The institutionalisation of political Islam in Iran - by Rebecca Barlow and Shahram Akbarzadeh
The Institutionalisation of Political Islam in Iran
Barlow, Rebecca and Akbarzadeh, Shahram, "The institutionalisation of political Islam in Iran,"
in Routledge Handbook of Political Islam, Taylor & Francis, Abingdon, England, pp.142-153.
The establishment of the Islamic Republic of Iran in 1980 brought Islamism out of the shadows and into the corridors of power. This was an unprecedented development. Political Islam had emerged as the antithesis of the status quo, an alternative to secular policies and creeping Westernisation. In Iran, what started out as a revolutionary ideology was transformed into official ideology for the new regime. Islamism came full circle. Seemingly overnight, it was transformed from a battle cry for revolution into the pillar of a new system of government. Political Islam in today’s Iran is a status quo ideology that protects the vested interests of many in the clerical establishment, as well as those who have identified with, and benefited from, this transformation. This chapter explores the institutionalisation of political Islam in Iran.
The institutionalisation of Islamism following the 1979 popular revolution was not without difficulties. The major impediment to political Islam in Iran was the fact that it gained prominence on the back of a mass movement thirsty for political, social and economic transparency and accountability. Engrained in the 1979 revolution was a desire to establish a new democratic system where the political leadership was answerable to the people and represented their national interests. The idea of a republic was appealing to the masses that protested against the corruption of the Pahlavi monarchy. Popular sovereignty was at the heart of the republic model. However, rule by the people did not sit easily with the Islamists and had to be demarcated within the limits set, as they claimed, by God. Tension between the popular and the divine models of government was evident from the very first day of the new regime. This tension is entwined in the Iranian constitution which maintains divine caveats to popular sovereignty and is even carried into the official name of the state: the Islamic Republic.
The surge of popular resentment against the political establishment following the contested 2009 presidential elections was a reminder that the above tension remained unresolved. Street protests challenging the Supreme Leader and his role at the top of the state hierarchy have raised pertinent questions about the capacity of political Islam as a status quo ideology and what it means for civil rights. This chapter presents an account of political Islam in power and traces its implications for civil rights, with a special focus on women’s rights in Iran.
The power structure of the Islamic Republic: velayate faqih
Following the 1979 revolution, governance and government in Iran were reconstructed along theocratic lines. Within the discourse of the revolution, the new state was intended to be both democratic and Islamic, reflected in the title ‘Islamic Republic’. However, in the final stages of constitutional drafting, conservative elements came to overpower proponents of a more liberal Islam. The notion of ‘rule by the people’ inherent in the term ‘republic’ was eroded, and the way was paved for clerical supremacy. The Islamic Republic was thus founded on the principle of velayate faqih: rule by the most learned Islamic scholar, or expert in classical Islamic jurisprudence, fiqh.
This principle is based on Shia religious doctrine, but carries the beliefs of Twelver Shiism beyond the boundaries of tradition. In Islam, God’s sovereignty is supreme. However, a religious authority, or imam, has always been required to ensure the implementation of God’s will on Earth. After the death of the Prophet Mohammed in 632 CE, Shia Islam believed that Ali, the Prophet’s son-in-law, and his 11 descendants should sequentially fulfil this role. The final imam in the succession, Muhammad al-Mahdi, is believed to have entered a state of occultation some time during the ninth century. The Shia Muslim community remains in waiting for the return of Imam al-Mahdi, but in his absence are to be led by qualified religious leaders, the ulama.
According to Shia doctrine, all Muslims must choose a marja al-taqlid, a model and source of emulation, from amongst the established ulama, whose opinions on Islamic law are binding on their followers throughout their lifetimes. Traditionally, no one marja can be considered more authoritative than another. However, when Ayatollah Khomeini led the Iranian revolution to victory and rose to power via popular mandate in 1979, he claimed to be the Shia Muslim community’s ultimate representative of God on Earth, acting in the direct place of Imam al-Mahdi. By attaching the ulama to the state at the highest level, Khomeini not only dealt a blow to republican aspirations and the ideal of popular sovereignty, but also removed the multiplicity of religious authority in Iran.
