Debating the Iran-Iraq War in Contemporary Iran [1° ed.] 1138485020, 9781138485020

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Debating the Iran-Iraq War in Contemporary Iran

The Iran-Iraq War (1980–1988) is a cornerstone of the Islamic Republic of Iran’s existence. It entrenched the newly established regime and provided the means for its consolidation of power in the country following the 1979 Revolution. Officially recognized as the “War of Sacred Defense”, the Iranian government has been careful to control public discourse and cultural representation concerning the war since wartime. Nearly 30 years since the war’s end, however, debates around the war and its aftermath are still very much alive in Iran today. This volume uncovers what some of those debates mean, nearly 30 years since the war’s end. The chapters in this volume take a fresh look at the far-reaching legacies of the Iran-Iraq War in Iran today – a war that dominated the first decade of the Islamic Republic’s existence. The chapters examine the political, social and cultural ramifications of the war and the wide range of debates that surround it. The chapters in this book were originally published in Middle East Critique. Narges Bajoghli is Assistant Professor of Middle East Studies at the School of Advanced International Studies, Johns Hopkins University in Washington, D.C., USA. She received her PhD in Sociocultural Anthropology from New York University. Her research focuses on pro-­regime cultural producers in Iran, and is based on ethnographic research with Basij, Ansar-e Hezbollah and Revolutionary Guard media producers in Iran. Amir Moosavi is Assistant Professor of Comparative Literature at Rutgers University in Newark, USA. He received his PhD in Middle Eastern and Islamic Studies from New York University in 2016. He then completed a postdoctoral fellowship with the Europe in the Middle East – the Middle East in Europe (EUME) program Berlin and a visiting assistant professorship in modern Iranian studies at Brown University. His research and teaching interests include modern Persian and Arabic literatures, war and cultural production and comparative cultural studies of the modern Middle East.

Debating the Iran-Iraq War in Contemporary Iran

Edited by Narges Bajoghli and Amir Moosavi

First published 2018 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN, UK and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2018 Editors of Middle East Critique. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN13: 978-1-138-48502-0 Typeset in Times New Roman by codeMantra Publisher’s Note The publisher accepts responsibility for any inconsistencies that may have arisen during the conversion of this book from journal articles to book chapters, namely the possible inclusion of journal terminology. Disclaimer Every effort has been made to contact copyright holders for their permission to reprint material in this book. The publishers would be grateful to hear from any copyright holder who is not here acknowledged and will undertake to rectify any errors or omissions in future editions of this book.

Contents

Citation Information Notes on Contributors

vi viii

1 ‘Battling Truths: The Legacy of the Iran-Iraq War in the Islamic Republic of Iran’ Narges Bajoghli and Amir Moosavi

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2 War and Resentment: Critical Reflections on the Legacies of the Iran-Iraq War Kaveh Ehsani

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3 Development, Mobilization and War: The Iranian Construction Jehad, Construction Mobilization and Trench Builders Association (1979–2013) Eric Lob 4 Dark Corners and the Limits of Ahmad Dehqan’s War Front Fiction Amir Moosavi 5 The Outcasts: The Start of ‘New Entertainment’ in Pro-Regime Filmmaking in the Islamic Republic of Iran Narges Bajoghli 6 Inventions of the Iran – Iraq War Arshin Adib-Moghaddam

23 43

59 76

Index

97

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Citation Information

The chapters in this book were originally published in Middle East Critique (2017) and Critique: Critical Middle Eastern Studies (2007). When citing this material, please use the original page numbering for each article, as follows:

Chapter 1

‘Battling Truths: The Legacy of the Iran-Iraq War in the Islamic Republic of Iran’ Narges Bajoghli and Amir Moosavi Middle East Critique, volume 26, issue 1 (2017) pp. 3–4

Chapter 2

War and Resentment: Critical Reflections on the Legacies of the Iran-Iraq War Kaveh Ehsani Middle East Critique, volume 26, issue 1 (2017) pp. 5–24

Chapter 3

Development, Mobilization and War: The Iranian Construction Jehad, Construction Mobilization and Trench Builders Association (1979–2013) Eric Lob Middle East Critique, volume 26, issue 1 (2017) pp. 25–44

Chapter 4

Dark Corners and the Limits of Ahmad Dehqan’s War Front Fiction Amir Moosavi Middle East Critique, volume 26, issue 1 (2017) pp. 45–59

Chapter 5

The Outcasts: The Start of ‘New Entertainment’ in Pro-Regime Filmmaking in the ­Islamic Republic of Iran Narges Bajoghli Middle East Critique, volume 26, issue 1 (2017) pp. 61–77

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Citation Information

Chapter 6

Inventions of the Iran – Iraq War Arshin Adib-Moghaddam Critique: Critical Middle Eastern Studies, volume 16, issue 1 (2007) pp. 63–83

For any permission-related enquiries please visit: http://www.tandfonline.com/page/help/permissions

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Notes on Contributors

Arshin Adib-Moghaddam is Professor in Global Thought and Comparative Philosophies and Chair of the Centre for Iranian Studies at the London Middle East Institute, London, UK. He is also Senior Associate Fellow of CEI-IUL, Lisboa, Portugal. Narges Bajoghli is Assistant Professor of Middle East Studies at the School of Advanced International Studies, Johns Hopkins University in Washington, D.C., USA. Kaveh Ehsani is Assistant Professor of International Studies and Director of Graduate Studies at DePaul University, Chicago, USA. Eric Hooglund is Editor of Middle East Critique. Eric Lob is Assistant Professor in the Department of Politics and International Relations, Florida International University, Miami, USA. Amir Moosavi is Assistant Professor of Comparative Literature at Rutgers University in Newark, USA.

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‘Battling Truths: The Legacy of the Iran-Iraq War in the Islamic Republic of Iran’ Debates around the war with Iraq (1980–1988) and its aftermath are very much alive in Iran today. What do these debates mean nearly 30 years since the war’s end? A cornerstone of its existence, the Iran-Iraq War entrenched the newly established Islamic Republic and provided the means for its consolidation of power in the country. Officially recognized as the ‘War of Sacred Defense’ (defa-ye moqaddas), the Iranian government’s narrative of the war has been one framed by the martyrdom of the third Shi’i Muslim Imam, Husayn, at Karbala: A war of righteous victimhood led by selfless heroes and martyrs. Since wartime, cultural producers from various political and social positions have been at the forefront of debates about defining and representing the war for the majority of Iranians, who are now too young to remember the conflict, as 70 percent of the population is under the age of 35. While much state-sponsored cultural production continues to promote a version of the wartime narrative, some pro-regime cultural producers and intellectuals, many of them veterans, advocate for more dynamic understandings of the war. These actors seek to move away from the propaganda efforts of the 1980s and to create more critical understandings of this formative period in the regime’s history. Of course, voices of opposition to the ways in which the war was carried out and its aftermath have grown since its conclusion in 1988 and continue to play a large role in the political landscape of the Islamic Republic. Concurrently, veterans and ordinary citizens contend with the psychological consequences of the Iran-Iraq War, one of the longest conventional wars of the twentieth century. Beyond the horrendous effects of chemical weapons, posttraumatic stress disorder also afflicts many veterans of the conflict. Moreover, in recent years, articles have leaked about suicide among veterans, and the state has faced harsh criticisms for its treatment of them. Intellectuals, filmmakers and writers increasingly have to tackle these issues. As all of these debates demonstrate, despite the fact that the war ended more than 28 years ago, it remains an open canvas on which are staged dynamic discussions about the Islamic Republic, what it stands for, and how it will continue. The articles in the special theme section of this journal aim to take a fresh look at the legacy of the Iran-Iraq War and its aftermath. Specifically, the articles are based on extensive fieldwork in Iran related to the legacies of the war, and they seek to push past the narrative of the war that the Islamic Republic has monopolized. The issue includes contributions from Kaveh Ehsani, who offers an overview of the legacies of the war today and the discussions that have been silenced about the war in the country. Ehsani’s article also explores the war from the perspective of those from Khuzestan, where the war began and where some of the bloodiest battles took place. Eric Lob’s article examines the legacies of the Jehad-e Sazandegi [Construction Jehad] in Iran’s rural development projects, including during the war with Iraq. A pioneering organization in post-revolutionary Iran, Jehad-e Sazandegi played a significant role during the war and post-war years, yet it has remained understudied. Lob’s article,

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based on his ethnographic fieldwork with members of the organization, especially its war veterans who have formed a veteran’s organization, The Trench Builders without Trenches, offers a crucial historical assessment of this organization and the men who were a part of it. Amir Moosavi examines the constraints of representing the war in the short stories of Ahmad Dehqan, a prolific war veteran-author who has made the war the subject of his writings. Narges Bajoghli explores how pro-regime media producers in Iran today use the framework of the war to put forth contemporary understandings of masculinity and citizenship. Her article builds on her ethnographic fieldwork in Iran with pro-regime filmmakers, focusing specifically on the commercially successful film, The Outcasts (Ekhrajiha), directed by the former head of Ansar-e Hezbollah, Masoud Dehnamaki. Narges Bajoghli and Amir Moosavi

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War and Resentment: Critical Reflections on the Legacies of the Iran-Iraq War KAVEH EHSANI

ABSTRACT During the challenging transitional period after the 1979 revolution, the Iran-Iraq War helped the Islamic Republic to consolidate its hold on power by creating new institutions of coercion and governance, mobilizing popular support, and eliminating domestic rivals. Despite the state becoming entrenched, the political elite and Iranian society both remain highly divided over the legacy of the war and the nature and the direction of the post-revolution and post-war project. The popular aspirations that were unleashed during the revolution were incorporated into the war experience, but they remain unfulfilled and are a major factor that shape public culture and political practices. This discontent is compounded by the shortcomings of authoritarian and ill-conceived postwar reconstruction, especially in war-torn regions. The imposition of an official interpretation of the ‘Sacred Defense’ effectively silences plural experiences of the war and alternative and more critical analyses of it. As a result, instead of acting as a unifying experience that reinforces state hegemony, the legacy of the war is a widespread resentment that affects public culture and political attitudes. This article investigates the conflicted legacies of the Iran-Iraq War by using case studies from historical and ethnographic research, as well as professional experiences (Much of the analysis in this article is based on the author’s academic research and professional experience in Iran during extended intervals since 1989. These include ethnographic research and professional work as a regional planner on post-war reconstruction in rural Khuzestan; ongoing historical and ethnographic research on the refinery city of Abadan; urban research and consulting collaboration with the Tehran City Council and other urban institutions; and ongoing editorial collaboration with the journal Goftogu in Tehran).

The Iran-Iraq War (IIW) (1980–1988) played a pivotal role in the consolidation of the Islamic Republic at a crucial time after the 1979 Revolution. When Iraq invaded Iran in September 1980, the fledgling Islamic Republic was facing the dual challenge of a simmering civil war against its domestic rivals, as well as a hostile international environment. On the morrow of the revolution, few would have predicted that Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini and his supporters were capable of overcoming these challenges, which were further compounded by devastations of the war. Over the next decade the economy descended into deep crisis as a result of capital flight, international sanctions, and the drastic collapse of oil revenues after

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1986. By the time the ceasefire was declared in 1988, the war had caused 600,000 Iranian casualties,1 and a staggering $1.2 trillion of economic damages at current rates.2 The war provided a rallying cry for the mobilization of a divided population, and the elimination of the new regime’s domestic rivals, including liberals, nationalists, the left, ethnic autonomists, and other Islamists. It provided the context for the accelerated purges and re-organization of existing institutions such as the army, key ministries in charge of security and the economy (agriculture, heavy industries, planning and budget). The war also prompted the state to develop further its own parallel institutions of coercion and governance, such as the Revolutionary Guards (Sepah-e Pasdaran, or IRGC), the Basij militia, and the Construction Jihad (Jahad-e Sazandegi). New foundations were set up, such as the Foundation for the Deprived (Bonyad-e Mostaz’afan), Martyr’s Foundation (Bonyad-e Shahid), Housing Foundation (Bonyad-e Maskan), and the Imam’s Aid Committee (Komiteye Emdad-e Emam) to provide welfare and a safety net to the needy and other significant segments of the population, but also to mobilize political support by fostering clientelism.3 The state also moved to monopolize the discursive representation of the war. A vast culture industry was set up to frame the war as a ‘Sacred Defense’ and to memorialize and extoll its virtues through public art, murals, organized funerals of fallen soldiers, renaming of public spaces and streets, war cinema, (censored) mass media, and the dedication of the two available official television channels to war propaganda. The monopolization of the representations of the war has continued after the ceasefire with military and state-funded publishing houses, research centers, and journals that publish an apparently endless stream

1

Casualty figures are highly contested and vary considerably according to source. The most common consensus is 220,000 killed and 400,000 injured. See Amar-e Vaqe’ii-ye Shohada-ye Jang: 190 ya 220 Hezar Nafar? [True statistics of war martyrs: 190,000 or 220,000 persons?] Tarikh Irani. Available at: http://tarikhirani.ir/fa/news/30/ bodyView/4707, accessed July 15, 2016; M. Azizi (2012) Tahlil-e Mosharekat-e Aqshar-e Mokhtalef dar Defa’e Moqadas [Analysis of the participation of various social strata in the Sacred Defense], Pajouheshnameh-ye Defa’e Moqadas, 1(2), p. 105; Amar-e Koli-ye Shohada-ye Jang-e Tahmili Bel’akhareh Montasher Shod [Overall statistics of the martyrs of the Imposed War finally are published], Badriyoun: Payegah-e Ettela’ Resani-ye Azadegan-e Iran. Available at: http://badriyoon.com/88184/, accessed May 31, 2016; B. Mousavi, et al. (2014) Years of Life Lost Among Iranian People Killed in the Iraq–Iran War: The 25-Year Perspective, International Journal of Injury Control & Safety Promotion, 21(4), pp. 382–387; Akharin Amar az Khanevadeh Shohada va Janbazan [Latest statistics of the families of martyrs and the wounded], Khabargozari-e Defa-e Moqadas. Available at: defapress.ir/Fa/News/4855, accessed October 21, 2013; J. Buchan (2012) Days of God: The Revolution in Iran and Its Consequences, p. 319 (New York: Simon and Schuster); C. Kurzman (2013) Death Tolls of the Iran-Iraq War. Available at: http://kurzman.unc.edu/death-tolls-of-the-iran-iraq-war/. Accessed July 14, 2016; and M. Zargar, H. Araghizadeh & M. Soroush (2007) Iranian Casualties During the Eight Years of Iraq-Iran Conflict, Revista de Saúde Pública, 41(6), pp. 1065–1066. 2 H. Amirahmadi (1992) Economic Costs of the War and the Reconstruction of Iran, in: C. Bina & H. Zangeneh (eds) Modern Capitalism and Islamic Ideology in Iran, pp. 260–262 (New York: St Martin’s Press). Amirahmadi’s estimate is $650 billion in 1990 currency. The current USD equivalent has been calculated through http://www. dollartimes.com/inflation/inflation.php?amount=100&year=1990. The total war damage to the Iranian economy has been the subject of considerable recalculation and haggling, especially as demands for reparations have been subject to UN arbitration, which knocked down the figure to $97 billion in 2015. See Talafat-e Iran az Jang-e Hasht Saleh: 190 Hezar Koshteh, 672 Hezar Majrouh, 97 Milliar Dollar Khesarat, BBC Farsi, September 22, 2015. Available at: http://bbc.com/persin/iran/2015/09/150921_112_iran_iraq_war, accessed September 23, 2015. 3 See S. Malony (2015) Iran’s Political Economy Since the Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), pp. 84–141; A. Schirazi (1997) The Constitution of Iran: Politics and the State in the Islamic Republic (London: I.B. Tauris); and H. Amirahmadi (1990) Revolution and Economic Transition (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press).

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of memoirs, literature, films, oral histories, and military and geopolitical studies that present a narrow and exclusive representation of the war experience.4 Thus, the IIW has played a major role in shaping contemporary Iranian society and polity. However, it has not succeeded in becoming a unifying symbol of collective experience. Rather, it has become a source of shared, individualized resentment. This article intends to raise some critical questions about the deeply contradictory aspects of this impact and the manner in which they are addressed in public discourse and analytical literature about the war. How Wars Shape States and States Shape Societies Major wars provide the opportunity for state formation and social restructuring, and the IIW was no different in that regard. Since the 1980s, the pivotal role played by warfare in shaping modern states has become a topic of considerable historical and theoretical re-evaluation.5 In a now classic essay, Charles Tilly outlined how warfare historically has played this role through performing several key functions6: Wars allow victorious rulers to enhance their nationalist credentials by defeating external enemies, but also by neutralizing or eliminating domestic rivals; in wartime states gain exceptional leeway to impose control over culture by framing a uniform and militarized narrative of the ‘self’ and ‘the other’; officially sanctioned ideology can serve to mobilize and unify the core population around a common historical narrative, shared religion, dominant language, or territory. Warfare also can serve as a catalyst for enhancing crucial state capacities, including, among others, the consolidation of permanent militaries, the development of strong institutions of governance for tax extraction, policing, security, surveillance, record keeping, redistributive social welfare policies, and economic planning on a national scale. Hakan Yavuz’s observation is now widely shared among scholars of the topic: ‘…wars may be the most effective means to homogenize populations and thus consolidate state authority … through wars the states create conditions that help to construct and mobilize nationalistic sentiments and enhance in-group cohesion.’7 This state-centric model provides valuable insights for understanding the impact of the IIW. Indeed, much of the academic writings on post-revolution Iran resort to some version of this analytical framework and highlight the role of state institutions and ruling elites when

4

The discord over the legacies of the war and the revolution divide the military as much as the rest of the polity. Recently, General Hossein Alaii, one of IIW’s most senior commanders and strategists revealed that his highly regarded book on the critical re-evaluation of the war had been censored prior to publication. Alaii was one of the rare senior commanders who had implicitly but publicly criticized the violent repression of protests after the contested 2009 elections. See M. Asadi (2013) Gozaresh-e Jalese-ye Rounamaii-e Ketab-e ’Ravand-e Tahavolat-e Jang-e Iran va Araq [Book unveiling of ‘The progression of the Iran-Iraq War’] Negin-e Iran, 11(4), pp. 121–132; and H. Alaii (2012) Ravand-e Jang-e Iran va Araq, 2 vols., Tarikh-e Jang-e Iran va Araq [The progression of the Iran-Iraq War] (Tehran: Markaz-e AsnÃd va Tahqiqat-e Defa’e Moqadas). 5 This resurgence of state-making studies based on war established a new academic orthodoxy in English language historical sociology, to the extent that ‘warfare [came to be considered] as the single most important factor shaping institutional change into the modern world’. See M. Kestnbaum & T. Skocpol (1993) War and the Development of Modern National States, Sociological Forum, 8(4), p. 662. For an overview see A. Wimmer (2014) War, Annual Review of Sociology, 40(10), p. 173–197; and S. MaleševiÉ (2010) The Sociology of War and Violence (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). 6 C. Tilly (1985) War Making and State Making as Organized Crime, in: P. Evans, D. Rueschemeyer & T. Skocpol (eds) Bringing the State Back In, pp. 169–191 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). 7 H. Yavuz (2013) Warfare and Nationalism: The Balkan Wars as Catalyst for Homogenization, in: H. Yavuz & I. Blumi (eds) War and Nationalism, P. 34 (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press).

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it comes to analyzing the topic.8 However, there are several shortcomings in this model that need to be addressed. First, the assumption that ‘the state’ is a discreet sphere that can homogenize populations or shape a unitary and malleable society in wartime through exceptional institutions is more illusory (what Timothy Mitchell calls a ‘state effect’9) than an unambiguous fact. Indeed, what has characterized post-revolution Iran never has been the unity of the state, ruling political elites, or ‘society’, but their deep fragmentation and lack of consensus. The IIW momentarily papered over these divisions over the nature of the social project, but the handling of the war and its aftermath has played a major role in intensifying this fragmentation. Social histories of wars reveal that social classes and organized groups equally use the wartime conditions to demand and obtain significant and lasting social concessions from states and ruling establishments.10 Second, military conflicts do not occur in a vacuum, but within specific contexts. In particular, popular mobilization for war in revolutionary societies does not depend on patriotism alone, but also on the utopian urges to change the world and build a new one.11 Social revolutions transform established norms and hierarchies, and dismantle or reconfigure institutions, including the laws, property relations, and other key apparatuses of the state itself. Under these circumstances the unleashing of collective aspirations and utopian imaginaries cannot be ignored by new ruling elites, even when a major war is being fought against an external enemy.12 In this process the expectations of a highly politicized society, coupled with the institutional vacuum created by the overthrow of the ancient regime, create situations where ‘the social’ ends up shaping ‘the political’, as much as the other way around. In post-revolution Iran state institutions have been severely limited in their ability to address and manage the ever changing social expectations of discontented segments of society such as refugees, people living in war-torn regions, workers, the urban poor, women, the current young generation born or raised in wartime, dissidents, etc. whose revolutionary aspirations have been affected by the war and its consequences. Third, wars are by nature plural experiences. Soldiers, workers, civilians, refugees, families of survivors, war profiteers, children, dissenters, and women live through radically different experiences of the war that seldom can fit into the same narrative. The continued imposition by the ruling establishment of the dominant narrative of ‘Sacred Defense’ as the universal and legitimate version of the war aims to silence alternative experiences and dissenting perspectives. Not surprisingly, the general population does not recognize their own experiences in this official narrative. As a result of this silencing, the overarching legacy of the IIW is a not a sense of collective patriotic accomplishment and unity, but a deeply felt and widespread resentment toward the war and the political establishment that

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For an insightful example see N. Noori (2013) Rethinking the Legacies of the Iran-Iraq War: Veterans, the Basij, and Social Resistance in Iran, Military Sociology Annual Review, 40, pp. 119–140. 9 T. Mitchell (1999) Society, Economy, and the State Effect, in: G. Steinmetz (ed.) State/Culture, pp. 76–97 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press). 10 C. S. Maier (2011) Recasting Bourgeois Europe: Stabilization in France, Germany and Italy in the Decade after World War I (Princeton: Princeton University Press); and J. Klausen (1998) War and Welfare: Europe and the United States, 1945 to the Present (New York: Palgrave MacMillan). 11 F. Khosrokhavar (1993) L’Utopie Sacrifiée: Sociologie de La Revolution Iraniénne (Paris: Presses de la Fondation National des Sciences Politiques); and A. Bayat (2013) Life as Politics: How Ordinary People Change the Middle East, 2nd edition, pp. 241–316 (Stanford: Stanford University Press). 12 For the link between wars and revolutions see T. Skocpol (1979) States and Social Revolutions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). For a critique of Skocpol’s musings on the role of religion and oil revenues in shaping the Iranian revolution see E. Ahmad (1982) Reply to Skocpol, Theory and Society, 11, pp. 293–301.

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exploits it to shore up its own legitimacy. Ironically, this bitterness includes even veterans and other supposed beneficiaries of the ‘Sacred Defense’ who are appalled by the negative social reactions to their sacrifices13. This widespread resentment is felt most acutely in the war-torn regions, where people had to contend with the disappointments at the failures of post-war reconstruction to address properly their pressing need to return at least to a normal and sustainable life. Revolution, War, and the Weight of Popular Expectations For Iran, the war was intertwined with the 1979 revolution, and the social and political dynamics of present day Iran cannot be understood without taking into account this linkage. As I have argued elsewhere, the Iranian revolution was as much a provincial revolution as it was Islamic.14 Khomeini’s brand of populist political Islam succeeded in establishing hegemony over a widespread popular revolt against the monarchy by relying on his charisma and the unique organizational resources of religious and bazaari networks at his disposal. Nevertheless, the underlying causes of widespread social discontent against the monarchy were not so much about religion per se as they were about the perceived injustices and moral shortcomings of the monarchy’s authoritarian modernization that had left many sectors of Iranian society feeling excluded, disoriented, and disrespected.15 The new post-revolution ruling elite and their followers relied on their religious affiliations as political capital, but their social roots were provincial, rural, lower middle class strata, and working class. Their aim was not to reject ‘modernity’ in the name of reviving an idealized religious and traditional society, but to claim modernity and its material rewards (modernization) as their own by wrapping it into a moral and religious package.16 Thus, tackling poverty and illiteracy,

13

See, for example, the moving and highly popular films by Ebrahim Hatamikia (1998) The Glass Agency, a tragic tale of two desperate and alienated veterans who feel abandoned by society and a government that no longer values their sacrifices, and The Red Ribbon (1999), an allegorical tale of the post-war frictions among those affected and displaced by it 14 K. Ehsani (2009) Urban Provincial Periphery in Iran: Revolution and War in Ramhormoz, in: A. Gheissari (ed.) Contemporary Iran, pp. 38–76 (Oxford: Oxford University Press). 15 P. Vieille & F. Khosrokhavar (1990) Le Discours Populaire de la Revolution Iranienne, 2 vols. (Paris: Contemporaneité); A. Bayat (1997) Street Politics: Poor People’s Movements in Iran (New York: Columbia University Press); B. Hourcade (1985) Iran: Révolution Islamique ou Tiers-Mondiste?, Hérodote, 36, pp. 138–158; E. Hooglund (1982) Land and Revolution in Iran, 1960–1980 (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press); E. Abrahamian (1993) Khomeinism: Essays on the Islamic Republic (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press); A. Schirazi (1997) The Constitution of Iran: Politics and the State in the Islamic Republic; A. Keshavarzian (2007) Bazaar and State in Iran (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press); C. Kurzman (2004) The Unthinkable Revolution in Iran (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press). 16 This analysis is based on my extended ethnography of rural and provincial Khuzestan (1989–1992). I do not mean either to downplay the religious dimension of the revolutionary imaginary or to present ‘modernity’ as a normative standard. ‘Modernity’ operates as an ambiguous catchphrase that disguises often conflicting and incongruous social agendas. However, it is important to note that most of the main currents of political Islam in the Iranian revolution framed their competing agenda as a superior version of an Islamic modernization that they claimed to be independent and superior to the ‘western’ (liberal capitalism) and ‘eastern’ (state socialism) alternatives. On a critical unpacking of the concept of ‘modernity’ see F. Cooper (2005) Colonialism in Question, pp. 113–152 (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press). On the competing versions of Islamist modernity in the formative period of the Islamic Republic, see A. Schirazi (1993) Islamic Development Policy: The Agrarian Question in Iran (Boulder, CO: Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers); A. Schirazi (1997) The Constitution of Iran: Politics and the State in the Islamic Republic (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press); B. Hourcade (2002) Iran: Nouvelles Identités d’une République (Paris: Belin); F. Adelkhah (2000), Being Modern in Iran (New York: Columbia University Press).

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providing a more just distribution of wealth and adequate housing, and alleviating material deprivations and geographic isolation ranked among the most pressing popular demands put to the new regime, and became an integral part of the post-revolution political habitus. In response to the momentum generated by popular expectations, Iran managed to make significant inroads in expanding its material and social infrastructure during the early years after the revolution. This momentum lasted until the latter phases of the war (1986–88) when the dramatic collapse of international oil prices and the spiraling costs of the stalemate at the front brought the economy into a deep recession. The continuation of the war after the liberation of Khorramshahr in 1982 changed the dynamic from a war of resistance to one of aggression. At the onset of the war Khorramshahr was Iran’s largest port, a city of 150,000, which was occupied and completely destroyed during the Iraqi invasion. Its liberation following a bloody battle in 1982 was a major turning point militarily as well as psychologically and politically. The city’s liberation came at a staggering human cost, and the military success legitimized the institutional position of IRCG and the Basij militia, which had been ragtag volunteer forces until then. The victory also led to the expulsion of Iraq from most of the occupied Iranian territories, raising the question of whether to accept the offer of ceasefire from Iraq and its Arab allies. The decision to reject the ceasefire and continue the war into the Iraqi territory changed the public perception of the war, which no longer could be framed as purely self-defensive. The ruling establishment rejected this offer on the grounds that it was not sincere and Iraq would simply use the breathing space to regroup before launching the next attack.17 Khomeini’s response was to call for the removal of Saddam Hussein from power, the formal acknowledgment of Iran as the victim of aggression by the international community, and guarantees for full compensation for war damages, as Iran’s preconditions for accepting peace.18 These uncompromising demands (especially the first one) made the war last another six bloody years, and changed the dynamics of the war and its social and political impact. As it progressed, the war unleashed internal tensions within the ruling elite over the nature of the state itself that continue to smolder to this day, and brought about structural and societal transformations that have shaped Iranian politics and social relationships. The ruling political elite claimed the war as their own and shunned all skeptics and critics as enemies. In the long run, committed participation in the war led to the formation of privileged ruling factions that have coalesced into a conservative block which has economic interests, high influence in the military and intelligence apparatus, and a steady electoral support that has ranged in the 10–15 percent of votes cast in the postwar elections.19 Among the general public the decision to continue the war after 1982 was increasingly questioned, and its subsequent human, economic, and geopolitical consequences now are blamed on the regime. By 1986, the combination of the bloody stalemate on the front and economic exhaustion had turned the conflict into a war of attrition. Popular support for the war and the regime continued, but with considerably less fervor, especially as the war toll on the economy and the population increased dramatically. By early 1988, a staggering two thirds of the national 17

H. Alaii (2013) Chegounegi-ye Tadavom-e Jang pas az Fath-e Khoramshahr va Ravand-e Payan-e Jang [How the war continued beyond the liberation of Khorramshahr and how it ended] Pajouheshnameh-ye Defa’e Moqadas, 1(4), pp. 63–97. 18 M. Axworthy (2013) Revolutionary Iran, pp. 187–267 (Oxford: Oxford University Press). 19 A. Keshavarzian (2010) Contestation Without Democracy: Elite Fragmentation in Iran, in M. Pripstein Posusney & M. Penner Angrist (eds) Authoritarianism in the Middle East, pp. 63–88 (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers); and K. Ehsani (2006) Iran: The Populist Threat to Democracy, Middle East Report, 36(241), pp. 4–9.

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income was being diverted to the war effort, and the revolution’s promises of improving the lots of ‘the downtrodden’ lay in ruins.20 According to Farhad Khosrokhavar, these final chapters of the war witnessed the demise of the revolution’s multi-vocal utopia of an inclusive modernity, and its replacement by an increasingly despotic and intolerant Islamism that silenced all dissent in the name of maintaining unanimity in the pursuit of the war effort and support of the regime.21 The mass executions of thousands of political prisoners in 1988 shocked the public and led to the Khomeini’s designated successor, Ayatollah Montazeri, who had strongly objected to the mass killings.22 In spite of factional infighting among the ruling elite and the mounting exigencies of the war, the momentum of popular demands and local initiatives for greater social justice continued well into the 1980s. During the first half of the decade, rural and less developed regions in particular benefited from great improvements in literacy rates (especially for women), access roads, financial and credit networks, drinking water, electricity, gas, and health services, even if these were basic and rudimentary. Local activists who had flocked to newly established revolutionary organizations initiated most of these measures by using their newfound authority to compel the fledgling central government to respond to the material expectations raised during the revolution.23 Like all modernization projects, these measures had a paradoxical spatial and socio-cultural impact. On one hand, they integrated isolated and underprivileged regions and populations into the national political economy and public sphere, but on the other hand, they also extended the tentacles of the market, the mass media, and state administration into every corner of the country. The result was a widely shared experience of everyday life that was both communal, as well as replete with deep-set antagonisms. Conflicting Experiences of the War A special issue of the Iranian journal Andisheh-ye Pouya titled ‘Once upon a time: Everyday Life During the 1980s’ contains a number of fascinating reminiscences about the material details of the imagined community forged in wartime. These are worth exploring because they bring out the range of conflicting lived experiences of the era.24 Some contributors stress the acute shortages of everyday necessities of life such as milk, soap, cigarettes, cheap sneakers, and butane cylinders that were rationed and distributed across the country. Yet, we are shown how these mundane and uniform items became significant markers of a shared quotidian experience, especially among women and young people who had to stand for long hours in rationing

20

H. Amirahmadi (1990) Revolution and Economic Transition, pp. 42–70; S. Malony (2015) Iran’s Political Economy Since the Revolution, pp. 169–172; and Amirahmadi, Economic Costs of the War and the Reconstruction of Iran. 21 He goes further in arguing that supporters of Khomeini became so disillusioned with what was taking place in the country that they actively sought martyrdom on the front in the hope of attaining their lost utopia in the afterlife. F. Khosrokhavar (1995) L’Islamisme et la Mort: Le Martyre Revolutionnaire en Iran (Paris: Harmattan); and Khosrokhavar, L’Utopie Sacrifiée. 22 Axworthy, Revolutionary Iran, pp. 268–297. 23 K. Ehsani (2013) The Politics of Property in Post-Revolution Iran, in: S. Amir Arjomand & N. Brown (eds) The Rule of Law, Islam, and Constitutional Politics in Egypt and Iran, pp. 153–178 (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press); K. Harris (forthcoming), A Social Revolution: Politics and the Welfare State in Iran (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press); Amirahmadi, Revolution and Economic Transition; Malony, Iran’s Political Economy Since the Revolution. 24 Gozaresh-e Vijeh: Rouzi Rouzegari; Zendegi-ye Rouzmareh dar Daheh-ye Shast [Special Report: Once upon a time, everyday life in the 1980s] Andisheh-ye Pouya 1(4), pp. 62–90.

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queues. Others reminisce about the visual and corporeal militarization of life as even civilians looked like they were wearing uniforms made of coarse dark materials produced in domestic factories due to the shortage of textiles and the politicization of the dress codes. A recurring theme is the vivid memory of the only two available official television channels as the main form of distraction and (legally allowed) entertainment. This was an era when commercial cinema, pop music, fashion, dining out, organized sports, lounging on the seashore, and other common forms of leisure and entertainment were curtailed, criminalized, or admonished. TV programs were a constant stream of war-related propaganda, indoctrination, and selective news, but on Friday afternoons everyone across the country, including in remote villages or provincial towns, would be glued to their sets to watch the only officially sanctioned movie. These experiences of shared scarcity and collective hardship and sacrifice are today a source of nostalgia for a lost sense of communal solidarity. For me personally, the most moving example is how residents of the modest and small village of Didouni in Khuzestan recall giving refuge in their homes and sharing their meager resources with hundreds of Iraqi refugees of Iranian descent who had been expelled by Saddam Hussein on the eve of the invasion.25 These stories of cooperation and solidarity were commonplace during the war years, and are more frequently recalled than opposite tales of cruelty and indifference.26 However, other memories of the war in that issue of Andisheh-ye Pouya indicate a deep-set resentment fueled by a sense of injustice and unacknowledged sacrifice. A former soldier recalling his occasional leaves from the front to visit the capital barely can conceal the contempt and ambivalence he felt for the civilians living safely and yet complaining of hardships: ‘Tehran didn’t smell of war, but of fear, of escape and insecurity.’ He juxtaposes the martial camaraderie of the front to the crass commercialism of the city and finds it repugnant: ‘At the front we were all equal; we had crew cuts, stubbles, and wore uniforms. Changing into civilian cloths was like changing skins. Those who have worn the camouflage will never shed the soldier’s mentality … The moment you left the base money became the medium of all transactions. At the front we didn’t need money or a comb. At the front I felt respected because I was seen as a warrior who may perish at any moment. Here, in the city, I was just a customer who was respected so long as I had money. There people looked me in the eye and saw into my heart; here they watched my hand and looked at my pocket.’27 The present day young generation and those who were born during the war carry the weight of painful memories that do not jibe with the rhetoric of heroism and self-sacrifice. Many suffered from forced displacement, economic insecurity, the political persecution of their parents, the relentless indoctrination in schools and public spaces, or the trauma of aerial bombardments and missile attacks on larger cities. In addition, thousands of boys were recruited as child soldiers for the Basij militia and suffered horribly in combat. According to officially released figures, some 37,000 pre-university students (or nearly one fifth of the total fatalities) were killed during the war, most as volunteer recruits.28 Child soldiers also 25

Ehsani, The Urban Provincial Periphery in Iran, pp. 50–52. For the latter see the brilliant (and still banned) film of Kianoush Ayari (1994) Abadaniha [The Abadanis]. Ayari was himself a displaced refugee from Abadan. The film is a remake of Vittorio De Sica’s masterpiece, The Bicycle Thieves (1948). 27 Gozaresh-e Vijeh: Rouzi Rouzegari: Zendegi-Ye Rouzmareh Dar Daheh-Ye Shast, p. 69. This antagonistic and alienating juxtaposition of the front to the routine civilian life is a major recurring theme, especially in literary memoirs and cinematic representations. For examples of the latter, see E. Hatamikia (1998) Glass Agency; and M. Makhmalbaf (1989), Marriage of the Blessed. 28 M. Azizi (2012) Tahlil-e Mosharekat-e Aqshar-e Mokhtalef dar Defa’e Moqadas [Analysis of the Participation of Various Social Strata in the Sacred Defense], Pajouheshnameh-ye Defa’e Moqadas, 1(2), pp. 97–119. 26

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comprised a significant portion of the war prisoners who languished in Iraq, in some cases for several years after the ceasefire.29 The experience of the war went beyond the frontlines. A significant demographic spurt occurred in the 1980s, and some 22 million people or nearly 30 percent of the current population were born during that decade. Their experiences and memories of the war vary according to their social and geographic background and personal politics, but various ethnographic studies document extensive and lingering trauma and disillusionment among large numbers of this generation,30 who now play a significant role as adult citizens and parents. The simmering resentment about the war is captured in Da, a stunning memoir by Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni, a woman from the port city of Khorramshahr, and which has become a runaway best seller in Iran, now in its 153rd printing.31 The book is officially sanctioned and published by a state sponsored publishing house, and is very much part of the official discourse of the war. Its enormous popularity is largely due to aggressive promotion and distribution through official cultural centers, bookstores, billboards, and marketing. It even has been serialized for television, and the author seems engaged in an endless tour of public lectures about the book.32 Despite its promotion as propaganda, the book is a remarkable record of a working class woman who stayed in the war zone as a washer of dead corpses and occasionally as a combatant. The memoir requires a deep and critical reading at many levels—the agency of women, the interplay of gender with family, social class, conflicted political ideology, the inner dynamics of Khomeini’s foot soldiers, etc.33 The main point I want to highlight here is the author’s visceral scorn and anger toward everyone else in the country who was not on the frontlines and in Khuzestan during the most harrowing phases of the war when her city was invaded and completely destroyed. Hoseyni’s refrain is a sense of total abandonment that still resonates in the province, and she aims to bear witness to the horrors of war that she feels others refused to witness or properly acknowledge. The first third of the book is a detailed and unforgettable recollection of ongoing life in a war zone, and the fury of being betrayed by compromising politicians and uncaring others who left the people of Khorramshahr and Khuzestan to their fate. It is important to note that the author came from the underclass (her family were Shi’a Kurdish migrants from Basra, her father worked as a municipal sanitation worker), and, like thousands of other working people, her family did not have the economic wherewithal or the family connections to leave the war zone, although Hoseyni makes clear that she personally had no intention to leave even if she could. Hoseyni’s memoir is the rarely told tale of a woman who refused to escape to safety and instead struggled against convention to become an active participant in war, until she was so severely wounded that she had no choice but to leave. It is only then that she and her remaining relatives first move to a refugee camp where conditions are terrible, until they are

29

I. Brown (1990) Khomeini’s Forgotten Sons: The Story of Iran’s Boy Soldiers (London: Grey Seal). O. Behrouzan (2016) Medicalization as a Way of Life: The Iran-Iraq War and Considerations for Psychiatry and Anthropology, Medicine Anthropology Theory, 2(3), pp. 40–60; F. Farhi (2004) The Antinomies of Iran’s War Generation, in: G. Sick & L. Potter (eds) Iran, Iraq, and the Legacies of War, pp. 101–120 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan); Khosrokhavar, L’Utopie Sacrifié. 31 S. Zahra Hoseyni (2009) Ketab-e Da (Tehran: Soureh-ye Mehr), translated as One Woman’s War: Da (Mother) The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni (2014) trans. P. Sprachman (Costa Mesa: Mazda). 32 L. Nanquette (2013) An Iranian Woman’s Memoir on the Iran-Iraq War: The Production and Reception of Da, Iranian Studies, 46(6), pp. 943–957. 33 I am grateful to Norma Claire Moruzzi and Fatemeh Sadeghi whose forthcoming essay unpacks many of these points. 30

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relocated to a hostel for war refugees in Tehran. This part of her story is shared by thousands of others who were housed in camps and shelters across the country that were operated by organizations such as the Martyr’s Foundation (Bonyad-e Shahid) and the Foundation for the Downtrodden (Bonyad-e Mostaz’afan). While wartime conditions for refugees are always difficult, the families of fallen soldiers nominally enjoyed high respect and status in the Islamic Republic, which upheld martyrdom as the greatest symbol of its moral and ideological legitimacy. However, ethnographic studies of these hostels for war refugees tell their own stories of degradations that were caused not only by material deprivation, overcrowding, and displacement, but also by the weight of repressive and relentless surveillance and social stigmatization. According to official figures, the war left approximately 200,000 war widows and orphans of fallen soldiers.34 An ethnographic study of one of these gated compounds, the Shahrak-e Fajr (Victory Township) in Tehran where 700 households were sheltered, discovered the deep and lasting marks left by the experience. These families came from different regions and social backgrounds, and had to establish new relations of proximity with complete strangers in the alien, difficult, and overcrowded environment of camps and hostels. At the same time, they were subjected to relentless social controls aimed at imposing strict moral chastity. This moral policing especially targeted widows and single women, reflecting the fear that wives and daughters of martyrs could establish inappropriate relationships with strangers or turn to prostitution to make ends meet.35 It was not only state agents who exercised this repressive surveillance but also male relatives who were prejudiced by this stifling habitus. Children of martyrs and refugees who grew up in these gated compounds were shaped by the insular culture and official propaganda that extoled their status, while at the same time they were stigmatized in schools and neighborhoods as poor, provincial, and wards of the state. War widows, often found it difficult to re-marry because in the eyes of their children or relatives no other husband could be as good as the fallen martyr. Nor was it easy to find work and a steady and independent source of income that would free them from reliance on meager state subsidies. After the end of the war, as reconstruction was being defined in commercial and neoliberal terms, the Martyr’s Foundation sold the compound to the Revolutionary Guards for conversion to officers’ family quarters. As a way of ending its social and moral commitments the foundation monetized its obligations to housing the refugees and martyrs’ families by paying a set price for each resident (110 million rials for the first child, 130 million rials for the second child, and so on)36 and by the end of 1990s all refugees had to leave and fend for their own. Despite being glorified in official propaganda as symbols of ultimate sacrifice to ‘the Sacred Defense,’ the millions of refugees and families of fallen soldiers have faced a double displacement, the first by the violence of the war and the second by the difficulty of returning home, or finding a semblance of healing normality. Nowhere is the incongruity between the official image of the war and its lived reality more intensely experienced that in the everyday lives and the lived experiences of the populations of the western provinces, and especially Khuzestan which was the epicenter

34

E. Koolaee (2014) The Impact of Iraq-Iran War on Social Roles of Iranian Women, Middle East Critique, 23(3), pp. 277–291. 35 M. Harirchian & S. Hashemi (2015) Be Marhemat-e Jang Hamsayeh Shodim [We Became Neighbors Courtesy of the War], in Shahrat (5), pp. 26–31; and Ehsani, Urban Provincial Periphery in Iran, pp. 50–52. 36 There were multiple currency exchange rates in the 1990s. An estimate equivalent for the later 1990s would be $3600 to $3900. See http://www.likeforex.com/currency-converter/iranian-rial-irr_usd-us-dollar.htm/, accessed September 2, 2016.

