[Reader-list] Inside Teheran 02

[Monica Narula]

June 14th, 2009

8:45 PM

It‟s still less than ten days before the official beginning of summer.
Although the weather may be warm and the blossoms are gone, it is,  
according
to the position of the Earth in relation to the Sun, spring. Tehran  
Spring.
A period of political liberalization under a Reformist government,  
backed by
popular approval against the Soviet-backed Socialist system in  
Czechoslovakia
in 1968 has come to be known as the Prague Spring. Infamous for the  
brutality
of the Soviet and Warsaw Pact tanks rolling into the city of Prague  
eight
months after President Alexander Dubcek loosened restrictions on  
speech, the
media and travel, millions of demonstrators were crushed within seconds,
although they remained peaceful the entire time. Czechoslovakia remained
occupied by Soviet military forces until 1990, when the Socialist system
collapsed. The Prague Spring may have not been successful from a  
populist,
anti-authoritarian perspective, but it indicated a trend, rising in  
Europe
and the world at the time, that unrest existed on many levels: cultural,
economic, social, and, most importantly, ideological. The  
demonstrations in
Prague temporarily shadowed the International Marxist movement, popular
amongst intellectuals in Western Europe, as the USSR proved once again  
that
the utopian yearning for revolution had seceded to authority hungry for
control. During the early months of the Prague Spring, inspired by the
Socialist reformist experiment in Czechoslovakia, students in Paris  
and other
Western European cities set the university ablaze, workers went on  
strike,
and the bureaucracy collapsed. A glimmer of hope, only temporary,  
until the
moment of the Grand Compromise between the „68ers and De Gaulle‟s  
government
occurred one month later, effectively paralyzing Leftism in the West  
until
even today. This paralysis was confirmed by the multilateral Soviet  
crushing
of the reformist movement later that summer.
Foucault‟s take on the Iranian Revolution has always been  
controversial. His
articles in France were read with disdain, as Foucault effectively  
stepped
outside of his typically meticulous mode of analysis to embrace a  
Hegelian
“Spirit” embedded deep within his psyche. He praised the  
“collective will of
the Iranian people” as an undeniable, inspirational force to be  
reckoned with
and to learn from. He was, per chance, nostalgic for “true”,  
“authentic”
revolutionary movement, a nostalgia whose origins lay potentially in the
dashed hopes of May 1968. Yet, in an interview between Foucault and
journalists Claire Briere and Pierre Blanchet (“Iran: The Spirit of a  
World
Without Spirit”), Foucault exhibits moments in which his analytical  
clarity
shines: “It is true that Iranian society is shot through with  
contradictions
that cannot in any way be denied, but it is certain that the  
revolutionary
event that has been taking place for a year now, and which is at the  
same
time an inner experience, a sort of constantly recommenced liturgy, a
community experience, and so on, all that is certainly articulated  
onto the
class struggle: but that doesn‟t find expression in an immediate,  
transparent
way.”
Today, the left-leaning newspaper “Ehtemad-e-Melli” (National Trust)
published an empty white page as its front cover. Underneath the  
newspaper‟s
logo and date, it was written that here there should have been an  
article
written by Moussavi and Karroubi together, but unfortunately the  
newspaper
received strict orders from Ahmadinejad that it was not allowed to  
print this
feature.
Voice of America‟s Farsi-language service just showed footage, taken  
by an
Italian visitor to Tehran, of a crowd of demonstrators from yesterday
cornering a police officer that had been beating numerous individuals,
forcing him to stop and then attacking him, taking his baton and  
beating him
in turn. This lasted for a second. The footage showed the crowd of
demonstrators helping the police officer up to his feet. His helmet  
had been
lost in the fight, his body armor was falling off. His face was red  
and his
eyes wide open in shock. He was panting, trying to breathe and re-orient
himself. The same crowd that at one point were being beaten by him and  
then a
moment later were beating him were now helping him, holding on to his
shoulder, guiding him to an open doorway, embracing him and chanting
together, at one another, “Peace” and “Freedom”. The police  
officer looked
grateful, almost as if he had been beaten to his senses. This footage  
is very
important, in my opinion, to show that the use of violence from the  
side of
the regime‟s authority may be matched in self-defense, but it is not  
the
means that the Opposition, or at least a large section of it, is  
using. And
certainly not to the brutal extent that the police, and especially the
Basiji, are inflicting violence on the crowds gathered here.
