Then They Came For Me
campaign offices around the city, and when we were done, at around three o’clock in the afternoon, I paid him for the whole day and told him he could go home. As much as I liked and trusted Davood, I couldn’t take him to my next appointment.
    I was going to see Amir, a friend of mine who’d previously worked for the Ministry of Interior, which is in charge of elections in Iran. Now in his early sixties, Amir had joined Khomeini’s movement in 1963, when he was just sixteen years old. Over the course of the last fifty years, he had come to know some of the highest-ranking members of the Iranian government, and he understood the inner workings of the system as well as anyone in the country. The information Amir gave me over the years had hardly included state secrets, but despite the amazing morass of the Islamic system, he had a great ability to connect the dots and somehow make sense of the nonsensical behaviors of the regime.
    In addition to being one of my most trusted sources, Amir was also, despite our age difference, one of my best friends. Hisbrother had worked for my father’s company in the shah’s time and had spoken often of my father. “My brother used to say that Mr. Bahari was the best boss he had ever had,” Amir said. “I had an immense respect for your father. He was not religious in a traditional sense, but his honesty and his big heart made him one of the most religious people I know.”
    To me, Amir represented moderation, and the idea that there were decent people in the system, people who were working to change it peacefully from within, gave me hope. Amir abhorred Ahmadinejad, whom he regarded as a misfit, a low-ranking former local governor and Revolutionary Guard who had somehow managed to become the president. But Amir ultimately blamed Khamenei for Ahmadinejad’s rise to power. “It’s amazing how people can be deceived by flattery,” Amir had said to me not long after Ahmadinejad was first elected. “The relationship between Mr. Khamenei and this man is like a landowner and a serf.”
    Amir had held an important position during the presidency of Ahmadinejad’s predecessor, Mohammad Khatami, a pro-reform president who believed in a more open and democratic interpretation of Islam. In 2005, when Ahmadinejad was elected president, he forced the resignation of many high-ranking government officials. Amir left the Ministry of Interior, but he had retained very good contacts inside Ahmadinejad’s government.
    Two weeks earlier, Amir had shown me a secret poll conducted by the Ministry of Intelligence—the country’s equivalent of the CIA and the FBI in one—in the capitals of all of Iran’s thirty-one provinces. The poll demonstrated that Mousavi was well ahead of Ahmadinejad and predicted that Mousavi would win the election with sixteen to eighteen million votes to Ahmadinejad’s six to eight million. Surveys are not usually accurate or reliable in Iran. People don’t trust the pollsters, and many Iranians are afraid that by expressing their opinion they can get into trouble. But because Ahmadinejad’s own intelligence officialshad conducted the poll, I found it to be trustworthy and had written an article about it for
Newsweek
.
    Amir’s office was large and mostly unfurnished and, like the offices of most Iranian reformists, it had a temporary feel about it, as if he was prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. His desktop was empty, except for one yellow file and a few photographs, and the only decoration on the walls was a large framed poster of the Sheikh Lotfollah Mosque, a marvel of Persian architecture in the city of Isfahan. The dust on the frame showed that it had been there for a long time, and that it had been neglected. When I walked in that morning, I smelled the sweet scent of
gaz
, which may be one of the most delicious confections in the world (and one of the main causes of cavities in Iran). One of Amir’s relatives owned a pastry shop in Isfahan, and every

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