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of the war. The Iraqi invasion and occupation led to the complete destruction of the three major cities of Abadan, Khorramshahr and Susangerd, along with many smaller towns and villages. Close to 5 million people were made homeless or displaced by war, the majority of these in Khuzestan.37 Even cities outside the immediate war zone were not safe from constant missile attacks. Iraq launched some 533 ballistic missiles, mainly targeting cities in Khuzestan (Dezful was the worst hit) as well as Tehran and several other major cities.38 While the region’s sacrifices and efforts constantly are exalted in the official propaganda, nearly three decades after the 1988 ceasefire the abysmal state of the post-war reconstruction of Khuzestan and other war-torn regions has become a major source of widespread discontent. The attempts to return home by refugees from Khuzestan have been largely frustrated due to the appalling conditions that continue to plague the province, even in its largest industrial cities,39 primarily as a result of governmental neglect and dismal policy failures. In this section I will briefly discuss two case studies of the failures of reconstruction that directly affect the everyday lives of local populations and influence their perceptions of the war and its legacy. In 2000, a major urban riot broke out in the refinery city of Abadan when the drinking water from the Karun River became undrinkable because of high contamination with salt and chemicals.40 In 1979 Abadan was the site of the world’s largest oil refinery and some of the country’s major heavy industries. Abadan oil workers’ general strike in autumn 1978 had played a pivotal role in the victory of the revolution.41 During the war Abadan and its neighboring port city of Khorramshahr, became the symbolic sites of heroic resistance to the Iraqi invasion. Despite its near total destruction, and under incessant shelling, Abadan’s refinery workers maintained some production throughout the war, which helped continue to supply the country and the military with vitally needed refined oil products. To this day the heroism of oil workers and the remaining residents of Abadan are eulogized as the symbol of the ‘Sacred Defense.’ However, nearly three decades after the war oil workers and returning refugees have failed to see conditions improve or even return to pre-war years. This failure has been the result of the neoliberal and autocratic manner in which post-war reconstruction has been conceptualized and implemented. Soon after the ceasefire when the Ali Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani administration launched a neo-liberal program of structural adjustment to rebuild the economy, the entire oil industry was restructured according to commercial priorities. Workers gradually were laid off or made redundant, and the refinery, factories, and urban infrastructure were not adequately rebuilt. Many of the downstream and key activities were nominally privatized for the benefit 37

See Ehsani, Urban-Provincial Periphery in Iran; and V. Rostam’alizadeh & A. Qasemi-Ardehayii (2012) Athar va Payamadha-ye Jam’iyati-Ejtema’i-ye Mohajeratha-ye Jang-e Tahmili dar Jame’eh Iran [Demographic and Social Impact and Consequences of Migrations Caused by the Imposed War on Iranian Society], Pajouheshnameh-ye Defa’e Moqadas 1(2), pp. 60–61. 38 A. Khaji, S. Fallahdoost & M. Reza Soroush (2010) Civilian Casualties of Iranian Cities by Ballistic Missile Attacks During the Iraq-Iran War (1980–1988), Chinese Journal of Traumatology (English Edition), 13(2), pp. 87–90. 39 F. Ershad & D. Aqaii (2002) Tasviri az Mohajerat dar Ostan-e Khuzestan dar Daheh-ye 1365–75 va Mozou-e Mohajeratha-ye Bazgashti [A snapshot of migration in Khuzestan Province during the 1986–1996 decade], Majeleh-ye Jame’eh Shenasi-ye Iran, 4(1), pp. 79–89; V. Rostam’alizadeh & A. Qasemi-Ardehayii (2012) Athar va Payamadha-ye Jam’iyati-Ejtema’i-ye Mohajeratha-ye Jang-e Tahmili dar Jame’eh Iran [Demographic and social impact and consequences of migrations caused by the imposed War on Iranian Society], Pajouheshnamehye Defa’e Moqadas, 1(2), pp. 59–79. 40 K. Ehsani (2000) Bohran-e Ab, Bohran-e Abadan [Water crisis/Crisis of Abadan], Goftogu, 27, pp. 162–172. 41 P. Jafari (2013) Reasons to Revolt: Iranian Oil Workers in the 1970s, International Labor and Working Class History, 84(1), pp. 195–217.

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of cronies and shell companies set up by the military and speculators, while priority in assigning the few available jobs was given to well-connected outsiders. These policies have had dire consequences for workers, urban residents, and returning refugees. A combination of repressive moves against any attempt to establish independent trade unions and the restructuring of labor laws under Mohammad Khatami’s reformist administration (1997–2005) effectively blocked the ability of oil workers, Iran’s largest and longest-established industrial work force, to exercise collective bargaining and defend their interests. As a result, refinery and oil workers lost any semblance of job security, along with the ability to have a collective voice in social and political domains and to affect policies.42 The impact of these changes were directly felt in industrial and port cities like Abadan and Khorramshahr, where purges and redundancies forced out established and influential workers, and the available jobs were allocated to temporary contract workers or loyal and obedient employees. Thus, Abadan’s water riots in 2000 took place in an industrial city that had suffered tremendously during the war and, a dozen years after the ceasefire, was missing the distinct voice of the industrial workers who had played such a prominent role throughout its history. Abadan’s water crisis was a result of the post-war reconstruction policies, and the rioting residents targeted their discontent at the legacies of war and its aftermath. There are many layers to this story, which revealed a significant and ongoing ecological and economic crisis. The initial water crisis appeared to have been the result of the central government’s decision to build the country’s largest sugar cane agribusiness up river.43 The diversion of the river water to desalinate the fields severely reduced the flow, and the intense use of pesticides and fertilizers had contaminated the water. To build the agribusinesses, the state had forced out the local ethnic Arab farmers and pastoralists. Later, it became public that this ‘ethnic cleansing’ was motivated in part by strategic security concerns over the possible disloyalty of the local Arab population. Sugar cane is a tropical mono-crop that is ill suited to the region, and the economic rationale for the plantations was questionable at best.44 The contaminated water not only jeopardized the urban drinking water of Abadan and Khorramshahr, but also the survival of downstream rural communities, as the date orchards and small farms along the river had barely recovered from the war. Contaminated water also threatened the fragile ecology of marshlands and aquatic life all the way to the estuary at the mouth of the Persian Gulf. Although urban riots eventually were quelled, the unrest and open discontent over similar cases of neglect and mismanagement have become a recurring feature of social life in the region. The track record of post-war reconstruction in Khuzestan has been marked by the construction of ill-conceived major dams and highly controversial pipelines to transfer water inland to other fertile provinces, the imposition of large scale agribusinesses that displace local

42

K. Ehsani (2003) Social Engineering and the Contradictions of Modernization in Khuzestan’s Company Towns: A Look at Abadan and Masjed-Soleyman, International Review of Social History, 48(3), pp. 361–99; M. Maljoo (2012) Eqtesad-e Siasi-ye Nirou-ye Kar-e San’at-e Naft dar Iran-e Pas az Jang [The political economy of the Iranian oil industry’s labor force after the war], Kanoun-e Modafe’an-e Hoqouq-e Kargar (September 4), http:// kanoonmodafean1.blogspot.nl/2012/09/blog-post.html, accessed September 20, 2012; K. Ehsani & M. Maljoo (2011) Iranian Oil Workers After the Iran-Iraq War. Paper presented at Middle East Studies Association Annual Conference, Washington DC, November. 43 K. Ehsani (2003) Sweet Dreams; Sugarcane and the Politics of Development in Pre and Post- Revolution Iran. Paper delivered at conference Development After Development, New York University. 44 K. Ehsani (2006) Rural Society and Agricultural Development in Post-Revolution Iran: The First Two Decades, Critique: Critical Middle Eastern Studies, 15(1), pp. 79–98.

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farmers and provide little benefit to them, and the noticeable failure to rebuild adequately and update the urban, industrial, and economic infrastructure. The lived experiences of post-war reconstruction for Khuzestani workers, farmers, pastoralists, returning refugees, and urban residents has been in stark contrast to the official propaganda that extols their sacrifices, and claims the experience of the war as a unanimous effort in support of the Islamic Republic. The result is a latent and widespread sense of resentment toward the war and its aftermath, and the manner in which it is framed by the state. Enforcing the Illusion of Unanimity The popular expectations that were raised during the revolution were muted during the war, as the ruling regime imposed on the public sphere a unanimous discourse of sacrifice in the name of the ‘Sacred Defense.’ Throughout the war, Imam Khomeini’s most consistent directive to his followers was to maintain unity at all cost (vahdat-e kalameh), while systematically consolidating power by eliminating adversaries and suppressing dissent, even within the ranks of Khomeini’s supporters.45 Any dissent or critical view of the war and its conduct was treated as treasonous and continues to be used as a discursive tool by hard core conservative supporters of the Islamic Republic to maintain a semblance of cohesion in an increasingly complex, mobilized, and plural society. A typical recent example of this discursive framing of the war as a unifying event appeared in the Journal of Research of the Sacred Defense, an official publication affiliated with the IRCG: ‘The revolutionary Islamic discourse became an integral part of every single individual during the war. During the years of the Sacred Defense a universal consensus took shape to defend the country against aggression. This solidarity was rooted in the underlying collective values and norms that were shared universally and paved the way for individuals to submit to the social collective … The war was not just about territory: It was a defense of Islam and religious values; it was a war between Islam and disbelief (kofr), between good and evil … a sacred war simultaneously fought against domestic enemies and terrorists.’46 The ongoing silencing of alternative and critical views about the war and its consequences are the source of lingering resentment over broken promises and frustrated egalitarian expectations of the revolution.47 They shape the Iranian public culture and repeatedly erupt with surprising intensity. Debates among the political elite over the conduct and termination of the war have become increasingly acrimonious and are very much part of how factional politics are played out. Conservatives accuse former political leaders and some senior commanders of betrayal or incompetence in accepting the ceasefire in 1988 instead of pushing for a final victory. Their main target, Ali Akbar 45

The insistence on a unitary discourse even led to Khomeini disbanding the official government sanctioned Islamic Republic Party that was intended to act as an umbrella organization aimed at maintaining discipline and unity. Its dissolution due to internal infighting led to the intensely factional nature of formal Iranian politics. See Schirazi, The Constitution of Iran: Politics and the State in the Islamic Republic; M. Moslem (2002) Factional Politics in Post-Khomeini Iran (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press). For a recent analysis see A. Keshavarzian (2010) Contestation Without Democracy: Elite Fragmentation in Iran, in: Posusney & Angrist (eds) Authoritarianism in the Middle East, pp. 63–88. 46 N. Ebrahimi & M. Karimi (2012) Athar-e Ejtema-i-ye Jang-e Araq Aleyhe Iran dar Do Jame’eh-ye Irani va Araqi az Manzar-e Nazariyeh-ye Vefaq-e Ejtema’i [Social impact of the Iraq-Iran War on both societies from the perspective of the theory of social solidarity], Pajouheshnameh-ye Defa’e Moqadas, 1(2), pp. 36–39. 47 Farhi, The Antinomies of Iran’s War Generation; Behrouzan, Medicalization as a Way of Life: The Iran-Iraq War and Considerations for Psychiatry and Anthropology; H. Daneshvar, H. Rezaii & M. Shahi-Ardakani (2015) Zamin Soukht, Zaman Istad” [The Earth Burned, Time Stood Still], Shahrat, 5, pp. 16–21.

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Rafsanjani who was appointed by Khomeini as acting commander-in-chief, dismisses these accusations by claiming credit for being realistic and achieving peace when the government realized the war could not be won.48 The increasingly virulent tone of these disagreements effectively has been undermining the remaining taboos surrounding the official discourse of the ‘Sacred Defense’. It is especially during the heat of elections that popular sentiment about the war finds a public outlet. For example, the contested presidential elections of 2009 pitted two official candidates who personified conflicting aspects of the war experience.49 Mir-Hossein Mousavi had served as the civilian prime minister during the war, and claimed as his mantle the establishment of grassroots development projects and redistributive measures aimed at alleviating poverty and shortages. His campaign presented the war years as an idealized era of collective solidarities and inclusion, and promised to revive that spirit by committing to an electoral platform that called for social justice and inclusion. His main opponent, President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, had been a member of the security and military establishment that had fought on the frontlines but also had acted as instruments of ferocious domestic social repression.50 Many of his affiliates had served in the penal system or had carried out acts of repression against dissidents and ethnic minorities during the most brutal phases of repression in the early 1980s. During the popular protests against the election results Ahmadinejad dismissed his critics as ‘trash’ and claimed that the truly loyal supporters of the regime (nezam) had been cheated out of their deserved legacy, but now were in power and ready to reclaim it. Thus, the popular upheaval of 2009 and its subsequent repression were a re-enactment of some of the underlying tensions over conflicting social claims to the legacy of the war and the revolution. As the 2009 elections showed, these deep divisions run vertically through the entire Iranian society, including the highest echelons of the political elite, and are not limited to ordinary citizens. An example about tensions and struggles over shaping urban space in the capital can demonstrate the point. During his terms as mayor of Tehran (2001–2005) and then as president, Ahmadinejad resorted to a series of highly contested actions to transform urban public spaces into war memorials by burying martyrs in major squares and turning traffic roundabouts into mausoleums, or by attempting to Islamize the city by turning the Mossala, the enormous newly built prayer complex in Tehran, into the symbolic cultural center of the capital.51 These attempts have had limited success due to public resistance as well as skepticism by professionals and urban officials. For example, until very recently Iran conspicuously did

48

Responding to accusations that the ceasefire had denigrated the sacrifices of 223,000 martyrs, Rafsanjani responded that the casualty figure was ‘a gross exaggeration…[and claimed that] our war fatalities are less than half of the traffic casualties which kill 25,000 people every year.’ See H. Rafsanjani: Majmou-e Shohada az Sal-e 40 ta Ba’d az Jang be 200 Hezar Nafar Nemiresad [Number of martyrs from 1961 to the end of the war in 1988 are less than 200,000]. In: Tarikh Irani, http://tarikhirani.ir/fa/news/30/bodyView/835, accessed July 15, 2016. 49 K. Ehsani,A. Keshavarzian & N. C. Moruzzi (2009) Tehran, June 2009, Middle East Report Online, June 28.Available at: http://merip.org/mero/mero062809, accessed October 19, 2016. 50 K. Naji (2008) Ahmadinejad: The Secret History of Iran’s Radical Leader (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press). 51 K. Ehsani (2015) The Cultural Politics of Public Space in Tehran’s Book Fair, in: H. Chehabi, P. Jafari and M. Jafroudi (eds) Iran in the Middle East, pp. 213–231 (London: I. B. Tauris).

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not have a dedicated war museum.52 While symbolic official commemorations of martyrs are literally everywhere, in public murals depicting martyrs and slogans and in a huge and highly subsidized culture industry of memoirs, films, and literary production, ironically the war as a distinct experience is conspicuously absent in the cityscape.53 In 2005, Tehran had a Martyrs’ Museum54 dedicated to combatants and casualties, but there was no monument or compound to commemorate the variegated experiences of the war, including and especially those of the survivors. In 2004–2005 I was involved in an informal advisory capacity in discussions among urban planners charged with drafting a new comprehensive development plan for the capital. The topic was the re-design of Revolution Avenue, the main east-west artery that bisects Tehran55 and has been the loci of mass public demonstrations and cultural activity since the revolution. When a proposal was raised for building a war museum that would be embedded in a working class neighborhood (Tehran-e No) along the avenue, the reactions were guarded but emphatically negative. The main objection was that to be true to the complex experiences of the war, such a museum would have to try to reflect the experiences of the living, as well as the martyrs. Since such a controversial approach was not possible in present conditions, there was no point in creating yet another monument to add to the existing propaganda. In the words of an experienced and senior urban planner, ‘the last thing this capital city needs is another monument to commemorate an era that everyone would rather forget!’56 Dealing with the Legacy of the War The official discourse of the war as a unanimously supported popular movement in ‘Sacred Defense’ of the Islamic Republic has proven to be the greatest obstacle to a more inclusive and cathartic engagement with its divisive legacy. As a result, the complex social and spatial consequences of the war in Iran are seldom acknowledged or rigorously investigated. In most published scholarship on post-revolution Iran the war is all too often treated as a distant event that mainly occurred at the front. It demanded significant human sacrifice and caused economic and emotional damage. It mobilized populations and helped the pro-Khomeini elite consolidate their power by forging new institutions of governance and social regulation and control. After listing these important details, most scholarly analyses of post-revolution Iran turn their attention to the post-war era of reconstruction (1989–1997), the emergence of the reformist movement (1997–2005), and the conservative backlash of the Mahmoud 52

The ‘Islamic Revolution and Holy Defense Museum’ was commissioned by the IRCG and opened in northern Tehran in February 2016. Significantly, the museum is not located in the urban fabric of the city, but in the large government owned enclave of Abbas Abad in northern Tehran, where most ministries and high government institutions have been relocating in recent years. Under the monarchy, the area was the proposed site for a redesigned administrative capital city. I have not visited the museum, but descriptions and photo essays from the official website show little evidence that this museum is anything but another affirmation of the official version of the war. 53 E. Blankevoort (2005) The Image of War: Visual Propaganda in the Islamic Republic of Iran, MA Thesis, University of Amsterdam. 54 C. Gruber (2012) The Martyrs’ Museum in Tehran: Visualizing Memory in Post-Revolutionary Iran, Visual Anthropology, 25(1/2), pp. 68–97. 55 A. Khatam (2012) The Space Reloaded: Publics and Politics on Enqelab Street in Tehran, in: D. Sharp & C. Panetta (eds) Beyond the Square: Urbanism and the Arab Uprisings, pp. 84–102 (New York: Terreform); A. Bayat (2010) Tehran: Paradox City, New Left Review, 66, pp. 99–122. 56 A Museum of Sacred Defense was eventually inaugurated in 2012. It sits in a park and has a large library, a mosque, and exhibitions. But the exhibitions reconfirm the official framing of the war, and the location is not integrated within the city proper, but in Abbas Abad hills together with other large official buildings and ministries.

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Ahmadinejad era (2005–2013). As Farideh Farhi has observed: ‘while the revolution brought out a multiplicity of voices, at times emphasizing contradictory aspirations (e.g., submission to Islam and the spiritual leader as well as democracy and freedom), the war offered a univocal venue for both crushing domestic opposition to the newly emerging political order as well as “sacred defense” against international aggression ... [While, in fact] the war became the basis of a new political milieu that has remained even after the war, despite the rise of other ways of thinking about and conceiving politics.’57 A cursory overview of some noteworthy recent publications reveals this tendency to frame the war as a discrete episode, an awkward bygone era, and a now closed chapter, rather than as a formative process that fundamentally congealed the contours of the post-revolution society and continues to affect social and political relations.58 To the extent that the war features in this scholarship, it tends to be analyzed in its military and strategic dimensions, or as the backdrop against which the new regime disposed of its domestic adversaries, and the arena where the ongoing factional politics of the Islamic Republic took shape. The wider question of how the war permanently affected public culture and social and political practices has been investigated only occasionally, and by critical scholars who have made the war the specific focus of their inquiry.59 Ironically, even some sections of the military and security establishment feel alienated and ill at ease with the consequences of the official discourse of the war. It is difficult in Iran not to be aware of the latent social resentment about the war and its legacy that simmers below the surface. I will conclude by sharing an example that shows how the weight of this taboo affects even some of its perpetrators. In 1998, a year after the election of the reformist Mohammad Khatami to the presidency, the editorial board of Goftogu (Dialogue), the Tehran-based journal of which I have been a member, decided to publish a special issue on the anniversary of the ceasefire that ended the Iran-Iraq war (to date, a final peace agreement has not yet been reached by the two countries).*** We hoped to use the recent opening of the public sphere in the reformist era to challenge the eulogistic official propaganda that has controlled all discussions of the ‘Sacred Defense’ from the onset. Our intent was to go beyond the prevailing narratives and investigate the social and political impact of a conflict that had profoundly transformed Iranian society. After discussions over what could be included without risking censorship, we deemed the following topics too risky to tackle: the long-term consequences of the militarization of society; the shaping of public culture by a relentlessly polarizing state propaganda that extoled a cult of martyrdom and framed all critiques as enemies; the spatial impact of the movements of vast populations of war refugees, soldiers, and impoverished migrants that had altered living and working spaces in cities, villages, and provinces, and generated novel 57

Farhi, The Antinomies of Iran’s War Generation, p. 104. See for example M. Axworthy (2013) Revolutionary Iran (Oxford: Oxford University Press); J. Buchan (2012) Days of God: The Revolution in Iran and Its Consequences (New York: Simon and Shuster); L. Secor (2016) Children of Paradise: The Struggle for the Soul of Iran (New York: Riverhead Books); S. Amir Arjomand (2012) After Khomeini: Iran Under His Successors (New York: Oxford University Press); Bayat, Street Politics; T. Coville (2007) Iran, la Révolution Invisible (Paris: La Découverte); M. Hegland (2013) Days of Revolution: Political Unrest in an Iranian Village (Stanford: Stanford University Press); and S. Maria Gieling (1999) Religion and War in Revolutionary Iran (London: I.B. Tauris). 59 Khosrokhavar, L’Utopie Sacrifiée; F. Khosrokhavar (1995) L’Islamisme et la Mort: Le Martyre Revolutionnaire en Iran (Paris: Harmattan); Farhi, The Antinomies of Iran’s War Generation; Harris, A Social Revolution; R. Elling (2013) Minorities in Iran: Nationalism and Ethnicity after Khomeini (New York: Palgrave McMillan); Ehsani, Urban Provincial Periphery in Iran: Revolution and War in Ramhormoz. See also the brief but excellent comparative study of Iran and Iraq, N. Alahmad & A. Keshavarzian (2010) A War on Multiple Fronts, Middle East Report, 40(4), pp. 17–22. * I am grateful to Lawrence G. Potter for correcting this detail. 58

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forms of interactions and frictions; the psychology of fear and uncertainty, especially among the young generation who had grown up with the permanent anxieties of bombardments, conscription, or political persecution; the paradoxical impact of the distributive and welfare institutions that had mitigated the acute shortages of basic necessities through rationing, while simultaneously acting as instruments of surveillance and punishment of dissidence; and the purging of universities in the name of a ‘cultural revolution’ that extolled revolutionary (of Khomeini’ supporters) ideals. Few of these subjects had been investigated previously, as the eulogistic narrative of the war was central to the identity of the Islamic Republic, and such topics were still considered taboo, even in the new reformist era and a decade after the ceasefire. In the end, we compromised and published a special issue that fell well short of our original ambition, although we did include an essay by the Iraqi sociologist Isam al-Khfaji that came close to our initial intent. But ironically this was an essay on the impact of the war on Iraq, and how Saddam Hussein’s faction had used it to militarize Iraqi society, and consolidate their control over Iraqi military and social and political life, including the Ba’th Party itself.60 Inadequate as it was, the special issue of Goftogu on the war struck a chord, and soon after the editors received an unsolicited invitation to join a private round table discussion from the IRCG’s Center for the Research and Documentation of the Sacred Defense (Markaz-e Asnad va Tahqiqat-e Defa’e Moqadas), an archival think tank in charge of publishing the official comprehensive history of the war. To our surprise, the hosts were highly appreciative of our effort to start a serious discussion of the war. They expressed their frustration at what they considered the hijacking and manipulation of the discussion of the war by opportunistic politicians and commentators who used it as political capital to advance their own interests. They were aware of, and concerned about the latent resentment or indifference among ordinary people about the legacy of the sacred defense, and felt it was important to have a frank and honest, even if critical evaluation of the conflict, so long as it respected and acknowledged the tremendous sacrifices made. Conclusion The legacy of the Iran-Iraq war has cast a long shadow over Iranian society. Reconciliation with this divisive legacy will require considerable commitment and material and institutional resources. Above all, it will depend on the sincere acknowledgment of the variegated experiences of the war and their legitimacy, even if they contradict the official discourse. Furthermore, the war in Iran was embedded in the revolution that preceded it, and untangling its social and cultural impact cannot be analyzed in isolation from that wider context of the social expectations that it had unleashed. Given the scale of the conflict and its legacy, such a constructive and critical engagement with the impact of the IIW on the Iranian society cannot be the work of individual scholars only. It is an enormous project that requires significant and long-term institutional commitment, mainly by universities and impartial dedicated research institutions. It is a topic for social historians, ethnographers, geographers, sociologists, scholars of gender, and others to investigate and produce critical knowledge about local, collective, and institutional 60

Goftogu (1998), No. 23, ‘The Iran Iraq War’ contained the following essays: K. Bayat, An overview of the eight years of the Iran-Iraq war; idem, The historiography of the war; M. Saghafi, Revolution, War, and the Turnover of Social Elites; A. Miralinaqi, The Musicology of the War; and I. al-Khafaji, War and Society: the Militarization of Iraq. It must be noted that Goftogu subsequently published other critical essays on the war, but not in a special issue explicitly focusing on the topic.

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experiences of the war. Unfortunately, given the ongoing state of repression against critical scholars and social science departments at Iranian universities, such an outcome does not seem plausible at present. Acknowledgment I would like to thank Mohammad Eskandari, Arang Keshavarzian, Azam Khatam, Mohammad Maljoo, Norma Claire Moruzzi and Fatemeh Sadeghi for their invaluable comments and insights.

Disclosure statement No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

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DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN Ehsani, K. (2009) Urban Provincial Periphery in Iran: Revolution and War in Ramhormoz, in: Gheissari, A. (ed.) Contemporary Iran, pp. 38–76. (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Ehsani, K., Keshavarzian, A. & Moruzzi, N. Tehran, June 2009, Middle East Report Online. http://merip.org/ mero/mero062809 Ehsani, K. & Maljoo, M. (2011) Iranian Oil Workers After the Iran-Iraq War. (Washington DC: Paper delivered at Middle East Studies Association annual conference). Elling, R. (2013) Minorities in Iran: Nationalism and Ethnicity after Khomeini (New York, NY: Palgrave McMillan). Ershad, F. & Aqaii, D. (2002) Tasviri az Mohajerat dar Ostan-e Khuzestan dar Daheh-ye 1365-75 va Mozou-e Mohajeratha-ye Bazgashti [A Snapshot of Migration in the Khuzestan Province During the 1986–1996 Decade], Majeleh-ye Jame’eh Shenasi-ye Iran, 4(1), pp. 79–89. Farhi, F. (2004) The Antinomies of Iran’s War Generation, in: Sick, G. & Potter, L. (eds) Iran, Iraq, and the Legacies of War, pp. 101–120. (New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan). Gieling, S. (1999) Religion and War in Revolutionary Iran (London: I.B. Tauris). Gruber, C. (2012) The Martyrs’ Museum in Tehran: Visualizing Memory in Post-Revolutionary Iran, Visual Anthropology, 25(1/2), pp. 68–97. Harirchian, M. & Hashemi, S. (2015) Be Marhemat-e Jang Hamsayeh Shodim [We Became Neighbors Courtesy of the War], Shahrat, 5, pp. 26–31. Harris, K. (in press) A Social Revolution: Politics and the Welfare State in Iran (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press). Hatamikia, E. (1998 [2013]), Writer & Director, Glass Agency. Hegland, M. (2013) Days of Revolution: Political Unrest in an Iranian Village (Stanford: Stanford University Press). Heydemann, S. (ed.) (2000) War, Institutions, and Social Change in the Middle East (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press). Hooglund, E. (1982) Land and Revolution in Iran, 1960–1980 (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press). Hoseyni, S. (2009) Ketab-e Da, Tehran: Soureh-ye Mehr; English Translation (2014) [The Book of Da], in: Sprachman, P. (trans.) One Woman’s War: Da (Mother), the Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni, pp. xi–xxxi (Costa Mesa: Mazda). Hourcade, B. (2002) Iran: Nouvelles Identités d’une République [Iran: New Identities of a Republic] (Paris: Belin). Hourcade, B. (1985) Iran: Révolution Islamique ou Tiers-Mondiste? [Iran: Islamic or Third Worldist revolution?], Hérodote, 36, pp. 138–158. Jafari, P. (2013) Reasons to Revolt: Iranian Oil Workers in the 1970s, International Labor and Working Class History, 84(1), pp. 195–217. Keshavarzian, A. (2007) Bazaar and State in Iran (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Keshavarzian, A. (2010) Contestation Without Democracy: Elite Fragmentation in Iran, in: Posusney, M. P. & Angrist, M. P. (eds) Authoritarianism in the Middle East, pp. 63–88 (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers). Kestnbaum, M. & Skocpol, T. (1993) War and the Development of Modern National States, Sociological Forum, 8(4), pp. 661–674. Khatam, A. (2012) The Space Reloaded: Publics and Politics on Enqelab Street in Tehran, in: Sharp, D. & Panetta, C. (eds) Beyond the Square: Urbanism and the Arab Uprisings, pp. 84–102. (New York, NY: Terreform). Khosrokhavar, F. (1995) L’Islamisme et la Mort: Le Martyre Revolutionnaire en Iran [Islamism and Death: the Revolutionary Martyr in Iran] (Paris: Harmattan). Khosrokhavar, F. (1993) L’utopie Sacrifiée: Sociologie de La Revolution Iraniénne [The Sacrificed Utopia: the Sociology of the Iranian Revolution] (Paris: Presses de la Fondation National des Sciences Politiques). Khoury, D. (2013) Iraq in Wartime: Soldiering, Martyrdom, and Remembrance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Koolaee, E. (2014) The Impact of Iraq-Iran War on Social Roles of Iranian Women, In Middle East Critique, 23(3), pp. 277–291. Kurzman, C. (2004) The Unthinkable Revolution in Iran (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press). Makhmalbaf, M. (1989) Writer and Director, Marriage of the Blessed [Film]. MaleševiÉ, S. (2010) The Sociology of War and Violence (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Maljoo, M. (2012) Eqtesad-e Siasi-ye Nirou-ye Kar-e San’at-e Naft dar Iran-e Pas az Jang [The political economy of the Iranian oil industry’s labor force after the war], in: Kanoun-e Modafe’an-e Hoqouq-e Kargar. http:// kanoonmodafean1.blogspot.nl/2012/09/blog-post.html, accessed September 20, 2012. Malony, S. (2015) Iran’s Political Economy Since the Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Moslem, M. (2002) Factional Politics in Post-Khomeini Iran (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press). Naji, K. (2008) Ahmadinejad: The Secret History of Iran’s Radical Leader (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press).

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DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN Nanquette, L. (2013) An Iranian Woman’s Memoir on the Iran-Iraq War: The Production and Reception of Da, Iranian Studies, 46(3), pp. 943–957. Noori, N. (2013) Rethinking the Legacies of the Iran-Iraq War: Veterans, the Basij, and Social Resistance in Iran, Military Sociology Annual Review, 40, pp. 119–140. Rostam’alizadeh, V. & Qasemi-Ardehayii, A. (2012) Athar va Payamadha-ye Jam’iyati-ejtema’i-ye mohajeratha-ye jang-e tahmili dar jame’eh Iran [Demographic and Social Impact and Consequences of Migrations Caused by the Imposed War on Iranian Society], Pajouheshnameh-ye Defa’e Moqadas, 1(2), pp. 59–79. Schirazi, A. (1993) Islamic Development Policy: The Agrarian Question in Iran (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers). Schirazi, A. (1997) The Constitution of Iran: Politics and the State in the Islamic Republic (London: I.B. Tauris). Secor, L. (2016) Children of Paradise: The Struggle for the Soul of Iran (New York, NY: Riverhead Books). Skocpol, T. (1979) States and Social Revolutions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Tilly, C. (1985) War Making and State Making as Organized Crime, in: Evans, P., Rueschemeyer, D. & Skocpol, T. (eds) Bringing the State Back In, pp. 169–191. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Vieille, P. & Khosrokhavar, F. (1990) Le Discours Populaire de la Revolution Iraniénne [The Popular Discourse of the Iranian Revolution], Vols. 2. (Paris: Contemporaneité). Wimmer, A. (2014) War, Annual Review of Sociology, 40(1), pp. 173–197. Yavuz, M. H. (2013) Warfare and Nationalism: The Balkan Wars as Catalyst for Homogenization, in: Yavuz, M. H. & Blumi, I. (eds) War and Nationalism, pp. 31–84. (Salt Lake City, UT: University of Utah Press).

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Development, Mobilization and War: The Iranian Construction Jehad, Construction Mobilization and Trench Builders Association (1979–2013) ERIC LOB

ABSTRACT Based on ethnographic and archival research in Iran, this article examines the intersection of war making, rural development and popular mobilization in the state formation of the Islamic Republic of Iran (IRI). To this end, the article profiles three organizations that were instrumental to this process: The Construction Jehad, the Construction Mobilization and the Trench Builders Association. During the last three decades, these organizations have helped the IRI and its factionalized elites in their attempts to promote rural development, mobilize and socialize constituents, gain popular support and electoral votes, and demobilize and marginalize domestic and foreign opponents. These organizations also produced and addressed the unintended consequences of cognitive dissonance, deep-seated disillusionment and ideological detachment among activists, veterans, students and youth. By organizing a critical mass of constituents and aggregating popular claims from below, these organizations exerted bottom-up pressures and demands on the very state and the very elites that they had assisted and supported.

In his seminal article on state formation in early modern Europe, Charles Tilly argued that, ‘war makes states.’1 While Tilly acknowledged that the processes of state formation in Western Europe differed from the developing world, his argument regarding war making and state making does pertain to the Islamic Republic of Iran (IRI). Less than two years into its existence, the IRI engaged in a brutal and protracted war against Baʿathist Iraq between 1980 and 1988. While Iraq had initiated the war, the latter facilitated the consolidation of the nascent IRI by bolstering nationalism, conscription and mobilization or the channeling

1

C. Tilly (1985) War Making and State Making as Organized Crime, in: P. Evans, D. Rueschemeyer & T. Skocpol (eds) Bringing the State Back In, p. 170 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).

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of revolutionary fervor and popular energy into new military, administrative and voluntary institutions and organizations.2 With respect to the IRI’s state formation, war only represented part of the story, as rural development constituted an intervening variable in the process. By examining the intersection of development and war in the IRI’s state formation, this article profiles three important organizations that promoted rural development and mobilized activists, veterans, students and youth in this endeavor during the last three decades: Jehad-e Sazandegi (the Construction Jehad, hereafter CJ), Basij-e Sazandegi (the Construction Mobilization, hereafter CM) and Kanun-e Sangar Sazan-e bi Sangar (the Association of Trench Builders without Trenches or the Trench Builders Association, hereafter the TBA). These organizations demonstrate how the IRI and its factionalized elites promoted rural development not simply as a policy goal or an end in itself, but also as a means of consolidating and maintaining power against various internal and external opponents.3 During the 1980s and the 1990s, the CJ and the CM mobilized activists, veterans, students and youth to the countryside, where they promoted development, spread revolutionary and religious values and logistically supported troops on the front in an effort to win hearts and minds, demobilize and marginalize domestic dissidents and inflict losses on Iraqi forces. During the 2000s, the IRI’s conservative and principlist elites used the CJ, the CM and the TBA in an attempt to mobilize and socialize veterans, students, youth and villagers with the aim of gaining popular legitimacy and support as well as electoral votes against competing moderate and reformist elites. In the end, the developmental and populist rhetoric, ideology and practice of these organizations helped the IRI and its conservative and principlist elites enhance their mobilizational capacities and advance their political interests.4 At the same time, these organizations produced and addressed the unintended consequences of cognitive dissonance, deep-seated disillusionment and ideological detachment among activists, veterans, students and youth. By organizing a critical mass of constituents and aggregating popular claims from below, these organizations generated bottom-up pressures and demands for increased and improved education, employment, compensation, benefits, services and exemptions on the very state and the very elites that they had assisted and supported. The Construction Jehad The CJ’s origins date back to before the war and are rooted in the rural development policies that were instituted several months after Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi had departed from Iran (January 16, 1979), the exiled Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini had returned (February 1, 1979), the monarchial government was overthrown (February 11, 1979) and voters approved the creation of an Islamic Republic (IRI) in a referendum held on March 31 and April 1. The provisional government officially established the CJ as a revolutionary organization on June 16, 1979, nearly two weeks after the establishment of the Islamic Revolution Guards Corps

2

See, for example, T. Skocpol (1988) Social Revolutions and Mass Military Mobilization, World Politics, 40(2), pp. 147–168; F. Farhi (1990) States and Urban Based Revolutions: Iran and N icaragua (Urbana and Chicago, IL: University of Illinois Press); and J. Foran & J. Goodwin (1993) Revolutionary Outcomes in Iran and Nicaragua: Fragmentation, War, and the Limits of Social Transformation, Theory and Society, 22, pp. 209–247. 3 For more on the IRI’s factionalized elites, see M. Moslem (2002) Factional Politics in Post-Khomeini Iran (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press). 4 For more on the emphasis and importance of populism in the rhetoric and ideology of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini and the IRI, see E. Abrahamian (1993) Khomeinism: Essays on the Islamic Republic (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press).

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DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN

(IRGC) on April 22. The provisional government established the CJ to fulfill the revolutionary promises during 1978-1979 to bring development to the country’s 70,000 villages. The Freedom Movement of Iran—the main political bloc in the provisional government—and Khomeini and the nascent Islamic Republican Party (IRP) all appropriated the discourse and terminology of Ali Shariati (1930–1977) that the villages had been ‘de-developed’ and their residents allowed to become mostażʿafīn [a Qur’anic term meaning ‘meek’ but which Shariati reinterpreted to mean ‘powerless’ and ‘wretched’].5 Both the country’s urban working class and rural population embraced the term.6 Khomeini and the Freedom Movement’s prime minister, Mehdi Bazargan, each appointed a representative to the CJ.7 However, Khomeini and the IRP asserted greater control over the organization and used it to consolidate their power after Bazargan resigned following the takeover of the US embassy by Iranian college students on November 4, 1979.8 The CJ consisted of thousands of activists and volunteers, who undertook an ambitious development campaign and spread revolutionary and religious values throughout the countryside, where over half the population resided.9 To these ends, the organization built roads, bridges, schools, libraries, health clinics and public baths; delivered electricity, water, medication and vaccinations; provided inputs, credit and technical assistance to farmers, livestock holders and artisans; disseminated books and films with revolutionary and religious content; distributed Qur’ans and other Islamic texts; and organized clerical sermons, prayer groups and study sessions (see Table 1). While promoting development and winning hearts and minds, the CJ helped the fledgling IRI consolidate power against a myriad of domestic opponents—including ancien régime loyalists, royalists or monarchists, Marxist guerillas and Sunni and ethnic groups—along Iran’s vast and expansive rural periphery. A former member and deputy minister of the CJ summed up the rationale well: One of the factors and motivations for establishing the CJ was the belief in the necessity for social justice, equality and access to facilities and infrastructure by poor villagers in remote areas who lived in deprivation compared to high-income people in urban areas. This was one of the major goals of the revolution and, during the shah’s time,

5

For an early eye-witness assessment of the CJ, which also predicts some of its later changes documented in this article, see E. Ferdows (1983) The Reconstruction Crusade and Class Conflict in Iran, MERIP Reports, 113 (March–April), pp. 11–15; on the influence of Shariati’s ideas in Iran, see E. Abrahamian (1982) Iran Between Two Revolutions, pp. 464-473 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). 6 See further M. Azkia (2002) Rural Society and Revolution in Iran, in E. Hooglund (ed.), Twenty Years of Islamic Revolution: Political and Social Transition in Iran since 1979, pp. 103–107 (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press). 7 A. Akhoundi (2012) Memories of the CJ’s Establishment: From Shahid Rajai’s Budget of One and a Half Billion for the CJ to Abadan Road, Macro Economy; A. Akhoundi (2013) The CJ: A Looking Glass into the Revolution, Business Tomorrow, p. 44. 8 Author Interview, former Literacy Corps member and current rural sociologist, Iran, March 13, 2011; for an eye-witness account of some changes resulting from CJ development programs, see E. Hooglund (1997) Letter from an Iranian Village, Journal of Palestine Studies, 27(1), pp. 76–84. 9 A. Ashraf (1991) State and Agrarian Relations before and after the Iranian Revolution, 1960–1990, in: J. Waterbury & F. Kazemi (eds) Peasants and Politics in the Modern Middle East, p. 290 (Miami, FL: Florida University Press); A. Ashraf (1995) From the White Revolution to the Islamic Revolution, in: S. Rahnema & S. Behdad (eds) Iran after Revolution: Crisis of an Islamic State, p. 6 (London: I. B. Tauris); M. Azkia (2002) Rural Society and Revolution in Iran, in: E. Hooglund (ed.) Twenty Years of Islamic Revolution, p. 97 (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press).

