Cracks in Iran's Revolutionary Road

Russell Skelton, The Age:

The true relationship between the leadership and its people is often revealed by the state of the roads. Iran's are among the most chaotic, insanely frantic and lethal in the Middle East, outside Iraq. It's not so much a hell's highway as a permanent 24-hour Le Mans, where cars, trucks and buses go door handle to door handle, ruthlessly seeking out the slightest opening. READ MORE

Expect the unexpected on Tehran's roads because nothing is too dangerous or too bizarre. Cars will reverse at high speed down one-way streets, appear from nowhere on the wrong side of the road at intersections. After sitting in a gridlock for 45 minutes, you will suddenly be propelled down a freeway at 140 km/h - without seatbelts.

What results is catastrophic. About 20,000 Iranians die on the roads each year and probably treble that number are injured. There are horrific accidents. A recent collision between an overcrowded bus and a petrol tanker left a plane crash of fatalities.

It is extraordinary that in a state that espouses pious religious values and imposes strict, even draconian, political control over its citizens that so much madness prevails. How is it that Iran's ruling clergy can track down internet bloggers that dare to question their authority, and spend hours secretly tapping the conversations of the country's only Nobel Peace Prize winner, but cannot impose the slightest shred of discipline on the millions of motorists burning up the nation's finite petroleum reserves at 10 cents a litre?

An eminent Iranian economist, who asked that his name not be published, put it this way: "The clergy simply have no idea how to run a modern economy. They sell the petrol cheaply to keep people happy. It means they do not have to provide more public transport because everybody drives a car. But do you know what is so utterly crazy? Most of the petrol is imported and sold at subsidised prices because there are insufficient refineries.

"What is even more insane is that petrol smuggling is a thriving business; prices in Iran are cheaper than in neighbouring states. Everybody is in on it, the military and the mullahs."

Outwardly, the Islamic Republic of Iran looms as the most formidable state in the Middle East. Rich in oil and gas, boasting a population of 70 million, its influence reverberates throughout the Gulf. It has strong connections to the Shiites in Iraq, finances Hezbollah militias in Lebanon and plays puppeteer in Syria. Apart from a vast standing army, it has secretly acquired the technology to build nuclear weapons and the missiles to deliver them.

Through state-controlled media and the weekly institution of Friday prayers, the ruling mullahs pump out a diatribe of anti-American, anti-Israeli rhetoric that more than matches anything George Bush has come up with, including his axis of evil line.

But Tehran's actions often tell another story. Despite the pomposity and zealotry, the mullahs are capable of being nakedly pragmatic. They channelled arms to the Northern Alliance to help oust the Taliban from Afghanistan, they looked the other way when the US invaded Iraq and toppled Saddam Hussein and, more recently, they welcomed US-managed elections. Iran was one of the first countries to recognise Baghdad's interim government. Hezbollah also grumbles that they do not receive as much money as they used to from their spiritual cousins.

Iran is a nation that has been driving blindly down the Islamic revolutionary highway for 26 years, only to find that it is on a ring road. The theocracy that seized power when the shah fled now faces its biggest problem: how to modernise the corrupt, Soviet-style economy that is failing miserably to provide jobs and prosperity for a generation of educated thirtysomethings who make up a large proportion of the population. Disenchantment appears widespread. Voters boycotted the last parliamentary and municipal elections in large numbers and may well refuse to participate in this year's presidential vote.

It appears the elderly ayatollahs who glower down from giant wall murals on Tehran's streets are losing their revolutionary reverence and cracks are appearing in the religious facade. Ayatollah Janati, who sits on the Guardian Council, the most powerful non-elected decision-making body, upset the Friday faithful by openly questioning the morality of fellow clerics who ran their own "backyard" businesses. Some of Iran's richest are to be found in the ranks of the mullahs and revolutionary guards who were ideally placed to personally exploit the shah's seized assets. Their money is tied up in a network of shadowy trusts that sit safely outside the financial system.

