I watch and read the news about the riots going on in LA. Bricks, rocks and bottles being hurled at police, cars burning and being vandalized. Ingrates standing on vandalized cars waving the flags of foreign countries. Most of them draped in a keffiyah. Protesting the “oppression of Palestine and the slaughter of innocent Palestinians.” Perhaps the protesters should attend the same training Great Thunberg is getting in Israel about now; videos of the October 7 attack that killed over 1,200 innocent Israelis and 250 civilians taken hostage. Unprovoked attack, I might add. Many of the hostages have died in captivity. Some have yet to be released.
And here we are, watching Los Angeles burn. The governor himself can’t bring himself to call in the resources to calm the situation. Nor can the mayor of Los Angeles. Trump calls the National Guard and greaseball Newscum starts squawking like a goose. Why? Your city is on fire, out of control and you dont want help to quell the riots? What’s the plan, let them have their fun and we’ll clean up after them? Is that what being a sanctuary city is all about? Do you want Trump to call Hamas and tell them “We’re so sorry, you guys carry on, we’ll get those pesky Israelis out of your hair.” Seriously, what is it that you want?
So, why did I mention that PTSD is a curse? Some years ago when I was a young man starting my career, I was given an assignment in Iran. Short term, no big deal. This was back in the late 70’s when Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlavi was the ruler of Iran. He was not a good character, nevertheless, for political reasons he was a political ally of the US. In February 1979, at the height of some serious political and civil unrest in Iran, the Shah was overthrown and left Iran going into permanent exile. Before he left, the streets of Tehran looked a lot like the streets of LA today. Rioting, burning cars, trucks and buildings, protesting and chaos. Just like LA today. How do I know this, I was there. Leading up to the shah’s departure, the unrest was gradually, yet steadily growing. The company I worked for had an office in downtown Tehran, we walked to and from the hotel daily to work. Now and then we would see some troublemakers throw a rock or two, but we didn’t think things were out of hand. Until it was. The last couple of times I made the walk to and from work, was like being on a movie set, but it was no movie. It was real life, and it was terrifying. The morning I went in to the office and saw bullet holes in the windows, I told the boss I’m done. Apparently, at that time I was the only one who was throwing in the towel. I later learned that it wasn’t long before the rest did the same.
I was booked on a flight out of Tehran the next day that departed at 8am. I had to be at the airport at 5am. Martial law was in effect, so anyone on the streets between 5am and 8pm was subject to being shot. Evidently, due process wasn’t a thing in Iran. Still isn’t…The taxi driver spent the night in the hotel lobby since he couldn’t make the trip from his home to the hotel during curfew. At 5 am sharp, we loaded my bag in the taxi and took off on the dark, quiet streets of Tehran. As we were leaving we noticed the hotel staff were taking down portraits of the Shah. I asked one of them why they were doing that. The reply was “It’s for the guest’s safety.” The taxi driver took off driving hurriedly through the deserted streets, making lots of turns. I wondered why he seemed to be meandering, it was adding to my growing anxiety. My mind was conjuring up more ‘what-ifs’ than you can imagine. But he kept driving and that gave me hope. After forty-five minutes or so of scurrying down dark streets, we turned onto what seemed to be a straightaway. I prayed it was the ‘homestretch’ to the airport. But as soon as we turned onto the open road, hope quickly faded into fear. For as far as I could see were troops, armed troops milling about armored tanks carrying automatic rifles. The first thought that came to mind was Jesus, please don’t stop. I had no idea, no clue, what the next few minutes would bring to my life. Is he going to stop the car, the door to be yanked open and I would be drug onto the sand and who knows what next… Who’s side is he on? Is he getting bakshish for delivering an American? The Iranians were as unhappy with us as much as they were with the Shah. Just.Keep.Driving. was all I could think. As we sped down the road through hell I occasioned a look out the window and actually made eye contact with a couple of armed soldiers. At least, I thought they were soldiers. In the Middle East it’s often difficult to tell who is a soldier and whose side they are on. Making eye contact was a big mistake when your anxiety is hitting a zenith. They appeared to be as unhappy as I was which was not a good sign. I slid a little lower in the seat and continued to pray. We were probably on the straightaway for about fifteen minutes. It felt like a week. I suppose it wasn’t my time to go as the driver kept driving and we soon pulled up in front of the airport. A few minutes after 8 o’clock the 737 took off for London. As it turns out, it was to be the last commercial flight to leave Iran for several years. Once we were ‘wheels up’ everyone on the plane, I suppose over 200 passengers, applauded. Myself included.
Several years after the Shah was exiled, a movie was made about the brief period of time around the Shah’s departure until the Iranian dissidents took the American hostages at the American Embassy. The movie was about employees of a company owned by Ross Perot, titled “On Wings of Eagles.” Many of his employees didnt leave before the last flight that I had the privilege of being on. With no aviation transport, they were forced to make their way to the coast and pay for passage on boats. Any kind of boat, tugboats, merchant ships, money talked and it saved lives. One day later and I would have been doing the same. If you haven’t seen the movie, dig through the archives and check it out. It’s historically accurate, and gripping.
What I see happening in Los Angeles today brings back memories of my time in Tehran. The streets of LA look eerily like the streets of Tehran did back then. Iran’s history was etched in stone during those days. The not-at-all peaceful transfer of power, and the emergence of a radical Muslim regime. I’ll never be able to forget what I saw in Tehran. Countless lives were forever changed during those days. Mine included. Now, watching the same happen in LA? Are the National Guard and the Marines needed? Did Trump make the right decision? From my perspective, yes…
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