I am trying to restrain myself from valorizing or overdramatizing what  
is
taking place here. Iranians, I myself being one (although I did not  
grow up
here), are prone to exaggeration. For me, there is something in the
historical wave of events that manifest themselves, go into hiding,  
and then
reappear: indeed I have been accused of being Hegelian and, actually,  
I enjoy
the accusation. Last week it was the Summer of Love 1969. This week, I  
dare
to say, is Prague Spring Redux: Tehran Spring 2009 (notice that the time
travel in my observations so far sticks exclusively to the „60s).
“People are dying and this guy is just walking around with a  
knife,” moaned
an old man on our street. I wonder if someone had been stabbed, we  
heard some
people arguing loudly from the living room and ran to the balcony.  
Whoever
was here had already passed through, the argument was in its aftermath  
and
two men were moving a trash bin that had been tipped over and emptied  
onto
the street back to its place. The old man was trailing behind, wailing  
about
“those” guys (the Basiji) who are circling the city, carrying  
secret knives
that they wield on anyone that sparks their anger in the slightest bit.
About thirty minutes before, after a day of relative calm in our
neighborhood, which last night was witness to cars honking and  
demonstrators
clashing with the police until 4 AM, we heard some noise out on our  
street.
We went onto the balcony and heard many people talking, the sound of  
honking
cars had returned. As our balcony has an obstructed view, we decided  
to go up
onto the roof to see what was happening on Valiasr Street. A few  
friends were
visiting and we had just engaged in a 2-hour conversation about the  
situation
here, what can be done, what should be done, criticism of the  
Opposition and
testimony to all of our individual experiences in the past two days.  
When we
reached the roof we quickly saw what was happening: a trash bin had  
been set
on fire at the entrance to our street, right on Valiasr. A group of  
young men
were taking the responsibility upon themselves to move a second trash  
bin
from across our house further up towards Valiasr, to set that one on  
fire,
too. In a split second we heard the roar of motorcycle engines and a  
group of
people screaming “Go! Go! Run” at the head of the street. The crowd  
gathered
near the burning trash bin quickly dispersed, running in our  
direction. The
men who were moving the trash bin towards Valiasr stopped in their  
tracks and
left the bin standing in the middle of the street. From our vantage  
point, we
saw a group of men on motorcycles zoom by, abruptly turn onto our  
street and
begin their pursuit of the men and women who were running away fast,
aggressively announcing (I suppose to the men who had been moving the  
trash
bin), “Don‟t even think about it!” The Basiji, or, level 3 of  
this terrible
real-life video game: unrecognizable amongst the crowd, in everyday  
clothes,
bearing a deep anger that stems from somewhere I do not want to know,
believing fervently in this regime, many shell-shocked from their  
youth in
the Iran-Iraq War, many common criminals who have gotten away with petty
theft and family stabbings, all well trained to show no fear, to  
pursue with
vengeance and to act with speed and sleuth, disappearing as fast as they
appear. If they had orders to do it, they would kill. Instead, they  
prefer
breaking arms, groping women, or stabbing someone in the side with the  
goal
of minimal damage and maximal suffering. First and foremost, their  
role is to
fear and intimidate. As they drove past our house chasing the crowd,  
they
sternly yelled at everyone gathered on the street, spit coming out of  
their
tense mouths, their temples bulging with blood and adrenalin: “GO  
HOME! GET
OUT OF HERE! YOU BETTER GET OUT OF MY WAY OR I WILL KILL YOU!” A few  
screams
from women too distant to see and a few shouts of defiance from men on  
our
street. The Basiji turned around and parked their motorcycles in front  
of our
house. An old woman told them to leave immediately, to which their  
response
was a brutal shove, move out of our way lady and don’t think about  
saying a
word. We quickly ducked our heads so that they wouldn‟t see us  
watching them.
When I looked around me, I noticed many of the neighbors had gathered on
their roofs and balconies, similarly crouched away from the Basiji‟s  
view.
The men remounted their motorcycles and drove off. As they drove away,  
a few
of them forcefully kicked the trash bin, still standing in the middle  
of the
road, knocking it onto its side, trash spilling everywhere. A moment  
later,
an older man came out of his car and began cursing the Basiji – “So  
they come
and throw garbage all over our streets, is this enforcing the law?” A  
few
young men came from behind a tree where they were hiding and swept the  
trash
back into the bin, lifting it back up. They then started their self- 
appointed
task of moving the bin towards Valiasr to set it on fire. Apparently the
Basiji had not fully disappeared, I believe one was hiding around the  
corner
observing what was happening, as I heard a yell and then, within a  
flash, a
new team of motorcyclists returned. They drove past the men who had been
moving the trash bin and who were now running away and one motorcyclist
smacked one in the head with his open palm. Once again, they  
threatened to
kill if everyone did not leave immediately and go home. They returned  
to the
bin, got off their motorcycle, and pushed it towards the sewage drain  
on the
side of the street, tipping it over into the dirty water. This time,  
they
stood on our street, marching back and forth, clenching their fists and
yelling threats to what appeared to be no one actually on the street  
– of
course, the Basiji knew that people indoors could hear them, and of  
course
they suspected that many of us were hiding on our roofs, peeping over  
the
corner to take brief glances. I looked up again and then, all of a  
sudden, I
heard a whoosh behind me and looked back to see R., who had ran up to  
the
roof and who at this moment, standing far enough away from the edge to  
avoid
being seen, shouted at the top of his lungs, “Death to  
Dictatorship!” As
quickly as R. came, he ran back downstairs. Shit, I thought. I looked  
at N.
and the few friends of ours who were visiting. We were huddled  
together and
all of us hung our heads down, wondering what would happen now – why  
did R.
do that? He may have endangered all of us! But at the same time, yes, of
course, more people should have such courage to stand up to these
neighborhood bullies, there is no lie, we all hate them, so why do we  
cower
away? The Basiji were now revving their motorcycles, circling in front  
of our
house, energizing. B. ran up with her camera and we quickly told her  
to be
careful, to put the camera down. She crept up to the roof‟s edge and  
mounted
the camera with a mini-tripod onto the side of the building, pressed  
record
and crept away. Amazing: our very own surveillance camera!
R. came back to the roof. I stood up and slowly walked away to the side,
where I could look down onto the street without fear of being noticed.  
And
then I saw it: it seemed that this particular Basiji group‟s leader  
had come
to see what had happened. R. walked more towards the edge of the roof  
and
then I noticed that the older bearded Basiji saw him. The man pulled  
out a
walkie-talkie radio from one pocket and moved his jacket to the side to
reveal a pistol. He said something into the radio and then took the  
pistol
out and held it up, pointing the gun at R., who immediately ducked  
down and
crawled quickly back to the stairwell. I motioned to everyone else to  
step
back, whispering “he has his gun out!” We all shuffled to the back  
of the
roof. I tiptoed, crouching low, to the front, the man was still there,  
he
still had his gun in his hand. He told the other Basiji to leave. They
followed orders tout de suite and quickly remounted their motorcycles  
and
drove away. One of them stayed behind and took out a pen and a notepad  
and
began writing down the different house numbers. I only saw this for a  
brief
second, I don‟t know how many numbers he wrote or if he wrote down  
ours
particularly, I could only overhear his conversation with the Basiji  
holding
the gun: “Number twenty-six”. Not our house. A few minutes later,  
the one put
his notepad up and the other put his gun back underneath his jacket.  
Then
they walked away. A silence overtook our street. We all gathered back  
again,
slowly, on the roof‟s edge and watched for anything else. After ten  
minutes
and not a sign of activity, other than a few people walking to their  
homes, I
decided to go back downstairs.
B. and R. were downstairs and as I took out my computer, R. told me to  
write
this message and to send it to as many people as I can:
They have guns. They pointed it at us. They are not afraid to shoot.  
They
took down house numbers. For now, we are safe. But we can’t be sure.  
There
are four of us here: two filmmakers, an artist and a writer. We are not
alone, but there are many of them and they are ready for violence.  
This is a
coup d’etat and, if things get worse, there will be a crackdown. If  
that is
the case, they may come back, and we may be arrested, questioned, put in
jail, who knows. Let the world know our situation.
9:21 PM
ALLAHU AKBAR.
ALLAHU AKBAR.
ALLAHU AKBAR.
We are on the roof again. Everyone in this city is on the roof. It is  
the
most apocalyptical moment I have ever experienced in my life. I can‟t  
see
anyone, it is pitch black, except for the distant orange glow of  
Valiasr‟s
lights.
MARG BAR DIKTATOR.
MARG BAR DIKTATOR.
MARG BAR DIKTATOR.
Echoing from everywhere, from every roof, to our right, to our left,  
front
and back, people, voices of men and women, invisible to my eyes but a
resounding wave of unbelievable power, are screaming at the top of their
lungs: ALLAHU AKBAR. GOD IS GREAT. MARG BAR DIKTATOR: DEATH TO  
DICTATORSHIP.
The city seems as if it were about to explode. The sky is rumbling  
with the
call-and-response, spontaneously orchestrated by the people, growing in
number as the minutes pass – more and more people coming outside,  
joining in,
adding their passionate voices into the mix. Clouds are boiling above,  
it
starts to rain, lightning flashes from behind the mountains to the  
North of
the city. There is absolute silence in the city, except for the  
chanting of
thousands gathered on the safety of their roofs. A low bass note of cars
driving by on Valiasr Street. Shots are being fired, I don‟t know if  
the
police are shooting, if it‟s a tear gas canister being set off  
somewhere, or
if someone has personally decided to fire a shot to add to the drama  
of the
moment.
Now whistling starts. There are four of us up on the roof: three men  
and one
woman. The three males begin chanting ALLAHU AKBAR – in response,  
female
neighbors, somewhere close enough to hear us, complement our low tenor  
with
their higher pitched response: ALLAHU AKBAR. And all of a sudden, the  
honking
starts again, cars add their melody to this eerie crescendo resounding
through Tehran‟s night sky.
I am not a religious person. I never say “God is Great” and I never  
pray
(except sometimes when I am flying and there is turbulence). Why am I  
joining
in, chanting ALLAHU AKBAR as I sit and write, squatting in a corner on  
the
roof where there is a cover from the rain so that my computer doesn‟t  
get
wet? Why does it feel so natural to say just that: ALLAHU AKBAR? If I  
wanted
to, I could have stuck with the more politically charged “Death to
Dictatorship”. But there are very clear reasons why I, and I am not  
alone (of
course, this is not to doubt that other people may have stronger  
religious
sentiments than I do), choose to participate in this, with absolute
confidence in saying it: ALLAHU AKBAR.
It is an invocation. On the one hand, it is strategic for all of us to  
use
this system‟s own language against it: by saying ALLAHU AKBAR, we  
show that
we are not against the Islamic Republic. We show not only a unity with  
one
another, but also with the same system that has stolen our vote, spat  
on our
integrity, the same system that sends its police and plain-clothes  
militia
men to the streets to beat and stab people in the name of “God”.  
They may
chant ALLAHU AKBAR in their heads as they beat demonstrators, they may
believe that their actions are holy and approved by God, they may view  
us as
base, worthless, not-even-humans, yet, we say the same thing to their  
face,
we confront them with the power of an invocation that maybe –  
speaking for
myself – we don‟t believe in, but they do. The trembling of not-our- 
God, but
their-God. If this system, as it legally perceives itself, is  
sanctioned by
the will of some God, if this system‟s leader rules as regent of the  
Messiah
who will return to take his rightful place, then this system must also
confront the many-faces of a moody God, expressed by its people who  
stand now
and invoke the same God whose name is uttered by the lips of murderers.
On the other hand, the meaning of this expression is less important  
than the
simplicity it evokes and how it brings a community together, in this  
case, a
community that cannot even see one another, wrapped in the shadow of the
night. This same expression was used in the 1979 Revolution –  
repeating it
shows that it can be utilized again, even against the System who came to
power through its use. Our parents said ALLAHU AKBAR thirty years ago,
investing this system with power through their moment of unity. Once  
the dust
settled, things quickly changed, divisions became clear, such  
invocations
became less and less important, less unifying. Today, for the Children  
of the
Revolution to repeat the words of their parents is, somehow, a  
confirmation
of this nation‟s historical fate and an insistence that history  
cannot be so
easily forgotten.
10:11 PM
I ran out of cigarettes and went outside to buy a few more packs for the
house. Assuming that by now the shop on Valiasr Street was closed, I  
walked
up the hill in the other direction to the late night store. When I  
stepped
onto the street, I saw that the trash bin directly in front of our  
house had
been set on fire. The wind was spreading the ashes into the air. I  
couldn‟t
keep my eyes open as I walked past. As I walked up the hill, I saw all  
our
neighbors gathered with their families on the street, chanting ALLAHU  
AKBAR
and throwing firecrackers. There is a construction site a few doors  
down from
us and as I walked by, I saw the Afghani workers gathered outside,  
their arms
closed, observing the well-to-do group of women across from them,  
chatting
amongst themselves. There is a metal trash can next to the  
construction site.
I quickly walked by the workers and the trash can and then, all of a  
sudden,
I yelped out of fear as a figure next to me appeared, almost as if from
nowhere, moaning ALLAHU AKBAR. I looked and notice that one of the  
Afghani
workers had been hiding in the trash can, covering it with a piece of
cardboard, waiting for someone like me to walk past, only to jump up in
surprise, waving his arms in the air and tremulously chanting ALLAHU  
AKBAR.
He laughed at my shock and I began to laugh, too. A few small children
screamed in glee, giggling at the man who had been hiding in the trash  
can.
The entire time on my walk up the hill to the store, I received  
suspicious
glances from the people I walked past. It was most likely due to the  
fact
that I was dressed in all black and that I have a well-trimmed beard.  
Maybe
the black wasn‟t so important, but beards in Iran aren‟t “young  
and trendy”,
they are the sign of Islamic fundamentalism and therefore, I can  
easily be
mistaken for a Basiji and/or Ahmadinejad supporter. To all those  
disapproving
glances, I simply returned a smile and a flash of a victory-sign,  
immediately
easing the tension.
11:27 PM
I received a phone call earlier this afternoon while I was watching  
the live
broadcast of Ahmadinejad‟s acceptance speech/supporter‟s rally at  
Tehran‟s
main square from London-based curator. I turned the television set‟s  
volume
down as the cheering and chanting of the crowd, paired with the  
invocation of
the Prophet Mohammad‟s daughter Fatima Zahra, whose saint day was  
today, was
driving me crazy. I watched in disbelief how what looked to be  
thousands upon
thousands of supporters gathered at Valiasr Square, filling every nook  
and
cranny available, waving Iranian flags and religious banners, cheering  
as
Ahmadinejad took stage, led prayer, and began denouncing the “enemies  
of the
nation”, the foreign “spies” who had infiltrated the country and  
where trying
to interfere with our “democracy”, the “dirty, morally corrupt”  
demonstrators
of the Opposition, declaring that Iranians have rightfully chosen their
divinely sanctioned future and that Iran will be strong, cannot be  
harmed,
will never be touched nor even dare to be touched by any of its  
antagonists
under his leadership. It was too much for me to know that most likely,
somewhere else in the city, any attempt on demonstrators part to  
gather was
being brutally repressed, while thousands had most likely been  
shuttled into
Tehran from remote villages, paid, housed and fed by Ahmadinejad‟s  
various
charities to come and display their presence, their support. I picked  
up the
phone and the curator asked me what the situation is like here and  
whether it
would be safe for him to continue on his planned trip and come on  
Thursday. I
told him that regarding safety, if his trip were scheduled for today  
then it
probably wouldn‟t be such a good idea, but by Thursday everything  
should be
fine, although I made clear that I can in no way predict where things  
will go
in one hour let alone in so many days. I reminded him that most likely  
no
artists would be interested in meeting to discuss art, that there were  
many
more important issues on the table these days and that trying to find  
time
for appointments, studio and gallery visits would probably be next to
impossible. However, I urged him to really consider coming, to not be  
afraid,
and to take the opportunity to see this moment of history and try and  
engage
with it through conversations as much as he can. In his heavy German  
accent
he responded: “Oh no, if it is dangerous today than I cannot come on
Thursday, I must postpone my trip, although I do not know when I can  
make it
again.” He handed the phone over to a colleague of his that I had  
been in
touch with. I founded the whole situation so very amusing, especially  
with
the footage of Ahmadinejad‟s rally playing in the background. Once  
again,
self-declared, politically-minded curators shying away from what is  
truly
possible, from what does not exist in representation. I suppose it is
exhilarating to think about it, to conduct an interview after the  
event, but
for so many, as soon as it becomes physical, real, as soon as it  
breaks out
onto the streets or confronts them with bodies, then it is too much.  
Better
wait and attempt to frame it in the exhibition context! I hope he comes;
there is nothing to be afraid of. Life, although strange and exciting,  
is
somehow carrying on here as normal.
We just heard from Voice of America that the police and military  
forces have
raided Tehran University and that there has been a major clash there.
Legally, the government does not have permission to enter university  
grounds.
Not even during the one year of protests and demonstrations during the  
1979
Revolution, many of which took place at universities across the  
country, did
the Shah‟s forces attack students on university property itself.  
“The last
time such an offense occurred was 44 years ago”, P. told me. The  
police have
begun shooting now, switching from rubber bullets to real ones.  
Apparently 11
people were killed yesterday, but it is not clear whether this is true  
or a
rumor, or even if it is true, if they were killed due to gunshot  
wounds. But
tonight, it is confirmed: police are shooting. This means that by  
tomorrow,
there will be a steadily rising death toll to consider.
R. just called the house. B.‟s mouth is wide open. I‟m dying to  
know what he
is saying.
Now B. shares the news with us:
Ayatollah Saanei, a very important, Reformist-leaning cleric, has  
arrived in
Tehran from the city of Qom and is now staying at Khomeini‟s former  
house,
asking upon all the highest members of the Islamic clergy, and  
especially the
Council of Experts, to convene there.
1:53 AM
After R.‟s phone call, we had a late midnight dinner of khoresht-e- 
karafs
(lamb and celery stew with rice). We then slowly moved into the living  
room
for our, what has now become standard, television/internet news  
briefing,
seeing how the days events have been recapped. B. downloaded a  
selection of
articles from major international newspapers and passed her computer  
around
while BBC Farsi‟s “Sedaye Shoma” (Your Voice) program aired,  
broadcasting
sent-in footage from today‟s riots, emails written describing the  
situation
here, and phone calls from viewers from Iran and abroad expressing their
opinion about the post-election events. Most of the viewers  
sympathized with
the Opposition movement and the program‟s moderator had to stress  
that in no
way does BBC Farsi take a position either with or against the election
results. One Ahmadinejad supporter, however, called in, a man living in
London. Unlike the rest of the individuals who wrote emails,  
telephoned, and
sent video clips, all of whom spoke calmly and clearly with well- 
deliberated
language, open to the program moderator‟s questions and Devil‟s  
advocate-
style provocations, this particular man immediately blared off in a  
violent
and aggressive tone. I could barely understand him, he was speaking so
furiously and so fast, but from what I pieced together he was (1)  
denouncing
the BBC as a foreign propaganda agent of the CIA and MI6, (2) giving  
proof to
this by providing the example of Zahra Rahnavard‟s phone call  
yesterday to
BBC Farsi, (3) accusing all the demonstrators of being “spoiled rich  
kids”
with no “aim or goal”, and (4) declaring that if things progressed  
as they
were, the entire country would fall apart. The program‟s moderator  
attempted
successively to intervene and re-direct this man‟s focus on an  
important
point: given the lack of media outlets for the Iranian Opposition,  
what other
recourse does someone like Zahra Rahnavard have to express her  
position than
to utilize a service such as BBC Farsi? Since the Iranian government is
systematically censoring any form of opposition to the election  
results, does
the freedom to express one‟s opinion in a public context such as the  
BBC
immediately implicate the international media as agents provocateurs?  
The man
didn‟t address these questions, blaring away, repeating how all  
Opposition
supporters are rich and spoiled (notwithstanding the fact that the man  
was
supposedly calling from London, a city not so easy to live in let alone
immigrate to from a third world nation when one isn‟t rich or at  
least a
benefactor of opportunity). Thankfully, he was cut off and the program  
moved
on to the next caller.
I started sifting through B.‟s downloaded articles and was quite  
impressed by
the New York Times‟ NewsBlog, the Lede, which has been updated almost  
half-
hourly with a collection of quotes, comments and conversation threads  
from
different newspapers, online news sources such as Facebook and
TehranBureau.com and blogs. A few things stuck out, especially amidst  
all the
testimonies from individuals in Iran, news that for me was now all too
familiar through my experiences the past two days. One was about the
employees from the Interior Ministry who resigned from their jobs in  
protest
of the ministry‟s handling of the votes:
“One employee of the Interior Ministry, which carried out the vote  
count,
said the government had been preparing its fraud for weeks, purging  
anyone of
doubtful loyalty and importing pliable staff members from around the  
country.
„They didn‟t rig the vote,‟ claimed the man, who showed his  
ministry
identification card but pleaded not to be named. „They didn‟t even  
look at
the vote. They just wrote the name and put in the number in front of  
it.‟”
(NY Times, “Memo from Tehran – Reverberations as Door Slams on Hope  
of
Change”, Bill Keller, Published June 13, 2009)
The second was from the official Islamic Republic News Agency, a memo
announcing that Ahmadinejad has received three congratulations on his
election to a second term so far:
“Tehran, June 13 IRNA – Following President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad‟s  
landslide
victory in the 10th Presidential Elections, Syrian, Egyptian and  
Palestinian
leaders cabled messages of congratulations Saturday on his re-election.
Syrian President Bashar al-Assad, Leader of the Egyptian Ikhwan al- 
Muslimin
Mohammmad Mehdi Akef, Palestinian Islamic Resistance Movement (Hamas),  
and
Palestinian Islamic Jihad Movement in separate messages congratulated
President Ahmadinejad on his victory. They wished him success and
prosperity.”
The Lede itself cynically comments, how ironic that the three (rather,  
four)
congratulatory remarks come from one dictatorial state (ie. Syria) and  
three
illegal, internationally-recognized terrorist organizations! Not  
surprising
though, given Iran‟s massive financial aid programs under Ahmadinejad  
in the
past four years to the Syrian government, Hizbollah in Lebanon (note  
the lack
of comment so far in the wake of this past week‟s Lebanese elections)  
and the
Palestinian Resistance. What about Hugo Chavez? When is he coming to  
town?
