Modern Iran in Perspective

122 Pages·2019·1.554 MB·English

by  Ali Pirzadeh

SPRINGER BRIEFS IN POLITICAL SCIENCE
Ali Pirzadeh
Modern Iran in
Perspective
123
SpringerBriefs in Political Science
More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/8871
Ali Pirzadeh
Modern Iran in Perspective
Ali Pirzadeh
Washington, DC, USA
ISSN 2191-5466 ISSN 2191-5474 (electronic)
SpringerBriefs in Political Science
ISBN 978-3-030-25707-1 ISBN 978-3-030-25708-8 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-25708-8
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This work is dedicated to Shirini and Denisa
Preface
During one of my visits to Iran several years ago, I sat with my mother in her garden
on a late summer evening. “In all these years away from me, what have you learned?”
she asked. I was excited to answer the question because I felt very proud of my
response, “I learned to live by myself. I learned to stand on my own two feet, and to
be an independent individual.” As I spoke these words, my mother looked at me as
one would her naïve child. “My dear,” she said. “All these years I suffered without
you just so you could come back and tell me that all you have gained is isolation.”
I was taken aback. She lit a cigarette and took my hand in hers before I could
respond. “Now that you are back home, you must rediscover a sense of family and
community. Regain this for yourself. Start with the old neighborhood, and work
your way up town. Without us, you are lost.” I thought I understood what my
mother meant that evening.
Two years ago, my mother passed away, and only since then do I understand why
one’s country is called the motherland: I am lost without her. My mother was want-
ing me to understand something that I had studied for years: collective conscious-
ness.1 We cannot truly exist as individuals because we are bound together in society
through our cultural habits, customs, and beliefs. And as the past constitutively
informs your sense of self, in order to know who you are and where you are going,
you must know where you come from. You must have this foundational knowledge
of the past and the present.
Each one of the books I have written has been born from my own need to under-
stand something that I knew very little about. This urge to indulge in what I don’t
know is perhaps related to the fact that I have indeed spent the whole of my adult
life outside of Iran, my motherland, and away from the people closest to me.
Because of this, I have continually felt as though I exist in a state of limbo, sus-
pended in air like a floating balloon. To adapt, I took on the persona, without real-
izing, of a scientist or an observer from a faraway planet. I donned the sterilized
white garment that an objective information collector would wear and remained
neutral, never vulnerable or involved, as I merely watched life. My mother was
1 This concept was founded by sociologist Emile Durkheim in the late nineteenth century.
vii
viii Preface
right, away from my roots, I had isolated myself and drifted from an understanding
of the basics—my foundation.
This book is born of my desire to better understand Iran, its economy, politics,
people, and culture. Though I have previously written on Iran, this book is different.
Its contents remain nonfiction, but I have chosen not to weigh it down with statistics
or an emphasis on factuality. Facts are never enough because facts of all sorts may
be accurately and truthfully told in regard to any event, and yet the accounting of
these facts gives little understanding of their real meaning. In this book, I have
attempted to present facts in relation to one another so that you, dear reader, can
discern their meaning and value.
With over 30 years of academic research in this arena and a lifetime of personal
experience, I have come to the realization that what is missing in most advocacies,
be it political, social, or economic, is a foundational understanding of the issues at
hand. My hope for researching and writing this book is that it will allow me to share
the history and origins of the current socioeconomic and political situation in Iran
as well as the history and culture of its people. My aim therefore is neither prescrip-
tive nor instructive but merely to contribute to a better understanding of what the
issues actually are and how they came to be—the vital point of departure for any
discourse.
The absence of a foundational understanding of any thought is perhaps the main
reason why a majority is silenced in public discourse while a minority group of
experts is vocal. A majority’s unconditional acceptance of, or reluctance to ques-
tion, conventional opinions is due to the belief that these opinions are formed by
experts in accordance to clear delineations and well-established facts. An idea
appears legitimate to the majority when select individuals use platforms, such as
media, academic publications, and similar means, to establish conventional views
and perpetuate certain beliefs. This is the way in which an opinion, regardless of its
validity or merit, becomes a dominant principle within our collective conscious.
In this context, I believe that the most important step for Iran and Iranians to move
forward from the current state is to gain an elemental understanding of popular
notions (e.g., democracy, modernity, market-based economy). An informed mind is
less likely to be mystified by persuasive language or fall prey to another’s agenda—
one must be well informed to avoid being manipulated by others.
As Iranians, we need to understand our distinct cultural identity by knowing our
history as it truly is and not as we wish it to be—we must develop this foundational
knowledge. Understanding where we come from is a necessary step in recognizing
who we are and where we are headed. Without forming our own identity and vision
for our future, we are at the mercy of the visions that others hold of us. We cannot
attain a position of our own reason within our culture and history until we cease to
adopt the imaginings of others.
In a country like Iran, Western economic thoughts as well as most social science
concepts cannot be applied blindly or as blanket solutions because they are all
products of distinct historical and cultural experiences. A society with a very differ-
ent history and culture cannot successfully implement such theory into practice
because it doesn’t have the social beliefs and experiences that empower the ideas.
Preface ix
The first time I introduced this idea to others, I was met with disdain and, at best,
indifference.
Over 15 years ago, I was working in the Research and Educational Policy
Institute in Iran. Faculty members and research fellows would occasionally gather