It is this precept that is named in the appellation velayate faqih. The Constitution of the Islamic Republic appoints Khomeini as Leader for Life. As the head of state, the Supreme Leader is Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces and can declare war or peace. He appoints the Chief of the Joint Staff, Chief Commander of the Islamic Revolutionary Guards, six members of the 12-member Guardian Council, the Supreme Judge, and the head of the radio and television networks of the Islamic Republic. This power structure makes the Supreme Leader the most powerful man in Iran, immune from scrutiny. A small measure of public participation in political life was attempted through the formation in 1982 of the 83-member Assembly of Experts, whose members are directly elected from amongst the ulama by the public. The Assembly of Experts appoints the Supreme Leader and reserves the right to dismiss him if he is deemed to violate Islamic law or the interests of the regime. However, since the death of Ayatollah Khomeini in 1989 there has been but one reappointment of the Supreme Leader, the current Ayatollah Khamenei. In effect, once appointed, the Supreme Leader is beyond reproach. He is not accountable to the public; he is answerable to no one.
The extensive powers concentrated in the hands of the Supreme Leader have raised insurmountable barriers to change and reform in Iran. The Supreme Leader’s ability to determine the composition of the Guardian Council has proved critical in this respect. The Guardian Council consists of six faqih, appointed by the Supreme Leader, and six jurists, nominated by the Supreme Judge and approved by the Parliament (Majlis). As mentioned earlier, the Supreme Judge is an appointee of the Supreme Leader and has been closely aligned with the latter’s political outlook. The Guardian Council is charged with ensuring the consistency of parliamentary legislation with Islamic law, but has appropriated to itself the right to vet candidates in parliamentary and presidential elections.
The foundation of the Islamic Republic in Shia theology thus places the constituency in tight constraints so far as their ability to question or object to any aspect of state shape or content, including laws that govern everyday processes of public and private life. The merging of temporal and religious authority in the principle of velayate faqih means that, in the eyes of the clerical establishment, to question the regime is essentially tantamount to questioning the wisdom of God.
Of all the demographic constituents affected by this conundrum, Iranian women face amongst the most significant difficulties. Local women’s rights advocates have critiqued the Iranian Constitution as a document that they claim construes women as child-bearers and caretakers only, and fails to recognise women’s identities beyond relationships with men. Where the Constitution does refer to the rights of women, the wording is ambiguous, and qualified. Article 20, for example, states that men and women should ‘enjoy equal protection of the law [ … ] in conformity with Islamic criteria [mavazin-e eslami]’. Similarly, Article 21 stipulates that ‘the government must ensure the rights of women in all respects, in conformity with Islamic criteria [mavazin-e eslami]’ (Mayer 2007: 83–84, italics added). This oft-repeated caveat in the Iranian Constitution subordinates modern understandings of gender equality and women’s rights to official (conservative) interpretations of selected Islamic sources.
In mid-2005 a group of activist women in Iran called for a constitutional referendum. At the 12 June sit-in at Haft-e Square, Tehran, protestors issued a communiqué that drew a direct link between the Constitution of the Islamic Republic and ‘women’s belittlement’. The document critiqued the Constitution as defective in that rather than protecting women from discrimination, it in fact served as a source to block the empowerment of women by subverting all rights-based claims to the State’s interpretation of the ‘good Muslim woman’ (Shekarloo 2005). At the 2006 commemoration of the event, women raised what they believed to be the most appropriate foundation for women’s status in Iran by calling on the state to comply with international standards on ‘fundamental and equal rights’, including the Convention on the Elimination of all forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) (Shekarloo 2005). This was in clear opposition to the gender ideology of the Islamic regime, which is rooted in classical Islamic jurisprudence as manifest in the shari’a legal code.