25

DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN Table 1. The IRI and the CJ’s developmental performance record (1979–1999). Potable water Before the revolution (villages w/ 20–150 families) The CJ (1979–89) (villages w/ 20–150 families) The CJ & state organs (1979–89) (villages w/ 20–150 fam.) The CJ (1979–99): Secure potable and piped water The CJ (1979–99): Expand and renovate water networks The CJ (1979–99): Annual mobile water delivery (average) The CJ (1979–99): Power agricultural irrigation wells

Results 8,300 villages 11,428/ 29,500 villages 18,826/ 29,500 villages 22,259 villages 5,000 villages 2,200 villages 6,312 wells

Roads 5-year plan forecast (1989–93): Built 5-year plan forecast (1989–93): Maintained Villages under rural roads portfolio before the revolution Villages under the CJ’s portfolio (1979–89) Villages under the rural roads portfolio (1979–89) Total villages above 20 families (1989) Rural roads built before the revolution Rural roads built by the CJ (1979–89) Rural roads built by others (1979–89) Rural roads in Iran under rural roads portfolio (1989) Rural roads needed in Iran (1989) Rural roads built by the CJ (1979–99) Rural roads renovated and paved by the CJ (1979–99) Rural roads maintained by the CJ (1979–99)

5,000 km 43,000 km 8,000 villages 9,000 villages 18,430 villages 36,568 villages 8,000 km 25,000 km 10,000 km 43,000 km 55,000 km 69,963 km 25,721 km 57,711 km

Electrification Villages under 5-year plan electrification port. (1989–93) Families under 5-year plan electrification port. (1989–93) Electrification before the revolution Electrification by the CJ (villages > 20 families) (1979–89) Electrification (villages > 20 families) (1979–89) Electrification targets (villages > 20 families) (1979–89) Electrification by the CJ (1979–99)

5,000 villages 300,000 families 4,500 villages 9,050 villages 17,800 villages 36,000 villages 28,674 villages

Extension and popular participation (1979–99) Establish rural libraries Distribute books to villagers Establish Islamic councils in villages Establish [religious] classes (ʿaqīdatī) Hold lectures Establish exhibitions Show films, theater and videos Distribute publications, posters, photos, placards and tracts

22,000 libraries 20,000,000 books 28,293 councils 267,478 classes 114,259 sessions 92,101 exhibitions 133,986 shows 5,011,691,151 units

The Ministry of the CJ (1991) The Ten-Year Performance of the CJ from 1979 until 1989, pp. 68–72 (Iran: The Ministry of the CJ); The World Bank (1994) Islamic Republic of Iran Services for Agriculture and Rural Development (Vol. I, Main Report), World Bank Report, 11956-IRN (June 20), pp. 56–60; the Ministry of the CJ (2001) Twenty Years of Effort for Construction: A Glance at Twenty Years of the CJ’s Performance and Achievements, pp. 32–38 (Tehran: The Ministry of the CJ, The Office of Public Relations); Azkia, Rural Society, pp. 105–106.

the middle class and the rural people always complained about this issue, especially when they compared their lives to the shah, his family and other wealthy Iranians. However, rural reconstruction and development were secondary issues whereas the

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DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN

Figure 1. A political rally organized by the CJ. Photograph of a political rally organized by the CJ, the MAJ archives in Tehran (accessed February 12, 2011).

primary issue was preventing the People’s Warriors (Mojāhidīn-e Khalq) and other communist groups from taking the lead and hijacking the revolution.10 The CJ demobilized the IRI’s domestic opponents and crowded them out of the political space in four ways. First, the CJ monitored these opponents and reported back to the political and security establishment about their personnel, goals and activities.11 Second, in the spirit of patronage or clientelism, the CJ ‘convinced villagers [who were] privy to [its] projects and services to vote for the IRP’s candidates and against those [who were] backed by [President Abolhassan] Banisadr, who had threatened to cut the budget of the CJ and other revolutionary organizations, [during the IRI’s first parliamentary election in 1980].’12 Third, the CJ organized political rallies in favor of the IRP and against its opponents (see Figure 1). Fourth, the CJ integrated and coopted influential and prominent villagers—whom the Iranian sociologist Ahmad Ashraf referred to as ‘rural notables, such as well-to-do people, shop owners and landowners’—into its thousands of rural or Islamic councils and away from those that had been established by the Marxists and other opponents (see Table 1).13 The Islamic councils also monitored and denounced political dissidents in the villages by 10

Author Interview, former member and deputy minister of the CJ, Iran, March 15, 2011. This interviewee disclosed that he had monitored and reported on the activities of the Mojahedin in Fars Province between 1979 and the early 1980s. 11 Ibid. 12 Author Interview, former CJ member and Iranian parliamentarian, Iran, June 1, 2011. 13 Author Interview, Ahmad Ashraf, Iranian sociologist, Princeton, NJ, January 25, 2011. See also Ashraf, State and Agrarian Relations, pp. 292–299; and A. Schirazi (1993) Islamic Development Policy: The Agrarian Question in Iran, pp. 150–151, 268–269 (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers).

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DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN

‘serving as the CJ’s intelligence service and trying in this manner to tackle the problem of counterrevolutionaries.’14 Less than two years after the IRI’s inception, the Iran-Iraq War began with Iraq’s invasion of Iran by land, sea and air on September 22, 1980. Between 1981 and 1983, the CJ inaugurated major projects in thousands of Iran’s villages while getting involved in the war effort.15 Prior to the war, the CJ had been active along Iran’s Western border region with Iraq in an effort to subdue the ethnic minorities that had resisted and revolted against the Persian-centric IRI. As such, the CJ was positioned to play a pivotal role in the Iran-Iraq War. Former members described being on two or three-week rotations, alternating between their responsibilities in the villages and those on the front. The CJ’s wartime responsibilities included collecting, donating and delivering funds, vehicles and supplies (e.g., blankets and clothing) to the troops, and recruiting citizens in the provinces and the villages to enlist in the army, the IRGC and the Basij.16 As indicated above, the CJ served as the IRI’s eyes and ears in the countryside—an important task considering that shah loyalists, Marxist guerillas and other domestic opponents sought refuge there and collaborated with the Iraqis. During the early stages of the war, the CJ helped the disorderly security services and the inexperienced IRGC cultivate local informants and identify, locate and detain suspected dissidents, insurgents, collaborators and smugglers. One former CJ member—who had served in Kurdistan, the site of a violent and protracted 1979 rebellion that Marxist and Kurdish groups had launched against the state—acknowledged ‘passing information that [he] collected from schoolteachers and other informants about individuals and groups that had opposed, threatened and attacked the CJ and the state to the security forces and the IRGC so that the perpetrators could be dealt with accordingly.’17 Leveraging the skills that the CJ had acquired and replicating the services that it offered to the villages, the organization provided logistical support to Iranian troops on the front. The CJ’s physicians served as paramedics, who offered emergency medical assistance to wounded troops, and its teachers taught illiterate soldiers how to read. In an attempt to boost morale within the armed forces, the organization distributed newspapers, books, Qur’ans and other religious texts, and organized clerical sermons, prayer groups and study sessions.18 The CJ’s rural infrastructure personnel formed a corps of combat engineers called the War Engineering and Support (WES). During the war, the WES constructed dirt and asphalt roads, conventional and pontoon bridges and other essential infrastructure (see Table 2). It held a seat on the National War Council to coordinate with the army and the IRGC.19 The WES primarily supported the IRGC and the Basij, and all three reported directly to the military’s central command.20 The WES’s highly educated and skilled combat engineers assembled and repaired weapons and equipment, and they became increasingly adept at producing military technology. These engineers worked for the CJ’s Engineering Research Centers, which were established soon after the beginning of the war, in 1981. During and after the war, the Centers researched and 14

Author Interview, former Literacy Corps member and current rural sociologist, Iran, March 13, 2011. Ferdows, The Reconstruction Crusade, pp. 11–15. 16 Author Interview, former CJ member, Iran, March 27, 2011. 17 Author Interview, former CJ member, Iran, April 23, 2011. 18 Author Interview, former CJ member, Iran, April 17, 2011. 19 Author Interview, former CJ member, Iran, March 9, 2011. 20 Author Interview, TBA director, Iran, March 16, 2011; see also the TBA’s website, www.ksb1383.ir, accessed May 9, 2013. 15

28

DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN Table 2. The WES’s wartime performance record (1982–1989). Activity type Roads built (km) Roads completed (km) Levees (km) Trenches Bridges Fountains Landing pads Positions Towers Cannels dug (km) Canals filled (km) Platforms Dams Fortified walls (km) Embankments Piers Snowplowing (km)

1982 2,533 0

1983 1984 1985 1,038 259 3,061.3 962

4,179 373 11,432 2,205 318 389 0 75 0 170 0 243 0 10 1.7 23

1986 1,630

1987 1988 1,666.1 1,189.1

1989 469.5

Total 11,846

2,852.7 2,213.8 1,230.6 10,539.9

240

1,807.8

1,233

93 551 97 19 42 61 3 6

588.7 5,044 2,041 0 692 708 16 62

1,022.6 4,636 108 355 233 0 27 59.8

673.9 3,827 235 105 115 778 16 17

477.8 1,738 308 122 13 160 0 40

12.5 14 46 10 0 18 0 6.5

7,420.5 29,447 3,542 686 1,265 1,968 72 216

0

0

0

0

0

6

0

0

6

0 0 0

0 3 40

0 1 10

45 0 97

341 11 68

204 4 82.9

52 9 62.9

1 2 148.5

643 30 509.3

0 0 4,511

0 0 2,750

0 0 688

0 0 4,812

0 20 5,496

1 4 6,534

0 6 7,740

0 5 9,243

1 35 41,774

The Ministry of the CJ, The Ten-Year Performance, pp. 169–187.

developed defense projects, including missiles, tanks, armored vehicles, helicopters, pontoon bridges, swamp mats, water pumps, mine extractors and masks and devices against chemical weapons, which the Iraqis used against the Iranians during the war.21 Outside the military and defense sectors, the Centers undertook civilian projects in areas such as agriculture, animal husbandry, water exploitation, rural development and fisheries.22 The WES recruited the CJ’s bulldozer and loader drivers, who had experience digging wells and irrigation canals and erecting dykes made of soil to protect villages from landslides and floods. According to the former member and deputy minister of the CJ, these drivers, ‘who became increasingly numerous, came from [Iran’s] provinces and villages, and tended to be less educated and more ideological.’23 On the front, these individuals risked their lives digging trenches and levees to shield Iranian forces and impede Iraqi troop movements (see Figure 2). The WES built trenches for military combat and stocked others with food, water and other basic necessities to house troops.24 These trenches constituted a central component of the conflict, which relied on trench warfare reminiscent of World War I.25 The trench builders received national recognition and praise from the IRI’s leadership due to their important contribution to the war effort and the fact that they suffered approximately

21

The Ministry of the CJ, The Ten-Year Performance, pp. 104–106. Ibid, pp. 97–109. See also M. J. Iravani (1998) Institutionalism and Jihad-e Sazandegi, pp. 198–207 (Tehran: The Ministry of the CJ, The Office of Public Relations); and The Ministry of the CJ, Twenty Years of Effort, pp. 67–89. 23 Author Interview, former member and deputy minister of the CJ, Iran, March 15, 2011. 24 Author Interview, former CJ member, Iran, March 9, 2011. 25 E. Abrahamian (2008) A History of Modern Iran, p. 171 (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press). 22

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DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN

Figure 2. Members of the ‘trench builders without trenches’ during the war. The TBA’s Isfahan branch.

3,100 casualties—1.5 percent of the total of approximately 200,000 casualties.26 During the war, Khomeini introduced and applied the moniker ‘trench builders without trenches’ to the WES’s bulldozer and loader drivers, who risked their lives digging trenches on the front without having trenches to offer protection against Iraqi rockets, mortars and shells. Sixteen years after the war ended, these individuals formed the core of the TBA’s membership in 2004. The Construction Mobilization After consolidating power against its domestic opponents and turning the tide of the war against Iraq, the IRI integrated the CJ into the expanding bureaucracy by converting it from a revolutionary organization into a government ministry in 1983. For the CJ’s activists and veterans, its bureaucratization and institutionalization created a mixed outcome. Some activists and veterans experienced political and social mobility while others did not. During the presidencies of Ali Khamenehi (1981–1989, before he succeeded Khomeini as the supreme leader) and Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani (1989–1997), the CJ’s activists and veterans were appointed and elected ministers, advisers, governors, parliamentarians, bureaucrats and executives. Other activists and veterans—including many of the trench builders, who were less well-connected, educated, skilled, ambitious or lucky—worked lower level jobs and struggled to make ends meet and support their families. As a consequence, these individuals

26

Author Interview, TBA director, Iran, March 16, 2011. In 2014, the Iranian government estimated that 190,000 combatants had died in the war. Iran Times XLIV.31, October 17, 2014, p. 2, Gulf/2000 Project listserv, accessed October 16, 2014. For more on the CJ’s wartime activities and achievements, see Schirazi, Islamic Development Policy, pp. 158–161; The Ministry of the CJ, The Ten-Year Performance, pp.169–187; and The Ministry of the CJ, Twenty Years, pp. 143–144.

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DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN

experienced cognitive dissonance and deep-seated disillusionment because they believed that their political and socioeconomic status was not commensurate with the risks they had assumed, the price they had paid (approximately 3,100 casualties and thousands more injured), and the recognition they had received during the war. In 1983, the same year that the CJ became a ministry, the IRI established the CM, a rural development organization that was nearly identical to the CJ and that assisted remote and destitute villages with agriculture, livestock, water, infrastructure and dams.27 During the remainder of the war, the CM mobilized veterans, students and youth to the countryside to deliver projects and services, and complement those that were offered by the CJ while it was reconstituted as a ministry. In the process, the CM mitigated the potential disenchantment and discontent of veterans, students and youth by offering them employment opportunities, vocational skills and a sense of purpose as the war economy in the late 1980s entered a national recession due to rising military expenditures, persistent economic sanctions and declining oil prices.28 During this period, the largely voluntary CM served the interests of a state that was financially depleted and economically strained by alleviating it of certain developmental functions and responsibilities. After the war, the CM compensated for the restrictions that the Rafsanjani government imposed on the CJ’s rural development responsibilities as a ministry. In 1990, Rafsanjani and the parliament introduced and passed legislation that restricted these responsibilities to the management of fisheries, forests, pastures and livestock.29 Seeking to reduce the bureaucratic redundancies and the budgetary waste that had existed between the CJ and the Ministry of Agriculture, the legislation paved the way for the CM to continue delivering projects and services to remote and destitute villages that increasingly suffered labor shortages due to rural migration and depopulation and an aging workforce.30 During the late 1990s, Supreme Leader Ali Khamenehi and the conservatives found themselves on the defensive against President Mohammad Khatami and the reformists. Seeking to reform the political system from within, the reformists secured a parliamentary majority in 1996 and Khatami won a landslide victory in 1997. With a popular mandate and a parliamentary majority, Khatami appointed reformist cabinet ministers, who, in turn, hired like-minded civil servants in the Ministry of the CJ and other ministries. Outside the bureaucracy, Khatami and the reformists gained support from university students, who organized campus demonstrations in July 1999 to protest the closing of a reformist newspaper by the conservatives. In response, the latter deployed the IRGC, the Basij and other security forces to raid dormitories and suppress protestors.31

27

The Ministry of the CJ, The Ten-Year Performance, pp. 91–92; The MAJ (2003) The Plan of the CM (Tehran: The MAJ), pp. 5–6. 28 The MAJ, The Plan, p. 10. For more on the pressures and challenges that confronted the IRI’s war economy during the late 1980s, see Foran & Goodwin, Revolutionary Outcomes, p. 219; Abrahamian, A History, p. 184; G. Luciani (2016) Oil and Political Economy in the International Relations of the Middle East, in: L. Fawcett (ed.) International Relations of the Middle East, (Fourth Edition), p. 107 (Oxford: Oxford University Press); and F. Mohamedi (2015) Oil and Gas Industry, USIP Iran Primer. Available at http://iranprimer.usip.org/ resource/oil-and-gas-industry, accessed October 26, 2015. 29 Iravani, Institutionalism, pp. 196–206. 30 The MAJ, The Plan, p. 10. For more on rural migration and depopulation, see Azkia, Rural Society, pp. 97, 100–101, 117–118. 31 See, for example, M. Sahimi (2013) The Iranian Student Uprising of 1999: 14Years Later, Muftah, July 14. Available at http://muftah.org/the-iranian-student-uprising-of-1999-14-years-later/#.WAotJD4rKb8, accessed October 21, 2016.

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DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN

On May 6, 2000, Khamenehi met with IRGC commanders and officials. At the meeting, he proposed and requested that youth dedicate their free time to rural reconstruction and development through cooperation between the Basij, on one side, and the Ministries of the CJ and Agriculture, on the other.32 The following year, both ministries merged to form the Ministry of the Agricultural Jehad (MAJ)—which still exists and operates today—to further reduce bureaucratic redundancy and budgetary waste. After the meeting between Khamenehi and the IRGC, officials from both ministries and Basij commanders from Tehran and other provincial capitals held joint meetings and signed agreements on August 5, 2000, regarding new plans to restructure the CM.33 As in the past, the CM recruited youth to deliver projects and services to remote and destitute villages. An Iranian doctoral student of politics and international relations surmised that, ‘following the student demonstrations, the supreme leader and the conservatives became concerned about the ideological detachment of the youth from the government and the religion, and, in response, aspired to use organizations and initiatives like the CM and its camps as a positive way to stay connected with the youth.’34 The CM allowed the conservatives to influence recruitment for the MAJ, which had experienced an influx of reformist managers and employees under Khatami. Referred to as the CM’s ‘labor supplier,’ the Basij was entirely responsible for the ‘general summoning, registration, recruitment and organization of the youth workforce,’ which served as volunteers for the CM and employees at the MAJ.35 Known as the ‘labor recipient’ branch, the MAJ was solely responsible for training this workforce and for planning projects and logistics. Developmentally, the goal of the Basij’s recruitment and the MAJ’s training was to cultivate the technical skills of high school and university students and graduates in the field of agriculture. In the process, the Basij and the MAJ endeavored to ‘change the attitude [of youth] toward the activities in the agricultural sector,’ which steadily lost human capital to the more robust and lucrative petroleum, industry and service sectors.36 Being in charge of recruitment for the CM and the MAJ enabled the Basij to monitor potentially problematic youth and identify promising candidates for its own ranks. When registering volunteers for the CM, the Basij had students fill out forms on which they provided their ages, interests, skills, expertise, educational levels and geographic locations.37 From a technical standpoint and while planning projects, the Basij collected this data so that the MAJ could estimate the daily working capacity of students based on these criteria.38 At the same time, this information not only allowed the Basij to surveil youth, who tended to support the reformists, but also to identify recruits and channel them into its own ranks. For the CM, the Basij targeted youth, who were between the ages of 15 and 29 and came from lower socioeconomic backgrounds, yet possessed adequate literacy and technical knowledge to undertake projects.39 This profile coincided with the demographic that tended to join the Basij.40 Conversely, the Basij recruited its own members and those of the IRGC to volunteer for the CM.41 To facilitate and bolster recruitment, the Basij and the CM’s provincial 32

The MAJ, The Plan, pp. 6–7. Ibid. 34 Author discussion with Iranian doctoral student of politics and international relations, Miami, October 14, 2016. 35 The MAJ, The Plan, pp. 12–17. 36 Ibid, pp. 7–11. 37 Ibid, p. 13. 38 Ibid, p. 15. 39 Ibid, p. 11. 40 S. Golkar (2015) Captive Society: The Basij Militia and Social Control in Iran (Washington, DC, and New York: Woodrow Wilson Center Press and Columbia University Press), pp. 118–122, 174, 179–180, 190–191. 41 The MAJ, The Plan, p. 11. 33

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DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN

Figure 3. The CM’s recruitment poster. Author photograph, recruitment poster in a predominantly working class and socially conservative village, Yazd Province, Iran, May 2011.

and township offices displayed billboards and posters in predominantly working class and socially conservative towns and villages (see Figure 3). Despite the Basij’s efforts to use the CM for the selection and retention of recruits and members, this process was far from straightforward. Many of the students and youth who joined the Basij did so less because of ideological motivations (defending revolutionary and Islamic values) and more because of materialistic and opportunistic ones. These materialistic and opportunistic motivations included educational training (tutoring and exam preparation), university admission, postgraduate study, employment opportunities, military training exemptions, military service reductions and free or discounted recreation and travel.42 Students and youth also joined the Basij for social, expressive and psychological reasons, including social inclusion and mobility (marriage and independence) as well as a sense of adventure, excitement, pleasure, empowerment and importance.43 This meant that these students and youth’s retention and loyalty were tenuous and fickle because they were contingent upon the willingness and ability of the Basij to continue providing the abovementioned materialistic, opportunistic, social, expressive and psychological incentives. In the wake of the 1999 student protests, Khamenehi and the conservatives appropriated the CJ’s original symbols and tactics, and reconstituted the CM in an attempt to mobilize and socialize youth in their favor. The main mechanism that the CM used to do this was the jehadi and hijrah camps. In cooperation with the National Youth Organization, the camps

42 43

Golkar, Captive Society, pp. 118–122, 134–136, 151–154, 179–180, 188–191. Ibid, pp. 134–136, 179–180.

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sent youth volunteers to remote and destitute villages to undertake activities in ‘culture, construction, hygiene, education, spirituality and religion.’44 To avail students of the disposable time to participate in the camps, the latter took place during school vacations and national holidays, namely summer breaks and the Persian New Year in the springtime. According to the CM’s director of natural resources and agriculture, ‘hijrah camp participants [underwent] one round of intensive training before being sent to destitute regions.’45 There, ‘the camps’ participants planted crops, trimmed orchards, sprayed fields and assisted destitute farmers.’46 The camps’ other activities included ‘[managing] watershed affairs, cultivating crops, planting bushes and shrubs in pastures, constructing aqueducts and irrigating and harvesting crops.’47 The camps attempted to socialize the students who participated in them by offering cultural training.48 During the camps, the CM and the Basij’s cultural coaches and volunteers wore t-shirts with the CJ’s ‘all together [toward construction]’ slogan in an attempt to foster unity and camaraderie among the campers.49 Like the CJ’s former activists, these coaches and volunteers wore beards and simple clothing, possessed humble and pious demeanors, and organized clerical sermons and prayer sessions.50 Beyond religion, the CM’s camps attempted to reinvigorate revolutionary fervor and instill nationalism within the youth by reminding them of revolutionary and wartime hardships and sacrifices. While undertaking projects and activities, campers went back in time and entered a physical and symbolic space that the CJ’s activists and the IRI’s martyrs had respectively occupied in the countryside and on the warfront. According to a CM official, ‘by going and bringing joy to deprived regions and villages and by working in different areas (culture, construction, spirituality, etc.), youth can continue [in] the path of and become jehadists (the CJ’s activists), [who, like] our martyrs, were a clear example and symbol of everything that was good.’51 Recreating the experiences of the CJ’s activists, ‘a number of Basiji students in the jehadi camps left their homes and families, and went to deprived places with few facilities and [many] difficulties… to engage in delivering services and eliminating poverty.’52 By ‘constructing or reconstructing the tomb of a martyr in a remote village,’ campers identified with the country’s martyrs.53 One jehadi camper described how he cognitively and emotionally connected with the CJ’s activists and the IRI’s martyrs of the past: In my opinion, Iranian youth can do the work that the martyrs did for us. For a person, attending jehadi camps recalls memories of the front and the grounds of construction… For a person, jehadi camps build memories that, with all their simplicity, are very beautiful and enduring.54 44

The Jehadists Association (JA), Camps in God’s Complexion, The JA’s website, www.kanoonejahadgaran.ir/ persian/content-view.asp?id=2117, accessed May 9, 2013. 45 The JA, The Role of the CM and the CJ in Eliminating Deprivation from the Country, The JA’s website, August 13, 2009. Available at www.kanoonejahadgaran.ir/persian/content-view.asp?id=380, accessed May 9, 2013. 46 Ibid. 47 Ibid. 48 The MAJ, The Plan, p. 17. 49 See video footage of the CM’s camps between 2010 and 2011. Available online at: http://www.youtube. com/watch?v=9PYftPGpGE8, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dArOrlr1Sgk, http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=fKXiIcBvGik, and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2c-8j6kiIOo, accessed October 12, 2012. 50 Ibid. 51 The JA, The Role. 52 Ibid. 53 Ibid. 54 Ibid.

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While the religious, revolutionary and nationalistic experiences and symbolism of the jehadi and hijrah camps had profound effects on some youth, these effects did not necessarily translate into political support for the IRI in general or the conservatives in particular. The Iranian doctoral student asserted that, ‘the camps had a discernible impact on the students and youth in terms of strengthening their sense of religious commitment and nationalistic pride.’55 At the same time, forging a deeper connection with Islam and developing a stronger appreciation for the deeds and sacrifices of the revolutionary and wartime generation constituted personal and societal values that did not forcibly equate to fealty toward the state or a specific political faction. As noted above, the motivation and impact of youth participation in the Basij and its camps were often linked less to ideological factors and more to materialistic, social, expressive and psychological ones. Many of the youth, who participated in the hijrah and jehadi camps, likely did so to receive travel opportunities, recreational access, educational training, university admission, military training exemptions and military service reductions. The Iranian doctoral student confirmed that, ‘some of the students and youth who participated in the jehadi camps— at least those that were organized by the Basij rather than the supreme leader’s office—received reductions in military service.’56 The student insisted that, ‘the main reason that students and youth participated in the camps was either that they were pressured by parents, teachers, classmates and friends, especially those who were religiously conservative, or that they wanted to have a social experience with their classmates and friends in the countryside far away from parents, teachers and other authority figures.’57 Like other youth who participate in camps the world over, the jehadi and hijrah campers were likely to remember and cherish the social interactions with friends and villagers, the positive emotions of adventure and excitement when traveling to remote villages, and the psychological benefits of self-worth and pride for having helped the needy just as much, if not more, than the slogans, prayers, sermons and visits to martyrs’ graves. The Trench Builders Association Between 2004 and 2009, the conservative-backed Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and the principlists (uṣūlgarāyān) defeated the reformists in consecutive parliamentary and presidential elections. These electoral victories were not due simply to the conservative-controlled Guardian Council’s disqualification of reformist candidates or their repression by the IRGC and the Basij, but also to the efforts of the principlists to mobilize lower class veterans and youth while demobilizing middle class voters. The principlists attempted to mobilize and socialize veterans and youth through the TBA.58 As with the CM, the TBA appropriated tactics from the reformists, who had successfully mobilized middle class youth and other constituents at the grassroots level.59 In 2004, the year of the principlists’ first parliamentary victory, ‘some of the individuals [from the WES], who had prospered as high-level commanders and officials, pooled their

55

Author discussion with Iranian doctoral student of politics and international relations, Miami, October 14, 2016. Ibid. 57 Ibid. 58 During my first visit to the TBA’s central headquarters in Tehran on March 16, 2011, a pedestrian on the street negatively referred to its members as partisans of God (ḥizbullahī), a politically charged term for the principlists. 59 P. Rivetti (2013) Co-opting Civil Society Activism in Iran, in: P. Aarts & F. Cavatorta (eds) Civil Society in Syria and Iran: Activism in Authoritarian Contexts, pp. 187–207 (Boulder, CO, and London: Lynne Rienner Publishers). 56

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resources to establish the TBA, which was independent from the state.’60 This claim regarding the independence of the TBA was not entirely accurate because it was established with the encouragement and support of conservative and principlist elites, making it a government-organized nongovernmental organization (GONGO).61 The TBA’s membership consisted of veterans with a ‘record of volunteering on the front for the CJ’s WES,’ and their families, who could join as secondary or ‘subordinate members.’62 As revealed by the TBA’s name, many of its members had served in the war as trench builders and came from provincial and rural lower class backgrounds. Rather than refer to itself as an organization and to promote unity among its members, the TBA listed one of its goals as ‘preserving the social connection and solidarity of a [social] stratum that served and was resourceful, loyal and supportive of the revolution.’63 In an attempt to gain support and votes from these constituents, Ahmadinejad and the principlists campaigned on ‘fulfilling the populist promises of the Khomeini era.’64 The TBA appropriated and employed the principlists’ populist rhetoric that supported the disinherited, showed hostility to the middle class and promoted socioeconomic equality and social justice.65 The homepage of the TBA’s website displayed the following quote from Khomeini alongside his photograph: ‘[Construction] Jehad is a world icon of freedom and independence in the areas of working, struggling and fighting against poverty, indigence, cruelty and hardship.’66 The website also stated that the CJ’s former members ‘have treated the pain of poverty and indigence in the country, and have saved [Iranians from] the hardship of dependence on others.’67 The TBA did not simply employ this populist discourse to legitimate and support the principlists, but also to advance the interests of its members and their families—especially those who were disadvantaged or perceived themselves as such. Like the CM and the Basij, the TBA attempted to mobilize and socialize youth through its provincial and township branches around the country.68 These branches logistically facilitated visits to high schools and universities in an attempt to educate and socialize youth. The TBA deputy director revealed that it delivered presentations and spoke to students about the WES’s role in the war, including how ‘through ingenuity and initiative, the CJ’s combat engineers overcame limitations on the front to confront the enemy.’69 While visiting high schools and universities, the TBA encouraged and recruited students to participate in the CM’s jehadi and hijrah camps. In addition to visiting high schools and universities, the TBA recorded and commemorated the CJ’s wartime history by collecting documents at various archives and by conducting interviews with former activists and veterans. The TBA used this data to publish books and attempted to incorporate them into the national curriculum.70 The TBA proposed dedicating certain weeks of the school year to the ‘theoretical and practical transmission of [the CJ’s] experiences to current and future generations.’71 The TBA also sought to establish 60

Author Interview, TBA deputy director, Iran, April 12, 2011. Rivetti, Co-opting Civil Society, pp. 187–207. 62 Author Interview, TBA deputy director, Iran, April 12, 2011. 63 The TBA’s website. 64 Abrahamian, A History, p. 193. 65 Golkar, Captive Society, pp. 190–191. 66 The TBA’s website. 67 Ibid. 68 Ibid. 69 Ibid. 70 Ibid. 71 Ibid. 61

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educational, training and research institutes and centers for students and to create seminars, memorials and exhibits dedicated to the CJ’s veterans- including sections of the Museum of the Holy or Sacred Defense and the Promotion of Resistance Culture that commemorate the contributions of the WES’s engineers and trench builders to the war effort (see Figure 4). For the TBA, the goal of these activities was to ‘honor the memory of the CJ’s martyrs [who were killed in] the holy or sacred defense, preserve the history and identity of the CJ… and transmit jehadi culture and jehadists’ past experiences to current and future generations.’72 Through the TBA’s educational programs, the principlists sought to channel the energy of veterans into socializing youth and other citizens with religious, revolutionary and nationalistic symbols and values related to wartime sacrifice and martyrdom. These symbols and values were prevalent in the IRI’s public space on street signs named after martyrs, on murals and posters of the fallen and in media programs and publications dedicated to the war.73 The TBA perpetuated and reinforced these symbols and values by ‘reminding Iranians of the sacrifices that were made for the war and of citizens’ religious and patriotic duty to serve God and country.’74 The TBA’s educational initiatives may have mobilized and socialized youth in favor of the conservatives and the principlists. However, as previously mentioned, religiosity and patriotism were not values that exclusively belonged to the conservatives and the principlists, but also to the reformists and other Iranians. In fact, the CJ’s former activists and veterans with moderate and reformist leanings joined the TBA and its sister organization, the Jehadists Association (JA), which was established in 2006, the same year as the fourth election of the Assembly of Experts—a body that elects, supervises, and, if necessary, can dismiss the supreme leader. Factional politics aside, the TBA’s educational activities represented an attempt to advance its own agenda by bringing national attention to its cause and reminding the government and the public of the veterans’ sacrifices and plight. Beyond targeting youth, the TBA sought to instill unity among veterans, who were affiliated with the WES and other branches of the military. Like the t-shirts worn by the CM’s cultural staff at its camps, the TBA’s logo contained the CJ’s ‘all together’ slogan framed by a sickle and stalk below a Qur’anic verse that conveyed piety (see Figure 5).75 Underscoring its conservative credentials, the TBA expressed ‘the hope that, with the Almighty’s help and the Twelfth Imam’s special approval, TBA members can take effective steps toward Imam Khomeini’s goals for this organization and toward the Supreme Leader’s expectations for jehadists through the realization, once again, of the “all together” slogan.’76 Consistent with the CJ’s ‘all together’ slogan, the TBA strove to ‘maintain social solidarity’ and ‘solve jehadists’ problems through direct communication and information exchange with each other.’77 Toward this end, the TBA created an outreach program for the CJ’s veterans and their families. In Tehran and other provinces, the TBA held weekly, monthly and annual meetings for these veterans, their families and those of the CJ’s martyrs. The TBA organized these meetings according to veterans’ competencies and specializations, including command and support, driving, engineering, research, training and production. The TBA also held meetings between the CJ’s veterans and those of the IRGC, the Basij and the conventional

72

Author Interview, TBA deputy director, Iran, April 12, 2011. See also the TBA’s website. The TBA’s central headquarters are located on one such street: Shahid Daʾemi Street. The TBA’s website. 74 Author Interview, TBA deputy director, Iran, April 12, 2011. 75 S. Saba (34:46): ‘Say, ‘I advise you of only one thing. Stand up for God individually and in pairs…’ 76 The TBA’s website. 77 Ibid. 73

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Figure 4. Model of a trench builders’ trench at the Museum of the Holy or Sacred Defense and the Promotion of Resistance Culture. Photograph, model trench, Museum of the Holy or Sacred Defense, Iran, July 27, 2015. Photo, courtesy of Hatim Bukhari.

military or army.78 This made sense given that the WES mainly had supported the IRGC and the Basij during the war, and had merged with both after the war.79 As with the TBA’s educational activities, its efforts to promote unity among veterans served a dual purpose. As the CM had done with youth, the TBA recruited, organized and mobilized veterans in support of the conservatives and the principlists during parliamentary and presidential elections. At the same time and as will be further discussed below, solidifying a base of members and supporters allowed the TBA to pressure the conservatives and the principlists into advancing its goals. A main TBA goal was to improve the economic status of the CJ’s veterans. Although the TBA was a non-profit organization, it undertook a number of activities that sought to protect 78 79

Ibid. Author Interview, TBA director, Iran, March 16, 2011; see also the TBA’s website.

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Figure 5. The TBA’s logo. The TBA’s website.

and advance the financial interests of its members and their families. The TBA ‘performed activities in manufacturing and trade, and in spending revenues to promote the economic conditions of the CJ’s veterans and their families.’80 The TBA also ‘established, strengthened and supported private-sector companies [that were affiliated] with the CJ’s veterans.’81 The TBA ‘organized and directed investment and participation in [buying] shares in companies that benefited veterans and were [in line with] the TBA’s goals.’82 Moreover, the TBA ‘pursued establishing a loan fund and connecting it to existing funds’ to offer credit to qualified members for various purposes.83 To further improve the financial wellbeing of the CJ’s veterans, the TBA helped them find jobs. Article ten of the TBA charter stated that one of its aims was to ‘pursue employment for the CJ’s [former] members and veterans and for their families.’84 In addition to bringing these veterans together, the TBA offered them work and a sense of purpose. At the TBA’s central headquarters in Tehran, veterans with physical disabilities—including blindness, shrapnel wounds, severed limbs, and illnesses from chemical weapons exposure—answered telephones, organized files, prepared presentations, printed pamphlets and brochures, and performed other administrative and promotional functions. The TBA partnered with the MAJ’s Office of Veterans Affairs to help the CJ’s veterans obtain jobs at the ministry.

80

The TBA’s website. Ibid. 82 Ibid. 83 Ibid. 84 Ibid. 81

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Beyond offering the CJ’s veterans financial support and helping them find employment, the TBA pressured the conservatives and the principlists in the government into awarding these veterans greater compensation, benefits and services. The TBA endeavored to make ‘securing the basic, material needs [of the CJ’s veterans] a priority and commonplace’ for the government.85 To this end, the TBA ‘obtained information on the living conditions and the problems of the CJ’s veterans and their families, and took steps toward resolving these problems.’86 One of these steps included launching a national publicity campaign with advertisements, films and publications (books, weekly newsletters, and newspapers) on the issue of veterans’ compensation. The TBA launched this campaign in cooperation with several cultural and publicity organizations, including the IRI Broadcasting, which was under the supreme leader’s purview, and the IRGC-affiliated Foundation for the Preservation of Relics and the Dissemination of the Values of the Holy or Sacred Defense, which also published books on the CJ’s wartime history and activities.87 Apart from contributing to attempts by the conservatives and the principlists to socialize youth and other citizens, the TBA visited schools and established research centers, memorials and exhibits to raise national awareness of the issue of veterans’ compensation. In essence, the TBA acted as an interest group that ‘supported and trained the CJ’s veterans and their families in receiving compensation for physical, emotional and financial damage suffered during the holy or sacred defense.’88 The TBA’s primary lobbying targets comprised the parliament and the presidency—which the conservatives and the principlists controlled between 2004 and 2013. The TBA directed its lobbying efforts toward ‘seeking the implementation of laws passed by the parliament, and the approval of cabinet decrees and general provisions related to the CJ’s veterans and their families.’89 The TBA lobbied in partnership with the Foundation of Veterans Affairs, the IRGC, the Basij, the MAJ’s Department of Veterans Affairs and various clerics. The fact that most, if not all, of these entities fell under the supreme leader’s purview attested to the controlled nature of these lobbying efforts. The latter also may have served as a means for the supreme leader and other conservative elites to pressure their principlist counterparts as tensions between both factions escalated following the 2009 presidential election, helping pave the way for the electoral victory of the centrist president Hassan Rouhani in 2013. Conclusion While the Iran-Iraq War was essential to the IRI’s state formation, rural development was also vital to this process. During the last three decades and with varying degrees of success, the IRI and its factionalized elites have used the developmental and populist rhetoric, ideology and practice of the CJ, the CM and the TBA in an attempt to mobilize and socialize constituents, gain popular support and electoral votes, and demobilize and marginalize domestic and foreign opponents. At the same time, these organizations produced and addressed the unintended consequences of cognitive dissonance, deep-seated disillusionment and ideological detachment among activists, veterans, students and youth. By organizing a critical mass of constituents and amassing popular claims from below, these organizations exerted bottom-up pressures and demands for increased and improved education, employment, 85

Ibid. Ibid. 87 Ibid. The TBA director also confirmed this activity in an interview with the author, Iran, March 16, 2011. 88 The TBA’s website. 89 Ibid. 86

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compensation, benefits, services and exemptions on the very state and the very elites that they had assisted and supported. While originally intended to facilitate and promote development, mobilization and socialization for the state and its factionalized elites, these organizations used their developmental and populist rhetoric, ideology and practice to challenge or contest the status quo. By leveraging their robust constituencies and closeness with political elites, these organizations endowed activists, veterans, students and youth with the requisite agency, capacity, prestige and power to move closer toward independent advocacy and to negotiate or bargain with these elites. However, the fact that these organizations lobbied with entities that were largely or entirely affiliated with the supreme leader revealed the controlled nature of these efforts. While generating popular pressures on the state, for the latter, these organizations served as a feedback mechanism or a means of gauging demands from activists, veterans, students, youth, villagers and other citizens. In the process, these organizations mitigated the risk of informal or non-routine contention, such as protests and demonstrations, erupting at the societal level, and confined or relegated contentious politics to developmental and socioeconomic issues rather than ones focused on political reform. Acknowledgments I thank Narges Bajoghli and Amir Moosavi for organizing this special issue of Middle East Critique on the Iran-Iraq War and for inviting me to contribute to it. I also thank the Middle East Critique editor and the two anonymous reviewers for their invaluable comments and feedback on this article.

