More foreign affairs in a crazy, mixed-up world

First divest your conscience, all ye who enter this Faustian comedy

Each time I think the Trump administration could sink no lower, his soulless storm troops prove me wrong. Kristi Noem’s masked ICE thugs have now done what truly astounds me—arrested a defenseless grandmother in gardening gloves after nearly half a century here in plain sight, and are preparing to deport her with no apology for doing it—and worse, with no place to send her, except, perhaps, the hellhole of the world ...

When I first saw this report on Monday, I was immediately apolectic with rage. My first draft of this blog entry was a sputtering diatribe against the coquettish Ms. Noem and her endlessly nauseating TV commercials kissing the Dear Leader’s humongous butt—like some kind of live-action replay of that famous lowbrow episode of the old Frasier sitcom, where Carlos and the Chicken’s fans were paid to snap candid shots of Kelsey Grammer’s posterior.

Updating Frasier Crane’s humongous ass contest for 2025. Courtesy Reddit

Child rapists and murderers were warned that “we are coming for you,” in one of Noem’s early commercials—and wise micreants would do well to self-deport before “we” get there, after which you “could be allowed to return,” in yet another. Gag reflex-inducing …

But as I mulled over the situation, what dawned on me is that this kind of behavior is simply to be expected from men and women who have been surgically separated from their consciences: because she and those she pretends to lead simply lack the critical character trait most normal human beings are born with or taught to treasure.

For the vapid Ms. Noem, shooting that defenseless puppy so many years ago—for annoying her—was the first clear indicator that all that religious upbringing she brags about in her otherwise laughably inept 2024 autobiography, aptly enough named No Going Back, had dropped off, like scales from her eyes, when she first saw the Dear Leader’s butt and heard his raspy voice. Come, follow me. Then pat yourself on the back for being sensible. But first, forget everything else …

[See “Kristi Noem keeps up the defense,” May 5, 2024, https://www.politico.com/news/2024/05/05/kristi-noem-defense-messy-memoir-roll-out-00156172 .]

Once corrupted, she simply began following whatever mindless instructions crossed her desk. Misappropriating $80,000 in campaign contributions while governor of South Dakota? An innocent, misunderstood little extra incentive for obeying orders, surely. Waving her well-decorated wrist, complete with $50,000 Rolex watch, and figure-clinging tee-shirt in the face of so many condemned men in that El Salvador prison? Simply another act, bought and paid for by the truly evil men with whom she has thrown in her lot. Lecturing Michiganders about those allegedly callous Canadians exporting terrorists into the United States? Simply another well-scripted monologue for an unconvincing actress of mediocre intellect and subnormal grasp of the concept of habeas corpus.

Don’t mind them, they’re just wallpaper—focus on the Rolex. Courtesy Department of Homeland Security

She is clearly in over her head, affecting a Xanax-induced glassy-eyed stupor like someone out of Valley of the Dolls, but smiles placidly like the Barbie doll she has metamorphosed into, reading her to-do list, counting her money, and misplacing her passport and purse …

And suddenly, things became much clearer. Once you amputate the conscience—that small inner voice which guides most thoughtful human beings into making daily informed choices between right and wrong—it becomes second nature to believe that whatever you have been asked to do by the guys with the money must be right—and your critics are simply annoying gnats to be sprayed away, or worse.

The innocent pawns in this scheme—hatched by Tom Homan, a cringingly inhuman and almost incoherent gargoyle if ever there was one—now include anyone who has ever abided by the rules and gone in for regular consultations with bureaucrats. Take the bewildered family of Mandonna Kashanian, an Iranian grandmother who was gardening in her New Orleans yard when unmarked cars pulled up, unidentified “officers” jumped out and handcuffed her, and took her away.

Here’s to the future—Donna Kashanian, shown in an undated photo taken by her daughter. Courtesy AP

Donna Kashanian, now 64, entered the United States as a teenager on a student visa in 1978—around the time the Shah’s government fell to the Ayatollah Khomeini’s revolutionary regime—and soon applied for asylum. Her father had supported the Shah, and she was terrified at what might happen to her if she had to return there. Her request was denied, but she was allowed to remain here on appeal, beginning her journey through the broken U.S. immigration system.

Her story is not an easy one to follow, nor is it without confusing twists and turns—some of her own making, sadly. Why she could never be naturalized is perplexing. But it is hard not to sympathize with her, as her life collapses into misery and unimaginable horror. For 47 years, she was allowed to remain here during a grueling appeals process. For the past 35 years, she has been happily married to an American citizen, raising their daughter and grandchildren in the typical suburban-style neighborhood of Lakeview.

Now she languishes in an ICE detention facility, awaiting deportation—not to Iran, of course, which is technically impossible, since we have not had diplomatic relations with the regime since our embassy in Tehran was stormed in 1979. Like an increasing number of Iranian overstays who have built productive lives here because they could not go home, for political reasons—hundreds of them in recent weeks, apparently. Bombing the Iranian nuclear laboratories has inexplicably sparked a sudden roundup of all those nefarious Iranians—obviously, they must be sleeper cells training their eyes on Mar-A-Lago …

What purpose does her arrest serve? None—except that it suits Tom Homan’s numbers game. Her next stop could be any country of the U.S. government’s choosing, thanks to the Supreme Court’s mindless acquiescence—even South Sudan, wracked by civil war and grinding poverty and unable to deal on even the lowest human level with its own internal refugees, much less deportees from anywhere else.

