Political Radicalism in Iran and Ahmadinejad’s Presidencies (Studies in Iranian Politics) 3030873293, 9783030873295

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STUDIES IN IRANIAN POLITICS SERIES EDITOR: SHAHRAM AKBARZADEH

Political Radicalism in Iran and Ahmadinejad’s Presidencies Giorgia Perletta

Studies in Iranian Politics Series Editor Shahram Akbarzadeh, Alfred Deakin Institute for Citizenship & Globalisation, Deakin University Burwood, VIC, Australia

This series offers much-needed insights into the internal and external dynamics of the Islamic Republic of Iran. A major player in the Middle East, Iran faces a range of challenges and opportunities that have significant ramifications for its citizens and the neighbourhood. Questions of political representation, Islamic rule, as well as youth and civil society movements are contentious topics in a state that feels besieged by hostile forces. The intersection of such factors present fascinating case-studies. Studies in Iranian Politics will publish ground-breaking research that draw on original sources and contribute to our understanding of contemporary Iran. The Advisory Board for this series includes Prof. Mohammed Ayoob (Michigan State University), Prof. Anoush Ehteshami (Durham University), Prof. Mehran Kamrava (Georgetown University) and Prof. Mahmood Sariolghalam (Shahid Beheshti University). More information about this series at https://link.springer.com/bookseries/15186

Giorgia Perletta

Political Radicalism in Iran and Ahmadinejad’s Presidencies

Giorgia Perletta Catholic University of the Sacred Heart Milan, Italy

ISSN 2524-4132 ISSN 2524-4140  (electronic) Studies in Iranian Politics ISBN 978-3-030-87329-5 ISBN 978-3-030-87330-1  (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87330-1 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

To my parents

Foreword

Appearing as the perfect villain from a typical Hollywood blockbuster, unsurprisingly President Mahmud Ahmadinejad—with his flamboyant rhetoric, ambiguous remarks on the Shoah and the future fate of Israel, not to mention his brutal repression of popular protests in 2009—never enjoyed a great popularity in the West. Neither among Western public opinion, nor among the scholars of Iranian studies. Indeed, looking at the amount of books, essays, academic articles, and studies published on the Islamic Republic of Iran and its political system (the famous nezām), it is clear that interest has focused mainly on the so-called reformist movements, on the political and social mobilization of the Iranian youth, on the patterns of resistance against authoritarianism, and so on. There are several intertwined reasons why neither Western public opinion nor scholars have deeply investigated and, therefore, comprehensively understood the personality of Ahmadinejad. The main one stems from an a priori judgement on his political figure. By taking his “radical” posture for granted, and without revisiting political categories, the interest in understanding the main drivers of Ahmadinejad’s politics has declined compared to those issues previously mentioned. This approach demonstrates the limitation of imposing narrow and vague categories, which alter the analytical perspective adopted towards a political phenomenon. The second reason comes from a consolidated discourse of the history of contemporary Iran, in particular from the Enghelāb-e Mashruteh (the Constitutional Revolution) onward, which offers a dichotomist narrative presenting a mature civil society fighting vii

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for its rights against an oppressive power (whatever its ideology was). A discourse is particularly popular among expat Iranian scholars (or scholars of Iranian origins), which however sounds half self-­consolatory and half too indulgent with the limits of the political activism of social elites, too often unable to understand the needs of the economically more vulnerable strata of Iranian society, as well as the changing social structure in post-revolutionary Iran. Without abusing the mocking definition of “gauche caviar,” intellectual and academic elites have clearly shown in their historical reconstructions an evident bias on this topic. Ahmadinejad, who did not please these particular observers, has only been selectively studied and interpreted by them according to these dichotomous lenses. Another cognitive impasse which arises when speaking about political trends within the Islamic Republic of Iran is connected to the use of western labels to explain political postures and positions. As an old Iranian professor told me with a justified irony decades ago, “Western labels and simplification are extremely useful for not understanding Iran.” Indeed, very often the use of complex terms such as “democracy,” “left,” “reformism,” “conservatives,” “radicals,” and so on appears as slippery as contradictory. Furthermore, as clearly demonstrated by Dr. Perletta’s research, categories and related labels are never neutral; on the contrary, the labelling process mirrors the researcher’s own bias and reflects the intention to classify a phenomenon within a pre-given “political discourse.” Therefore, this book represents an important step forward for correctly framing the Iranian post-revolutionary political discourse. Dr. Perletta’s research provides an alternative narrative of Ahmadinejad’s presidencies by deconstructing the category of political radicalism and sharply analysing the limits of using “western” labels to categorize Iranian dynamics. What clearly emerges is that President Ahmadinejad has been one of the most misunderstood personalities within the fragmented Iranian political elite, and one of the less studied by means of any scientific analytical approach, since very often the label of “radical” denotes a simplistic categorization based on his flamboyant rhetoric. Another very common misperception is connected to the rise of a new generation of “conservatives,” labelled with the term of osūlgarāyān (stressing their adherence to the supposed “principles” of the revolution), whom Ahmadinejad represented for most of his presidencies. They are often described as a reaction to the rise of a reformism

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movement, connected to the election of President Mohammad Khatami (1997–2005), generally identified with the Persian term of eslāhtalāb or with the name of the movement Dovvom-e Khordād, from the date of Khatami’s first election in 1997. In other words, this new “conservative” wave is generally perceived as a mainly reactive political discourse to contrast the rise of the reformist movement, so popular among the Iranians. On the contrary, as this book makes clear, the osūlgarāyān developed concomitantly with the rise of the eslāhtalāb: not just as a reaction to a “threat” to the core values of the Islamic revolution, but as an alternative narrative and a proactive political agenda, which inevitably benefitted from the crisis and the suppression of the reformist movement. And whose platform was shaped by their political expectations, militant attitude, and strong ideological messaging. The internal Iranian political dynamics of this period—that of the decline and failure of reformism and the election of Ahmadinejad—were also deeply influenced by difficult regional and international dynamics. Indeed, at the beginning of the new century, the occupation of Afghanistan and Iraq by a limited coalition led by the United States, as a consequence of the 9/11 attacks and growing doubts about Tehran’s nuclear programme, isolated Iran further and weakened the reformist movement domestically. President Bush’s rhetorical definition of the Islamic Republic as a “rough state,” part of the infamous “Axis of Evil,” favoured the so-called “securitization” of Iran’s foreign and security policy, which became hostage to the intelligence and paramilitary forces, leading to the complete failure of the reformists’ attempts to reform the nezām from within. The consequent rise of hardliners and their attempts to radicalize the conservative front and to “go back to the revolution” represents the pivot of Dr. Perletta’s narrative, which focuses on both domestic and foreign policies. At a domestic level, the disillusionment with the reformists’ political attempts significantly reduced their popular support, leading millions of Iranians to abstain during the 2005 presidential election. At the same time, conservatives benefitted during that election thanks to the interference of the judiciary, the intimidation by basīj and paramilitary forces, and thanks to the Guardian Council’s vetoing. However, Ahmadinejad proved to be a skilled politician, able to present himself as someone disconnected from the powerful but extremely unpopular political elites of the Islamic Republic (a gheyr-e khodī). With his fervent

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populist rhetoric and his attention to the lower classes’ needs, he was able to capitalize on the discontent over the social and economic situation of the country. In this regard, his approach was much more effective than the reformists’ narrative, which appeared extremely weak when dealing with the economic problems of low- and medium-income citizens. A common joke in Iran during this period, mocking Khatami’s idea of “civil society” (jame‘e-ye madanī), spoke of people returning from the bazaar with empty bags, except for a kilo of “civil society,” the only good the government had been able to offer them for free—a clear demonstration of the frustration and disillusion of the population. At an international level, Ahmadinejad’s presidency represented an even greater change, contributing to a further demonization of the Islamic Republic in the West, despite the fact that Tehran’s position has generally been more pragmatic and cautious than its rhetoric and official posture suggests. In conclusion, this book makes evident—by analysing Ahmadinejad’s meteoric rise to power and his subsequent decline, which started when he tried to confront the rahbar himself—that he cannot just simply be labelled as a hyper-conservative. Instead, he wanted “to give birth to a ‘third way’ that rejected both reformism, which was seen as a political force that had neglected workers and the poor, and the conservatives, who had institutionalized revolutionary paradigms and forgotten their original commitments to the oppressed,” as Dr. Perletta writes. A failed attempt cost him exclusion from the political mechanisms of the nezām, and resulted in his wider marginalization, as demonstrated by his exclusion from the presidential elections of June 2021. At the same time, it is now evident, with the end of Hassan Rouhani’s second term as president, that there is a clear attempt to transform the Islamic Republic into a more totalitarian and cohesive system, overcoming once and for all the limitations of the “suspended equilibrium,” as Mehran Kamrava describes the unstable balance among the competing centers of powers within this dual system. In the end, the deep state of the frightening nezām emerges as the real winner of both the reformists’ and populists’ agendas. Riccardo Redaelli Catholic University of the Sacred Heart Milan, Italy

Acknowledgements

The first time I visited Iran, I was struck by an unexpected sense of familiarity. In many ways, it seemed like I had already been there. I was put in mind of Plato’s famous concept, “scire est reminisci,” for experiencing firsthand all those things that I had previously learned, studied, and grown to love about the country felt like an extraordinary act of remembering. I worked on this book extensively during the difficult period of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020. But my research had started five years earlier during the course of my doctoral studies (2015–2019) and was built up during my extensive fieldwork in Iran between 2015 and 2018. As a young researcher, I inevitably thought of more questions than I have been able to answer, but this has encouraged me to look beyond easy conclusions and to keep on searching. As both a female and a Western researcher in Iran, I perceived a sense of privilege in being somewhat removed from certain socio-cultural conditionings and typical biases, but I have also struggled to break those natural barriers imposed by my previous knowledge of the country and afforded by both my personal and educational background. Indeed, I have found this extremely challenging aspects of conducting research in Iran and on the subject of Iran. For this reason, I have tried to keep my mind open and my reasoning as free from bias as possible, so as not to fall into stereotypes, clichés, and simplifications. I hope that I have succeeded in this. Far from trying to solve the complexities of Iran, or to categorize its politics with fixed labels, my doctoral research was motivated by the desire to provide a different reading of and an alternative narrative to the xi

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changing dynamics within the Islamic Republic. This being my very first effort and attempt, I assume full responsibility for any missing parts and unresolved issues that may emerge from this book, content in the understanding that research means to keep continually adding to one’s own knowledge, brick by brick, rather than to discover eternal and unquestionable truths. There are a few special people among my friends, family members, and colleagues that have shared in this journey with me, and each of them deserves to be named here because their affection, support, and encouragement, or even just their silent presence, have been vital components not just in writing this book, but in terms of my whole journey from Milan to Tehran and back. First and foremost, I want to express my deepest gratitude to Riccardo Redaelli, my academic mentor and the person who first instilled in me a love for Iran. I will never be able to repay him for being the compass for my own professional growth and development; for his valuable guidance, his support for my independent thinking, and his dedication since I was an undergraduate student attending classes in Geopolitics. Above all, I should thank him for being a continual source of inspiration and learning. I am sincerely grateful to Paolo Maggiolini for helping to guide me through the process of turning my doctoral thesis into a monograph. I am thankful for his invaluable advice and unconditional kindness. I hope one day I will be able to pay him back for all the time he has devoted to me. I would also take the opportunity to thank Francesco Mazzucotelli, with whom I have shared many serious, intellectually stimulating, joyful, and amusing conversations; and Andrea Plebani, a brilliant colleague and a special friend. I feel profoundly grateful for having encountered them along the course of my journey. I had the privilege to live, travel, and do research in Iran. I will always remember those hours spent in traditional “chay khāne” talking to Iranians; the religious ceremonies I attended, the family gatherings, and the traditional festivals; my informal meetings and chats with diplomats, researchers, and ordinary Iranian people, not to mention my daily life and routine in the dormitories of Tehran University. All those encounters and experiences have opened my mind and heart.

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I want to thank my Ph.D. colleagues for our inspiring conversations and, above all, for our special friendship. Also, I owe great thanks to Mauro Conciatori, Johnny McFadyen, and Alessandra D’Antonio, “mio maestro e ’l mio autore.” More than anyone else, I am grateful to my parents, for their unconditional and profound love, and for their endless guidance despite the distances, and to my brother Luca, for being my brightest side and my satellite forever orbiting. Last but by no means least, I should thank Said Jaan, who has patiently been at my side every day of this journey from that very first sunrise in Tehran. Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore of Milan contributed to the funding of this research project and its publication. Milan June 2021

Note on Transliteration

Persian words and names are transliterated using the system established by the International Journal of Middle East Studies (IJMES). To aid readability, this study uses the simplified version of this system and does not use any diacritics, but indicates long vowels, ayn (ʽ) and hamze (ʾ). Names of individuals are not transliterated and are given in their recognized English forms. For Iranian names, however, the Persian pronunciation is preferred, so Hoseyn instead of Hussein. The construction ezafe -e and -ye is indicated only for political organizations and institutions, with the exception of the names and surnames of individuals. Names of cities and regions are not transliterated and use the recognized English forms. Dates are given according to the Western Gregorian calendar and not the Iranian calendar.

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Contents

1 Introduction to Political Categories 1 Origins of the Book and Its Contents 1 Labelling “the Others” 8 Labelling as a Political Act 14 References 22 2 Deconstructing Labels and Power Distribution in the Islamic Republic 25 Deconstructing Radicalism 25 The “Dual State”: How Power Relations Shape the Islamic Republic 33 Post-Revolutionary Factionalism Beyond Dichotomies and Labels 42 References 61 3 Beyond Reformism: How Ideological Changes Shaped New Political Discourses 67 From Revolutionaries to Reformists 67 Political Reformism and Khatami’s Presidency 77 Domestic Reaction to Reformism and the Regional Context 85 From Revolutionaries to Hardliners: Renewing the Old Discourse 91 References 103

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4 “Back to the Revolution”: The Rise of the Hardliners and the Revival of Radicalism (2003–2005) 109 Mahmud Ahmadinejad: The Unknown Mayor Who Become President 109 Electoral Campaign in 2005 and Its Themes 120 Reinterpreting Ahmadinejad’s Radical Rhetoric 127 References 137 5 Radicalizing the Conservative Front: Ahmadinejad’s Domestic and Foreign Policies 141 Socio-Economic Reforms and Domestic Politics 141 Securitization and Militarism 157 Mahdism as a Political Strategy 162 Foreign Policy Between Ideology and Pragmatism 169 References 196 6 The Decline of Ahmadinejad’s Circle and a New Quest for Legitimacy 205 The 2009 Elections as a Turning Point 205 The Deviant Current and the New References of Iranian Nationalism 214 Back to Pragmatism and the Marginalization of Radicals 222 The “Government of Spring,” the New Quest for Legitimacy After 2013 229 References 253 7 Conclusions 263 Glossary 271 Index 277

Abbreviations

DTV Office for Strengthening of Unity (Daftar-e Tahkīm-e Vahdat) HEU High Enriched Uranium IAEA International Atomic Energy Agency IRGC Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (Sepāh-e Pāsdārān-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī) IRP Islamic Republican Party (Hezb-e Jomhūrī-ye Eslāmī) JCPOA Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action JRM Society of the Combatant Clergy (Jāmeʽe-ye Rūhānīyat-e Mobārez) LEU Low Enriched Uranium MEK People’s Mojāhedīn Organization (Sāzmān Mojāhedīn-e Khalq) MIRO Mojāhedīn of the Islamic Revolution Organization (Sāzmān-e Mojāhedīn-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī) MRM Combatant Clerics Association (Majmaʽ-e Rūhānīyūn-e Mobārez) NPT Non-Proliferation Treaty SNSC Supreme National Security Council TRR Tehran Research Reactor

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction to Political Categories

Origins of the Book and Its Contents In July 2015, on a typically hot and yet not ordinary evening in Tehran, I was standing in front of a large, enthusiastic crowd of young women and men, families, and shopkeepers, who had gathered in Meydān-e Valīʽasr to celebrate the signing of the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA)—the deal on the Iranian nuclear programme that had finally been negotiated with the international community after more than a decade. The long-lasting controversial debate with the P5 + 1, the permanent members of the United Nations Security Council and Germany, was about to conclude, and people were overcome with enthusiasm for the forthcoming removal of sanctions. It was a privilege for me to witness firsthand the Iranian reaction to this important turning point in both Iranian history and international diplomacy. As the pro-reformist newspaper Eʽtemād proclaimed the following day: “Jahān taghīīr kard” (the world has changed). This headline not only captured the general expectation for economic improvements following the removal of sanctions, but also the successful diplomatic multilateralism that aimed to rehabilitate the Islamic Republic of Iran on the international stage. While I was observing this excited, enthusiastic crowd, which contrasted so sharply with the usual footage spread by international and Western media outlets featuring angry mobs with flags on fire, I reflected on the © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 G. Perletta, Political Radicalism in Iran and Ahmadinejad’s Presidencies, Studies in Iranian Politics, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87330-1_1

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use of misleading images and decontextualized portrayals of the Iranian people. Frequently, the politics of the Islamic Republic, both domestic and foreign, are seen through the lens of subjective and often inaccurate Western perceptions, which are almost never politically neutral. These perceptions are responsible for creating a limited understanding and awareness of the reality in Iran and, consequently, lead to the proliferation of widespread misconceptions. Acknowledging the obvious discrepancies between these external descriptions and the reality I was witnessing on the ground was fascinating, and it prompted my interest in examining the point at which foreign representations diverge from domestic reality and start perpetuating their own version of events. The origin of this book, then, stems from a general reflection on the use of labels in politics and how they can construct and manipulate a given reality. Studying Iranian contemporary politics and following the international debate, I have come to realize how often Western-derived categories are used not simply for descriptive purposes but also for clear political reasons. In 2008, when the Iranian nuclear debate became stuck in a major deadlock, several Western newspapers and broadcasters emphasized the “radical” conduct of the then President Mahmud Ahmadinejad, who had already, a few years earlier, been referred to as a radical hardliner in many publications.1 His belligerent declarations and robust rhetoric were notorious, but rarely have his speeches been contextualized and analysed beyond their use as rhetorical devices. Ahmadinejad’s various discourses were translated using terms and descriptors that are perhaps more understandable and familiar to those of us in the West but may not necessarily be accurate. One example is the President’s controversial comments directed to the State of Israel. On October 26, 2005, Tehran hosted a conference on “The World Without Zionism” (Hamāyesh Jahān-e bedun-e sahyunīsm), at which Ahmadinejad claimed that “our dear Imām said that the regime occupying Jerusalem must disappear from the pages of time.”2 This was translated as “the Zionist regime must be wiped off the map,” which drew considerable criticism and resulted in a further isolation of the Republic within the international community.3 It is, of course, difficult to verify what the President’s true intentions were, but what this example does underline is how some words can be misleading and how certain translations are not always reliable. Consequently, the mainstream narrative surrounding Ahmadinejad is refracted through a biased lens that underlines his radical political stance. My research, therefore, focuses on the

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problems with these representations and the desire to move towards a better understanding of the reasons and drivers behind Ahmadinejad’s policies, which eschew these overly simplistic and partisan categories. To fully understand the former President’s political position, on both an international and national level, I start by exploring these Western categories and attempting to deconstruct their meanings. Then, by examining Ahmadinejad’s political conduct, from his discourses to his actions, I aim to develop our understanding of these political categories in order to define if (and for what reasons) Ahmadinejad might be referred to as a radical. Political categories are never neutral and, therefore, categorization and the use of related labels typically reflect a political desire to classify a particular phenomenon within precise boundaries. Given the subjectivity of any such labelling process, it is important to note that it can contribute to the spreading of misleading descriptions and biased interpretations of socio-political dynamics. Such falsehoods may not always be intentional but can be the result of erroneous labelling, which is rarely informed by other categorizations and languages. It seems common, for example, to use categories that have been created and defined within a European political context to describe and interpret events in non-European settings. This results in descriptions being made on false pretenses or through biased interpretative lenses, where the political reality is then misrepresented or manipulated. There is a widespread perception, fueled by international media and based upon rather superficial analysis, that Iran is to be viewed with suspicion (if not disdain). The reason, I would suggest, is an inability to look past the headlines and to reach a comprehensive understanding of what actually motivates Iranian political actors beyond the usual rhetoric. An ambiguous relationship between rhetoric and politics has long been typical of the Iranian elite. Ideological proclamations are often followed by pragmatic and rational moves designed to accomplish objectives in the national interest; however, the accompanying rhetoric tends to be louder and occasionally overshadows the real intentions of the Republic. It follows, then, that an incorrect categorization of Iranian politics limits the capacity to move beyond this apparent contradiction and establish what exactly Iran wants, what has been hidden behind ideological rhetoric, and why political actors continue to exploit it for political purposes. The problematic application of Western categories to non-Western contexts reveals the risks associated with conveying inaccurate representations. One of the most ambiguous

