In December 1998 President Moi made an official trip to Iran. Prior to our departure several of my Israeli friends and patients, including the head of the Mossad in Kenya, warned me that Iran was too dangerous for a Jewish American man to visit even as part of a Kenyan delegation.
I did not take their concerns lightly, but the opportunity to go to Iran intrigued me. Though I would be cautious, I was determined not to let this chance pass me by.
Our Fokker Friendship jet touched down late in the day at Tehran’s Mehrabad Airport. We were taken to a hotel in advance of talks that night between Moi and President Mohammad Khatami.
The meeting was at Sa’dabad Palace in the north of the capital. The two presidents first held a private consultation while our delegation was shown to a conference room. We took our assigned seats at a large elliptical table and waited for Moi and Khatami and their respective senior aides to arrive.
Ordinarily, I was excluded from such gatherings. This time Frost Josiah, the chief of protocol, surprised me with a seat at the table. I considered it an honour and was excited by the prospect of seeing first-hand what would transpire, especially given the nature of the host country.
As Moi and Khatami entered the room, the excitable Iranian ambassador to Kenya began pointing at me and talking in Persian.
I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but his raised voice indicated trouble. He took Josiah aside and spoke to him in an animated whisper. Josiah then crossed to where I was sitting.
‘The ambassador has accused you of being a spy,’ he said into my ear.
Dr Silverstein on how Moi handled rumours about his health
It reminded me of a similar allegation made by Hillary Ojiambo when I first came to Kenya and brought a smile to my face. Then I recalled that this was the Islamic Republic of Iran and became more than a bit concerned.
‘Maybe you’d better sit outside,’ Josiah suggested. It seemed a good idea under the circumstances. I withdrew to a large hallway and spent some forty-five minutes admiring the surroundings. The masterful Persian art on the walls, which was of museum quality, turned my exile into a pleasant interlude.
IRNA, the official government news agency, later reported the night’s presidential talks had centred on Khatami’s desire to expand economic and trade relations with Kenya.
Back in my room later that evening, I was notified that President Moi wished to see me. He had heard I had been told to leave the meeting and was concerned. Moi was always sensitive to my feelings. He had already demonstrated on several occasions that he felt protective of me. That evening he sat me down and told me a story that had not been reported by IRNA.
Dr David Silverstein and wife.
He had already chalked up a reasonably successful track record in Africa as a mediator by bringing various warring factions to the table. Beyond the continent, he sometimes used visits to rogue nations to try to parley happy outcomes to difficult situations.
In 1986 an Israeli navigator of an Israeli F-4Phantom II jet had been taken into Lebanese custody after a raid over the city of Sidon. Ron Arad was believed to have been handed over to a Hezbollah unit and possibly passed on to Iranian Revolutionary Guards.
There had been no reliable reports of his condition or whereabouts since then despite and intensive Israeli efforts to learn the truth. Now that he was in Iran and as a friend of Israel, Moi felt it was important to try to get information on Arad, and at least ascertain if he was still alive. I suspect the Israelis had probably asked him to do it.
Moi told me he had brought up the subject of Arad in a private conversation with Khatami before their public discussions. Did Khatami know Arad’s whereabouts? Would he be in a position to help determine his fate? As it turned out, President Khatami was not forthcoming.
The Israelis continued investigating the navigator’s disappearance until they were forced to conclude he must have died soon after the Lebanese took him into custody. The next day included a visit to the tomb of Ayatollah Khomeini, the leader of the 1979 Iranian Revolution which saw the overthrow of the last Shah of Iran, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi.
He had been adulated as a spiritual and political leader by Iranians, but for many he was remembered for his role in the Iran – Iraq War of 1980-1988, force-marching wave after wave of child soldiers onto enemy lines, killing hundreds of thousands of young Iranian boys.
The third day we were scheduled to fly north to Tabriz, a historic city dating back to the 9th century. That morning the Iranians announced there were no available government aircraft for the trip. The solution, they said, would be to fly with the Kenyans on Moi’s plane.
How Dr Silverstein became Moi's doctor
The Kenyans were happy to agree to the plan. This meant four or five of our delegation would have to take a commercial flight. When I was told one of them would be me, my jaw dropped. The Iranians hated the Israelis, but they hated Americans too. There had been recent anti-U.S. demonstrations in the streets with shouts of ‘Death to America! Death to Israel!’ Mindful of this, I sought out Frost Josiah.
‘You’re aware of the demonstrations? You know I carry an American passport and have a Jewish name. Have you thought this out carefully? I’m prepared to fly commercially, but I want to make sure you’re aware of all the implications of that and any possible consequences if something goes wrong.’
Frost took my issue to Harry Katharima, a former chief of protocol and now the permanent secretary for foreign affairs.
Dr David Silverstein and wife.
Photo credit: Pool
Katharima in turn took it to Moi who personally restored me to his plane’s passenger manifest. Before we departed he called me to his room.
‘Some of my people just don’t think,’ he said in Kiswahili and shook his head in disbelief. ‘If I fall down, who’s there to pick me up? You’re coming with me.’
Tabriz was an enlightening experience. For all the fevered fundamentalism the Iranian government and mullahs showed the world, the bazaar at Tabriz revealed another side of the country. When we returned to Tehran, our visit was extended by a day because our hosts were eager to show Moi an armaments factory.
The Iranians by this time had introduced ammunition production into the conversation. Everyone was given a full-colour brochure detailing the arms available for export. I was mildly surprised to be given one as well. I kept it as a souvenir. I had been barred from the other meetings, but during the arms discussions no one objected to my presence in the room.
On the flight back to Nairobi I developed a migraine and was relieved to get home in the early evening so I could take a pain pill and go to bed. I was asleep by 8 pm. Three hours later the phone rang. It was the casualty medical officer at the hospital ER.
Annoyed, I pointed out I was officially away until the next morning. He apologised and said there was a patient with chest pain who insisted I was the only doctor he would see. I reluctantly got dressed and climbed into the car. When I arrived at the hospital, the patient turned out to be the Iranian ambassador, who had denounced me so vehemently as a spy. He assaulted me now with embraces and kisses.
‘I’m sorry to drag you out this late after your long trip. You see, you’re the only doctor I can trust.’ The ambassador recovered quickly. After that I was invited to all Iranian Embassy social events.
Iran today is a theocracy, an Islamic dictatorship and a major exporter of terrorism. As far as I can tell, most Iranians dislike their leaders and would rather have a secular state that recognises the U.S. and Israel. Should détente come to pass sometime in the future, I hope Iranians will revert to the lifestyle enjoyed under the Shah.
It is still followed by the easygoing residents of Tabriz: poetry, wine, well-dressed men and women, silken carpets and a lemon-scented bazaar. May that day come soon.