References Abrahamian, E. (1982) Iran Between Two Revolutions (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Abrahamian, E. (1993) Khomeinism: Essays on the Islamic Republic (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press). Abrahamian, E. (2008) A History of Modern Iran (Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press). Akhoundi, A. (2012) Memories of the CJ’s Establishment: From Shahid Rajai’s Budget of One and a Half Billion for CJ to Abadan Road, Macro Economy. Akhoundi, A. (2013) The CJ: A Looking Glass into the Revolution, Business Tomorrow, p. 44. Ashraf, A. (1991) State and Agrarian Relations before and after the Iranian Revolution, 1960–1990, in: Waterbury, J. & Kazemi, F. (eds) Peasants and Politics in the Modern Middle East, pp. 277–311 (Miami, FL: Florida University Press). Ashraf, A. (1995) From the White Revolution to the Islamic Revolution, in: Rahnema, S. & Behdad, S. (eds) Iran after Revolution: Crisis of an Islamic State, pp. 21–44 (London: I. B. Tauris). Azkia, M. (2002) Rural Society and Revolution in Iran, in: Hooglund, E. (ed.) Twenty Years of Islamic Revolution, pp. 96–119 (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press). Farhi, F. (1990) States and Urban Based Revolutions: Iran and N icaragua (Urbana and Chicago, IL: University of Illinois Press). Ferdows, E. (1983) The Reconstruction Crusade and Class Conflict in Iran, in: MERIP Reports, 113 (March–April), pp. 11–15. Foran, J. & Goodwin, J. (1993) Revolutionary Outcomes in Iran and Nicaragua: Coalition Fragmentation, War, and the Limits of Social Transformation, Theory and Society, 22, pp. 209–247. Golkar, S. (2015) Captive Society: The Basij Militia and Social Control in Iran (Washington, DC, and New York: Woodrow Wilson Center Press and Columbia University Press). Hooglund, E. (1997) Letter from an Iranian Village, Journal of Palestine Studies, 27(1), pp. 76–84. Iravani, M. J. (1998) Institutionalism and Jihad-e Sazandegi (Tehran: The Ministry of the CJ, The Office of Public Relations). Luciani, G. (2016) Oil and Political Economy in the International Relations of the Middle East, in: Fawcett, L. (ed.) International Relations of the Middle East, (Fourth Edition), pp. 105–130 (Oxford: Oxford University Press). The MAJ (2003) The Plan of the CM (Tehran: The MAJ). The Ministry of the CJ (1991) The Ten-Year Performance of the CJ from 1979 until 1989 (Iran: The Ministry of the CJ).

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DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN The Ministry of the CJ (2001) Twenty Years of Effort for Construction: A Glance at Twenty Years of the CJ’s Performance and Achievements (Tehran: The Ministry of the CJ, The Office of Public Relations). Moslem, M. (2002) Factional Politics in Post-Khomeini Iran (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press). Rivetti, P. (2013) Co-opting Civil Society Activism in Iran, in: Aarts, P. & Cavatorta, F. (eds) Civil Society in Syria and Iran: Activism in Authoritarian Contexts, pp. 187–207 (Boulder, CO, and London: Lynne Rienner Publishers). Schirazi, A. (1993) Islamic Development Policy: The Agrarian Question in Iran (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers). Skocpol, T. (1988) Social Revolutions and Mass Military Mobilization, World Politics, 40(2), pp. 147–168. Tilly, C. (1985) War Making and State Making as Organized Crime, in: Evans, P., Rueschemeyer, D. & Skocpol, T. (eds) Bringing the State Back In, pp. 169–191 (Cambridge, NY: Cambridge University Press). The World Bank (1994) Islamic Republic of Iran Services for Agriculture and Rural Development (Vol. I, Main Report), World Bank Report, 11956-IRN (June 20).

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Dark Corners and the Limits of Ahmad Dehqan’s War Front Fiction AMIR MOOSAVI

ABSTRACT Since 2005, Iranian writer and veteran of the Iran-Iraq War, Ahmad Dehqan, has emerged as one of the most well-known writers of fiction based on that war. War fiction in Iran (as well as other forms of cultural production about the war) generally has adhered to the official narrative of ‘Sacred Defense,’ which the Islamic Republic has promoted. The state also has been, and continues to be, the chief supporter of cultural production dealing with the war, particularly through institutions such as the Howzeh-ye Honari (Islamic Arts Center). Ahmad Dehqan is one such writer who is affiliated with the state. His fiction, however, particularly his novel Safar beh garā-ye devist va haftād darajeh (Journey to Heading 270 Degrees) and short story collection, Man qātel-e pesar-tān hastam (I Killed Your Son), not only fail to adhere to the norms of Sacred Defense fiction, but in many ways, attempt to undermine it. By focusing on two of Dehqan’s short stories from the collection I Killed Your Son, this article argues that his fiction mines the recent past to challenge the authority of the Sacred Defense narrative by rewriting aspects of stories that took place during the war. In doing so, he reasserts the unsettled nature of the war narrative today in Iranian society and the continued interest and importance of the war.

In 2005, nearly 17 years after the end of the Iran-Iraq War, Ahmad Dehqan, a veteran of that war who began writing after his return from the war front, published his first novel, Safar beh garā-ye devist va haftād darajeh (Journey to Heading 270 Degrees).1 The novel was a departure for Dehqan, who previously had published memoir-like writings of his own experiences in combat, biographical writings about famous martyrs from the war, and short stories that firmly adhered to the narrative of Sacred Defense (Defā’-e moqaddas) promoted by the Islamic Republic of Iran. Within Iran, Journey to Heading 270 Degrees gained critical attention almost immediately and has remained popular. It is currently in its 19th printing, and in 2006 Paul Sprachman translated it into English.2 In stark contrast to most of his

1

For a review and summary of this novel in translation see F. Farrokh (2008) Review of Journey to Heading 270 Degrees by Ahmad Dehqan, Paul Sprachman, Iranian Studies, 41(2), pp. 253–259. For a critical reading of the novel, read in comparison with Iraqi war literature, see A. Moosavi (2015) How to Write Death: Resignifying Martyrdom in Two Novels of the Iran-Iraq War, Alif: Journal of Comparative Poetics, 35(9), pp. 9–31. 2 A. Dehqan & P. Sprachman (trans) (2006) Journey to Heading 270 Degrees (Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda Publishers).

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previous works, this novel was stripped of the ideological tone that characterized not only Dehqan’s own writings, but most Iranian war front literature. Dehqan’s depictions of young soldiers who engage in playful banter and jovial obscenity at the war front, combined with grisly images of battlefront death were breakthroughs for Persian fiction of the Iran-Iraq War. Furthermore, the publication of the novel with Sureh-ye Mehr, the publishing house of the Howzeh-ye Honari (Islamic Arts Center), established Dehqan as a novelist affiliated with state-sponsored literary production and indicated a significant fissure within state-sponsored literary representations of the war.3 The popularity and critical attention Journey to Heading 270 Degrees attained overshadowed Dehqan’s short story collection, Man qātel-e pesar-tān hastam (I Killed Your Son), published just one year prior, in 2004. The book contains 10 short stories that deal with the Iran-Iraq War and its aftermath. Dehqan quietly published the slim collection with Tehranbased publishing house Ofoq, just before publishing Journey to Heading 270 Degrees with Sureh-ye Mehr, a larger publishing house that specifically targets readers of Sacred Defense fiction. Shortly after, likely aided by the popularity that Journey had quickly garnered, I Killed Your Son was nominated for the Mehregān Prize, The Critics and Writers Press Award (Jāyezeh-ye montaqedān va nevisandegān-e maṭbu’āt) and the prize for best short story by the Golshiri Foundation, all highly respected Iranian literary foundations that are well-known to be independent of state-sponsorship. To date, the collection has gone through seven printings. In 2007, director Maziyar Miri made the film Pādāsh-e sokut (The Reward of Silence), starring the well-known Iranian actor Parviz Parastui, based on the collection’s eponymous short story. In this article, I focus on two stories in that collection: the title story, ‘I Killed Your Son,’ and ‘Tambr’ (Stamp). Drawing from the work of Brian McHale and Mikhail Bakhtin, I argue that these stories, in particular, challenge the Sacred Defense narrative that the Iranian state has promoted since the beginning of the war. In so doing, Dehqan demonstrates that he is part of a small but important group of writers with affiliations to state-sponsored cultural institutions, invested in redefining aspects of the official ‘truths’ of the war front through fiction. Moreover, the contrast between the representation of the war in these stories and most works of Sacred Defense fiction makes evident the still unsettled and contentious legacy of the war in contemporary Iran. Literary representations of the war with Iraq began very shortly after the war itself in September 1980. With the exception of a few notable novels and short stories, the state-sponsored Howzeh-ye Honari and its various affiliates published much of this literature for the duration of the war. This was literature that mostly reaffirmed official statements about the war, wartime ideology and the worldview of the Islamic Republic, which had come into being just over a year before the Iraqi invasion of Iran and the outbreak of the war. Hasan Mir-’Abedini in his encyclopedic Sad sāl dāstān nevisi-ye Īran (One Hundred Years of Persian Fiction) notes that between 1981 and 1991, nearly 1,600 short stories and 46 novels dealing directly with the war were published in Iran.4 The vast majority of these fictional works treat the war within the ideological framework of the ‘Sacred Defense’ or 3

The Howzeh-ye Honari is the Arts Center of the Organization of Islamic Propaganda (Sāzmān-e tablighāt-e Islāmi), under the direction of the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance. For more on the organization’s long and complicated history, see F. Shams (2015) Literature, art, and ideology under the Islamic Republic, in: K. Talatoff (ed.) Persian Language, Literature and Culture: New leaves, fresh looks, pp. 163–192 (New York: Routledge). 4 My concern here is solely with prose fiction. For critical treatment of poetry related to the Iran-Iraq War see F. Shams (2015) The Dialectic of Poetry and Power in Iran, Dirasat 42(1), pp. 1–40.

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the modern-day recasting of the martyrdom of Husayn, the third Shi’i Imam, at Karbala. Similar themes constantly reappear throughout these works: religious beliefs provide the moral courage to support the war effort of the mostly young, volunteer fighters; other fighters are transformed into Islamic revolutionaries by their experiences fighting at the front; finally, war front death, always framed as martyrdom, is never without meaning and always exalted as the highest honor.5 Critics, even from inside the establishment of Sacred Defense culture, largely have dismissed this decade of literary production as fruitless, producing a plethora of derivative works of propaganda. This was no surprise, given that many of these writers got their start with the 1979 Revolution and Iran-Iraq War and looked to fiction, poetry and memoir only as means to promote the values of the Revolution or cause of the Sacred Defense. Mir-’Abedini defines them as ‘non-professional writers.’ He writes, ‘[T] hey were people who wanted to convey to others their experiences of being present at the front line. They were afraid of forgetting the value of the war. They wrote in a hurry and were unsuccessful in creating a natural, fictional world with living characters [and] … were unable to present their own attitudes and opinions in an indirect way.’6 During wartime, these types of texts defined the literary aesthetics of Sacred Defense culture. However, the postwar period undoubtedly has seen a major diversification of war representation in Iranian literature. Writers and poets unaffiliated with the state are to be credited for most of this. Writers such as Shahriyar Mandanipur, Husayn Abkenar and most recently Mahmud Dowlatabadi, have written significant novels and short stories that are formally innovative and significantly differ from the vast majority of Sacred Defense fiction in terms of content.7 At the same time, it is no longer possible to speak of a monolithic ‘official’ literature of the war, as even some writers affiliated with state-sponsored institutions have managed to publish literary works critical of the war’s ideology and handling. Ahmad Dehqan’s Journey to Heading 270 Degrees is one such example of this. Along with Dehqan there have been other attempts to challenge the official narrative from within the Sacred Defense culture industry itself. In particular, one can point to the 2000 short story collection of Habib Ahmadzadeh, Dāstān-hā-ye shahr-e jangi (Stories of a War-Torn City) and his 2007 novel Shatranj bā māshin-e qiyāmat (Chess with the Doomsday Machine), as well as Mohammad Reza Bayrami’s short novels Pol-e mo’allaq (The Suspension Bridge, 2002) and Oqāb-ha–ye tappeh-ye shast (Eagles of Hill 60, 1990). Like Dehqan, these veterans-turned-writers, look back at the war ‘with a more sobering eye, reflecting not only on a specific experience of the Iran-Iraq war but also on the human condition in general.’8 Yet, Dehqan’s writing goes beyond sober reflection. On the one hand, this is noteworthy because of his association with the Howzeh-ye Honari and its publishing house Sureh-ye H. Mir-‘Abedini (2004) Sad sāl dāstān nevisi-ye Īran (One hundred Years of Persian Fiction), pp. 889–930; 1281–1302 (Tehran: Nashr-e Cheshmeh). All translations are my own. 6 Ibid, p. 890. 7 For examples, see S. Mandanipur (1998) Del-e deldādegi [The courage to love] (Tehran: Entesharat-e Zarryab); H. Abkenar (2006) ‘Aqrab ru-ye pelleh-hā-ye rāhāhan-e Andimeshk, yā, khun az in qaṭar michikeh, qurbān! [The scorpion on the steps of the Andimeshk Railroad, or, There is Blood Dripping from this Train, Sir!] (Tehran: Nashr-e Nay); and M. Dowlatabadi (2008) Tariq-e besmel shodan (The History of Dying) (Tehran: Nashr-e Cheshmeh). Dowlatabadi also has a novella that never received permission to be published in Iran, but it only has been published in translation; see: M. Dowlatabadi & M. Weir (trans.) (2014) Thirst (New York: Melville House). 8 M. R. Ghanoonparvar (2009) Postrevolutionary Trends in Persian Fiction and Film, Radical History Review, 105, pp. 156–162. Of course, the ‘sobering eye’ of which Ghanoonparvar speaks was present in a few works of wartime literature as well, with Ahmad Mahmud’s Zamin-e sukhteh (Scorched Earth) and Esma’il Fassih’s Zemestān-e shast o dow (Winter of ’84) being the most notable examples. The tone with which these novels depict the war were highly exceptional. 5

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Mehr, where he has published nearly all of his writings. Until the present, Sureh-ye Mehr continues to publish many works of fiction, poetry and memoir that consistently reaffirm the narrative of Sacred Defense without offering any significant critique of the war, its participants or the state’s ideology throughout it. What distinguishes Dehqan’s fictional works from both typical Sacred Defense fiction as well as more critical writers of Iranian war fiction who are unaffiliated with the state is his emphasis on the more carnal aspects of war front violence and even more significantly, on events that are not recognized by the Sacred Defense narrative. The first of those two elements defines the battle scenes in Journey to Heading 270 Degrees. He combines it with the second element in his 2004 short story collection, Man qātel-e pesar-e-tān hastam (I Killed Your Son). If Dehqan’s Journey to Heading 270 Degrees sought to muddy the battlefront story that had been sanitized by the Sacred Defense narrative and reorient the war narrative toward physical violence and senseless loss, the stories contained in I Killed Your Son can be seen as attempts to shine light on the darker corners of the war and its aftermath that the narrative ignores. Two of the collection’s stories are especially involved in this act: ‘Man qātel-e pesar-e-tān hastam’ (I Killed Your Son) and ‘Tambr’ (The Stamp). War Front Confessions ‘I Killed Your Son’ is written in the form of a letter by Faramarz Bonakdar to Reza Jabbarzadeh, the father of Mohsen Jabbarzadeh, a soldier killed in combat. The eight-page letter is a confession. Bonakdar writes the letter shortly after the mourning ceremony commemorating the 40th day following Mohsen’s death. He tells Jabbarzadeh that he was at the ceremony and saw him, but could not bring himself to speak with him. ‘[W]ithout you knowing me, I was ashamed to see you. I did not know what impact it would have had on you to know that I killed your son. Yes, Mohsen was killed by my hands, not those of the enemy soldiers.’9 The story continues with Bonakdar revealing to Mohsen’s father the true nature of his son’s death. He was not shot and killed on the battlefield, as he had been told, rather, he was shot by enemy fire and then drowned by Bonakdar after his grunting and flailing threatened to reveal their position to Iraqi soldiers. He writes: I decided to retell you how things had gone, especially when your son’s friend, who was my friend and fellow combatant as well, took the megaphone to speak about Mohsen. Everything he said, from start to finish, was correct, but he was not completely forthcoming about Mohsen’s martyrdom. This letter is to make up for what was missing.10 What ensues is an explanation of events during an operation gone awry, as a group of Iranian divers, to which Bonakdar and Jabbarzadeh belonged, attempted to cross into Iraqi territory via the Arvand Rud/Shatt al-Arab waterway. Jabbarzadeh is hit in the neck by a bullet and presumed dead. Bonakdar is commanded to bring his body ashore. While doing so, he realizes that Jabbarzadeh is still alive and hopes to save his life. However, once on enemy territory and reunited with the other divers, Jabbarzadeh, unconscious and unable to control himself, begins to grunt and wheeze loudly as he tries to breathe. 9

A.d Dehqan (2005) Man qātel-e pesar-e-tān hastam, p. 69 (I Killed Your Son) (Tehran: Ofoq). All translations are my own. 10 Ibid, p. 70.

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Relating the details of the event to the father, Bonakdar writes that he was commanded to ‘shut him up’ by drowning him. He tells him how the commander came to his aid and, with great difficultly they submerge his son’s flailing body, killing him.11 Bonakdar tells the father of the friendship that the two men shared and how it flashed before his eyes as he took his friend’s life in order to save the rest of the platoon and the reinforcements that were on the way. They attach his body to one of the barbed wires set up along the shore so that the tide would not drag his body out to sea. The last time he sees him, ‘His arms were spread out in either direction and his head tilted downward, like Christ on the cross, among the barbed wire.’12 He ends the letter by saying, ‘I killed your son and have to bear the punishment for that. I will submit myself to whatever fate you decide for me.’13 The confessional aspect of ‘I Killed Your Son’ represents a critique to the most self-assured aspects of the Sacred Defense narrative, taking aim at the assumed heroism, sacrifice of the war front soldiers and clear-cut binary of good and evil that typifies the state’s discourse on the war. Like Journey to Heading 270 Degrees, the story critiques the discourse of martyrdom that was so prevalent throughout the Iran-Iraq War. The aesthetics of the story nod toward Journey, as well, with Dehqan emphasizing the corporeal elements of violent death on the battlefront by invoking the sounds and physical aspects of the unconscious body attempting to remain in the realm of the living (i.e., flailing arms, water sprouting out of the whole in his throat, invoking the onomatopoeic word for snorting—khor khor). Without providing any firm answers, the story asks what it means to have the received narrative of a loved one’s martyrdom turn out to be false: Rather than dying at the hands of the hated enemy, instead he was killed by his own comrade and friend. When, at the ceremony marking 40 days since her son’s death, Jabbarzadeh’s mother screams invectives at her son’s killer—who is Bonakdar, and who is present at the ceremony—she is essentially calling for the death of an Iranian soldier who killed her son for the sake of his fellow fighters, or so we are led to believe. It is easy to forget that within the narrative of Jabbarzadeh’s death proffered in the letter, Mohsen is finished off by his fellow soldier because of the commander believed that his flailing and snorting might give away their position, if the enemy heard them. As much as Bonakdar wants to believe so, and hopes that Jabbarzadeh’s father also believes him, there is a noticeable lack of certainty in the story. In other words, no one knows what would have happened if Jabbarzadeh had not been killed. The narrator’s sense of doubt that his comrade’s death may have been meaningless is noticeable. The unspoken plays a major role in this story. What does Jabbarzadeh’s father now think of his son’s death? Does his drowning by his own comrade affect his status as a martyr? How do ideas such as heroism and sacrifice now factor into the representation of a martyr and war veteran when Bonakdar uses the word qātel—‘killer’ or ‘murderer’— to describe himself? The text begs readers to ask all of these questions. Of course, by telling Jabbarzadeh’s father he last witnessed his son in a position that resembles ‘Christ on the cross’ (replete with a barbed wire crown that recalls Christ’s famed crown of thorns), Bonakdar at once reinforces a narrative of martyrdom, while simultaneously relating a story that undercuts the assumed qualities of meaningful death on the battlefront. In this way, Bonakdar is an unreliable narrator, nervously caught between a conviction in the perceived narrative of Jabbarzadeh as a martyr and the fact that he was the one who caused his fellow combatant’s death. Herein lies

11

Ibid, p. 75. Ibid. 13 Ibid, p. 77. 12

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the story’s significance and strength: In its format as a letter from a battlefield participant and witness, it disobeys the official narrative’s exclusive claim to truth and offers a revisionist narrative of war front events. Darker Corners The stories in I Killed Your Son break many taboos of writing about the war front. The collection’s title story shows another side of the war front experience, one that strips away the sacralizing language of the governmental narrative of war front violence and martyrdom and revises the Sacred Defense’s narrative of truth. Another story in the collection, ‘The Stamp’ (Tambr), goes a step further by shedding light on a darker side of the war that the Sacred Defense narrative ignores. Beginning at the time of the 1979 Revolution and running through the Iran-Iraq War, ‘The Stamp’ tells the story of an unnamed narrator, and two siblings who were his childhood neighbors and friends, Edris and his older, enigmatic sister, Roya. The relationship between the narrator and Edris revolves around a shared stamp collection, from which the story takes its title and to which the narrator repeatedly returns in the present moment. As the narrator recounts the events of his childhood and his friendship with Edris and Roya, he throws the stamps, one by one, into an adjacent fireplace, commanding, in a refrain-like manner, ‘Burn, stamp!’ (besuz ay tambr!), often accompanied by a memory of when and how he and Edris obtained that particular stamp: Burn, stamp! Edris got this stamp commemorating the October Revolution and said, “Now that things are heating up, there will be a lot of these types of stamps in the bazaar.” Burn, stamp! This one is the first stamp that was issued after the [1979] Revolution. A few days earlier Edris had told me, “We definitely have to buy a lot of these since they’re going to be worth a lot later on. Didn’t the first stamps from the French or Russian Revolutions also become valuable? Many people have gotten rich from these types of stamps. Burn, stamp! Burn, burn, burn.14 As the story’s fragmented narration unfolds, it becomes apparent that the narrator as a young man, developed a romantic interest in Roya, leading to an unspoken tension with Edris. With time, however, the neighborhood children grow older and their once tightknit childhood friendships fray, leading the narrator to feel frustrated at the infrequency with which he sees Roya. For her part, Roya also changes during this time. ‘Everyone went their own way,’ the narrator writes. ‘I would see Roya coming and going, wearing white gym shoes and a short grey tunic, distributing various fliers.’15 While not directly addressing it, the significance of Roya’s attire hints that she had joined a leftist group that opposed the rule of Mohammed Reza Shah Pahlavi (r. 1941–1979) and participated in

14 15

Ibid, p. 34. Ibid.

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the 1978–79 Revolution against his regime. One might assume, as multiple events later on in the story reveal, that the group which Roya joined was the Mojahedin-e Khalq, a leftist-Islamist group that staged an uprising against the Islamic Republic government and subsequently established a base in Iraq to attack Iran during the war.16 The narrator never states this outright throughout the course of the story. At times it seems as if he goes out of his way to avoid it, as when he deliberately does not read the flier that Roya hands him the last time he sees her.17 Roya then disappears. Edris and the narrator, without speaking a word about her to one another, comb through newspapers daily looking for a trace of her ‘among the names of the people who had been assassinated, executed, killed in street violence or died’ but to no avail.18 With time, Edris becomes reclusive. Meanwhile, the war with Iraq breaks out, and the narrator, still a teenager, enlists and joins the fight for the liberation of Khorramshahr.19 He sees Edris only during his leaves of absence. It is during one of these leaves that he learns from his mother how secluded Edris has become: My mother would say that that mother and her child never leave the house. Especially after a group came, drew a red X on their wall, and wrote something illegible that I was never able to read. She said that the mother and son once spent an entire night scrubbing the wall to erase the paint, but that traces of it have always remained on the wall.20 Like the earlier incident with the flier, the moment clearly suggests more than is stated directly. What the narrator again refrains to say outright is that the family likely had been condemned for having one of its members—Roya—join a group opposed to the new regime. At this point in the story, it has become the elephant in the room, both at the level of dialogue among characters as well as at the level of narrative. Time passes and the narrator continues fighting at the war front. At some point during the final year of the war, while he is on another leave, Edris appears at the narrator’s home and asks to speak with him. He claims to want to split the stamp album between the two of them, but it becomes apparent that he actually comes to get the narrator’s assistance in enlisting in the army. He had tried previously, but the recruitment center refused him, which we may assume is due to his sister’s alleged political affiliations. Finding himself becoming increasingly agitated, the narrator listens to Edris’ story, turning through the pages of one of their old stamp albums. Despite the passage of time, the two are still unable to speak of Roya. The following day, the narrator accompanies Edris to go enlist with the army, which

16

The Mojahedin-e Khalq, as it is commonly referred to in both Persian and English, is short for Sāzmān-e mojāhedin-e khalq-e Irān or The People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran (often also referred to by the acronyms MKO, MEK and PMOI). Shortly before the revolution, the Marxist component of the organization separated from the Islamic one. In June 1981, the Islamic part of the organization started an armed struggle against Khomeini’s government, soon siding with Iraq during the Iran-Iraq War and remaining in Iraq after the end of the conflict. For more information, see E. Abrahamian (1982) The Iranian Mojahedin (New Haven: Yale University Press). 17 Dehqan, pp. 34–45. 18 Ibid, p. 36. 19 Khorramshahr was the first major city that the Iraqi army occupied after its invasion of Iran in September 1980, and it was the place around which early calls to defend the country rallied. Its liberation in May 1982 marked a turning point in the war wherein the Iranian forces were able to eject the Iraqi army and subsequently launch attacks into Iraqi territory. 20 Dehqan, p 36.

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he is able to do with the narrator’s assistance. They go off to combat as members of the same platoon, the war just months from being declared over. For its entirety, the short story’s fragmented and nonlinear narration jerks back and forth between the present moment of narration, the characters’ childhood in the distant past and a third, more recent, moment in the final days of the war, as Edris and the narrator are attempting to return home from the front. That last moment is actually the focal point in the story, bringing all three characters together again as adults. In it, Edris and the narrator are given their final leave and head from their base at Camp Kuzaran in Iranian Kurdistan to Kermanshah, the provincial capital, where they will be able to take a bus back to their hometown. The narrator tells us that the two friends were at the front for exactly 40 days when both sides accepted a peace agreement. The war was declared over and soldiers were being sent back home. All of these details make the guerilla battle in which they find themselves particularly surprising. As the two walk along a rural highway, they suddenly realize they are in the heat of a gunfight between Iranian soldiers and another armed group. Not understanding what is happening, a fellow Iranian soldier tells them that they have stumbled into a very serious battle, ostensibly a part of the war that had just come to an end. He tells them that they should seek shelter and be quiet since the enemy apparently also spoke Persian. Confused, they push forward and take cover under a bridge for the night with other combatants. Here, the importance of the narrative’s confession-like dimension comes to the fore, pulling the story back to the present as the narrator, alone in his family’s house, continues to throw the stamps into the fire, trying to forget what he has seen. From that fateful night onward, the narrator tells us, “Edris went silent … oh, how I wish we hadn’t pushed forward! If we hadn’t gone, everything would be different now.”21 The psychological pain that the narrator endures in the present is clear. What would happen during this unexpected battle would scar the man forever. That night, under the cover of a bridge, they realize they have sought shelter next to a dead body. The narrator states: We spent that night next to a bridge where a corpse of one of their women fighters was next to us. We could tell it was a woman from her long reddish hair, otherwise we wouldn’t have known, since her face was completely blown up. Those who were there said that at the last minute she had detonated a grenade on her face. It was hollowed out and the bones of her skull—the color of a cotton flower—caught my eye. Edris looked at her and gagged. I dragged him out from under the bridge and he vomited … his face went chalk-white.22 At this point, the narrative begins to shift hurriedly back and forth between the present moment and the battle. In the following paragraph, the narrator says: This morning my mother started talking and said that because I had spent several years in the war I’ve been hired at the bank. I should get married [she says] .... I’m staring at the window across the alley warming myself with the heat from this fire and looking at the persimmon tree, whose fruits are now ripening.23

21

Ibid, pp. 39–40. Ibid, p. 40. 23 Ibid. 22

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Readers then are pulled immediately from his view of the window from which Roya would peer, back to the battlefield: Reinforcements arrived with a helicopter … I don’t know why Edris wanted to lead us further into the battle… we saw the local villagers scattered about, searching the corpses of the enemy soldiers for anything valuable. The sides of the road were full of the corpses of men and women … all of their faces were mangled, blown up and starting to decompose.24 Their commander tells the troops to take the nearby hill, surround the enemy and wipe them out. The two companions end up by the side of the road, under a traffic sign. Again, time switches and the narrator speaks in the present: ‘I don’t know why I’m cold. I want to dump all the stamps into the fire to warm up … Little by little, this relentless pain and torture has to stop … I am utterly alone, with a world of memories that I’m running from.’25 The narrator is neither able to forget and nor able to live in the present moment. The story quickly takes a turn for the worse as the two realize they have taken cover next to another woman’s corpse. Under heavy fire, the narrator gathers the courage to lift his head and he sees Edris, ‘pale, shaking like a willow, [even] his lips were shaking … He was staring at the corpse … I told him we need to move and he didn’t respond. I grabbed his arm and told him again and then realized that he was heavy like a stone. He grabbed my hand and said one word: “Roya!”’26 Totally stunned, both men realize that the mutilated corpse is, in fact, Roya, who died fighting alongside the enemy soldiers. The realization confirms what the narration insinuated multiple times earlier in the story: Roya had become a member of the Mojahedin-e Khalq and died fighting alongside them against Iranian troops. From the description of the time (after the war officially had ended) and place (between Kermanshah and the small city of Islamabad-e Gharb, near the border with Iraq), along with other clues that the narrator provides (the enemy soldiers, many of whom are women, speak Persian, for example), readers familiar with the Iran-Iraq War know, without a doubt, that this is the final battle of the conflict. Referred to by the Iranian military as Operation Mersād (Ambush) it was a decisive blow to the Mojahedin-e Khalq. Just days after the formal cessation of hostilities between the two countries, the MKO, armed and encouraged by Saddam Hussein, made an incursion into Iranian Kurdistan in an attempt to take Kermanshah and turn the local population against the Islamic Republic. In the MKO’s historiography, the battle is referred to as Operation Forugh-e Jāvidān (Eternal Light). It was a massive failure for the MKO; Iran claims to have killed 4,500 fighters from the forces made up of combined MKO and Iraqi military.27 The horror continues after the realization that the corpse is Roya. The two mourning men remain beside the body for some time after the battle subsides. The narrator, who wanders away from the two siblings, overhears some young men from the local village, who have come out to survey the damage, talking about the crazed, discharged soldier on the side of the road who refuses to leave the side of a mutilated corpse. This is Edris. The narrator reports:

24

Ibid, p. 41. Ibid, p. 42. 26 Ibid. 27 D. Hiro (1991) The Longest War: The Iran-Iraq Military Conflict, pp. 246–247 (New York: Routledge). 25

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I saw that some of the young men from the area were saying something and eyeing over at Edris. I stayed next to the signpost and saw that Edris had gone and pulled Roya until she was hidden in the roadside ditch where the road turned. Those same young men said that today they had just taken a girl’s body and choked her and that the corpse is in good shape, and that the other corpse was in [their] hands for two days until it started to stink and if your friend had wanted they could have taken the corpse to our village not more than 500 meters away. They said that at the morgue, we warmed up water in a pot and we put the corpse inside it, and that cold bodies don’t give the same kind of pleasure as warm ones… I couldn’t listen anymore. Just like now, I was crazy, burning inside, everything in the world became worthless and without meaning.28 The two eventually make their way to Kermanshah and then to their village. Neither are the same as they were before the incident. After they return to their homes, we read: From that day on, Edris became the same way he is today. I have aged; I’m much older and have seen much more than my peers … Now that I’m sitting in the yard, beneath the persimmon tree and throwing the stamps into the fire … I want to open my heart and talk about these things. Before my mother returns and starts complaining, asking why, on my first day of work, I didn’t go in. I want to get this off my chest, throw the last stamp in the fire, get up and leave.29 The story ends there. The troubled war veteran has confessed to the readers the horror of what took place on the battlefield: An event that destroyed his childhood memories and his friendship with a childhood friend, and continues to sicken his personal memory of the war. Indeed, it is hard to reconcile a narrative of ‘Sacred Defense’ with the acts of necrophilia that are hinted at in this story. This is true, even if the victims are members of a group that can be classified as Enemy Number One in the eyes of the Islamic Republic, almost since the foundation of the state, and often slanderously labeled the monāfeqin (the hypocrites) rather than the mojāhedin in official Iranian media up to the present. I Killed Your Son is still widely available in Iran today. Dehqan continues to write; his most recently published work being a novel aimed at young adults entitled Bacheh-hā-ye Kārun (The children of the Karun River), published in 2013 with the Howzeh-ye Honari. However, the reception of the I Killed Your Son and the fate of ‘The Stamp’ is telling of the stakes of war writing in Iran even after the end of the war with Iraq. As we have seen, the publication of Journey to Heading 270 Degrees, gave the author a significant amount of prominence in the Iranian literary scene. This meant that the publication of I Killed Your Son would not go unnoticed in 2005. While the cultural censors in Iran generally do not have problems with depictions of violence, there are limits to the type of violence that can be portrayed, how it is represented and what accompanies it. The grotesque sexual acts ‘The Stamp’ nods toward, placed within the very real setting of Operation Mersād, were beyond what literary censors in the Islamic Republic would permit. By the second edition of the book (and in all subsequent printings), the quotation above that hints at sexual acts with a corpse of an enemy soldier was removed entirely and replaced by ellipsis. The scene now reads as follows: ‘I stayed next to the signpost and saw that Edris had gone and pulled Roya until she 28 29

Dehqan, pp. 43–44. For the sake of readability, I have added grammatical markings to parts of the translation. Ibid, p. 45.

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was hidden in the roadside ditch where the road turned … I couldn’t understand anything else. Just like now, I was crazy, burning inside, everything in the world lost its meaning.’30 Dehqan also faced severe criticisms from some literary critics who are ideologically aligned with conservative political factions in the Islamic Republic. As with Journey, some literary critics attacked the stories contained in I Killed Your Son almost entirely on ideological grounds. The most vociferous was Ahmad Shakeri, an Iranian writer who staunchly opposes any representation of the war that tarnishes the righteousness of the idea of the Sacred Defense. Shortly after the publication of the book, Shakeri, speaking to the conservative Fars News Agency, severely criticized Dehqan for writing what he viewed as a ‘materialistic’ work that ignores the benefits and virtues (ḥusn va maḥāsen) of the war, choosing instead to focus unfairly on the negative aspects (ma’āyeb) of the conflict. Shakeri apparently cannot understand how a writer might be a Muslim and have an ‘Islamic worldview that accepts God’s justice as one of the principles of the faith’ (as Dehqan seemingly does) and still write ‘a story in which divine justice, the existence of God or godly principles, are meaningless.’31 Moreover, in a rather ironic turn of events, one of the stories in I Killed Your Son, ‘Bāzgasht’ (The Return) went on to earn a notable mention from the Hushang Golshiri Foundation in Iran in their annual prize in 1394 (2005). The foundation, named after one of Iran’s foremost twentieth-century modernist writers and whose works until his death in 2000 all were subject to varying levels of censorship within Iran, is a bastion for Iranian writers of fiction who are almost exclusively unaffiliated with the government. Mohammad Mehdi Khorrami writes that Dehqan, in an effort to demonstrate ‘his loyalty to the official ideology [of the Islamic Republic of Iran] rejected an invitation from the Golshiri Foundation … refus[ing] to participate in a clip which the Foundation made of the candidates reading their stories.’ In turn, the journal Adabiyāt-e dāstāni, which actively promotes the Sacred Defense narrative of the war and is affiliated with the Howzeh-e Honari, greatly applauded Dehqan’s actions.32 Conclusion While Sacred Defense literature purports to speak the only truth about the war, other literary works, among them Dehqan’s fiction, have attempted to alter the representation of the war. Significantly, Dehqan’s work approaches the topic from within the official war-writing establishment in Iran. Because of his status as a war veteran and affiliation with the Howzeh-ye Honari, his writings immediately are associated with pro-government producers of culture who maintain the highly nationalistic and religiously informed view of the war as presented in the Sacred Defense narrative. Paradoxically, this factor allows him to write the type of fiction that contains an inherent critique of the war front in its desacralizing, graphic representation of death, while also drawing the ire of the Islamic Republic’s most zealous cultural critics of the war. It bears noting that Dehqan’s need to defend himself from attacks leveled against him by the likes of these critics, such as Ahmad Shakeri, continues today. As recently as 2014, he told Mehr News Agency, ‘Time and time again, I have stated that I have no position on their [pro-regime critics’] definition of what is pro- or anti-war 30

A. Dehqan (2008) Man qātel-e pesar-e-tān hastam (I Killed Your Son), 5th ed. (Tehran: Ofoq), p. 43. Farsi News Agency (September 24, 2006), Shakeri: majmu‘eh-ye man qātel-e pesar-e-tān hastam māteriyālisti ast. (Shakeri: The short story collection, I Killed Your Son , is materialistic ). Available at: http://farsnews.com/newstext.php?nn=8507020264 , accessed May 13, 2015. 32 M. Mehdi Khorrami (2014), Literary Subterfuge and Contemporary Persian Fiction: Who Writes Iran?, pp. 177–178 (New York and London: Routledge). 31

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in our country’s literature and it is not on this basis that I write. The eight-year war is one of the honors of the nation. I am proud that I write about it.’33 Clearly, Dehqan is aware of the debates around representation of the war in contemporary Iranian society and definitely realizes that his position of a simultaneous insider and outsider to the Howzeh-ye Honari and its publishing house Sureh-ye Mehr allows him to publish what he does. Other writers who began writing later within Iran, such as Davud Ghaffarzadegan and Habib Ahmadzadeh, as well as filmmaker, Ebrahim Hatami-Kia, for example, occupy similar positions vis-à-vis the Howzeh and its representation of the war. They, along with others, represent fissures in the official narrative of the war. What becomes apparent in Dehqan’s writing, be it his short stories in I Killed Your Son or in his novel Journey to Heading 270 Degrees, is that, above all, there is an emphasis on graphic, unsanitized and realistic war front violence. He also is concerned with the fictionalization of recent historical events, such as Operation Mersad in ‘The Stamp,’ or the Karbala V Campaign in Journey to Heading 270 Degrees. In both of these works, the war front experience prioritizes death and atrocity. In this way, Dehqan’s fiction plays an important role in exposing the dark areas of recent history whose existence the official narrative does not acknowledge. The stories contained in I Killed Your Son, particularly the two I have highlighted here, disrupt the supposed certainty of the dominant war narrative. This certainty revolves around ideas of heroism and righteous victimhood that have been promoted in Sacred Defense culture since wartime. Battlefront death, in Dehqan’s writings, is not simply a two-way action between enemies and friends, nor is it necessarily meaningful (martyrdom) as Sacred Defense literature typically depicts. In the world of Dehqan’s war fiction, death comes from all directions, it can range from mistaken, to utterly meaningless; friends sometimes kill friends, and both friends and enemies commit equally reprehensible and disgusting actions on the battlefield. Yet, it would be inaccurate to consider Dehqan as strictly an ‘anti-war’ writer or insist that his writing espouses a radically different view from the official narrative promoted in state-sponsored literatures. True, the characters that occupy his fiction do not adhere to the actions and dialogue of the most dogmatic of war literature in Iran. However, they do not openly criticize the war or the ideology that fueled it. His fiction challenges the homogenous dominance of the state-sponsored narrative, without offering any clear counter-narrative of the war. Dehqan’s use of actual places and events that correspond to the history of the war, whose history various scholars have written, is the reason for this. Within the world of historical fiction, these are places and events that critic Brian McHale, calls ‘historical realemes.’ Their insertion in a fictional text is, within historical fiction, governed by a number of cultural, sociological and genre-related constraints that are in accordance with the ‘official historical record.’34 He states: Another way of formulating this constraint would be to say that freedom to improvise actions and properties of historical figures is limited to the ‘dark areas’ of history, that is, to those aspects about which the ‘official’ record has nothing to report. Within the ‘dark areas,’ the historical novelist is permitted a relatively free hand … The ‘dark 33

Mehr News (September 25, 2013), “Gelāyeh-hā-ye Ahmad Dehqan az pedarkhāndeh-hā-ye adabiyāt va farhang / barkhi bā faryād-e zed-e jang dokān-e dunabash bar pā kardehand” (Ahmad Dehqan’s Complaints about the ‘Godfathers’ of literature and Culture / Some accuse him of being ‘Anti-War’). Available at: http://www.mehrnews.com/news/2295361/‫هیالگ‬-‫یاه‬-‫دمحا‬-‫ناقهد‬-‫زا‬-‫هدناوخردپ‬-‫یاه‬-‫تایبدا‬-‫و‬-‫گنهرف‬-‫یخرب‬-‫ب‬, accessed May 15, 2015. 34 B. McHale (1987) Postmodernist Fiction, pp. 86–87 (London & New York: Routledge).