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terms employed to depict the Iranian political sphere, and the political stance of its actors, is that of radicalism—a label that can be interpreted in several ways and resists one unique monolithic definition. The label of radicalism originated in European political discourse and has been crystallized through decades of political discussions, factional categorizations, and diverging applications to historical events. The Islamic Republic is often (mis)represented as a radical country, ruled by radical, fanatical, and irrational politicians who pursue a radical line in foreign politics. By applying this label, Iranian politics is described and understood through exogenous classifications. For reasons that will be examined later in this book, using labels like radical and radicalism indicates a particular interpretation of Iranian politics rather than a simple description of its political characteristics. Political radicalism, as a descriptive term, is loaded with an interpretative connotation that is intended to promote a precise and specific judgement of Iran. Therefore, I contend that a wider analysis on the use of language and labels is an essential component for any insightful and comprehensive analysis of the political landscape in Iran. The reason why contemporary Iranian politics has been described as radical, and why radicalism has been the lens through which its policymakers have been interpreted, can be found in both contemporary history and in matters of geopolitical competition. The Iranian revolution of 1979 was a major turning point in the history of the twentieth century. The fall of a thousand years of monarchy by means of a popular revolution, and its subsequent replacement with an Islamic Republic led by a charismatic radical cleric, was such a profound and complicated change that it would be understandably difficult for those living through it to fully comprehend its implications in the short term. Revolutions are considered political phenomena that aim at transforming the status quo and propose a fundamental change in the principles of the political order.4 The abrupt shift that occurred in Iran served to modify the nature of both its domestic and foreign relations, as well as the regional equilibrium and system of alliances in the Middle East. Previous friends of the monarchy turned into “existential threats” or enemies, like the United States, and the consolidation of the Republic required the strengthening of certain ideological pillars, such as the fight against oppression and the defence of Muslim communities. Moreover, the theocratic Republic was founded on a radical, progressive, and innovative interpretation of Shīʽa (from now simply Shiʽa) principles, which will be considered in

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the following chapter. After 1979, Iran was led by radical clerics and adopted a radical form of foreign politics; and radicalism became the lens through which to interpret this new political and constitutional system.5 The West attributed this label of radicalism to characterize the political outlook of the newly established Republic in a negative light. AngloAmerican scholarship has been affected by the complicated and strained political relationship between Iran and the United States, where diplomatic relations froze following the Iranian takeover of the US embassy in Tehran in November 1979. In addition, this mislabelling is also owed in part to the Iranian diaspora, which has over the last forty years contributed to the spread of a biased narrative concerning the Republic. As a categorization, then, political radicalism appears to be a recurrent theme, but it is also inaccurate for two main reasons. Firstly, it overlooks Iranian labels and categorizations. This is a significant failing as understanding what Persian terms are used to describe the Republic (and how) is important, for there might be contradictions and major distinctions between how radicalism is perceived in Western political discourse and in Iran. Secondly, by using an exogenous lens, Iranian politics is constructed through a partisan viewpoint. To fully understand how to use and adapt Western labels within an Iranian socio-political context, these categories must be critically deconstructed and the process for creating political discourse examined. After this, it is then necessary to determine what exactly it means to be radical in post-revolutionary Iran, and how this label might shape the political dynamics of the Islamic Republic. This book aims to shed light on the categorization of political radicalism in Iran, starting with its deconstruction to uncover its multiple meanings and different usages, both through Western and Persian labels. Deconstruction is an essential step in acknowledging how political categories are created and, therefore, in unveiling the plurality of their features.6 The aim of this deconstruction is to frame the category of radicalism and to identify what it evokes in different contexts, how it is applied to the political sphere, and with what connotations and purposes. By exploring the importance of such nomenclature in order to obtain a comprehensive understanding of political trends, this book hopes to challenge the Western process of labelling, which might be considered responsible for disseminating inaccurate and biased perceptions of contemporary Iranian politics. In contrast with Western literature, which often employs fallacious interpretative lenses and applies exogenous categorizations to Iranian politics, this book will also consider Persian

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terminology to reveal how political categories are internally constructed. The objective is to determine which (if any) points of convergence there are between Western and Persian political categories, and how each separate context identifies and construes radicalism. In order to contextualize political radicalism in post-revolutionary Iran, this book will investigate the political career of the controversial former President Mahmud Ahmadinejad. Using a historical approach, I will examine Ahmadinejad’s ascendance to power in 2003, when he was appointed as Mayor of Tehran, his two consecutive presidential terms (2005–2013), and his political marginalization up until his most recent attempt to rehabilitate himself within the internal debate (2017–2021). The former President remains one of the most mystifying and misunderstood figures in post-revolutionary Iran, due to a lack of information about his personal and political life, but also for the controversial positions he adopted on both the domestic and international stage. By virtue of his bombastic rhetoric and revival of revolutionary themes, Ahmadinejad has been characterized by Western politicians, observers, journalists, and scholars as a radical. His use of aggressive political tones and recurring verbal threats have been widely taken as indicative of a radical position, and this perception reveals how radicalism itself has been conceived. When considering Ahmadinejad’s politics, then, radicalism suggests aggressive, irrational, and extremist behaviour and is therefore imbued with negative connotations. What is missing in these academic and scientific analyses, journalistic reports, and the conclusions drawn by many politicians is an in-depth study of radicalism as a political categorization to find out whether it is an appropriate way in which to characterize Ahmadinejad’s stance. If the Western label of radical is intended to impose a judgement on Ahmadinejad’s behaviour, there are a lack of studies that look to interrogate this simplistic categorization and are willing to analyse what the former President stood for, what his political needs and priorities were, and what challenges there were to his authority. Was Ahmadinejad’s approach and posture truly unacceptable or did it conceal more precise, rational, and pragmatic goals? This question can only be answered through a complete deconstruction of radicalism as a political categorization and by contextualizing Ahmadinejad’s political tenure within a historical framework. Moreover, there is no current Western study that analyses the internal debate on the former President: how various factions and politicians have referred to him, which labels

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have been used to describe Ahmadinejad’s political trajectory, and what has come to be the general view of his conduct. This book neither aims to cover the whole Iranian post-revolutionary political debate nor to provide a discourse analysis based on existing collections of debates and speeches. It aims to provide an alternative narrative about Ahmadinejad’s presidencies through a deconstruction of radicalism as a political categorization. This historio-political approach will provide a comprehensive insight into how Ahmadinejad’s presidencies shaped domestic factionalism and how his political position has been perceived within the Islamic Republic. What is analytically relevant here is not to define what radicalism is per se, which might produce speculative assumptions on account of the term’s ambiguous epistemological root, but what such a political categorization represents in postrevolutionary Iranian politics and, thus, how to reshape our Western conceptualization. Furthermore, this deconstruction will enable a more objective and less biased understanding of the former President’s conduct to take shape, both within the domestic and international spheres. To understand how radicalism is both constructed and thought of in contemporary Iran, I look to primary sources including official speeches, interviews, and public statements, but also articles and reports concerning Ahmadinejad on related websites and through Iran’s official press and media channels. Ahmadinejad’s presidencies will be examined by looking at his political discourses, changing alliances, economic plans, social agenda, foreign relations and diplomacy, and his interactions with other institutions and forces within the Republic. As a result, this book will contribute to existing scholarly literature in several ways. Firstly, it will seek to assess Ahmadinejad’s presidencies while avoiding simplistic generalizations and biased interpretations. Moving beyond an orientalist approach that emphasizes an asymmetrical reading of political phenomena in the Middle East and moving away from the dominant trends in scholarly literature that are restricted to superficial analyses based on their own language, this book looks to provide different perspectives and insights on Ahmadinejad’s role in domestic Iranian politics. The analysis will examine his policies and their impact on the domestic front and will also reconstruct post-revolutionary factionalism in Iran through endogenous categories. How was Ahmadinejad perceived in the Iranian debate? How was his political position understood internally? What can his political behaviour tell us about radicalism? What does it mean to be a radical in post-revolutionary Iran? This book contemplates the possible answers

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to these questions and will, therefore, look at how radicalism, as a political categorization, has come to shape political perceptions in contemporary Iran. Ultimately, this study will examine the use of Western categories to demonstrate their incongruities when applied to Iran and the risks of misinterpretation that may result from their attribution. It will explore the complexity of the political context in the Islamic Republic, attempting to move away from dichotomous readings and determine whether radicalism is an acceptable category to use to describe Ahmadinejad’s political behaviour. It is important to investigate the meanings of political labels in order to avoid creating a sense of mutual distrust and to encourage objective interpretations. However, it is also crucial for policymakers who deal with Iran, the Middle East, and the non-Western world in general to critically engage with a deconstruction of exogenous labels and categories so as not to spread false impressions of the political reality. To describe the non-Western world, it is essential to reconstruct that space by using its own terms7 and to move beyond a colonial discourse that through its own categories ends up manipulating our perception of that reality.8 If it is acceptable to classify Ahmadinejad as a radical politician, this prompts the question of what this categorization ultimate means, why and for what political purposes it has been adopted, and by whom. Alternatively, if the concept of radicalism is not suitable to describe Ahmadinejad, which Western and Persian categories could be used to define his politics?

Labelling “the Others” The act of labelling, of course, is not only entirely normal but a wholly necessary act. Defining our social world and all its dynamics, as well as creating a spectrum of possible interpretations, is an instinctive and primordial process. At the same time, labelling is also essential to solve the complexity of existence and to simplify it through various categories and definitions. Inevitably, however, representations are always subjectively constructed. A single term is capable of identifying and circulating precise values, ideas, and assumptions, which inhibit the objectivity of the labelling process. Labelling, therefore, “impose[s] boundaries and define[s] categories” and hence conveys a form of knowledge that is often biased despite its claims.9 Even though political concepts aim to portray reality in a neutral way, they ultimately frame this reality through

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subjective judgements. Reflections on the use of labels in politics fall within a broader category of literature that has investigated the role of language and culture in the production of knowledge and the expression of power. To paraphrase Antonio Gramsci: language is a political issue and reveals the conception of the word. It is, therefore, an element of power that highlights how power is both exercised and constructed. The use of language creates a common understanding, which can be labelled as knowledge; this is never neutral, but it seeks to outline a cultural hegemony.10 The West looks at Iran through its own interpretative lens and represents it according to its own linguistic framework. This results in the proliferation of a diverse array of labels that happen to be incompatible with Iranian self-representation and, moreover, leads to intellectual boundaries being defined strictly from a Western perspective. If language is responsible for creating the world, the prevailing Western narrative on Iranian politics demonstrates how the Islamic Republic has been constructed through exogenous terms and Western cultural hegemony. Postcolonial theory has examined this vast dialectic in which a dominant viewer, ideologue, or political actor can impose power relations and shape subjectivities through language and discourses.11 Gyan Prakash argues that postcolonial criticism attempts to reverse the Eurocentrism present in the production of cultural and political knowledge, and in doing so seeks to reframe social subjectivities and forms of knowledge that have been shaped by colonial powers.12 This area of study tries to recover those subjectivities whose identities have been eclipsed by the dominant Anglocentric literature and have been constructed as being opposed to the “West.”13 Postcolonial scholars fueled the intellectual debate to abolish asymmetrical discourses and integrate the “colonized,” the subaltern, and the Third World into wider political and cultural discussions. The very modern concept of nation and nationalism, for example, reveals a lot about the European colonial past and its methods and practices to represent colonized peoples. Since language reflects collective understandings, common sense, shared values, culture, and historical experiences, geographical differences between “here” and “there” became politicized and expressed the unbalanced distinction between “self” and “other.” Political identities are, therefore, constructed and framed through exclusions and the language of the dominant actors. Moreover, far from simply describing subjects, language constructs them; and, as a result, it can manipulate reality.

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According to certain postcolonial studies, the West has defined “itself” in relation to its colonies, or territories that were unofficially occupied but were a target of informal colonialism, such as “the East,” to which it has attributed a relationship of subordination. This orientalist view has been used to justify colonialism and predominant Western attitudes that were adopted even before formal colonization had started. The world appears to have been constructed according to a colonial outlook for which Europe, and the West in general, has positioned itself in opposition to the “other.” This implies that the East cannot speak for itself and has no language or discourse able to represent its subjects, practices, and common understanding. The result is a dominant Eurocentric approach to looking at the Middle East and the non-Western world within scholarly literature. In his masterpiece Orientalism, Edward Said famously remarked that the West represents the “other” by self-representing itself. “The Orient” is described and understood by using Western vocabulary, and only in relation to the West. Therefore, the discourse on the “East” conceals a reflection of colonial power. Orientalism reveals how the world has been mapped by Western political ambitions and how this narrative has been used to validate the subjective criteria through which non-European contexts have been interpreted and represented. The dialectic between the self and the other is the product of a colonial language that shapes non-objective knowledge. Labels end up stigmatizing political behaviours through a partisan perspective and, as a result, the whole spectrum of definitions is reduced and fixed behind Western categories that foster an orientalist approach.14 Western literature betrays a colonized perspective when looking at and talking about Iran, even though the latter has, historically speaking, kept its independence despite foreign interference in its political and economic affairs between the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.15 This approach analyses subjects, ideas, and historical changes through an asymmetric paradigm that is typical of colonial heritage. One example is the narrative around the mandatory veil in Iran, a dress-code issue that has been used and exploited both by the Republic’s elite and by the West for their own political interests. From a Western perspective, the compulsory rusarī (veil) demonstrates the backwardness of Iranian politicians, who enforce a male-dominated society built upon the subordination of women. The veil is seen as a symbol of female submission within a patriarchal society and the fight for its removal represents women’s struggle for empowerment. Western attitudes to this topic

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are formed with Western paradigms in mind: they indicate how women should reject this dress code, how women need to abolish this symbol of oppression, and how women should protest their lack of dignity by fighting for the removal of the mandatory veil. The West presumes to speak for a group of people that are too often perceived as one monolithic block, exempt from historical changes or developing attitudes. However, women’s activism and feminism in Iran are predicated on modern, Islamist, and traditional tendencies, and typically manifest themselves in action on more crucial issues than the simplistic matter of the veil, such as on the subjects of equal rights and the abrogation of discriminatory laws.16 Moreover, focusing on the movement that opposes the compulsory wearing of the veil fails to acknowledge the elitist dimension to this debate. In fact, the issue remains a marginal one in some social and geographical segments of Iran’s population and among women.17 Through this topic, the West and mainly the United States offer a polarized view of Iranian society and its politics, portraying the former as modern and Westernized, and the latter as traditional and backward. This demonstrates how the West aims to shape a precise understanding of Iranian society, implying that it is unable to express itself with its own vocabulary and is instead trying to replicate Western paradigms of modernity. Drawing from an orientalist approach, the “other,” in this case Iranian women, desire to reproduce Western models and if they cannot achieve freedom, dignity, and equal rights it is because Iranian society and its political elite are still shackled to traditional restrictive frameworks. Subaltern studies have also considered power relations through historiography with a view to re-establishing the experience of the subaltern as the “other.” Emerging nations appear to have borrowed their approach from methodologies established in colonial studies, which embody the privileging of an elitist discourse at the expense of subalterns, as outlined by Gita Rajan and Radhika Mohanram.18 A fundamental contribution to this debate comes from Gayatri Spivak, who argues that there are specific subjects who cannot represent themselves but are, rather, represented by and through others. Spivak refers to class consciousness and the inability of the subaltern, but also women, to speak for themselves because of the imbalanced perspective promoted by dominant groups.19 These dominant forces could be capitalists, colonial powers, political elites, or even “white men.” In terms of colonial historiography, the ideological construction of subjectivities shows the preeminence of imperialists in describing the Third World, other cultures,

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or social classes by highlighting their state of subordination. Eurocentric historiography ignores the history of the subaltern, their identities, and their voices. Since the shaping of knowledge and understanding is the prerogative of colonial powers, the very subjects of these narratives have no way in which to express themselves nor the tools to demand recognition. The representation of the “other” is, therefore, instrumental in establishing power relations. In the case of Iran, it is evident that Western language and categorizations limit an objective understanding of Iranian socio-political dynamics. Consequently, an asymmetrical knowledge of contemporary Iran has developed in many different fields of study, such as in the political sciences, anthropology, history, and gender analysis (to name just a few). Iranian domestic politics is viewed through a dichotomous lens: opposing conservatives with reformists, pragmatists with radicals. This downplays the existing complexity of Iranian factionalism and neglects internal categorizations. As the West employs its own vocabulary to describe Iran, the Islamic Republic seems not to be entitled to speak for itself and its own labels are taken as subordinate to exogenous ones. These terms reflect how the West creates our knowledge and understanding of Iran, and thus how it articulates the power relation between the two. The notion of discourse, as Michel Foucault established, ties together knowledge and power. Labelling is a tool of social knowledge and underlines an attempt to impose power relations. Like the Foucauldian notion of discourse, as an instrument for creating knowledge and imposing political dominance, the use of labels also creates expectations, judgements, and boundaries between what is real and what is representation. The results of such labelling, therefore, create misconceptions and biased interpretations that can persuade policymakers. Declaring Iranian politics to be radical, irrational, and fanatical determines the way in which the West represents the reality of the Islamic Republic, and how relevant political decisions are then made. Accordingly, the process of labelling is not just the action of describing and conveying meaning, but it also unveils certain power structures, ambitions, and constructed representations that are never truly neutral.20 As a result, labelling is always partisan as it creates a political discourse where actions are either legitimized or criticized according to the words chosen to describe them. Radical, conservative, and reformist are Western terms attributed to Iranian politicians that not only ignore the complexity of post-revolutionary factionalism but also shape the “other” through stereotypes and

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postcolonial linguistic frameworks.21 Labelling Ahmadinejad as a radical is not only a simple description made using an exogenous term, but it also exposes a subjective, Western interpretation of his political behaviour. As explained above, defining the “other” using Western labels demonstrates how power relations are conceived,22 and the attempt to categorize Ahmadinejad’s politics reveals the West to be the one claiming dominant knowledge. By assuming that he is a radical figure, certain confrontational policies towards the Islamic Republic are then easily justified. What is missing here, though, is any reflection on Ahmadinejad’s own self-representation or on how he was perceived by the various Iranian factions. The former President does not consider himself to be a radical, and other groups tend to refer to him using different categories that suggest a diverse scope of meanings. This creates a conflict between competing narratives, which results in an asymmetrical construction of knowledge and understanding. As a result, the West continues to be the only one entitled to speak for Iranian actors. Consequently, actions, practices, and policies are strictly related to this colonial heritage, which interprets non-Western contexts through its own subjective ideological frameworks. What emerges from this is a need to decolonize the labelling process in order to confront other political paradigms and avoid an orientalist approach to the creation of knowledge.23 Western categories are used at the expense of local ones and display the hegemonic ambition of the West to define and construct the East through its own vocabulary.24 During my fieldwork in Iran, which was spread out between 2015 and 2018, my main objective was to trace the meanings of certain political categorizations, including the ways in which they are used and attributed to political actors. To move away from an orientalist approach, it was necessary to reject a mindset based on Western labels and to attempt to explore the political reality by examining more localized words and terms of reference. This book will, therefore, try to decolonize the mainstream language that forgets to acknowledge internal self-representation. However, it is worth noting that studying the Islamic Republic’s own concept of self-representation may also lead towards other forms of misconception. As a revolutionary state, the official political discourse is integral to maintaining the ideological foundations of the system. Official media channels and newspapers, as well as official discourses, install a partisan narrative designed to preserve a specific outlook and system of references. Strategic isolation and the securitization of domestic politics are deceptive means used to increase political control within the country

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and externalize security threats. As such, it is not an easy process to move from Western labels to Iranian self-representation, and a comparative study on related terms is neither sufficient nor appropriate. To overcome these limitations and to move away from constructed representations, one needs to engage in a critical deconstruction of political labels and acknowledge how certain categories have been shaped and used in political discourse. This book will look specifically at the category of political radicalism with the aim of understanding Ahmadinejad’s political position. By deconstructing Western concepts, a historical reconstruction of his presidencies and their aftermath will help to develop our understanding of his political career beyond erroneous and external labels.

