An Interview with Mrs Donkey, Special Guest on ‘National Media’! — Part One

Part One: From the March to Television

A wry piece by S. Rouzbeh — a fictional interview in the form of political satire, inspired by a donkey’s appearance on ‘Good Morning’ on Channel Three of the Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting. The conversations and events involving the stable owner and behind the scenes are the author’s invention.

These days, the Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting makes such fresh and exciting programmes that you’re left open-mouthed! Even some of the regime’s own media have started speaking out. One day a presenter drives into the studio in a tractor; the next, he rides in on a horse; and this time it’s the turn of a donkey to have her milk drawn in front of Channel Three’s cameras!

At first, of course, I wasn’t very surprised. I thought to myself: they’ve been milking the people—or rather, draining the people’s lifeblood—for years; so what could you expect from a donkey? But when I saw the scene, I realised that apparently they show no mercy even to donkeys any more!

The presenter spoke to Mrs Donkey and cooed over her so much that I thought the programme had turned into an expert interview with a donkey. All that was missing was for her to ask: ‘Madam, what is your opinion of the country’s latest economic developments?’

For a moment, I felt that the poor donkey was about to cry out:

‘Why on earth have you brought me here? Why are you milking me in front of all these viewers? This milk is for my baby! Don’t I have the right to object? Aren’t you a mother yourself?’

But the poor thing said nothing. She just stood there and looked on. I thought I could see the sweat of shame on her neck.

The scene was so astonishing that I decided to interview Mrs Donkey myself, to find out what words were hidden behind those long ears that the national broadcaster had never had the chance to hear!

In short, after all sorts of trouble, I managed to find her owner’s address. When he first heard about the interview, he thought I was joking. Then, when he realised I was serious, he brought up the subject of money. Apparently the donkey’s owner had realised too that being a guest on the national broadcaster could be a business in its own right!

After much haggling and a few promises and agreements, he finally gave his consent.

I went to visit Mrs Donkey at night. She was standing beside her foal, looking sad as she rummaged through some dried grass, as though searching among it for a respectable leaf of alfalfa.

I said, ‘Sorry to bother you so late at night. I’m a journalist. I’ve come to ask you a few questions about the great honour that has fallen to you: appearing on the Islamic Republic’s national broadcaster.’

She looked at me and said:

‘First tell me which media outlet you’re from. If you’re from IRIB, get lost! That one time I went there was more than enough for the next seven generations!’

I said, ‘No, madam, I’ve come to hear what you have to say.’

She said, ‘Then sit down, but be careful not to sit on that hay. It’s supper for me and my little one. You journalists are quite a breed! One comes to milk us, another comes to milk us for words!’

I asked: ‘Madam Donkey, how did you become acquainted with these government programmes?’

She said, “To be honest, Mr Reporter, our experience goes back much further than that! The first time was a few years ago, when my owner took me and my husband to a government-organised march.”

Back then, I didn’t know what a march was. I thought we were going to carry loads, as usual. But then I saw that things were different this time.

A few people came and tied the flag of a foreign country to our backs. At first I thought that, after carrying so many loads, they had finally made us some clothes!

I asked my owner, “What’s this, then?”

He said, “What’s it to you? Just keep walking!”

Then I realised they were going to lead us through the crowd. People came over, laughed, patted our heads and some took pictures.

I didn’t understand why they were laughing. I thought to myself, “Perhaps the flag suits us!”

I asked, “So was it a good experience for you?”

She said, “As far as food goes, it was excellent! We didn’t carry sacks, bricks or heavy loads. They’d just tied a piece of cloth to our backs.”

What’s more, they brought us food from the kitchen: pieces of carrot, cabbage leaves and leftover greens.

Mr Reporter, I’d never eaten a carrot before that day! When I took my first bite, I said to my husband, “Well, would you look at that! So all these years they’ve been fobbing us donkeys off with straw!”

Poor thing, my husband had his mouth full of cabbage leaves, so all he did was nod. I think if he’d been able to speak, he’d have asked for permanent residency in the kitchen right there and then!”

I asked, “Was your owner happy too?”

She said, “He was the happiest of all! I heard they’d said they would pay him as much as we’d earn in several days’ work: just bring the donkeys along for a few hours, tie on the flags, and stand beside them yourself.”

That very day, my owner realised you don’t always have to make a donkey carry a heavy load to earn money; sometimes all you need is a donkey carrying a flag!

And that day his stick went unused, too. He didn’t beat us or yell at us. At the end of the day, we went back to the stable happy.”

My husband and I thought our days of happiness had begun. But the next morning, there was the same dry straw and the same old loads again!

In short, I realised that some kinds of happiness last only as long as a march!”