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areas’ are normally the times and places where real-world and purely fictional characters interact in ‘classic’ historical fiction.35 In Dehqan’s case, the historical realeme in question is a specific battle—Operation Mersād— wherein the narrator retrospectively relates the horrors of the battlefield and the personal trauma of seeing Roya dead, possibly even raped posthumously. While the battle itself is not a ‘dark area’ since various accounts of it exist,36 the paragraph that was later censored is a perfect example of such a space where the official narrative ‘has nothing to report.’ The narrator places the blame for the strangling and necrophilic acts of enemy combatants on ‘some of the young men from the area’ who, may or may not have any affiliation with the Iranian armed forces sent to defeat the MKO. He also refrains from commenting on the other women soldiers who detonated grenades in their own faces. Read next to the fate of the woman whose corpse was subject to sexual acts, the reader might make a connection between the two—i.e., that they had done so to avoid being raped, dead or alive.37 Doubtless, there is a sense of rebellion in Dehqan’s fiction. Within the context of state-sponsored Iranian war writers, Dehqan is exceptional and it is precisely for this reason that he has come under such criticism from certain cultural critics. Read as confessions, ‘The Stamp’ and ‘I Killed Your Son’ offer more complex representations of the war front experience as well as the postwar trauma of combatants in the form of fiction. His short stories work within dark areas of the official narrative by offering individual histories that complicate the dominant war front narrative found in state-sponsored literary texts. Coming from a war veteran who still publishes with Sureh-ye Mehr and maintains ties to state-sponsored cultural institutions, Dehqan’s fiction diversifies the ‘official’ literature of the war in Iran by adding a contrarian voice to state-sponsored literary representations of the conflict and undermining the moral infallibility and religio-nationalist heroism presented by Sacred Defense Culture. However, Dehqan’s fiction does not attempt to displace the official narrative with any type of alternative narrative of the war front. His texts do not offer an outright challenge to the state ideology of the war. In this way, Dehqan’s texts fall short in allowing what in Bakhtinian terms is known as heteroglossia—a true multivoicedness of social and ideological discourses in fiction—to arise. Instead, a monoglossia of sorts, in the form of the narrative of Sacred Defense, still dominates representation of the war at its most fundamental level in Dehqan’s short stories.38 In relation to his fiction, then, the Sacred Defense narrative maintains a monologic outlook that ‘denies that there exists outside of it another consciousness, with the same rights, and capable of responding on an equal footing, another and equal I (thou).’39 Thus, we can see that Dehqan’s short stories, despite their rebellious tone, deny other potential voices of ideological dissent the opportunity to speak. One cannot help but notice the univocal, first-person narrative privilege granted to the figure of the combatant or veteran 35

Ibid, p. 87. See, for example, ʻA. Ṣayyad Shirazi & A. Dehqan (1999) Nāgofteh-hā-ye jang: khāṭerāt-e sipahbod-e shahid ʻAli Sayyād Shirāzi (The untold war: Memoirs of Martyr Lieutenant General Ali Sayyad Shirazi) (Tehran: Howzeh-ye Honari); M. ‘Ali Sadr Shirazi (2013) ʻAmaliyāt-e Merṣād va sarnevesht-e munāfiqin (Operation Mersad and the Fate of the Hypocrites) (Tehran: Markaz-e Asnād-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmi). S. Shirazi was a wellknown high-level commander of the Iranian armed forces throughout the war and led Operation Mersad. 37 For more on this topic, see Khorrami, Literary Subterfuge, pp. 15–73. 38 For Bakhtin, the term heteroglossia is an extension of his earlier term ‘polyphony.’ I use it here to refer to linguistic manifestation of the ever present battle between centrifugal and centripetal forces of ideologies in society, i.e., between dominant and contending discourses. 39 M. Bakhtin (1984) Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics, p. 318, Emerson C. (trans) (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press). 36

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throughout all of Dehqan’s fiction. The two short stories we have seen each provide a case in point: Mohsen in ‘I Killed Your Son’ and Roya in ‘The Stamp’ are emphatically silent. By prohibiting Roya from uttering a single word, Dehqan misses the opportunity to allow his texts to become multivocal and contribute to the ‘decomposition of [a] stable verbal and ideological system such as that of the narrative of Sacred Defense.’40 These points, however, should not lead us to discount the significance of Dehqan’s writing. He is part of a very small group of writers (perhaps only alongside Mohammad Reza Bayrami and Davud Ghaffarzadegan)41 who are closely associated with the Iranian state-sponsored literary establishment but have written fictionalized accounts of the IranIraq War that challenge its assumed righteousness and lightly tarnish its actors. Dehqan’s fiction, and especially the two short stories I have examined in detail here, are remarkably different from much of the literature written by war veterans about the eight-year conflict with Iraq. He offers sobering accounts of violent warfare that, at best, permanently scars its participants, and at worst, brutally kills them. In the world of Ahmad Dehqan’s fiction, the war front may be the starting point, but the war narrative extends far beyond the battlefield. More than anything, his stories are about the men scarred by battle and the pain and horrific memories they carry today. Disclosure statement No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

References Abkenar, H. (2006) ‘Aqrab ru-ye pelleh-hā-ye rāh—āhan-e Andimeshk, yā, khun az in qaṭar michikeh, qurbān! [The Scorpion on the Steps of the Andimeshk Railroad, or, There is Blood Dripping from this Train, Sir!] (Tehran: Nashr-e Nay). Abrahamian, E. (1982) The Iranian Mojahedin (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press). Ahmadzadeh, H. (2000) Dāstān-hā-ye shahr-e jangi [Stories of a War-Torn City] (Tehran: Ruznāmeh-ye Salām). Ahmadehzadeh, H. (2007) Shatranj bā māshin-e qiyāmat [Chess with the Doomsday Machine] (Tehran: Sureh-ye Mehr). Bayrami, M. R. (1999) Oqāb-hā –ye tappeh-ye shast [Eagles of Hill 60] (Tehran: Howzeh-ye Honari). Bayrami, M. R. (2002) Pol-e mo’allaq [The Suspension Bridge, 2003] (Tehran: Ofoq). Bakhtin, M. & Holquist, M. (trans) (1981) The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press). Dehqan, A. (2004) Man qātel-e pesar-e-tān hastam [I Killed Your Son] (Tehran: Ofoq). Dehqan, A. (2005) Safar beh garā-ye devist va haftād darajeh [Journey to Heading 270 degrees] (Tehran: Sureh-ye Mehr). Dehqan, A. & Sprachman, P. (trans) (2006) Journey to Heading 270 Degrees (Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda Publishers). Dowlatabadi, M. (2008) Tariq-e besmel shodan [The Way of Dying] (Tehran: Nashr-e Cheshmeh). Dowlatabadi, M. & Weir, M. (trans) (2014) Thirst (New York, NY: Melville House). Farrokh, F. (2008) Review of Journey to Heading 270 Degrees by Ahmad Dehqan, Paul Sprachman, Iranian Studies, 41(2), pp. 253–259. Fars News Agency. (September 24, 2006) Shakeri: majmu’eh-ye man qātel-e pesar-e-tān hastam māteriyālisti ast [Shakeri: The short story collection, I Killed Your Son, is materialistic]. Available at: http://farsnews.com/ newstext.php?nn=8507020264, accessed May 13, 2015. Ghaffarzadegan, D. (1996) Fāl-e khun [Fortune Told in Blood] (Tehran: Muʼassaseh-e Enteshārāt-e Qadeyāni).

40 41

Ibid. p. 182. See M. Reza Bayrami (1990) ʻUqābhā-ye tappeh-e shaṣt (Tehran: Howze-ye Honari); translated by M. R. Ghanoonparvar (2016) Eagles of Hill 60 (Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda Publishers); D. Ghaffarzadegan (1996) Fāl-e khun (Tehran: Muʼassaseh-e Enteshārāt-e Qadeyāni); translated by M. R. Ghanoonparvar (2008) Fortune Told in Blood (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press).

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DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN Ghaffarzadegan, D. & Ghanoonparvar, M. R. (trans) (2008) Fortune Told in Blood. Austin, TX: Center for Middle Eastern Studies, the University of Texas at Austin Press. Ghanoonparvar, M. (2009) Postrevolutionary Trends in Persian Fiction and Film, Radical History Review, 105, pp. 156–162. Hiro, D. (1991) The Longest War: The Iran-Iraq Military Conflict (New York, NY: Routledge). Khorrami, M. (2014) Literary Subterfuge and Contemporary Persian Fiction: Who Writes Iran? (New York and London: Routledge). Mandanipur, S. (1998) Del-e deldādegi [The Courage to Love] (Tehran: Zarryab). McHale, B. (1987) Postmodernist Fiction (London and New York: Routledge). Mehr News (September 25, 2013) Gelāyeh-hā-ye Ahmad Dehqan az pedarkhāndeh-hā-ye adabiyāt va farhang: barkhi bā faryād-e zed-e jang dokān-e dunabash bar pā kardehand [Ahmad Dehqan’s Complaints about the ‘Godfathers’ of literature and Culture: Some accuse him of being ‘Anti-War’]. Available at: http://www. mehrnews.com/news/2295361/‫هیالگ‬-‫یاه‬-‫دمحا‬-‫ناقهد‬-‫زا‬-‫هدناوخردپ‬-‫یاه‬-‫تایبدا‬-‫و‬-‫گنهرف‬-‫یخرب‬-‫ب‬, accessed May 15, 2015. Mir-’Abedini, H. (2004) Ṣad sāl dāstān nevisi-ye Īran [One Hundred Years of Persian Fiction] (Tehran: Nashr-e Cheshmeh). Moosavi, A. (2015) How to Write Death: Resignifying Martyrdom in Two Novels of the Iran-Iraq War, Alif: Journal of Comparative Poetics, 35(9), pp. 9–31. Sadr-Shirazi, M. (2013) ʻAmaliyāt-e Merṣād va sarnevesht-e munāfiqin [Operation Mersad and the Fate of the Hypocrites] (Tehran: Markaz-e Asnād-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmi). Sayyad-Shirazi, A. & Dehqan, A. (1999) Nāgofteh-hā-ye jang: khāṭerāt-e sipahbod-e shahid ʻAli Sayyād Shirāzi [The Untold War: Memoirs of Martyr Lieutenant General Ali Sayyad Shirazi] (Tehran: Howzeh-ye Honari). Shams, F. (2015) Literature, Art, and Ideology under the Islamic Republic, in: Talatoff, K. (ed.) Persian Language, Literature and Culture: New Leaves, Fresh Looks, pp. 163–192 (New York, NY: Routledge). Shams, F. (2015) The Dialectic of Poetry and Power in Iran, Dirasat, 42(1), pp. 1–40.

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The Outcasts: The Start of ‘New Entertainment’ in Pro-Regime Filmmaking in the Islamic Republic of Iran NARGES BAJOGHLI

ABSTRACT With developments in the past decade of such popular films as Masoud Dehnamaki’s trilogy, Ekhrajiha (The Outcasts), we are privy to a new trend in pro-regime filmmaking in Iran, one that centers on the creation of ‘new entertainment.’ This pivot by pro-regime cultural producers is based on a perceived need to do away with the ‘war time propaganda’ that ‘no one wants to see anymore’ (as one pro-regime screenwriter told me), and to replace it with ‘new entertainment’ that can engage with youth. The former head of Ansar-e Hezbollah in Iran, Masoud Dehnamaki, emerged at the forefront of this new movement by creating popular films that employ slapstick comedy about the war and which sell at historic box office numbers. His first narrative film, The Outcasts, is the focus of this article, as it signaled the beginning of a ‘new entertainment’ by pro-regime cultural producers. Based on ethnographic fieldwork, this article analyzes the film and filmmaker most responsible for the creation of ‘new entertainment.’

As the Islamic Republic approaches its fourth decade, it confronts the demographic reality that two-thirds of its population is under the age of 35. The vast majority of the population, therefore, does not remember the 1979 revolution, or the eight-year Iran-Iraq war, the foundational events of the Islamic Republic. Pro-regime cultural producers face a prevailing question: Can they ensure commitment to a revolutionary project given these drastic generational changes? The continuation of the Islamic Republic in its present form is arguably dependent upon the regime’s success in communicating certain cultural messages about the ‘ideals of the revolution’ from one generation to the next. The notion that there may be a failure in communicating these ideas to the predominantly young generation arises from the fact that young people voted in large numbers for reformist president Mohammad Khatami in 1997, and were among the biggest sectors protesting for more fundamental changes when hardline forces stood in the way of reform. The 2005 election of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad as president offered an opportunity for some pro-regime cultural producers to seek the creation of new forms of entertainment that could communicate the proper ideals of the revolution to

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the second and third generations and bring them back into the fold of the Islamic Republic.1 The tenure of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad as president from 2005–2013 coincided with an increased effort by the Revolutionary Guards and Basij paramilitary organization to take a more active role in creating this pro-regime ‘new entertainment,’ in both film and television. This pro-regime new entertainment differed from pro-regime media produced in previous years in the Islamic Republic. Throughout my ethnographic research with pro-regime cultural producers in Iran, I found that starting in 2007, pro-regime cultural producers openly talked about the need to move away from what they call the ‘propaganda’ of the 1980s and 1990s.2Instead, they argued for new entertainment that remained tied to the ideals of the revolution, but connected with popular culture that young people consumed. This new entertainment focused on being ‘less dry,’ as multiple producers told me, to striving to offer ‘true entertainment,’ while not compromising any core revolutionary ideas. Thus, common tropes in the films and television programs of this new entertainment include the incorporation of banned pop songs from Iranian diaspora singers in Los Angeles; the revival of popular masculine tropes such as luti/laat figures (thugs); and the use of characters who are not pious, but learn to believe in the piety of the revolution through the ‘proper’ role models of the Basij and Revolutionary Guards. In my research with pro-regime cultural producers from 2009–2015, I focused on how producers and filmmakers turned their attention to this new entertainment as a means to regain audiences, mainly those in the second and third generation.3 This connection between media, the messaging of ideology, and managing a state were organic connections that my interlocutors made. When in the last decade, pro-regime media producers noticed a large decline in sales of their films and books among the population, it set off a sense of crisis for the cultural elite of the Islamic Republic. With the coffers of the Basij and Revolutionary Guards full in the post-war era, new money poured in for pro-regime cultural productions. The decade since Ahmadinejad’s election has witnessed the production of a plethora of ‘new entertainment’ films from a wide array of pro-regime forces.4 The first to make a big impact in these new forms of entertainment from pro-regime cultural producers was the film Ekhrajiha (The Outcasts, 2007) by Masoud Dehnamaki. In this article, I focus on this film in particular for two reasons: (1) The film broke all box office records in Iran at the time of its release, demonstrating its popularity among the very young audiences that pro-regime media producers seek; and, (2) this film had a significant impact on pro-regime filmmakers in Iran, even among those who dislike the film and its director. The Outcasts elevated pro-regime filmmaking to new levels as indexed by its record-breaking sales, and breathed new life into pro-regime cultural centers with the notion that this ‘new entertainment’ potentially could win over the very audiences that 1

In Iran, generations usually are described in terms of the decade of birth. Thus, those born in the 1360s on the Iranian calendar (1980s), are known as the dah-ye shasti-ha (the 80s generation), and those born in the 1370s on the Iranian calendar (1990s) are known as the dah-ye haftadi-ha (the 90s generation). The second generation in the Islamic Republic is known as the 1980s generation, and the third generation is the 1990s generation. For more discussion on generational demarcations in post-revolutionary Iran, please see O. Behrouzan (2015) Writing Prozak Diaries in Tehran: Generational Anomie and Psychiatric Subjectivities, Culture, Medicine, Psychiatry 39(3); and N. Bajoghli (2016) Paramilitary Media: Revolution, War, and the Making of the Islamic Republic of Iran (New York University Dissertation). 2 N. Bajoghli (2016) Paramilitary Media: Revolution, War, and the Making of the Islamic Republic of Iran (New York University Dissertation). 3 My ethnographic research entailed participant-observation with pro-regime film producers, editors, and directors. Specifically, I observed film shoots, production meetings, subtitling sessions, editing sessions, and partook in distribution campaigns. The majority of my research took place in Tehran, but I also worked with pro-regime cultural producers in Karaj and Abadan. 4 N. Bajoghli 2016.

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pro-regime cultural producers were having such a hard time targeting. Massoud, a veteran pro-regime film producer, told me: ‘As much as I dislike Dehnamaki and the films he makes, young people watch them, and we need to pay attention to why. After all, we need young people to watch our films. Otherwise, we’re just wasting our time.’5 The Outcasts is a comic war film about a group of neighborhood thugs who journey to the warfront in order to impress their girlfriends and wives with their bravery. None of the thugs wants actually to fight in the war—instead, they plan on being at the warfront for only a few days to snap some pictures to bring back to their girlfriends. Through the process, however, a kind Basiji (volunteer soldier) takes them under his wing and transforms them into ‘proper’ men worthy of the war, and by extension, the Islamic Republic. This film then was followed by two sequels, The Outcasts 2 (2009) and The Outcasts 3 (2011).6 How did this war film, directed by the former General Commander of Ansar-e Hezbollah, Masoud Dehnamaki, become popular at a time when other war films struggled to make a profit? Critics attributed the widespread appeal of the film to its slapstick comedy, its star appeal, the ‘red lines’ that it crossed in depicting the ‘sacred defense’ of the warfront,7 and curiosity among audience members about the ‘reformation’ of its ultra-conservative director. These same critics described the director as nothing more than a modern-day thug and the film as ‘cheap’ and filled with ‘lumpen’ jokes—so bad, in fact, that it made them question the intelligence of the audience.8 What can we understand about pro-regime cultural production in the Islamic Republic, especially during the Ahmadinejad presidency, when a film so critically panned and directed by a well-known ‘hezbollahi’ became so popular? I argue that the story of The Outcasts, and the movement it spurred in pro-regime filmmaking in the Ahmadinejad administration, are not only narratives about the past but more crucially about the future of the Islamic Republic. In many of these new pro-regime productions,9 the eight-year Iran-Iraq war continues to serve as a backdrop, but the issues are about the values that need to be present today in order to ensure the vitality of the Islamic Republic. Unlike the ‘Sacred Defense’ films of the 1980s and 1990s, with few exceptions (Marriage of the Blessed; Leili is with Me), these new productions acknowledge the grievances that many young people feel about the regime. The Outcasts, and the films that follow in this vein, drive home the message that the ‘pure’ ideals of the revolution, embodied in the Basij and Revolutionary Guards, can heal the divisions in society. Embedded in the depictions in this film, including the juxtaposition of pure Basij men with corrupt clerics, are notions of masculinity that are crucial to the time period in which these films are produced, namely, the presence of American troops on nearly all of Iran’s borders. ‘Can our young men today rise up and defend our country like our brave young men did when Saddam attacked in 1980?’ asked Hessam, a retired high-ranking member in the Navy of the Revolutionary Guard, and today a film producer. ‘That is our biggest worry, and we need communicate to our young men that they can defend their country, even if they don’t agree with their government.’10 As these ‘new entertainment’ films continue to be produced, concerns over the possibility of domestic opposition and insurgence after the 2009 Green Movement arose, as did the growth of Islamic State (ISIS) after 2014. These events all heightened the need, from the 5

Author Interview, Tehran, Iran, 2010. The Outcasts 2 is about prisoners of war and the betrayal of the opposition movement, Mujahedin-e Khalq (MKO). The Outcasts 3 is about the 2009 presidential elections and the Green Movement. 7 The Iran-Iraq War in Iran became known as the ‘sacred defense’ (defa’-e moghadas). 8 A. Khooshkhoo (2007) Chera Ekhrajiha filme khubi nist. 40Cheragh. 9 Films such as The Best Statue in the World (2010), Che (2014), The Last 50 Steps (2014). 10 Author Interview, Tehran, Iran, 2011. 6

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point of view of the pro-regime cultural producers, for this kind of media production that sought to ‘win back’ young audiences. The Outcasts, its topic, genre, plot, and director, all provide us a window into exploring the wider cultural and political issues that surround the Islamic Republic today, and help us understand why Basij commanders have opened cultural centers across the country since 2007, encouraging more Basij and Hezbollah members to go into media production.11 The particularity of the historical moment out of which The Outcasts comes makes not only the content of the film significant, but also it draws attention to the fact that with the rise of the Revolutionary Guards and Basij to formal and informal politics in Iran, we are witnessing a new political elite in the Islamic Republic, one that attempt to ‘reform’ their young generation through the use of popular culture. The New Pro-Regime Filmmaker Dehnamaki’s turn to cinema apparently comes from a belief that cinema is a powerful medium that reaches the people. In an interview, he said: ‘During the Iran-Iraq war, we had to shed blood for the revolution, and we did. Later, we believed we should publish journals and books for the revolution, and we did. Today, we think cinema expresses our goals best, so we make movies.’12 He claims that now he is a social critic against the corruption of the state and its ruling elite: “There was a time that I believed that the people were the problem, but that was a mistake. The real problem is that our rulers have become used to corruption and cannot fulfill the promises of the early days of the revolution about social justice and equality.’13 Dehnamaki’s desire to return to the values of the revolution place him on the periphery of the old political elite, yet his voice found resonance with the Ahmadinejad administration, during which time he received favorable treatment. Dehnamaki was a war veteran, quitting high school at the age of 16 to volunteer for the war, and fighting in the long and arduous battle to oust the Iraqi forces from the port city of Khorramshahr in 1982.14 The effects of the war greatly affected him and have informed his work ever since.15 Prior to turning to film, Dehnamaki edited journals geared toward war veterans and the conservative supporters of the regime.16 His turn to filmmaking began with his 2002 documentary Faghr o Fahsha (Poverty and prostitution), which traced the roots of prostitution to poverty and blamed the state for not providing for the people. The film was banned, presumably because it drew a direct line from the actions of the state to 11

N. Bajoghli (2016) Paramilitary Media: Revolution, War, and the Making of the Islamic Republic of Iran (New York University Dissertation); and Dehnamaki (2007) blog. Available at http://www.ekhrajiiha.blogfa.com/, accessed: July 2008. 12 Author Interview, Tehran, 2009. 13 N. Fathi (2005) A Revolutionary Channels His Inner Michael Moore, NewYork Times. November 26, 2005. Available at http://www.nytimes.com/2005/11/26/international/middleeast/26dehnamaki.html?ei=5090&en=9b13e03ffb753873&ex=1290661200&adxnnl=1&partner=rssuserland&emc=rss&pagewanted=print&adxnnlx=1196140505-pBoYzx8x1Mjg3TnePeBinw, accessed September 2016. 14 This major southern port was the first city captured by Iraqi soldiers in the war, and it took Iran 18 months to expel them. The battle for Khorramshahr, in which Dehnamaki participated, caused over 13,000 deaths. 15 Until recently, Dehnamaki’s basement office was decorated as a trench with sandbags, grenades, ammunition, and pictures of war martyrs. 16 His journal, Shalamcheh, was shut down, presumably for criticizing Ayatollah Khui, a reformist cleric. Four days later, Dehnamaki applied to open a new publication, named Jebhe (‘front’). He describes this magazine as more political than his first one because he turned from targeting and criticizing the people to criticizing the political elite (M. Danesh (2007), Khashm va khandeh va faryad. Film Magazine, p. 34). After 55 issues, Jebhe was shut down as well. His next publication was Do-kuheh which had a shorter life than the first two.

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the rise of prostitution, but it became highly popular on the black market, mainly because people were curious to see the ‘transformation’ of an ultra-conservative personality who now was criticizing the political elite on culturally taboo subjects such as prostitution. His second documentary, Kudaam Esteghlal, Kudaam Pirouzi? (Which Independence? Which Victory?, 2004), addressed soccer violence, but it was poorly received and has gone relatively unnoticed. The Outcasts was his first feature narrative film. Studying Media in Iran As scholarship has shown, Iranian media production, whether in Iran or the diaspora, since 1979 has been vast. In the early days (1978–79), there were revolutionary posters, cassette tapes, and leaflets.17 During the Iran-Iraq war, war murals commemorating the war dead were common,18 while an expansive state television broadcasting service developed, the internationally famous art-house films of directors such as Abbas Kiarostami, Mohsen Makhmalbaf and Asghar Farhadi emerged (and would continue after the war and up to the present),19 while a plethora of war films were produced.20 Since the early 1990s, Persian has become one of the most used languages on the internet: for years Persian blogs were popular; 21 there is ubiquitous use of social media platforms across all groups of society;22 and, two dozen 24-h Persian language stations are broadcast over satellite into Iran from the diaspora. Iranians in general, and young Iranians in particular, consume a lot of media—just not the media the state wants them to hear, read or see. In the rich plethora of scholarship on media in Iran, one of the gaps that remain is popular media, and specifically, popular media produced by pro-regime cultural producers. The majority of scholarship about film and media in Iran focuses on ‘art’ films that garner much international attention. Given that many of these art films either are banned in Iran or shown in cinemas for only short periods of time, such analyses risk overlooking the films that the majority of Iranian cinema-goers watch and engage with on a more frequent basis. Although the cinematic quality of these popular films is significantly lower than the widely acclaimed art films, and their plots are often formulaic, some of the more popular ones also are engaged in pushing the lines of censorship and registering social and political

17

See further P. Chelkowski & H. Dabashi (1999) The Art of Persuasion in the Islamic Republic of Iran (New York: New York University Press); and A. Mohammadi & A. Sreberny-Mohammadi (1994) Small Media, Big Revolution: Communication, Culture, and the Iranian Revolution (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press). 18 R. Varzi (2006) Warring Souls (Durham, NC: Duke University Press). 19 H. Dabashi (2001) Close Up: Iranian Cinema, Past, Present, and Future (New York: Verso Books); N. Mottehedeh (2008) Displaced Allegories: Post-Revolutionary Iranian Cinema (Durham, NC: Duke University Press); H. Naficy (2011–12) A Social History of Iranian Cinema: Volumes 1–4 (NC: Duke University Press); and R. Tapper (2002) The New Iranian Cinema: Politics, Representation, and Identity (London: I.B. Tauris). 20 H. Sadr (2006) Iranian Cinema: A Political History (London: I.B. Tauris). 21 N. Akhavan (2015) Electronic Iran: The Cultural Politics of an Online Evolution (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press); N. Alavi (2006) We Are Iran (Berkeley, CA: Soft Skull Press); Y. Kamalipour et al. (2010) Media, Power, and Politics in the Digital Age (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield); A. Sreberny & G. Khiabany (2010) Blogistan: The Internet and Politics in Iran (London: I.B. Tauris). 22 A. Sreberny and G. Khiabany (2010) Blogistan: The Internet and Politics in Iran (London: I.B. Tauris); N. Mottahedeh (2015) #iranelection: Hashtag Solidarity and the Transformation of Online Life (Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press).

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criticism.23 For pro-regime cultural producers, media have been of utmost importance to the state-building project in the Islamic Republic. Specifically, they are attempting to ward off what Ayatollah Khomeini, and later his successor, Ali Khamenehi, believe are attempts by the West to use culture as a means to influence Iran’s population (which Khamenehi has termed ‘soft war’ [jang-e narm]). For this reason, the Supreme Leader’s Office under Khamenehi has given media production a privileged platform in the past decade.24 The War and the Creation of the Sacred Defense Film Genre Following the 1979 revolution and the establishment of the Islamic Republic, the new government quickly began its task of ‘Islamicizing’ society through the Cultural Revolution.25 With the onset of the Iran-Iraq War in 1980, the war-film industry and the many institutions created to support this new genre began in September 1980. At the beginning of the war, the War Group Team at the Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting (IRIB) made television documentaries about the war, and shortly thereafter, the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance created the War Films Bureau at the Farabi Cinema Foundation in order to depict the ‘Sacred Defense’ as spiritual rather than militaristic in character.26 Thus, the official name of the war film genre is sacred defense cinema (sinema-ye defa’-e moqaddas). The Islamic Republic constructed the supposed sanctity of the warfront by employing the story of the killing of Hussein, the third Imam of Shi’a Islam, a story Shi’as consider as the supreme act

23

Films such as Tahmineh Milani’s Do Zan (Two women, 1999), Zan-e Ziadi (The unwanted woman, 2005), and the highly popular Atash Bas (Ceasefire, 2006) criticize the position of women in Iran; Kamal Tabrizi’s Marmulak (Lizard, 2004) pokes fun at clerics as lying criminals; Davoud Mirbagheri’s Aadam Barfi (Snowman, 1994/7) deals with immigration from Iran and cross-dressing; and Saman Moghaddam’s Maxx (2005) is a musical comedy that looks at the relationship between Iranians in the diaspora returning to an Iran that has drastically changed and those who remained after the revolution. 24 By the late 2000s, the Supreme Leader of Iran, Ali Khamenehi, along with others in the conservative factions, referred to what they saw as cultural assaults from the West as jang-e narm (soft-war). As F. Sabet & R. Safshekan (2013) noted in ‘Soft War: A new episode in the old conflict between Iran and the United States,’ soft-war can be understood best through the prism of J. Nye’s ‘soft power’ (2004). Soft power, comes from ‘the attractiveness of a country’s culture, political ideals, and policies,’ what Nye collectively calls a country’s ‘primary currencies’ of soft power (Soft Power and American Foreign Policy, Political Science Quarterly Summer 119(2), p. 256). As Sabet and Safshekan argue, ‘The story of the conflict the Islamic Republic calls soft war is in many ways the story of the exercise of U.S. soft power on Iran’ (op cit., p. 6). 25 Cinema was a particularly contentious site for the new religious government since religious groups targeted cinemas during the revolution as a symbolic act against the shah. Although Ayatollah Khomeini claimed that cinema corrupted people’s thoughts prior to the revolution (Khomeini [1981] Velayat-e Faqih: Hokumat-e Eslami. Tehran: Amir Kabir), upon his triumphant return to Iran, he commented on the role of cinema in a post-shah Iran at Behesht-e Zahra cemetery: ‘The cinema is a modern invention that ought to be used for the sake of educating the people, but as you know, it was used instead to corrupt our youth.’ (H. Algar [1981] Islam and Revolution: Writings and Declarations of Imam Khomeini, p. 258 (Berkeley, CA: Mizan Press). Accordingly, only a ‘pure,’ ‘Islamicized,’ and ideologically driven cinema had a place in the new Islamic Republic. Despite its attempt to Islamicize cinema, ‘Iranian post-revolutionary cinema is not Islamic in the sense that it is not by any means a monolithic, propagandistic cinema in support of a ruling ideology’ (H. Naficy [2002] Islamizing Film Culture in Iran: A Post-Khatami Update, in: R. Tapper (ed.) The New Iranian Cinema, p.30 (London: I.B. Taurus). 26 R. Varzi (2002) A Ghost in the Machine: The Cinema of the Iranian Sacred Defense, in: R. Tapper (ed.) The New Iranian Cinema, p. 157 (London: I.B. Taurus).

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of suffering and redemption in history.27 During the war, posters and murals were created to recall the particular sensibility of the Battle of Karbala—the iconic representations of sacrifice were carefully constructed around the heroism of Imam Hussein, creating a sense of righteousness, piety, and martyrdom around the ‘imposed’ war with Iraq.28 Khomeini, in addition to making nationalistic proclamations about the war, commonly repeated that there would be no victory until Iran freed Karbala from Saddam’s rule. The ubiquitous reference to Imam Hussein and the use of imagery surrounding the Battle of Karbala, contributed to the sense that the warfront was a sacred space. In the Islamic Republic, representations of the war, not the revolution, evoke the idyllic moment of the regime’s foundation story, where the ‘true’ spirit of the Islamic Republic is to be located. The revolution contained too many leftists, nationalists, secularists, and liberalists to be neatly packaged as ‘Islamic,’ as much as the state tries. Thus, the political leaders of the Islamic Republic constructed the war as a ‘sacred’ space where the ideals of the ‘Islamic’ Revolution29 could be realized: Ideals epitomized by sacrifice and struggle for an Islamic Iran.30 The war allowed the newly formed regime to consolidate its power, imprison and silence the opposition for reasons of ‘national security,’ and mobilize the population around the ‘imposed’ war, which the regime presented as threatening the new post-revolutionary Iranian nation. The Outcasts Habibollah Kasehsaz and the Center for the Advancement of Documentary and Experimental Cinema—a funding center created in 1983 along with the Farabi Cinema Foundation to promote the young generation of filmmakers and give them their first experience in cinema—produced The Outcasts. The film’s screenwriter, Peyman Ghasemkhani, also wrote the screenplay for Lizard (Marmulak, 2004), a satire on the clergy in Iran, which became the highest grossing film in Iranian history at the time of its release, though it was only in

27

P. Chelkowski & H. Dabashi (1998) Staging a Revolution: The Art of Persuasion in the Islamic Republic of Iran (New York: New York University Press). Hussein was martyred in Karbala during the month of Muharram in 680 AD at the order of the Umayyad Caliph, Yazid. The Shi’a version is told as such: Hussein was traveling with 72 companions, some notable members of the prophet’s family, from Medina to Kufa (in modern Iraq), where he had been invited to lead the local Shi’a community. Yazid’s army, said to number in the tens of thousands, surrounded Hussein and his companions on the first day of Muharram, barring them access to the Euphrates river. On the tenth day of Muharram (‘Ashura), Yazid’s army attacked Hussein and his companions and all but one of the males were killed. Their severed heads were carried to Damascus, along with the captured women and children. 28 The Iran-Iraq War is referred to in the official discourse of the Islamic Republic as both the ‘Sacred Defense’ and an ‘imposed’ war. This distinction of ‘defense’ and ‘imposed’ was harder to maintain after 1982, when Iranian troops recaptured Khorramshahr and other Iranian territory, then launched an offensive into Iraq. 29 There has been wide debate among scholars, as well as activists and political opposition groups, whether the 1979 revolution in Iran was an ‘Islamic’ revolution. In the official discourse of the Islamic Republic, the revolution is acknowledged as solely an Islamic one. I choose to put the ‘Islamic’ in quotation marks here because this is a contested issue, and because my wider point is that the narration of the revolution and the Iran-Iraq War are articulated for particular political purposes. An ‘Islamic’ revolution purposely elides the numerous non-Islamic groups involved in bringing about the 1979 Iranian Revolution. 30 P. Chelkowski & H. Dabashi (1999) Staging a Revolution: The Art of Persuasion in the Islamic Republic of Iran (New York: New York University Press).

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theaters for one month before being banned.31 The Outcasts was in cinemas in Iran for nearly two months and generated over two billion tomans (nearly $2 million USD at the time) in revenue, becoming the highest grossing film in Iranian cinematic history. The film has also been shown in film festivals geared toward the Iranian diaspora in such cities as in Boston, Moscow, New York and Toronto. The Outcasts is set in 1988, during the last year of the war. The characters’ accents reveal their ethnic differences (Azeri, Khorasani, Kurdish, etc.), depicting the imagined community of a unified Iranian nation, especially in a time of war.32 The film begins when Majid (Kambiz Dirbaz), a thug from the south of Tehran, is released from jail with his friend, the drug addict, Amir (Arjang Amirfazli). In order to avoid embarrassment in his neighborhood and to save face in front of the woman he loves, Narges (Nousha Zayghami), Majid and his friends pretend that his absence was due to a trip to Mecca. His lie is instantly revealed, and Narges vows never to talk to him again. In order to prove that he is worthy to marry her, Majid decides to go to the warfront—the ultimate arena for manhood and bravery during that time. He plans to go only for a short period of time, take a few pictures to prove that he was there, and return an ‘honorable’ man to marry Narges. Not wanting to go alone, Majid convinces his friends to journey with him to the warfront. His friends include Amir the drug addict, Beyram (Akbar Abdi) the scared and simple-minded friend, Bijan (Amin Hayai) the thief, and Mostafa (Alireza Osivand), Majid’s uncle and old thug—not at all the typical ‘pure’ volunteers who were depicted as going to the warfront in the official discourse of the regime. In The Outcasts, there are several people who vehemently oppose the thugs’ presence at the warfront, and the juxtaposition is set up between the self-serving neighborhood religious leader, Haj Saleh (Mohammad Reza Sharifinia), who represents pragmatic clerics such as former President Rafsanjani, and the truly pure Islamic characters, such as the kind cleric and the commander of the platoon, a Basiji, Morteza (Javad Hashemi), who are at the front for the ‘right’ reasons.33 In one scene, the thugs go to their local mosque to sign up for the war and Haj Saleh, disapproving of their appearance and mannerisms, is determined to keep them from the ‘sacred land of the front’ (jebhe khakash paake). In this comedic scene, Haj Saleh interrogates them about Islamic values in order to prove that they are not righteous enough to fight in the ‘sacred defense,’ barraging them with such questions as: ‘How do you bury the dead?;’ ‘With which foot do you enter the bathroom?;’ ‘Have you ever been to Friday prayers?;’ and ‘How many raka’ah are in each prayer?’ Not only can they not answer these questions, but they offer silly responses that are reminiscent of popular jokes 31

Lizard depicts the life of a criminal who dresses as a cleric to avoid further incarceration. It was not banned for ‘market’ reasons, since it was doing so well commercially, but presumably it was banned precisely because of its widespread popularity. Living in Iran when this film came out, I witnessed many young boys and men verbally attack clerics walking down the streets in Tehran by calling them ‘lizard’ to the amusement and laughter of bystanders. Anytime a cleric would get in the same shared taxi in which I was, the same taunting ensued. As the popularity of Lizard grew, it was rumored that many clerics changed out of their distinct clerical robes and into regular shirts and trousers before walking down the streets in order to avoid the verbal taunting. 32 Many of the actors in The Outcasts are well known and have not typically played in war films. Akbar Abdi, one of the main protagonists in The Outcasts, played in Snowman (Adaam Barfi, 1994/7), a highly controversial, yet extremely popular film that was first banned and subsequently released during President Khatami’s administration. The film portrays a man (Akbar Abdi) who dresses as a woman to marry an American man in Turkey in order to leave Iran and get a visa to the United States. Under Dehnamaki’s instigation, Hezbollah fiercely attacked theaters in Tehran and Isfahan that showed Snowman because of Akbar Abdi’s role as a cross-dresser who desires to flee Iran. 33 As Dehnamaki stated in an interview: ‘The character that Sharifinia plays [Haj Saleh] represents a specific category of people that is widely recognizable in our society’ (Ali Ehsani [2007] Omidvaram CD-ash birun nayad, Souroush Weekly, p. 141), thus striking a cord with an audience disillusioned with the ruling clerics.