Labelling as a Political Act The historical evolution of political and intellectual discourse has been instrumental in crystallizing views and perspectives that are familiar in a specific context. Words achieve meanings from associations and, therefore, our understanding of them can change in different contexts, as de Saussure established.25 Language reflects viewpoints, ideas, and a common understanding as opposed to objective reality, and therefore does not passively represent reality but rather contributes to shaping it. The act of labelling serves to reinforce a certain interpretation of existence, which typically reflects the principles and attitudes of the labeller. Moreover, labelling is a political act because it implies how one should consider, describe, and interpret a particular subject, and how one might then establish a relationship with it. In addition, labelling has a strict correlation with political decisions. When a name, term, or label is used to describe a particular situation or given to a political group, the type of power relationship that is intended to be established soon emerges. For this reason, political identities are constructed by names, which are sometimes also used to justify certain actions or assert internal legitimacy. For instance, in the aftermath of the revolution, Tehran was committed to “exporting the revolution.” The West interpreted this as a reflection of the radical, fanatic elites who had seized power after 1979; however, the reason is more likely down to the fact that the newly established Republic had to strengthen its identity in order to further certain national interests, not purely for ideological reasons.26 Since labelling is a political act, and the attribution of labels can support political decisions,27 it is hardly a coincidence that the “self” is often

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set in opposition to an “enemy.”28 The “Great Satan” and the “imperialist power” are names that have been attributed to the United States by a certain number of Iranian politicians in order to underline how their political struggle is somehow legitimate and meaningful. Frequently in his speeches, the rahbar (Supreme Leader), ʽAli Khamenei, claims the need to fight against the estekbār (arrogance) of the United States, whose government is a doshman (enemy) to the values held by the Iranian Republic.29 By emphasizing the word “enemy,” Khamenei wants to imply that the Islamic Republic stands against the United States, and in doing so Iran represents itself as a proponent of the moqavvamat (resistance) to this form of “arrogance.” At the same time, the United States refers to Iran as a “fanatical regime” or “the regime of the āyatollāh”30 in order to reinforce the need to contain a dangerous country.31 These words have shaped both Iranian and American political discourse and consequent actions for decades. Mutual suspicion and a lack of confidence also arise from the erroneous and deceptive use of these labels. But who oversees the attribution of such terms? Who is responsible for negotiating their meanings? Is there a convergence of views on the interpretation of the term “regime,” which is frequently used by Western press and media to refer to the Islamic Republic? Has this term been contextualized and what does it denote? The term regime has been defined as “an institution with clear substantive and geographical limits, bound by explicit rules, and agreed on by governments […] In theory, the term need not imply anything about the particular government to which it relates, and most social scientists use it in a normative and neutral manner. The term, though, can be used in a political context.”32 In political discourse, the term regime is often misused to classify any non-democratic system.33 It alludes to totalitarian, autocratic, illiberal, populist, ideological, and oppressive forms of government with no coherent distinctions.34 However, there are significant differences between the various aforementioned political systems, which are too often reduced and hidden behind the term regime. Furthermore, the dichotomy between regimes and democracies omits the existence of political systems that reject this rigid division, such as semi-autocratic states. There are also significant distinctions between totalitarian and illiberal political systems, as well as between mature democracies, whether they are constitutional or electoral. By calling Iran the “regime of the āyatollāh,” which characteristic is ultimately being underlined? The negative connotations surrounding the term regime encourage the reader (or observer) to place

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the Islamic Republic within a wider category of non-democratic political systems, and consequently attempt to identify its particular features. Labelling is, therefore, an act that carries certain risks. In a complex world, labels are also used in an attempt to simplify existence and reduce its particularism. Though the aim may be understandable, the result is responsible for creating further levels of complexity. Simplifications can lead to incorrect assumptions and by reducing particularism only a few aspects of any given reality tend to emerge. The Iranian political sphere is mainly described through Western-derived labels that are often erroneous on account of their exogenous origins and simplistic aims. Terms like conservative, reformist, pragmatic, radical, and hardliner all serve to simplify the complexity of domestic factionalism and fail to acknowledge the ambiguity evident in the renowned transformism of Iranian politicians. Similarly, these labels ignore internal differences and convey improper descriptions of Iranian politics. When looking at Persian labels, for instance, the distinction between how the so-called “conservative” and “reformist” groups name themselves appears to be minimal. Post-1979 politicians define themselves as enqelābī (revolutionaries), which highlights their declared adherence to the principles of the revolution. However, the post-revolutionary elite is not a single homogenous group, rather it includes advocates of many different ideas and political viewpoints. The Islamic Republic, in fact, allows for a limited degree of political pluralism as long as it remains confined within the ideological boundaries of the nezām (a term by which the political system is called). After the new political order had been institutionalized in the first decade following the revolution, competition among the elite arose in several different areas: for example, in relation to economic plans, social agenda, foreign politics, the use of violence, and political control over public spaces and individual life. Political groups promoted different policies and, therefore, their self-representations attracted different labels. Whereas Iranian factionalism is plural and never monolithic, the prevailing narrative in the West tends to reduce its complexity to a crude dichotomy of conservatives versus reformists without any critical analysis of what these two terms mean. Both reformism and conservativism do exist in Iran, but not in the same way that they are thought about in the West. So, what does it mean to be conservative in post-revolutionary Iran? To what extent does reformism represent an opposition to conservatism? What reforms are looking to modify the

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established political system? And are these two terms compatible with the Iranian concept of self-representation? Those hoping to answer to these questions and investigate Iranian domestic politics must reject Western categories in order to fully comprehend the posture and concept of self-representation of various Iranian political groups and their dialectic. However, when doing so, we often tend to look at possible translations of political terms, and yet translation itself is rarely an objective linguistic tool. Walter Benjamin has stated that “no translation, however good it may be, can have any significance as regards the original,” meaning that translation cannot truly represent the original nomenclature unless it investigates the interaction between different languages.35 Translation, therefore, does not attempt to reproduce a culture through a different language, but rather to construct an understanding and formulation of power relations according to the principles and viewpoints of the relevant translator. To paraphrase the prominent Italian philosopher Umberto Eco, the act of translating consists of a form of betrayal. It neglects the genealogy of names and the origins of political categories according to different historical and political perspectives. As such, translating political labels from one language into another fails to acknowledge the epistemology of terms, their common and widespread understanding in each specific situation, and their use. This betrayal stems from a failure to contextualize political vocabularies whose literal translation often results in the spread of either general misconceptions or biased interpretations. One example can be seen in how Western observers have translated the existing competition between the osūlgarāyān (literally the followers of principle, or commonly principalists) and the eslāhtalābān (reformists).36 The translation of these terms as “principalists” or “neoconservatives” in the first case, and “reformists” in the second, conceals a judgement of both political positions. In a Western framework, the term neoconservative alludes to an orthodox and inflexible approach, whereas the concept of reformism indicates an attempt to open up political spaces with progressive tendencies in mind. Reformism has a positive connotation and has been associated with political groups such as the eslāhtalābān, which tried to introduce reforms in the post-revolutionary system. However, it was not only the eslāhtalāb (the Reformist front) that attempted to modify certain aspects of Iranian politics. As will be examined in Chapter 3, by limiting the notion of reformism to simply the eslāhtalāb movement, one ignores the existence of other groups with different ideas and political ideologies that also tried

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to modify the nezām. The political competition between the two fronts has been described as a struggle between traditionalism and reformism, and as a result any and all developing or changing aspects within each political group have been locked behind these two labels. The translation of osūlgarāyān and eslāhtalābān, therefore, conveys a static interpretation of domestic competition within the Iranian political sphere. Terms like conservatives and radicals, reformists and pragmatists, are not able to fully capture the nature of the Iranian elite and tend to dismiss the fluidity of these various groups by use of such Western labels and misguiding translations. As will be demonstrated in Chapter 2, political alliances in Iran are often temporary. They frequently occur during national elections and are dissolved shortly afterward, or they might remain in place even when political goals and objectives change. Politicians may change their affiliation over time and join different groups, even those seemingly in contradiction with one another. As such, it is extremely difficult to map the existing political groups in Iran because they often consist of informal gatherings in support of specific individuals and prominent figures, which results in a proliferation of names and formations that serve to make the Iranian political landscape extremely diverse. I would argue that divergence among Iranian political groups is a notable and consistent feature, and the continuous redefinition of alliances and ideological frameworks, as well as their adaptation to internal circumstances, makes the political scene inherently fluid in a way in which these Western labels and attempted translations fail to capture. As such, even though it is possible to identify some major political issues and positions relevant to these domestic factions, they should be considered flexible and changing as opposed to monolithic and permanent. This book is the result of research that started out by questioning the difficulty of framing and interpreting Iranian politics with Western vocabulary. To avoid misconceptions, Persian categories and nomenclatures should also be considered and Western terms need to be contextualized. There is a lack of critical analyses on Iranian categorizations and their epistemological origins, uses, and shared meanings. At the same time, Western studies tend not to question long established political labels to determine if they are being appropriately applied to other contexts. The first question to be addressed, in order to more fully understand Ahmadinejad’s presidencies, is what the labelling process entails when it aims to describe his political position; how might it infer certain implications and how might this contribute to shaping

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our understanding of the political reality. As a Western researcher who has both lived and travelled in Iran, during the course of my doctoral research I have asked myself what the reality of the situation in Iran is beyond the simplistic headlines and slogans that often feature in Western media and analysis; how they have shaped the understanding of Iranian domestic politics and how their descriptions are at odds with the concept of Iranian self-representation and views from inside the Republic. My aim has been to understand Ahmadinejad’s political conduct and, in order to do so, I believe we need to discover the root of Western-Iranian mutual misconceptions, and how the use of certain political labels has resulted (more or less intentionally) in a problematic understanding of Iranian politics. As radicalism appears to be one of the most controversial and (mis)used categories, I deconstruct it in order to track its extensive usage and to comprehend Ahmadinejad’s role in contemporary Iran.

Notes



1. The prominent book by Kasra Naji, Ahmadinejad: The Secret History of Iran’s Radical Leader, was published in 2008. See the Anglo-American press at that time: Damien McElroy, “Ahmadinejad Sacks Central Bank Governor Who Warned of Inflation,” The Telegraph, September 22, 2008, https:// www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/middleeast/iran/3046500/ Ahmadinejad-sacks-central-bank-governor-who-warned-of-inflation.html, accessed on October 20, 2020; Robert Tait, “‘Iran Is Our Friend,’ Says Turkish PM Recep Tayyip Erdogan,” The Guardian, October 26, 2009, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2009/oct/26/turkey-iran1, accessed on October 20, 2020; Karl Vick, “Hard-Line Tehran Mayor Wins Iranian Presidency,” The Washington Post, June 25, 2005, https://www. washingtonpost.com/archive/politics/2005/06/25/hard-line-tehran-mayor-wins-iranian-presidency/41be4d24-1042-4d2c-9467-deda0abc1167/, accessed on October 20, 2020. See also, Imad Salamey and Zanoubia Othman, “Shia Revival and welayat al-faqih in the Making of Iranian Foreign Policy,” Politics, Religion & Ideology 12, no. 2 (2011): 197–212. 2. “‫( ”دکتر احمدی نژاد در همایش جهان بدون صهیونیسم‬Full Text of Ahmadinejad’s Speech at the World Conference Without Zionism), Ensānī, http://www. ensani.ir/fa/content/122143/default.aspx, accessed on March 25, 2018.

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3. “Text of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s Speech,” New York Times, October 30, 2005, https://www.nytimes.com/2005/10/30/weekinreview/textof-mahmoud-ahmadinejads-speech.html, accessed on March 25, 2019. 4. Dale Yoder, “Current Definitions of Revolution,” American Journal of Sociology 32, no. 3 (1926): 433. 5. Ervand Abrahamian, “Khomeini: Fundamentalist or Populist?” New Left Review 186, no. 1 (1991): 102–19. 6. William E.  Connolly, The Terms of Political Discourse (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 231–33. 7. Jay Maggio, “‘Can the Subaltern Be Heard?’: Political Theory, Translation, Representation, and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak,” Alternatives 32, no. 4 (2007): 421. 8. Ania Loomba, Colonialism/Postcolonialism (London: Routledge, 1998), Chapter 1. 9.  J. Moncrieffe, “Labelling, Power and Accountability: How and Why ‘Our’ Categories Matter,” in The Power of Labelling: How People Are Categorized and How It Matters, ed. Joy Moncrieffe and Rosalind Eyben (London: Earth Scan, 2007), 1. 10. Peter Ives,  Language and Hegemony in Gramsci (London: Pluto Press, 2004), Chapter 3. 11. Derek Gregory, The Colonial Present: Afghanistan, Palestine, Iraq (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2004), 1–9. 12. Gyan Prakash, “Postcolonial Criticism and Indian Historiography,” Social Text, nos. 31/32 (1992): 8. 13. Arif Dirlik, “The Postcolonial Aura: Third World Criticism in the Age of Global Capitalism,” Critical Inquiry 20, no. 2 (1994): 329–30. 14. Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Pantheon, 1978). 15. David Fromkin, “The Great Game in Asia,” Foreign Affairs 58, no. 4 (1980): 936–51. 16. Mayereh Tohidi, “Women’s Rights and Feminist Movements in Iran,” SUR— International Journal on Human Rights 24 (2016): 75. 17. Catherine Sameh, “Discourses of Equality, Rights and Islam in the One Million Signatures Campaign in Iran,” International Feminist Journal of Politics 12, nos. 3–4 (2010): 444–63. 18.  Gita Rajan and Radhika Mohanram, eds., Postcolonial Discourse and Changing Cultural Contexts: Theory and Criticism (Westport: Greenwood Publishing Group, 1995), Introduction. 19. Gayatri Spivak, “Can the Subaltern Speak?” in Colonial Discourse and Postcolonial Theories, ed. by Patrick Williams and Laura Chrisman, 2nd edn (New York: Routledge, 2013), 80–82. 20. There are several examples in literature that explore the political implications of labelling. See: André Barrinha, “The Political Importance of

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Labelling: Terrorism and Turkey’s Discourse on the PKK,” Critical Studies on Terrorism 4, no. 2 (2011): 163–80. Also see Hans-Peter Van den Broek, “Labelling and Legitimization: Justifying Political Violence in the Basque Country,” Terrorism and Political Violence 29, no. 1 (2017): 119–36. 21. Kingsley Bolton and Christopher Hutton, “Orientalism, Linguistics and Postcolonial Studies,” Interventions 2, no. 1 (2000): 1–5. 22. Moncrieffe, “Labelling, Power and Accountability: How and Why ‘Our’ Categories Matter,” 7. 23.  Charles W. Mills, “Decolonizing Western Political Philosophy,” New Political Science 37, no. 1 (2015): 1–24. 24. Sarah Marusek,  Faith and Resistance: The Politics of Love and War in Lebanon (London: Pluto Press, 2018), Introduction. 25. Ivi., 35. 26. Rouhollah K. Ramazani, Revolutionary Iran: Challenge and Response in the Middle East (Baltimore: JHU Press, 1988). 27. Michael V. Bhatia, “Fighting Words: Naming Terrorists, Bandits, Rebels and Other Violent Actors,” Third World Quarterly 26, no. 1 (2005): 5–22. 28. Vilho Harle,  The Enemy with a Thousand Faces: The Tradition of the Other in Western Political Thought and History (Westport: Praeger, 2000), Chapter 1. 29. “‫( ”چرا با آمریکا دشمن هستیم؟‬Why Are We Enemy of the United States?), Khamenei.ir,    https://farsi.khamenei.ir/speech-content?id=31307, accessed on October 28, 2020. 30. The term āyatollāh identifies a high-ranking religious figure in Shiʽa Islam. They will have completed religious seminars and possess specific advanced knowledge of Islamic law and religion. Often in Western literature, Shiʽa religious figures are also referred to as clergy because of the existing hierarchical structure. However, the term clergy may be misleading as it comes from Catholicism. 31. A recent speech by the President of the United States, Donald Trump, “Remarks by President Trump on Iran Strategy, October 2017,” The White House, https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefings-statements/remarkspresident-trump-iran-strategy/, accessed on October 26, 2020. 32. Definition of Regime, Britannica, https://www.britannica.com/topic/ regime, accessed on October 28, 2020. 33. Mikael Wigell, “Mapping ‘Hybrid Regimes’: Regime Types and Concepts in Comparative Politics,” Democratisation 15, no. 2 (2008): 232–33. 34. Definition of Regime, Oxford Learners Dictionaries, https://www.oxfordlearnersdictionaries.com/definition/american_english/regime,   accessed on October 28, 2020.

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35. Walter Benjamin, Illuminations: Edited and with an Introduction by Hannah Arendt, trans. by Harry Zohn (New York: Schocken Books, 1968), 71. 36. Fariba Adelkhah, Being Modern in Iran (London: C. Hurst & Co. Ltd, 1998), Introduction.

References “Remarks by President Trump on Iran Strategy, October 2017.” The White House. https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefings-statements/remarks-presidenttrump-iran-strategy/ (accessed October 26, 2020). “Text of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s Speech.” The New York Times. https:// www.nytimes.com/2005/10/30/weekinreview/text-of-mahmoud-ahmadinejads-speech.html (accessed March 25, 2019). “Definition of Regime.” Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/topic/regime (accessed October 28, 2020). “Definition of Regime.” Oxford Learners Dictionaries. https://www.oxfordlearnersdictionaries.com/definition/american_english/regime (accessed October 20, 2020). “‫( چرا با آمریکا دشمن هستیم؟‬Why Are We the Enemy of the United States?).” Khamenei. ir. https://farsi.khamenei.ir/speech-content?id=31307 (accessed October 20, 2020). “‫( دکتر احمدی نژاد در همایش جهان بدون صهیونیسم‬Full Text of Ahmadinejad’s Speech at the World Conference Without Zionism).” Ensānī. http://www.ensani.ir/fa/content/122143/default.aspx (accessed March 25, 2018). Abrahamian, Ervand. “Khomeini: Fundamentalist or Populist?”  New Left Review 186, no. 1 (1991): 102–19. Adelkhah, Fariba. Being Modern in Iran. Columbia University Press, 2000. Barrinha, André. “The Political Importance of Labelling: Terrorism and Turkey’s Discourse on the PKK.” Critical Studies on Terrorism 4, no. 2 (2011): 163–80. Benjamin, Walter. “Illuminations. Edited and with an Introduction by Hannah Arendt.” Translated by Harry Zohn. New York: Schocken Books, 1968. Bhatia, Michael V. “Fighting Words: Naming Terrorists, Bandits, Rebels and Other Violent Actors.” Third World Quarterly 26, no. 1 (2005): 5–22. Bolton, Kingsley and Christopher Hutton. “Orientalism, Linguistics and Postcolonial Studies.” Interventions 2, no. 1 (2000): 1–5. ———. “Orientalism, Linguistics and Postcolonial Studies.” Interventions 2, no. 1 (2000): 1–5. Choueiri, Youssef M. Islamic Fundamentalism. Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1990.

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Connolly, William E. The Terms of Political Discourse. Princeton University Press, 1993. Dirlik, Arif. “The Postcolonial Aura: Third World Criticism in the Age of Global Capitalism.” Critical Inquiry 20, no. 2 (1994): 328–56. Fromkin, David. “The Great Game in Asia.” Foreign Affairs 58, no. 4 (1980): 936–51. Gregory, Derek. The Colonial Present: Afghanistan, Palestine, Iraq. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2004. Harle, Vilho. The Enemy with a Thousand Faces: The Tradition of the Other in Western Political Thought and History. Westport: Praeger, 2000. Ives, Peter. Language and Hegemony in Gramsci. London: Pluto Press, 2004. Loomba, A. Colonialism/Postcolonialism. London: Routledge, 1998. Maggio, Jay. “‘Can the Subaltern Be Heard?’: Political Theory, Translation, Representation, and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak.” Alternatives 32, no. 4 (2007): 419–43. Marusek, Sarah.  Faith and Resistance: The Politics of Love and War in Lebanon. London: Pluto Press, 2018. McElroy, Damein. “Ahmadinejad Sacks Central Bank Governor Who Warned of Inflation.” The Telegraph. https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/ middleeast/iran/3046500/Ahmadinejad-sacks-central-bank-governor-whowarned-of-inflation.html (accessed October 20, 2020). Mills, Charles W. “Decolonizing Western Political Philosophy.” New Political Science 37, no. 1 (2015): 1–24. Moncrieffe, J. “Labelling, Power and Accountability: How and Why ‘Our’ Categories Matter.” In The Power of Labelling: How People are Categorized and How It Matters, edited by J. Moncrieffe and R. Eyben. London: Earth Scan, 2007. Prakash, Gyan. “Postcolonial Criticism and Indian Historiography.”  Social Text 31/32 (1992): 8–19. Rajan, Gita and Radhika Mohanram, eds. Postcolonial Discourse and Changing Cultural Contexts: Theory and Criticism. Westport: Greenwood Publishing Group, 1995. Ramazani, Rouhollah K. Revolutionary Iran: Challenge and Response in the Middle East. Baltimore: JHU Press, 1988. Said, Edward. Orientalism. New York: Pantheon, 1978. Salamey, Imad and Zanoubia Othman. “Shia Revival and Welayat Al-Faqih in the Making of Iranian Foreign Policy.” Politics, Religion & Ideology 12, no. 2 (2011): 197–212. Sameh, Catherine. “Discourses of Equality, Rights and Islam in the One Million Signatures Campaign in Iran.” International Feminist Journal of Politics 12, nos. 3–4 (2010): 444–63.

