Tehran or Bust

Sentiments like that often give outsiders the impression that it's only a matter of time before Iran's youth—who make up three quarters of the population—overthrow their government. Yet while young Iranians can be just as focused on having fun as they are everywhere else in the world, the rights we ordinarily think of as lacking in Iran, such as the right to dress or behave as one pleases, are not their main concerns. Generally speaking, they are free to do as they please behind closed doors. They can watch first-run (if bootleg) Hollywood movies, on Samsung flat-screen TVs, while downloading songs to their iPods. (They can also drink alcohol, bootlegged through Kurdistan, and, even more cheaply, do drugs.) Even those who rebel against the austere social climate are as proud of their Persian-ness, their history and their culture as any other Iranian. Although they tend to be wealthy, well traveled and in many ways quite Westernized, they don't necessarily want their nation to be anything but independent of both East and West.

North Tehranis react with the same outrage as other Iranians whenever an American map shows the Persian Gulf as "the Gulf," or whenever Hollywood depicts Persians in anything less than a flattering light (such as in the movies Not Without My Daughter or 300). In late April, reports that Arab countries had demanded that Iran remove the name "Persian Gulf" from medals and brochures for the Islamic Solidarity Games to be held in Tehran in October sparked a particularly strong reaction all over town. "Screw them," yelled a friend of mine, a man educated in the West, completely Westernized, and hardly a supporter of the government. "Let the Arabs stay home—who gives a damn?" His indignant outbursts on the matter continued for days.

Near its end Vali-asr climbs steeply, into the foothills of the snowcapped Alborz Mountains. Here lies the home of the Islamic Revolution: Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini's family compound, Jamaran. Mrs. Sadoughi's brother, former president Mohammad Khatami, has an office here, in a villa granted to him by the Khomeinis, who are now almost all reformists. Khatami relishes his new role as an éminence grise of Iranian politics, and on the day I visited him in his stately offices, he was besieged in various drawing rooms by politicians, mullahs, women in chadors and journalists, all vying for a few minutes of his time. In private, he appeared relieved that he had abandoned his campaign for the presidency. I told him that there had been disappointment in many quarters when he endorsed another reformist candidate, former prime minister Mir Hossein Mousavi. "It is better to be a kingmaker than king," he joked to me in English.

It was a platitude, but I realized he was right. The Supreme Leader is, naturally, the supreme kingmaker in Iran, but there are others, including Ayatollah Ali Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani, a former president, and Parliament Speaker Larijani. With myriad power centers and constituencies to keep satisfied (much as in the United States), running for or even being president requires compromises that a behind-the-scenes politician need not make. Khatami's decision to forgo an arduous campaign makes sense given the stakes this time around for whoever wins: the possibility of forging a détente with America after 30 years of open hostility. Some U.S. officials may have hoped that Khatami would be their partner in renewing ties, but he did the Obama administration a favor by choosing not to be king. Iran needs a president who can convince not just North Tehran but South, not just Tehranis but Yazdis, that the "change" the Supreme Leader promised is in their best interests. Khatami knows he can be more influential in this process, posht-e-pardeh, or "behind the curtain." In a land of mysteries, it is, not surprisingly, a favorite expression.

Majd is the author of The Ayatollah Begs To Differ.

© 2009