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told against the clerics and that circulate via SMS texting on mobile phones (thus leading critics to refer to this film as simply recycling bad ‘SMS jokes’). For instance, in response to the question about which foot do you enter the bathroom—which points to conceptions of cleanliness, Amir the drug addict responds, ‘You let me go with my friends to the warfront, and I’ll go into the bathroom head first!’ Hearing these questions, the kind cleric at the mosque pulls Haj Saleh aside, reprimanding him: ‘What does going to the warfront, which is a duty, have to do with these questions? With all these questions, we should have asked the angels to come down from heaven and volunteer for the war, not humans! Our martyrs didn’t come down from heaven to serve—they came from normal people on this earth.’ Like other pro-regime cultural producers in the new cohort of Revolutionary Guards and Basij filmmakers, who are creating this new entertainment, Dehnamaki attempts to move away from idealized representations of soldiers as pure. ‘Our youth are tired of our films because they no longer can relate to these characters,’ Ali, one prominent Captain of the Revolutionary Guards, who is also a filmmaker, said to me. ‘Who can be pure and religious all the time? That was the mistake with our films in the 1980s and 1990s. That’s why young people are bored with our work. Not everyone is always pure and good. We have to show them that even if they are not always like Imam Hossein, they can become him when the Yazid’s of the world attack us.’34 Once the protagonists arrive at the warfront, the gang immediately is discharged for bad behavior: They gamble (a sin), smoke, do not know how to pray, and Amir continues to use drugs. The kind cleric and Basiji, Morteza, are determined to reform this gang, and they vow to take these thugs under their wings. Slowly, they demonstrate to the thugs that the social codes of the luti/laat are not true conceptions of manhood; instead, they must emulate the other Basijis, who are in turn emulating Imam Hussein, for they demonstrate the ‘true’ ideals of revolutionary manhood. In one of the more important scenes, as the Basij commander Morteza is teaching all the soldiers how to use hand grenades, he asks for a volunteer to pull the lever, count to three, and throw the grenade. A young soldier with a severe stutter volunteers and Majid the thug immediately replies: ‘By the time this kid tries to count to three with his stutter we’ll all be dead.’ ‘Fine,’ Morteza replies, ‘then why don’t one of you try it.’ Majid, as the leader of the group, orders his friend Bayram, the simple and scared one, to do the exercise. Unwillingly, Bayram stands up and as Morteza hands him the grenade he accidentally pulls the lever too soon and panicking, drops the grenade where they are all gathered. As everyone tries to flee before the grenade explodes, the young soldier with the stutter throws himself on the grenade so that its explosion will only kill him and not the other soldiers. To their surprise it does not explode because Morteza had given them an empty grenade for the exercise. As Morteza helps the young boy with the stutter up from the ground, he looks at the thugs and says: ‘Being a man has nothing to do with thick mustaches and Yazdi bandanas. It is at the war front that men like this [pointing to the young Basiji] can be found in large numbers.’35 The volunteer soldier, the Basiji, as the ideal man is juxtaposed with the luti/laat.36 The luti/laat is anti-authority, unrighteous, deviant, and ultimately, an outcast, while the Basiji 34

Author Interview, Tehran, Iran, 2013. Thick mustaches and Yazdi bandanas (sibilhay-e koloft va dastmal-e yazdi) are the symbolic ‘uniforms’ of lutis/laats. 36 In the literature of the Iran-Iraq war, a distinction is drawn between the volunteer forces (Basij and Revolutionary Guards), and the soldiers (members of the professional army, artesh, and those serving their obligatory military service). This division was crucial in the war, as the soldier did not possess spirituality, whereas the Basij and Revolutionary Guard member did. 35

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embodies discipline: He is obedient, both to the nation and to Islam. In the Islamic Republic’s discourse, it is the Basiji who embodies the ideals of the revolution, the one by which the luti/laat is measured and eventually made to emulate. The thug must be disciplined, in both mind and body, in order to become a true member of an ideologically homogenized Islamic state; and this transformation can be realized through the guidance of the very same Basij. The line between luti and laat is a thin and often blurry one. Laat (meaning ‘ruffian’) is in a sense the villainous opposite of luti, and often, one neighborhood’s luti is another neighborhood’s laat. Both lutis and laats have been used as middlemen between rival landowners, clerics, and government officials throughout Iranian history.37 The luti characters in Iranian culture have a tradition tracing back to pre-Islamic Iran,38 and they were employed widely in popular pre-revolutionary films.39 Over time, the term luti came to refer to two distinct groups: the first group was composed of entertainers (jugglers, clowns), while the second group was formed by the urban social bandits in local neighborhoods.40 As social bandits, the luti (meaning ‘generous and brave’) acted heroically in order to obtain justice for the underdog in the face of authorities, at times using violence to defend the oppressed. Lutis showed respect to elders, protected women and children, and epitomized loyalty, piety, bravery, self-sacrifice, and truthfulness. They represent the ideal Iranian man, in other words, the javanmard,41 while the laats are considered pure thugs with very little redeeming social qualities. Luti filmmaking was highly popular during the 1960s and early 1970s,42 and although this genre evolved over the years, its basic components remained stable: formulaic plots involving male rivalry, jealousy and revenge, often over women and turf; a presentational acting style that emphasizes destiny and the presentation of ideal types, particularly of manhood; strong binary characters of luti and lat, with subsidiary 37

William Floor dates this practice back to Qajar Iran in the nineteenth century. A main characteristic Qajar Iran was a small elite that ruled over a preindustrial society with a broad agrarian base and illiterate population. The central government was unable to control the local leaders, and therefore had to play them off against one another. Floor argues that loyalties of individuals were first and foremost to their city quarter (mahalleh), effectively allowing local leaders, clerics, and government officials to hire lutis to help settle scores and obtain social control through violence. Thus, both lutis and laats were feared and respected within their neighborhoods for different reasons (H. Naficy [2001] Iranian Cinema, in: O. Leaman (ed.) Companion Encyclopedia of Middle Eastern and North African Film, p. 147 (London: Routledge)). Since the era of the Qajars, lutis and laats have been used for various political ends, with the exception of Reza Shah’s reign (1925–1941), which was characterized by a strong centralized government. After his abdication in 1941, however, the lutis reemerged (W. Floor [1981] The Political Role of the Lutis in Iran, p. 92). They were especially visible during the tenure of Mohammad Mossadeq, the prime minister of Iran from 1951–53. Both the royalists (and by extension the CIA and MI6 who staged the coup against Mossadeq by paying lutis in southern Tehran to stage protests against the prime minister), and the nationalists employed lutis during this tumultuous time. However, because the lutis lacked the organization or long-term political objectives to become their own agents, they did not become a formidable political force during or after the 1979 Revolution. 38 Bahar (1976) Barresy-e Farhangi-Ejtemai0ye Zurkhanehha-ye Tehran (Tehran: High Council of Culture and Art). 39 The only substantial and consistent scholarship on lutis in Iranian films and literature has been by Hamid Naficy (2001) Iranian Cinema. Companion Encyclopedia of Middle Eastern and North). Prior to Naficy’s study of luti filmmaking, other studies regarded these films as cultural aberrations, which pointed to a social pathology of the late Pahlavi era as uncouth, corrupt, and lacking in sophistication (see Akbari [1973] Lompanism. Tehran: Nashr-e Sepehr; Mehrabi [1984] Tarikh-e Sinema-ye Iran az Aghaz ta Sal-e 1357; and Karimi [1990] Qahreman ya Qorbani. Mahnameh-ye Sinemai-ye Film, Dey 1369, pp. 52–54. 40 W. Floor (1981) The Political Role of the Lutis in Iran, in: M. E. Bonine & N. Keddie (eds) Modern Iran: The Dialectics of Continuity and Change, p. 86 (NY: State University of New York Press). 41 See further F. Adelkhah (2000), Being Modern in Iran, pp. 30–52. 42 The most significant of these films during that era include Masoud Kimiai’s Qaisar (1969) and Dash Akol (1971), based on Sadeq Hedayat’s stories by the same name.

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characters of holy or whorish women; pleasurable depiction of the tough guy lifestyle and exploits in their favorite hangouts, such as in tea-houses, nightclubs, bars and the streets, involving their favorite dances, musical numbers, songs and brawls; adherence to specific codes of dress, language and behavior (chivalric and violent) that sets the good guys apart from the bad guys, and repeated casting of familiar and beloved actors in heroic and villainous roles, including their female counterparts.43 Luti films and literature established a binary between good/bad, pure/impure, holy/whorish, and luti/laat.44 This genre did not disappear with the revolution, but became Islamicized. In their Islamic configuration lutis were not idealized as the epitome of manhood; instead, the post-revolutionary lutis in films represent those who have to be transformed and redeemed for the Islamic revolution by the pure Basijis, or ‘soldiers of the Imam,’ as they were called. The post-revolutionary lutis are often depicted as social deviants who are addicted to drugs, are smugglers, and are anti-social, much like the protagonists in The Outcasts. It is up to the Basij to reform and redeem these post-revolutionary lutis. The ‘selective tradition’ of the luti, in the words of Raymond Williams, is ‘an aspect of contemporary social and cultural organization, in the interest of the dominance of a specific class. It is a version of the past that is intended to connect with and ratify the present. What it offers in practice is a sense of predisposed continuity.’45 The transformation of the luti by the Basij connects different modalities of Iranian masculinity and clearly positions the Basij as the dominant class in the contemporary social and cultural organization of the Islamic Republic. The luti serves as a selective tradition in Dehnamaki’s film as a means to connect traditional forms of Iranian masculinity, with which the filmmaker assumes young audiences connect, with the Islamic Republic’s ideal masculinity, the Basij. This transformation indicates a direction for the future of the Islamic Republic as a means to keep its revolution alive and its ideals flourishing. Implicit throughout the film, and explicit in Dehnamaki’s interviews about the film are the themes of reforming these outcasts and teaching them the ‘right’ Islamic (revolutionary) values. Dehnamaki states: ‘We have to continue the aadam saazi (literally, “people building/ making”) that the Imam [Khomeini] preached … look at what he did to that young generation of the war—how he trained us … we have to struggle against the current state in society to do the same. Our war is a war of ideas.’46 He attempts to demonstrate how this metamorphosis from a thug to an ideal man of the Islamic Republic can take place through the guidance of ‘pure’ characters such as the Basij commander, Morteza, who, upon volunteering to redeem

43

H. Naficy (2001) An Accented Cinema: Exilic and Diasporic Filmmaking, p. 148 (NJ: Princeton University Press). At the height of its popularity, however, the government of Mohammad Reza Shah passed an edict in 1972 against the tough guy films. Though they were not banned outright, the edict restricted certain components of this genre, such as knife-wielding, displaying details of sexual relations, and personal revenge, among others. The edict presumably was due to the fact that lutis are signifiers of anti-authority figures who take the law into their own hands to defend justice—a characteristic that could not be promoted under a dictatorial regime in which citizens were meant to obey the shah. Furthermore, the CIA employed lutis/laats during the 1953 coup d’etat against Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadeq in order to reinstate the power of the shah, and it is plausible that the shah believed those same lutis/laats could be employed against him at another point, thus the need to control their popularity. Within three years of this edict, the tough guy films declined from 40 to 24 films and by 1978, they dropped to five. H. Naficy (2001) pp. 149–150. 45 R. Williams (1977) Marxism and Literature, p. 116. 46 Shab-e Shishei television interview. 44

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the thugs, decides to engage them by learning some of their slang and games in order to gain their trust. In one scene, he agrees to learn how to play one of their games if they promise him that after the game is over, they all will go pray. Using ‘their’ slang, he befriends them and gains their trust, and in turn, he is able to convince them to change some of their behavior. For instance, on their travel to the battle in which they ultimately are martyred, Morteza is successful in stopping the thugs from singing a popular dance song about loving a woman and leads them in singing a joyous song about all the houris they will encounter in heaven after their martyrdom.47 In these scenes, The Outcasts appears to be directly speaking to the Basij and hezbollahi, who traditionally resort to force to deal with ‘un-Islamic’ behavior by youth. As Dehnamaki notes: ‘I was one of those who … thought that with physical force and presence on the streets we could reign certain things in. But as time passed, I eventually came to the conclusion that we must communicate with the public.’48 These scenes, in a sense, are meant to demonstrate to the Basij and Hezbollah how this ‘communication with the public’ can take place. Furthermore, it serves as a form of public relations for audiences that good Basijis use kindness, not violence. Dehnamaki, by saying outright: ‘We must communicate with the public,’ offers an example of doing so in this film. The new pro-regime entertainment that he helps spearhead with this film holds at its core the notion of communicating with the public not through what they deem as propaganda of the 1980s/90s, but by using the very characters and cultural symbols of those who are their target audience, namely, youth. In an attempt to accomplish this in this film, Dehnamaki utilizes not only humor and luti characters, but also music. Music Dehnamaki uses popular songs as a trope to appeal to a wider audience, following the lead of many recent popular plays in theaters.49 The characters in The Outcasts sing songs by banned Iranian pop singers who live in Los Angeles, and which audience members would in turn clap and sing to in the theaters.50 The use of these songs in Dehnamaki’s film are all the more important for three reasons: (1) As a commander of the Ansar-e Hezbollah during the 1990s, he was in charge of making sure people did not listen to this ‘decadent’ music in their cars and in public; (2) the music of Iranian singers in Los Angeles are the very Iranian entertainers who had to leave the country after the revolution because of real or presumed ties to the shah’s regime, for fear of their lives, or because it became increasingly hard (and virtually impossible during the war) to produce their music; and (3) the lyrics of their songs are not ‘Islamized,’ meaning they openly sing about love and lust. Thus, the fact that the main characters of a Hezbollahi-turned-cinematic-director sing censored Los Angeles pop songs at the ‘sacred defense’ on the big screen was shocking, to say the least, to an Iranian audience in 2007. Moreover, the fact that these songs co-exist with the well-known and officially promoted war songs of Kuwaitipour who likens the soldiers to the sacred Imam Hussein, blur the lines between permissible/impermissible, and pious/impious.

47

Houri is mentioned in the Qur’an and hadiths and is interpreted and translated in many different ways. The way it was employed popularly during the war in Iran and the way it is used in the lyrics of the song that Morteza sings in this film implies that houris are the female companion(s) who will greet one in heaven. 48 Mehrzad Danesh (2007) Khashm va khandeh va faryad, Film Magazine, p. 33. 49 Zahra Khanoom’s Tea House (2005) was performed every night for nearly two years in Tehran because of popular demand; its appeal was due to its luti characters and use of banned popular songs. 50 Pop songs from Iranian singers in exile (mostly in Los Angeles) officially are banned in Iran, yet they are widely available in most music stores throughout the country.

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The use of the melody of one popular protest song at the very end of the film where the protagonist is martyred occupies a particularly ambivalent space. The protest song Yar-e Dabestani-e Man (My Schoolmate) originally written by Mansour Tehrani, is a song against oppression and a call to ‘me and you [my schoolmate]’ to do away with repression in society. This song became popularized during the reformist movement of the Khatami presidency (1997–2005). Young people sang it during Khatami’s election and re-election campaigns as a sign of support for him, and later it was a rallying cry during the July 1999 and December 2000 student protests at Tehran University.51 The song thus is associated ipso facto with a pro-reform student movement. It continues to be sung at student gatherings today to register protest against the government and camaraderie among those making a stand. By using this song, Dehnamaki is connecting his vision of the Basij with the public’s relationship to the youth. The appropriation of this distinct melody in a war film, and the changing of the lyrics to be no longer about resisting oppression but about the glories of the war, creates a contradictory and ambivalent space. Thus, Dehnamaki uses a symbolically significant, and indeed defining, song of the second and third generation, collapsing generational differences in the concluding scenes of his film where the thugs redeem themselves by the ultimate sacrifice for their homeland: martyrdom. By deploying a prominent symbol of youth/student protest against the government while the thugs are ‘reformed’ and martyred in the film, Dehnamaki creates a new space where the disaffected youth who have signaled their resistance to this government can be incorporated (and reformed) with the aid of Dehnamaki’s generation, i.e., the pure and kind Basijis, in returning to the values of the revolution. The Outcasts invokes the memory of the war not for sentimental and historical reasons, like most pro-regime war films of the 1980s/90s, but to bring issues of the present to the fore. The utility of the war in these new pro-regime films lies in the fact that its representation is the landscape upon which a picture of the future can be painted precisely because it is the foundation story of the Islamic Republic. The war as a ‘sacred’ space is part of the selective tradition that the Islamic Republic created. Despite the fact that since the end of the war, many, including those still in political power, have questioned the utility of the war,52 those who are pro-regime still regard the war as a sacred symbol that remains the space upon which notions of masculinity, loyalty, and bravery can be communicated. Reviews of the Film The reception of The Outcasts in the Iranian press was mostly negative. The film was criticized for lacking any real quality and only employing popular jokes for commercial purposes. In contrast, the other war films distributed the same year, such as Rooz-e Sevom [Seventh Day], Outubus-e Shab [The Night Bus], and Padesha-e Sukut [The Silent Ruler] were more standard war films, and they were dealt with somewhat more favorably, while The Outcasts was widely disparaged. For example, Mahzad Danesh, reviewing the movie for the popular Film magazine wrote: ‘More than the message of the film—which doesn’t 51 52

It was also a very popular song among protestors during the 2009 Green Movement. Because the Islamic Republic framed the war as an Islamic battle against the ‘infidel’ Saddam Hussein and the Iraqi Ba’thist party, Khomeini promised never sign a ceasefire or to give up the war effort until the government in Iraq crumbled and an Islamic government was established in its place. Thus, the unexpected ceasefire of 1988 (with Iran’s territorial position essentially the same as it was in 1982 when the Iraqis were driven out of Iranian territory) therefore led many to question the utility of the war (from 1982–88), and it left many soldiers feeling betrayed. For some of the veterans, the end of the war revealed the ambiguities and contradictions of the Islamic government.

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reveal itself until the end—it is the use of jokes that people have exchanged for years, and that few directors would have the permission to employ in cinema—and in sacred cinema at that—that this film became popular.’53 Indeed, for reviewers, the jokes either were poorly written and too popular to lend any artistic quality to the film, or they were offensive to the sanctity of the war. Even if it was because of these jokes that ‘the general public [was] glued to their seats’54 and that led to high box office sales, it does not in any way mean that this was a good film. Arash Khooshkhoo contended: ‘The Outcasts is not a good film, even if its box office sales reach that of the Titanic.’55 Baffled by the public reception, Khooshkhoo of 40Cheragh magazine, a popular reformist cultural magazine aimed at a young audience, wrote: ‘I confess, the wide reception of this film by people completely challenges my previous beliefs about cinema and the relationship of an audience with a film … [watching the film and seeing everyone’s joyous reaction to it], I felt like I don’t understand my people at all.’56 Khoshkhoo could not comprehend how audiences found a film based on ‘populist’ and ‘simple’ comedy so entertaining. Many critics attributed the success of the film to the high profile and popularity of its cast, including critics from popular monthly film magazines such as Donya-e Tasvir. Hossein Moazezinia, the critic writing in Donya-e Tasvir, found the humor offensive to the ‘sacred defense,’57 while others objected to the fact that Dehnamaki had crossed some ‘red lines’ with his comedy. The plot and message of the film was highly criticized: The Outcasts is a bad film. It’s a film that, with the most superficial and simplest material wants to create the deepest and most complicated story. Even though none of its characters go beyond being clichéd caricatures, it wants to leave a lasting impression on the audience. And if the whole film is meant to show how these thugs become ‘people,’ the film does not show how this process actually happens—why they reform.58 All reviewers of the film focus a great portion of their articles on Dehnamaki himself and why he chose to direct this film. For these reviews, his personal history is scrutinized and the question is asked that perhaps the popular reception of this film stems from people’s curiosity as to how a figure like Dehnamaki could create such a film that ‘cheapens’ the warfront with its ‘lumpen’ comedy. For these reviewers, the political message of this film is only secondary and they glean that most audience members ignored the political aspects in favor of the jokes. It was the fact that these jokes crossed ‘red lines’ and that the film employed comedy to deal with the sacred space of the warfront that audience members returned to the movie theaters to watch the film multiple times. It is precisely because of the use of these jokes that it becomes difficult to locate the effectiveness of Dehnamaki’s message about reformation vis-à-vis the Basij and notions of proper masculinity. As a film, it is fundamentally entertainment. As Lila Abu-Lughod argues about Egyptian television dramas, regardless of what the directors and producers of a television drama (or film) may intend to depict, how an audience interprets the media is uncontrollable: ‘The producers can guide but in the end cannot determine audiences’ 53

M. Danesh (2007) Khashm va khandeh va faryad, Film Magazine, p. 33. A. Ehsani (2007) Omidvaram CD-ash birun nayad, Souroush Weekly, p.138. 55 A. Khoshkhoo (2007) Chera Ekhrajiha filme khubi nist, 40Cheragh. 56 Ibid. 57 H. Moazezinia (2007) Film-e jangi-e irani va tamashagarash: Aya sinema-ye def’a moghadas mokhatebash ra peyda kardeh ast? Dunya-e Tasvir, pp. 49–51. 58 Ibid., pp. 49–51. 54

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readings.’59 In order to create a pedagogical film with a moral message about the ‘right’ way to be a patriotic, pious, Islamic, righteous, and revolutionary citizen, such as The Outcasts, Dehnamaki creates the popular ‘other’ of the luti characters who are parodied for contrast. These characters, nonetheless, can steal the show by claiming the attention of the audience away from the righteous protagonists. The popularity of luti characters in Iranian cinema makes this a very real possibility in this context. Viewers are selective about their readings of media messages. Although Dehnamaki may have intended the message of the film to be about redemption via the guidance of the Basij, it is unclear if audience members actually received the film in that way since the luti characters index the popular pre-revolutionary Iranian films banned after the revolution for ‘corrupt’ behavior, yet widely broadcast into Iranian homes via satellite television stations. The continued popularity of luti films signals a nostalgia, albeit one that is complex and hard to locate. This nostalgia can be for the age of pre-revolutionary Iranian movies, which index an era in stark contrast to the post-revolutionary period. Similar to Joel Gordon’s discussion of nostalgia in Egypt following the release of the film Nasser 56, the foundations for this nostalgia are complex and tied to social and political developments since the revolution.60 The disillusionment with the Islamic Republic among many sectors of the population combined with the constant barrage of an alternative vision of Iranian popular culture broadcast from over two dozen satellite stations in London, Los Angeles and Toronto by Iranian exiles opposed to the Islamic Republic, heightens this nostalgia.61 Pre-revolutionary luti films constantly are aired on these satellite stations, as are songs, concerts, and music videos of pre-revolutionary stars as well as new stars who are not able to perform in Iran today. The sense of nostalgia may be due to similar sentiments of disillusionment with the present, which the luti characters of The Outcasts index. Conclusion These stories of the Iran-Iraq war that circulate in contemporary Iran are not narratives of the past, but more crucially, they are stories that shape future imaginaries of the Islamic Republic. These are stories that aim to reconfigure the very ideas of what it means, or what it should mean, to be a ‘proper’ man in the Islamic Republic. It is about demarcating the difference between the righteous Basij, loyal to the Islamic Republic, and the misguided youth. This film is the start of a ‘new entertainment’ by pro-regime cultural producers in Iran that began with the Ahmadinejad presidency, and that has continued since. These new films aim to speak to two audiences in particular: (1) The second and third generations of the revolution, in order to show them that they, too, can be ‘proper’ members of their society and defend their nation; and (2) Basijis and Hezbollahis, by saying to them: ‘we must communicate with our public and show them that our path is the right path. We can communicate, and force is not always needed.’ Nonetheless, the debates over how to resignify the past to define the future are extremely fraught. The fact that pro-regime cultural producers from the Basij, Revolutionary Guards, and Hezbollah outwardly advocate a turn to media as the 59

L. Abu-Lughod (2005) Dramas of Nationhood: The Politics of Television in Egypt, p. 235 (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press). 60 J. Gordon (2000) Nasser 56/Cairo 96: Reimaging Egypt’s Lost Community, in: W. Armburst (ed.) Mass Mediations: New Approaches to Popular Culture of the Middle East and Beyond, pp 161–181 (CA: University of California Press). 61 E. Gheytanchi (2008) Iran’s TV Adds Entertainment to Propaganda.” San Francisco Gate. Available at http://www.sfgate.com/cgibin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/04/05/INJKVSDHN.DTL, accessed April 6, 2008.

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arena where this ‘war of ideas’ is to play out, is telling. Not only has the revolution gone astray in the eyes of Dehnamaki and others in the Revolutionary Guards, but the heightened threat of foreign powers and the future of the Islamic Republic make the task of reforming the new generation in body and spirit imperative. We cannot overlook the possibility that the new entertainment of pro-regime filmmaking centered around the war, starting with The Outcasts I in 2007, and continuing today with Che (2014) by Ebrahim Hatamikia, serve not just to bring back the values of the revolution, but also to invoke nationalist feelings against another potential military threat, the Islamic State (ISIS), and the broader proxy war with Saudi Arabia. Conjuring the real war of the 1980s serves to recall the ideas of nationalism and unity generated against an enemy—ideas that presumably can be conjured again, but this time in a filmic war. In the war films of the 1980s and 1990s, the enemy was rarely identified as Iraq, though it was implied; rather, the films focused on the ideals of nationalism, bravery, heroism, martyrdom, and the sacred space of the warfront. The unidentified enemy challenging the Islamic Revolution can morph into various entities at different points in time: ‘the enemy’ can be the internal other who does not abide by revolutionary ideals, such as the protagonists in The Outcasts, or the external enemy who physically challenges the sovereignty of the Islamic nation (Iraq in the 1980s and the United States since the start of the ‘War on Terror,’ and now ISIS). The Outcasts positions the war as the idyllic moment when the values of the revolution were alive and evident, where the errant men were reformed by Basijis, both in spirit and in body by sacrificing themselves on the battlefields. The past is brought back into this film not solely to remember that time, but also to register the essential moment of the ‘sacred defense’ and consciously to re-work it for political and social purposes today. The history of the director and the timing of the film, nearly 20 years since the end of the war, point to the wider debate in Iran today among pro-regime cultural producers: namely, how to instill the revolutionary values in the younger generation. Their answer, at least in the past decade, seems to be this ‘new entertainment.’ Funding This research was funded by the Social Science Research Foundation's International Dissertation Research Fellowship, the Wenner Gren Foundation Dissertation Fieldwork Grant, the American Institute for Iranian Studies, and the New York University Torch Grant.

Disclosure statement No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

References Abu-Lughod, L. (2005) Dramas of Nationhood: The Politics of Television in Egypt (Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press). Adelkhah, F. (1999) Being Modern in Iran (London: Hurst). Akbari, A. (1973) Lompanism (Tehran: Nashr-e Sepehr). Akhavan, N. (2013) Electronic Iran: The Cultural Politics of an Online Evolution (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press). Algar, H. (1981) Islam and Revolution: Writings and Declarations of Imam Khomeini (Berkeley, CA: Mizan Press). Amiri, N. (2007) Interview with Masoud Dehnamaki, Rooz Online, June 24. Available at: http://www.roozonline. com/english/archives/2007/06/mdehnamaki_everybody_i_now_a.html, accessed January 2008. Bahar, M. (1976) Barresi-ye Farhangi-ejtemai-ye Zurkhanehha-ye Tehran [Cultural and economic study of Tehran’s exercise gyms] (Tehran: High Council of Culture and Art). Bakhtin, M. M. (1981) The Dialogic Imagination (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press). Chelkowski, P. & Dabashi, H. (1999) Staging a Revolution: The Art of Persuasion in the Islamic Republic of Iran (New York, NY: New York University Press).

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DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN Danesh, M. (1386/2007) Khashm va khandeh va faryad [Anger and Laughter and Yelling], in: Film, Farvardin (March/April), pp. 33–34. Dehnamaki, M. (2007) Blog. Available at: http://www.ekhrajiiha.blogfa.com/, accessed July 2008. Devictor, A. (2002) Classic Tools, Original Goals: Cinema and Public Policy in the Islamic Republic of Iran, in: Tapper, R. (ed.) The New Iranian Cinema, pp. 66–76 (London: I.B. Taurus). Ehsani, A. (1386/2007) Omidvaram CD-ash birun nayad [I Hope its CD doesn’t Come Out], Souroush Weekly, Farvardin (March/April), pp. 138–141. Fathi, N. (2005) A Revolutionary Channels His Inner Michael Moore, New York Times, November 26. Available at: http://www.nytimes.com/2005/11/26/international/middleeast/26dehnamaki.html?ei=5090&en=9b13 e03ffb753873&ex=1290661200&adxnnl=1&partner=rssuserland&emc=rss&pagewanted=print&adxnn lx=1196140505-pBoYzx8x1Mjg3TnePeBinw, accessed September 14, 2016. Floor, W. M. (1981) The Political Role of the Lutis in Iran, in: Bonine, M. E. & Keddie, N. (eds) Modern Iran: The Dialectics of Continuity and Change, pp. 83–95 (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press). Gheytanchi, E. (2008). Iran’s TV Adds Entertainment to Propaganda, San Francisco Gate, April 6. Available at: http://www.sfgate.com/cgibin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/04/05/INJKVSDHN.DTL, accessed September 14, 2016. Ginsburg, F., Abu-Lughod, L. & Larkin, B. (2002) Media Worlds: Anthropology on New Terrain (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press). Gordon, J. (2000) Nasser 56/Cairo 96: Reimaging Egypt’s Lost Community, in: Armburst, W. (ed.) Mass Mediations: New Approaches to Popular Culture of the Middle East and Beyond, pp. 161–181 (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press). Kamalipour, Y. (ed.) (2010) Media, Power, and Politics in the Digital Age: The 2009 Presidential Election Uprising in Iran (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield). Karimi, I. (1369/1990) Qahreman ya Qorbani [Hero or Sacrificed], in: Mahnameh-ye Sinemai-ye Film, Dey (December), pp. 52–54. Khomeini, R. (1981) Velayat-e Faqih: Hokumat-e Islami [The Guardianship of the Jurist: Islamic government] (Tehran: Amir Kabir). Khooshkhoo, A. (1386/2007) Chera Ekhrajiha filme khubi nist [Why the Outcasts is not a Good Film], in: 40Cheragh, Farvardin (March/April). Mankekar, P. (1999) Screening Culture, Viewing Politics: An Ethnography of Television, Womanhood, and Nation in Post-colonial India (Durham, NC: Duke University Press). Mehrabi, M. (1984) Tarikh-e Sinema-ye Iran az Aghaz ta Sal-e 1357 [History of Iranian Cinema from the beginning to 1978] (Tehran: Entesharat-e Film). Moazezinia, H. (1386/2007) Film-e jangi-e irani va tamashagarash: Aya sinema-ye def’a moghadas mokhatebash ra peyda kardeh ast? [Iranian War Movie and Watching It: Has Cinema of Sacred Defense’s Message Been Discovered?], in: Dunya-e Tasvir, Mordad (July/August), pp. 49–51. Mottahedeh, N. (2007) Representing the Unrepresentable: Historical Images of National Reform from the Qajars to the Islamic Republic of Iran (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press). Mottahedeh, N. (2008) Displaced Allegories: Post-Revolutionary Iranian Cinema (Durham, NC: Duke University Press). Mottahedeh, N. (2015) #iranelection (Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press). Naficy, H. (2001a) An Accented Cinema: Exilic and Diasporic Filmmaking (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Naficy, H. (2001b) Iranian Cinema, in: Leaman, O. (ed.) Companion Encyclopedia of Middle Eastern and North African Film, pp. 67–161 (London: Routledge). Naficy, H. (2002) Islamizing Film Culture in Iran: A Post-Khatami Update, in: Tapper, R. (ed.) The New Iranian Cinema, pp. 26–65 (London: I.B. Taurus). Naficy, H. (2011–2012) The Social History of Iranian Cinema, volumes 1–4 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press). Sadr, H. (2006) Iranian Cinema: A Political History (London: I.B. Taurus). Shab-e Shishei TV Show. (2007) Interview with Masoud Dehnamaki. Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting. Available at: http://youtube.com/watch?v=L04DQQsXw_8, accessed January 2008. Sreberny, A. & Khiyabani, G. (2010) Blogistan: The Internet and Politics in Iran (London: I.B. Tauris). Sreberney-Mohammadi, A. & Mohammadi, A. (1994) Small Media, Big Revolution (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press). Varzi, R. (2006) Warring Souls: Youth, Media, and Martyrdom in Post-Revolution Iran (Durham, NC: Duke University Press). Varzi, R. (2002) A Ghost in the Machine: The Cinema of the Iranian Sacred Defense, in: Tapper, R. (ed.) The New Iranian Cinema, pp. 154–166 (London: I.B. Taurus). Williams, R. (1977) Marxism and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press).

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Inventions of the Iran – Iraq War ARSHIN ADIB-MOGHADDAM

These dialecticians, in fact, commit the fallacy of asserting that the enduring thing endures on account of the continuous and contiguous durations in recurring moments, and hence they require an explanation, which is quite simple. We ask them: What is the meaning of those recurring durations? Omar Khayyam1 For many years historians of west Asian affairs have preferred to refer to a descriptive reading of international events in the region as if they were trying to define law-like causalities, unchangeable continua or inevitable facts to the multifarious transformations and diversity intrinsic to the ‘Middle East.’ The methods that empower these historians to pursue this mode of analysis are partly engrained in the discipline and partly borrowed from other social sciences with a strong positivistic and empiricist tradition, especially economics, political science, and, albeit to a lesser extent (and perhaps unconsciously), ‘realist’ international relations theories. What has been written about the Iran– Iraq war of 1980 –88 is no exception. A quick perusal of the literature reveals three recurrent themes: first, Saddam Hussein seized the favorable international moment that was conducive to a military attack against the newly established Islamic state in Iran (realist, power politics argument);2 second, the Iran– Iraq war was inevitable due to the ‘historic’ enmity between the two states (‘orientalist’ argument); and third, the Ba’thist state felt threatened by the spillover of the Islamic revolution and decided to pre-empt further Shia uprisings in Najaf, Karbala, Samarra, Kazimiyah, and Baghdad as a means to contain a Shia resurgence in the greater west Asian area (balance of power argument).3

1

2

3

Omar Khayyam, ‘Darurat al-tadadd fi’l- ‘alam wa’l-jabr wa’l-baqa’ [The neccessity of contradiction, free will, and determinism), in: Seyyed Hossein Nasr with Mehdi Aminrazavi (Eds), An Anthology of Philosophy in Persia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 406. Dilip Hiro stresses the role of the US, arguing that by ‘supplying secret information, which exaggerated Iran’s military weakness, to Saudi Arabia for onward transmission to Baghdad, Washington encouraged Iraq to attack Iran’; see his book, The Longest War: The Iran–Iraq Military Conflict (London: Grafton Books, 1990), p. 71. This justification was rather more central to the Iraqi efforts to legitimate the invasion: By interfering in the internal affairs of Iraq, it typically was argued, Iran had broken the terms of the Algiers Agreement; see, for example, Majid Khadduri, The Gulf War: The Origins and Implications of the Iraq–Iran Conflict (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), especially Chapter 8.

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The challenges to those established arguments, which I would like to express in the following paragraphs, are aimed not so much at dismissing what has been discovered by students of west Asian affairs in toto but rather at dissecting some of the regularities that have been accepted too readily. The object, to be more precise, is to present the ‘regime of thought’ that precipitated and sustained the Iraqi invasion of Iran by ‘contextualizing’ the empirical facts about the war with a narrative that appreciates the impact of norms, images, institutions, and other invented cultural artefacts on international crisis situations.4 To that end, I move in two directions. In the first section of this article I suggest that the Ba’thist leadership in Iraq made its decision to launch a full-scale invasion of Iran within the intersubjective context of Iraqi –Arab nationalism, its anti-Iranian precepts and the regime’s internalized self-perception as the indispensable pan-Arab force in the region. What has been largely undervalued in the literature about the war, I suggest, is that the invasion was precipitated by a fundamental dialectic: On the one hand, the ideational manufacturing of the Ba’thist garrison state and its anti-Iranian precepts; on the other hand, the reification of this identity by regional states and the wider international community. I am conscious that some readers may argue that an a posteriori historical account of the events surrounding the Iran – Iraq war (and other major international events for that matter) always carries the risk of someone committing that most deplorable of intellectual sins, historical revisionism. However, those readers will find that I have rendered useful empirical material that was not available at the time when the ‘official’ history of the Iran– Iraq war was written. And I have embedded this material in a set of questions that allude to complementing facts about the way the war was produced, but not in order to reveal competing, all-encompassing causalities, or as a means to search for a new history of the conflict, or to proclaim a return to a more comprehensive ‘science’ of the Iran– Iraq war in particular and organized violence between political units in general. Rather, my ambition is much more modest: I am interested primarily in showing that collective, socially engineered, and continuously reified cultural inventions came into play when Saddam Hussein decided to invade Iran. It is this inter-subjective kriegskontext that I will attempt to bring into focus. I will refrain from a descriptive reading of the Iran– Iraq war; instead I will start from a set of questions about the way perceptions, enemy images, and ideologies are constituted. Invention#1: The Persian Enemy A long-standing hypothesis put forward by cognitive and social psychologists claims that cultural constructs, such as norms, institutions, values, etc., are accessible to the extent that they have been activated and reified by previous knowledge.5 ‘Abundant evidence for this’ it is argued ‘comes from experiments in which researchers manipulate whether participants are exposed to a word or image related to a construct (a prime) and then measure the extent to which the participants’ subsequent interpretations of a stimulus are 4

5

In terms of international law, the United Nations belatedly settled the question of who started the war its report of 9 December 1991 (S/23273), which—only after Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait—refers to ‘Iraq’s aggression against Iran.’ See J. S. Bruner, ‘Going beyond the information given’, in University of Colorado, Boulder, Department of Psychology (Ed.), Contemporary Approaches to Cognition (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1957), pp. 218–238.

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influenced by the primed construct.’6 I have attempted to differentiate the emergence and determining imprint of culture elsewhere, suggesting a four dimensional dialectic: (1) it is through externalization that culture is a human product; (2) it is through objectification that culture becomes a reality sui generis; (3) it is through internalization that agents are products of culture; and (4) it is through introjection that culture constitutes the identities, interests and preferences of agents.7 Culture thus understood has a life cycle: It is both a producer of mindsets and world views and a product of the same phenomena. It should become clear to the politically minded reader that the state has a pivotal interest in that socially constructed sphere, because it is the main locus where we tap into knowledge, where we find our place in society, where we draw the boundaries between ourselves and the enemy without and where, ultimately, militaristic ideologies habituate us to the expectation of war. ‘[T] he indispensable condition of war’ Gordon Allport argues, is that people must expect war and must prepare for war before, under war-minded leadership, they make war. It is in this sense that ‘wars begin in the minds of men . . . personal aggressiveness does not itself render war inevitable. It is a contributing cause when people expect to vent their emotions in warfare. Similarly the alleged economic causes of war are effective causes only when people think war is a solution to problems of poverty and economic rivalry. Otherwise they are not. What men expect determines their behaviour.8 Allport refers to a ‘psychology’ of war that affects our thinking about the enemy. Sociologists would add that written and spoken texts are the most important kind of cultural artefacts in the transmission of those salient enemy images. Exposure to texts activates implicit theories in the mind of the agent by triggering relevant knowledge and affecting changes in the mindset in the direction of the internalised ideological content of the text. Hence the importance of studying the writings of intellectuals who as a group of individuals have the power to constitute ‘truth conditions’, as a legitimating system, as authoritative discourse, who can disqualify competing views from emerging and counter-narratives from questioning the status quo. Contemporary social psychologists agree: Both the informal texts of ‘low culture’ (e.g. folktales, television, commercials) and the more formal texts of ‘high culture’ (e.g. religious tracts, canonical works of literature) are capable of conveying and reinforcing conceptions of agency.9

6 7

8 9

Ying-yi Hong, Michael W. Morris, Chi-yue Chiu, Vero´nica Benet-Martı´nez, ‘Multicultural Minds: A Dynamic Constructivist Approach to Culture and Cognition,’ American Psychologist, 55, 7 (2000), p. 711. See Arshin Adib-Moghaddam, ‘Islamic utopian romanticism and the foreign policy culture of Iran,’ Critique: Critical Middle Eastern Studies 14, 3 (2005), pp. 265 –292; Arshin Adib-Moghaddam, The Question of the Islamic Republic: Selected Essays on the Politics of Post-revolutionary Iran (forthcoming). Gordon W. Allport, ‘The Role of Expectancy’, in Leon Bramson & George W. Goethals (Eds), War Studies from Psychology, Sociology, Anthropology (London: Basic Books, 1964), p. 179. Michael W. Morris, Tanya Menon & Daniel R. Ames, ‘Culturally Conferred Conceptions of Agency: A Key to Social Perception of Persons, Groups, and Other Actors,’ Personality and Social Psychology Review 5, 2 (2001), p. 173.

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Here, the latter aspect of culture, that is the perpetuation of myths through cultural introjection, was rather more central to the production of the Iranian enemy image in Ba’thist Iraq. Mythic narratives are particularly deterministic and functional in perpetuating and reproducing the boundaries between ‘the’ identity of the state and ‘the’ identity of the enemy. The Ba’thist leadership soon realized that the fact that Arabs and Iranians have shared long periods of common history on both sides of the Shatt-ol Arab required a systematic effort to invent strict boundaries between the ‘Iranian other’ and the ‘Iraqi-Arab self.’ Central to this political strategy was the accentuation of the ‘racial’ composition of Iran, which was pursued by referring to the country as Persia.10 In order to legitimate the Ba’thist campaign against Iran and Iraqis of Iranian origin historically, the challenge of ‘the Persians’ was projected back to the reign of the Persian king Cyrus, who gave refuge to the Jews when they were persecuted by the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar in sixth century BC. The myth was invented that there has been a perennial conflict between Arabs and Persians, and that the ‘backstabbing Iranians’ had a history of collusion with Zionists and imperialist forces against the ‘Arab nation.’ This was the central argument of two books published in the early 1980s, Al-Madaris al-Yahudiyya wa-l-Iraniyya fi-l-‘Iraq (Jewish and Iranian Schools in Iraq) by Fadil al-Barrak; and Al-Harb al-sirriyya, khafaya al-dawr al-Isra’ili fi harb al-khalij (The Secret war: The mysterious role of Israel in the [First]Gulf War) by Sa’d al-Bazzaz. The former deals with the ‘destructive’ and ‘dangerous’ impact of Jewish and Iranian schools on Iraqi society. The latter outlines how Israel and Iran conspired to combat Iraq, with special reference to the destruction of the nuclear reactor in Osirak by the Israeli Air Force in June 1981.11 Describing Iranians as ajam, an inferior people within the dominance of Islam, which was deemed to be first and foremost an Arab domain, the Ba’thist state also disseminated overtly racist propaganda, exemplified by pamphlets such as Khairallah Talfah’s, Three Whom God Should Not Have Created: Persians, Jews and Flies, serials entitled Judhur al-‘ada al-Farsi li-l-umma al-‘Arabiyya (The Roots of Persian Hostility toward the Arab Nation), and proverbs such as Ma hann a’jami ‘ala ‘Arabi (An ajam or Persian will not have mercy on an Arab).12 According to Ba’thist state propaganda, hatred toward Arabs was an integral part of the Persians’ destructive mentality (aqliyya takhribiyya), which was deemed a racial attribute that had not changed since the days when Islam came into the Sassanian empire in the seventh century.13 In a survey about the image of Iranians in Arab schoolbooks, Talal Atrissi provided further evidence for that anti-Iranian disposition: The image of the Iranians (Persians) in the Iraqi schoolbooks is clear-cut . . . The Iranian is always that mean racist Persian who conspired against the Arab nation, its unity and its language, as well as the Islamic Arab civilisation, since the era of the Orthodox Caliphs and until ‘Saddam’s glorious Qadisieh’ [Iran – Iraq war].

10 11 12

13

See further Arshin Adib-Moghaddam, The International Politics of the Persian Gulf: A Cultural Genealogy (London: Routledge, 2006). Ofra Bengio, Saddam’s Word, p. 137. The term ajam, often used in a pejorative sense, originally identified the non-Arabs (particularly the Iranians) peoples of the Muslim Empire. During later periods the term acquired an ethnic and geographic designation to distinguish Arabs from Iranians. Bengio, Saddam’s Word, pp. 142–143.

