Shane M.

TEHRAN—The notion that only a certain category of Iranians would be drawn to political Islam, routinely expressed in U.S. and European press accounts and expressed in virtually all Western political debate, is based on a mistaken and outdated understanding of Iran—one that is more 1979 than 2009.

The implication is that Iranians are neatly assembled into two coherent and opposing groups, set apart by an impervious wall of separation between politics and religion. The very notion of such a wall is, of course, exclusively of Western origin, and it yields the conclusion that the only cure for the current oppression in Islamic Iran lies in its opposite, that is, in secular modernity. Supposedly, nothing else can address what is seen as the revanchist traditionalism that the Iranian state represents.

Evidence and experience from years of research in Iran tells me otherwise. Depictions of a Westernized and secular opposition set against a highly religious, radical state are both caricatures. The state itself is not as Islamic as it would have us believe. Nor is the opposition in any significant measure driven by rejection of a state that is, at the very least, religiously informed by the tenets of Islam.

From its early days under Khomeini, much of state decision-making in the Islamic Republic has been a matter for rationality and expedience, unwedded to ideological rigor. This same pattern can be seen in Iran’s strong support for Christian Armenia in its conflict with Muslim Azerbaijan and, more recently, with Tehran’s decision to ignore the plight of Chinese Muslims (China is, after all, one of Iran’s most important trading partners and a vital ally on the U.N. Security Council).

Even formal depictions of national identity have loosened. One need not spend much time in Tehran nowadays to see that pre-Islamic Revolution motifs and murals coexist with the fading depictions of war martyrs. Popular pre-Islamic Revolution holidays, particularly the New Year festival of Nowruz, increasingly are recognized and even co-opted by the officially Islamic state. Ahmadinejad’s government, for all of its messianic bluster, has done nothing to reverse this trend. The state, even at its most authoritarian moments, pays attention to what members of society want.

For their part, ordinary Iranians long ago found ways to reconcile an Islamic identity with life under a formally theocratic state. There is a sense that one can remain a Muslim, on his or her own terms, and still bear witness when necessary against state injustice.

The struggle now is less about whether or not Islam should be in politics, but what it means to be a Muslim in the modern world. It was not by accident that we heard “Allah Akbar” from the rooftops throughout the summer and during the November 4 protests, or that protestors carry signs such as “Islam = Honesty.” This type of godly language and repertoire is being used by protestors because it resonates, because it makes sense. No matter what happens, long after the Islamic Republic of Iran comes and goes, Islam will remain in Iran.

Moreover, faith does not trump the desire for simple competence in governance. The political scientist Farideh Farhi argues that the debate in Iran is less and less about what it means to be an Iranian, for most people an abstract and rarefied topic, but instead about how to get formal institutions to work. How can life be made less ad hoc, more normal?

The vote for Moussavi by the millions of Iranians who never vote and who do not necessarily believe in the Islamic Republic was in part about this. Consider this: Over the thirty-year history of the Islamic Republic of Iran, some 30 percent of the population has never voted. These are the true disbelievers, citizens who take pride in having a blank shenasname, or identity booklet. Except in 1997 and, to a lesser extent, in 2001, roughly half of these “nonparticipants” did participate, resulting in a tidal wave of support for Mohammad Khatami.

As a result of this phenomenon, large voter turnout in Iran invariably favors the reformists. So this year, when the voter participation swelled once again, exceeding even that of 1997, and lifting turnout to heights not seen since the early days of the Revolution, it was in favor of change. With the much ballyhooed rural vote already in the bank for the president, the only place left for Ahmadinejad to make up his reported 6 to 8 million new votes was with the “apostates.”

Are we really to believe, as some continue to insist, that these many millions showed up, against all previous trends, to vote for the incumbent? Tracking inside of Iran backs what the historical record predicted. A consortium of pollsters and social scientists working for a diverse range of political and social organizations systematically measured public opinion for months before the election. By the Wednesday before the election, their tracking showed that Moussavi was backed by about 44 percent of respondents, while Ahmadinejad was favored by around 38 percent.

As a candidate, Moussavi represented the possibility that daily life might just be improved, if only slightly. Some thirty years after the ideological struggles of the late 1970s and early 1980s, large numbers of weary Iranians are more concerned with bringing to power a government that can get things done and improve their daily lives. It is a stance that animates the politics and growing appeal of men such as Ali Larijani and Mohammad Baghar Qalibaf, as well as the conservative candidate and former Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) commander Mohsen Rezaei, who pointedly accused Ahmadinejad live on television of thinking that he was qualified to micromanage every aspect of the government.

In this equation, Where is my vote? is less important than, Who will answer the question? This is what remains unresolved in Iran today. There is no obvious state body to turn for the redress of grievances.

Several days after the vote, I joined a group of former war veterans, many of whom had served as teenage volunteers in the first iteration of the basiji forces, in a meeting of Moussavi supporters. They were debating whether or not to participate in that week’s Friday Prayers, that fateful sermon in which Khamenei would announce his support for Ahmadinejad over his opponents. For these men, that day proved a turning point. The Supreme Leader forever lost his legitimacy by endorsing the fraud that had brought Ahmadinejad victory. As one individual, the principal of a well-known private Islamic school put it to me, “The Leader must be adel [just]. This man cannot be our Leader.”

Another principal I spoke to was less certain how to proceed. “If our fathers chanted ‘Death to the Shah,’” he said, “it was because they saw the previous regime as being against Islam. But to hear my own son chant ‘Death to Khamenei,’ well, this is too much. I find it difficult to accept because he is protesting against a government of religion, of Islam.” Conflicts such as these had led a good number of my interview subjects to reassess whether the Islamic Republic itself were viable any more. Above all they stressed that Islam had to be preserved. If it took changing the political system, so be it.

Perhaps, Ayatollah Khomeini was uniquely qualified to be the Supreme Leader, sociologist Max Weber’s “charismatic leader” without a subsequent peer. One teacher put it this way: “Perhaps this post [the Supreme Leader], this responsibility, is like a ripe fruit. Delicious, sweet, pleasing to the eye, it eventually attracts flies.”

His critique was rooted in his faith and there was little doubt in the validity of his judgment. What remains uncertain for my friend was whether or not Islam itself was under threat from the very Islamic republic system set up years ago by Khomeini and his followers.

Shane M. is a scholar conducting research in Tehran.