The Six-Hour Day, Pro-Deo

At 16 years years old he was chanting rally-starters when Ayatollah Khomeini, after 14 years of exhile, descended the airplane steps on February 1, 1979. But nearly thirty years later, while scooping a spoonful of rice and kabob, he confessed to taking a mental U-turn.

"The Islam of the republic isn't pure, and most people are starting to realize that. What we thought was going to change for the better in '79 either stayed the same or got worse."

As the principal of a prestigious high school in Tehran, his words represent the mental elite of the nation. Against the idea of forcing the hijab on women, or forcing bias for the state in the media a realization, at some point in his life, was made that something had gone askew.

The highschool that he is the principal of is among the top highschools, not only in Tehran, but in Iran. His student's have a 95 percent pass rate on the Konkoor, which is the equivalent of the SAT on meth. In fact, the highschool is designed to train students for the Konkoor, teaching them classes on the subjects of the test, seating them in chairs used in the test, and creating an atmosphere felt during the test.

The test is hell incarnate: after choosing which field of study one is interested in a student is given the konkoor that fits his or her field. One interested in the sciences takes a test encompassing a gamut of subjects ranging from physics, chemistry, and calculus. Student's, after finishing their 3rd year of highschool, begin studying for the konkoor, wiping summer break from their calendars aside for a two week breather.

"If you don't study six hours a day, know that you are behind," the principle told his students.

One of the students exhaled an air of depression while complaining that the last three years of his life had been nothing but awaking, studying and sleeping. And for a good reason. If one does poorly in the konkoor, one cannot go to college, and from that point on, if he or she stays in Iran, he or she is bound to a life of poverty. So in a ratrace for survival, the student's learn their Arabic conjugation and integral calculus knowing that if they fail shame is brought both to their families and their futures.

One of the student's failed to pass the konkoor with a high enough score the first time, so they lied to their relatives saying they had a job, and spent the next year studying, so that if they failed again, they would not be judged. Life is hard for a student in Iran.

One of the student's I met was planning on taking the SAT II subject tests, the ACT, and after finishing the two coming back to Iran to study the Konkoor, but having had difficulty with the signing-up process, he asked for my help. I agreed to assist him and with tears forming in his eyes he looked up and thanked Allah for sending me, his voice quavered with genuinity.

I went to his house, a tenth-story flat with a panoramic view of Tehran and the Alborz mountain range in the backdrop, and in a painstakingly dull process I filled out the two forms for him. Aside from the difficulty for an Iranian to fill out a registration made for Americans was the difficulty of location. His ACT would be taken in the University of California San Diego. Why? He would be staying in Los Angeles, but since his stay took place in the month of the fasting month of Ramadan, in order to be able to break the fast and eat for his test, he had to travel a certain distance away from his home. His SAT II would be taken in Dubai since funding didn't allow him to go back to America.

And say he did well, his creed was a blockade between him and colleges that require first-years to live in Dorms, drastically decreasing his choices.

I took a taxi from my friend's house home. The cab driver asked me where my accent was from and an uncomfortable silence formed when I dropped the A-bomb. I slowly started saying what a nice break Tehran was from America, what a wonderful city it was, so alive, so warm. (It is summer.) At one point the doors locked, and I began to get nervous, so I birdwalked the conversation over to creed and led him to believe I was a devout Muslim. He let loose.

His story was a sad one as well. Having scored well on the Konkoor, he studied computer engineering in the prestigious University of Tehran, but the last two years of his life had been spent finishing his mandatory military service. He complained that he'd forgotten everything he knew, and in three months he would have to find a job, but all his learnings had gone through the window. I eventually got home.

At the end of the day one thing was learned: education in Iran is profoundly important, excruciatingly difficult, and a journey that leads moreso to mere survival than to lucre. Even the principal confessed that 95 percent of his students want to finish their education and come to America for the mere reason that in America a daydream needn't stay a dream.