Shari'a law
The shari’a is a legalistic elaboration of Islam’s holy texts developed between the ninth and fourteenth centuries CE. The shari’a represents a status quo set of rules on what is considered acceptable and appropriate behaviour within Muslim communities by prevailing clerical elites. Shari’a requirements can be referred to as falling within a broad range of categories such as ethics, morality, religion, politics and law. The shari’a is drawn in part from injunctions contained in the Qur’an, the direct and final word of God; the Sunna, the sayings of the Prophet Muhammad; and the Hadith, the traditions and customs of the Prophet. Classical Islamic jurisprudence or Islamic legal theory, usul al-fiqh, is employed by jurists to determine rules that may be difficult to ascertain in the textuality of the sources. Classical fiqh techniques include ijma, the consensus of Islamic scholars; shura, consultation with the Muslim community, the umma; and qiyas, analogous reasoning.1
Although it is a product of pre-modern times, conservative clerics in Iran and other Muslim-majority countries defend the continuing application of shari’a by recourse to its basis in Islamic sources, which are considered both timeless and sacred. As a composition of edicts derived from these holy texts, the shari’a therefore not only represents the totality of Allah’s commands, but must also be independently considered unalterable and eternal in its own right. In his book ‘Newly Created Problems according to the Opinion of His Excellency Grand Ayatollah Mr Seyed Yusef Madani Tabrizi’ [al-Masa’el al-mostahdasah motabeq ba fatwa-ye Hazrat-e Ayatollah al-’Ozma Aqa-ye Seyed Yusef al-Madani al-Tabrizi], Tabrizi claims:
Because the sacred laws of Islam are not confined to a specific time but determine people’s duties in every area of life and how to carry out religious duties and [social] interaction, people must not transgress them [ … ] If we want to adjust Islamic fiqh to the conditions of the time, then the science of fiqh will be destroyed and suffer irreparable damage.
(Mir-Hosseini 2000: 32–33)
This constrained view of the shari’a by no means represents a consensus position. For some reform-minded clerics, the shari’a is more appropriately understood as a secondary source of Islam: a human attempt to systematise the primary sources of the faith into one accessible code of practice. An outstanding example of this position is provided by one of Iran’s most influential and controversial religious philosophers, Abdol Karim Soroush. In his seminal work, ‘The Theoretical Expansion and Contraction of the Shari’a’, Soroush distinguishes ‘religion’ from ‘religious knowledge’. Religion, he argues, is divine and unchangeable, whereas religious knowledge is human and evolves externally to the faith itself. In Soroush’s paradigm the shari’a pertains to religious knowledge. It cannot, therefore, be considered divine and unchangeable, but is rather open to ongoing interpretation, alteration and re-appropriation (Mir-Hosseini 2000: 32–33).
The reality of everyday life in many Muslim societies has tended to reflect Soroush’s philosophy. Even amongst those clerics who support the application of shari’a legal norms in modern societies, there is no official consensus as to what aspects of the shari’a do or do not apply in any given circumstance. This can be attributed to the rich heritage of rationality and scientific process in the Islamic tradition. Just as there is no monolithic ‘Muslim world’, nor a uniform Islam, classical Islamic jurisprudence encompasses the doctrines of several sects and many schools of law. Historically, divergence of opinion amongst major schools of law has been tolerated within the faith – a situation acknowledged in the shari’a concept of ikhtilaf al-madhahib, or difference of law schools (Mayer 2007: 80). Even within one school of law, doctrines and opinions could differ significantly on the interpretation of Islamic sources. There were even individuals whose opinions differed from the major schools, but were nevertheless considered legitimate and incorporated into the shari’a framework (Mayer 2007: 80).
In the twenty-first century no Muslim country hosts the application of the shari’a legal code in its entirety. Rather, shari’a laws are applied inconsistently and unevenly both between and within Muslim countries. Farida Shaheed, director of the transnational feminist network Women Living Under Muslim Laws, argues that in the myriad Muslim communities around the world, each locally driven appropriation of the holy texts to present rules for public life ‘bears the unmistakable imprint of the regional culture and of traditions that either pre-date Islam or have been absorbed through subsequent developments and influences’ (Shaheed 2004). A striking example in this respect is female genital cutting, a practice virtually unheard of in Muslim societies outside of Northern Africa and Egypt, where it is also practised by non-Muslims, and yet enshrined as an Islamic injunction (Helie-Lucas 2001: 23).