IF THE roads reflect the level of official cynicism, then the provocative film industry is probably the nation's conscience. When The Lizard, a hilarious film about a petty thief who escapes from jail and successfully passes himself off as a Shiite cleric, opened in city cinemas, it played to packed houses. Even in the more conservative regional cities such as Isfahan, people lined up for tickets. Iranians, it seemed, could not get enough of a comedy that poked fun at clergy, satirising their self-serving ways and over-inflated role in everyday life.

What was curious about the film, which was banned after two weeks, was that the Ministry of Spiritual Guidance approved the script and provided funding, suggesting perhaps that somebody in officialdom also thought it was a hoot.

Kamaral Tabrizi, the film's director, told The Sunday Age that he was stunned by the overnight success of The Lizard, copies of which are readily available on the black market for a few dollars. "Supporters of the clergy thought it was too negative, but it was the first time a film has been made taking a humorous look at the clergy. It struck a chord with most people - they loved it."

Tabrizi sees his role as a director as "shining a light into the dark corners", highlighting the contradictions of a society that claims to be both democracy and theocracy and does neither particularly well.

He believes much of the disenchantment comes from the generation that fought in the eight-year war with Iraq and who feel the Government has not delivered. "The motto at the time of war was social justice for all and an adherence to spiritual values. But the promise of a postwar utopia never eventuated. Woman and young people are asking what future do they have. They have not abandoned their religious beliefs, but they are looking for something better."

Tabrizi's next film deals with Iran's pervasive drug problem. The number of addicts is estimated to be about 1 million.

Iran's fickle censors are yet to approve a film script that deals with the nation's dark side, the widespread abuse of human rights by the Revolutionary Court, which targets students, journalists, lawyers and even clergy who defy the system. The court is politically directed by prosecutors appointed by the Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, and unlike Iran's normal judiciary, it operates behind closed doors with powers to imprison and interrogate.

Take the case of Fereshteh Ghazi a 26-year-old journalist. She said the official who phoned her seemed friendly enough, asking her to come to the Revolutionary Court to discuss articles that she had published on the internet, including one that featured a confidential exchange between President Khatami and another cleric over corruption. "The official said it would be a relaxed chat, nothing to worry about, but what could I do?" Fereshteh recalls over a pot of coffee in the bustling lobby of the Continental hotel, where couples gather. As we talk, smart young women saunter past, their colourful scarves revealing wisps of hair, which is prohibited by religious decree. Fereshteh's scarf is blue, beige and grey, not the fashionable pick of the reformers, but colourful enough to attract the "Rev guards". She wears a tight-fitting, stylish raincoat, something that is also frowned upon.

Fereshteh said that when she arrived at Tehran's No 9 court last October, she was arrested and placed in solitary confinement. For the next 40 days she was interrogated at all hours of the day and night, threatened with permanent imprisonment and accused of being sexually promiscuous, which is not only deeply offensive but prosecutable. Her interrogators only dropped the last allegation when she produced a letter from her doctor certifying that she was a virgin when she married her musician husband.

"I was held with other women: prostitutes, drug addicts, women accused of murder. Each time I was taken to interrogation I was blindfolded so I could not see where I was or what was going on. The interrogation room had one small window that remained closed, no matter how oppressive it got."

Fereshteh Ghazi contributed to emrooz.com, a once popular website that Iran's security forces have since hacked into and shut down. The site published articles advocating reform and ran a referendum calling for constitutional change, which attracted thousands of hits. With close to 10 million internet users in Iran, the clergy have become so fearful of the internet after neutering reformist newspapers that they are now working on ways to establish a nationwide intranet to block access to the World Wide Web.

With 21 other journalists and internet bloggers, Fereshteh will stand trail later this year on 10 charges of sedition - of attempting to undermine the Islamic Republic of Iran and its constitution. If found guilty she faces up to 30 years' imprisonment. "Yes, I am frightened, I am worried for my husband, who is not a journalist and who has had nothing to do with my reporting."

