Rescuing Women (2)

OPINION 13

WEDNESDAY AUGUST 12, 2009

In Iran, a hostage-taker is now a hostage By Robin Wright Washington Post Service

Last week Iran’s theocracy widened its crackdown from suppressing an opposition movement to putting on trial the very revolutionaries who launched the Islamic republic. This new purge may be more profound politically than the campaign against the followers of Mir Hossein Mousavi: The Iranian revolution is eating its children. Mohsen Mirdamadi saw it all coming. He warned me about it five years ago. The only thing he didn’t foresee was his own role. Last week, he sat in a revolutionary court, dressed in gray prison pajamas, as one of its victims. I’ve followed Mirdamadi since the 1979 U.S. Embassy takeover. In 1981, I stood below the plane that brought 52 American diplomats to freedom in Algeria and wondered about the type of people who seized, interrogated and brutalized hostages for 444 days. Mirdamadi was one of three ringleaders. Former hostage John Limbert remembers him as “particularly nasty.” I met him a decade ago. Like many early revolutionaries, Mirdamadi had evolved over the intervening two decades from a scruffy student radical into a balding, pinstripesuited realist. In 2000, he ran for parliament as a reformer. A surprisingly small man, Mirdamadi took the powerful chairmanship of parliament’s national security and foreign relations committee, a platform he used to advocate political openings, freedom of assembly and speech, women’s rights, and an independent press, albeit within the boundaries of Islamic propriety. He launched the newspaper Norouz, or New Year, which advocated the rule of law and challenged authority. Ultimately, the authorities charged him with libel, subversion, “encouraging hooligans to undermine public order” and propagating “moral decadence.” The paper was banned. Unrepentant about the hostage drama, he nevertheless urged better relations with Washington. “Once enmity with America was in line with our interests,” he said in 2002, “but it is not like that today. Our interests today lie in detente with America.”

Mirdamadi came to represent the forces that carry revolutions into their final phase, what Crane Brinton in his classic “The Anatomy of Revolution” called “the convalescence.” But he apparently went too far. When he registered to run for reelection in 2004, he was disqualified by the clerical Council of Guardians. Dozens of incumbents and some 2,500 others were also disqualified. Mirdamadi led a mass resignation of 124 parliamentarians, almost half the total, in protest. It was the beginning, he told me a few months later, of what he feared would become a “bloodless coup.” In 2006, he became leader of his party, the largest reform faction. In 2008, he backed Mousavi for president. And in June, he was among the first arrested when Iran’s uprising erupted. While Mirdamadi was in parliament, Amnesty International issued 13 “urgent action” appeals asking supporters to write him demanding the release of political prisoners. Last month, it issued an appeal about him — as a political prisoner. The irony is that the purge taking place to prevent an allegedly foreign-backed “velvet revolution” may in fact spur one. President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s inaugural speech Wednesday was full of inane bluster. “We must play a key role in the management of the world,” he told parliament. But the regime only looks more desperate with each passing week. Tens of thousands of security forces had to be deployed in Tehran to preserve order on inauguration day, yet YouTube snippets still showed Iranians on crowded subway escalators shouting “death to the dictator.” The widening polarization of society will make it difficult for Ahmadinejad to rule during his second term. “The goals of the revolution are being forgotten as this government becomes more of a dictatorship,” Mirdamadi said, predicting the current turmoil. “But people still want change.”

The sorrow of a divided nation KIM SEONG-KON

Some people w ould argue thatofficially adopting the title ‘North’ and ‘South’ K orea implies that we have given up on unification permanently.