Reform-minded clerics and public figures in Iran tend to view the shari’a as a secondary source of Islam, and one that does not in its present format provide an adequate basis for the establishment of civil rights. The intellectual reasoning behind this view echoes the philosophy of both Soroush and well-known theologist Hojat-ol-elsam Mohsen Saidzadeh. As a prominent cleric, Saidzadeh is notable for making explicit links between Islam and women’s rights in his writings and public seminars in the holy city of Qom. For Saidzadeh the methods and concepts used to determine Islamic legal norms – fiqh – represent an established discipline, a constructed scientific method. The shari’a, he argues, does not exist independently of this science. Rather it is best understood as a creation of fiqh. The problem here is that whilst Islam encompasses a strong ‘equality perspective’, classical fiqh theories developed over the ninth to 14th centuries have obstructed the translation of this perspective into modern women’s realities (Mir-Hosseini 2000: 251). According to Saidzadeh, a majority of Islamic jurists in Iran have sacrificed the equality principle, ‘to endorse a set of theories resting on assumptions that are no longer valid but still remain a part of fiqh’(Saidzadeh cited in Mir-Hosseini 2000: 251).
In Islamic theory it is the responsibility of clerical jurists to minimise human interference with the sacred texts of Islam so as to formulate laws that mirror God’s will. However, according to Saidzadeh, throughout history Islamic jurists have ‘exceeded their mandate and constantly broken the limits, by adding things to religion’ (Saidzadeh cited in Mir-Hosseini 2000: 257). Saidzadeh challenges the latent assumption, embedded in the philosophy of more conservative Iranian clerics, that the shari’a emerged and exists in a sociological vacuum. In Saidzadeh’s view, the shari’a should be understood as a framework inevitably informed by the pre-modern and patriarchal environment in which it emerged.
Seeing classical shari’a law as a product of human interpretive efforts, as opposed to a divine and unalterable source of the Islamic faith, has generated two divergent conclusions about the application of the shari’a in modern times. On the one hand, if shari’a laws were originally developed in response to social, cultural and political circumstances, they may carry the inherent capacity for change and reform according to new circumstances and socio-cultural conditions. This evolutionary perspective of the Islamic framework sits at the modernist end of a broad spectrum of Muslim views on the shari’a. The full extension of this logic, however, goes much further than Saidzadeh’s position. For some advocates of change in Iran, the Islamic paradigm does not provide an appropriate starting point for the development of legal norms in the twenty-first century. Advocates of this school of thought, such as contemporary reformist clerics Mir-Hossein Mousavi and Mehdi Karroubi, insist that the spiritual vitality of modern Muslim societies is not contingent on the implementation of a legal framework explicitly informed by religious precepts.
Those who are less categorical in rejecting the legitimacy of shari’a, however, see within it a dynamic towards remaining relevant in the twenty-first century. This view is espoused by Saidzadeh, who argues that the science of shari’a is available for reform because ‘all tools and concepts in all crafts and sciences are made by us, humans [ … ] Fiqh too is a science and can’t be exempted from the need to evolve in time and space’ (Saidzadeh cited in Mir-Hosseini 2000: 259). The shari’a can be reformed and revitalised, he argues, if other clerics reconcile their approach with his own recognition:
Space and time have affected my thinking, consciously and unconsciously, as with all other Jurists. Fiqh and interpretation of the Quran are affected by situations. Not only are jurists unconsciously affected by them, [but] they must be consciously taken into account.
(Mir-Hosseini 2000: 253)
In line with this view, some Iranian reformists simultaneously acknowledge the discriminatory aspects of the shari’a, whilst supporting an Islamic legal framework that can respond to changing priorities of reality. In this paradigm, Islam can be retained as a basis for the formation of laws in the twenty-first century, but the religious-legal framework must be extensively reformulated if it is to be applied in modern times. The methodology employed for this purpose is dual-layered. It involves mining revelatory sources for evidence that Allah intended societies to be free, equal and democratic. Reform-minded clerics thus engage in contextualisation techniques to delimit the intent and applicability of some verses to a particular time, place and circumstance (Najmabadi 1998: 71). These techniques are underscored by the Islamic notion of ijtihad, which remains alive in the Shia tradition. Ijtihad allows for intellectual reinterpretation and innovation of Islam’s holy sources. Specifically, ijtihad involves the application of human reason to the shari’a legal code, in order to ascertain the applicability and suitability of particular injunctions in modern situations.
