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Neda Soltan: Anger and Fear

23 June 2009

Neda Soltan: Anger and Fear

By Gwynne Dyer

The grisly video of 26-year-old Neda Agha-Soltan dying in a Tehran street, shot down by a government thug, has already been seen by millions of Iranians. If the protesters against the alleged rigging of the recent election needed a dramatic image of martyrdom — and such images have a special resonance in Iran — they now have one. But things are not quite so simple.

Her death, all the more affecting because she was not actually a protester but just trapped in the midst of the demo, has enraged many people, but it has also frightened them. She was only one of ten people killed on Saturday, 21 June, in Tehran by the police and the Basiji (the volunteer militia that normally serves as the regime’s “morality police”) but hers is the death that you can actually watch.

It was very fast, very ugly, and clearly quite arbitrary. If this is what happens to innocent bystanders, are you sure you want to go out and demonstrate again tomorrow?

The conventional wisdom says that in Iran such deaths only fuel popular anger and make the demos grow bigger, and that is certainly what happened during the struggle to overthrow the Shah of Iran thirty years ago. But there were only hundreds of demonstrators, not hundreds of thousands, on the streets of Tehran in the days after Neda’s death.

The regime has now nailed its colours to the mast: Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei has said that he will back President Mahmoud Ahmedinejad’s disputed election victory come what may. There will not be a compromise in which the elections are re-run, maybe with a different outcome that makes Mir Hossein Mousavi, the opposition leader, the new president, but leaves Ali Khamenei and the basic principles of the “Islamic revolution” in place.

The regime’s heavy artillery, a parallel army called the Revolutionary Guards, has now been deployed on the streets, and its website makes it clear that it is willing to kill demonstrators: “The Guards will firmly confront in a revolutionary way rioters and those who violate the law.” In Iran, the phrase “in a revolutionary way” instantly recalls the tens of thousands of alleged enemies of the new regime who were killed in mass hangings in 1989.

It is the regime that has deliberately raised the stakes, from a mere dispute about the outcome of an election to an existential struggle for the regime’s survival. It is a gamble, of course, for there are many young Iranians who would be willing to fight it out on that ground — but their leaders are not.

All three presidential candidates who believe they were cheated in the election are stalwart supporters of the Islamic regime. How could they be otherwise, when all presidential candidates are vetted by the Guardian Council for their revolutionary and Islamic dedication? Mousavi was prime minister during the war with Iraq in 1980-88. Mohsen Rezaie is a former commander of the Revolutionary Guards. Even Mehdi Karroubi, the most liberal of the candidates, is a cleric who has served the revolution faithfully, if critically.

If it comes down to the survival of the Islamic revolutionary dispensation that they have devoted their lives to building, Mousavi, Rezaie and Karroubi are all ultimately on the same side of the barricades as Khamenei and Ahmadinejad. That is precisely what it’s coming down to, by the bold or desperate decision (take your pick) of Ali Khamenei. As he intends, it leaves the young people in the streets (60 percent of Iranians are under 30) without leaders.

You could hear the anguish in Mousavi’s open letter to the Guardian Council, which is supposedly investigating the election of 12 June: “We are not against the Islamic system and its laws but against lies and deviations, and just want to reform it.” And he told his followers:

“Protesting against lies and fraud is your right, (but) in your protests continue to show restraint.” Nor did he tell them when they should next come out on the street to protest.

As more information becomes available, it looks likelier and likelier that there was massive rigging of the polls. Mehdi Karroubi, for example, got 55.5 percent of the votes in his home province of Lorestan in the last presidential election in 2005. This time, according to the official figures, he got only 4.6 percent, with most of the remainder shifting to Ahmadinejad. That is not remotely credible, nor could it have happened by accident.

It now seems likely that Khamenei and Ahmadinejad knew in advance that the latter’s re-election bid was doomed, and rigged the election to “save the Islamic regime,” or at least their version of it. Nothing could have been clumsier or more drastic than the intervention that they made, but it may have served its purpose, at least in the short run.

The protesters know they have been cheated, but without leaders or organisation they may not be able to continue. We will know if it’s really over on 31 July, forty days after the killing of Neda Agha-Soltan.

In the Shia tradition, that’s when the forty days of mourning end. During the revolt against the Shah, that was when the masses came out into the streets again to remember their martyrs. The game is still afoot, but the young, predictably, have been betrayed yet again by their elders.