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Each time the Persians are mentioned they are the invaders, an absolute evil that has to be deterred, being a constant danger that threatens the [Arab] nation and its fate. All the problems of Muslims and Arabs, all the sectarian conflicts and unrest, as well as the attempts to undermine their civilisation, may as well be, if we are to rely on these books, the product of Persian conspiracies.14 The legacy of the rivalry between Iranian and Arab versions of nationalism was even more dramatic in relation to the nomenclature of the Gulf. In 1977, the Iraqi Revolutionary Command Council established an ‘Arab Gulf Office’, under the direction of Saddam Hussein. The designation of the waterway as the Persian Gulf by Iran, it was argued, testified to the country’s historic dream of regional hegemony.15 Indeed, Iranian nationalists often conflated the historically evolved designation of the waterway as the Persian Gulf with ‘natural’ cultural and political pre-eminence in the area. This was especially acute during the rule of the Pahlavi dynasty, whose insistence on Iran’s preIslamic heritage fostered the myth that the Gulf has been a Persian lake ever since the Achaemenian kings Dariush and Cyrus established the first Iranian world empire. It is no wonder then that the ‘Arab Gulf Office’ in Iraq was established in 1977, during a period when state-sponsored nationalism dominated the state identities in both countries. By confronting imperial Iran on the basis of the naming of the Persian Gulf, Ba’thist Iraq wanted to assert its status in the region and counter the chauvinism of Pahlavi nationalism. Likewise, by disseminating maps designating that body of water as Khaliji Basra (the Gulf of Basra) or al-Khalij al-‘Arabi, Iraq claimed a prominent role in the region by appealing to (Iraqi-centric) Arab nationalist and anti-Iranian sentiments. Indeed, that the campaign to rename the Persian Gulf (initially popularized by Jamal Abdul Nassir of Egypt in the early 1960s) was at least partially successful, suggests that aversion to the Iranian presence in the region transcended the confines of Iraqi state propaganda and was, to a certain extent, shared by other regional states as well.16 The invention of the anti-Iranian norm constituted an integral institution of the state identity of Ba’thist Iraq. The Iranian revolution itself was thought to be part of a long history of Iranian efforts to dominate the Persian Gulf. The Ba’thist regime even described Ayatollah Khomeini himself as an infidel (kafir) and heretic (taghut), unfit to preach Islam which was portrayed as an exclusive domain of the Arab peoples. In order to foster the ‘Islamic credentials’ of the otherwise secular regime, the Ba’thist state increasingly reverted to Islamic symbols and imagery. Central to this task was the decision to refer officially to the Iran –Iraq war as Saddam’s Qadisiyya or Qadisiyyat Saddam, projecting two central institutions of Ba’thist Arab nationalism: the romantic mystification of the leadership ideal on the one hand, and suspicion and antagonism toward Iranians on the other hand.17 The phrase, which was to be used in any official Iraqi correspondence, likened the war to the battle of Qadisiyya in AD 637. During that battle the armies of Sasanian Iran, led by General Roustum, were fighting as a Zoroastrian – Persian force and were defeated by a

14 15 16 17

Talal Atrissi, ‘The Image of the Iranians in Arab Schoolbooks,’ in Khair el-Din Haseeb (Ed.), Arab-Iranian Relations (Beirut: Center for Arab Unity Studies, 1998), p. 155. Bengio, Saddam’s Word, p. 140. Adib-Moghaddam, The International Politics of the Persian Gulf. Ibid.

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Muslim army under the command of Saad bin Abi Waqqas. The defeat led to the capture of the Sasanian capital Ctesiphon (its ruins are near Baghdad), causing the ending of Sasanian suzerainty in Iraq and opening up ancient Iran for the ensuing process of spreading Islam. Iraqi intelligence documents captured after the Second Persian Gulf War suggest that Saddam Hussein’s identification with a comparable historical role and the regime’s anti-Iranian disposition were indeed systematic.18 While most of the documents refer to the Iran– Iraq war as Qadisiyyat Saddam, Iranians consistently are referred to in derogatory terms as the ‘Zionist Persians, al- ‘adu al-ajami (the illiterate or foreign enemy), al- ‘adu al-Irani (the Iranian enemy) or majus (fire worshippers). The official terminology is consistent with other institutional manifestations of anti-Iranianism and its invented linkage with the history of Iraq and the character of Saddam Hussein. Iraqi history books, for instance, gave the following explanation for the naming of the war as Qadisiyyat Saddam: It is the everlasting heroic epic that the Iraqi people fought to defend Iraq and the Arab nation; it is the battle in which the Iraqi people achieved victory against the racist Khomeinist Persian enemy. It was named Saddam’s Qadisieh [sic ] after the victorious, by God’s Will, leader Saddam Hussein, who led the marvellous heroic battles . . . just as leader Saad bin Abi Waqqas did in the first Qadisieh [sic ] about 14 centuries ago.19

Invention #2: The Eastern Flank of the Arab World The effort to historicize Iraq’s war campaign was not sudden or merely in response to the revolution in Iran, for it was not only power politics that propelled Saddam Hussein to demonize Persia. Arab nationalist activists have singled out Iranians as a main source of resistance to the pan-Arab idea, at least since the writings of Sati Khaldun al-Husri and Michel Aflaq.20 The reification of this norm permeated the state identity of Ba’thist Iraq and reached all the way down into the terminology and symbolism of the state. In turn this suggests that anti-Iranianism was as much an ideological (utilitarian) tool to delineate the Iraqi – Arab self from the Iranian – Shiite other, as it was firmly rooted in the belief system of the Ba’thist leadership: both power politics and inter-subjective perceptions constituted Iran as the enemy. In other words, by attacking Persia, the regime not only wanted to produce itself as the pre-eminent force in west Asia, but also it acted on the premise of a 18

19 20

After the Second Gulf War, Iraqi-Kurds operating in the semi-autonomous northern no-fly zone forwarded thousands of documents from the Iraqi intelligence’s four primary agencies, including the al-Amn al-Khas (Special Security), al Amn al-‘Amn (General Security), al-Mukhabarat al-Amma (General Intelligence) and al Istikhbarat al- ‘Askariyya (Military Intelligence), to the US government. They are available on the pages of the Iraq Research and Documentation Program at the Center for Middle East Studies, Harvard University, http:// www.fas.harvard.edu/ , irdp/ Quoted in Atrissi, ‘The image of the Iranians in Arab Schoolbooks’, p. 161. Both Aflaq and al-Husri were instrumental in the institutionalization of the pan-Arab idea in Iraq. The former—who had founded the Ba’th party in the 1940s—because of his decision to side with the Iraqi Ba’th of Saddam Hussein against the Syrian Ba’th of Hafiz al-Assad in the early 1970s, the latter because of his educational posts between 1921 and 1941.

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deeply embedded resentment of Iranian cultural and political outreach in the region and beyond. To clarify, I am suggesting that this tactic was not only an act of political utilitarianism (or a matter of power politics) in the sense that it suddenly was invoked to rally the support of Arab states in reaction to the exogenous effects of the Islamic revolution, but also its system effects (i.e. the effects of the revolution in Iran) were interpreted and processed against the background of a pre-existing, deeply embedded ‘paranoia’ about Iranian expansionism. At no stage during the tumultuous early days of the revolution was the fragile Islamic Republic in a position to launch a full-scale invasion of Iraq or to coordinate a systematic covert war as the shah had done in collaboration with the United States and Israel in Iraqi Kurdistan during the early 1970s. It was not the objective threat from Iran that propelled the Iraqi state to launch the invasion. Iraqi perceptions were framed by Ba’thist Arab nationalism and its misperceptions about Iranian designs in the Persian Gulf. The Ba’thist ‘mindset’ signalled to Iraqi decision makers that the Iranian revolution might turn into an irrevocable campaign aimed at ‘Persianizing’ the Gulf. According to that perception, the revolution was only one effort in the long line of Iranian strategies to master the Arab world. Before Iraq would turn its attention to Palestine, the country would rid the Arab states once and for all from that historical challenge to the ‘eastern flank of the nation.’ The disposition of Saddam Hussein’s Iraq during the time when the decision for the war is thought to have been made (according to Ofra Bengio, in April 1980) was encapsulated in Khairallah Talfah’s writings. ‘Many People say that Palestine must be dealt with first,’ Talfah argued. ‘That is true—and yet I say: Iran is a dagger in the heart of the Arabs, therefore it must be removed so that the Arabs can regain their health . . . As the old proverb has it: ‘He who lives with us is the worst thief.’21 Thus, while Zionism and Western imperialism were distant threats, and dealing with them needed careful, longterm planning, Iran was perceived as the perennial, immediate ‘enemy from within.’ With the international climate conducive for war, Ba’thist anti-Iranianism broke the border between political self-introjection and action. Kanan Makiya agrees, valuing the effects of Iraq’s Ba’thist state identity higher than the effects of Iranian threats or purely economic or territorial cost-benefit calculations: Qadisiyyat Saddam captures a mood that prevailed in Ba’thist circles at the start of the fighting, a mood that had nothing to do with rancour over possessions, competition for economic assets, greed for territory, or alleged Iranian intentions. The regime was brimming over with self-confidence . . . it was armed to the teeth and capable of those great things that were given to it by ‘history’ and everything that the pan-Arabism of the Ba’th stood for. The time was ripe for the Ba’th to take externally the kind of decisive action they had already taken internally, to signify to the outside the rising preeminence of Iraqi Ba’thism in regional and Arab affairs. Ba’thist motives were singularly political, derivative ultimately from deeply held ideological tenets to which they had given ample proof of their commitment.... [E]conomic, material, and strategic benefits . . . come afterwards.22

21 22

Quoted in Bengio, Saddam’s Word, p. 145. Kanan Makiya, Republic of Fear: The Politics of Modern Iraq, updated edition with a new introduction (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), pp. 270–271.

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Recently declassified US State Department documents and the ‘Duelfer Report’ presented by US Chief Arms Inspector in Iraq, Charles Duelfer, provide further evidence for the Ba’thist paranoia about Iran. Consider a meeting in 1988 between representatives of the US construction company Bechtel and Saddam Hussein’s son-in-law Hussein Kamil (at that time Minister of Industry), where Kamil stated that the US Senate was controlled by Zionists who were responsible for undermining US–Iraqi relations ‘since Iraq had defeated their Iranian ally and was now defeating their Kurdish surrogates in northern Iraq’.23 Anti-Iranian (and antiJewish) rhetoric hence was not employed merely to rally support among Arab nationalists. Kamil was addressing representatives of an American conglomerate with close relations to the Israeli state and who were perhaps indifferent to Iran. In such a discursive context it does not make sense to accuse Iran and Israel of conspiring, other than a genuine belief that this is really the case. The Duelfer report confirms the centrality of the ‘Persian menace’ to Ba’thist threat perceptions: ‘From Saddam’s viewpoint’ the author argues, ‘the Persian menace loomed large and was a challenge to his place in history’. Moreover, the report suggests that Iran (not the United States) was the ‘pre-eminent motivator’ of Saddam’s weapons of mass distruction (WMD) program. ‘All senior level Iraqi officials’ the interrogations revealed ‘considered Iran to be Iraq’s principal enemy in the region.’24 Indeed, this obsession with Iran can also be discerned from Saddam Hussein’s comments during the war-crimes trial against him. He would take responsibility ‘with honour’ for any attacks on Iran using conventional or chemical weapons during the 1980–1988 war, he proclaimed on 18 December 2006, a week before his lawyer’s appeal of the death penalty was rejected by the Iraqi high court. Hussein even blamed ‘Iranian agents’ (and the United States) for the death penalty itself. Research into the social construction of reality by cultural theorists and social psychologists reveals that human’s construct their own realities.25 This idea is not, of course, a new one; it used to be, for instance, the central philosophical tenet of the Muta’zilite school of Islam (literally those who withdraw themselves)—the eighth century Muslim ‘social constructivists’ who advocated contextual analysis of the Quran. Moreover, research beyond the social sciences supports the idea that ordering the environment and by extension inventing ‘realities’ is a natural function of human behaviour.26 Steering toward the discipline of international 23

24

25 26

Cable, US Embassy Baghdad, to US Department of State (DOS), ‘Minister of Industry Blasts Senate Action,’ 13 September 1988, page 2. I am drawing on the set of documents obtained by the National Security Archive (NSA) at George Washington University under the US Freedom on Information Act. See, for example, ‘Saddam Hussein: More Secret History’, 18 December 2003, ,http://www.gwu.edu/ , nsarchiv/NSAEBB/NSAEBB107/. [accessed 22 February 2005]. Comprehensive Report of the Special Advisor to the DCI on Iraq’s WMD, 30 September 2004, ,http://www. cia.gov/cia/report/iraq_wmd_2004/transmittal.html. [accessed 21 January 2005]. The report also revealed that Saddam Hussein used the United Nations-managed Oil-for-Food program to provide millions of dollars in subsidies to the Iranian opposition group, the Mojahedin-e khalq Organization (MKO), which is listed as a terrorist organization both in the EU and the United States. The MKO is led by Maryam and Massoud Rajavi and has a political wing that operates under the name ‘National Council for Resistance in Iran;’ the armed military wing, based in Iraq until 2003 but disarmed and confined to one base by the US military since, launched several terrorist attacks inside Iran between 1988 and 2002. See Michael Isikoff and Mark Hosenball, ‘Shades of Gray: The Duelfer report alleges that Saddam gave funds to a listed terror group, but the claim does little to advance the White House case for war,’ Newsweek (13 October 2004). See especially Peter Berger & Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality (New York: Anchor Books, 1966); and George Herbert Mead, Mind, Self, and Society (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1934). Lawrence A. Hirschfeld & Susan A. Gelman(Eds), Mapping the Mind: Domain Specificity in Cognition and Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994).

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relations we may add that invented realities that engender motivational drives toward war appear to be especially pronounced within totalitarian political systems where the institutionalisation of pluralistic discourse atrophies under the pressure of ideological introjection. In the case of Ba’thist Iraq, anti-Iranianism had been reified to the extent that it had acquired the quality of an immanent, autonomous reality, reacting back on its creator.27 Acting within this self-consciously chosen ‘ideational habitat’, Saddam Hussein was alienated from objective reality, ignoring that the reality guiding him had been produced by himself; the subject was assimilated into the object and followed the signals of external, reified norms, institutions and structures. That Saddam Hussein tailored his actions according to this ‘alien reality’ three times (against Iran, Kuwait, and the United States), only reiterates the salience of the ideational belief system that framed the existence of the Ba’thist polity and explains its gross misperceptions during the three Persian Gulf wars. Invention #3: The Ba’thist Garrison State Research by ‘social constructivists’ in the discipline of international relations suggests that perceptions, representations of reality and identities are not constructed in isolation. States are not operating in encapsulated habitats. It is not possible to act decisively on a specific identity without perceiving a minimal degree of external recognition.28 Neurophysiological research suggests a comparable pattern, hypothesising that visions caught by the eyes are transformed into perceptions by the coordinated firing by millions of neurons all over the brain. This physiological process enables us to ‘link’ the invented category ‘grandmother’ to the mother of our mother and fill that category with meaning accumulated through previous interaction with that person.29 In other words, we make sense of our environment through processes of physiological and social interaction. Applied to the inter-subjective context of Iraqi Ba’thism, this idea suggests that the Ba’thist leadership constituted its war role in relation to international society. The Iraqi state perceived itself as the main agent of panArabism at least since the Ba’thist coup in 1968. That this subjective self-understanding was not confirmed during a period when the Iranian– Saudi dual pillar order was systematically legitimated (by the United States and the Gulf monarchies) prevented Iraq from playing a rather more prominent regional role in the 1970s. Revolution in Iran altered that constellation. In the reshuffling of regional relations, the way the Iraqi state viewed itself was approximated by the way it was addressed. Indeed, it can be argued that Iraq became the agent for containment of the revolution because of two reasons: it felt legitimated in its selfperception as the leader of the Arab world and it was confirmed as the suitable vehicle to preserve the regional status quo.30 What may be termed the ‘social engineering’ of the Iraqi war role has not been made explicit in the literature about the causes and consequences of the Iran – Iraq war. Cannot 27 28 29 30

See also Arshin Adib-Moghaddam, ‘Islamic Utopian Romanticism, p. 268. Alexander Wendt, Social Theory of International Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 227. David Berreby, Us and Them: Understanding your Tribal Mind (London: Hutchinson, 2005), p. 104. Many arguments about the causes of the Iraq war merge on this point, without, however, making the link between Iraqi state identity (under Saddam Hussein), external confirmation and the decision to launch the invasion explicit. See among others Charles Tripp, A History of Iraq, 2nd edition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), p. 231; and Anoushiravan Ehteshami and Gerd Nonneman, War and Peace in the Gulf: Domestic Politics and Regional Relations into the 1990s (Reading: Ithaca, 1991), p. 39.

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Iraqi state identity, external confirmation, and the decision to go to war also be related causally? It appears to me that Saddam Hussein was convinced that military confrontation with Iran would be tolerated because the international community did not suggest otherwise; external signals were interpreted as a green light—if not carte blanche by the government elites. Does not the fact that Saddam Hussein managed to organize the high degree of political, economic, and media support both in the Arab worlds (apart from Lebanon, Libya, and Syria) and in the Western hemisphere suggest that the anticipation of the Iraqi regime was at least partially accurate? If we would affirm that question for one moment, does it not suggest that the signals before the war must have been quite strong indeed? I think that the Iraqi war role was socially engineered in that it existed only in relation to the international system. To be more precise, the Ba’thist state could not have acted on its war role without its real and perceived reification by international society. Having investigated the first process of this dialectic, that is the constitution of the IraqiBa’thist self-perception, I now turn my attention to its reification by international actors, regional and global. Invention #4: Saddam’s Gulf Credentials The Gulf monarchies already had reacted positively to the tactical moderation of Iraqi behavior in the period after the signing of the Algiers agreement in 1975. Diplomacy followed suit: in February 1979, Saudi Arabia and Iraq signed a security agreement that committed Iraq to defend the former in the case of war. The agreement was accompanied by high-level diplomatic exchanges between the two countries and between Iraq and Rais al-Khaimah (one of seven shaykhdoms comprising the United Arab Emirates) Oman, and Kuwait.31 From the perspective of Saddam Hussein, the recognition gained from the diplomatic exchanges was reason enough to believe that an invasion of Iran would be supported. Some commentators even speculate that the decision to take military action gained approval beforehand.32 The minimal argument that can be put forward is that regional states signalled that an invasion of Iran would be accommodated. Apart from Dubai and Sharjah, which continued to have cordial relations with the Islamic Republic, the five other shaykhdoms in the United Arab Emirates as well as the other Gulf monarchies were involved either directly or indirectly in the Iraqi war effort, especially after the failure of the Iraqi Blitz and the Iranian counteroffensive into Iraqi territory in 1982. For example, among the various measures that they undertook, Saudi Arabia and Kuwait agreed to forward the profits of oil production in the Khafji oil field, located in the neutral zone between Saudi Arabia and Kuwait, to the Iraqi government;33 the two countries provided Iraq with loans ranging from an estimated US$35 billion to US$50 billion, most of them not necessarily meant to be repaid;34 both countries opened up their ports for the shipment of products bound to the Iraqi market and the selling of oil on behalf of the Iraqi government; and the Saudi state 31 32

33 34

Ehteshami and Nonneman, War and Peace in the Gulf, pp. 39–43. Ibid. p. 43; see also Bahman Baktiari, ‘Revolutionary Iran’s Persian Gulf Policy: The Quest for Regional Supremacy’, in Hooshang Amirahmadi & Nader Entessar (Eds), Iran and the Arab World (London: Macmillan Press, 1998), p. 74. Saideh Lotfian, ‘Taking Sides: Regional Powers and the War’, in Farhang Rajaee (Ed.), Iranian Perspectives on the Iran-Iraq War (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1997), p. 18. Shahram Chubin & Charles Tripp, Iran and Iraq at War (London: I.B. Tauris, 1988), p. 154.

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arguably even offered to finance the rebuilding of the Iraqi nuclear reactor in Osirak, destroyed in a pre-emptive strike by Israeli warplanes in June 1981.35 The particularities of support for the Iraqi war effort may be disputed, but the regional disposition to take sides never was at issue. The sketch of regional collusion with Iraq provided here should not mislead, however, for the support was not unequivocal. Concurrent with the quasi-alliance of Egypt, Jordan, Kuwait, and Saudi Arabia with Iraq, the regional states were engaged continuously in containing the economic calamities and military spillover of the war. Apart from sustained efforts to appease Iraq, they also refrained from formalizing their relationship with Saddam Hussein. Indeed, the six states on the Arabian Peninsula littoral of the Persian Gulf established the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) in early 1981, soon after the war had started, and left out both Iran and Iraq. Yet, viewed from the perspective of the Iraqi regime, the support of the country’s war efforts was seen as a boost to its claim to regional power—and more specifically—its selfbestowed role as the leader of the Arab world. The external confirmation and support from regional states was processed against the background of the Arab nationalist and antiIranian precepts of Iraqi Ba’thist state identity. From that viewpoint, supporting the war effort was considered only ‘natural’—indeed the only logical response of Arab states against the threat to the eastern flank of the Arab nation. ‘All Gulf countries are aware of Iran’s ambitions in targeting them’, Saddam Hussein argued in a typical manner. ‘They know that had it not been for Iraq, they would have been taken as prisoners to the lands of the Persians’.36 Invention #5: Saddam the Benevolent Leader Since the ouster of the Iraqi monarchy in 1958, no Iraqi leader had enjoyed more international support than Saddam Hussein did during the war with Iran. There was even a strange fascination with the persona of Saddam Hussein himself within some diplomatic circles in Britain and the United States, especially in the late 1960s and early 1970s. In a telegram to the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office, for instance, the then British ambassador to Baghdad described Hussein as a ‘serious character’ with an ‘engaging smile’ which ‘seemed part and parcel of his absorption with the subject in hand and not, as with so many of the others, a matter of superficial affability. ‘I should judge him’, the ambassador went on, ‘to be a formidable, single-minded and hard-headed member of the Ba’thist hierarchy, but one with whom, if only one could see more of him, it would be possible to do business’.37 Assistant Secretary of State for Near Eastern and South Asian Affairs, Alfred L. Atherton, Jr., appeared to have a comparable fascination with the character of Saddam Hussein in 1975. In a conversation with Henry Kissinger as part of a routine review of world events, Atherton described Hussein as a ‘rather remarkable person’ who is ‘running the show’ and is ‘a very ruthless and pragmatic, intelligent power’.38 Thus, Saddam Hussein already had been singled out as somebody who ‘we can make business with’ before he launched the invasion of Iran. During the war his international 35 36 37 38

Lotfian, ‘Taking Sides’, p. 19. Chubin and Tripp, Iran and Iraq at War, p. 153. Telegram from British Embassy Baghdad to Foreign and Commonwealth Office, ‘Saddam Hussein,’ 20 December 1969, Public Record Office, London, FCO 17/871, p. 4; and NSA, op. cit. ‘Secretary’s Principals and Regionals Staff Meeting,’ 28 April 1975 (Excerpt), p. 22, NSA, op. cit.

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credentials were enhanced further by the then ruler of Jordan, King Hussein, who repeatedly acted as an intermediary between the Ba’thist regime and the United States, especially during periods of diplomatic crisis. A declassified cable from the US Embassy in Amman to the US State Department dated 19 March 1985, that is at a time when Iraqi chemical weapons attacks against Iranian soldiers and civilians already were well known, shows King Hussein’s systematic efforts to enhance the international reputation of Iraq while fostering pan-Arab cooperation with Egypt. Symptomatically, King Hussein indicates to the then US ambassador in Amman that the Iraqis were ‘very pleased’ with American diplomatic support ‘and with their overall cooperation with the US.’39 In another cable dated 28 March 1985 and summarizing a meeting between King Hussein, Hosni Mubarak, and Saddam Hussein, it is stated that ‘so long as Saddam was ruling the country, Iraq would continue on its present pragmatic course,’ which was believed would be true ‘even after the war ended.’40 The reassuring international context before and after the invasion of Iran contributed to Saddam Hussein’s ability to claim the right to go to war ( jus ad bellum) and to avoid the right conduct of the war itself ( jus in bello), even though international society condemns military aggression and the canons of international law provide some degree of protection against war crimes (at least formally).41 In the case of Iran, the first international reaction to the conflict is emblematic for the pattern of behavior that followed: After six days of hostilities, on 28 September 1980, the UN Security Council unanimously adopted Resolution 479, calling for an immediate cessation of hostilities without, however, naming Iraq as the invading force, or calling for the country’s withdrawal from Iranian territory (the call to return to internationally recognized boundaries came only after Iranian advances into Iraqi territory as a result of the counter-offensive in mid-1982).42 In essence then, Resolution 479 and the final Resolution 598 adopted after nearly eight years of fighting were similar with regard to the question of who started the war. Both failed to name Iraq as the invading party. There was also calculated accommodation with regard to Iraqi chemical and biological warfare against Iran. Complaints from the Iranian side were made as early as November 1980. Yet, it took the international community, including the most prominent nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), at least three and one-half years to investigate the allegations systematically.43 The Stockholm International Peace and Research Institute (SIPRI) testified to that in May 1984: Three and a quarter years [after the first Iranian complaints in November 1980], by which time the outside world was listening more seriously to such charges, the

39 40 41 42

43

Cable from US Embassy Amman to DOS, ‘Hussein on Mubarak’s Visit and Their Joint Trip to Iraq,’ 19 March 1985, p. 3, NSA, op. cit. Cable from US Embassy Baghdad to DOS, ‘Views of the Jordanian and Egyptian Ambassadors on Iraq: the War, the Peace Process, and Inter-Arab Relations,’ 28 March 1985, p. 3, NSA, op. cit. See, for instance, Richard Sorabji & David Rodin (Eds), The Ethics of War: Shared Problems in Different Traditions (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006). Sir Anthony Parsons, ‘Iran and the United Nations, with particular reference to the Iran –Iraq war’, in Anoushiravan Ehteshami and Manshour Varasteh (Eds), Iran and the International Community (London: Routledge, 1991), pp. 16 and 18. See also Arshin Adib-Moghaddam, ‘The Whole Range of Saddam Hussein’s War Crimes, Middle East Report, 36, 2 (Summer 2006), pp. 30 –35.

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Iranian Foreign Minister told the Conference on Disarmament in Geneva that there had been at least 49 instances of Iraqi chemical-warfare attack in 40 border regions, and that the documented dead totalled 109 people, with hundreds more wounded.44 The SIPRI report also indicated that after visiting several hospitals in Tehran, the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) confirmed that ‘substances prohibited by international law’ were employed during hostilities (7 March 1984). This in turn also was confirmed by the United Nations in the same month, with a report by the Secretary General, condemning the use of chemical weapons. Again, however, Iraq was not named as the perpetrating party.45 During the period of the ‘tanker war’ and the ‘war of the cities,’ the same pattern toward both Iraqi modes of warfare and the identification of the invading force could be observed.46 Even the final UN Security Council Resolution 598, which ended the hostilities after being accepted by both Iran and Iraq, only deplored ‘the use of chemical weapons’ and merely determined ‘that there exists a breach of the peace as regards the conflict between Iran and Iraq’, and hence refrained from naming Iraq as the guilty party. The regional and global complacency toward Iraq’s mode of warfare, including the employment of chemical and biological weapons, confirmed the impression of the Iraqi regime that it have been granted a ‘free ride’ role, creating the paradox that by using Iraq to strangle the Islamic revolution in the cradle, the cooperative norms and institutions of international society itself were rendered useless, manipulated to function according to the overarching leitmotif to prevent Iranian advances. In turn, this compromised the authority of the international community to act as a restraining force during the war, exemplified by this intercepted communication by Saddam Hussein’s cousin Ali Hassan al-Majid, called ‘Chemical Ali’ after the al-Anfal (spoils of war) campaign against Iraqi Kurdish militia and Iranian forces operating in the Halabja area between February and March 1988: Jalal Talabani asked me to open a special channel of communication with him.47 That evening I went to Suleimaniyeh and hit them with the special ammunition. That was my answer. We continued the deportations [of the Kurds]. I told the mustashars48 that they might say that they like their villages and that they won’t leave. I said I cannot let your village stay because I will attack it with chemical weapons. Then you and your family will die. You must leave right now. Because I cannot tell you the same day that I am going to attack with chemical weapons. I will kill them all with chemical weapons. Who is going to say anything? The international community? F . . . . them! The international community and those who listen to them.49 44 45 46 47 48

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Julian Perry Robinson & Jozef Goldblat, ‘Chemical Warfare in the Iraq–Iran War’, SIPRI Fact Sheet, Chemical Weapons I. Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (May 1984). Parsons, ‘Iran and the United Nations’, p. 19. Ibid., pp. 19 –20. Leader of the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK), a group that the Iraqis referred to as Ulama Iran (agent of Iran) because of its collusion with Iran in the latter periods of the war. Kurdish tribal leaders of paramilitary units officially referred to as Qiyadet Jahafel al-Difa’ al-Watani (National Defence Battalions) by the Iraqi regime and derided by other Kurds as jahsh or ‘donkey foals’ because of their alliance with the state. The Ali Hassan al-Majid tapes were obtained by Human Rights Watch (HRW) after the 1991 Persian Gulf War and have been published as Appendix A to HRW’s Report, ‘Genocide in Iraq. The Anfal Campaign Against the Kurds’, ,http://www.hrw.org/reports/1993/iraqanfal/ . [accessed 23 March 2006].

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Invention #6: Saddam the US Ally It has been documented that from the outset of the war the US government provided Iraq with intelligence information about Iranian force deployments and movements collected by the US Airborne Warning and Control Aircraft (AWACS) that had been stationed in Saudi Arabia but were operated by the Pentagon.50 There is compelling evidence suggesting that, after the end of the ’hostage crisis and the change of US administrations from Jimmy Carter to Ronald Reagan (January 1981) as well as Iranian advances on the battlefield, intelligence sharing was complemented with diplomatic, financial and military cooperation.51 On the diplomatic front, the United States followed an active policy of reconciliation with Iraq, removing the country from the State Departments list of ‘state sponsors of terrorism’ in February 1982, followed by the official resumption of diplomatic ties in November 1984. Economic support ranged from authorization of dual use equipment, such as the sale of helicopters that could be converted to military use, and generous loans provided by the US Export-Import Bank (Eximbank) and other financial institutions. In a speech presented to the US House of Representatives, Henry Gonzalez (D-Texas) outlined that ‘[b]etween 1983 and the invasion of Kuwait in 1990, Iraq received $5 billion in CCC [US Department of Agriculture’s Commodity Credit Corporation] guarantees that allowed them to purchase United States agricultural products on credit.’52 In October of the same year, hearings before the Senate Committee on Banking, Housing and Urban Affairs revealed that the United States not only had exported agricultural products to Iraq, but also ‘chemical, biological, nuclear, and missile-system equipment . . . that was converted to military use in Iraq’s chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons program’, and which in turn also were used against US soldiers in the Second Persian Gulf War.53 The results of these hearings were compiled as the Riegle Report in May 1994. According to this report, the US government had approved sales of a wide range of chemical and biological materials to Iraq,54 including components for mustard gas, anthrax, Clostridium Botulinum, Histoplasma Capsulatum, Brucella Melitensis and Clostridium Perfringens.55 The official ‘tilt’ toward Iraq

50 51

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See further Adam Tarock, The Superpowers’ Involvement in the Iran–-Iraq War (Commack: Nova Science Press, 1998), p. 61. See the NSA Electronic Briefing Book No. 82 (25 February 2003), ‘Shaking Hands with Saddam Hussein. The US Tilts toward Iraq, 1980–1984’, Joyce Battle, ed. ,http://www.gwu.edu/ , nsarchiv/NSAEBB/ NSAEBB82/index.htm. [accessed 13 March 2006]. US House of Representatives, Speech by Henry B. Gonzalez: ‘Bush Administration Had Acute Knowledge of Iraq’s Military Industrialisation Plans’ (27 July 1992) ,http://www.fas.org/spp/starwars/congress/1992/ h920727g.htm. [accessed 21 January 2004]. US Senate Committee on Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs (7 October 1994). Committee Staff Report No. 3: Chemical Warfare Agent Identification, Chemical Injuries, and Other Findings. Principal Investigator James J Tuite III: ‘US Chemical and Biological Exports to Iraq and their Possible Impact on the Health Consequences of the Persian Gulf War’, ,http://www.chronicillnet.org/PGWS/tuite/chembio.html . [accessed 14 March 2006]. For Saddam’s international suppliers see Adib-Moghaddam, ‘The Whole Range of Saddam Hussein’s War Crimes’. See US Senate, 103rd Congress, Second Session (25 May 1994) a Report of Chairman Donald W. Riegle, Jr. and Ranking Member Alfonse M. D’Amato of the Committee on Banking, Housing and Urban Affairs with Respect to Export Administration: ‘The Riegle Report. US Chemical and Biological Warfare-Related Dual Use Exports to Iraq and their Possible Impact on the Health Consequences of the Gulf War,’ ,http://www. gulfweb.org/bigdoc/report/riegle1.html. [accessed 12 February 2005].

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actually was defined in a State Department Information Memorandum dated 7 October 1983; it concluded that the ‘policy of strict neutrality has already been modified, except for arms sales, since Iran’s forces crossed into Iraq in the summer of 1982,’ adding that the ‘steps we have taken toward the conflict since then have progressively favoured Iraq.’56 The range of US assistance to Saddam Hussein was confirmed by former National Security Staff Member Howard Teicher in an affidavit to a US district court in Florida: Pursuant to the secret NSDD,57 the United States actively supported the Iraqi war effort by supplying the Iraqis with billions of dollars of credits, by providing US military intelligence and advice to the Iraqis, and by clearly monitoring third country arms sales to Iraq to make sure that Iraq had the military weaponry required. The United States also provided strategic operational advice to the Iraqis to better use their forces in combat. For example, in 1986, President Reagan sent a secret message to Saddam Hussein telling him that Iraq should step up its air war and bombing of Iran. This message was delivered by Vice President Bush who communicated it to Egyptian President Mubarak, who in turn passed the message to Saddam Hussein. Similar strategic operational military advice was passed to Saddam Hussein through various meetings with European and Middle Eastern heads of state where the strategic operational advice was communicated.58 From the perspective of Saddam Hussein, the US ‘tilt’ was a confirmation of his elevated regional role. During the various diplomatic encounters, Iraqi officials gave repeated attention to inter-Arab politics (the situation in Lebanon, Syrian expansionism, the reintegration of Egypt, the Israeli-PLO ‘peace process’, etc.), presenting Iraq as the pivotal power in the Arab world at the expense of Syria and Libya whose leaders were described as radical, revisionist, and irrational. The Iraqi Ba’thist regime in turn was presented as moderate, pragmatic, modern, without ideological ‘complexes,’ and acting ‘within the context of five thousand years of Mesopotamian civilisation.’59 Due to the reawakened historic weight of Iraq under the leadership of the Ba’th party, it was argued, the country’s role as a force for stabilization was indispensable: ‘What . . . would have happened to the states of the Gulf and Arabian peninsula,’ Saddam Hussein asked during a meeting with Donald Rumsfeld in Baghdad in December 1983, ‘if Iraq 56

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DOS, Bureau of Near Eastern and South Asian Affairs Information Memorandum, Jonathan T. Howe to Lawrence S. Eagleburger, ‘Iran–Iraq War: Analysis of Possible US Shift from Position of Strict Neutrality’, 7 October 1983. NSA, op. cit., p. 7. This is a reference to a National Security Decision Directive signed by Ronald Reagan in June 1983 and was co-authored by Howard Teicher and another NSC staff member, Geoffrey Kemp. The content of the NSDD and even its identification number remain classified. US District Court (Florida, Southern District) Affidavit. ‘United States of America, Plaintiff, v. Carlos Cardoen [et al.]’ [Charge that Teledyne Wah Chang Albany Illegally Provided a Proscribed Substance, Zirconium, to Cardoen Industries and to Iraq], 31 January 1995. Teicher also stated that the CIA encouraged Iraq to use cluster bombs against the Iranian ‘human wave’ attacks. NSA, op. cit., pp. 3, 4, respectively. US Embassy in Italy Cable from Maxwell M. Rabb to the DOS, ‘Rumsfeld’s Larger Meeting with Iraqi Deputy PM [Prime Minister] and FM [Foreign Minister] Tariz [Tariq] Aziz, 19, 20 December 1983. NSA, op. cit., page 3.

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had not stood fast [against Iran]? No one would have been able to put out the fire. Zionism was in fact encouraging it to burn.’60 Nothing convinced Saddam Hussein more of his newly acquired regional primacy than the international silence about the use of chemical and biological weapons. In a State Department memo to then Secretary of State Shultz in November 1983, it was confirmed that the US knew ‘that Iraq has acquired a CW production capability, primarily from Western firms, including possibly a US foreign subsidiary’ and that it appears that Iraq uses chemical weapons almost on a daily basis.61 Further intelligence suggested that ‘as long ago as July 1982, Iraq used tear gas and skin irritants against invading Iranian forces quite effectively’ and that ‘in October 1982, unspecified foreign officers fired lethal chemical weapons at the orders of Saddam during battles in the Mandali area.’62 Before Donald Rumsfeld returned to Baghdad in late March 1984 for a second official visit, the United States, for the first time during the war, had condemned the use of chemical weapons publicly.63 Yet, while acknowledging that the ‘United States has concluded that the available evidence substantiates Iran’s charges that Iraq has used chemical weapons,’64 the press statement also condemned the Iranian insistence on the removal of the Ba’thist regime. This statement is historically interesting when viewed from the comparative perspective of events that have surrounded the US-led invasion of Iraq in March 2003, because the US government in 1984 named Iran as the invading force, declaring, the ‘United States finds the present Iranian regime’s intransigent refusal to deviate from its avowed objective of eliminating the legitimate government of neighboring Iraq to be inconsistent with the accepted norms of behavior among nations and the moral and religious basis which it claims.’65 From Saddam Hussein’s perspective, the calculated complacency of the Reagan administration and the continuous support of Iraq’s chemical, biological and / or atomic weapons industries by companies from Belgium, Britain, China, France, Germany, Japan, the Netherlands, Spain, Sweden, and the United States confirmed his impression that Iraq’s unconventional warfare was tolerated.66 ‘[T]he [Iranian] invaders should know,’ a public statement proclaimed in 1984, ‘that for every harmful insect there is an 60 61 62

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US Embassy in United Kingdom, Cable from Charles H. Price II to the DOS. ‘Rumsfeld Mission: 20 December Meeting with Iraqi President Saddam Hussein’, 21 December 1983. NSA, op. cit., p. 8. DOS, Bureau of Politico-Military Affairs Information Memorandum from Jonathan T. Howe to George P. Shultz. ‘Iraq Use of Chemical Weapons’, 1 November 1983. NSA, op. cit., p. 1. DOS, Office of the Assistant Secretary for Near Eastern and South Asian Affairs Action Memorandum from Jonathan T. Howe to Lawrence S. Eagleburger. ‘Iraqi Use of Chemical Weapons’ [Includes Cables Entitled ‘Deterring Iraqi Use of Chemical Weapons’ and ‘Background of Iraqi Use of Chemical Weapons’], 21 November 1983. NSA, op. cit., p. 6, emphasis added. On Rumsfeld’s role in the negotiations, see also Joost R. Hilterman, ‘The Men Who Helped the Man Who Gassed His Own People,’ in Micah L. Sifry & Christopher Cerf (Eds) The Iraq War Reader. History, Documents, Opinions (London: Touchstone, 2003), pp. 41–44. DOS, Bureau of Near Eastern and South Asian Affairs Memorandum from James A. Placke to James M. Ealum [et al.]. [‘US Condemnation of Iraqi Chemical Weapons Use’], 4 March 1984. NSA, op. cit., p. 2. Ibid., p. 3, emphasis added. Alexander Zumach, ‘Blu¨hende Gescha¨fte. In sa¨mtlichen Ru¨stungsbereichen haben Firmen aus den fu¨nf sta¨ndigen Ratsla¨ndern Irak unterstu¨tzt’, die Tageszeitung (TAZ) (19 December 2002), ,http://www.taz.de/pt/ 2002/12/19/a0076.nf/text. [accessed 12 March 2006] and Adib-Moghaddam, ‘The Whole Range of Saddam Hussein’s War Crimes’.

