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U.S. President Barack Obama and Iran’s new president, Hassan Rouhani, have spoken by phone. It appears that Rouhani, a moderate, wants to negotiate and change the two countries’ relationship. Lewis asked the panelists if he has the power and support to do this: Who is really ruling Iran, and do they want a rapprochement?

Occidental College political scientist Hussein Banai, co-author of Becoming Enemies: U.S.-Iran Relations and the Iran-Iraq War, 1979-1988, said that there’s no straightforward answer to this question. Iran’s long-term enmity toward the United States is a separate matter from negotiations over the nuclear issue. “Revolution,” in Iran, “is built on an opposition to western imperialism and arrogance,” said Banai. There is a vested interest within the Iranian regime in keeping the enmity alive.

So, asked Lewis, has anything really changed since 1979?

“We live in a far more transparent world today, and that I think presents a new set of difficulties, not to mention the economic situation” in Iran today, said Banai, which is a tremendous problem.

As vice president of global policy programs at Asia Society, Suzanne DiMaggio has spoken with Rouhani and worked on the upcoming talks in Geneva. Lewis asked her if the U.S. should trust the new president—or if he is, as Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, claims, a “wolf in sheep’s clothing?”

DiMaggio said there’s no question that the decider is the supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. But Iran’s government is not a monolith; it just might be as complex as our own government, with competing sectors of power and influence, she said. Right now, Rouhani is in a position of power; he was elected with a mandate to improve the economy and improve relations with the West. He has a window, now, to negotiate with the U.S. on the nuclear issue—but that window will not stay open for long, said DiMaggio. “Right now, we really don’t know” if we can trust Rouhani and his team, she said—but they appear to be serious about negotiating, and we must test that seriousness with diplomacy.

Turning to Occidental College historian Thaddeus Russell, Lewis asked him what the new openness of social media and the Internet is doing to Iran.

Russell said that too many conversations about the U.S.-Iran relationship leave out the people of both countries. And many of the 70 million people in Iran are consuming Western popular culture. Last month, 30,000 satellites around the country—many of which stream in the Rupert Murdoch-owned station FARSI1, which airs programs from all over the world—were bulldozed. And according to news reports, Paris Hilton may be more popular than Rouhani. Russell likened the conditions within Iran to those of the late-stage Soviet Union, in which Western culture ultimately inspired people to walk away from a totalitarian regime

But Banai, who grew up in Iran, said that Western culture has been a part of life there since the revolution began—in private, at least. And the regime has known and does know about these activities. They know what the public is consuming; they allow young people superficial freedoms and the enjoyment of lowbrow culture. They crack down on expressions of political dissent and oppositional views. “They’re among the most sophisticated repressive governments in the world,” he said.

Sanctions have devastated the Iranian economy, said Lewis. Rouhani talks about getting the sanctions lifted, but are the sanctions also a tool for blaming internal problems on the U.S.? Does anyone in Iran want to see the sanctions continued?

“No,” said Banai. “Whatever side you’re on, the sanctions destabilize the economy and hurt oil sales.”

And the U.S. should realize, said DiMaggio, that “sanctions can be most effective when they’re lifted.”

Russell added that in the 1990s, President Bill Clinton put sanctions on Iran that included a ban on consumer electronics. If you’re interested in liberating a people, making it illegal to export cellular phones and laptops to them doesn’t seem to be the way to do it, he said. The Obama administration lifted these sanctions in May.

The issues that were obstacles to improving U.S.-Iran relations in the Clinton era have changed, said Banai. Back then, the nuclear issue wasn’t on the table; it was all about Iran’s support for Hezbollah and the country’s human rights record at home. The Islamic regime, he said, should be applauded for finding, in the nuclear issue, a mechanism for changing the conversation from regime change to geopolitics. Iran, thanks to the nuclear issue and two unsuccessful U.S. wars in the Middle East, is once again in its pre-revolutionary position of being at the center of U.S. strategy in the region.