24  G. PERLETTA Spivak, Gayatri. “Can the Subaltern Speak?” In  Colonial Discourse and Postcolonial Theories, edited by Patrick Williams and Laura Chrisman, 2nd edn, 66. New York: Routledge, 2013. Tait, Robert. “‘Iran Is Our Friend’, Says Turkish PM Recep Tayyip Erdogan.” The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2009/oct/26/turkey-iran1 (accessed October 20, 2020). Tohidi, Mayereh. “Women’s Rights and Feminist Movements in Iran.” SUR— International Journal on Human Rights 24 (2016): 75. Van den Broek, Hans-Peter. “Labelling and Legitimization: Justifying Political Violence in the Basque Country.” Terrorism and Political Violence 29, no. 1 (2017): 119–36. Vick, Karl. “Hard-Line Tehran Mayor Wins Iranian Presidency.” The Washington Post.     https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/politics/2005/06/25/ hard-line-tehran-mayor-wins-iranian-presidency/41be4d24-1042-4d2c-9467deda0abc1167/ (accessed October 20, 2020). Wigell, Mikael. “Mapping ‘Hybrid Regimes’: Regime Types and Concepts in Comparative Politics.” Democratisation 15, no. 2 (2008): 230–50. Yoder, Dale. “Current Definitions of Revolution.”  American Journal of Sociology 32, no. 3 (1926): 433–41.

CHAPTER 2

Deconstructing Labels and Power Distribution in the Islamic Republic

Deconstructing Radicalism One of the most misunderstood and yet abused categories adopted by Western observers to describe certain aspects of Iranian politics is that of radicalism. The difficulty in framing this political concept comes from its ambiguity and changing use in different contexts. In Western literature, the category of political radicalism does not have a homogeneous and shared meaning. The ongoing debate on what is considered as and perceived to be radical reflects the lack of a common understanding about what this category conveys and the wide variety of diverse insights into what is termed “radical politics.” By looking at the historical use of the word radical in the West, one can find out how its meaning and its usage strategically changed over time according to cultural, political, historical and social transformations.1 This indicates that the label radical does not have a univocal definition that has remained valid over time, but that it tends to be shaped according to how, when, and to whom the label is attributed. Consequently, the category of political radicalism may have either a negative or positive connotation depending on the context in which it is applied and how it is constructed within a broader framework. The deconstruction of this category, intended as the act of breaking down this concept in order to understand its meaning, appears vital to discover its significance. Firstly, there is the need to investigate the © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 G. Perletta, Political Radicalism in Iran and Ahmadinejad’s Presidencies, Studies in Iranian Politics, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87330-1_2

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historical and political origin of the category to identify its multiple definitions and related understandings. Secondly, the analysis should focus on the implicit judgements, set of ideas, values and prejudices conveyed by this concept. Since labelling is an act of power, the attribution of the term radical also reveals power relations, and thus how this label can shape policies. The lack of a shared understanding and use of this category limits any crystallization of its significance, which can be extremely diverse across time and in different contexts. It is, therefore, crucial to conceptualize the epistemology of radicalism. Coming from ancient Latin, the term radix, or radicalis (original, primordial), refers in a fairly vague and general sense to a “root,” or something that forms a “root.”2 Since the concept of a root is non-specific and does not delineate a precise frame of reference, the word radical, then, denotes a versatile category that is open to different interpretations, which rely on the specific mindset of the individual. The origin of radicalism, as a political category, also holds different meanings at different stages due to the evolution of political theories, historical events and intellectual discussions. The concept appears in England in the eighteenth century and epitomized a minoritarian parliamentary group demanding reforms vis-à-vis the traditional political setting. Within this context, radicalism implied a tendency to challenge the status quo, that is the established distribution of power, and radicals where those who advocated socio-political transformations. At that very moment, radicals represented an already heterogeneous group, whose proponents had different behaviours, demands and approaches towards the social inequality existing in England towards the end of the eighteenth century.3 They aimed at overcoming political corruption, raising intellectual voices against aristocratic practices and the restrictions of constitutional principles.4 Therefore, some scholars conceived radicalism at that particular time as “a set of ideas and associated organizations which sought to institute a reform of the political system in a democratic direction.”5 From a broader perspective, then, radicals were people opposing the existing status quo, and since the latter may undergo a wide variety of changes, radicalism as a general categorization did not depict a rigid political viewpoint or paradigm, rather its significance was “functional in nature,”6 and alluded to all manner of changes to existing circumstances. For its penchant for changes, the concept of radicalism has often been associated with that of revolution, which indicates par excellence a moment of comprehensive transformation. A revolution is always a

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radical process because it brings about a transformation of the existing socio-political order. However, not all radical changes necessarily lead to a revolution that aims to both abruptly and completely reverse the socio-political system. Fred Halliday defines radical politics as “a revolt against the status quo […] a break with the constraints of the past, the traditional or established society.”7 Likewise, Anthony Giddens highlights the notion of fracture that defines radicalism as a “breaking away from the hold of the past,”8 introducing a further element of complexity, such as the temporary dimension. From this perspective, radicals seek to break with the past in order to open up new possibilities. For Giddens, some radicals are also revolutionaries because a revolution can produce a “sharp separation” between the present and what has happened in the past. Whether it is a break with the present or with the past, or whether it indicates the introduction of gradual reforms, political radicalism characterizes a moment of transition, but not necessarily a revolutionary one. The constitutive element of this category, therefore, is the contestation of the status quo, which points to its progressive tendency. Furthermore, radicalism “means not just bringing about change but controlling such change so as to drive history onwards.”9 These examples indicate that radicalism suggests the rejection of traditionalism, the contestation of the existing political system, and the quest for changes in a future-oriented dimension with a leaning towards novelty. The category itself lacks a precise set of ideas because what is traditional and customary changes depending on the context. Within this framework, the label radical is usually applied to those groups that aim to undermine the established socio-political structure, as argued by Adib-Moghaddam, for whom radicals are “against what is considered to be normal in a given society.”10 Considering its contingent nature, then, political radicalism does not promote a coherent and shared set of universal values, but rather ones that are constantly redefined according to what should be overcome, broken, or challenged. Thus, radicalism cannot be deemed as a political ideology, as the latter implies “a more or less coherent set of ideas that provides the basis for organized political action, whether this is intended to preserve, modify or overthrow the existing system of power.”11 Samuel Huntington argues that most political ideologies create specific guidance on political behaviour that is applied to foreign policy, domestic issues, socio-economic considerations, military decisions and the role of institutions.12 Radicalism is not an ideology per se, but ideologies can be radical when historically contextualized. Occasionally, conservative

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groups are labelled as radicals if they preserve the status quo by exploiting a restrictive adherence to their ideology and, thereby, rejecting reforms.13 In this context, radical is used as an adjective to highlight the elite’s intransigent behaviour, as they are seeking to avoid any changes potentially detrimental to their privileged position. From this viewpoint, radicalism could be linked to concepts like extremism, intolerance and fanatism, making their meanings overlap. During the twentieth century, the category of radicalism ended up identifying socialist ideologies and, also, those who represented or supported an extreme segment of a political party. Especially after the two World Wars, the term has also been negatively associated with the category of extremism, when radicals voiced reactionary views and were possibly prone to the use of violence. As can be seen from this preliminary reflection, the term radicalism refers both to conservatives who are unwilling to implement reforms and to those groups who oppose the status quo. However, it can also refer to specific ideologies, political practices and beliefs that arise from the dichotomous relationship between traditionalism and novelty, or conservativism and reforms. This apparent contradiction exposes the changing nature of the category and, hence, the necessity to deconstruct its variable significances. Another problem in conceptualizing radicalism is its association with fundamentalism, due to the proximity of their respective etymological roots. Fundamentalism is often used to indicate a political posture that aims at recalling the fundamentals, and therefore the radix, and fundamentalist groups adopt more ideologically driven behaviour. For these reasons, Islamic radicalism is often labelled as fundamentalist. The overlap of the two terms, however, causes a misunderstanding of the two categories and their respective political connotations. Moreover, it is important to mention that fundamentalism as a political category also lacks a universalized definition and recognized features.14 Religious groups who are looking to restore their “roots” for political purposes are labelled as fundamentalists or radicals, with no coherent distinction made between the two. This terminological association, however, lacks universality and does not appear satisfactory because it ignores the existence of other radical groups that are in open conflict with the “fundamentals.” They oppose conservatives and traditionalist approaches and are instead driven by the desire to promote an innovative, progressive path by abandoning the past, as argued by Anthony Giddens.15 An example of this mystification comes from the experience of Ruhollah Khomeyni.

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The Iranian āyatollāh developed an innovative hybrid ideology that was first set out in a collection of several lectures named Velāyat-e faqīh: Hokūmat-e Eslāmī (The authority of the jurist: the Islamic government).16 Āyatollāh Khomeyni argued that the most prominent expert of Islamic jurisprudence, such as the mojtahed or faqīh,17 is entitled to guide the Muslim community both spiritually and politically in the absence of the hidden Imām.18 The faqīh was, therefore, in charge of ruling the only possible legitimate government in order to avoid social disparities, political oppression and injustice. This theory overturned centuries of “quietism,” that is to say the decision of Shi’a clerics not to intervene in the political realm. The Velāyat-e faqīh appeared as a radical theory because it stood in sharp contrast with the past and the fundamentals of Shi’a Islam. Khomeyni’s radicalism, in fact, looked proactive, progressive, and represented a profound rupture with other forms of Islamic radicalism that advocated the orthodox adherence to religious roots and traditions. Also, it aimed at renovating the customary role of the mojtahed, which had remained quietist and apolitical for centuries. Therefore, radicalism and fundamentalism do not always converge within the same political category. To fully comprehend the category of radicalism, the position of radicals in a political system should also be examined. Though radicals may aim to challenge or contest the status quo, they are not automatically excluded from the established decision-making processes. Radicals can represent the legitimate opposition or can epitomize a challenge to the incumbent government. Similarly, radicals can also hold important government offices. This is the case in revolutionary states where the radicals who guided the revolution are then charged with defining the new political order. When radicalism becomes institutionalized in a post-revolutionary system, it delineates the foundation of conservatism, renouncing any promises to bring changes and seeking to preserve the status quo. This transformation displays the flexibility of the category and, as such, its unceasing evolution. For this reason, it is vital to contextualize the term and locate political radicals within the structure of relevant institutions of power. Additionally, in any given situation, radicals are politically oriented, but radicalism itself does not embody a fixed political position or ideology. The association of radicalism with a political belief occurs only within a specific political dimension and, thus, can change in line with historical transformations. Sometimes associated with progressive attitudes or, conversely, with reactionary and fundamentalist approaches,

30  G. PERLETTA

the category of radicalism can embody different and often contradictory features. Investigating the historical, social and political environment is needed to better frame and contextualize what radicalism means and suggests. Persian labels reflect different understandings of political categories compared to those used in Western debates, and thus follow alternative interpretations of political phenomena. Adopting the lens of radicalism to look at Iranian contemporary politics overlooks the ways in which Iranian politicians refer to each other and interpret political trajectories. Therefore, the current Iranian debate should be examined to acknowledge what the existing categories are, how they are used, and ultimately to understand what they mean and suggest. In the Iranian political debate, radicalism is an existing category that is articulated through several labels. Persian words used to identify radical politics are rādīkāl, tond-ro, and eftātī. While the first is imported from Western political language, the other two terms have their origins in Persian and Arabic. As a common element, they all evoke negative meanings. Rādīkāl is generally used less frequently when compared with the other two, perhaps due to its exogenous origins. The conservative press, and mainly the one associated with the traditional clergy and the Supreme Leader, labels Iran’s enemies as rādīkāl. The United States, the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the State of Israel are defined as rādīkāl because of their antagonism towards Tehran. In several articles appearing in Kayhān, Javān, Resālat and Vatan-e Emrūz, there is a consistency in the use of rādīkāl in this sense. The Saudi Kingdom is considered rādīkāl due to its various actions in curbing Iran’s regional sphere of influence and for promoting Salafi and Wahabi ideologies.19 These ideas, which have emerged from a fundamentalist Sunni approach, are labelled as rādīkāl to underline their negative and assertive stances from the Iranian perspective. In this case, rādīkāl is associated with the concept of fundamentalism, extremism and fanatism, and evokes a behaviour that must be contested. On the institutional website dedicated to āyatollāh Khomeyni, the meaning of Islamic bonyādgarā (fundamentalism) is explored as opposed to rādīkāl Islamism. Fundamentalism expresses the Protestant tendency of Christianity to adopt a rigid interpretation of sacred texts and dogmas. There are similar tendencies in Islam as well and they advocate a rigid reading of the Quran. These tendencies are referred to as bonyādgarā eslāmī, whereas rādīkāl Islam is defined as a step towards changes and to the implementation of reforms in the economy, in politics, and in society. According to this perspective,

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āyatollāh Khomeyni was not a fundamentalist but a rādīkāl because he brought new interpretations and innovations in philosophical thought to implement changes, and hence to realize a modern and independent political system. Islamic radicalism, therefore, is associated with the notion of eslāh (reforms) as it does not restore “roots” but uses modern reasoning to advocate changes.20 This reading evokes a positive connotation of the term rādīkāl, even though this is not the most widespread and commonly used one. When linked to Sunni ideologies, rādīkāl suggests extremism, irrationality and fanatism; however, in opposition to the category of fundamentalism, the same word communicates a revolutionary and reformist stance that advocates improvements for the community. In contradiction with these readings, the West refers to Khomeyni as both a fundamentalist and a radical, evidencing the lack of any proper deconstruction of these labels and fostering a misconception of his ideology. Within an accusatory framework, the conservative politicians who gathered within the Jāmeʽe-ye Rūhānīyat-e Mobārez (Society of the Combatant Clergy, also known as the JRM. From now also simply Rūhānīyat) used to label the Islamic Left (Chap-e eslāmī) as Chap-e rādīkāl.21 The Islamic Left was an essential part of the revolutionary movement but has been marginalized since the early 1990s by their political counterparts. Conservatives challenged the Islamic Left’s ideological attitudes, such as their aggressive foreign politics and advocacy for state control over the economy, within a framework of political competition.22 Rādīkāl itself did not represent a specific political tendency but was used in the political dialectics to diminish the reputation of the opposition. As such, the conservative front labelled the Islamic Left as Chap-e rādīkāl in an attempt to discredit their actions, rather than to express any judgement on their actual politics. Therefore, the use of this label represents a form of antagonism and a tool for discrediting political groups. This rhetorical strategy highlights all the existing frictions and divisions among the Hezb-e Jomhūrī-ye Eslāmī (Islamic Republican Party, IRP) the only legitimate party in post-revolutionary Iran.23 Another word used in the current Iranian debate is that of tond-ro. It literally means something or someone that moves fast. When it is used for political figures or groups it generally has a negative connotation, suggesting someone with an extremist disposition or who adopts exaggerated behaviours. In most of the current newspapers, the label tond-ro is used by both the osūlgarāyān, the so-called principalists,24 and

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the eslāhtalābān, the reformists.25 This ambivalence shows that the term itself does not hint at any specific political position nor does it represent a specific political group. Rather it characterizes political behaviour and can be used by different sides. When it is employed in a political dispute, tond-ro emphasizes the lack of moderation and hence is used by any political group wishing to blame the opposing faction.26 When Ahmadinejad rose to power (2005–2013), many traditional conservatives distrusted the President due to his vehement rhetoric and dubious political aptitude. He was defined as tond-ro to question his political (in)experience and cast suspicions on his “excessive” behaviour. On the other side, reformists labelled the conservatives who supported Ahmadinejad as osūlgarāyān-e tond-ro (radical conservatives). In this case, the specification of tond-ro served to distinguish the group from the osūlgarāyān-e sonnatī (traditional conservatives). The osūlgarāyān-e tond-ro represented the second generation of conservatives, technocrats with military backgrounds who rose to power from the early 2000s. The traditional conservatives, instead, represented mainly the “old guard,” the first generation of revolutionaries who moved towards pragmatism to preserve the status quo. Traditional conservatives resisted Ahmadinejad’s militant attitude by distancing themselves from his political agenda.27 As explained here, both conservatives and reformists used the label tond-ro to challenge Ahmadinejad and discredit his actions. Tond-ro and rādīkāl are both ascribed to political postures that contradict what is perceived and defined as politically “tolerable” in a given moment.28 Therefore, the meanings of both labels depend on the context in which they are used. Islamic leftists can also be referred to as tond-ro, such as Said Hajariyan, for their sharp and determined challenge to the conservative establishment. Lastly, the word efrātī always has a negative meaning and is commonly translated as an extremist political stance. The conservative front labels the reformists as eslāhtalābān-e efrātī (radical reformists),29 not to specify a clear judgement on their political agenda, but instead to criticize their approach. The conservative newspaper Kayhān labels the United States and European right-wing parties as efrātī30 to emphasize their extremist attitude. The word is also often associated with terrorist groups and jihadi movements, such as al Qāʽida or the self-proclaimed Islamic State, because they pose a major threat to international security and to the Islamic Republic itself.31 In this regard, the term efrātī implies extremism, a contestable and harmful political position that must be

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rejected and opposed. The way in which this label is used reveals extremism to be a component of political radicalism, but mainly demonstrates how it serves to generally discredit other political factions rather than identify any defined political agenda. The category of political radicalism in Iran is confined within the dialectic between factions, but it lacks the theoretical depth that has emerged from the European debate since the eighteenth century. The terms alluding to this category are used to weaken opponents by underlining their unreliable and potentially suspect political character, but they do not indicate any precise political preferences, nor a propensity for reform, nor the will to break with the past. Rādīkāl, tond-ro, and eftātī are not labels that identify a specific political faction, unlike Western readings that use the term radical to refer to a specific group in a precise historical framework. Moreover, these terms are significantly relative, so they are used in different ways depending on the political circumstances, the interlocutors, and the group being challenged. When looking at Iran, the Western view labels conservative groups as radicals, and radicalism is used to frame their political posture, ideology and rhetorical means. As a result, the West identifies Ahmadinejad as a radical for his belligerent rhetoric, which recalled revolutionary radicalism, but within the Islamic Republic no such identification is present. None of these words is systematically used to identify the former President of the Republic on a domestic level, but they have been employed to discredit his figure within a framework of political competition.

The “Dual State”: How Power Relations Shape the Islamic Republic The revolution of 1979 spread a new political language and a new socio-political awareness, although the notion of an Islamic state was still an unclear concept. The āyatollāh Ruhollah Khomeyni was not the first to advocate an Islamic government, even though it was his prominent charisma that managed to steer existing Iranian discontent in that general direction.32 Since the 1940s, the revivalist movement of the Fadāʾyān-e Eslām (Devotees of Islam) had been seeking an Islamic government through martyrdom, the fight against oppressors, and liberation from unjust rulers.33 The group led by Navab Safavi, a figure who has been largely ignored in Western literature, sought changes in customs

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and social practices, more so than in political institutions. Safavi promoted changes in the schooling system, the eradication of non-Islamic culture, the prohibition of alcoholic beverages, the repression of music, gender separation, the mandatory veil and the primacy of Islamic law in the civil courts. The Fadāʾyān-e Eslām advocated an Islamic social order,34 but the monarchy itself was not challenged as a political system. The religious tones and arguments of this first militant group came back into vogue in the revolution of 1979, in a political and historical context where the Iranian clergy had already stepped into the political debate. The book Velāyat-e faqīh: Hokūmat-e Eslāmī, which gathers together Khomeyni’s lectures, opens with some considerations. Seven years before the revolution, Khomeyni did not refer to a jomhūr (republic) but used the more general term hokūmat (government). The theorization of a republican system was still absent and, initially, the monarchy was not questioned as a political structure. A second consideration is the reference to the faqīh, the highest expert of Islamic jurisprudence, who was empowered with an unprecedented role. The doctrine of the Velāyat-e faqīh marked the transition from a merely transcendent and divine faith to a rational and concrete religiosity, which responded to the desire of justice for the masses. As the highest spiritual authority in the Muslim community is also responsible for administering political affairs, religion pervades the institutional aspects of daily politics and involves itself with political matters. If this view appeared acceptable and appealing in theory, it would still take some time for such a republican form of state to crystallize. Since 1977, heterogeneous popular unrest had spread throughout all the big Iranian cities. Protests by different voices and social classes, mainly university students, urban poor and merchants, demonstrated the gradual but effective loss of legitimacy of the monarchy. In a conference held at the University of St. Andrews in 2019, Ervand Abrahamian stated that the lack of legitimacy of the Pahlavi dynasty paved the way for a complete overthrow of the political setting, but importantly not its authoritarian rule. The quest for reform and the frustrations felt by different segments of society turned into a desire for radical changes. The 1979 revolution marked the transition from a long-standing political system, which had endured for 2500 years, to the rather unclear prospect of an Islamic government, where power relations and institution building had to be done from scratch. Though certain scholars have identified economic concerns as the main driver behind the revolution while others have highlighted cultural-religious factors,35

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there is a general agreement that the Iranian revolution signalled the transition from traditionalism to modernity, as it overturned the archaic structures of power and opened up a path towards a new political order.36 However, in practice, it was not clear from the outset how best to build an Islamic Republic, nor how to accommodate Islam within a modern form of state. With the fall of the last shāh, the revolutionary movement had to consolidate power and avoid possible external infiltrations in support of loyalist forces. Āyatollāh Khomeyni returned to Tehran in February 1979 and in a few months managed to divert the expectations of various political groups towards the creation of an Islamic Republic, effectively side-lining those who were hostile to this project. It took a year to define the new political order and initiate the process of institution building. The Islamic Republic of Iran was formed after a popular referendum held in March 1979, during a particularly contentious period. Within its very name it showed its exclusive character, that is the primacy of religious populist ideology poorly combined with the secular and liberal ambitions of other groups that had participated in the revolution. It was soon clear that the pluralism that had characterized the revolution, and guaranteed its success, would not be replicated in the Islamic Republic itself. The predominance of the Rūhānīyat also derived from the division among leftist groups, which lacked charismatic figures. The JRM was founded in 1977 and gathered politicized clerics who followed Khomeyni’s doctrine. Prominent members of this group would hold important executive positions in the newly born Republic. Even though leftist groups were in lack of leaders, their ideas continued to influence the post-revolutionary narrative and in particular all references to social empowerment, ʽedālat-e ejtemāʽi (social justice), anti-imperialism and Third Worldism. These slogans had already been revised in accordance with religious discourse, and left-wing themes of social emancipation were recast within a religious perspective.37 In this regard, Ali Mirsepassi has argued that, after the revolution, radical Islamists borrowed from the ideological register of leftist populism and, thanks to this, they acquired more cohesion and a sense of pragmatism to take leadership of the country.38 In February 1979, Khomeyni established the provisional government, including liberal figures who were closer to the position of the former Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadeq. The government was, however, supervised by the Shūrā-ye Enqelāb-e Eslāmī (Council of the Islamic Revolution), which included religious radicals and Islamists.

