The End of Billabong
We are continually debating to what extent we should disguise ourselves. We are no longer going with the Billabong Malibu beach identities as it seems that Iranians think we’re tourists whatever outfit we wear, whatever actions we undertake. We decided on the ferry to take off our necktie thus positioning ourselves tangentially to Iranian revolutionary semantics where cravattes condensate all things evil from the West. Two days into the mission, we go around in our suits blatantly looking like agents. Handing out business cards with the emblem of the European Initiative, corresponding with the pin we wear on our lapels. Enacting our arrival in Iran for the camera in a motor boat at a pier in Bandar Abbas, someone called out "Mr. Bond!" In that way it seems like a clever strategy to combine the making of a Hollywood production with a real life enactment of the script; because no one will suspect that what they see has real effects. Cameras, crew and microphones are the perfect disguise! But of course, we are still far away from the urbane centres where authorities and vigilantes abound. On this third day, we are still in Bandar Abbas, a bustling, dusty town committed to trade because of its proximity to Dubai and Khesh Island, where goods are exempted from toll.
We had our first crowd experience yesterday when we put down the box on an open square at the sea front. In the box was a football. We challenged the Iranian youth to a game – Nielsen and I on either team. This was an opportunity to measure mobilizational potential of Iranian youth as well as organizational abilities. The results were rather poor. Nielsen’s team mates didn’t play together. He fluttered around bidding his team to play the ball around in vain.
It was a great intercultural moment when Nielsen, in hectic pursuit of the ball, collided with an elderly, completely veiled woman who was sitting with her family pick-nicking at the bluff.
My team played fairly well. But everything dissolved into a confused melee when Nielsen, insisting on the general inclusive nature of the game and the revolution, invited another group to join. We suddenly found ourselves in the dark centre of a crowd of youths. Somewhere someone started to push and yell. It was very intense. Out of nowhere a hand appeared and slapped me on the right ear from behind. The stinging pain and surprise inverted the signs of the situation. I suddenly feared the consequences of actions. What if. Then someone kicked the ball violently into our group from behind us. A small boy was hit on the head and started crying. Complete misanthropy, depression and disappointment set in – we hastily withdrew from this first crowd experiment. There is no revolution without violence. But it is not that kind of violence we’re looking for. If we deduct the pathos, the key question is: how to act with effect in a world with children?
We had our first crowd experience yesterday when we put down the box on an open square at the sea front. In the box was a football. We challenged the Iranian youth to a game – Nielsen and I on either team. This was an opportunity to measure mobilizational potential of Iranian youth as well as organizational abilities. The results were rather poor. Nielsen’s team mates didn’t play together. He fluttered around bidding his team to play the ball around in vain.
It was a great intercultural moment when Nielsen, in hectic pursuit of the ball, collided with an elderly, completely veiled woman who was sitting with her family pick-nicking at the bluff.
My team played fairly well. But everything dissolved into a confused melee when Nielsen, insisting on the general inclusive nature of the game and the revolution, invited another group to join. We suddenly found ourselves in the dark centre of a crowd of youths. Somewhere someone started to push and yell. It was very intense. Out of nowhere a hand appeared and slapped me on the right ear from behind. The stinging pain and surprise inverted the signs of the situation. I suddenly feared the consequences of actions. What if. Then someone kicked the ball violently into our group from behind us. A small boy was hit on the head and started crying. Complete misanthropy, depression and disappointment set in – we hastily withdrew from this first crowd experiment. There is no revolution without violence. But it is not that kind of violence we’re looking for. If we deduct the pathos, the key question is: how to act with effect in a world with children?
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