DiMaggio said that for four years, the Obama administration overemphasized the nuclear issue, losing out on opportunities to work with Iran—on Afghanistan, for instance. “I think we’re missing an opportunity now,” she said. “We must bring Iran into discussions on Syria. I’m convinced of that.”

In the question-and-answer session, an audience member asked DiMaggio how Rouhani was received in New York when she hosted him there.

DiMaggio said that while some people were unhappy to have him in New York, most people sensed that he was something different from his predecessor, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. DiMaggio said that with Ahmadinejad, you’d ask him a question and he’d respond with a question, bombastic and unproductive for hours. Rouhani, on the other hand, is nothing like that. We have to keep in mind that he’s a centrist—a moderate with a clerical background who’s there to preserve theocracy, maybe reform it, but not overthrow it. However, “he had a conciliatory tone and came across as someone quite rational” in New York, she said—noting that “words matter.”

When asked if there was really a chance that Iran would give up its nuclear ambitions, DiMaggio said the answer was no: “I do not foresee the government of Iran giving up their nuclear program, period.” They will not give up their nuclear energy program or the right to enrich uranium on their own soil. But she said that Iran has not yet crossed the threshold toward weaponization, and that the government recognizes that if it crosses that threshold, the consequences would be immediate and swift.

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Now, actor-director Ben Affleck has brought a strange chapter of that crisis to the screen in the movie Argo, a taut nail-biter that brilliantly details the rescue of six Americans who managed to evade capture at the embassy grounds. They found an ally in Canada’s ambassador to Iran, Ken Taylor, who hid them for almost three months. In a move that was known as the “Canadian caper,” Taylor arranged for the hostages to be spirited out of Iran—“exfiltrated” in CIA lingo. Affleck plays the mastermind of that caper, CIA operative Tony Mendez, who hatched a scheme calling for the Americans to pose as a Canadian film crew scouting desert locations for a sci-fi movie called Argo.

At the time, Mendez created a phony production company in Hollywood that amped up buzz for the movie project as a way of enhancing the cover for the Americans in Tehran. Using fake identities and passports supplied by Canada, Mendez and the six Americans flew out of Tehran on January 28, 1980, almost a year before the hostage crisis finally ended with the release of the 52 remaining Americans.

Many of us in the press corps in Tehran during the early days of the crisis had an inkling that some of the U.S. embassy personnel might have eluded the revolutionaries and gone into hiding somewhere. When we compiled lists of the known hostages, the names and numbers didn’t quite add up. Some people were obviously missing in action. After consulting with our bosses at NBC headquarters in New York, we all agreed not to report the story, figuring that any publicity about the unaccounted for Americans could put their lives in danger. (I wonder, given today’s media climate, with 24/7 cable news and squadrons of bloggers and Twitterers, whether it would be possible to keep the lid on that sort of thing. I doubt it.)

Canadian Ambassador Taylor proved to be an affable gent who frequently met with journalists for background briefings. Naturally, he never let on about his house guests. In January 1980, Taylor told me that the Canadians were about to close up shop and presented me with a bottle of Scotch from the embassy bar. I accepted the gift eagerly, since the authorities of the Islamic Republic had banned all sales and possession of liquor. (Some of us in the press corps would hide our stash of booze in the air conditioning intake grilles in our rooms at Tehran’s Intercontinental Hotel.) I only later discovered that the reason the Canadians were closing up shop was that they were about to enable the escape of the six Americans.

I’m glad to see that Taylor (played by Victor Garber in the film) is still alive and well at age 77. He’s not happy, though, about the way Argo underplays Canada’s role. “The movie’s fun, it’s thrilling, it’s pertinent, it’s timely,” Taylor told the Toronto Star. “But look, Canada was not merely standing around watching events take place. The CIA was a junior partner.” Affleck heard of Taylor’s unhappiness and took a meeting with him in Los Angeles. What resulted was a postscript tacked on just before the movie’s end credits: “The involvement of the CIA complemented efforts of the Canadian Embassy to free the six held in Tehran. To this day the story stands as an enduring model of international co-operation between governments.”