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Mehdi Bazargan was appointed as Prime Minister (February 4, 1979– November 1979), and supported by Deputy Ebrahim Yazdi, later also Minister of Foreign Affairs. He was the director of the National Iranian Oil Company and co-founder of the Nahzat-e Āzādī-e Īrān (Freedom Movement of Iran). Alongside liberal and secular forces within the provisional government, Bazargan criticized the invasive role of the clergy and, initially, advocated the creation of a Democratic Islamic Republic. In a famous discourse, Khomeyni declared that the masses had expressed their will for an Islamic Republic and not for a Democratic Republic: “Those who speak from behind the curtains of a Democratic Islamic Republic fear Islam. They are selfish and worried that Islam may be an obstacle to achieving their political interests.”39 In this speech, Khomeyni uses the term enherāfī (deviants) in relation to those who could have endangered the survival of Islam within the Republic and diminished its ideological foundation. The term deviant implied an anti-status quo tendency and would be used again in the future to highlight domestic forces that attempted to challenge the Republic’s foundations. These divergent positions, one moderate and liberal, the other religious and more ideologically oriented, underlined the fracture among the post-revolutionary elite and the struggle in terms of institution building. Moreover, the disparity between the official government and the unofficial power exercised by the Komītehā-ye Enqelāb-e Eslāmī (Islamic Revolution Committees, from now simply komīteh) widened, resulting in a supremacy of the latter. The komīteh had been set up quickly and was responsible for monitoring the observance of Islamic codes and behaviour in society and fighting any resistance to the Republic. They managed to strengthen their role within the public sphere, acting undisturbed and thus exercising de facto power.40 The clergy, which had initially not taken up any relevant position in the provisional government, gradually gained power thanks to the komīteh, which, by moving through unofficial channels, limited the authority of the provisional government. In these months, while the Islamic Republic was undergoing the early phases of trying to define itself, internal ­tensions erupted and revealed the conflicting pluralism among the political elite. Āyatollāh Mohammad Beheshti, Hashemi Rafsanjani, ʽAli Khamenei,  Javad Bahonar and ʽAli Musavi Ardabili founded the only legal party in the Republic, which was the IRP, to coordinate the definition of the new state and support the komīteh. Though the clergy seemed a homogeneous political body, the IRP contained figures with different and

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sometimes conflicting views on social policies, economic agenda and foreign relations. These differences were effectively kept in check under the charismatic leadership of Ruhollah Khomeyni. However, a decade later, and after Khomeyni’s death, the IRP split into two major groups that would be commonly referred to as rāst (right) and chap (left). The pluralism of the revolution persisted throughout the period of institution building and erupted during the process of formulating the constitution. At first, the provisional government and ministers close to Bazargan oversaw the drafting of the constitution. The first draft appeared highly democratic and modern, did not include the Velāyat-e faqīh, and recalled some of the pillars of the 1906 constitution, such as the existence of a body in charge of controlling the compliance of the legislative process with Islam. The republican model was taken from the French Fifth Republic, which assigned executive power to the President of the Republic. However, since the moderates and leftists asked for a further debate on the text, an assembly composed of 73 elected members was formed to revise the constitution.41 The Majles-e Khobregān-e Rahbarī (Assembly of the Experts of the Leadership, from now simply the Assembly of Experts), included 56 clerics close to Khomeyni who unsurprisingly imposed a strong religious slant on the constitutional text. From this moment onwards, Islamists began the rhetoric of fighting un-Islamic components present within the socio-political sphere and accused liberals and moderates of downsizing the power of the clergy within the Islamic government. It was not only liberals and secular groups that opposed the ongoing political project, but also the traditionalist clergy, which complained about the increasing interference of religion in politics. In a public speech held in the city of Qom on October 22, 1979, Khomeyni urged the people to “wake up,” not to let themselves be contaminated by those who “monharef mikonand” (are deviating) and claim to “rule with a pen,” imposing themselves on what “the majority of the population has chosen.”42 The invective of the āyatollāh was clearly directed at internal groups that aimed to reduce the political role of the clergy. Khomeyni appealed to the masses with a populist ideology and any attempt at deviancy was declared a betrayal of the people and a form of oppression. This offers some insight into the existing competition among the political forces in these early stages of the formation of the Republic. Eventually, the constitution was ratified in November 1979 and the doctrine of the Velāyat-e faqīh was inserted into the text owing to the pressure of religious radicals and the komīteh.

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This decision was met with opposition by the traditionalist clergy, which feared for the limitation of popular sovereignty and the excessive interference of religion in political affairs.43 This quietist stance was advocated mainly by the prominent āyatollāhs Seyyed Kazem Shariʽatmadari, Seyyed Abdulqassem Khoi, Hassan Tabatabai Qomi and ʽAli Al Sistani. The institution building was a long process of adjustment, redefinition and struggle among the revolutionary elite. The Islamic Republic was the culmination of an extensive process of consolidation of the religious radicals at the expense of secular and liberal forces, who were not necessarily unreligious but promoted a less intrusive role for clerics. The institutional structure is commonly named as nezām. The Republic was set up as a “representative theocracy,” a system that integrates two sources of authority: the divine and the popular, alongside a complex scheme of institutions and centres of power. The divine authority is epitomized by the Supreme Leader, whose legitimacy descends from God and is exempt from people’s inconstant opinion, whereas the popular representation resides in the President of the Republic, whose legitimacy stems from the people’s participation in the electoral process. Khomeyni assumed the position of rahbar, becoming the first faqīh in charge of the highest political and religious authority in the country. The rahbar was supposed to be a Marjaʽ-e taqlīd44 (source of emulation), responsible for defending the interests of Islam, mediating between the powers, controlling and mobilizing the armed forces, but also meant to elect the head of the military forces and the judiciary, elect judges of smaller courts and the six religious members of the Shūrā-ye Negahbān (Guardian Council), and control state radio and television broadcasts. The army and the judiciary were, therefore, not independent bodies but subject to the Supreme Leader’s authority. Khomeyni was able to gather a broad consensus among the revolutionary clergy and, at the same time, the faqīh acquired a significant and unquestionable power that could have reduced pluralism and popular representation. The actual undisputed power attributes of the Supreme Leader increased criticism towards the politicized āyatollāhs. In Iran, the clergy had a long history of autonomy while still being interrelated with the political authorities.45 The separation between religion and politics was guaranteed for centuries due to the legislative and economic autonomy of the clergy. Clerics interpreted Islamic law, owned lands and collected the religious taxes of zakāt and khoms, thereby enjoying autonomy from political power. Its spiritual authority, separated from any political one, was what allowed

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the clergy to act as a defender of the people from injustice and abuse by the monarchs. Also, this was what made the ulamā able to channel popular dissent, as had emerged at the end of the nineteenth century.46 After 1979, the politicization of Islam and the political role of the faqīh in the decision-making process did not pave the way for the Islamization of the political sphere, but rather the “secularization” of religion.47 The ulamā started to be involved in non-religious affairs, administrative and economical decisions, and therefore gradually lost their mere spiritual authority. Consequently, this unprecedented role of the clergy, which was now involved in material and earthly matters, caused the weakening of its traditional independence from politics, and as a result its political management could attract criticism from the population.48 The peculiarity of the Iranian post-revolutionary system consisted of its plural and multicentred political landscape. Due to its institutional structure, the Islamic Republic is defined as a “dual state,” a hybrid system in which two authorities are coexisting, although rarely in harmony.49 As anticipated, the Supreme Leader holds the final say on several matters, but this does not reduce the validity of the other “centres of power.” The President of the Republic oversees the executive power and is elected by the people every four years. These elections do not coincide with the renewal of the members of Majles-e Shūrā-ye Eslāmī (Islamic Consultative Assembly. From now simply parliament or majles), thus ensuring that the relationship between the two powers is not always harmonious. The division of the three branches of power, executive, legislative and judicial, frames only a part of the complex Iranian political system. There are formal and informal power structures, religious supervisory bodies, rivalries between factions and individuals, patronage and family networks that directly or indirectly influence political decisions. Additionally, elected (and unelected) institutions, like the judiciary, contribute to increasing political deadlock due to the overlaps in their duties and activities. Initially, the system was designed according to a logic of weights and counterweights to avoid one force or institution prevailing over the others. The decentralization sought by āyatollāh Khomeyni was to prevent individual groups from taking over the whole system. However, these institutional divisions caused what Mehran Kamrava has called “suspended equilibrium,”50 meaning the stagnation of the decision-making process due to the continuous antagonism between the main political institutions. According to Kamrava, this apparent “balance” reveals the inefficiency of the Iranian system to fully

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harmonize different political tendencies and solve the struggle between the political elites. It is equally true that temporary phases of political paralysis are the lifeblood for the survival of the nezām, which tends to preserve itself through this overlapping and interconnected arrangement. Moreover, the competition between different centres of power creates an “institutionally balkanized” state, where no institution can operate autonomously but is influenced by others. Khomeyni’s proverbial charisma served to limit abuses of power as he could supervise the Islamic Republican Party and control the centrifugal forces within the nezām. However, on his death, the potentially authoritarian nature of the system and the ability of specific institutional bodies to interfere directly in domestic policies emerged, creating asymmetric structures of power often unbalanced in favour of non-elective institutions. The structure of the Islamic Republic presents significant forms of decentralization in which informal and unofficial networks ensure privileges.51 Informal power structures refer to people’s interactions, personal ties and alliances between important personalities and key players at an institutional level. They are considered a form of “state within the state” because they penetrate the social, economic and political life of the country, but move behind the scenes. These parallel networks are formed thanks to people’s associations and links, such as family ties, religious affiliations, tribal lineages, education levels, proximities to specific political groups, and connections to and membership of the military apparatus. As such, there are several channels through which individuals who share similar interests can be brought together to advance a particular cause. Because of the significant impact of these informal networks, the decision-making process does not remain solely the prerogative of official institutions but is rather the result of their continuous interaction with more informal channels of powers. The political dialectic, therefore, encompasses different actors and interests, and as such sometimes follows divergent trajectories. One powerful unofficial network of power is that of the bonyād (semi-state religious foundations), whose economic assets affect the domestic economy and limit the transparency of political processes. Religious foundations benefit from access to subsidies and state funds as well as exemption from taxes. Moreover, their assets are not public, nor subjected to the control of the executive. For these reasons, the bonyād are considered among the most controversial entities of the informal power networks and are often accused of corruption and patronage. After the revolution, the properties of the religious

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foundations increased thanks to the nationalization of the monarchy’s assets, which enabled them to conduct commercial activities and industrial production, and implement religious propaganda, all while maintaining their charitable mission. The Bonyād-e Jānbāzān va mostazaʽfān (Foundation for the disabled and oppressed) owned over twenty billion US dollars’ worth of assets between industries, mines and construction companies at the end of the 1980s.52 The Bonyād-e Shahīd (Foundation of the martyr) was established to take care of the Iran-Iraq War veterans and their related families; the Bonyād-e Āstān-e Qods-e Razavī, simply referred to as the Imām Reza Foundation, is connected to the Imām Reza Shrine in Mashhad, and thus obtains income from pilgrims and controls large areas of land in Khorasan province.53 This foundation has been under the supervision of ʽAbbas Vaʽez Tabasi, whose daughter is married to Khamenei’s son, Seyyed Hassan. In 2016, the chairman became Ebrahim Raʾisi, who after running for the 2017 presidential election had been appointed head of the judiciary, and in June 2021 has been elected President of the Iranian Republic. Raʾisi is an important figure in contemporary Iran due to his proximity to the Supreme Leader ʽAli Khamenei. Another relevant aspect in shaping Iranian domestic politics is the personalization of power that reflects the ability of prominent personalities to influence the political system thanks to their proximity to the Supreme Leader and/or accessibility to state resources. The Persian word khodī can be translated as “insider” since it indicates the post-revolutionary elite who follow and embrace the ideological foundations of the Republic. Belonging to the khodī is to be part of a wider circle of interconnected personalities who all claim political legitimacy. In this regard, family ties are important and define a further level of informal power in the political realm. The Persian word āqāzādegān (sons of the elite) is often used in a negative sense to underline those people who abuse power because of their family connections. Family loyalty and solidarity are transformed into economic and political privileges and special treatments that, inevitably, allow for interference with the decision-making process. Indeed, family ties play a crucial role in ensuring that specific groups maintain pivotal positions in the nezām.54 Influential families expand their control throughout the economic, religious and political spheres by means of mutual support and assistance. Therefore, instead of being uniformly distributed, power tends to grow around ­influential and dominant groups, whether families or institutional networks, and it

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is strengthened through personal patronage and even marriages. Among the most significant examples of these “dynasties in power” are the Larijani, Rafsanjani, and Khamenei families. They have all demonstrated a skillful pragmatism in being able to remain at the apex of several branches of power, like the Larijani who have headed the legislative and the judiciary for decades, despite political frictions and internal changes. Considering the coexistence and overlapping of institutions, the struggle between key figures and their respective strategic alignments, the influence of large families in the constitutional bodies, what emerges from the nezām is a major lack of transparency within political processes. Without official political parties, as will be observed in the next section, politicians band together in occasional and temporary strategic alignments. This dynamic has facilitated the fluidity of alliances, as well as their rapid creation and dissolution, but has also made it extremely complex to predict domestic trends and oversee political dynamics and formal relations of power. As a result, oversimplifications from external viewers may ignore the particularities of the power relations that exist within the nezām.

Post-Revolutionary Factionalism Beyond Dichotomies and Labels A close examination of Iranian factionalism offers an insightful overview of the different, competitive, and changing perspectives of the post-revolutionary elite. Indeed, it is a fascinating topic that has been extensively studied.55 Far from being a homogeneous group willing to enforce the same interpretation of revolutionary values, Iranian politicians have not only developed new ideas based on political interests and internal socio-economic changes but have also renewed revolutionary thinking without ever formally rejecting it. In the early 1980s, radicalism was institutionalized, and while this reduced its propensity for change, it turned it into a system of ideas in order to preserve the status quo. Religious radicalism would guarantee the survival of the nezām, and so its institutionalization provided the political and ideological grounds to maintain the existing political order. Radicals became conservative and their doctrine crystallized in accordance with the political schemes and power relations established with the constitution of 1979. Furthermore,

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there were three major events that contributed to the political consolidation of religious radicalism: the takeover of the US embassy in November 1979 by the Dāneshjūyān-e Mosalmān-e Peyru-e Khat-e Imām (Muslim students who follow the way of Imām. From now simply “followers of the Imām”),56 and the subsequent hostage crisis57; the invasion of Iraqi troops in September 1980; and the so-called Cultural Revolution. Through the takeover of the embassy, the liberal forces within the provisional government were made uncomfortably aware of their limited power, while religious radicals were able to occupy the main sectors and key institutions of the nezām.58 The hostage crisis laid bare the profound divisions among the post-revolutionary elite and, above all, inside the Islamist group. The spiritual leader of the young militant students was āyatollāh Seyyed Mohammad Musavi Khoʾeiniha, a key leading figure for the Islamic Left. It seems likely that Khoʾeiniha encouraged the seizure of the embassy without consulting Khomeyni. In those chaotic days, Mehdi Bazargan resigned because of the failure of moderate figures in resolving the diplomatic crisis, while the Islamists praised the event as a “second revolution” and a fight against world injustice.59 Some months later, the Iraqi troops invaded the south-western province of Khuzestan in a bid to redefine current territorial borders and to attack the Islamic Republic at a time of apparent vulnerability. However, the Iranian establishment managed to counter this by transforming wider perceptions of national and military defence into a fight against oppression, a protection of sacred territories and a religious duty of citizens. The sacrifice of military and paramilitary volunteers, who rushed to the front in 1980, had been both encouraged and glorified as a struggle of oppressed Muslims against injustice. Moreover, the nationalist rhetoric was peppered with religious references. Defending the Iranian territory was a religious duty and, thus, the “sacred defence” became a pillar of contemporary Iranian militarism and nationalism.60 The Iran–Iraq War instilled political solidarity and provided a rhetorical tool to allow Islamists to crackdown on Marxist, liberal and secular groups, dragging the domestic sphere into a violent struggle for power. Religious foundations for the families of war martyrs and veterans acquired significant economic and political power, which contributed to the institutionalization of religious radicalism. Lastly, the Enqelāb-e farhangī (Cultural Revolution) was launched in the early 1980s in order to Islamize the schooling system, academic courses, and university campuses.61 Universities remained closed for three years during which the Markaz-e Nāser-e Dāneshgāhī (the

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University Publication Centre) drafted new curricula and amended all academic texts to discard any cultural contamination from the West— that is everything included in the notion of Al Ahmad’s Gharbzadegī (westoxification).62 The control over university campuses was entrusted to a group of young Islamists charged with monitoring the observance of Islamic principles, spreading Islamist propaganda, and eradicating student opposition groups. The Daftar-e Tahkīm-e Vahdat-e Hozeh va Dāneshgāh (Office for Strengthening of Unity Between Universities and Theological Seminaries. From now simply DTV) was established in 1979 by āyatollāh Mohammad Beheshti, a prominent revolutionary cleric who was among the founding members of the IRP and had headed up the judiciary until his assassination in 1981. The DTV managed to transform universities from a place of dissent into a pro-system space where student activism backed the survival of the newly established Republic.63 Moreover, to consolidate power within the Republic, Islamists implemented reforms on several aspects of the social, legal and economic spheres, in line with ideological principles and political imperatives. The state expanded its control over the economy, banks and industry, launching a programme of mass nationalization.64 Transformations also occurred in relation to dress codes, and the compulsory veil for women was introduced. This resolution reflected more a political purpose rather than a religious constraint, as the Islamists were seeking to reinforce their control over both society and the political realm.65 The state control over the economy reflected the ideological driver of self-sufficiency. Foreign politics remained ideologically oriented and verbally aggressive towards neighbouring countries, mainly to strengthen legitimacy inside Iran and bolster the external posture of the Republic to deter military threats. Once radicalism had been institutionalized and the new political order established, the Iranian elite started competing and disagreeing on several aspects of political and social life. Having defined how the constitutional system should work, and establishing power relations across both formal and informal channels, several groups began to compete for political dominance. These factions argued over different ways to implement revolutionary values, which remained a key topic of debate on a rhetorical level when it came to defining the boundaries of the political system. Iranian pluralism, therefore, seemed to reflect an ongoing revolution, and as a result the Islamic Republic has been depicted as a revolutionary state. This is because, as in other revolutions, the phase of radicalism was followed by a phase of

