A Kid with a Dream
Despite many personal and financial challenges, I managed to migrate legally to America with a student visa on January 10, 1979. That year might sound familiar: When I left Iran, the entire country was in the midst of a revolution. Lack of democracy and prosperity along with massive corruption had motivated the people to rise up against the Shah (king). Tensions had been building throughout the country for some time, but my own revolution had started to take shape nearly a decade earlier when I was 10 years old.
I don’t remember specifics; I only know that at 10 years old, I began to feel very alone. Even among family members, I felt that I didn’t belong. It wasn’t that I thought of myself as better or smarter, just different. Later, a roommate in in the U.S. told me that he was born in New York, but he never felt he belonged there so he up and moved to California. He said, “I was born in the wrong place, so as soon as I grew up, I decided to change.” His thoughts echoed the same ones I felt at 10 years old. I didn’t know where I wanted to go, or how I would go about getting there. I only knew I needed to leave eventually.
Fast forward to the winter of 1978: The revolution was in a full swing. I was 18 years old and had just graduated from high school. Most of my peers were protesting on the streets of Tehran, but having seen other teenagers shot right in front of me, I was too afraid to join and stayed away as much as possible
Using tanks and heavy guns, the military was all over the city, and one large army squad was stationed only a block from my family’s apartment. The Shah had declared a state of emergency and decreed a curfew. If you went out between sundown and sunrise, you could be arrested or worse, shot by the police or military. Even during the daytime, I had become trapped in the middle of protesters running away from the police. I didn’t feel safe leaving our apartment for fear of a military or police encounter.
In Iran and most Middle Eastern countries, joining the army is not a voluntary choice. Every able-bodied man is required to join the armed forces for two years either after high school or college. Since I just graduated from high school, I had two choices: pay my dues in service to the army or attend a four-year college. But attending college wasn’t as easy as it is here in the U.S. My options were incredibly limited. Over 100,000 students would apply for 2,000 spots at Tehran University. Since I had graduated high school but never enrolled in college, I knew the army was looking for me. (Fortunately, my family had moved so many times that my latest home address was hard to track down.) With pressure mounting both personally and in the streets, I decided it was time to make my long-held dream of leaving Iran a reality.
I started to research whether or not I could travel to Europe or possibly the U.S., but my lack of English was a major challenge and I didn’t have time to learn. My parents were kind and supportive but had no money to help me go to school outside of the country. Worse, men weren’t allowed to leave the country without completing their two years of mandatory army service. And even if I spoke English and had performed my army service, I couldn’t just travel to a Western country without a tourist or student visa. The latter required an invite from a university of the hosting country and proof I could afford school expenses. I had no idea how I could manage to address the army issue, let alone the education costs, but I was still determined.
A 30-Day Deadline
As more and more young people joined the protesters, the Shah decided to temporarily ease off on the two-year army service requirement. This meant that for 30 days, any young man, 18 or older, could leave the country without completing the two years of service in the army. The Shah mistakenly believed many young people might leave the country and as a result the protesting would slow down, but he was so out of touch, he didn’t realize that most people didn’t have the money to send their kids abroad. This was true for me as well, but even so, the lifting of this rule was like a miracle. I started to create a plan of action in order to leave, starting with some of the basic goals, like getting a passport and then working on acquiring a student visa. Failure wasn’t an option.
The first step was to get some money. I was able to collect about $3,000 from extended family, which wasn’t all that much but enough to get the ball rolling. Normally, it took about a month to get a passport, but with some good luck and the help of the passport administration postman, I was able to get my passport in three days. Next, I needed to figure out what country I could travel to as a student. I had a childhood friend in America and managed to connect with him to see if he could help me get an invite from a school in the U.S. Thanks to a combination of good fortune, and perseverance, my friend managed to get me an invite from a relatively affordable school in California. I was thrilled.
The next battle was to get a visa, which was one the toughest things someone could do at the time—even more so now. The United States embassy was located in the center of Tehran. Outside the massive building, people would wait in a line a mile long to meet with a U.S. counselor. One early morning, with my passport in my hand, my brother drove me to the embassy. It was about an hour away from our house without any traffic, but the majority of roads were partially closed because of protests. I had a 8x11 picture of the Shah and one of the religious leader who was against the Shah. I kept both pictures under my seat and as we got close to the police and military, I would place the Shah photo on the dashboard. When we saw protesters, I placed the religious leader’s photo on the dashboard. It was a risky move, but it allowed us to make it to the embassy without incident.
