Ar-GO: Where we are and where we go

Thinking back on this past week, it’s been tough to think about how to follow up last week’s post.

Do I rave about the unbelievable concert fundraiser at Lincoln Center I attended to hear a close friend perform? Do I tell you how I had an awesome time at my first trip to the Garden? (Yay tennis!) Do I confess that on Saturday I took a breather from racing from activity to activity and laid in my sweats watching movies for eight hours...and I’m proud of it?

While I could easily go on about how I now have Patrick Rafter and Pete Sampras’ signatures resting on my bookshelf, I’ll refrain.

Because Sunday night, I went to see Argo. Going to the movies—groundbreaking, I know. I had been excited to see the film since Ben’s bearded, stoic face hit previews everywhere. When he puts his name on something, I take it seriously. So, it was no surprise when everyone I knew was raving about the box office hit.

The movie itself is an incredible piece of drama, a showcase of subtly brilliant acting (thank you Ben Affleck, Bryan Cranston, Victor Garber, Alan Arkin, John Goodman, Scoot McNairy). But more importantly, it unearthed a story that desperately needs to be told.

Maybe I’m wrong, but I feel like people think our problems with Iran are new. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think the American population at large knows about the hostage situation of 1980 the way that every American should know. Or maybe I just don’t think people my age know about this cataclysmic event the way we should. 

I was never taught it in school. I was taught about the Soviets, World War II, Korea, Vietnam. Until this year when I read Lesley Stahl’s autobiography, Reporting Live, I had no clue that hundreds of American ambassadors had been held hostage for over a year in the Middle East. 

This is a MAJOR historical event and I had no idea prior to April of this year. If you knew prior to Argo, kudos to you. 

There are times when Hollywood leverages its mass appeal and reach in order to send a poignant message. In this case, GK Films educated the movie-going world about an international crisis that had been forgotten about (if it was ever remembered in the first place).

The scenes of Iranians bubbling with heated passion, rioting and protesting in the streets, the dangling bodies, the civilians clutching machine guns, caused terror to rise up within me. These Iranians hated Americans for being American. The pure loathing struck a fear that I felt in the pit of my stomach. What did we ever do? I really want to know. Why does that outspoken majority of that country hate us so much? Is it because they consider us immodest? Is it because of our diversity and (inadequate) attempt to create tolerance for this diversity?

I don't know the answer. But what’s more frightening than the question about our past is that not so much has changed in thirty years. There is more uncertainty and unrest than ever in the Middle East as the wave of the Arab Spring floods the region. There is still hate in the hearts of many. There is chanting. There is rioting.

At the end of the movie, I sat there crying in my seat. 

[SPOILER ALERT] 

It’s not a sad ending, by the way. I was crying because I was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the ordeal that so many endured. Overwhelmed by the hate and the violence. Overwhelmed by the depth of anger so many Iranians felt and continue to feel. Overwhelmed by the fact that I grew up not knowing this story. Overwhelmed wondering how many more people do not know?

I knew that the hostages made it out. I knew because I knew the history. Or, as my friend put it, “You know they make it out because no one would make a movie about an impossible operation that did, in fact, fail.” More important than whether the hostages made it out alive or not, or whether CIA Agent Tony Mendez’s crazy idea actually worked, is the history. 

We forget our history. Consequentially, it repeats itself. 

We must pay closer attention. We cannot let ourselves off the hook. 

In the wake of the election, my grandfather asked if I was happy with the result. I told him, I’m happy with the dialogue the election created. I’m happy with how tuned in and aware the country seemed to be. 

I explained, “Just like people used to ask me if I was in favor of a Hitler-like dictator, Ahmadinejad, coming to speak on my campus during my undergrad, my response was: I do not support him in the slightest, but his presence created a dialogue. Before he was invited to come, I had no clue what was going on in Iran. Suddenly, I knew.”

Now that the election is over, we cannot just go back to existing as sleeper-citizens with regard to politics, or current events, or the past that has led us to where we are and where we go.

We must stay tuned in. We must pay attention to the world. 

While the sold-out crowd spilled out of the theater, I lingered in my seat. I felt like I couldn't leave the story behind and just walk out and go home and do laundry or something. I wanted to do something. I don't know what.

Perhaps uncovering more buried history is a good start.