I asked, “Well, then, why did you stop going on the marches? You were given good food, your owner got paid, and you were spared the backbreaking work!”

She said, “Don’t touch a sore spot, Mr Journalist! At first, I thought exactly the same. Until one day the neighbour’s donkey said, ‘My dear, don’t get so attached to those few bits of carrot! Do you even know what these people who have tied a flag to your back have done to the people? Do you know how many mothers they have bereaved, and that they have shown no mercy even to children?’”

I was stunned! I said, “How can that be? I’m a mother myself. If anything happened to my foal, I’d die of grief. So how could I march in the streets to make people happy when they have bereaved mothers?”

From that day on, I dug in my heels and refused to go on those marches any more.

My owner said, “What do you know about politics? You’re a donkey; get on with your job!”

I said, “I haven’t got involved in politics; you’re the ones who have tied your politics to my back!”

He said, “They’re paying well this time, and there’ll be carrots and cabbage too!”

I said, “You could pile every carrot in the world in front of me, and I still wouldn’t go. I carry loads, but I’m not willing to carry the burden of these deeds!”

My owner got angry and said, “Look what’s come of us! She carried loads for a lifetime without a peep; now she’s eaten a couple of bits of carrot and suddenly she’s grown a conscience!”

Then he picked up a stick and set about me.”

I asked, “Well, which was better: getting beaten or eating carrots?”

She said, “Obviously, eating carrots! Do you think I’ve lost my mind? But, Mr Journalist, there are some carrots that, once you’ve eaten them, you can no longer hold your head up in front of your child!”

She paused for a moment, then went on:

“Only then did I realise why they had tied the flag to my back that day. They knew I wouldn’t understand what I was carrying. But now that I do understand, I won’t let them do it any more!”

I said, “So your owner didn’t come back to you with this sort of work after that?”

She laughed and said:

“Of course he did! If one door to making money closes for my owner, he goes looking for a window. When he saw I wasn’t going on the marches any more, he came along one day, all excited, and said, ‘I’ve got good news! This time, you’re going to be on television!’”

I said, “May God make it turn out well! What are they going to tie to my back this time?”

He said, ‘This time they won’t tie anything to your back!’

I breathed a sigh of relief, unaware that this time, instead of my back, they had their eyes on my milk!’

I asked, ‘Well, what promise did your owner make this time to persuade you to go on television?’

She said, ‘He came and said, “I have an exceptional offer for you. I’ve made a connection; they want to take you on television! They give you green fodder and fresh alfalfa there—things you’ve never seen in your whole life!”’

I said, ‘Oh, give it a rest! I don’t want fame or television. All I need is for them to let me and my little one get on with our lives.’

But my owner wouldn’t let it go. Later I found out they’d promised him a few gift cards as well, and had thoroughly greased his palm.

He said, ‘You’ve got no talent apart from carrying loads, braying and eating grass! Let me get something out of you for once!’

I said, ‘After all these years carrying loads, haven’t I been useful to you?’

He said, ‘That was different. Now you’re going to be famous!’

I said, ‘What good is being famous to me? Do they give you free alfalfa afterwards?’

He promised he would buy the best food for me and my foal after the programme, and would never let us suffer again.’

I asked, ‘Well, did you finally agree?’

She said, ‘You know we donkeys are famous for being stubborn. I stopped in the middle of the road several times, stamped my feet and brayed. But my owner persuaded me with all sorts of promises.’

Before we went into the studio, he also told me not to shout or make a fuss, bolt, knock anything over or bring shame on him; otherwise, I’d have him to answer to!

Then he said, “Make the most of this opportunity. Not every donkey gets such an honour!”’

I asked, ‘How did the staff treat you when you went into the studio?’

She said, ‘Brilliantly! As soon as I came through the door, everyone was fawning over me. One person stroked my head, another complimented me. The female presenter spoke to me with such warmth and enthusiasm that I began to believe I was an important personality!’

There were lights and cameras everywhere. A few people were milling around me too. I thought to myself, “Well, would you look at that! All these years I was a donkey in a stable and nobody paid me any attention. Now, all of a sudden, I’m being treated like royalty on television!”’

For a moment, I thought they had really come to listen to what I had to say.”

I said: ‘Well, why didn’t you say what you wanted to say?’

She sighed and said:

“Don’t get me started, Mr Journalist! It was only then that I realised that on your television, the special guest is someone whose picture they show—not necessarily someone they listen to!

Then someone wanted to write my questions and answers out in advance, so I could read them from the paper!

I said, ‘But I can’t read! And how am I supposed to hold the paper with these hooves?’

My owner said, ‘Come on, it doesn’t understand anything! It doesn’t need to speak. If there’s a question, the presenter can answer it for her!’