When we arrived at the embassy, my brother took one look at the line and said I’d never get my visa if I had to wait that long. He told me to rush past the guards at the entry. I could get hurt, but it was my only option. I was terrified but I was desperate, short on options, and running out of time. I ran past the guards, got upstairs to the window of counselors, and placed my paperwork down along with my passport. Although the guards were yelling at me, the lady behind the window reviewed my paperwork and rejected my visa request in less than 2 minutes. I was inside the embassy for about no more than five or ten minutes and then I was kicked out. It was a devastating blow to my plan.
But I wasn’t about to give up that easily. My brother knew one of the police officers who was stationed at the US embassy. I went to his house at 5 a.m. and knocked on his door. He came out wearing a robe and wondering why a teen was standing outside his door at that early hour. I explained who I was and asked if he could find out why my visa request was rejected. He was reluctant at first, but I begged him to help me. He asked me to come back the next day at the same time. When I did, he told me I was rejected because I couldn’t show I had enough savings for a four-year college in the U.S.
By this time, I had used up about half of the days out of the Shah’s “30-day, get of jail free card.” I needed to get creative: I had the $3,000 I’d collected sitting in the bank. Somehow I managed to make changes to my savings account booklet to make it look like I had $30,000.
With the booklet in hand, my brother and I drove to the U.S. embassy the next morning. Now there was an even a longer line as people were getting nervous about the outcome of the revolution, so I did exactly the same thing as before. I ran past the guards, went to the main office upstairs, and placed my paperwork along with the savings booklet at the consulate window. This time, the guards were serious about kicking me out, but one of the ladies behind the window said something to them in English and they left me alone. After some questions through a translator, she stamped my passport.
A Plane Flight That Almost Wasn’t
I’d done it! I had my passport, a U.S. visa, and a little money. Now I just needed to get a plane ticket to San Francisco. The revolution had made plane travel extremely difficult, but thankfully, IranAir was still operating, and I was able to buy a ticket to England and then on to the U.S.
Now, I had only 5 days left before the Shah’s 30-day break was up. My family had a small get-together with some friends the night before my departure, and the next day, they drove me to the airport. The airport was packed with people, mostly Americans trying to get out of the country. My family dropped me off at the entrance, and I was officially on my own.
I stayed in line for a bit, checked in my luggage, and waited to board. I waited for seven hours, but it never happened. By two o’clock, I was told the IranAir employees had gone on strike to support the protesters. I took a cab home, dejected but not defeated.
The clock was ticking: I had only 4 days to leave to country otherwise my passport would expire and all of my effort would go to waste. I managed to exchange my ticket for a British Airways flight. Again, my family drove me to the airport early in the morning—it was very cold and had just begun to snow—and we said our goodbyes all over again. Again, I checked my bags, had my passport stamped, and waited to board. This time I could actually see my plane coming in to land, but when the plane got close to the ground, it suddenly took off again. I was told the plane couldn’t land because it didn’t get clear instructions from the Traffic Control Tower due to the snowy weather and had left for another country. The Traffic Control employees were also on strike and the tower was operated by the military. I left the airport for home again.
Two days. There were only two days left before my passport would expire, so I decided I’d just go to the airport to see if I could get a ticket to anywhere outside of country. I woke up about 4 a.m., said goodbye to my parents who were still in bed, and took a cab for my third trip to the airport. (Later, my parents told me they thought I’d never actually get a plane ticket, and that’s why they didn’t bother getting out of bed.)
I got to the airport around 7 a.m., and by this time, the majority of the foreigners had left the country, I checked every airline booth to see if they had any seats available, but they all said no. I was devastated that after so much hard work and planning, I wouldn’t be able to leave the country, and I began to cry quietly. Suddenly, a man behind the Swiss Air counter called for me. He told me that one of the pilots had noticed I was upset, and that there were a couple of last-minute cancellations, so I could get a seat on his Swiss Air flight. I couldn’t believe my luck; it was finally happening.
For the third time, the airport security guard stamped my passport with an exit stamp, but this time I walked straight down the airport tarmac and onto the Swiss Air plane. I was the last person to board. I left Tehran Airport on January 5, and landed in San Francisco on January 10.
40 Years Later, What I’ve Learned
The most successful people have a habit of setting goals, making plans, and then taking the necessary steps to make their plans happen. Besides setting clear goals, they work hard, take calculated risks, use creativity to solve any roadblocks, and stay dedicated to their vision. This is how I came to the United States. A decade of daydreaming and just 30 days of actionable steps—with a little good luck along the way. But most importantly, I decided I wasn’t going to give up no matter what circumstances were thrown my way.
Prioritizing your long- and short-term goals and establishing a plan of action is the first step on the road to realizing your dreams. I know firsthand how scary it is to take a risk, but I also know how great the rewards can be. Let me help you make the change you’ve been dreaming about. It could be the start of the rest of your life.