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insecticide capable of annihilating it whatever the number and Iraq possesses this annihilation insecticide’.67 Asked whether Iraqi use of chemical weapons would affect relations between the White House and Saddam Hussein, a State Department spokesman replied at press briefing in March 1984: ‘No. I am not aware of any change in our position. We’re interested in being involved in a closer dialogue with Iraq.’68 The support for Saddam Hussein also extended to diplomatic cover in the United Nations. When the Iranian government submitted a draft resolution asking for UN condemnation of the chemical warfare by Iraq, the US delegate was instructed to lobby for a general motion of ‘no decision’ on the resolution. At a meeting between Iraqi interests section head Nizar Hamdoon and then Deputy Assistant Secretary of State James Placke on 29 March 1984, the former spelled out what the Iraqi government expected from the UN resolution. Hamdoon stressed that his country favored a Security Council presidential statement to a resolution, reference to former resolutions on the war, progress toward termination of the conflict, and no mention of responsibility regarding the employment of chemical weapons. One day after the meeting, the Security Council issued the aforementioned presidential statement, condemning the use of chemical weapons without naming Iraq as the offending party. A State Department memorandum from 30 March 1984 acknowledged the successful diplomatic ‘spin’ in support of Iraq, noting that the ‘statement . . . contains all three elements Hamdoon wanted.’69 The actions during the latter half of the war, such as the US attacks on Iranian oil platforms during the ‘tanker war’ period and the shooting down by the USS Vincennes of an Iran Air passenger jet (an ‘accident’ in which 290 civilians were killed), only reconfirmed the Iraqi position.70 The Iraqi regime even got away with an apology and the payment of US$27.3 million for hitting the USS Stark with a missile, an incident that killed 37 US navy personnel and wounded twenty-one.71 The support for Saddam Hussein did not preclude, however, deals with the Iranian government. After all, it was not knowledge about Iraqi war crimes that proved disastrous for the Reagan administration but 67 68 69

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US Interests Section in Iraq, Cable from William L. Eagleton, Jr. to the DOS, ‘Iraqi Warning re Iranian Offensive,’ 22 February 1984. NSA, op. cit., p. 1. DOS Cable from George P. Shultz to the United States Embassy in Lebanon [et al. ]. ‘Department Press Briefing, March 30, 1984’, 31 March 1984. NSA, op. cit., p. 3. DOS, Bureau of Near Eastern and South Asian Affairs Cover Memorandum from Allen Overmyer to James A. Placke. [United Nations Security Council Response to Iranian Chemical Weapons Complaint; Includes Revised Working Paper], 30 March 1984. NSA, op. cit., p. 1. It was later established that the Iranian allegation that the US cruiser was in Iranian territorial waters was accurate. The captain of the USS Vincennes Will Rogers and even more surprisingly the Air Warfare Coordinator Scott Lustig subsequently would receive medals for their engagements in the Persian Gulf. The latter even achieved the Navy Commendation Medal with Combat V authorization for what was summarized as his ‘heroic achievements’. The USS Stark was hit by Exocet missiles that Iraq had acquired from France in a deal that was backed by the United States. In his speech to the US House of Representative, the late Texas Democrat Henry Gonzales touched on that point: ‘I ask you how could we be supplying Iraq with everything from intelligence—because we had an intelligence-gathering agreement all during that war with Iraq—supplied them with everything else, even backed up foreign countries like France to make sure they supplied military things all the way from Mirages to Exocet missiles, one of which, incidentally, was the one that killed 37 of our sailors in the Persian Gulf’, op. cit.

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the much publicized Iran-Contra Affair.72 Important for our line of argument is that, by granting support to the Iraqi state, US policy presented Saddam Hussein as the guarantor of the regional status quo in the Persian Gulf, lending to him a prominent role in regional affairs. This in turn legitimated his self-perception as the bulwark against the revolutionary tide from Persia. ‘[Y]ou [were] not the ones who protected your friends during the war with Iran,’ Saddam Hussein pointed out during a conversation with US Ambassador April Glaspie in the build-up to the second Persian Gulf War. ‘I assure you, had the Iranians overrun the region, the American troops would not have stopped them, except by the use of nuclear weapons. I do not want to belittle you’ the Iraqi President went on ‘[b]ut I hold this view by looking at the geography and nature of American society . . . Yours is a society which cannot accept 10,000 dead in one battle.’73 That the United States had balance of power calculations in mind does not contradict our argument. What is central is that by supporting Saddam Hussein, the United States gave his regime the opportunity to act upon his plans to invade Iran. ‘War roles’ never are constituted merely in the encapsulated habitat of the nation-state. In order to enact effectively a certain role identity, social recognition is crucial. During the Iran-Iraq war, international society granted that support to Saddam Hussein. Without regional and global approval, the Ba’thist state never would have been able to act upon its role or follow the campaign of unrestrained warfare. At the end of the war (March 1988), this anarchic international context enabled Saddam Hussein to pursue the ‘Anfal’ campaign against Iraq’s Kurdish population and Iranian army units operating in the area, culminating in the gassing of the eastern Iraqi town of Halabja and the killing of at least 4,000 to 5,000 people. The genocide of Halabja, the ‘use of poison gas and other war crimes against Iran and the Iranian people’ and the claim that ‘Iraq summarily executed thousands of Iranian prisoners of war as a matter of policy’ were not on top of the international agenda when they happened.74 They only became relevant as a means to legitimate regime change in Iraq in the late 1990s and the invasion of the country in 2003.

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The full details of the Iran-Contra affair remain undisclosed. What was revealed in congressional testimony is that the Reagan administration, with Israeli complicity, was engaged in a massive arms deal with the Islamic Republic, the profits of which were intended to finance the guerrilla war of the ‘Contras’ in Nicaragua. For the congressional hearings see Joel Brinkley (Ed.), Report of the Congressional Committee: Investigating the Iran-Contra Affair (New York: Times Book, 1988). For a discussion of the Iran-Contra- Affair and its impact on the Iran-Iraq war see Tarock, The Superpowers’ Involvement, pp. 91–122. ‘The Glaspie Transcript: Saddam meets the US Ambassador (25 July 1990)’, in Micah L. Sifry and Christopher Cerf (Eds), The Gulf War Reader, p.125. See ‘Saddam Hussein’s Iraq’. Prepared by the US Department of State, September 1999. Available at ,http:// www.fas.org/news/iraq/2000/02/iraq99.htm.. In recent years, investigative journalists have provided further evidence for the support to Saddam. See David Leigh and John Hooper, ‘Britain’s dirty secret’, The Guardian (6 March 2003), ,http://www.guardian.co.uk/Iraq/Story/0%2C2763%2C908426%2C00.html. [accessed 13 March 2004]; Babak Dehghanpisheh, ‘Grim Legacy’, Newsweek (19 March 2003) ,http://msnbc.msn.com/ id/3068535/. [accessed 6 March 2006]; Christopher Dickey and Evan Thomas, ‘How Saddam Happened’, Newsweek (23 September 2002) , http://foi.missouri.edu/terrorbkgd/howsaddam.html. [accessed 13 January 2006]; Michael Dobbs, ‘US Had Key Role in Iraq Buildup, Trade in Chemical Arms Allowed Despite Their Use on Iranians, Kurds’, The Washington Post (30 December 2002). ,http://www. washingtonpost.com/ac2/wp-dyn/A52241-2002Dec29?language ¼ printer. [accessed 13 March 2004]; and William Blum, ‘Anthrax for Export. US Companies sold Iraq the ingredients for a witch’s brew’, The Progressive (April 1998) ,http://www.progressive.org/0901/anth0498.html. [accessed 13 June 2001].

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Patents of an Invented War In the middle of the Second World War, Margaret Mead boldly asserted that war is neither a biological necessity nor a sociological inevitability, but an invented social institution that will be rendered obsolete once a better invention takes its place.75 Contemporary theorists of war agree: [W]ar does not appear to be one of life’s necessities—it is not an unpleasant fact of existence that is somehow required by human nature or by the grand scheme of things. . . . War may be a social affliction, but in important respects it is also a social affliction that can be shrugged off.76 What I attempted to do in this article, much in above spirit, is to discuss some of the inventions surrounding the Iran-Iraq war in order to show that the conflict was not inevitable, and that there was a cultural transmission belt that led to the conflict and sustained it. To that end, I have pursued a dual path: On the one hand, I outlined the ideational manufacturing of the Ba’thist garrison state and its anti-Iranian precepts. On the other hand, I investigated the accommodation of this identity by regional states and the wider international community. This ‘cultural genealogy’ of the conflict made explicit the connection between the political culture of Ba’thist Iraq, the social engineering of international legitimacy, and the invasion of Iran. I am not saying that power politics or other ‘realist’ categories did not play a role in the war. Nor am I saying that ‘culture’ is an explanatory concept that can account for most of what is happening in international society. Nor certainly do I believe that one should challenge historical teleology in order to present competing, all-encompassing ‘truths,’ as if this narrative can be detached from my own academic socialization, personal history, and intellectual interests. What I am saying is that without the invention of Ba’thist Arab nationalism and its anti-Iranian precepts; without its institutionalization and reification as Iraq’s preferred state identity; without its internalization by the Ba’thist elites; and without the implicit approval of this invented garrison state identity by the international community before (and during) the conflict, the Iran –Iraq war would not have ‘happened.’ There was no historically ciphered enmity between Iraqis and Iranians, no automatism that triggered the invasion. Rather to the contrary, both peoples have shared long periods of common history within different Muslim empires and “pre-Islamic empires”, both are intermingled ethnically, religiously and culturally. The war, in short, was not inevitable; it was in many ways imported from the invented political culture of Iraqi-Ba’thism, and perpetuated within the anarchic spaces of international society; the war ‘happened’ and was made to function in that international cultural episteme. Such an understanding of the Iran – Iraq war opens up wider questions for our understanding of inter-state conflicts in west Asia and elsewhere. Quite obviously my argument does not support a particular ‘science’ of international relations, realist, liberal, constructivist, post-modern, or otherwise. Yet, I found it useful to look at the cultural 75

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Margaret Mead, ‘Warfare is only an invention—Not a Biological Necessity’, in Leon Bramson and George W. Goethals (Eds) War: Studies from Psychology, Sociology, Anthropology (London: Basic Books, 1964), pp. 269–274. John Mueller, Retreat from Doomsday: The Obsolescence of Major War (London: Basic Books, 1990), p. 13.

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inventions permeating particular societies at particular points in time to grasp better the dynamics of a particular conflict. On the basis of what historical narratives are ideas and ideologies propagated and reified? How do societies constitute themselves in opposition or in relation to others? And how, then, does this socially engineered self-perception affect the grand strategic preferences of the state? It would be salutary for future research on conflict in west Asia to focus on the political-cultural processes that permeate the dialectic between states and societies in the region, be they Muslim, secular, Jewish, or otherwise. There is no ‘Da Vinci code,’ and no ‘holy blood’ or ‘holy grails’ that condemn west Asia to recurrent periods of conflict. A critical approach toward the international relations of the region, I submit, may give impetus, as far and as wide as possible, to the undefined work of regional peace. References Adib-Moghaddam, A. (2007, forthcoming) The Question of the Islamic Republic: Selected Essays on the Politics of Post-revolutionary Iran (London: Routledge). Adib-Moghaddam, A. (2006) The International Politics of the Persian Gulf (London: Routledge). Adib-Moghaddam, A. (2006) The Whole Range of Saddam Hussein’s War Crimes’, Middle East Report, 36(2), (Summer), pp. 30– 35. Adib-Moghaddam, A. (2005) Islamic Utopian Romanticism and the Foreign Policy Culture of Iran’, Critique, 14(3), (Fall), pp. 265– 292. Allport, G. W. (1964) The role of expectancy, in: L. Bramson & G. W. Goethals (Eds) War: Studies from Psychology, Sociology, Anthropology, pp. 177–194 (London: Basic Books). Amirahmadi, H. & Entessar, N. (Eds) (1993) Iran and the Arab World (London: Macmillan Press). Atrissi, T. (1998) The Iimage of the Iranians in Arab Schoolbooks, in: K. Haseeb (Ed.) Arab–Iranian Relations, pp. 152 –198 (Beirut: Center for Arab Unity Studies). Baktiari, B. (1993) Revolutionary Iran’s Persian Gulf Policy: The Quest for Regional Supremacy, in: H. Amirahmadi & N. Entessar (Eds) Iran and the Arab World, pp. 69–93 (London: Macmillan Press). Bengio, O. (1998) Saddam’s Word. Political Discourse in Iraq (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Berger, P. & Luckmann, T. (1966) The Social Construction of Reality (New York: Anchor Books). Berreby, D. (2005) Us and Them: Understanding your Tribal Mind (London: Hutchinson). Blum, W. (1998) Anthrax for Export. US Companies Sold Iraq the Ingredients for a Witch’s Brew. The Progressive, , http://www.progressive.org/0901/anth0498.html . [accessed 13 June 2001]. Brinkley, J. (Ed.) (1988) Report of the Congressional Committee Investigating the Iran-Contra Affair (New York: Times Books). Bruner, J. S. (1957) Going Beyond the Information Given, University of Colorado, Boulder, Department of Psychology Contemporary Approaches to Cognition, pp. 218– 238 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press). Chubin, S. & Tripp, C. (1988) Iran and Iraq at War (London: I. B. Tauris). Dehghanpisheh, B. (2003) Grim Legacy, Newsweek (19 March). ,http://msnbc.msn.com/id/3068535/ . [accessed 6 March 2006]. Dickey, C. & Thomas, E. (2002) How Saddam Happened, Newsweek, (23 September) ,http://foi.missouri.edu/ terrorbkgd/howsaddam.html. [accessed 13 January 2006]. Dobbs, M. (2002) US had Key Role in Iraq Buildup. Trade in Chemical Arms Allowed Despite Their Use on Iranians, Kurds, The Washington Post (30 December) ,http://www.washingtonpost.com/ac2/wp-dyn/ A52241-2002Dec29?language=printer. [accessed 13 March 2004]. Ehteshami, A. & Nonneman, G. (1991) War and Peace in the Gulf. Domestic Politics and Regional Relations into the 1990s (Reading: Ithaca). Ehteshami, A. & Varasteh, M. (Eds) (1991) Iran and the International Community (London: Routledge). Hiltermann, J. R. (2003) America Didn’t Seem to Mind Poison Gas, International Herald Tribune (17 January) ,http://www.iht.com/articles/83625.html. [accessed 13 April 2006]. Hilterman, J. R. (2003) The Men Who Helped the Man Who Gassed his Own People, in: M. L. Sifry & C. Cerf (Eds) The Iraq War Reader. History, Documents, Opinions, pp. 41– 44, 2nd ed. (London: Touchstone).

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DEBATING THE IRAN-IRAQ WAR IN CONTEMPORARY IRAN Hiro, D. (1990) The Longest War: The Iran–Iraq Military Conflict (London: Grafton Books). Hirschfeld, L. A. & Gelman, S. A. (Eds) (1994) Mapping the Mind: Domain Specificity in Cognition and Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Hobsbawm, E. & Ranger, T. (Eds) (2003) The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Hong, Y.-y., Morris, M. W., Chiu, c.-y. & Benet-Martı´nez, V. (2000) Multicultural Minds: A Dynamic Constructivist Approach to Culture and Cognition, American Psychologist, 55(7), pp. 709 –720. Isikoff, M. & Hosenball, M. (2004) Shades of Gray: The Duelfer Report Alleges that Saddam Gave Funds to a Listed Terror Group. But the Claim does Little to Advance the White House Case for War, Newsweek, (13 October). Khadduri, M. (1988) The Gulf War. The Origins and Implications of the Iraq–Iran Conflict (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Khayyam, O. (1999) Darurat al-tadadd fi’l- ‘alam wa’l-jabr wa’l-baqa (The Neccessity of Contradiction, Free Will and Determinism), in: S. H. Nasr & M. Aminrazavi (Eds) An Anthology of Philosphy in Persia (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Lasswell, H. D. (1964) The Garrison State, in: L. Bramson & G. W. Goethals (Eds) War: Studies from Psychology, Sociology, Anthropology, pp. 309–319 (London: Basic Books). Leigh, D. & Hooper, J. (2003) Britain’s Dirty Secret, The Guardian (6 March), ,http://www.guardian.co.uk/ Iraq/Story/0%2C2763%2C908426%2C00.html. [accessed 13 March 2004]. Lotfian, S. (1997) Taking Sides: Regional Powers and the War, in: F. Rajaee (Ed.) Iranian Perspectives on the Iran–Iraq War, pp. 13–28 (Gainesville: University Press of Florida). Makiya, K. (1998) Republic of Fear: The Politics of Modern Iraq updated edition with a new introduction (Berkeley: University of Carolina Press). Mead, G. H. (1934) Mind, Self, and Society (Chicago: Chicago University Press). Mead, M. (1964) ‘Warfare is Only an Invention—Not a Biological Necessity, in: L. Bramson & G. W. Goethals (Eds) War. Studies from Psychology, Sociology, Anthropology, pp. 269–274 (London: Basic Books). Morris, M. W., Menon, T. & Ames, D. R. (2001) Culturally Conferred Conceptions of Agency: A Key to Social Perception of Persons, Groups, and Other Actors, Personality and Social Psychology Review, 5(2), pp. 169–182. Mueller, J. (1990) Retreat from Doomsday. The Obsolescence of Major War (London: Basic Books). Parsons, A. (1991) Iran and the United Nations, with Particular Reference to the Iran–Iraq War, in: A. Ehteshami & M. Varasteh (Eds) Iran and the International Community, pp. 7– 30 (London: Routledge). Rajaee, F. (Ed.) (1997) Iranian Perspectives on the Iran–-Iraq War, pp. 75–89 (Gainesville: University Press of Florida). Robinson, J. P. & Goldblat, J. (1984) Chemical Warfare in the Iraq –Iran War. SIPRI Fact Sheet, Chemical Weapons I. Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (May). Sifry, M. L. & Cerf, C. (2003) The Iraq War Reader. History, Documents, Opinions (London: Touchstone). Sifry, M. L. & Cerf, C. (Eds) (1991) The Gulf War Reader. History, Documents, Opinions (New York: Times Books). Sorabji, R. & Rodin, D. (Eds) (2006) The Ethics of War. Shared Problems in Different Traditions (Aldershot: Ashgate). Tarock, A. (1998) The Superpowers’ Involvement in the Iran–-Iraq War (Commack: Nova Science Press). The Glaspie Transcript (1990) Saddam meets the US Ambassador (25 July 1990)’ (1991), in: M. L. Sifry & C. Cerf (Eds) The Gulf War Reader. History, Documents, pp. 122–133 (New York: Times Books). Tripp, C. (2002) A History of Iraq, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Weber, M. (1998) From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology (London: Routledge). Wendt, A. (1999) Social Theory of International Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Zumach, A. (2002) Blu¨hende Gescha¨fte: In sa¨mtlichen Ru¨stungsbereichen haben Firmen aus den fu¨nf sta¨ndigen Ratsla¨ndern Irak unterstu¨tzt, die Tageszeitung (TAZ), , http://www.taz.de/pt/2002/12/19/a0076.nf/text. [accessed 12 March 2006].

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Index

Atherton, Alfred L. Jr: fascination with Saddam Hussein 86 Atrissi, Talal: anti-Iranian dispositions 79–80 attrition 8–9

1979 Iranian revolution 7–8; communicating ideal cultural messages 59; demise of multi-vocal utopia of inclusive modernity 9 1988 mass execution of political prisoners 9 2009 Green Movement 61–62

Bacheh-hā-ye Kārun 52 Bakhtinian: multivoicedness 55 Basij: child soldier deaths 10; CM labor supplier 32–33; transformation of lutis 69 Basij-e Sazandegi see CM Ba’thist Iraq: constituting its war role in relation to international society 84; invented political culture 94; Iranian enemy image 79–81; paranoia of Iranian expansionism 82–83; social engineering war role 84–85; valuing state identity higher than effects of Iranian threats 82; war against IRI 23–24 battlefront deaths 54; violence 47 battle of Qadisiyya 80–81 Bazargan, Mehdi: Freedom Movement of Iran 25 Bāzgasht 53 bulldozer drivers: CJ recruitment 29

Abadan refinery riot 13 acknowledging: young people’s grievances with the regime 61 aggression: IIW 8 agricultural exports to Iraq 89 Ahmadinejad, Mahmoud 16; fulfilling the populist promises of Khomeini era 36; pro-regime new entertainment 60 Ahmadzadeh, Habib 45 Airborne Warning and Control Aircraft (AWACS) 89 al-Barrak Fadil: Jewish and Iranian Schools in Iraq 79 al-Bazzaz, Sa’d 79 Algiers agreement 85 Al-Harb al-sirriyya, khafaya al-dawr al-Isra’ili fi harb al-Khalij 79 Ali Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani: structural adjustment to rebuild the economy 13–14 Allport, Gordon: indispensable condition of war 78 Al-Madaris al-Yahudiyya wa-l-Iraniyya fi-l- ‘Iraq 79 al-Majid, Ali Hussan: spoils of war campaign 88 alternative views of the war: silencing 6, 15–16 Andisheh-ye Pouya see ‘Once upon a time: Everyday Life During the 1980s’ Anfal campaign 93 Arab Gulf Office 80 Arab world eastern flank historical challenge 82–84 Association of Trench Builders without Trenches see TBA assumed heroism of soldiers: critiquing with war front confessions 46–48

camps: CM 34 casualties of war 3 ceasefire offer after the liberation of Khorramshahr 8 censors: literary 52–53 Che 74 chemical and biological warfare: complacency 87–88; US public condemnation 91 Chess with the Doomsday Machine 45 The children of the Karun River 52 child soldier deaths 10 CJ (Construction Jehad) 24–30; conversion into government ministry 30–31; demobilization of IRI’s domestic opponents 27; developmental performance record 26; Engineering Research Centers 28–29; helping IRI consolidate power against domestic opponents 25; Khomeini control 25; origins 24; political rally photograph 27; promoting development 25;

97

Index Heading 270 Degrees 43–44; literary critics 52–53; rebellion 55; the Return 53; themes of war front violence and events not recognized by Sacred Defense 46; war front violence 54; writing beyond sober reflection 45–46 development: CJ 24–30; CM 31–35; IRI and CJ performance record 26; TBA 35–40 diplomatic fascination with Saddam Hussein 86 discontented segments of society: social expectations 6 dissenting perspectives of war: silencing 6 diversification: postwar fiction 45 domestic rivals: elimination 4 double displacement 12 Duelfer, Charles 83 Duelfer Report 83

recruitment of bulldozer and loader drivers 29; veteran economic status improvements by TBA 38–40; wartime history commemoration by TBA 36–37; wartime responsibilities 28 CM (Construction Mobilization) 24, 31–35; camps 34; coaches and volunteers 34; connections with activists and IRI martyrs 34; establishment 31; Ministry of the Agricultural Jehad (MAJ) 32; mitigating potential discontent of veterans and youth by offering employment opportunities 31; mobilizing and socializing youth in Khamenehi’s favor 33–34; motivations for jehadi and hijrah camps 35; Rafsanjani rural development restrictions 31; recruitment of youth workforce 32–33; recruitment poster 33 collective hardship 9–10 combat engineers (WES) 28–29 commemorations of martyrs 17 communication: cultural messages about ideals of the revolution 59 complacency towards Iraqi chemical and biological warfare 87–88 confessions of war front events: battlefield violence and horrors 48–53; critiquing assumed heroism and sacrifice of soldiers 46–48 conflicting lived experiences 10–15 consolidation: Islamic Republic 1 Construction Jehad see CJ Construction Mobilization see CM cooperation: lived experiences 10 critical views of the war: silencing 15–16 Cultural Revolution: Islamicizing society 64–65 culture: Ba’thist invented political 94; framing the war as Sacred Defense 4; genealogy 94; ideals of the revolution messages 59; life cycle 78 Cyrus 79

Eagles of Hill 45 eastern flank historical challenge 82–84 ecological crisis: lived experiences 14 economic damages 4 education: TBA initiatives 37 Ekhrajiha see The Outcasts elections: popular sentiment finds public outlets 16 enemy images: Iranian 79–81; psychology of war 78 enforcing unanimous discourse of sacrifice in the name of the Sacred Defense 15–17 Engineering Research Centers 28–29 ethnic cleansing 14 expectations of war 78 experiences: collective hardship 9–10; conflicting lived 10–15; cooperation and solidarity 10; double displacement 12; families of fallen soldiers 12; hostels for war refugees 12; post-war reconstruction 14–15; reconstruction failures 13–15; resentment 11; resentment fueled by injustice and unacknowledged sacrifice 10; sacrifice 9–10; shared scarcity 9–10; total abandonment 11–12; war front 46–52; western provinces populations 12–13; young generation born during the war 10–11

Da 11–12 Danesh, Mahzad: The Outcasts review 71–72 Dāstān-hā-ye shahr-e jangi 45 Dehnamaki, Masoud: collapsing generational differences in song 71; communication with the public 70; connecting traditional Iranian masculinity with Islamic Republic’s ideal masculinity 69; critic reviews 72; moving away from idealized representations of pure soldiers 67; The Outcasts 60–62; Poverty and prostitution 62–63; turn to filmmaking 62–63; war veteran 62; Which Independence? Which Victory? 63 Dehqan, Ahmad 43; battlefront death 54; The children of the Karun River 52; defending himself against critics 53–54; historical realemes 55; I Killed Your Son 44, 46–48; Journey to

Faghr o Fahsha 62 families of fallen soldiers: lived experiences versus official war image 12 Farabi Cinema Foundation War Films Bureau 64 Farhadi, Asghar 63 Farhi, Farideh: new political milieu from the war 18 Foundation for the Downtrodden 12 Freedom Movement of Iran 25 GCC (Gulf Cooperation Council) 86 gender: moral policing of war refugees living in hostels 12 generational changes 59

98

Index Iran Air passenger jet shooting 92 Iran-Contra Affair 93 Iranian: expansionism paranoia 82–83; media production 63–64; schools impact on Iraqi society 79 Iranian enemy image 79–81; battle of Qadisiyya 80–81; Iraq’s Islamic credentials 80; nationalism 80; paranoia of Iranian expansionism 82–83; racist propaganda against 79–80 Iranian revolution 7–8; communicating ideal cultural messages 59; demise of multi-vocal utopia of inclusive modernity 9 Iraq: Ba’thist invented political culture 94; chemical and biological warfare against Iran 87–88; constituting its war role in relation to international society 84; eastern flank historical challenge 82–84; expectations of UN resolution 92; expulsion from occupied Iranian territories after liberation of Khorramshahr 8; financial support from Saudi Arabi and Kuwait 85; fostering Islamic credentials 80; Iranian enemy image 79–81; versus Iranian nationalism 80; Iran rejection of ceasefire 8; paranoia of Iranian expansionism 82–83; racist propaganda against Iranians 79–80; regional support for invasion of Iran 85–86; social engineering war role 84–85; USS Stark missile hit 92; US support 89–93; US tilt towards 89–90; valuing state identity higher than effects of Iranian threats 82 IRGC (Islamic Revolution Guards Corps): Center for Research and Documentation of the Sacred Defense 19; establishment 24–25; Ministry of the Agricultural Jehad (MAJ) 32 IRI (Islamic Republic of Iran) 23; CJ 24–30; CJ conversion into government ministry 30–31; CM 31–35; consolidating power against domestic opponents 25; consolidation 3; demobilization of domestic opponents 27; developmental performance record 26; ideal masculinity connection with traditional Iranian masculinity 69; identities 19; TBA 35–40; war against Ba’athist Iraq 23–24 IRIB (Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting) 64 ISIS (Islamic State): growth 61 Islamicizing society 64–65 Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting (IRIB) 64 Islamic Republic of Iran see IRI Islamic Revolution Guards Corps see IRGC Islamic State (ISIS): growth 61

genocide of Halabja 93 Ghasemkhani, Peyman 65 global complacency towards Iraqi chemical and biological warfare 87–88 Goftogu: ceasefire that ended the war anniversary special issue 18–19 GONGO (government-organized nongovernmental organization) 36 government: resentment towards 6–7 Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) 86 Gulf monarchies: Algiers agreement 85; support for Iraqi war 86 Halabja genocide 93 Hamdoon Nizar: Iraqi expectations of UN resolution 92 Hatamikia, Ebrahim 74 hijrah camps 34–35 historical realemes 54 Hoseyni, Seyyedeh Zahra 11 hostels for war refugees 12 Husayn: martyrdom 1 Hushang Golshiri Foundation 53 Hussein, King: enhancing Saddam Hussein’s international credentials 87 Hussein, Saddam: Anfal campaign 93; Arab Gulf Office 80; confirmation of toleration of unconventional warfare 91; identification with anti-Iranian disposition 81; international credentials during the war 87; Iran as pereminent motivator for WMD 83; pre-war international support 86; regional primacy 91; regional support for invasion of Iran 85–86; social engineering war role 85; UN diplomatic cover 92; US support 89–93; US tilt towards Iraq 90 ICRC (International Committee of the Red Cross): Iraqi chemical and biological warfare against Iran 88 idealized representations of pure soldiers 67 ideals of the revolution: communicating 59 identities: enemy images 79–81; Islamic Republic 19; valuing state identity higher than effects of Iranian threats 82 IIW (Iran-Iraq War) 8–9; international reaction 87 I Killed Your Son 44–48 illusion of unanimity of the war 15–17 injustice: fueling resentment 10 intelligence sharing of US and Iraq 89 International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC): Iraqi chemical and biological warfare against Iran 88 international reaction to the war 87 international society: war role constitution 84–85 invented political culture of Ba’thists 94

JA (Jehadists Association) 37 javanmard 68 Jehad-e Sazandegi see CJ jehadi camps 34–35

99

Index Jewish and Iranian Schools in Iraq 79 Jewish schools: impact on Iraqi society 79 Journey to Heading 270 Degrees 43–44 Kanun-e Sangar Sazan-e bi Sangar see TBA Khamenehi, Ali: Ministry of the Agricultural Jehad (MAJ) 32; mobilizations and socialization of youth 33–34; soft war 64 Khatami, Mohammad: election 18; election victory 31; My Schoolmate song 71; reformist administration 14; reformist support 31 Khomeini, Imam: call for removal of Saddam Hussein 8; control over CJ 25; maintaining unity at all costs 15; mass executions of political prisoners 9 Khooshkhoo, Arash: The Outcasts review 72 Khorramshahr: liberation 8 Khosrokhavar, Farhad: demise of revolution’s multi-vocal utopia of inclusive modernity 9 Kiarostami, Abbas 63 Kudaam Esteghlal, Kudaam Pirouzi? 63 Kuwait: support for invasion of Iran 85 laat 68 legacy: reconstruction failures influence 13–15; sacred defense 18–19 legacy of war 17–19 liberation: Khorramshahr 8 life cycle of culture 78 literary censors 52–53 literary representations of the war see war fiction lived experiences: collective hardship 9–10; conflicting 10–15; cooperation and solidarity 10; double displacement 12; families of fallen soldiers 12; hostels for war refugees 12; post-war reconstruction 14–15; reconstruction failures 13–15; resentment 11; resentment fueled by injustice and unacknowledged sacrifice 10; sacrifice 9–10; shared scarcity 9–10; total abandonment 11–12; war front 46–52; western provinces populations 12–13; young generation born during the war 10–11 Lizard 65 loader drivers: CJ recruitment 29 local initiatives: social justice 9 luti filmmaking 68–69; popularity 73 lutis: defined 68; post-revolutionary 69 MAJ (Ministry of the Agricultural Jehad) 32 Makhmalbaf, Mohsen 63 Makiya, Kanan: valuing state identity higher than effects of Iranian threats 82 Man qātael-e pesar-tān hastam 44 martyrdom: CJ 37; critiquing with war front confessions 46–48; fallen soldiers 12; official commemorations 17; Shi’i Muslim Imam. Husayn 1; youth connection with IRI martyrs 34

Martyr’s Foundation 12 Martyrs’ Museum 17 masculinity: new entertainment 61 mass execution of political prisoners 9 material infrastructure: expansion postrevolution 8 McHale, Brian: historical realemes 54 Mead, Margaret: war is invented social institution 94 Ministry of the Agricultural Jehad (MAJ) 32 Mir-‘Abedini, Hasan: non-professional writers 45; One Hundred Years of Persian Fiction 44 Miri, Maziyar: The Reward of Silence 44 Mitchell, Timothy: state effect 6 MKO: Operation Eternal Light 51 Moazezinia, Hossein: The Outcasts review 72 mobilization: CJ 24–30; CM 31–35; TBA 35–40; youth by CM 33–34; youth by TBA 36–37 Mojahedin-e Khalq: Operation Ambush 51 Montazeri, Ayatollah: succeeding Khomeini 9 moral policing: war refugees living in hostels 12 motivations: youth for joining Basij 33; youth participation in jehadi and hijrah camps 35 Mousavi, Mir-Hossein 16 multivoicedness 55 Museum of the Holy 37 music: The Outcasts 70–71 My Schoolmate 71 nationalism: Iranian versus Arab 80 National Youth Organization: CM mobilization and socialization of youth 33–34 Nebuchadnezzar 79 neo-liberal program of structural adjustments: rebuilding the economy 13–14 new entertainment 60; acknowledging young people’s grievances with the regime 61; communication with the public 70; connecting traditional Iranian masculinity with Islamic Republic’s ideal masculinity 69; domestic opposition and insurgence possibilities 61–62; luti filmmaking 68–69; moving away from idealized representations of pure soldiers 67; music 70–71; The Outcasts 60–62, 65–73; popular media 63–64; utility of war 71 non-professional writers 45 official war image versus lived reality: reconstruction failures 13–15; war refugees and families of fallen soldiers 12; western provinces populations 12–13; young generation born during the war 10–11 ‘Once upon a time: cooperation and solidarity 10; double displacement 12; Everyday Life During the 1980s’ 9–15; families of fallen soldiers 12; hostels for war refugees 12; reconstruction failures 13–15; resentment

100

Index 11; resentment fueled by injustice and unacknowledged sacrifice 10; shared scarcity, collective hardship, and sacrifice 9–10; total abandonment 11–12; western provinces populations 12–13; young generation born during the war 10–11 One Hundred Years of Persian Fiction 44 Operation Ambush (Mersād) 51 Operation Eternal Light (Forugh-e Jāvidān) 51 Oqāb-ha-ye-tappeh-ye shast 45 The Outcasts 60–62, 65–73; character accents 66; communication with the public 70; hand grenade scene 67; moving away from idealized representations of pure soldiers 67; music 70–71; opening 66; popularity 61; revenue 66; reviews 71–73; setting 66; teaching right Islamic values 69; warfront arrival 67 paranoia of Iranian expansionism 82–83 perceptions of the war: after rejection of Iraq ceasefire 8; reconstruction failures 13–15 Persian Gulf: Gulf Cooperation Council 86; legacy rivalry between Iranian and Arab nationalism 80 Persians: Iranian enemy image 79; menace 83 Placke, James: Iraq expectations of UN resolution 92 plural experiences of war 6–7 Pol-e mo’allaq 45 popular demands: social justice 9 popular expectations: material and social infrastructure expansion 8 popular media 63–64 popular sentiment: public outlets 16 post-revolutionary lutis 69 posttraumatic stress disorder 1 postwar: reconstruction 14–15; war fiction diversification 45 Poverty and prostitution 62–63 power: IRI consolidating against domestic opponents 25; paranoia of Iranian expansionism 82–83 pro-regime new entertainment 60; acknowledging young people’s grievances with the regime 61; communication with the public 70; connecting traditional Iranian masculinity with Islamic Republic’s ideal masculinity 69; domestic opposition and insurgence possibilities 61–62; luti filmmaking 68–69; moving away from idealized representations of pure soldiers 67; music 70–71; The Outcasts 60–62, 65–73; popular media 63–64; utility of war 71 psychology of war: consequences 1; enemy images 78

public communication: pro-regime new entertainment 70 public outlets: popular sentiment finding 16 public perceptions of the war: after rejection of Iraq ceasefire 8 purging: institutions 4 Qadisiyya battle 80–81 racist propaganda against Iranians 79–80 Rafsanjani, Ali Akbar 15–16; rural development restrictions 31 Reagan, Ronald: Iran-Contra Affair 93 realities: social constructions 83–84 rebellion: Dehqan 55 rebuilding the economy: structural adjustments 13–14 reconstruction failures: effects on everyday lives of local population 13–15 refinery riot 13 reformists: Mohammad Khatami administration 14; supporting Khatami 31 refugees: lived experiences versus official war image 12 regional complacency towards Iraqi chemical and biological warfare 87–88 regional primacy of Saddam Hussein 91 regional support for Iraqi war 85–86 re-organizing institutions 4 representations of the war: state monopolization 4–5; see also war fiction resentment 6–7; fueled by injustice and unacknowledged sacrifice 10; legacy of the sacred defense 18–19; young generation born during the war 11 resistance 7 Resolution 479 87 Resolution 598 87, 88 The Return 53 The Reward of Silence 44 Reza Bayrami, Mohammad 45 Riegle Report 89 Roustum, General 80–81 ruling elite: tensions over nature of state 8 rural development: CJ 24–30; CM 31–35; TBA 35–40 Sacred Defense: enforcing the illusion of unanimity of sacrifice in the name of 15–17; film genre 64–65; framing 4; resentment of the legacy 18–19; war fiction challenging 45; war fiction theme 44–45 sacrifice: lived experiences 9–10; soldiers 46–48; unacknowledged 10 Sad sāl dāstān nevisi-ye Īran 44 Safar beh garā-ye devist va haftād darajeh 43–44

101

Index 36; mobilizing and socializing youth 36–37; national recognition 29–30; revolutionary and nationalistic symbols 37; social solidarity 37; trench model 38; unity among veterans 37–38 Tehran: Martyrs’ Museum 17 Tehrani, Mansour 71 Teicher, Howard: US assistance to Saddam Hussein 90 Tilly, Charles: warfare shaping states 5–7; war makes states 23 total abandonment 11–12 traditional Iranian masculinity connection with Islamic Republic’s ideal masculinity 69 transformation of lutis by Basij 69 trench builders 29–30, 38 Trench Builders Association see TBA truth conditions 78

Sasanian Iran army battle of Qadisiyya 80–81 Saudi Arabia: support for invasion of Iran 85 The Secret War: The mysterious role of Israel in the First Gulf War 79 selective tradition of lutis 69 sexual violence: literary censoring 52–53 Shakeri, Ahmad: critics of Dehqan 53 Shakrak-e Fajr (Victory Township) 12 shaping states 5–7 shared scarcity 9–10 Shatranj bā māshin-e qiyāmat 45 silencing: alternative and critical views of the war 6, 15–16 SIPRI (Stockholm International Peace and Research Institute): Iraqi chemical and biological warfare against Iran 87–88 social construction of reality 83–84 social controls: war refugees living in hostels 12 social engineering war role 84–85 social expectations of discontented segments of society 6 social infrastructure: post-revolution 8 social justice: demands and local initiatives 9 social resentment: legacy of the sacred defense 18–19 the social shaping the political 6 social solidarity: TBA 37 soft war 64 soldiers: moving away from idealized representations of pure 67; sacrifices and assumed heroism critiques with war front confessions 46–48 solidarity: lived experiences 10; social 37 spoils of war campaign 88 The Stamp 48–52 state: effect 6; formation 5–7; institutions of coercion and governance 4; managing social expectations of discontented segments of society 6; monopolization of representation of the war 4–5; ruling elite tensions 8; wars enhancing capacities 5 Stockholm International Peace and Research Institute (SIPRI): Iraqi chemical and biological warfare against Iran 87–88 Stories of a War-Torn City 45 Sureh-ye Mehr 45–46 surveillance: war refugees living in hostels 12 The Suspension Bridge 45

UN: Resolution 479 87; Resolution 598 87, 88; Saddam Hussein diplomatic cover 92 unacknowledged sacrifice 10 unanimity: enforcing the illusion 15–17 US: attacks on Iranian oil platforms 92; exporting agricultural products to Iraq 89; naming of Iran as the invading force 91; public condemnation of chemical weapons 91; reconciliation policy with Iraq 89; supporting Iraq 89–93; tilt towards Iraq 89–90; UN diplomatic cover for Saddam Hussein 92 USS Stark missile hit 92 USS Vincennes shooting of Iran Air passenger jet 92 utility of war: pro-regime new entertainment 71 veterans: CJ economic status improvements by TBA 38–40; mitigating potential discontent from CM employment 31; TBA instilling unity 37–38 Victory Township (Shakrak-e Fajr) 12 violence: battlefront deaths 47; literary censoring 52–53

Tambr 48–52 tanker war 88, 92 TBA (Trench Builders Association) 24, 29–30, 35–40; commemoration of CJ wartime history 36–37; educational initiatives 37; establishment 35–36; fulfilling the populist promises of Khomeini era 36; goals 36; improving economic status of CJ veterans 38–40; lobbying targets 40; logo 39; membership

War Engineering and Support (WES) 28–29 war fiction: battlefront death 54; challenging official Sacred Defense narrative 45; critiquing assumed heroism and sacrifice of soldiers 46–48; historical realemes 54; Hushang Golshiri Foundation 53; I Killed Your Son 44, 46–48; Journey to Heading 270 Degrees 43–44; literary censors 52–53; origins 44; postwar diversification 45; Sacred Defense ideological framework themes 44–45; The Stamp 48–52; war front violence 54 War Films Bureau 64 war front confessions: I Killed Your Son 46–48; The Stamp 48–53 War of Sacred Defense 1 war of the cities 88

102

Index wars: aggression 8; attrition 8–9; enhancing state capacities 5; invented social institution 94; plural experiences 6–7; resistance 7; shaping states 5–7; silencing alternative experiences and dissenting perspectives 6; state effect 6; widows 12 welfare foundations 4 WES (War Engineering and Support) 28–29 western provinces populations: official war image versus lived reality 12–13 Which Independence? Which Victory? 63 Williams, Raymond: selective tradition of lutis 69 women: moral policing of war refugees living in hostels 12

Yar-e Dabestani-e Man 71 Yavuz, Hakan: state authority consolidation 5 young generation born during the war: lived experiences 10–11 youth: acknowledging grievances with the regime 61; CM mobilization and socialization 33–34; CM recruitment 32–33; connections with activists and IRI martyrs 34; mitigating potential discontent from CM employment 31; motivations for joining Basij 33; motivations for participating in jehadi and hijrah camps 35; TBA mobilizing and socialization 36–37

103