Abdullah Momeni, a close friend of Fereshteh's, who has participated in student protests and also been interrogated, explains how the system works to isolate those who question it. Whenever a person comes under suspicion, he says, authorities interview neighbours and ask the local mosque to certify how good a Muslim the person is. A negative report leads to a student being suspended and put on a black list, unable to work.

"Students do not see the present time in Iran as being particularly favourable, but we are optimistic about the future. We are disaffected and there is an obvious lack of confidence in the system. Any talk of dissent or change is kept for the back alleys for now, but deep down we know the system will not survive in its present form. Students have learnt to regularly attend Friday prayers and to join conservative groups to avoid scrutiny."

ON THE other side of the political divide conservatives are also arguing about the shape and direction of the Islamic revolution. Influential opinion makers such as Amir Mohebian, the editor of Resalat newspaper, argue that the theocracy must modernise the economy in ways that China did post Tiananmen. Described by some as Iran's equivalent of a "neo-con", Mohebian believes that no further political reforms are necessary because Iran is already a democracy. "We do not want to sacrifice the economy for democracy or democracy for the economy - we need both," he says, endorsing the current constitutional structure.

Like all conservatives he is fiercely critical of President Bush, noting that the US never acknowledged the supportive role played by Iran over Iraq and dismisses Bush's offer of World Trade Organisation membership as a right of Iran's, not a gift to be bestowed by Washington.

But Mohebian, who has a copy of The New York Review of Books on his desk, passionately believes the free market is one thing Iran can and should borrow from the US and Australia. He advocates slashing subsidies, selling off inefficient government businesses, floating the currency and opening the doors to foreign investors. That, he says, is the only way to wake the moribund economy out of its slumber and eradicate the black economy.

Mohebian advocates providing seed money for new ventures and opening up the financial system to foreign-owned banks with more flexible lending policies. "Our biggest challenge is creating jobs for young people and even though there may be job losses in the transition to the free market, they will be short-term. Iran is a wealthy country, but if it doesn't go for a free market, we will lose everything."

Mohebian's views are trenchantly opposed by a group of conservative MPs in the Parliament, but are said to be gathering acceptance among Government technocrats and more enlightened clergy, including Ali Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani, the head of the all-important Expediency Council. A former president and rich businessman, Rafsanjani is set on another tilt at the top job and is promising to make economic reform his first priority.

Mohammad Hashemi, Rafsanjani's younger brother, sits at his elbow on the Expediency Council and is not shy about venturing opinions on his brother's behalf. His splendidly restored office, located in the grounds of the late shah's palace, would be the envy of any antique collector. Hashemi agrees that the economy is Iran's biggest problem and he is sympathetic to the ideas of the neo-con editor. He endorses the idea of WTO membership, making investment easier and increasing the size of the private sector by privatising inefficient government enterprises, which account for two-thirds of all economic activity.

Asked if Iran can implement economic reform while maintaining the integrity of the Shiite state, he replies: "Yes, why not?"

"The revolutionary constitution cannot be changed. But we can improve and grow the economy; we need foreign investment to produce more. Economic reform is at the centre of all considerations now."

Perhaps what he really means to say is Iran's leadership has realised that if it does provide jobs and a future for the majority of Iranians - substantially, those under 35 - then the whole Shiite edifice could begin to crumble as the reform movement gathers traction. But the most profound issue facing the next leadership is whether Iran can achieve an open economy, while denying its students and workers basic political freedoms.

Asked why journalists are jailed and editors fined for advocating reform and exposing faults in the system, Hashemi chuckles. "Freedom of the press is guaranteed in the constitution, but you are not free to write what you like. Reporters must operate within the rules. It's like driving down the autobahn, the sign says 110km/h, but if you do 120km/h, you get a ticket."

But nobody gets a ticket for speeding in Iran. It's the students, lawyers, journalists, filmmakers and dissidents whom the state regards as the dangerous drivers.