Iran's posturing -- SF Chronicle

So this week has been big for me as a journalist. I've taken a small break from my book and I've written two pieces that couldn't be more different: the first, on Swag of the Month (the post below this one), and the second, right here, on Iran:

Iran's posturing always more smoke than fire

By Jesse Aizenstat

Be it the International Atomic Energy Agency nuclear report last month, the British announcement of new European Union sanctions last week, or the storming of the British Embassy on Tuesday, everything between Iran and the West is calculated. In fact, it's just how they dance. War isn't inevitable here.

Since the 1979 Iranian revolution, the religious leaders, paired with the Revolutionary Guard, have made anti-Western and anti-Israeli rhetoric a staple of the regime. Today more than ever, the Iranian government has honed this narrative, positioning its nuclear program as a symbol of national pride. And so we've got to get a little realistic about how the ruling mullahs work: Fiery rhetoric and nostalgic embassy stormings are just what the Iranian government does. It's the same old trick; it's how they consolidate power.

The mullahs of Iran do not want to commit national suicide and use a nuclear weapon. They are not al Qaeda; they are a deterrable actor interested in self-preservation. The diplomatic leverage that comes from becoming a nuclear power is enticing not only to Iran but also to nearly all aspiring powers. And Iran, with all its rich history, sees itself as special. At the very least, it wants the option to build a nuclear weapon.

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Not So Lost Generation - my first piece for The Huffington Post

Well . . . I just got asked to be a weekly blogger at The Huffington Post. Yeaow! Right? Adrenaline pumping, indeed!

The chances of this piece getting featured on the site go up with the more HuffPost hits and comments. Don't be shy.

Not So Lost Generation

By Jesse Aizenstat

That Saturday night started alone, with the music up and the windows down, jamming my white Ford Bronco up the LA freeway to some club in Hollywood. The traffic was light and when I got there a small Korean man kept wailing about the angle of my vicious park job. I slammed the door, failing to please him, and drifted along the easy Hollywood sidewalk with Jim Morrison's ghost mumbling like a drunk in my ear. I was making tracks to my buddy's start-up party. A t-shirt company birthed from two dudes from the Lost Generation -- who went to college and couldn't find a job. So, they made their own.

"Creeping Jesus!" shrieked Erik, one of the founders. He was standing near the door of the music-bumping club. "You old dog! How are you?" He was postured upright, near a myriad of hell-bent souls waiting in line, hugging each other and slapping hands ... giving big grins with a whoop here and there. "We thought you weren't going to make it. It's opening night!"

Bewildered and feeling the urge for a drink, I congratulated him with a fresh whack on the back and mentioned something about Whiskey. He gave out a bellow of laughter and crested his chest, whistling twice to the grizzly bouncer to lift the velvet red gate to pass the loitering yuppies ... continuing to whoop in their high top shoes, tight jeans, and Swag t-shirts. Their cigarette smoke stung my eyes like a blast of UC Davis pepper spray.

The reason for this party was simple: the launch of Swag of the Month, a company that taps into the fashionable desire of youngsters on a budget. And after a few cool minutes on their website and a social media-like experience of getting to know your tastes, Swag of the Month picks your probable Swag, sending you a fresh tee every month from independent designers. All for only 9 bucks a month. Don't like your new threads? Send 'em back for some more.

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Surfing the Middle East on Film

A few weeks ago I wrote that a Brazilian surf magazine randomly picked up Surfing the Middle East as a topic of content. Indeed. They did. And the magazine is called Fluir.

What I thought they did was just rip off a few pictures from the Santa Barbara Independent's piece that aired last year. It wasn't till my dad was thumbing through the other sections that he found a full-page spread, with a published excerpt, featuring original artwork that apparently Fluir had produced on their own. (I'll get a pro-scanned version up soon . . . but here it is in the meantime.)


OK. Now that you've seen it . . . it gets fun. Because, while I was rather shocked by the artwork, I was even more shocked by the direction they decided to run with it. I think it's just as good as anything I've produced. From what I see, it's got a post-apocalyptic thing, with the surfboard and it's peace sign functioning as a sort of astronaut's flag on a far away planet. It's gritty, it's rough, it's the first green leaf of hope that's risen after a chainsaw cut the whole thing to the ground.

The film treatment for Surfing the Middle East will be about a cool twenty-something, down on his luck and leaving the United States because he can't find a job after he graduates from college. The only interest he gets is from a surf magazine to write about his crazy idea to surf the Middle East. His route will be from Israel to Lebanon, not being able to pass up and along the Eastern Mediterranean. So, he'll go around: through Jerusalem, the West Bank, Jordan, fly over Syria, and land in Lebanon. The film will be shot with a similar filter as Limitless and Body of Lies.

For the twenty-something there will be encounters of steamy youth hostel sex, parties with local surfers on hilltops, surfing, hashish smoking, and all the harrowing leftovers from simmering conflict. Rocket craters and everything. Even a convoy incursion while in the West Bank . . . and sneaking into a Hezbollah rally in South Beirut, just for the sake of trying to understand the Islamist turf he's trying to get to.


Along the way, there will be events that change the main character, giving drama and bringing a maturity into focus that will resemble an Apocalypse Now-type of sensation of "getting off the reservation," being beyond the morality of other people's judgments. Free from what regular people assume about the Middle East, tribal conflict, and war as a human condition.

Once in Lebanon, the twenty-something meets a rogue surfer who lives there and was once an American arms contractor in Iraq. The twenty-something surfer had heard rumors of this man's ghost in northern Israel, from Israeli soldiers (at the hilltop party) who ran special ops in Lebanon . . . but none of it had ever been confirmed.

The rogue surfer had been seeking asylum with Hezbollah, being wanted by the United States for what was called a "compromise of morals and values on the battlefield." In other words, he was a mercenary who saw what had to be done and did it. He played by the rules of the battlefield and was punished and was kicked out of Iraq . . . and decided to evade his American trial by becoming a hermit surfer in Lebanon, offering intelligence and tactical advice to Hezbollah, as Israeli and American military tactics are largely similar. Hezbollah, and its Iranian allies, were the only ones who took in this rogue surfer . . . and saved his life . . . as the Americans and Israelis had been trying to kill him for some time.

The story ends with screeching jets flying overhead, looking for the rogue surfer, as he paddles out for a final surf. The Americans were getting closer to killing him, and the young Californian watches in horror as a bomb is dropped on him, terminating his life.

The twenty-something leaves the Middle East and heads back to the shore of his origin, his feet sizzling from the post horror and post war experience . . . the smoke rising from the battlefield has taken hold of his brain and haunts him for he has lost his innocence and has learned that this is a world at war, often quietly, willing to work against anyone to preserve dominance.

And, it'll look like this: