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Opinions

Promises, promises…

September 16, 2015
Firouz Farzani
5 min read
Hassan Rouhani on the campaign trail in 2013
Hassan Rouhani on the campaign trail in 2013
Rouhani has promised to end the house arrest of Mir-Hossein Mousavi, Zahra Rahnavard (pictured) and Mehdi Karroubi
Rouhani has promised to end the house arrest of Mir-Hossein Mousavi, Zahra Rahnavard (pictured) and Mehdi Karroubi
Opposition leaders Mir Hossein Mousavi and Zahra Rahnavard are under house arrest on Akhtar Street. Cartoon by Mana Neyestani
Opposition leaders Mir Hossein Mousavi and Zahra Rahnavard are under house arrest on Akhtar Street. Cartoon by Mana Neyestani

Iran’s parliamentary elections are now six months away, and both pro-government and conservative politicians are wooing voters to ensure a high turnout.  Campaign promises are flying thick and fast. 

President Rouhani, on behalf of his reformist faction, has said he will end the house arrest of former presidential candidates Mehdi Karroubi and Mir Hossein Mousavi along with Mousavi’s wife, Zahra Rahnavard. 

It’s a promise that appeals to urban, progressive Iranians and it’s not the first time Rouhani has made it.  In fact, it was a central plank in his own presidential campaign in 2013. He failed to deliver then and there’s no reason to think he will be able to deliver now.     

Ali Akbar Nateq Nori, a former parliamentary speaker and presidential candidate in 1997, has been widely quoted saying Rouhani never had the power to free political figures from house arrest in the first place. Nori speaks on good authority; he’s now chief of ctaff in the office of the Supreme Leader.

Why then would Rouhani have made a public pledge that he probably can’t fulfil?  Well, either he has a poor understanding of the power structure in the Islamic Republic of Iran (implausible, given that he’s a long-time insider on national security and legal affairs), or he’s been told to do whatever it takes to increase voter turnout.  A strong showing at the polls will help confer legitimacy on a regime that was badly damaged by the violence and unrest in 2009.

Rouhani’s colleague Ali Akbar Rafsanjani has joined the campaign too, and is warning voters to elect a full slate of reformist candidates. Rafsanjani is chairman of the state’s Expediency Council, and he leads a prominent group of reformists and pro-government politicians. In their words, only if the next parliament is dominated by pro-government members will “all promises will be honoured.”

Rafsanjani is also the unofficial mastermind of the Kargozaran Party (Servants of Reconstruction), which has officially kicked off its national election campaign. In early August, the Tehran launch was held in the Darabad offices of the Islamic Encyclopaedia, high on the slopes of North Tehran. Kargozaran and its mouthpiece, the Arman daily newspaper, are portraying Hashemi Rafsanjani as Iran’s saviour, part of a drive to restore him to the chairmanship of the Expert Assembly. (That’s the body of 86 top mullahs who are supposed to monitor Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei. In fact, they are mostly sycophants who worship the man as the "wisest leader in the Islamic world.")

In a triumph of hope over experience, a majority of Iranians will choose to believe Rouhani and the reformists’ campaign promises.  We are likely to see a new parliament dominated by them, but that does not mean they will do much. Not unless the Iranian middle classes and the legions of the educated unemployed suddenly mobilize – but that, I fear, is wishful thinking.

Rouhani and their like-minded fellows like Hashemi Rafsanjani know how to appeal to the middle classes with a commitment to open up Iranian society and institutionalize social and individual freedoms. But this is not a serious pledge. It’s just vote-bait.

The hard truth is that the political establishment of the Islamic Republic of Iran does not change its behavior or its policies unless the regime is seriously threatened.  Only when cornered and at bay does it shift a little to survive. Civil society is too weak in Iran to exert meaningful pressure, so there is nothing to compel politicians to keep their promises. We are all still hostages to the fallout of the 1979 revolution, straight-jacketed by the past.

The political landscape is littered with broken promises – from both sides. Before the first term of conservative ex-president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, his cultural and campaign adviser Mehdi Kalhor publically criticized censorship and the banning of satellite dishes. Famously, he also said that Iranian pop singers exiled in Los Angeles (“Tehrangeles” to Iranian expatriates) could safely come home to work in the music business. Of course, it was nonsense – a mere ploy to get votes for Ahmadinejad in his first term and we all know his administration never even tried to follow through.

Similarly, Hojatollah Ayoubi, Iran’s deputy in charge of Cinematic Affairs in the Ministry of Islamic Guidance and Culture, told the Wall Street Journal “The door is open to all Iranian artists. I know for a fact that Bahman Ghobadi would have no problems if he wanted to return to Iran and make films here.”  Ha!

I came across the following anecdote on the Farsi home page of a short story writer:

Once upon a time there was an itinerant athlete-artist. (I imagine him a little like Zampano, the character played by Anthony Quinn in LaStrada.) Our imaginary athletic-artist arrived in the main square of small town and put down an empty pitcher in the middle of a circle of onlookers. 

In a hoarse voice, Zampano shouted, “Respected citizens!  If you pay a penny each, I will force my body into this pitcher.”

A spattering of coins hit the pavement.

Zampano looked at them and shook his head. 

“Dear people, another round of coins will make it much easier for me to fulfil my promise.”

Reluctantly, a few people at the back of the crowd tossed some more coins onto the ground.

But again, Zampano again shook his head.

Then a man in the crowd lost patience.  “That’s enough,” he said. “You’re wasting our time.  Get into the pitcher!”

But the shameless Zampano replied “Beloved people. Understand me. I do sincerely want to get into the jug but the truth is – I am too big.”

The man said angrily “You scam artist!  You knew perfectly well how big you were before you took our money.”

How does the story end? It is up to you dear reader to decide whether the crowd went after the rogue.

And it’s a reminder to Iranian voters: no matter how much you want to believe what the man promises, if it looks unlikely, it probably is unlikely.

 

Related articles:

Journalists Must Question the Iranian Government about Human Rights Abuses

 

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Originally published on August 27 2015

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