Classical Islamic treatises do not always reflect the overarching spiritual message of the faith. Many liberal clerics and reform-minded Muslims adhere to the view that the shari’a is made up of a highly selected set of religious verses, representing a miniscule portion of the holy texts in their entirety. Reformists argue that many of the discriminatory verses included in the Qur’an – particularly in relation to women, minorities and non-Muslims – are textually ambiguous, open to manipulation by the ruling elite, and easily distorted by patriarchal cultural practices. On the other hand, some Qur’anic versus that restrict rights and freedoms are clear. Reformists argue that these injunctions may have been intended by Allah to ensure the safety and political wellbeing of the Muslim community in the specific socio-political set of circumstances at the time of revelation. In both cases, the verses require re-examination, reinterpretation and reassessment to ascertain the nature and extent of their applicability to the modern Iranian reality.
As indicated above, however, the Iranian landscape is also host to many who view the shari’a as an inappropriate basis for the formulation of modern-day laws and precepts. Well-known Iranian feminist Haideh Moghissi, for example, argues that whilst the Islamic paradigm may not be responsible for the unequal status of women in Iran, Islamism nevertheless occupies a strong explanatory role. Moghissi disagrees with the attempts to reform the shari’a legal framework when in her opinion it should be dismantled and replaced with laws and standards based in modernity. She states:
The Shari’a distinguishes between the rights of human beings on the basis of sex and religion. The Shari’a unapologetically discriminates against women and religious minorities. If the principles of the Shari’a are to be maintained, women cannot be treated any better, women cannot enjoy equality before the law and in law. The Shari’a is not compatible with the principles of equality of human beings.
(Moghissi 1999: 141)
The reform era, 1997-2005
Prospects that reformists might impact upon the future democracy and human rights in Iran reached a high point at the turn of the twentieth century. In May 1997 the liberal cleric Muhammad Khatami won a landslide victory at the election polls. As leader of the reform movement and President of the Islamic Republic, Khatami represented the nation’s number one hope for meaningful change. He stressed national identity over strict religious roles, individual freedoms and a democratic, pluralistic Islam. Khatami was particularly well known for his overt displays of respect for women and young people, making regular mention of their importance in Iranian society. In Elaheh Rostami Povey’s view, vast numbers of Iranian women supported Khatami due to their belief that ‘under his presidency women’s issues could be fought for more easily’ than under alternative (conservative) candidates (Povey 2001: 49).
During the early stages of the reform era, this belief looked likely to manifest. Throughout the late 1990s Iran was characterised by a bourgeoning civil society. There was an explosion of independent newspapers and an unprecedented wave of open debate and free expression. Newspapers and magazines even began to play the role of political parties by representing various, sometimes unorthodox, views on Islam and its relationship to the state. At the grassroots level social issues were increasingly discussed in terms of human rights, not as matters pertaining only, or primarily, to the faith and religious exegesis (Ebadi 2007).
The philosophy behind Khatami’s presidency was that for the Islamic regime to remain vital, it would have to accommodate the basic needs and freedoms of its constituency. However, this need not necessitate systemic overhaul. Rather, it could be achieved through a process of incremental reform. Khatami relied on a pragmatic interpretation of Islamic sources to justify his proposals for change to the ulama. In the spirit of ijtihad, the reform movement provided religious-oriented feminists with an obvious tactical and strategic partner, and the two became closely associated.2
In 2000 some 13 women were elected as members of the sixth Majlis (Parliament). In the reformist-dominated chamber these women formed a bloc that came to be known as the Women’s Faction. Like the President, the Women’s Faction posed no questions to the concept of the Islamic state. However, according to one of its members, Elaheh Koolaee, the Women’s Faction lamented the ‘gap between the ideals of the Islamic Republic and the reality of women’s rights and status’ (Koolaee 2005: 205). For these women, the root cause of the gap between Iran’s revolutionary promises and manifest laws on women had little to do with the idea of an Islamic state system per se. Rather, women’s problems could be attributed to ‘the influence of traditional Islam’ over those with ultimate decision-making powers.
