyguards look sharper. I realise my right hand is strapped into the handycam. How will I shake his hand? Either I get the perfect close up, the money shot, or put down the camera and free my right hand. There’s just no time for such a manoeuvre. Obama is right in front of me. It’s now or never. Panic sets in. I could lose my appointment with history. What will I tell my grandchildren? I opt for a compromise . Still filming with the right hand, I reach out with my left hand to offer him an easy grip, little finger outermost. And so it happens.
Barack Hussein Obama, the 44th President of the United States, the first black leader of the free world, touches my little finger.
So, President Obama has already made contact with Iran. And should his administration go ahead and talk to Iran, and if those talks lead to restoration of diplomatic links, and a harmonious and mutually respectful relationship develops between our countries, and if I may be so bold as to suggest, that leads to peace in the Middle East, I’d like to think it all began on October 16th, 2008, in an orchard in New Hampshire with a tiny wave of my little finger.
Blessed by that encounter a few weeks later in November 2008 I was elected a TED Fellow. Obama went on to win the presidency.
Taghi Amirani
TED Fellow 2009
http://www.ted.com/index.php/profiles/view/id/81645
@tagz23
Comments [1]