[See “Iran immigration arrests,” June 30, https://apnews.com/article/iran-immigration-arrests-us-trump-deportations-9a4136657bda3a277125738807848368?user_email=91ac9b91d9f16d9cb53659ee762e8e3af3dfff538fda7e64d6832d45d17cd261&utm_medium=Morning_Wire&utm_source=Sailthru_AP&utm_campaign=Morning%20Wire%2006/30&utm_term=Morning%20Wire%20Subscribers .]

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As a “reformed” Foreign Service Officer—I walked away from the U.S. State Department in 1997—I keep my eyes out for unusual and outrageous events occurring in countries of interest to the United States, particularly those I have served in or visited. This often includes analyses of U.S. actions affecting those countries, whether wise or effective—or neither, as here—and in many recent cases, more puzzling than practical.

During my career, I served at a total of seven foreign posts, including three with significant Muslim populations. I did not have the privilege of serving in Tehran, although two of my colleagues did serve there before the Shah fell—one of them even among the small group of hidden hostages spirited out by Canadians after the U.S. embassy was stormed. So I know little of what goes on there in daily life under the theocratic dictatorship imposed with an iron hand by the current Ayatollah and his murderous religious police. All I do know is that women face the worst of all fates under a misogynistic patriarchy that arrests first and never explains why … much like the casually brutal Noemistic worldview of 2025.

From graduate school onward, I have had a handful of Iranian friends—U.S. exiles—most of whom prefer to be called Persians, honoring the much older and far more majestic history of their ancestral land. One of them, a student who came here as a 20-year-old in the 1960s and then stayed on, at the request of our government, as an engineer involved in the nuclear submarines of our military, became my close friend over the last decade, along with his American-born wife and their daughters and grandchildren.

They were Episcopalians, and I met them at my last Northern Virginia parish. His name was Behrooz, but he preferred “Ben,” easier on the tongue, he said—together with my dog Benji, we became the “three Bens.”

The three Bens, enjoying a lazy neighborly afternoon. Author’s photo

Ben used to regale me with tales of his childhood and subsequent life as both a world traveler and permanent exile—he was forbidden ever to return, although some of his family members visited him and eventually migrated, as well. His English was excellent, reflecting a careful education in early life and diligent studies after arriving here. In his final years, afflicted with a form of sudden-onset dementia after a brain bleed from a bad fall, Ben communicated less and less—but still smiled and loved to attend church and entertain selected visitors who simply wanted to spend time with him.

Although he missed Iran terribly in some deep-seated ways, he was more than happy with his prosperous and productive U.S. life. He was wise and funny and lucky, in so many ways, that he came when he did—before the Shah fell, when relations with Iran were normal—and at a time when adjusting status from a student visa was accomplished far more easily than it would be a decade later, especially when the U.S. government decided his talents could be put to good use. He and his beloved Jane were married for more than 50 years when he passed, and we miss his sense of humor—and those astoundingly funny dirty jokes—every day.

Not all Iranians exiled here since the 1970s have been as fortunate as Ben, who fit into U.S. life like a hand in a glove, and never faced any adverse consequences. Some, like Donna Kashanian—whose life mirrored Ben’s in many details—were lucky for decades, building secure lives wth a benevolent government’s assistance, before their world was turned upside down by an unconscionable political whim.

She was suddenly low-hanging fruit—ICE knew exactly where she was, because she had played by the rules for so long, trusting the system to be fair to her. No crime except an overstay compelled her deportation. She was just easy to sweep up.

She cannot go back now, even if she wanted to. There is nothing left there for her, except prison, perhaps, or worse. There is only fading hope that someone in the U.S. government will take pity on her, and realize its stupid mistake before she is parachuted into Libya or South Sudan …

The Faustian aspects of this unfolding drama make my blood run cold. Kristi Noem condones all this, praises all this. But she has sold her soul to the devil, though she may not even realize it—she is that obtuse—and assistance for Donna Kashanian from even self-important Republican politicians in Louisiana is unlikely at best. Mike Johnson, the pint-sized Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives? Too busy mopping up the Dear Leader’s vomitous mess to care what happens to someone who obviously broke the law—even if she has a clean criminal record—and can’t vote, anyway, even if her husband can.

Donna who? Never heard of her. She can’t vote for me anyway. Courtesy New York Magazine

Consciences are expendable these days. Vastly overrated and worrisome. The Dear Leader advises his followers to get rid of them, as he did so many years ago.

The trouble with selling your soul to the devil, as Doctor Faust found out, is that the bill inevitably comes due—and when it does, there is only one way to pay it. Kristi Noem, Tom Homan, Mitch McConnell, Mike Johnson, and even the Dear Leader himself will all have to pay up some day—and think fleetingly of their lost consciences as they are damned and descend screaming into the flames of hell.

And on that day, should I be so lucky as to live that long, I will gladly say good riddance to bad rubbish. And thank God that my friend Ben did not live to see the country he so loved and served so well implode.

Next time: More foreign affairs in a crazy, mixed-up world