The Women’s Faction issued a challenge ‘from within the Islamic framework by relying on the progressive teachings of Ayatollah Khomeini and the principles of the Islamic constitution’ (Koolaee 2005: 205). They set out to alter and amend legislation with a view to temper the severity and impact of existing laws on women’s lives. The strategy met with some success. The Women’s Faction managed to convince the establishment to allow single women to travel abroad to study (Kar 2005: 225). Their lobbying also contributed to an amendment of the custody law to allow women automatic custody of both boy and girl children up to seven years of age (Koolaee 2005: 210). Additionally, they were successful in raising the minimum legal age for girls to marry from nine to 13 (Monshipouri 2004: 5).
In 2003 the Women’s Faction successfully lobbied for CEDAW to be placed on the government’s agenda. In its early stages the case looked set for success, as the reformist-dominated Parliament voted in favour of ratification. However, the debate was brought to a halt when the Guardian Council, charged with the purpose of ensuring that all legislation remains in line with Islamic jurisprudence, rejected the proposal on the basis that the treaty was both ‘un-Iranian’ and ‘un-Islamic’. The Guardian Council defended its position by invoking the cornerstone of the Islamic Republic’s gender ideology, namely gender parity or a ‘balance’ of rights, as a more appropriate paradigm in which to conceptualise the rights and responsibilities for women. The Guardian Council appealed to the infallibility of shari’a law as an integral component of the revelatory message to justify its rejection of CEDAW (Shekarloo 2005). The Convention was framed as not only incompatible with Iranian women’s realities, but entirely unnecessary for the fulfilment of their rights.
The CEDAW case was a sign of things to come, and signalled the end of the reform movement at large. Opportunities for reformists to make significant gains rested on the possibility that conservative rulers might yield their orthodox reading of Islam to the more enlightened version of the faith, broadly offered by Khatami and his backers. This possibility proved to be a non-event. Although the Majlis was dominated by liberal-minded clerics, the ultraconservative Guardian Council repeatedly exercised its veto power to block legislation that would cause any substantial change to the status quo. The resulting stalemate was rooted in velayate faqih. This principle accords the ulama a privileged role in governing the Islamic state, and secures for the Supreme Leader the final say. Effectively, the primacy of velayate faqih relegates other branches of the government, including Parliament, to function as optional extras to a predetermined political agenda.
This reality was made dramatically public in 2004 when one of the most outspoken members of the Women’s Faction, Fatema Haqiqatjoo, announced a premature resignation from Parliament. In an open session to the Majlis, Haqiqatjoo protested the Guardian Council’s indiscriminate vetting of proposed legislative changes and stated that in her view, reform from within the state system was no longer possible. She referred to the oath that all elected parliamentarians must take when they are sworn into the Majlis. This oath requires Members of Parliament to ‘remain faithful to Islam and the constitution, to defend the independence and the interests of the country, and to serve the people’ (Mir-Hosseini 2004). Haqiqatjoo stated that, ‘since the possibility of keeping my oath has been taken from me and I have been deprived of [the ability to] defend your legal rights, it is no longer a source of pride for me to stay in this house’ (Mir-Hosseini 2004).
Women and youth culture
Following the decline of the reform movement and the wholesale investiture of government hardliners in 2005, Iranian activists – particularly women and youth – have mirrored Haqiqatjoo’s voicing of dissent with the status quo. The One Million Signatures Campaign, initiated in 2006, is an effort by Iranian feminists of both religious and secular orientations to bring an end to all laws that discriminate against women in Iran. Whether or not these laws are ostensibly based on religious precepts is a moot point according to the campaigners; the discriminatory content of the laws is, ipso facto, enough to legitimate their removal. By engaging in door-to-door and face-to-face street politics to educate Iranian men and women about their rights and the principle of gender equality, the One Million Signatures Campaign represents one of the most sophisticated forms of feminist organising across the entire Middle East.