While I was reading these articles, news footage showed the crowds  
gathered
to demonstrate at Iranian Embassies abroad: Berlin, London, Paris,  
Toronto,
Dubai. Meanwhile, reports were streaming in that the same street  
battling
that was occurring in Tehran was also taking place, with the same  
severity,
in cities around the country: Shiraz, Isfahan (a traditionally  
conservative
city), Mashhad (Iran‟s most important pilgrimage capital, also  
traditionally
conservative, and the second largest city population-wise after  
Tehran) and
Tabriz (Moussavi‟s hometown). In the popular uprisings under Khatami  
or
Rafsanjani (which were significantly different from this time around,
consisting mainly of students), never had the violence spread so fast  
and
with such vigor to other major cities. If anything there were small  
turnouts
that quickly dispersed, not to show up again. Once again, another  
element
bearing too much similarity to 1979 – a nationwide series of  
demonstrations
and clashes, a leveling of social and economic contradictions,  
unification
under religious rhetoric and the protest of clerics through self- 
enclosure at
home and the call for an assembly of review. This is becoming all too  
quickly
uncanny.
R. said that he had been out earlier this evening at Chahar-Ra  
Parkway, a
major intersection of Valiasr with the Chamran and Hemmat Highways  
further up
north. There, he saw a major crowd of protestors gathering, this time  
however
completely peacefully. They held their hands up in the air and  
melodiously
chanted “Allahu Akbar”, walking towards the intersection with the  
police at
their side. They started a round of prayers, acting in a cool and  
collected
manner, resisting any display of force and not looking or directing  
their
actions at the police. R. said how beautiful it was, in the eerie glow  
of the
humongous LCD screen hanging from the highway overpass at Chahar-Ra  
Parkway,
flashing advertisements for video cameras, to see a crowd choosing to  
act in
a non-violent, pro-active way, as they had done a few days before  
during the
pre-election celebrations. The police attempted to provoke them, even  
hitting
a few on the sides, but those hit simply got back up and walked away.  
There
was no show of resistance. R. went on to say how at a certain point,  
even
some police officers began chanting “Allahu Akbar”, joining the  
ranks of the
demonstrators. After all, the police are just “doing their job”,  
and like
many of us when we are at work, it doesn‟t mean one believes in  
everything
one “has” to do. This is the key, a sign of weakness in the whole  
structure
of militarized authority: the subjectivities involved in the conflict.  
If
these subjectivities can be activated, directly addressed, then the  
tides can
change, sides are crossed, a wave of contradictions may reveal the  
formation
of unexpected communities. Amongst the crowd gathered, in between their
invocations, R. reported that he saw people whispering in each  
others‟ ears,
spreading news, giving advice on how to behave, supporting one  
another, and,
most importantly, telling each other where to be and at what time  
tomorrow.
Moussavi‟s campaign has called upon all the Opposition supporters to  
gather
tomorrow in Tehran at 4 PM at Enghelab Square (Revolution Square, in  
the City
Center near to the University). From there, the demonstrators are to  
form a
peaceful protest, they are instructed to pray and to maintain calm, even
under the face of fire, and to march slowly towards Azadi Square  
(Freedom
Square, the next main square after Enghelab, many kilometers down the  
road,
where the Azadi Tower, a symbol of Tehran, stands). Further plans  
include
marching past Azadi and down south, towards Imam Khomeini‟s sanctuary  
outside
of the city, near the airport. Moussavi‟s wife, Zahra Rahnavard,  
announced
that they will attempt to secure permissions for the demonstration.  
This is,
however, quite implausible, and most likely the demonstration will face
serious challenges from not only the police, who may be violent, but the
Basiji, who are hands-down deadly and who can speed through the crowd  
and
discreetly wreck havoc, provoking the peace with their anger. If the
demonstration turns violent, it is another score for the coup d‟etat,  
one
that they can use to show that all those gathered are simply rabble- 
rousers,
good-for-nothings, spies, etc. It is very important to stay peaceful,  
to keep
focused. Demonstrations are scheduled in other major Iranian cities as  
well,
also at 4 PM, an attempt to nationally unite the Opposition and its
supporters in the hope that something can come out of this, that this  
time it
won‟t be ignored.


Monica Narula
Raqs Media Collective
Sarai-CSDS
www.raqsmediacollective.net
www.sarai.net