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with the idea of revolution, but she had never lost her interest in politics. The first words she taught me to read were not the ones other children learned—“table” or “bird”—but Yassir Arafat and Golda Meir, the names of the Palestinian and Israeli leaders. During my preschool years, Moloojoon’s attempts to teach me to read involved not flipping through children’s books but perusing the political commentary section of newspapers. She was a good teacher. By the time I started school, I knew how to spell words like “surplus value” and “interventionism,” even though I had no idea what they meant.

“I’ve made a decision,” my mother told me as I sipped my tea and whiskey. “Not voting means a vote for Ahmadinejad. I’m going to vote for Mousavi.”

This was surprising. Like Mr. Roosta, my mother had long felt disappointed by Iranian leaders, and it had been a long time since she had voted.

“What made you decide to vote this time?” I asked her.

“The debate, especially the way Ahmadinejad personally attacked Mousavi,” she said.

A few days earlier, on June 3, Ahmadinejad and Mousavi had taken part in a televised debate. They had attacked each other vehemently, stirring up tensions among the voters. Mousavi told Ahmadinejad that his government had undermined the dignity of the nation. “It has inflicted heavy damages on us and created tension with other countries. It has left us with not a single friend in the region,” he said. In response, Ahmadinejad snickered and accused Mousavi of being part of a corrupt group of Islamic Republic elites who had been illegally benefiting from their positions in government since the beginning of the revolution.

Ahmadinejad then showed a copy of the doctoral degree issued to Mousavi’s wife, Zahra Rahnavard, and argued that the degree had been obtained illegally. “This is lawlessness. My government is based on laws and regulation,” Ahmadinejad said, staring at an exasperated Mousavi.

Family is a sacred institution in Iran. While I had thought Ahmadinejad would be universally criticized for his rude comments—this was the first time a candidate had ever attacked another candidate’s wife publicly—his supporters commended his directness, calling the allegations a necessary step to reveal the real identities of the reformists. The debate polarized Iranian society more than at any other time I could remember.

“The debate showed the true nature of Mousavi and Ahmadinejad,” my mother said. “Mousavi was calm and polite and talked about substantial issues. Ahmadinejad has no manners. He was as vulgar as ever. Ashghal! After that debate, I decided to vote for Mousavi.”

“You’ve made a wise decision, Moloojoon,” I told her, before kissing her cheek and going to my room to sleep.

· · ·

When I woke up two hours later, I couldn’t wait to get out on the streets of Tehran. I called my friend Mazdak, a photographer and an avid fan of Mousavi’s, who was always the first person I got in touch with when I arrived in Tehran. He told me that the night before, hundreds of thousands of Mousavi supporters had formed a twelve-mile-long chain on Vali Asr Avenue, the longest street in Tehran. The line had been referred to as the “green line,” as Mousavi had adopted green as the official color of his campaign. Green has long been associated with Islam; it signifies that Islam is a religion of peace. Mousavi’s supporters wore green T-shirts and wristbands and carried green banners and flags. “We will build a green Iran” was their slogan, meaning a country at peace with itself and the rest of the world.

Mazdak had taken part in the “green line,” and his voice was still hoarse from screaming. “It was like being in a World Cup final, Maziar, but more exciting,” he said. “Mousavi was our Pelé.”

Mazdak would be taking photographs of a group of Mousavi supporters in Robat Karim, a working-class neighborhood about twenty miles south of Tehran, that day, and I told him I’d meet him later. But first I had to decide how to get there.

Given Iran’s suffering economy and high rate of unemployment, many Iranians—even those who are highly