Whenever I travel to a foreign country and need to fill out an entry form or customs report, I always hesitate for a moment. I hesitate because I am not quite sure how to fill in the blank for “country.” If I were Japanese or French, I could simply write down, “Japan” or “France.” As a South Korean, however, things are not so simple. I always hesitate and ponder “Should I write South Korea, the Republic of Korea, or just Korea?” My country’s official name is the Republic of Korea. But foreigners may question whether it stands for North or South Korea. If I simply write “Korea,” foreigners may still wonder whether I mean North or South Korea. If I write South Korea, no such confusion will occur, but South Korea is not the official name of my country. When I flew into New York several weeks ago, I just wrote “Korea” on my I-94 entry card. The Homeland Security officer at the Kennedy Airport did not have any issues with my card. Perhaps he knew that North Koreans are not allowed to travel to the United States. However, things were a bit more complicated at the U.S. Post Office where it is possible to send mail to North Korea. A few days ago, wanting to send some documents to Seoul by priority mail, I handed my envelope to an American clerk at the post office. Seeing the package was

bound for Korea, he punched the computer keyboard to look up the postage rate. After staring at the screen for a while he asked, a bit confused, “Is it the Democratic Republic, or just the Republic?” “Just the Republic,” I replied promptly, “Without Democratic.” “So it’s the Republic without People, without Democracy,” the clerk said to himself, looking at the computer screen. Then he realized his mistake and hurriedly corrected it. “Oops! I mean, without Democratic.” We both chuckled at his inadvertent mistake. Or was it a joke? Indeed, it is not easy for foreigners to distinguish between South and North Korea’s official names. For instance, who would imagine “the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea” is actually the notoriously undemocratic country known as North Korea? Judging by its official title, North Korea ironically sounds like a democratic country, “of the people, for the people, by the people,” while South Korea does not. Perhaps that is why the proNorth Korea leftists in South Korea criticize the South Korean government as undemocratic and tyrannical, while strangely keeping silent about the political oppression and three generation-long dictatorship in North Korea. Perhaps that is why they chant for “people’s government” and “people’s

literature,” as if South Korea is a country without people and democracy. To their blinded eyes North Korea is a democratic nation where political power is in the hands of the people. These days few countries employ the prefix “Republic of” in their names. Even the People’s Republic of China and the Republic of China are now customarily called China and Taiwan for convenience’s sake. Many foreigners suggest that Korea too should consider eliminating confusing prefixes and go by just North and South Korea, like we are called in the international community. Watch CNN or BBC — reporters invariably refer to our country as “South Korea.” Similarly, they use the term “North Korea,” not the “Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.” Examine any international map and we will find that we are labeled as South Korea, not the Republic of Korea. Besides, when we go abroad, we introduce ourselves, saying, “I’m from Korea,” or “I’m from South Korea,” not “I’m from the Republic of Korea.” Our country’s name in Korean poses the same problem as well. The official title of our nation is “Daehan Minguk,” which means “the Republic of Great Korea.” Instead of using the pretentious name, therefore, we customarily refer to South Korea as “Hanguk” and North Korea

From Page 12

Robin Wright, a former Washington Post reporter and a public policy scholar at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, is the author of four books on Iran. — Ed.

years in prison, for “small translation errors.” America claims to uphold freedom of speech, yet the U.S. voiced no support for Lee. Does that freedom not apply to views that question American business practice that might have harmed Koreans? While political leaders are muddled about who deserves help and who does not, civil society organizations are developing more equitable international approaches. Most famously, “Amnesty International” has fought for the rights of political prisoners such as Aung San Suu Kyi since 1961. But Amnesty does not only support high profile prisoners. For example, it drew attention to another female prisoner in Myanmar, Ma Khin Khin Leh, a school teacher who was arrested with her 3-year-old daughter. She was given a life sentence because her husband helped plan a demonstration in 1999. She was released last February. “Reporters Sans Frontieres” (RSF) (Journalists without frontiers) tracks what is happening to journalists around the world. So far in 2009, 26 journalists have been killed, 186 are imprisoned, and 83 “cyberdissidents” have been detained. There is no prioritization for action based on nationality, and no distinction between males and females. Another civil society organization, “Reprieve,” addresses the human rights of prisoners, including those on death row in America, and in Guantanamo Bay. It provides legal support to prisoners who cannot pay for a lawyer, and promotes the ethic that even prisoners have equal rights under international law. The British organization, “Prisoners Abroad,” provides advice, information and support to