In more informal displays of civil disobedience, deliberate improper wearing of the Islamic veil, bad-hejabi, has become a widespread practice amongst young Iranian women. Bad-hejabi involves letting the hair show at the front or sides of the veil, or wearing remarkably bright colours and patterns. This is not simply a matter of fashion, but rather a symbol of a desire to live in a society where individual choice is valued and respected. In July 2007 Iranian feminist and aspiring poet Roxana Setayesh suggested why clothing is such an important issue to young Iranian women. Gesturing to her own outfit, a black hijab made of sheer material and patterned with red flowers, and a knee-length beige-coloured manteau, she asked: ‘Why do I have to wear this? What does it mean? It means I cannot choose. I’m talking about choice on a broader scale’ (Setayesh 2007).
These comments reflect an increasingly large cross-section of young Iranians. In fact, the demographics of the country play a strong explanatory role in the street politics of present-day Iran. Youth represent the most prominent bulge in Iran’s population pyramid. Contemporary men and women were not witness to the heady years of the revolution – a time filled with idealism and hope that Islam would present the cure for all societal ills experienced under the Shah’s blindly pro-Western rule, and when Islamic ‘authenticity’ and ideological ‘correctness’ were paramount personal and social attributes. The concept of gharbzadegi, ‘Westoxtification’, was central to the cultural purification process instated by Ayatollah Khomeini, and the rejection of Western culture was an exercise taken up by significant sections of the Iranian populace. However, these concepts – in particular the discursive merging of ‘the West’, secularism and moral decay – fail to resonate with Iran’s new and upcoming generations.
Measures of ‘Islamic-ness’ are less concerning to young Iranians than immediate social and economic realities. Youth culture is characterised by a struggle against what many perceive to be intrusive state prescriptions on how to live and manage the intricacies of life, work and relationships. Iranian women comprise an overwhelming majority of university students in the country, a figure widely placed at 65 per cent (Ebadi 2007). Advanced education, professional capacity and active contribution to public processes underlie the desires for a society where there is increased economic opportunity and greater cultural opening.
Yet simultaneously, corruption and nepotism at the top have forced the average Iranian to grapple with serious issues of unemployment and unaffordable housing. The extent of economic and housing deficits has led to a wide range of ancillary problems such as family breakdown, prostitution and drug addiction. According to a United Kingdom-based non-governmental organisation (NGO), Association of Iranian Women in the UK, unemployment and poverty are the leading causes of prostitution as a means of subsistence in Iran (Monshipouri 2004: 8). Suicide rates further reveal a gender crisis. A study conducted in June 2005 found that the majority of suicide attempts in Iran were by young, highly educated women (Mohammadi et al. 2005: 309–18).
The Green Movement
When incumbent Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was returned to office following the June 2009 elections, the opposition movement that sprang to life in response highlighted the extent of discontent and frustration in society and, more importantly, significant fissures at the top. In an entirely unprecedented fashion the uprising that came to be known as the Green Movement challenged the image of elite solidarity and the ultimate authority of the Islamic Supreme Leader, Ali Khamenei. For some, this was a challenge to the very founding principle of the Islamic state, velayate faqih.
The Green Movement was initially entwined with the 2009 electoral campaign of two presidential candidates, Mehdi Karroubi and Mir Hussein Mousavi. Soon after the June 2009 elections, street rallies evolved into spontaneous spot protests seeking much more than a recount of the ballots. These protests, which seemed to have no clear leadership but took shape through a network of internet and mobile phone messaging, raised fundamental questions about the legitimacy of the Islamic regime. The brutality of the government crackdown, using the Basij militia (the youth wing of the Islamic Revolutionary Guards), was shocking, but not unexpected to observers. What was unexpected, however, was the opening up of two very significant gaps.
On the one hand the reformist leadership, affiliated with the former President Mohammad Khatami, appeared to merely follow the fast pace of events and protest rallies, rather than lead them. While the disenchanted protesters called for an end to dictatorship and velayate faqih, the two presidential contenders in the reformist camp, Mousavi and Karroubi, vacillated and called for calm and an end to protests. On the other hand, the top level of power appeared unprepared for the intensity of the opposition, and divided on how to respond to the crisis. The emerging cracks went beyond tactical concerns about the legitimacy of force to disperse Green Movement rallies, and raised questions that went to the very core of the regime: the role and responsibilities of the Supreme Leader. For the first time in the history of the Islamic Republic of Iran, a number of high-profile clerics, with impeccable credentials as advocates of the regime, took a public stance against the Supreme Leader.