I thought to myself, what a marvellous programme! They’ve invited me, they’re milking me, and they’re giving my answers for me too. All that was left was for them to bray in my place at the end of the programme!”

I asked: ‘How did you feel when they milked you?’

She turned her head towards her foal and said:

“I wanted to shout that this milk belongs to my baby! It’s so my baby won’t go hungry, not so you can fill your programme with it!

But my owner was glaring at me so fiercely that I didn’t dare move.

Worst of all, the presenter was so delighted, you’d have thought something momentous had happened in the country!

I couldn’t understand what all the excitement was about. Had nobody ever seen a donkey before? Had nobody ever milked a donkey?”

I said: ‘Actually, they milked a donkey on this very channel a few years ago too.’

She pricked up her ears and said:

“So they’ve done this before! Apparently, instead of a new programme, they bring in a new donkey!”

I asked: ‘Did your owner get any money for your appearance?’

She said, “I don’t know the ins and outs of it, but I saw that he was very happy. For the first few days, he kept his promise, too. He brought fresh alfalfa, bought green fodder, and my foal and I lived in the lap of luxury.”

I thought to myself, if things stayed like this, going on television wasn’t so bad after all. Perhaps, after all these years, fortune had finally knocked on the door of our stable!”

I asked, “Then why do you look so sad now?”

She lowered her ears and said:

“Because it all came to an end! Not even ten days had passed when my owner, instead of those good foods, dumped some dry grass in front of me.

I still had the taste of fresh alfalfa in my mouth, so I protested a little.

You should have seen it! He picked up a stick and beat me and my little one so badly that my bones still ache!

He shouted, ‘Did you think you’d be going on television every day? Even that straw is too good for you!’”

I asked, “What did you learn from this experience?”

She said:

“I learned that all that affection wasn’t for me. The fresh alfalfa wasn’t to improve my life, either. It was all so I would stand calmly in front of the camera and my owner could make a profit.

As long as money was involved, they fawned over me. Once they were done, all I had left was that same dry straw!”

She fell silent for a moment. Then she said softly:

“Do you know what bothers me most of all?”

I said, “No. What?”

She said:

“That I thought someone had finally recognised all my hard work. I’ve carried loads for years, been beaten, and never uttered a word. And the one time they paid attention to me, it wasn’t for my sake or my foal’s—it was for my milk!

And I have one more question. When some people struggle to buy milk for their own children, why should they have to sit and watch the milk meant for my baby being taken on television?”

I looked at her. I thought to myself, what a perceptive donkey! She was asking a question that perhaps even many television executives would be unable to answer.

She said:

‘If they’re looking for someone to talk about their problems, I’m willing to go back. I can talk about the rising cost of feed, hard work, being beaten and my foal’s future. But I don’t think they’d want a programme like that.’

I asked, ‘Why?’

She said:

‘Because this time, instead of milk, they’ll have to put up with what I have to say!’

Then she continued, laughing:

‘Besides, the first person to object will be my owner. After all, until now I’ve always carried the load while he did the talking. Now, if I’m the one who speaks and he has to answer, he might be the one to bray with fright!’

I burst out laughing.

She said:

‘Mr Journalist! I have one request. If you print this interview, write that we donkeys have been carrying people’s burdens for years. Our job is clear enough. But on your television, it’s not clear who carries the load, who profits, or who has to pay the price!’

Just then, the donkey foal, who had been standing beside its mother until that moment, came forward and nudged her belly with its muzzle. It was clearly hungry and wanted milk.

Mrs Donkey turned her head and said:

‘Wait, little one! Can’t you see I’m being interviewed? We’ve only just become famous!’

Then she turned to me and asked:

‘Mr Journalist, will you wait? Ever since this little one saw me on television, it seems not to understand that its mother isn’t an ordinary donkey any more!’

I said, ‘Yes, why wouldn’t I wait? It matters to me to hear everything you have to say.’

She glanced at her foal and said:

“Did you hear, dear? This gentleman wants to hear what we have to say. He isn’t going to milk us, or answer for us himself!”

After a brief pause, she said with a laugh:

“But, Mr Journalist, don’t make the interview too long. I’m afraid this little one will learn to come on camera and interview me instead of drinking his milk!”

I laughed and said, “Then we’ll leave the interview here for now.”

She said:

“All right, but I still have a lot to say. Come back next time and I’ll tell you why my owner has made life miserable for me and my little one ever since I said I wasn’t willing to go on television any more.”

I said, “Then it’s a date for next time.”

She nodded and said:

“Agreed! Just let me know before you come, so I can feed my little one his milk. After all, we can’t put on a repeat programme whenever we haven’t finished what we’re doing, the way your television does!”

End of Part One — to be continued