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moderation.66 However, the Islamic Republic was no longer looking to define itself but rather its factions, who were still competing for power, and could only hope to attain such power through revolutionary paradigms. Moreover, the complex structure of the nezām allows for a certain degree of pluralism, and the constitutional pillar of the maslahat (translated as expediency or interest) ensures that political rivalries exist. Factional divisions emerged over foreign policy, economic plans and social agenda, the use of violence, the role of religion in individual life and general state interference in people’s lives. Soon after the death of āyatollāh Khomeyni and the succession of the Supreme Leader, Iranian domestic politics underwent a phase of redefinition that shed light on these internal divisions, contrasting views and interpretations of the post-revolution setting. Despite the pillars and foundations of the Republic have never been challenged, several groups reconsidered the implementation of revolutionary ideology in light of generational changes, economic urgencies and new needs that had arisen at domestic level. In the 1980s, with the aim of consolidating the Republic, Islamists adopted a more ideological approach, while in the 1990s the country demanded other economic and political needs, like the reconstruction of its industries and infrastructure after the Iran– Iraq War. The Iranian population grew from 38 million up to 57 million in the first decade after the revolution, representing a growth rate of 4.2%.67 The narrative during the war had promoted population growth as a “religious duty,” and key players in the nezām adopted a pronatalist approach. Family planning was reintroduced to support births and the government helped families with subsidies.68 The widespread supply of goods and services, the expansion of healthcare and access to secondary education, the welfare system, and the granting of subsidies had all certainly been driving forces for demographic expansion. However, these pro-people measures proved to be both counterproductive and unsustainable. The demographic boom ultimately provoked shortfalls in the provision of subsidies on basic goods, financial aid to low-income families, scholarships for students, and interest-free loans for housing.69 Religious foundations were also in charge of these donations and, being semistate organizations, their active role overlapped with the state’s expansion. The growing population demanded services, jobs, opportunities and equal distribution of wealth, rather than a general focus on poverty reduction, which had been a cornerstone of the official narrative at the end of the 1970s. In order to respond to these needs, certain parts of

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the establishment favoured a pragmatic approach. Pragmatism and more moderate attitudes replaced the revolutionary principles and ideological imperatives that had caused Iranian isolation on the international stage, as well as the demonization of the Iranian system by other neighbouring countries in the region. Under these new generational, political and social circumstances, and with the death of Khomeyni, the IRP was eventually dismantled due to relentless internal disagreements. The first signs of deepening Iranian factionalism came to the fore with the division of the IRP in 1988, which paved the way for the rise of two contentious factions: the Rūhānīyat and the Majmaʽ-e Rūhānīyūn-e Mobārez (Combatant Clerics Association, MRM. From now simply Rūhānīyūn). As highlighted previously, the JRM was founded in 1977 by clerics who were hostile to the Pahlavi monarchy, like Mohammad Beheshti, Javad Bahonar, Morteza Motahari, ʽAli Khamenei, and Hashemi Rafsanjani, later members of the IRP. This group included the revolutionary clerics, those embedding the “conservative” front, the rāst-e sonnatī (traditional right), and the associations of the bāzārī (merchants), which had earlier banded together within the Moʾtalefeh-ye Eslāmī (Islamic coalition). The JRM was the voice of the merchants, traditional classes and prominent āyatollāhs, and thus was supported by pivotal institutions like the judiciary, the religious foundations, and parts of the military apparatus. It promoted private property, social restrictions and a moderate but prudent stance on foreign policy. For instance, it opposed reconciliation with the United States. Referring to “conservative clergy” is potentially misleading because they consisted of the “old guards of revolutionaries,” clerics who entered politics and rejected traditional quietism. They should not be confused with the traditional apolitical Shi’a clergy, which adopted a conservative attitude in relation to Shi’a doctrine. The term conservative here indicates the attempt to preserve the status quo and specific power relations. The schismatic core of the JRM formed the Rūhānīyūn, which was led by the hojjatoleslām Mehdi Karubi. This group represented the so-called Islamic Left. They advocated state control over the economy, the abolishment of private properties, and aggressive foreign politics in favour of “exporting the revolution,” social justice and welfare. The Islamic Left held the majority in parliament from 1980 to 1993 before it was ousted by the traditional right. In those years, another group close to the Islamic Left came to light under the leadership of Behzad Nabavi: the Sāzmān-e Mojāhedīn-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī-e Īrān (Organization of the Fighters of

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the Iranian Islamic Revolution). Both the Mojāhedīn-e Enqelāb (not to be confused with the Sāzmān-e Mojāhedīn-e Khalq, People’s Mojāhedīn Organization, MEK) and the MJM declared to be “followers” of Khomeyni, while, at the same time, demonstrating the pluralism that existed within each faction. These two fronts have also been identified with labels such as rāst and chap, terms borrowed from Western political language, but which present significant ideological differences. In Iran, the traditional right advocates for the needs of the poor and subaltern groups, those who they could rely upon to grant their political support in return. The Iranian right is close to the religious caritative foundations and certain paramilitary groups, who are committed to providing welfare services in poor neighbourhoods and, thereby, serving to strengthen the social contract with low-income households and the urban poor.70 The Islamic Left, instead, received support from student associations and positioned themselves in support of the urban middle classes. Today, these labels are no longer used and may have lost their original meanings. From the early 1990s, the Islamic Left was marginalized because new economic demands required a different political agenda. The reconstruction of industry, infrastructure and the national economy could only be achieved through a more pragmatic approach and by eliminating the revolutionary excesses of the 1980s. Additionally, the Islamic Republic needed to rehabilitate its role in the international arena and open itself up to foreign countries in order to boost its economy. Therefore, President ʽAli Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani (1989–1997) launched a phase of reconstruction by implementing a liberal approach in favour of privatization, foreign investments, and industrialization.71 This reconstruction aimed to develop large industries so as to provide jobs, boost the economy and production levels in order to raise consumption, exploit foreign trade and attract foreign investments while preserving national sovereignty.72 The self-sufficiency generally advocated by revolutionary Islamists was replaced by the attempt to restore foreign exchange because of economic constraints. Rafsanjani and the new Supreme Leader ʽAli Khamenei73 managed to purge members of the Islamic Left thanks to the role of the Guardian Council, an unelected institution that was able to significantly affect the electoral process by vetoing MJM candidates. Rafsanjani developed a new political project that was referred to as rāst-e modern (Modern Right). This group brought together conservative politicians who embraced a pragmatic and technocratic approach, promoted a pro-market economy, and boosted modern industries.

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In a different manner to the Traditional Right or rāst-e modern, the new right did not rely anymore on traditional merchants and bāzārī,74 but mainly on the massive bureaucratic apparatus. Rafsanjani’s economic plan, however, did not fully liberalize the Iranian economy; instead, it served to widen the wealth gap among the population and increased the economic power of state-owned industries and firms belonging to the Sepāh-e Pāsdārān-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī (Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, IRGC. From now also simply as pāsdārān).75 This did not necessarily call into question the principles of the revolution but did challenge the concept of the revolutionary utopia at the heart of populist slogans calling for equality and social justice, which was superseded by more material needs and demands, thus revealing its limitations. The post-revolutionary elite drifted more towards ideas of growth, production and consumption at the expense of revolutionary idealism. Despite the reduction in poverty and the improvement of living conditions, inequalities and social disparities remained.76 This period of ideological rethinking, which was initiated in the early 1990s, was also evident in the labels that were used for each faction. Even though it is difficult to map all the various Iranian groupings, mainly because of their short-lived existence, the names chosen can reveal trends and changes and can shed light on how political ideologies have been twisted in the post-revolutionary era. Political groups chose names like “Builders,” “Developers,” “Participation front” and “Front of stability” to indicate not only the new economic needs but also their repositioned stance. The “Followers of the Imām,” “Combatant Clerics Association,” and the “Combatant Clergy Society” evolved into new groupings that adopted a new political language. The emphasis was on construction, development, stability, endurance and no longer on militancy and radicalism. In 1996, Rafsanjani headed the Hezb-e Kārgozārān-e Sāzandegī (Executives of Construction Party. From now simply Kārgozārān) for the upcoming parliamentary elections. The Kārgozārān was never recognized as a political party, and it focused on themes like eʽtedāl (moderation) and towseʽe (development). The first word is particularly significant because it points to an ambition to oppose the rādīkāl position, which had dominated the previous decade. Alongside technocrats and conservative pragmatists, the Kārgozārān included members of the Islamic Left who had been marginalized in the early 1990s. Like other political groups, the Chap-e eslāmī underwent a phase of ideological rethinking, which will be analysed in the following

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chapter. Part of this rethinking aimed to reduce radical temperament, and thus renounce revolutionary zeal, while accepting a more inclusive and moderate political system promoting eslāh (reform). They made their return to the political arena by embracing the call for liberalization, in both political and social spheres, and advocating civil society’s rights. Whereas another segment of the Islamic Left renewed the revolutionary discourse, promoting a more national, militaristic and populist agenda. This latter group, which is generally referred to as the second generation of conservatives, would also have further divisions within it as well. To more fully understand Iranian factionalism, beyond mere dichotomies and labels, it is useful to begin by studying the political careers and conduct of certain pivotal politicians. Key players have been able to move between political factions without ever transgressing the boundaries set by the revolutionary pillars. What did change was their relationship with other political actors and the approval of the electorate. For example, Hashemi Rafsanjani, a cleric of the JRM and one of the closest allies of Khomeyni, has played a major role in post-revolutionary Iran. During his political career, Rafsanjani has switched sides and changed factions, at one time advocating moderate foreign politics and economic liberalization, then supporting the reformist agenda, and even clashing with the Supreme Leader himself on several occasions. This dynamic of transformism, even though it is not particularly rare in Iranian politics, demonstrates how key individuals may walk several different political paths and frequently change their affiliation without ever straying too far from the khodī circle. Rafsanjani has been, for instance, the Minister of the Interior (for a few months between 1979 and 1980), a member and chairman of the Assembly of Experts, the speaker of the parliament, and President of the Republic. If one tries to label Rafsanjani’s political career, it would be difficult to identify a single term or category able to fully capture all of its different twists and turns. He represented the core membership of the revolutionary clerics and succeeded in remaining an influential political actor for more than thirty years. Therefore, he can be credibly labelled a religious radical on account of his early political career, his involvement in the revolution, and his acceptance of the Velāyat-e faqīh. At the same time, he can be portrayed as a conservative for his commitment to preserving the status quo and ties to prominent forces within the nezām. Also, he has led the pragmatic front, promoting a liberal economy and privatization plans. Rafsanjani and the Supreme Leader Khamenei shared the same revolutionary background, religious

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ties and political upbringing. However, during the “Second republic” or “interregnum” of the early 1990s, Khamenei and Rafsanjani were thrown into direct competition and had many political disagreements, all while leading the core position of the nezām away from the radicalism of the Islamic Left. The rahbar maintained a politics of verbal antagonism with the United States and the West, while Rafsanjani tried to ameliorate foreign relations and preserve the critical dialogue with the European Union. The Supreme Leader tried to fortify his position through the support of conservative clerics and the military apparatus and aimed to maintain a strict control over society. In contrast, the President of the Republic sought support from government employees, industrial sectors, and the rising urban middle classes. Quite apart from maintaining a fixed political position, Rafsanjani changed his views and approaches according to personal political interests and socio-economic needs. What emerges from this brief reconstruction of Rafsanjani politics is a clear problem of categorization, which risks failing to acknowledge the similarities and overlaps between political groups. Western literature has tried to simplify Iranian factionalism by reducing its complexity to a dichotomous struggle between conservatives and reformists, or radicals and pragmatists. This categorization makes at least three major mistakes. Firstly, it produces a rigid interpretation of the domestic debate that is reduced to two contending factions, while in reality Iranian politics presents several centres of powers, as well as informal channels, and various elements of fluidity. Secondly, terms such as conservative and reformist are often used without proper contextualization and, therefore, carry limited and possibly erroneous significance. Thirdly, these labels neglect any ideological changes taking place within each faction. Political groups changed outlooks, language and their agenda throughout different periods. For instance, the traditional right evolved to take up several different positions: from pragmatists to hardliners, “builders,” and “principalists.” Likewise, the Islamic Left moved towards eslāh and a renovated radicalism, which will be explored in the following chapter. From the Western perspective, radicals were those who amplified revolutionary orthodoxy. However, as the post-revolutionary elite modified their posture, the category of radicalism changed definition, as did how it was understood and interpreted. I would argue that, in contemporary Iran, radicals are not those who assume an intransigent posture and orthodox approach, but rather those who aim to challenge the status quo, which is to say theocratic-republican relations and the established

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legitimation processes. This interpretation reinstates the origin of the label according to a Western categorization but rejects the emphasis on political behaviour. The challenge to the existing system may be different in terms and actions. Reformists attempted to introduce reforms that to some extent challenged the power of conservatives and unelected institutions, but nevertheless continued to support the nezām of which they were part. A segment of the second generation of conservatives exploited revolutionary principles emphasizing themes like social restrictions, Islamization from above, and militarism. They are considered radicals because of their ideological, extremist behaviour, but they are pro-system and willing to preserve its structure. Looking at Persian categorizations, both factions referred to each other as rādīkāl with any of the above meanings. This label is used to discredit the other’s political conduct yet lacks any precise political dimension or tendency. This deconstruction is necessary to understand what the terms are intended to convey, how to interpret Persian words, and how to comprehend ambiguous Western categories by framing them within specific ideological boundaries. Since I recognize radicalism as being in opposition to conservatism, I will deconstruct how existing scholarly literature has intended both categories to be used and how it has framed these factions within contemporary Iran. Conservatives have been considered a unitarian pro-system bloc, ideologically oriented and strictly linked to revolutionary principles. Despite the fact that the term is misleading and can be confused with quietist, traditionalist clerics, scholars call conservatives those who profess an undisputed loyalty to the Supreme Leader, are devoted to the preservation of the institutions without making any substantial changes, and maintain an apparent ideological position in relation to foreign policy.77 However, the conservative front has modified its attitude to foreign politics, and ideology has often been instrumental in pursuing pragmatic objectives and specific interests. Although there are internal distinctions within the group, conservatives adopted a more moderate foreign policy over the years. The developing official rhetoric iterated upon existing ideological discourse but can be read as a tool designed to strengthen political legitimacy. According to Albloshi, there is a further expression of conservatism in the so-called hard-line conservatives (also referred to as ultraradical conservatives), those who follow the Supreme Leader not only as the highest authority of the Republic, but because he is representative of God and the Imām on earth. On the economic agenda,

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conservatives hold several positions that are expressions of the modern right as well as the more traditional sectors. From the early 2000s, new politicians emerged as a reaction to reformism. This group is composed of war veterans, IRGC members, technocrats, lay people with undisputed revolutionary credentials, but not members of the clergy. They found their way into the conservative front and built their legitimacy by extolling revolutionary principles. The ascendancy of this group has been interpreted through the paradigm of revolutionary process, which explains the return to radicalism after an initial phase of moderation. The term neoconservative appears frequently in the literature, even if used in different ways. Some scholars underline the novelty of the phenomenon,78 others the generational change, others the significant discontinuity with the past and the reaction to reformist forces.79 The definition of neoconservatism suggests two main elements. The first is the generational shift that, besides indicating a change in the age of politicians who entered the nezām, emphasizes their renewed political posture. Even though they took up previous concepts, their political stance appears to be essentially different from that of the “old guard.” Secondly, this group consisted of technocrats, war veterans and IRGC members, but no longer clerical figures. The replacement of clerical figures with military ones has led to a reduction in religious idealism in favour of militarism. The “new conservatives” focused their narrative on economic growth, industrial expansion and national security. Ali Ansari argued that the neoconservatives have deliberately chosen to support the “old guard” because they recognized the problematic implementation of the democratic trends introduced by the reformists, both because of the resistance of other political forces and the risk of nonelected institutions losing authority.80 The term fundamentalist has also been associated with the second generation of conservatives, as these two labels share the same semantic meaning. According to Kasra Naji, the Persian osūlgarāyān (followers of the osūl, principles) are “devoted to the precepts of Islamic fundamentalism.”81 The translation of osūlgarāyān into that of “fundamentalist” appears inaccurate due to the deeply ambiguous connotations associated with fundamentalism itself. The Persian name identifies those who follow Khomeyni’s interpretation of the Iranian revolution, whereas the Western use of fundamentalism highlights the approach of this group, meaning its rigid orthodoxy and inflexibility when it came to the enforcement of revolutionary principles. However, the

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label fundamentalist is also misleading as it can convey different ideas. Osūlgarāyān can be literally translated as “principalists,” a word that presents certain limitations. In 2003, this term entered the political debate when used to identify a group of “principalist conservatives,” but not an official political front. By 2008, this word had been adopted by a group within the conservatives to differentiate themselves from reformists and Ahmadinejad’s allies. Ahmadinejad was also considered—in literature—a principalist because he belonged to the second generation of conservatives who sought to renew revolutionary rhetoric. As it developed, however, the term osūlgarāyān was used by a group of conservatives to distance themselves from the President in office. Finally, the second generation has also been labelled hardliners or ultraradicals, without any real distinction between the two. These terms underline their respective militarism and use of revolutionary rhetoric, fidelity to war martyrs, and the values of the revolution.82 According to Said Arjomand, what distinguishes this second generation from the first is the justification of the use of violence and the ideological pre-eminence of guaranteeing the revolutionary order.83 This interpretation resulted from the strong military presence within this political group and the expanded role of the IRGC in the political system during Ahmadinejad’s presidencies. Due to his populist and bombastic rhetoric, the rise of Mahmud Ahmadinejad in 2003 and his victory in the 2005 presidential elections has been described as a return to revolutionary radicalism, the reasons for which will be explained in the following chapters. Ahmadinejad was a technocrat of the second generation with a “Basīj mentality,” and hence looked like a devoted “son of the revolution.” For Ali Gheissari, he represented the “ultraradical populist” soul of the new conservatives, as he tried especially to leverage the poorer classes of rural areas and urban workers.84 At the same time, Ahmadinejad developed a populist rhetoric based on the fight against corruption and the fair distribution of resources that provides some insight into his puritan attitudes.85 Kasra Naji defined Ahmadinejad as a fundamentalist because of his Islamist rhetoric and constant references to revolutionary themes. The former President of the Republic has also been called a hardliner,86 ultraradical, principalist and neoconservative because of his political stance. In literature, as previously mentioned, there are no clear distinctions between these terms, but all of them share the concept of a second wave of politicians who rejected the reformist phase and exploited the paradigms of the revolution. If this attitude is interpreted as the strengthening of the

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nezām and its principles, and the return to revolutionary radicalism, then Ahmadinejad’s political trajectory potentially offers a different reading. Moreover, without distinguishing between hardliners, neoconservatives, ultraradicals and ultraconservatives, post-revolutionary conservativism is outwardly related to radicalism, causing a misconception of each of the aforementioned categories.

Notes



1. Paul McLaughlin,  Radicalism: A Philosophical Study (New York: Springer, 2012), 8. 2.  Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. “Radical,” https://en.oxforddictionaries. com/definition/radical. 3.  James E. Bradley, Religion, Revolution, and English Radicalism: NonConformity in Eighteenth-Century Politics and Society (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 7–18. 4. Colin Bonwick,  English Radicals, and the American Revolution (Chapel Hill: UNC Press Books, 2017), Chapter 1. 5. Edward Royle and James Walvin, English Radicals and Reformers, 1760– 1848 (Lexington: University of Kentucky Press, 1982), 10. 6. Jason Peacey, Radicalism Relocated: Royalist Politics and Pamphleteering of the Late 1640s, in Varieties of Seventeenth- and Early EighteenthCentury English Radicalism in Context, ed. by Ariel Hessayon and David Finnegan (Farnham: Ashgate Publishing, 2011), 52–53. 7. Fred Halliday, Revolution and World Politics: The Rise and Fall of the Sixth Great Power (London: Macmillan Press, 1999), 36. 8. Anthony Giddens,  Beyond Left and Right: The Future of Radical Politics (Stanford University Press, 1994), 1. 9. Ibidem. 10. Arshin Adib-Moghaddam, “What Is Radicalism? Power and Resistance in Iran.” Middle East Critique 21, no. 3 (2012): 271–90. 11. Andrew Heywood,  Political Ideologies: An Introduction, 3rd edn (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 10. 12. Samuel Huntington, “Conservatism as an Ideology,” American Political Science Review 51, no. 2 (1957): 457. 13. Anthony Giddens,  Beyond Left and Right: The Future of Radical Politics, 22. 14. There is a vast amount of literature that investigates the notion of political fundamentalism and its relations with the state and political power. See: Martin Riesebrodt, Pious Passion: The Emergence of Modern

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Fundamentalism in the United States and Iran (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1993); Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby, eds., Fundamentalisms and the State: Remaking Polities, Economies, and Militance, vol. 3 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996); Bassam Tibi, The Challenge of Fundamentalism: Political Islam and the New World Disorder (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2002); Youssef M. Choueiri, Islamic Fundamentalism (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1990); Jacob Abadi et  al., Religious Fundamentalism in the Contemporary World: Critical Social and Political Issues (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2004). 15. Anthony Giddens,  Beyond Left and Right: The Future of Radical Politics, 22. 16. Imam Khomeini, Governance of the Jurist: The Islamic Government, trans. by Hamid Algar (Tehran: The Institute for Compilation and Publication of Imam Khomeini’s Works, International Affairs Department, 2002). 17. A mojtahed or faqih is a high qualified religious figure who interprets the Islamic law. 18. Muhammad Husayn Tabatabaʼi, Shi'ite Islam, trans. by Seyyed Hossein Nasr (New York: State University of New York Press, 1975), 185–86. 19. “ ” (A Coup d’état Against Bin Salman to Occupy Saudi Arabia” the Request to the Prince of Saudi Opposition from O t h e r    P r i n c e s ) ,    K a y h ā n ,    h t t p : / / k a y h a n . i r / f a / n e w s /



accessed on June 2, 2019.