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To shorten to 725 words, omit paragraphs 10 and 11. (“You could…accident”)

Iran: Turn the Page

8 February 2004

Iran: Turn the Page

By Gwynne Dyer

Last Thursday, only six days before the 25th anniversary of the Iranian Revolution (on 11 February), a hopeful door to the future clanged shut. Democratic reformers, who won control of the Iranian parliament in 2001 but found their legislation blocked by the unelected Guardian Council, have decided to boycott the election on 20 February. Democracy will still come to Iran in the end, no doubt, but now it will come in the streets. The only question is whether it will be a non-violent revolution like Berlin 1989, or a re-run of Iran’s own bloody revolution in 1979.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was a brazen attempt by religious conservatives to regain control of parliament by banning 3,000 reform candidates, including over eighty sitting members of parliament (out of 290), from running in this election. Iran’s bizarre two-headed constitution allows for an elected parliament and president alongside an unelected but all-powerful Supreme Leader, currently Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, and a Guardian Council appointed by the religious leader that can veto all parliamentary legislation and vet all political candidates, so it was technically legal. It was also supremely stupid.

Iran’s elected president, Mohammed Khatami, urged patience on his reformist supporters and appealed to the Supreme Leader to reverse the Guardian Council’s decree. Khamenei, fearing his appointees had overplayed their hand, suggested a compromise: the intelligence ministry would certify 600 prominent reformers as loyal to the Islamic state and they would be allowed to run. The Guardian Council replied by approving only 51 of the 600, and at that point the democrats threw their hands in. At least 127 MPs have already resigned, and the main opposition parties have declared a boycott of the forthcoming election.

The election will probably go ahead anyway, returning a huge conservative majority on a drastically shrunken turnout, but the important thing is that the democratic opposition has finally given up on politics. In one form or another, direct action is what will now determine the outcome of the struggle between Islamic conservatives and democratic reformers in Iran.

It has only taken this long because of the pacifying role played by Mohammed Khatami, who was reluctantly persuaded to run for the presidency in 1997 by the reformers. An Islamic cleric himself, though far more open-minded than the men around Khamenei, he agreed to run mainly to head off a direct clash between the bearded old men who rule Iran and the impatient young men and women who cannot stand them.

To his own astonishment, Khatami won by a landslide 69 percent majority on a massive 83 percent turnout of the vote. In office, he moved very slowly at first, avoiding direct confrontations with the religious authorities, but his enthusiastic supporters forgave him because the conservatives still controlled the parliament. They became more impatient when Khatami still did little after democrats won control of parliament in the 2000 election, but they returned him to the presidency with an increased majority in 2001. It was noticeable, however, that the turnout in 2001 dropped by almost a fifth to 67 percent: some people were already losing faith in the ballot-box.

Khatami briefly tried to play hard-ball in 2002, threatening to resign if the Guardian Council vetoed two parliamentary bills to stop the arbitrary vetting of political candidates and to end political trials. The Guardian Council vetoed them anyway, and Khatami didn’t resign. Neither did he condemn the conservatives when they used their constitutional position to shut down pro-democratic media. He even stayed silent when the police (who, like the army and the state-owned media, are under conservative control) helped fanatical vigilantes to beat protesting students last June.

Eventually the conservatives were so emboldened that they overplayed their hand, and now the political struggle moves to the streets. Khatami will stay in power for one more year, but he is a burnt-out case whose former supporters are coming to see him as a mere apologist of the regime. Among the massive cohort of disillusioned youth (Iran’s population has doubled to 70 million in the past 25 years), the alienation from the whole idea of the ‘Islamic’ republic is spectacular.

If they are middle-class, they are virtual citizens of a quite different world known to them through satellite TV, videos and constant contact with the huge Iranian diaspora that regularly travels back and forth between Iran and its new homes in Europe, the Americas and Australia — a world in which people like Khamenei and Khatami seem like complete anachronisms. If they are working class and under 25, they are probably unemployed.

They may not come out in their millions to demonstrate in favour of a president who was a disappointment and a parliament that proved to be irrelevant. “Protests shouldn’t focus on this matter, but should be about changing the structure of the system,” said Mehdia Aminzadeh, a student leader, last month. But when something does finally bring them out on the street again in a big way, it will probably be the end-game.

Fanatics like Ayatollah Mesbah Yazdi, the regime’s most prominent ideologue, vow to preserve the Islamic republic “even at the price of a million martyrs,” but it is also possible that the whole rotten structure of the theocratic system might collapse at the first hard push. Nobody knows — but it is clear that the patient, political phase of the struggle for Iran’s future is over.

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To shorten to 725 words, omit paragraphs 5 and 6. (“It has…ballot-box”)