British citizens in prison abroad and their families. It works with overseas justice systems, and often helps to transfer prisoners back to the U.K. There is nothing wrong with this, but what about overseas prisoners who are not British? In 1910, Winston Churchill argued that “the civilization of a society can be judged by the way it treats its prisoners.” In a globalizing, high mobility world, it is time to apply that ethic to the international community. Could the U.N. build on the work of the civil society organizations, and develop international standards about prisoners’ rights, to replace random bilateral negotiations and personal preferences? Might it try to evolve a consensus about how to sanction countries guilty of judicial lawlessness? The British press reacted to Clinton’s intervention with the obvious cartoons. One shows Clinton meeting the North Korean leader, and saying, “I thought Kim was a chick.” Another shows him surprising Iranian President Ahmadinejad and Ayatollah Khamenei, at the presidential inauguration, saying, “Yo! More despot pariahs! Where’s the hostages? Where’s the chicks?” Perhaps that is unfair, but I do not hold out much hope of me being rescued by Bill Clinton if I were in a North Korean jail. This all evokes the British story of St. George and the Dragon. But before any other female Korean journalists think of venturing into North Korea in the belief that Bill Clinton would rescue them, they should note another British cartoon from the era of our “Iron lady” Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. The cartoon showed Thatcher tied to a post, with the dragon breathing fire at her. St. George appeared, rode to her side, and rescued the dragon.

Kim Seong-kon is a professor of English at Seoul National University and director of the Seoul National University Press. — Ed.

A summer Obama drama

Some women worth more? From Page 12

as “Bukhan.” The formalistic, pompous sounding “Daehan Minguk” is used only by patriotic crowds when chanting cheers at the World Cup. As for the formal name of North Korea, “Joseon Minjujui Inmin Gonghwaguk,” few South Koreans are familiar with it or use it. Some people would argue that officially adopting the title “North” and “South” Korea implies that we have given up on unification permanently. However, the rosy dream of unification that the Kim Dae-jung administration falsely inspired for political gain has now turned out to be a debunked fantasy. Therefore, foreigners argue that there is no reason we cannot go by South Korea. Then we will no longer need to hesitate when we write down the name of our country on foreign documents. Better yet, we will be free from the stress of being asked when overseas, “Are you North Korean?” after we said, “I’m from Korea.” We know it, and yet we still hesitate to officially call our country “South Korea.” Perhaps that is the sorrow of the people from a divided nation.

In cults, a darker side of 1960s rebellion By Jayanti Tamm Washington Post Service

At my local bookstore on the eve of the 40th anniversary of Woodstock, 1960s nostalgia is in high gear. A display table is stacked high with pricey coffee table books, each with its own variation on psychedelic rainbow lettering, each claiming to reveal the untold story of the “peace and music” festival. I understand the lucrative business of selling those hazy memories — the Woodstock museum, Cherry Garcia ice cream, even the new movie “Taking Woodstock.” I just can’t buy into it. It’s not because, as a GenXer, I feel slighted that I missed out on all the fun. It’s because for me and many other children of the flower children, our rosecolored glasses are not just slightly tinted, but darkly tainted. Along with the iconic music and fashion came myriad new religions and a foolish rush to embrace peddlers of spiritual snake oil. A flood of swamis, yogis and self-proclaimed enlightened beings preyed on hippies who were disillusioned by mainstream religion and in search of an alternative path. By the time the mud had dried at Woodstock, Swami Prabhupada had created the Hare Krishnas and the Rev. Sun Myung Moon had founded

