I'm Not a Terrorist, But I've Played One on TV by Maz Jobrani Read Free Book Online Page A

allowed to punish the protesters any way they saw fit. That really pissed me off. How dare he make such a declaration against his own people? And what the hell is a Supreme Leader anyway? What is this, Star Wars ? I’m willing to accept a supreme burrito, but a Supreme Leader? Give me a break!
    After the announcement, the protests went south as the regime cracked down and turned to violence to stop the movement. People were shot and many died in pursuit of democracy. I observed the news daily, like a soap opera I couldn’t take my eyes off—a violent, bloody, real-life Dallas. I would go to bed late at night after reading as much as I could about the movement online, and wake up thenext morning to CNN to see if any progress had been made. One clip that kept playing on the news was of a young woman, Neda Agha-Soltan, dying after being shot by the authorities. It was a poignant and sad scene to watch. I decided I would go to Iran and join the protesters in the streets to fight for our freedoms. No, I didn’t really do that. I’m a comedian. Not a lunatic. And I have no experience overthrowing regimes. What I do have, however, is a monthly newsletter, which had until then been intended to inform people about my upcoming shows.
    The newsletter went out to thousands of people and usually elicited only a few responses. This time, I dedicated the whole thing to my support of the Green Movement and asked others to please support it any way they could. I hit send and went to sleep, having done my part to support Democracy in the Middle East. The next morning I awoke to hundreds of responses. Most expressed their support. However, I also got some people challenging me. One e-mail came from a woman in Greece. How she got on my e-mail list I have no idea. She basically told me that if the people of Iran had voted for Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, then who was I to question it. She said that this was all a ploy by the West to overthrow the regime and that I should mind my own business.
    This upset me—not just because she claimed it was none of my business, but that someone had the gall to question the Supreme Word of my newsletter. This led to an e-mail exchange that consumed hours of my life—hours that I could have used to write jokes about Ahmadinejad! After several exchanges I thought, What the hell am I doing? I’m debating some chick in Greece who has no influence over any of this. Why do I care what she thinks? It took a lot for me to stop myself from responding to her last e-mail. What can I say—I’m a man, I need to get in the last word. I finally let it go, but shereached out to me one more time to provoke me back into the debate. I ignored it. I’m not sure what happened to that Greek lady, but if she happens to be reading this book, please know that you were wrong and that I was right. And now it’s in print, with a title and fonts and on a bookshelf and everything, so you can’t do anything about it unless you write your own book. In your face, Greek lady!

Tiburon, California
    I ’m Iranian, but I grew up white. That’s because I was raised in Tiburon, California, across the bay from San Francisco. Tiburon is a very affluent and gentrified city in Marin County, where the mountain bike was invented—at least that’s what Wikipedia has to say on the matter. Mountain biking is a very white sport. When most Iranians hear “mountain” they think hiking or horseback riding—usually as a means of escaping Iran. When Iranians hear “biking” they think of riding on a flat surface. I’m guessing whoever decided to mix mountains with biking was an open-minded, adventure-seeking, and most likely stoned white dude. “Bro, you know that mountain we can barely walk up without falling off the cliff? Why don’t we try to ride a bike up it?”
    Growing up, most of my friends were white with a few Persians sprinkled in here and there. Before I go