A bigger challenge was to figure out what really mattered to him. Over time, a notion began to emerge. Much of his year in exile was spent on the road: Europe, Russia, and the Middle East. He immersed himself in four languages and delved into religious study. After a few months, he realized that the old cliché was true: Scratch away at the twin veneers of nationality and ethnicity, and you'll find that people are fundamentally the same. "We all have the same needs and aspirations," says Elahian. "Everyone wants a secure life and meaningful work. We all want to achieve things and build something.
"But then I recalled my youth living under the Shah in Tehran during the 1960s. We were intellectually isolated, cut off from the rest of the world. And I realized that people will never act like citizens of the world if all they know is their own world."
In the past, Elahian had helped fashion mission statements for his companies. Now he decided to craft a mission statement for the rest of his life: Go to the world's outback regions, and give people the tools to connect with one another and to learn from one another. Maybe then they would develop tolerance.
First, he vowed to build Internet-based technologies that would help people connect with one another in ways that were cheaper, faster, better. His second tack would be to build organizations that wouldn't have to wait to get big before they could go global. Instead, he would create a fund for startups that from day one would pursue the global marketplace.
The third part of his plan came to him while he was watching CNN. A report aired on how schools were using the Internet. The story ended with a close-up of the principal of an inner-city school that couldn't afford computers. "I'll never forget the look of sadness on that principal's face," says Elahian.
He decided then and there that he would find a way to endow the world's poorest schools with a window to the Net. It would prove a daunting challenge. He had never had children, and his only experience with secondary education was what he knew from attending school in Iran. When it came to understanding the American education system -- or, for that matter, the schools of the world at large -- he was at best a D student.
Fifteen months ago, on the morning of Rosh Hashanah, the principal of an Arab junior high school in Israel awoke to tragic news: Thirteen people from his village of Uhm-El-Fahem had died in clashes with the Israeli police. The principal, a man named Bassam Jabarin, was heartsick. But he did something remarkable. He sat down and wrote an email to a forum of principals of Jewish and Arab secondary schools.
"There was darkness everywhere," he began. "Riots, deaths, killings, pain and violent anger .... Then my cell-phone rang and on the other side [were] the voices of support ... from my Israeli friends wondering about my well-being. Upon hearing these voices ... I felt hopeful. I got my teachers together and said 'There is no alternative other than co-existence.' " He ended his note by saying that he looked forward to meeting with six Israeli teachers for an upcoming workshop. "The very fact that they are meeting means that there is a place for hope and light," he wrote.
Jabarin's email would not have been possible without the work of Schools Online, a nonprofit organization that Elahian founded in 1996. He started small, outfitting an elementary school in Milpitas, California with computers and Internet access. Since then, Schools Online has connected more than 5,800 schools in 25 countries and provided computer training for thousands of teachers.
With a staff of 10, Schools Online is tough-minded about its prospects for success. Miki Frankovits, director of Schools Online Israel, says that real change in attitudes between Jewish and Arab students will only come through "long and peaceful collaboration." In the short term, he just wants to keep students in touch with one another. Still, Elahian knows that in this new phase of his life, he and his colleagues at Schools Online have chosen to follow the road less traveled. They are not about to retreat. If anything, Elahian is pushing even harder.
Not long ago, he returned from Tanzania, where he had helped set up an Internet learning center in a camp for Burundi refugees. One of the refugees, an architect, designed a building that uses solar power to run the center's PCs. Connectivity will come by way of satellite. "The toughest part of living in an African refugee camp isn't the conditions, which are bad," says Elahian. "It's that people must spend 5, 10, 15 years living in these places. It's like being in a big prison. They can't lead an honorable life. So we're giving kids access to computers. We're getting them education by connecting them with teachers and volunteer tutors. One day, when they return home, they won't have to live like refugees in their own country."
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