the Unification Church — the Moonies. Communes and ashrams sprouted across America. In the 1960s, the decade now mythic for its anticonformity, flocks of people conformed to the dictates of selfproclaimed prophets. In 1968, the Beatles sat at the feet of the Maharishi. Consciousness-raising went mainstream. Reciting Sanskrit chants, wearing japa beads and finding a guru became chic. Everyone who was anyone read “I Am That” and “Autobiography of a Yogi.” Many free spirits obediently changed their names, dropped out of college and abandoned their families. Ironically, their wild-child rebellion landed them in rigidly structured cults that controlled their lives — and those of their children. For many, that life eventually grew old. They retired their mantras and moved on. But for others, my parents included, the intrigue never faded. Like the Beatles, my hippie parents met their guru in 1968. Sri Chinmoy, based in New York, promised them enlightenment — if they obeyed his dictates. All they had to do was surrender their lives to him. To my trusting and vulnerable mother, and to my eccentric and contemplative father, the offer sounded like a bargain. Arriving in the United States in 1964, Sri Chinmoy had vast

ambitions. He aimed to infiltrate the United Nations, win a Nobel Prize and gain a worldwide following. His disciples were to lead austere, celibate lives, devoting themselves and their financial resources entirely to his mission. In 1970 when my mother became pregnant — a clear breach of the rules — the guru saved face by divining me as his chosen soul. I was raised in the ashram of this man who declared himself an incarnation of God. Before I could walk, my parents dressed me in a sari and took me on their recruiting trips. Instead of acting in school plays and playing soccer, I distributed leaflets proclaiming the guru’s divinity from parade floats that wound through city streets. I spent summers scrubbing the cages of the zoo housed in the basement of the guru’s Queens home. When Chinmoy wanted to attract more media attention, he staged elaborate weightlifting feats, hoisting elephants, helicopters and even Nelson Mandela and Mikhail Gorbachev — a smoke-andmirrors spectacle I never understood. How could lifting elephants illuminate and ultimately transform the world? When I was a teenager, the guru’s strict rules banning all contact and relationships with the “outside” world provoked

questions and longings for everything he forbade — college, career and family. When he told me to neglect the mind and forever remain in the heart “like a 7-year-old,” I finally realized that he was a narcissistic charlatan, shamelessly exploiting the faithful. At 25, older than my parents had been when they renounced the world to serve the guru, I was formally banished, losing all my connections to the community I’d known since birth. Fortunately, I was young enough to forge a life on my own terms. For years, I have struggled with the reckless decision of some in my parents’ generation to entrust their present and future to those who claimed to be spiritually enlightened. Cultural historians today portray the ’60s as a unique time. I hope they are right. That is, I hope that the cast of corrupt opportunists — gurus, prophets and messiahs — who profited from others’ naive belief is indeed a unique ‘60s phenomenon, safely encapsulated in those glossy anniversary books. Jayanti Tamm, an English professor at Ocean County (New Jersey) College, is the author of “Cartwheels in a Sari: A Memoir of Growing Up Cult.” — Ed.

spinach with no dessert. So Obama sets out to marry cost control to a prize long sought by his party — universal health care. He recognizes that controlling health-care costs will require constant adjustments, so he seeks to put decisions in the hands of a Fedlike board of experts insulated from politics. He knows reform will fail if it is forced upon the system, so from the start he enlists key players who in the past would have opposed reform automatically: insurers, the drug industry, hospitals, the American Medical Association. Finally, he calculates that a win on health-care reform will give him the political momentum he needs to tackle the federal debt. But understanding that Congress, with its earmarks and appropriations barons, will never deliver fundamental fiscal reform, he will take the power away from the Pelosis and the Reids by means of a commission that can take the heat for the hard decisions he knows must be made. This version is also consistent with the facts — so which is the real movie? We may get some sense when the story reaches its exciting climax — when a health bill gets to conference, that is — and we see how hard Obama will fight for the cost-control, deficit-controlling side of reform. But, as with other Obama dualities that have vexed observers from the start (centrist or liberal? conciliator or partisan?), the real answer may be: both. Obama wants universal health care for its own sake — what president would want his legacy defined by the crabbed, thankless task of balancing the budget? — but he also believes it can pave the way to fiscal reform. It’s an audacious gamble. But, then, it wouldn’t be an Obama movie without one.

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