That Iranian taxi driver

Most embassies facing the United States are located on Massachusetts Avenue in Washington, often side by side, providing a continuous lesson in geography and vexillology—the study of flags. One is like an oriental-style palace, unmistakable with its gleaming turquoise mosaic dome. It was the Iranian embassy until 1979, when the Shah's monarchy fell and was replaced by the theocracy of Ayatollah Khomeini. Since then, the building has remained closed and is maintained by the State Department.

I used to pass by it quite often on my way to work, sometimes in a taxi driven by an Iranian who had been a colonel in the Shah's police force and had to go into exile after the regime change. He was an older man with white hair and a defeated air, who, when we reached the palace, would wonder if he would ever see it open again. He wasn't speaking out of vengeance, but rather with disillusionment, having seen that corruption knows no political affiliations, and with bitterness that the wealth generated by oil wasn't translating into general well-being for his country, which he would probably never set foot in again.

These days, the Islamic Republic of Iran is trying to quell the uprisings with a bloodbath in the streets. President Trump is calling for the protests to continue and promising help to achieve a "MIGA" ("Let's Make Iran Great Again"). However much Trump represents the explicit denial of international law, the Iranians taking to the streets are waving the banner of freedom that we have seen throughout history so many times and in so many countries, and we can only express our complete solidarity with them.