As one who was there, I have to observe that most of Argo rings true, in spite of the short-changing of Canada and some dramatic license in the film as the Americans get ready to fly out of Tehran and the Iranian Revolutionary Guards begin mounting a pursuit. The crowd scenes, with enormous mobs of Iranian demonstrators chanting “death to America,” are compellingly staged and mirror the news footage that we shot in front of the U.S. Embassy in Tehran. We soon discovered the demonstrators loved to perform for the TV cameras, switching their chants from Farsi into English when the American networks showed up.

On one occasion, a revolutionary was trying to teach the mob to chant “down with the cabinet of the U.S.A.,” but the non-English speakers weren’t getting it. As the bearded cheerleader gave up in disgust, I said to him, “Next time, why don’t you try ‘Down with the IRS’?” I don’t think he took the advice.

In Argo, the tension of the crisis is well sustained, and comic relief is supplied by Alan Arkin and John Goodman, who play two Hollywood production guys roped into the CIA cover operation. I suspect, come Oscar time, that Mr. Affleck and his collaborators on Argo have a good chance at some statuettes. And if Ken Taylor and I ever cross paths again, I’m going to repay the bottle of Scotch.

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When I first stepped onto the tarmac in Saigon in August of 1970, I was a 27-year-old correspondent for NBC News with no training in how to operate in a war zone. My editors had sent me to be screened by a psychologist to determine if I was likely to crack under combat pressure, as my predecessor had abruptly told the bosses “I can’t take it!” and packed his bags. But the psychologist said he couldn’t really determine anything on the basis of a single one-hour session. The most in-depth advice I got from the front office was “keep your head down.”

Reporting was easier before today’s 24-hour news cycle. We’d shoot our stories on film and ship them to Hong Kong or Bangkok to be processed. That usually happened in the late afternoon, around 5 p.m., when we’d throw our film on the last plane of the day out of Tan Son Nhut airport. Then we’d repair to our favorite watering holes, like the terrace of the Continental Palace Hotel, and exchange war stories over gin and tonics or scotch and sodas. (The bar, nicknamed the “Continental Shelf,” has since been walled up and converted into office space.)

We had a lot of freedom to roam. Getting to a battle zone meant hitchhiking on U.S. military planes and helicopters or, in some cases, driving to the action. Nobody asked us why we were going or where we were heading. One day, after driving an NBC jeep down a dirt road and arriving with my crew at an American firebase, I was halted by a sentry at the concertina-wire perimeter.

“I want to thank you,” he said.

“Thank me?” I asked. “For what?”

“Thank you for sweeping the road for mines.”

The most freedom I ever had as a war correspondent was covering the conflicts in El Salvador and Nicaragua in the 1980s. Journalists could link up with either government forces or rebel forces with ease. News crews driving along in a jeep might encounter government troops on one part of the road and then guerillas on another. Some of my colleagues had T-shirts printed up with large targets on the back and the words “¡PERIODISTA-NO DISPARE!” (JOURNALIST-DON’T SHOOT!). War correspondents like gallows humor.

One Salvadoran town called Cinquera routinely changed hands between the government and rebels, and you’d have to show your credentials to whatever side was in charge that day. Both sides recognized our status as neutral observers, but, one day, the city was between managers, and my two-man crew and I got caught in the crossfire. We low-crawled back to our car, which was plastered with the letters “TV” in gray tape, and got out of there.

During Operation Desert Storm, Secretary of Defense Richard Cheney and the military brass at the Pentagon laid down new rules. Reporters and camera crews had to be accompanied by escorts (we called them “minders”), and our stories had to be submitted to military censors for review. The U.S. military formed “press pools” that were taken into the field but deliberately kept away from seeing combat.

I spent much of the first Gulf War at the press center in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, where we were able to report live, via satellite, but at some distance from the action. Most of our reporting was based on the military’s daily press briefings and not on firsthand observation. When my press pool eventually got into southern Iraq with a huge supply convoy, our group was hundreds of miles from the action. By the time our tame pictures got past the military censors, the fighting was over.

