If we did not care about Iran before, we do now. 

Through five American Presidents, we knew Iran as a Turban on a white-bearded man's face, a man with dark brooding eyes.  We knew Iran as a group of hostage takers.  We knew Iran as Ahmadinejad.

By we, I mean the average American, who does not watch each political movement or nuance in the world with great interest, nor has the time to attempt to.  I mean the person who cares a great deal about his family, or his friends, may have either served in the military, or protested the war.

This average American never memorized Martin Luther King's speeches, but they recognize his voice.  They never learned about all of the events in the history of the United States, but they have a good idea what it stands for.

Today, that average American turned on their TV, and as in the last few days, saw in the streets of Tehran the translatable, understandable human condition of injustice. 

We have been robbed before; the nostalgia may have aroused many a disillusioned 2000 voter to a familiar human anger.  And those on the opposite spectrum may have felt the anger of seeing a system falter, or both--at the hypocrisy of that system forced upon an eager populace.

Iran has for a time, instilled in the minds of the west an awe, an awe that accompanies a society foreign to us, and one we fail to understand.  And, I must add, a mystical fear.  The fear that all the nightmares of man will one day meet.  The fear that as each time our TV news broadcast says the word, "IRAN" amidst the images and words of missiles and holocaust, that there must be a reason for it in us. 

But today, the average American does not fear when hearing the sound, Iran.  Today it is not fear, but concern.  Not of fear, but of anger.  Out of this anger grows resolve, sympathy, but also solidarity. 

We care about what happens where you are.  We want the people out on Tehran's streets to continue, to march, to rally, to grow louder.

We want the voices to not be stilled.  We wish the voices to move mountains, to topple buildings, to overturn thrones.

Before today, many of us had never heard of Azadi Square, or of Tehran University, and if we had, we would never seen nor heard tens of thousands of Iranian voices there.

We would have only heard one.

Actually, there was one voice today in Tehran.  But it was a different voice.

The average American, who could care less about the Middle East--heard that voice today of Iran.  And it was one we identify with.  It is one we cheer for.  One we march with.  One we fight and die for.

The average American saw today not muslims being beaten--but instead a Kent State, a Birmingham, a Berlin, and--a March on Washington.

We are with you. 

May Peace Be Upon You.