at the end of the week to exchange ideas and discuss various topics. In one of these
meetings, I stated that we ought to allow ourselves, as well as our students, to pres-
ent our thoughts as economic theories rather than presenting them as absolute ideas.
I thought that this would bring awareness to the fallacy of “the economics” and
underscore the notion that there are no general agreements but only inferences by
individuals who subscribe to different schools of economic thought. I gave the
example of the concept of money with a particular focus on the entrenched belief
that “inflation is a monetary phenomenon,” asserting that issued currency (paper
money) has no intrinsic value and in fact owes its value to its general social accep-
tance. I went on to cite the works of well-known economists and monetarists like
James Tobin, Frank Hahn, Alvaro Cencini, and Georg Simmel.
For expressing my thoughts during this meeting, I was ridiculed by both sides of
conventional wisdom. The neoliberal colleagues brushed my suggestion aside, and,
as one of them told me, if money in my pocket is valueless, he would be glad to take
what I had. He added that these distinguished faculty members do not have the time
to listen to such nonsense. My friend from “the left side” spoke with me privately
afterward and advised me to be more prudent. “Ali, I must tell you that it does not
look good to express an opinion that is neither valid nor acceptable by these presti-
gious men. Please, be respectful of others.” I was shocked and asked how I had been
disrespectful. “You acted as though you knew more than them, and you were ques-
tioning their knowledge. Don’t you know how to behave appropriately in academic
settings?” I didn’t understand how sharing my thoughts offended the faculty and
fellows. My friend ended our conversation with “You made a fool of yourself and
anyone here who has supported you.”
Still, my convictions today are similar to those that I expressed all those years
ago. I believe that ideas only have the power that we as a society give them, and
many times we cannot give an idea power if it does not resonate with our perspec-
tive—the histories, stories, and culture that have shaped our understanding of the
world and our place in it. Similarly, an idea cannot empower us if it lies outside of
the historical and cultural framework that forms our perspective. I witnessed this
notion in practice a few years ago during a brief encounter with a taxi driver.
Riding in a taxi in Iran can be an illuminating experience because people open
their hearts to you and share intimate details of their lives as well as their views on
politics, economics, and world affairs. During one of these taxi rides, in the middle
of traffic-choked Tehran, my female cabby, who had just trashed my beloved
Manchester United, asked “What do you think about Iran relative to when you left?”
“I am not sure about Iran, but I can tell you about Tehran. Besides the pollution,
jammed traffic, and crowded streets, I cannot see any resemblance to the city I left
more than thirty years ago,” I said. “What about the people?” The cabby asked.
“What about them?” I replied. She turned to me and said, “The people of Iran have
changed. I have changed. Everybody here has changed. I see it everyday.”
x Preface
“Things will always change over time,” I said. She seemed disappointed and, a
few seconds later, pushed back with “But this change is different. Look, I am driv-
ing a taxi because I had to, not because I wanted to. I was not sure I would like being
a driver, but I actually do. I like it because I am making money.” She took a deep
breath and continued, “My husband can’t work because he is an addict. He is a good
man, for many years he worked and fed us, now it’s my turn.” I was surprised by her
candidness and asked if she had done any work like this before. She smiled, “No.
But I know now that I can do things I never did before.”
Meanwhile, the car was not moving, and I was getting anxious. Sitting in a small,
beat-up old taxi in the middle of nonmoving traffic, breathing pure carbon dioxide,
can make you claustrophobic in a matter of minutes. I was thinking of getting the
heck out when she said, “You see Haji’Aga (Mr.), when things got out of hand and
the shah left, we were not sure what was going on. My husband and I did not know
anything about politics, we are common people, you know. Then, one day, my hus-
band’s factory was closed down and he was laid off from work. We were devastated
and terrified of what the future might hold for our children if we did not have
income. So, like most people, we had no choice but to tighten our belts and start all
over. My husband became self-employed and for a while things started to improve
until he got hooked on mavat (drugs). By then, I had had enough. My kids were
grown and I could leave them at home, so I took my husband’s car and started
driving.”
I found it an uplifting story, but I was still thinking of getting out of the taxi and
gasping for air when she said something even more striking. “I am not happy now
because every day is a struggle to make ends meet. But I gained something very
important that I did not have before: I know now that I can survive any adversity. I
have been freed through my hardships and that has made me a free woman. Not only
for myself, but for my family.”
“So, you are a liberated woman now?” I asked her. She immediately replied,
“Liberated? This word is bi’mani’e (nonsense) for me. As I said, I don’t know much
about az-ma-beh’ta’run (that which is better than us, ritzy, high-class). I don’t really
care about things like liberation because these are just words that people who never
get their hands dirty to live another day use. When I watch cable-TV programs, I see
many well-dressed men and women talk about women’s liberation, women this and
that, and I wonder: Who are they talking to? Not me, or people like me. For ordinary
people like us who wrestle with life every day just to keep our heads above water
and survive, such words are empty ideas because we cannot eat liberation. When
you are hungry, you cannot talk like that because the growling of your stomach is
louder than anything else you hear. I leave these sorts of speeches to foe’ko’lees
(literal translation is ‘men who wear necktie,’ but it implies Western schooled men
who see themselves as above others) who went to school to talk like that. For me,
what is important is to have bread on our plates and a roof over our heads.”
While the cabby could feel freedom in the self-reliance she had discovered, the
idea of liberation did not belong to her perspective of self and the world—she could
not relate to or implement such ideas because she didn’t have a preexisting belief in