If the U.S. government has changed how it treats war correspondents, so have many of the combatants. When I started out, hostile forces rarely targeted journalists. In November of 1979, I covered the taking of U.S. hostages at the American Embassy in Tehran, and even there I was rarely in danger. We’d talk to Iranian militants who’d threaten to imprison or kill us if we didn’t report the story their way, but they never followed up. Once, during a demonstration near the home of the Ayatollah Khomeini, my cameraman and I were accused of being spies and carted off to a military headquarters, where angry, bearded revolutionaries leveled their assault rifles at our heads. It was frightening, but once the demonstration ended, we were released.

Today, reporters are hunted, kidnapped, and killed in conflicts from Iraq to Mexico. News organizations send their people to “boot camps” organized by private security firms to get basic instruction in subjects such as how to act if you’re taken hostage, how to negotiate a mine field, and how to apply a tourniquet or administer CPR to a wounded colleague. (I went through one of these courses a few years ago and learned just how many things I’d done that could have gotten me and my team killed.)

With cutbacks to news budgets, much of the reporting in the Middle East has been outsourced to freelancers, many of whom operate without all the resources we had in wars past. We also use increasing numbers of local “fixers” who interpret for us and handle the logistics of coverage. They shoulder many of the frontline risks, often without any sort of insurance should they get killed or wounded.

In spite of all the changes in our business, one thing has remained constant for the war correspondent: the obligation to bear witness. There is no good way to describe the combat experience from a distance, so journalists must see the action up close. Even that isn’t fully adequate, though. Neither print nor television can capture what it’s like to cower in a ditch under heavy shelling, with ear-splitting explosions shaking the ground. Self-censorship also enters in. Grislier scenes get edited out of footage, because networks feel they must tone down the gore when they’re broadcasting into people’s homes. And, perhaps because I believed the story wasn’t about me, I seldom wrote about the fear I felt.

Chris Hedges, who spent 15 years covering El Salvador, the Middle East, and the Balkans, has written, “The rush of battle is a potent and often lethal addiction, for war is a drug, one I ingested for many years.” I, too, ingested it as I traveled the globe in search of what we in TV news call “bang-bang stories.” I’d run into the same corps of journalists in combat zone after combat zone, and we’d talk about being “war junkies.”

Most war correspondents are young-people in their 20s or early 30s looking to make their mark in journalism. Some come equipped with a my-body-is-bulletproof attitude that can get them into trouble. (As a young man, I found myself slipping into it too, sometimes.) Others might resist such delusions but still rationalize the risks by telling themselves that these stories are historically important. But the truth is if you cover a war, you do so in the hope of getting plenty of airtime, which increases your value as a journalist. Having your story lead the nightly news can be exhilarating.

So journalists have a delicate balancing act. We often proclaim, “There is no story worth dying for,” but no journalist who was killed while covering a story knew he or she was going to die. It’s always a matter of risk. How much is too much? And for how long do you play Russian roulette? I turned to other pursuits late in my career at the urging of family. “Dad, we want you around for a few more years,” one of my daughters told me.

The intervention worked. My name is George, and I’m a recovering war junkie.

In Bayeux, France, near the D-Day invasion sites of World War Two, stands a memorial to journalists killed on duty around the world since the Allied landings in 1944. It has 2,200 names so far, and new ones keep being added. Between 1955 and 1975, a total of 63 journalists got killed in Vietnam, according to the organization Reporters Without Borders. In Iraq, 150 journalists have been killed since 2003. Last year alone, 66 journalists were killed in trouble spots around the world, from Pakistan to Mexico.

Regardless of how much the danger increases, there will always be those who feel the calling to be war correspondents, who head in the direction of gunfire as others run away, hoping that at the end of the day, they’ll be able to say, as I often did when returning from the field, “I lived to tell about it.”

To all of them: Godspeed.

George Lewis recently retired after 42 years with NBC News.

*Photos courtesy of George Lewis.

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