CHICAGO, IL -

I admit that the set up is pretty dramatic:

A man stands motionless on a street corner in single-digit morning temperatures holding onto a sign that simultaneously calls the mayor of Chicago a dictator while asking a certain FBI agent to stop raping his wife.

“FBI Agent Chris Saviano, Stop Raping My Wife!”

At first sight, you think: “Jesus Almighty! What the hell? Somebody help this poor man whose wife is God-knows-where getting raped by this named federal servant!”

The next day you see him, you think: “Fuck! It’s still happening? Where’s the justice? That FBI guy should be fired and thrown in prison by now! And yeah, that Mayor Daley is totally a dictator if you think about it.”

But on the third morning upon seeing him on the same corner, you think: “Yikes. How long has this dude been out here doing this?”

And it’s on the fourth straight day coming across this stoic man - Farhad Khoiee-Abassi - when you think about the day he walked into a Kinko’s or a Fast Signs where he had to explain to whoever behind the counter that he wanted these exact signs made. And you imagine how he explained that he really wanted the word “Raping” to be in red and a bit slanted, and how he mentioned that if both the T’s in “Dictator” were in capitals, then that would be sweet. “Oh, and let’s totally underline ‘DicTaTor’ and make the word ’stop’ into a stop sign. Can you guys make a stop sign? Yeah? Yeah.”

Oh, and you totally start to think he’s schizophrenic.

I’ve worked down in the Loop on the corner of Clark and Randolph for over a year now, and Farhad Khoiee-Abassi has been there almost every morning.

Holding those signs.

Staring straight ahead.

Oblivious to the whispers and shaking heads.

If it’s cold, bundled up in ski pants and jacket, hat, gloves.

If it’s not cold, wearing a full on suit.

The story, or so say the peoples on the ‘net, is that he has been in a long-fought legal battle with his ex-wife.

Custody rights.

Protection orders.

He’s self-representing himself after his lawyer quit.

He’s mocking the legal and political systems, standing out there day after day trying to bring awareness to his cause.

He’s traveling to DC and NYC with his signs, always keeping the rape one and substituting the Mayor Daley one for others that say “Alberto Gonzales - Outlaw! Trial!” or whatever.

For years now.

But the sad thing is that he’s not really helping his cause out there.

He doesn’t acknowledge those reading his signs.

He doesn’t try to retell the story of whatever drama has driven him to this.

He doesn’t ask for donations or pity.

Doesn’t verbalize his need for help.

Or change.

Doesn’t seem to have any other agenda than to stand there with those signs.

So, as it appears, Khoiee-Abassi gets up every morning headed for the Loop like so many other Chicagoans.

He eats his breakfast, drinks his coffee, watches some ESPN or a little TODAY action while he ties his shoelaces, flosses, makes sure the cats have food, and then he heads out the door with his briefcase.

Just like me.

Just like you.

Just another day at the office.

But instead of a laptop or some manila folders, Khoiee-Abassi’s briefcase holds a collapsible pole and some crazy-ass signs.

And we’re all out there in this world doing our things, speaking as little as possible to those around us.

I suppose there’s nothing wrong with that.

Free speech, and all that.

He’s got his agenda.

Like you and I have ours.

But.

My.

Curiosity.

Won’t.

Subside.

My original plan, when I finally decided that I was going to approach him, was to hand him an envelope containing a letter about how I’d like to sit down and hear his story. Get an article out of him so that he could finally explain himself. An interview for the Chicago Reader, maybe.

But my girlfriend said that was a terrible idea, and I reluctantly saw that light.

Then I thought I would just start saying “Good morning” or “‘Mornin’” or “Cold one, eh?” for a week or so, breaking down the barrier until we have a real conversation. Then a coffee sit-down. Then I could get his side of this story that unfolds before so many commuters every morning.

But it was so hard to do, seeing as how he stands right across the street of my building where coworkers I know and don’t know stream past every second. I thought that being seen regularly conversing with this guy by higher-ups would be awkward and detrimental to my ladder climbing.

But.

Curiosity.

All winter I almost made my move, approaching and second-guessing.

Totally pussing out, over and over.

But on a February morning that couldn’t have been over 10 degrees, I mentally lowered my balls from their receded home in my warm abdomen, and I spoke to Khoiee-Abassi.

He stared straight ahead, focusing on nothing.

“Excuse me,” I said to his right side. “I work across the street.”

Nothing.

Not even a blink.

“I see you out here all the time and I was wondering if you would like some coffee.”

Nothing.

“Or maybe some hot water,” I tried.

Then there was a quick blink, but not the kind that said: “Yes, stranger. I would love a cup of hot water as I can’t feel my extremities. Thank you. You are very kind. And might I add, handsome. I want to tell you all my secrets.”

Rather, it was more of a blink that said: “My eyes are dry and so I choose to refresh them with a blink.”

Nothing more.

Crushed, I walked into my building without looking back.

I wonder how FBI Agent Chris Saviano, the supposed raper, handles his name being out there on the corner of Randolph and Clark.

If there even is an agent by this name, honestly.

I read that in open court, Farhad Khoiee-Abassi’s wife admitted that she has never even heard of a man with this name.

Which makes this man’s stand all the stranger.

He’s out there right now.

Holding those signs.

Not saying a thing.

Dressed the same as yesterday.

And I will try leave him alone.

But, I gotta say, it sure seems more than crazy to stand out there in the freezing morning wind and not take a man up on a cup of hot water.

After all, you have to take care of yourself so that you can make it to work the next day.

This entry was posted on Monday, March 10th, 2008 at 4:57 am and is filed under Activism, Addiction, Law, Politics. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.