Whilst the grievances of some protestors were contained to the reinstatement of President Ahmadinejad, others called for an all-out dismantling of the office of Supreme Leader. This was nothing short of a call for revolution – a ground-up spontaneous movement for change. By the same token, the Green Movement made clear that the Islamic regime is rife with discord. Internal disagreements at the highest echelons of power in Iran are normally concealed from the public eye as the regime projects an image of unity – one that is readily accepted by many observers in the West – but the events of June 2009 and the violent response to protesters brought these cracks to the fore. Only two of Iran’s nine top clerics publicly congratulated Ahmadinejad on his return to office. This despite the fact that the Supreme Leader had given Ahmadinejad his blessing just a day after the elections – while votes were still being counted. This was an aggressive affront to the opposition candidate and his supporters, who included Hashemi Rafsanjani, head of the 86-member Assembly of Experts charged with appointing and dismissing the Supreme Leader. At the same time two top clerics, Ayatollah Dastgheib and Ayatollah Yousuf Sanai, publicly criticised the Supreme Leader for his hasty judgement (Cyrus 2010). Such public criticism would have been unthinkable in the past. In addition, two other top clerics, the late Ayatollah Montazeri and Ayatollah Bayat Zanjani, took up the case of the Green Movement further and questioned the justification of having a Supreme Leader for the Islamic state.
The latter argument has much in common with the political thinking of Soroush, who insists on the supremacy of human intellect and judgement for a just Islamic system to emerge. Soroush argues that there is no contradiction between Islam and the freedoms inherent in democracy. He states that ‘Islam and democracy are not only compatible; their association is inevitable. In a Muslim society, one without the other is not perfect’ (Wright 1996: 68). This position rests on the pillar of freedom. That is, ‘to be a true believer, one must be free; belief attested under threat or coercion is not true belief’ (Wright 1996: 68). For Soroush, an Islamic state must be shaped by the beliefs and will of the majority. This modernist perspective has struck a chord in Iran, particularly with the younger generations of clerics and believers, thus raising serious objections to the imposition of Islamist rule from above.
Conclusion
The incorporation of political Islam into the state structure in Iran has come at the expense of popular sovereignty. The principle of velayate faqih – the supreme and ultimately unquestionable rule of the most learned Islamic scholar – has thwarted attempts at legal and social reform by Iran’s more liberal-minded clerics and politicians. The Supreme Leader of the Islamic Republic is appointed for life. He is in control of the armed forces, those highest in the legal system, and the radio and television networks. The Supreme Leader has total control in determining the composition of the Guardian Council, which in turn is responsible for approving legislation proposed by the Majlis.
The merging of temporal and religious authority in Iran has not only removed the practice of a plurality of religious leaders in Shia Islam, but has also meant that even the mildest critique of the regime’s actions is construed as a critique of the divine authority of God. Whilst in the regime’s eyes they are fulfilling the ‘Islamic’ component of the Constitution, their hardline approach to interpreting and implementing law and policy in Iran has come at the expense of any sense of republicanism. A serious lack of civil, women’s and minority rights characterises the Iranian scene. State-imposed constraints on everyday life, rooted in an unwillingness to cede to a more liberal understanding of Islam, have resulted in rising unemployment, unaffordable housing, alarming suicide rates and widespread overuse of, and addiction to, drugs and prescription medications (Alikarami 2011).
It is important to note, however, that political Islam in Iran continues to face opposition. The Green Movement of 2009 indicated a strong popular pulse for political accountability. Calls for electoral reform, and even calls for the deposition of the Supreme Leader, revealed a significant schism between the regime and large segments of the population. Even more noteworthy are the calls made by some clerics to review the role of velayate faqih, pointing to the potential for political Islam in Iran to be pushed back, in favour of the republican model of governance.
Notes
1 For an instructive discussion on usul al-fiqh and fiqh techniques, see the various contributions to Amir Arjomand 1988.
2 For an excellent insight into this process see Moghadam 2002 and Moghadam 2005.
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