Then They Came for Me_ A Family's Story of Love, Captivity, and Survival - Maziar Bahari [34]
I was relieved to find my mother asleep in her bedroom. I had Reza’s blood on my shirt, and I didn’t want her to see it. I quietly closed the door, washed my shirt, and turned the television on. Khamenei’s picture filled the screen. A narrator was reading his letter to Ahmadinejad on the occasion of his victory. “Enemies may want to spoil the sweetness of this event with some kind of ill-intentioned provocations,” the voice said over different close-ups of Khamenei’s solemn face.
I hit Mute and watched in silence as images of the triumphant Ahmadinejad and self-satisfied Khamenei saturated the airwaves. I brought my laptop to the living room and began a story for Newsweek. “If an electoral fraud, tantamount to a coup, has indeed happened, most people believe that it was staged with Khamenei’s blessing,” I wrote.
That evening, the Ministry of Interior released the final count: Ahmadinejad had received 24,592,793 votes, and Mousavi 13,338,121. The votes for the other two candidates were negligible. If these numbers were taken as accurate, only two conclusions could be drawn: either all the surveys by different government agencies in the run-up to the election had been wrong, or Iranians as a people are so unpredictable that no survey or poll can predict their voting patterns. Alternatively, and this was my feeling given my conversations with Amir and what I’d witnessed on the street that day, something else was at play: under Khamenei’s command, the Guards had helped officials at the Ministry of Interior rig the votes and reelect Ahmadinejad. Ahmadinejad was the only candidate who guaranteed that the interests of the supreme leader and the Guards were protected. I suspected that Khamenei had supported rigging the election so flagrantly to prove that he was the one in charge and no one could do anything about it. The sporadic clashes around the country over the next two days suggested that I was not alone in thinking that.
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The next day, Sunday, June 14, Ahmadinejad held a press conference in the office of the president, on Pasteur Street in south Tehran. In the large white room with its decorative varnished wood panels, I sat among the dozens of Iranian and foreign journalists, taking notes and concentrating on remaining professional, even as I felt the anger inside me growing. The newly reelected president spent the first part of the press conference boasting about his win. When reporters asked about allegations of vote rigging, he barely batted an eye: Mousavi supporters “are like a football team that has lost a game but keeps on insisting that it has won,” he said. He flashed a malicious smile and added, “You’ve lost. Why don’t you accept it?”
Ahmadinejad’s handlers carefully chose the reporters who were allowed to ask questions. Except for a few journalists, most of them wasted time by lobbing the same questions about the future of Iran’s nuclear program. Ahmadinejad had been asked that question several times in the past and had a perfectly formulated answer: Iran wants nuclear energy for peaceful purposes and because it is our inalienable right. I was so angry with the many journalists who didn’t dare confront him about what was on all our minds: the election result and the postelection protests. Finally, the interpreter asked Max Rodenbeck of The Economist to come forward.
“Mr. President, you accused the foreign press of a slanderous campaign against Iran, and, in fact, we see with our eyes and we hear with our ears—and I think there are hundreds of us here now—and what we have seen is an election whose results millions of Iranians do not believe in. Why hasn’t the full count of the election been revealed? Do you think that this could damage the legitimacy of your own government, of the Islamic Republic, as well as the prestige of the supreme leader?”
I later learned that Max was chosen because Ahmadinejad