,

20. S e y y e d    A h m a d    M o v a s s a g h i , “

” (Imām Khomeyni’s School of Islam: Which Is Islamic Fundamentalism or Islamic Radicalism?), Imām  Khomeyni,  www.imam-khomeini.ir/fa/n131803/ , accessed on September 17, 2020. 21.  “ ” (The Statistic Joke of Government w i t h     R e a l     I n f l a t i o n ) ,    K a y h ā n ,    h t t p : / / k a y h a n . i r / f a / news/134606/ , accessed on June 22, 2019.

22. Rouhollah K. Ramazani, “Iran’s Export of the Revolution: Its Politics, Ends and Means,” Journal of South Asian and Middle Eastern Studies 13, no. 1 (1989). 23. “ ” (Do Radical

Reformist Have the Moral Authority to Rule?), Tasnīm News, https://www.tasnimnews.com/fa/news/1393/06/01/469936/ , accessed on June 20, 2020.

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24. “ ” (The Support of Radical Conservatives to  Ahmadienjad),  Donyā-e-eqtesād,  https://donya-e-eqtesad.com/ , accessed on June 24, 2020. 25.  “ ” (Khatami and Hashemi Are Spiritual Religious?), Kayhān, http://kayhan.ir/fa/ news/16509/ ‫ه‬, accessed on June 24, 2020; “ ” (Announcement on Disgust of Reformists and Their Famous Personalities on the “Letter of Submission” of Radical Reformists), Farda News, https://www.fardanews.com/fa/ news/834787/ , accessed on June 24, 2020. 26. The government agency Tasnīm states that a group of “radical reformists” (uses the label tond-ro) would vote for ʽAli Larijani, a conservative figure, for personal interests and neglecting the electorate expectations: “ ”

(The True Silence Is Broken: Radical Reformists Don’t Believe in Democracy and Do Not Have the Majority), Tasnīm News, https:// www.tasnimnews.com/fa/news/1395/03/12/1090418/, accessed on June 26, 2020.

”    ( A t r i a n f a r : Radical Conservatives Are Looking for Another Ahmadinejad), Khabar Online, https://www.khabaronline.ir/detail/682800/ Politics/parties, last access June 27, 2020. ” (The Twelfth Cabinet Is More 28. “ Moderate Than the Eleventh Cabinet), Eʽtemād, http:// w w w. e t e m a d n e w s p a p e r. i r / f a / M a i n / D e t a i l / 8 3 3 7 3 / , ,    a c c e s s e d    o n    J u n e 2 8 ,    2 0 2 0 ;   “ ” (The Emphasis on National Confidence in the Coherence of Reformers and Moderates), Eʽtemād, http://www.etemadnewspaper.ir/fa/ Main/Detail/66073/ , accessed on June 28, 2020. 29. “ ” (Extremist Reformists [Should] Apologise to People Instead of Requesting Negotiation with the United States. It

27. “

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Should Be Questioned the Healthiness of the System of This Community), Fars News, https://www.farsnews.com/ news/13970328000738/ , accessed on June 24, 2020. 30. “ ” (Europe Will Not See the 20 Years Ahead of the European People), Kayhān, http://kayhan.ir /fa/news/160706/ , accessed on May 19, 2020. 31. “ ” (We Use All the Tools to Deal with Economic Terrorism), Kayhān, http://kayhan.ir/fa/ news/158923/ , accessed on May 20, 2020.

32. For Khomeyni’s ideology, see: Hamid Dabashi, Theology of Discontent: The Ideological Foundation of the Islamic Republic in Iran, 2nd edn (New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 2008).



33. “



34. Sohrab Behdad, “Islamic Utopia in Pre‐Revolutionary Iran: Navvab Safavi and the Fada'ian‐e Eslam,” Middle Eastern Studies 33, no. 1 (1997): 40. 35. Some scholars argue that the causes of the Iranian revolution are materialistic, so linked to economic and social discontent (Nikkie Keddie, Fred Halliday, Ervand Abrahamian). Others claim that the causes are instead cultural and religious (Hamid Dabashi, Said Arjomand, Masoud Kamali). 36.  The debate on the complex relationship between traditionalism and modernity in contemporary Iran is extensive. See: Ramin Jahanbegloo, ed., Iran: Between Tradition and Modernity (Lanham: Lexington Book, 2004). 37. James A. Bill, “Power and Religion in Revolutionary Iran,” Middle East Journal 36, no. 1 (1982): 43–44. 38.  Ali Mirsepassi, “The Tragedy of the Iranian Left,” in Reformers and Revolutionaries in Modern Iran: New Perspective on the Iranian Left, ed. by Stephanie Cronin (London: Routledge Curzon, 2004), 229. 39. Imam Khomeini Talking About Today Situation, https://www.youtube. com/watch?v=jvUlotPLYKA&t=186s, accessed on September 21, 2020. 40. Ervand Abrahamian, Iran Between Two Revolutions (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982), 162–63.







” (Books Examining the Character of Martyr Navab Safavi/The Islamic Revolutionary Orientation Documentation Center Is Conducting the Publication of Works Related to the Leader of the Fadaiyan-e eslam), IBNA, http://www.ibna.ir/fa/ doc/report/232183, accessed on September 17, 2020.

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41. Michael Axworthy, Revolutionary Iran: A History of the Islamic Republic (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 158.

42.  “ ” (A Speech in a Group of “Blind”—A Clear Vision—Response to an Unfair Accusation), Imām Khomeyni, http://www. imam-khomeini.ir/fa/C207_42805/_, accessed on September 21, 2020.

43. Houchang E. Chehabi, “Religion and Politics in Iran: How Theocratic Is the Islamic Republic?” Dedalus 78 (1991). 44. A Marjaʽ-e taqlīd is the highest authority in the Shiʽa hierarchy as he is the most renown expert of Islamic jurisprudence. 45. See Linda S. Walbridge, ed., The Most Learned of the Shia: The Institution of the MarjaTaqlid (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), I, 3–4. 46. Nikki R.  Keddie, Religion and Rebellion in Iran: The Tobacco Protest of 1891–1892 (New York: Psychology Press, 1966). 47. Yasuyuki  Matsunaga,  “The  Secularization  of  a  Faqih-Headed Revolutionary Islamic State of Iran: Its Mechanisms, Processes, and Prospects,” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 29, no. 3 (2009): 468–82. 48. Olivier Roy, “The Crisis of Religious Legitimacy in Iran,” The Middle East Journal 53, no. 2 (1999): 201–16. 49.  Pejman Abdolmohammadi and Giampiero Cama, “Iran as a Peculiar Hybrid Regime: Structure and Dynamics of the Islamic Republic,” British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 42, no. 4 (2015): 558–78. 50. Mehran Kamrava and Hassan‐Yari Houchang, “Suspended Equilibrium in Iran’s Political System,” The Muslim World 94, no. 4 (2004): 496. 51. Wilfried Buchta, Who Rules Iran?: The Structure of Power in the Islamic Republic (Washington, DC: Washington Institute for Near East Policy, 2000), 6–10. 52. Ervand Abrahamian, A History of Modern Iran (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 178. 53.  Suzanne Maloney, “Agents or Obstacles? Parastatal Foundations and Challenges For,” The Economy of Iran: The Dilemma of an Islamic State 29 (2000): 145–48. 54. Mansour Javidan and Ali Dastmalchian, “Culture and Leadership in Iran: The Land of Individual Achievers, Strong Family Ties, and Powerful Elite,” The Academy of Management Executive 17, no. 4 (2003): 131–32. 55.  See for instance: Mehdi Moslem, Factional Politics in Post-Khomeini Iran (2002); Wilfried Buchta, Who Rules Iran—The Structure of

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59

Power in the Islamic Republic (2000); Hossein S. Seifzadeh, “The Landscape of Factional Politics and Its Future in Iran,” The Middle East Journal (2003): 57–75. 56. In this case, Imām refers to Ruhollah Khomeyni. 57.  See Rouhollah K. Ramazani, “Iran’s Hostage Crisis: International Legitimacy Matters,” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 25, no. 2 (2005): 273–78. 58.  Sohail Hashmi, “Iran’s Second Revolution,” Harvard International Review 4, no. 2 (1981): 4–29. 59. See the speech of Ayatollah Khomeini on the US embassy hostage crisis, YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jucWz5tf3mY, accessed on November 4, 2020. 60. It is interesting to note how the war shaped cultural production. The intent to keep efforts alive during the war was translated into the diffusion of the farhang-e pāydārī (culture of resistance), which praised the heroic resistance of the war through visual arts, film, and literature. See Behrouz Alikhani, “Popular War Songs and Slogans in the Persian Language during the Iran-Iraq War,” Cambio 3, no. 6 (2013): 211–16. 61.  Saeid Golkar, “Cultural Engineering Under Authoritarian Regimes: Islamization of Universities in Postrevolutionary Iran,” Digest of Middle East Studies 21, no. 1 (2012): 1–2. 62.  Nader Entessar, “Educational Reforms in Iran: Cultural Revolution or Anti-Intellectualism?” Journal of South Asian and Middle Eastern Studies 8, no. 1 (1984): 56. 63. Reza Razavi, “The Cultural Revolution in Iran, with Close Regard to the Universities, and Its Impact on the Student Movement,” Middle Eastern Studies 45, no. 1 (2009): 3. 64. Ervand Abrahamian,  Iran Between Two Revolutions (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982), 169. 65.  Etelāʽāt on March 10, 1979, entitled: “ ”

(There Is No Constraint on the Use of the Hejab), The revolution is not linked to the word “Islamic,” as it will appear later. See: ” (Where Did the Whispering on the Obligatory Veil Start?), Radio Farda, https://www.radiofarda.com/a/ f3-hijab-iran-1979/25286342.html, accessed on October 4, 2020.

66. Said Amir Arjomand, “Has Iran’s Islamic Revolution Ended?” Radical History Review 2009, no. 105 (2009): 132–38. 67. Iranian population, Worldometers, https://www.worldometers.info/ world-population/iran-population/, accessed on September 30, 2020. 68.  Karim Mahmoodi, Ahmad Mohammadpur, and Mehdi Rezaei. “A Discourse Analysis of Population Policies in the Context of Politics in Iran,” Quality & Quantity 49, no. 5 (2015): 1883–95. Also Homa

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Hoodfar, “Family Law and Family Planning Policy in Pre- and PostRevolutionary Iran,” in Family in the Middle East: Ideational Change in Egypt, Iran and Tunisia, ed. by Kathryn M. Yount and Hoda Rashad (Oxon: Routledge, 2008), 80–110. 69. Kevan Harris,  A Social Revolution: Politics and the Welfare State in Iran (Oakland: University of California Press, 2017), 100–115. 70. Wilfried Buchta, Who Rules Iran?: The Structure of Power in the Islamic Republic (Washington, DC: Washington Institute for Near East Policy, 2000), 6–10. 71. Anoushiravan Ehteshami, “After Khomeini: The Structure of Power in the Iranian Second Republic,” Political Studies 39, no. 1 (1991): 151–52. 72.  To know more about the economic performance under Rafsanjani see: Kaveh Ehsani, “‘Tilt But Don’t Spill’: Iran’s Development and Reconstruction Dilemma,” Middle East Report 191 (1994): 18–21. 73. See the succession of the Supreme Leader: “Assembly of Experts Reject Leadership Council and Appoint Khamenei After Rafsanjani Speech,” YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=atlEUNRu1Mc, accessed on November 4, 2020. 74. Mehdi Moslem, Factional Politics in Post-Khomeini Iran (New York: Syracuse University Press, 2002), 92. 75.  Mehdi Khalaji, “Iran’s Revolutionary Guard Corps, Inc.,” Washington Institute for Near East Policy, PolicyWatch, no. 1273 (2007). 76. Djavad Salehi-Isfahani,  Revolution and Redistribution in Iran: Poverty and Inequality 25 Years Later. Department of Economics, Virginia Polytechnic Institute, and State University, 2006. 77. Hamad Albloshi, The Eternal Revolution: Hardliners and Conservatives in Iran (London and New York: I.B. Tauris, 2016), 67–91. 78. Eva Rakel, Power, Islam, and Political Elite in Iran: A Study on the Iranian Political Elite from Khomeini to Ahmadinejad (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2008), 70–72; Anoushiravan Ehteshami, “The Rise and Impact of Iran’s Neocons,” Stanley Foundation (2008). 79.  Ali Gheissari and Kaveh-Cyrus Sanandaji, “New Conservative Politics and Electoral Behavior in Iran,” in Contemporary Iran: Economy, Society, Politics, ed. by Ali Gheissari (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 275–98. 80. Ali Ansari, Iran Under Ahmadinejad: The Politics of Confrontation (Oxon and New York: Routledge, 2017), 24–25. 81. Kasra Naji, Ahmadinejad: The Secret History of Iran’s Radical Leader (Berkeley: I.B. Tauris, 2007), 47. 82. Said Amir Arjomand, “Has Iran’s Islamic Revolution Ended?” Radical History Review 2009, no. 105 (2009): 134. 83. Ibidem.

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84.  Ali Gheissari and Kaveh-Cyrus Sanandaji, “New Conservative Politics and Electoral Behavior in Iran,” in Contemporary Iran: Economy, Society, Politics, 275–98. 85. Alireza N. Haghighi and Victoria Tahmasebi, “The ‘Velvet Revolution’ of Iranian Puritan Hardliners: Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s Rise to Power,” International Journal 61, no. 4 (2006): 959. 86. Farideh Farhi, “Ahmadinejad’s Nuclear Folly,” Middle East Report 252 (2009).

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(Atrianfar: Radical Conservatives Are Looking for Another Ahmadinejad).” Khabar Online. https://www.khabaronline.ir/detail/682800/Politics/parties (accessed June 7, 2020). “ (“A Coup d’état Against Bin Salman to Occupy Saudi Arabia” the Request to the Prince of Saudi Opposition from Other Princes).” Kayhān. http://kayhan.ir/ fa/news/ (accessed June 2, 2019). “

“Assembly of Experts Reject Leadership Council and Appoint Khamanei After Rafsanjani Speech.” YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=atlEUNRu1Mc (accessed November 4, 2020). “Ayatollah Khomeini on U.S. Embassy Hostage Crisis.” YouTube. https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=jucWz5tf3mY (accessed November 4, 2020). “Imam Khomeini Talking About Today Situation.” YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvUlotPLYKA&t=186s (accessed September 21, 2020). “Iranian  Population.”  Worldometers.  https://www.worldometers.info/ world-population/iran-population/ (accessed September 30, 2020). “Radical.” Oxford English Dictionary. https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/radical (accessed June 19, 2019). “ (Europe Will Not See the

20 Years Ahead of the European People).” Kayhān. http://kayhan.ir/ fa/news/160706/   (accessed May 19, 2020).

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(Books Examining the Character of Martyr Navab Safavi/The Islamic Revolutionary Orientation Documentation Center Is Conducting the Publication of Works Related to the Leader of the Fadaiyan-e Eslam).” IBNA.  http://www.ibna.ir/fa/doc/report/232183  (accessed September 17, 2020). “ (The Emphasis on National Confidence in the Coherence of Reformers and Moderates).” Eʽtemād. http://www.etemadnewspaper.ir/fa/Main/Detail/66073/ (accessed June 28, 2020). “ (A Speech in a Group of “Blind”—A Clear Vision—Response to an Unfair Accusation).” Imām Khomeyni.ir. http://www.imam-khomeini.ir/ fa/C207_42805/      (accessed September 21, 2020). “ (The Twelfth Cabinet Is More Moderate Than the Eleventh Cabinet).” Eʽtemād. http://www.etemadnewspaper.ir/fa/Main/Detail/83373/    (accessed June 28, 2020). “

(Where Did the Whispering on the Obligatory Veil Start?).” Radio Farda. https://www.radiofarda.com/a/f3-hijab-iran-1979/25286342.html (accessed October 4, 2020). Abadi, Jacob, Alexander Agadjanian, Ted G. Jelen, Zohair Husain, and David Rosenbaum. Religious Fundamentalism in the Contemporary World: Critical Social and Political Issues. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2004. Abdolmohammadi, Pejman and Giampiero Cama. “Iran as a Peculiar Hybrid Regime: Structure and Dynamics of the Islamic Republic.” British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 42, no. 4 (2015): 558–78. Abrahamian, Ervand. Iran Between Two Revolutions. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982. ———. A History of Modern Iran. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Adib-Moghaddam, Arshin. “What Is Radicalism? Power and Resistance in Iran.” Middle East Critique 21, no. 3 (2012): 271–90.

64  G. PERLETTA Albloshi, Hamad. The Eternal Revolution: Hardliners and Conservatives in Iran. London: I.B. Tauris, 2016. Alikhani, Behrouz. “Popular War Songs and Slogans in the Persian Language During the Iran-Iraq War.” Cambio.Rivista Sulle Trasformazioni Sociali 3, no. 6 (2013): 211–17. Ansari, Ali. Iran Under Ahmadinejad: The Politics of Confrontation. Oxon and New York: Routledge, 2017. Arjomand, Saïd Amir. “Has Iran’s Islamic Revolution Ended?” Radical History Review 2009, no. 105 (2009): 132–38. Behdad, Sohrab. “Islamic Utopia in Pre‐Revolutionary Iran: Navvab Safavi and the Fada'ian‐e Eslam.” Middle Eastern Studies 33, no. 1 (1997): 40–65. Bill, James A. “Power and Religion in Revolutionary Iran.” Middle East Journal 36, no. 1 (1982): 22–47. Bonwick, Colin. English Radicals and the American Revolution. Chapel Hill: UNC Press Books, 2017. Bradley, James E. Religion, Revolution and English Radicalism: Non-Conformity in Eighteenth-Century Politics and Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Buchta, Wilfried. Who Rules Iran?: The Structure of Power in the Islamic Republic. Washington, DC: Washington Institute for Near East Policy, 2000. Chehabi, Houchang E. “Religion and Politics in Iran: How Theocratic Is the Islamic Republic?” Daedalus 120, no. 3 (1991): 69–91. Choueiri, Youssef M. Islamic Fundamentalism. Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1990. Dabashi, Hamid. Theology of Discontent: The Ideological Foundation of the Islamic Republic in Iran. 2nd edn. New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 2008. Ehsani, Kaveh. “Tilt but Don’t Spill: Iran’s Development and Reconstruction Dilemma.” Middle East Report 24, no. 6 (1994): 16–20. Ehteshami, Anoushiravan. “After Khomeini: The Structure of Power in the Iranian Second Republic.” Political Studies 39, no. 1 (1991): 148–57. Entessar, Nader. “Educational Reforms in Iran: Cultural Revolution or AntiIntellectualism?” Journal of South Asian and Middle Eastern Studies 8, no. 1 (1984): 56. Farhi, Farideh. “Ahmadinejad’s Nuclear Folly.” Middle East Report 252 (2009): 2–5. Gheissari, Ali and Kaveh-Cyrus Sanandaji. “New Conservative Politics and Electoral Behavior in Iran.” In Contemporary Iran: Economy, Society, Politics, edited by Ali Gheissari, 275–98. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Giddens, Anthony.  Beyond Left and Right: The Future of Radical Politics. Stanford University Press, 1994. Golkar, Saeid. “Cultural Engineering Under Authoritarian Regimes: Islamization of Universities in Postrevolutionary Iran.” Digest of Middle East Studies 21, no. 1 (2012): 1–23.

