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“Fine,” Mohammad had said. “But don’t sleep where they can find you.”

That night I stayed at a friend’s house.

Chapter Six

The next day, Friday, June 19, turned out to be one of the most important days in Iran’s modern history. I arrived at the Tehran University campus at ten-thirty A.M. for Friday prayers. The ceremony was scheduled to begin at one, but when I walked up to the campus gates, they were already closed. Officials from Beite Rahbari, the Leader’s Office, as Khamenei’s institution is called, were prohibiting reporters from entering. I was directed to a security office on the campus, where we would be allowed to view a televised version of the speech.

Khamenei’s speech that day was the most important of his reign and would determine the path Iran was going to take: toward militarization and a more closed authoritarian state or toward a quasi-Islamic democracy. The fact that one man’s words could determine the results of an election meant that Iran had already significantly moved toward a more totalitarian state. But that day, as I sat with a group of journalists, including my Newsweek colleague Babak Dehghanpisheh and Marie Colvin, from the Sunday Times of London, I knew we were all quietly hoping that Khamenei would make a wise decision—and the right one for the country.

How quickly we were proved wrong. Khamenei began his speech by blaming the Western media for instigating the unrest in Iran after the elections. He warned Mousavi and his supporters that if they continued their demonstrations, they would be responsible for the consequences of their actions. “If the political elite ignore the law, or cut off their noses to spite the face, whether they want or not, they will be responsible for the bloodshed, violence, and chaos that will follow,” Khamenei said.

The room was utterly silent as we tried to absorb Khamenei’s words. His threat that those who demonstrated would pay for their actions in essence granted the Guards great freedom to use violence. It felt as if a dark cloud had descended on the room. I was crestfallen, knowing that the result would not be overturned. I wanted to blame someone. But who? Khamenei? Or the people who called him their master?

I knew then that it was time to listen to the fears I’d been doing my best to ignore and make plans to leave Iran as soon as possible.

· · ·

The next day, life in Tehran seemed to be returning to normal. Cell phones were working again, people were going about their daily lives, stores were open, and the markets were busy. But as I strolled the city streets, preparing myself to return to London, I could sense an undercurrent of tension. It seemed as if people could speak to one another about nothing other than the election and, especially, about Khamenei’s Friday sermon and what that meant for the demonstration planned for today. The fact that the demonstration was going to occur, despite Khamenei’s warnings, made us feel as if the supreme leader had lost his legitimacy. He was just another tyrant, and at least some thirteen million Iranians, those who had voted for Mousavi, had said no to tyranny. I knew that later that day, I would witness many tragic scenes.

As I exited the house that morning, a local graphic designer I knew ran up to me and asked me to help him fill out his Canadian immigration form. Like many middle-class Iranians since the revolution, he had decided to leave the country. The insecurity of life in Iran was too much for him to bear. “This is not a place to live anymore,” he said. “I’ve decided to sell my business and go to Canada.” When I asked him what he was planning to do in Canada, he didn’t have an answer. “I don’t care about myself anymore. I’ll go and clean the floors there. All I care about now is the future of my children.”

As we talked on the sidewalk, I noticed that convoys of armored riot-control trucks with water cannons and crowd-control barriers were moving toward us, headed for the intersection of Revolution and Freedom Avenues,