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Haghighi, Alireza N. and Victoria Tahmasebi. “The ‘Velvet Revolution’ of Iranian Puritan Hardliners: Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s Rise to Power.” International Journal 61, no. 4 (2006): 959–70. Halliday, Fred. Revolution and World Politics: The Rise and Fall of the Sixth Great Power. London: Macmillan Press, 1999. Harris, Kevan. A Social Revolution: Politics and the Welfare State in Iran. Oakland: University of California Press, 2017. Hashmi, Sohail. “Iran’s Second Revolution.” Harvard International Review 4, no. 2 (1981): 4–29. Heywood, Andrew. Political Ideologies: An Introduction. Macmillan International Higher Education, 2017. Hoodfar, Homa. “Family Law and Family Planning Policy in Pre- and PostRevolutionary Iran.” In Family in the Middle East: Ideational Change in Egypt, Iran and Tunisia, edited by Kathryn M. Yount and Hoda Rashad, 80–110. Oxon: Routledge, 2008. Huntington, Samuel P. “Conservatism as an Ideology.” American Political Science Review 51, no. 2 (1957): 454–73. Jahanbegloo, Ramin.  Iran: Between Tradition and Modernity. Lanham: Lexington Books, 2004. Javidan, Mansour and Ali Dastmalchian. “Culture and Leadership in Iran: The Land of Individual Achievers, Strong Family Ties, and Powerful Elite.” The Academy of Management Executive 17, no. 4 (2003): 127–42. Kamrava, Mehran and Houchang Hassan‐Yari. “Suspended Equilibrium in Iran’s Political System.” The Muslim World 94, no. 4 (2004): 495–524. Keddie, Nikki R. Religion and Rebellion in Iran: The Tobacco Protest of 1891– 1892. New York: Psychology Press, 1966. Khalaji, Mehdi. “Iran’s Revolutionary Guard Corps, Inc.” Washington Institute for Near East Policy, PolicyWatch, no. 1273 (2007). Khomeini, Imam. Governance of the Jurist: The Islamic Government. Translated by Hamid Algar. Tehran: The Institute for Compilation and Publication of Imam Khomeini’s Works (International Affairs Department), 2002. Mahmoodi, Karim, Ahmad Mohammadpur and Mehdi Rezaei. “A Discourse Analysis of Population Policies in the Context of Politics in Iran.” Quality & Quantity 49, no. 5 (2015): 1883–895. Maloney, Suzanne. “Agents or Obstacles? Parastatal Foundations and Challenges For.” The Economy of Iran: The Dilemma of an Islamic State 29 (2000): 145. Marty, Martin E. and R. Scott Appleby, eds. Fundamentalisms and the State: Remaking Polities, Economies, and Militance, vol. 3. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996. Matsunaga, Yasuyuki. “The Secularization of a Faqih-Headed Revolutionary Islamic State of Iran: Its Mechanisms, Processes, and Prospects.” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 29, no. 3 (2009): 468–82. McLaughlin, Paul. Radicalism: A Philosophical Study. New York: Springer, 2012.

66  G. PERLETTA Mirsepassi, Ali. “The Tragedy of the Iranian Left.” In  Reformers and Revolutionaries in Modern Iran: New Perspective on the Iranian Left, edited by Stephanie Cronin, 229–49. London: Routledge Curzon, 2004. Movassaghi, Seyyed A. "

(Imām Khomeini’s School of Islam: Which Is Islamic Fundamentalism or Islamic Radicalism?).” Imām Khomeyni. www.imam-khomeini.ir/fa/n131803/ (accessed September 17, 2020).

Naji, Kasra. Ahmadinejad: The Secret History of Iran’s Radical Leader. Berkeley: I.B. Tauris, 2007. Peacey, Jason. “Radicalism Relocated: Royalist Politics and Pamphleteering of the Late 1640s.” In Varieties of Seventeenth- and Early Eighteenth-Century English Radicalism in Context, edited by Ariel Hessayon and David Finnegan. Farnham: Ashgate, 2011. Rakel, Eva. Power, Islam, and Political Elite in Iran: A Study on the Iranian Political Elite from Khomeini to Ahmadinejad. Leiden: Brill, 2008. Ramazani, Rouhollah K. “Iran’s Export of the Revolution: Its Politics, Ends and Means.” Journal of South Asian and Middle Eastern Studies 13, no. 1 (1989). ———. “Iran’s Hostage Crisis: International Legitimacy Matters.” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 25, no. 2 (2005): 273–78. Razavi, Reza. “The Cultural Revolution in Iran, with Close Regard to the Universities, and Its Impact on the Student Movement.” Middle Eastern Studies 45, no. 1 (2009): 3. Riesebrodt, Martin. Pious Passion: The Emergence of Modern Fundamentalism in the United States and Iran. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1993. Roy, Olivier. “The Crisis of Religious Legitimacy in Iran.” The Middle East Journal 53, no. 2 (1999): 201–16. Royle, Edward and James Walvin. English Radicals and Reformers, 1760–1848. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1982. Salehi-Isfahani, Djavad. Revolution and Redistribution in Iran: Poverty and Inequality 25 Years Later. Department of Economics, Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, 2006. Seifzadeh, Hossein S. “The Landscape of Factional Politics and Its Future in Iran.” The Middle East Journal 57, no. 1 (2003): 57–75. Tabatabaʼi, Muhammad Husayn. Shi'Ite Islam. Translated by Seyyed Hossein Nasr. New York: State University of New York Press, 1975. Tibi, Bassam. The Challenge of Fundamentalism: Political Islam and the New World Disorder, vol. 9. University of California Press, 2002. Walbridge, Linda S. The Most Learned of the Shia: The Institution of the MarjaTaqlid. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001.

CHAPTER 3

Beyond Reformism: How Ideological Changes Shaped New Political Discourses

From Revolutionaries to Reformists The reformist movement has been extensively discussed in Western literature. The attention given to the group labelled the eslāhtalābān (reformists) appears not just in academic and scholarly discussions, but can also be seen in how foreign actors have engaged with this group and interpreted its politics. Post-revolutionary reformism had the potential to represent a crucial turning point in contemporary Iran. It was welcomed both internationally and internally, especially by a part of Iranian society that saw in it an alternative to the arbitrary power of conservatives. Though dichotomies are rarely helpful in framing Iranian domestic dynamics, reformism has been viewed as both a modernizing and democratically oriented force, which stood antithetically opposed to conservatism. It is possible to find major differences in both groups, especially regarding social policies, control over individual life, and the repression of spaces of dissent. For these reasons, reformism has not always been interpreted as an oppositional movement, whose actions were limited to within the parameters of the nezām, but rather as an anti-status quo force, willing to entirely modify essential aspects of the Iranian system. If this perspective neglected the inner pluralism within the front, it also contributed to spread a sense of mystification regarding the reformists’ relations with the other political forces. Reformists always operated © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 G. Perletta, Political Radicalism in Iran and Ahmadinejad’s Presidencies, Studies in Iranian Politics, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87330-1_3

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within the post-revolutionary institutional framework of the republic and while they aimed to reform the system, they never attempted to destroy it. Nevertheless, in Western literature the anti-status quo propensity of reformists has never been identified in itself as being radical. This demonstrates both how radicalism is conceived and applied in post-revolutionary Iran, and the positive expectations towards the reformist movement, which looked capable of sustaining a dialogue with the West, and thus was perceived as a modern and modernizing force. There are at least two main reasons behind the academic and political overemphasis that has been placed on the reformist movement. Firstly, the reformist front could count on the support of the intellectual circles of the Iranian diaspora, whose members were often former supporters or sympathizers of the eslāhtalābān. Their interpretation of the reformist movement served to enhance the polarization between conservatives and reformists, transforming it into a struggle of authoritarianism and tradition against modernity and democracy. Secondly, Western countries and in particular the European Union identified in the reformist movement a desirable interlocutor to help normalize relations with the Islamic Republic. Meanwhile, the post-revolutionary elite continued to refigure its narrative, adapting its political agenda to meet internal challenges and drive socio-economic transformations. The eslāhtalābān were considered a political force willing to eradicate authoritarianism and widen popular participation. As a result, they received support from the growing middle classes, educated youths, and urban society more broadly. By associating the term eslāh (reform) with the eslāhtalāb, changes were perceived as being democratically oriented. This assumption neglected other forms and expressions of top-down transformation or attempts to revise the political system. As a consequence, the notion of reformism in post-revolutionary Iran has been channelled into the eslāhtalāb discourse, conflating possible systemic changes with democratic and liberal positions. The eslāhtalāb front derived its principles from a broad and established intellectual debate, which did not end with the political demise of the reformists. Whereas the philosophical and intellectual discourse on how to reform Islam and its interpretation was still alive, the original aims of the eslāhtalābān became tangled up in a mundane clash of power. There is a large amount of scholarly literature that attempts to interpret the reformist movement from different perspectives, focusing on intellectual, religious, and philosophical thought,1 social movements and popular activism, which increased significantly during the reformist

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presidencies,2 and on more general political theories, trying to ascertain how the reformists intended to implement a different political system.3 Inside the Islamic Republic, there were forces that tried to limit and curb the reformist movement at both political and institutional levels. There were also forces that engaged in a critical discourse intended to oppose the eslāhtalābān by providing a counternarrative. In fact, the reformists’ experience paradoxically paved the way for the rise of hardliners, a group that rejected the socio-political reforms promoted by the eslāhtalābān. However, a number of these emerging politicians would not only hamper reformism but would also advocate for changes through the use of different themes and slogans. Before delving into the reformist political movement that emerged in the mid-1990s, it is essential to contextualize the philosophical and intellectual discourse that provided the ideological background for political activists. The genesis of the political movement finds its origins in two interconnected events: on the one hand, the sociological, philosophical, and intellectual reflections made by different thinkers at the end of the 1980s; and, on the other hand, the concomitant marginalization of the Islamic Left within key sections of the nezām. From the early 1980s, a large group of rūshanfekrān-e dīnī (religious intellectuals) started to question the role of Islam in political life and its function in the decision-making process. Scholars, philosophers, and intellectuals proposed a renovation of Islam, both from academic and theoretical perspectives and in intellectual terms.4 The definition of religious thinkers derives from their alternative reading of Islam and their attitudes on how it should be integrated within the Iranian political system. A group of these individuals, in fact, actively engaged in the political realm, turning the intellectual debate into an active political agenda. Despite cultivating diverse ideas, religious intellectuals aimed to de-ideologize religion by rejecting the current institutionalized form of political Islam.5 The way in which Islam had been institutionalized after the revolution presented several problems, the most obvious being that it had become an instrument to guarantee the arbitrary power of certain groups. In pre-revolutionary Iran, religious intellectualism was also supported by lay people who sought to oppose non-Islamic, secular, and leftist ideologies, intending Islam to be a social glue, a political force of emancipation,6 and a source of national identity.7 After the establishment of the Islamic Republic, religious intellectuals challenged and opposed the predominant and hegemonic interpretation of Islam that had been imposed by the ruling elite. The Velāyat-e faqīh implied that the ultimate

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decision and absolute authority resided with the rahbar in both spiritual and political spheres. Therefore, the republic presented a restricted and elitist political debate, which denied the spread of ideas that were incompatible with the dominant one espoused by the faqīh. This new discourse sought to depict revolutionary Islam as an unquestionable political ideology; and, consequently, the leadership of the faqīh came under fire for not being popularly elected.8 Intellectuals like Mohammmad Mojtahed Shabestari, ʽAbdolkarim Sorush, and Mohsen Kadivar began to criticize the institutional contradictions of the nezām, which allowed one political faction to control certain pivotal institutions and derived its legitimacy from a revolutionary interpretation of Islam and the absolute leadership of the Supreme Leader.9 Mohsen Kadivar investigated the relationship between Islam and democracy in some detail, claiming that the two share a certain coherence as they both “promote justice, protect human dignity, and human freedom and emancipation.”10 Reformist Muslims viewed Islam as being compatible with democracy because they did not believe that the interpretation of Islamic ethics, morals, and values was the exclusive domain of a few religious scholars. According to Mohsen Kadivar, a reformist interpretation of Islam paved the way for political pluralism while rejecting the orthodox dogmatism promoted by conservatives: “The fact that there are religious precepts does not make them unquestionable. Indeed, sanctifying religious beliefs weakens rather than strengthens them. Believers should welcome dialogue and debate regarding religious beliefs. No religious belief should be turned into a legal requirement unless it has been subjected to rigorous public debate and represents the will of the majority.”11 With these words, Kadivar sheds light on the rejection of a definitive interpretation of Islamic precepts and the need there was to accept a plural debate. This notion would not remain merely confined to academic and intellectual debates, but would also serve certain political uses. As they could not challenge the structure of the Islamic Republic, religious intellectuals contested the way in which ideological Islam had been exploited in order to justify arbitrary power. Their reasoning, however, was merely philosophical and mainly directed at other intellectuals and religious figures. At the end of the 1980s, the cultural periodical Kayhān-e farhangī hosted a series of articles written by ʽAbdolkarim Sorush, who proposed a new interpretation of religion.12 An activist in the 1979 revolution and then lecturer at the University of Tehran, Sorush has been one of the most prominent icons of intellectual reformism in contemporary Iran.

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He claimed that religious dogmatism confined Islam to rigid boundaries, from which individuals and rational thinking were excluded.13 Sorush developed the notion of “religious democracy,” which argued for a society based on Islamic faith where the faqīh was no longer the only and ultimate interpreter of religion. While he recognized the immutability of religious dogmas, Sorush did not accept the fixed, universal, and final interpretation of the rahbar, suggesting that no individual or group of individuals should hold this privilege. He argued that knowledge of religion depends on historical changes and human experiences, which meant it could never be univocal.14 By rejecting a fixed understanding of Islam, interpretative pluralism can find space and play a significant role in spreading tolerance and political pluralism. Both of these elements are essential for any democratic system.15 This discourse presented a challenge to the traditional right in particular, which had implemented a limited and exclusive version of Islam that was instrumental in sustaining their political supremacy. Sorush contested the politicization of Islam that enabled the Supreme Leader to institutionalize his ipse dixit and dismiss interpretative pluralism. A political system that responds to a single reading or interpretation of religion is more likely to marginalize different viewpoints and, therefore, serves to accommodate authoritarian rulers. In a confidential meeting in 2017, Sorush’s eldest son, Dabbagh, underlined the fact that his father’s aim was to promote the idea of a “modern Islam.” This demonstrates just how persistent the rigid dichotomy of traditionalism and modernity is when looking at contemporary Iran, where the complexity of post-revolutionary ideology is reduced to these two labels. If reformists were the political force willing to apply a modern interpretation of Islam, this meant that their counterparts followed traditionalist approaches that needed to be overcome. Moreover, modernity was considered applicable to religion only if the latter presented elements of tolerance and pluralism. According to Dabbagh Sorush, reformists were entitled to talk about the implementation of Islamic values due to their moderate stances, whereas their political counterparts who promoted an elitist, dogmatic, and absolutist interpretation of religion should be excluded from the political system. To some extent, this reasoning presents the same dynamics of marginalization adopted by conservatives, who claim the absolute authority of the faqīh and by doing so exploit the theocratical pillars of the republic at the expense of its republican components. The competition over which faction held the correct interpretation of Islam was merely a political

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battleground, a tool to claim legitimacy in the post-revolutionary nezām. Both conservatives and reformists affirmed the validity of their understanding and interpretations of revolutionary principles, and through this they could both claim political authority as well as discredit their counterparts for “deviation.” The voices of religious intellectuals appeared in newspapers, such as the notorious Salām, founded and published in 1991 by āyatollāh Khoʾeiniha; Kīān, founded after Kayhān-e farhangī was banned in 1991; and Asr-e mā. The ongoing philosophical and theological discussions involved clerics, journalists, former members of the intelligence services, and revolutionaries, who all held different views and expectations but had in common a disagreement with the ruling elite during the interregnum of ʽAli Khamenei and Hashemi Rasfanjani. New slogans replaced the revolutionary interpretation of Islam. The authority of the Supreme Leader was under threat from the quest for pluralism and popular participation, but also in terms of the respect for individual freedoms and human rights.16 This new intellectual debate attempted to counter the dominant religious discourse by rethinking the meaning of religion in social life, and thereby replacing political dogmatism with pluralism.17 The main field of contention within the Islamic Republic was delimited to a religious space, whereas secular and non-religious discourses remained at the margins, effectively excluded at a political level, and being widely presented to the society as demonstrating exogenous and Westernized tendencies. Yet this challenge to the mainstream interpretation of religion did not signify a rejection of Islam from either political or private life, and this is for two main reasons. Firstly, the post-revolutionary elite never denied the revolutionary aspects of Islam, but they disagreed on how to turn them into power relations and top-down policies. Secondly, political forms of opposition could only exist within specific boundaries. In the 1990s, the traditional right and the Islamic Left were competing over several internal matters and approaches to foreign politics. Despite being united in the revolution, their disagreement surfaced after the death of Khomeyni. The quest for political pluralism and for an inclusive political system did not simply just appear but was rather the result of a political rivalry that emerged following the ousting of the Islamic Left from the nezām. After being politically marginalized by traditional conservatives, the “followers of the Imām” sought to return to the political arena. Their political stance had been influenced by religious intellectuals and, therefore, they began to advocate a less

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ideological interpretation of Islam that could accommodate several viewpoints. This political desire came to characterize the eslāhtalāb front, a heterogeneous group of politicians who had risen from the ashes of the Islamic Left. In the aftermath of the Iranian revolution, several events that have been mentioned in the previous chapter empowered the Chap-e eslāmī and granted them almost complete control of the political institutions. With the resignation of Bazargan in November 1979, and the following ousting of moderate liberals, the Islamic Left occupied all the significant institutions that were advocating the need to “export the revolution” and centralize the state economy.18 The first President of the Republic, Abdolhasan Bani Sadr, was forced to resign after five months, and was replaced for two weeks by Mohammad ʽAli Rajai before he himself was killed in a bomb attack carried out by the People’s Mojāhedīn. Leftists and Marxist-Leninist militant groups, such as the MEK and the Sāzmān-e Fadāʽyān-e Khalq-e Īrān (Organization of Iranian People’s Fadaian), were gradually purged—though not without violent clashes. As a result, the Islamic Left emerged as the leading faction.19 In 1980, the Supreme Leader, āyatollāh Khomeyni, who was already commander-in-chief of the IRGC, took over the command of the Artesh, the regular army. The Islamic leftists kept their revolutionary zeal and maintained their ideological attitudes towards domestic, economic, and international politics. Their statist approach and aggressive tones characterized the decade of the war, in which Iran had to both solidify the republic and defend the integrity of the nation. Without neglecting revolutionary principles and slogans, the traditional right and the conservative segments of the IRP moved away from vehement language to embrace a more moderate political practice. As explored in the previous chapter, factionalism erupted due to the inner struggle for power that polarized the post-revolutionary sphere, but without ever endangering the foundations of the republic. The Iranian elite, which was self-representing itself as enqelābī (revolutionaries), appeared fragmented and divided over different political, social, and economic matters. At the end of the 1980s, the nezām moved towards a “routinized” state, eager to normalize its structure, political paradigms, and agenda.20 The disputes between the factions did not reflect a continuation of the revolution or the need to stabilize the political order, but rather reflected the ideological transformation of these groups as they began to be normalized in mainstream politics. Whereas the ideological framework

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remained linked to Khomeyni’s principles, the first generation was compelled to modify its political position while maintaining the revolutionary discourse. New challenges emerged in the post-war period, from the reconstruction of infrastructures and industry, to the worsening of foreign relations and the emergence of new social issues related to demographic growth, the universalization of education, and the spread of unsustainable subsidies.21 For some politicians and young revolutionaries, the discourse on eʽtedāl (moderation) and towseʽe (development), which sought to attract foreign investment and boost privatization, seemed like a betrayal and distortion of the original principles of the revolution. The young generation of revolutionaries criticized these transformations, pointing out how the new capitalist agenda increased social disparities and how materialistic policies had replaced revolutionary idealism. Meanwhile, the whole of the political elite was looking to refashion their political ideology. The Islamic Left was labelled Chap-e rādīkāl (radical left) because of their enduring revolutionary fervour. The label rādīkāl should not be considered a judgement on their ideas, but rather a means to discredit the group in the wider competition for power. The priorities of the 1990s were no longer to institutionalize Khomeyni’s doctrine and marginalize secular forces and militant leftists, but to rebuild the industrial sector, normalize foreign relations, and boost the economy. Whereas the popular target of religious radicals was the mostazaʽfān, such as the urban poor and the dispossessed who needed access to goods and services, in the 1990s a rising educated and urban middle class became the main social target of the new political discourse. This segment of society benefitted from access to higher education and social services and included technicians, professionals, managers, and small entrepreneurs, as well as university students and intellectuals. Considering the qualitative and quantitative changes in Iranian society, the political elite addressed themes like economic growth, popular participation, the recognition of human and individual rights, and political pluralism. As such, it was necessary to dismantle the rhetorical excesses inherited from the revolution and to marginalize the Islamic Left, which could potentially hamper Rafsanjani’s reconstruction project.22 Part of the Islamic Left branched off into the MRM and started to reconsider its political position according to new challenges and emerging social forces. The generation born after 1979 had not experienced the revolution and, as a result, was not familiar with the cultural and political references that dominated revolutionary discourse. Even though the rhetoric of fighting

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imperialism and providing ʽedālat remained a cornerstone on an official level, new ideas and social needs shaped post-revolutionary ideology. The view of a classless society fighting for emancipation, as outlined by ʽAli Shariʽati, was no longer essential nor particularly useful for a growing population concerned with jobs and less state control over an individual’s life. Therefore, after having been politically marginalized by the conservatives, owing to the invasive role played by certain unelected institutions, part of the Islamic Left found their way back into politics. Their relationship with religious intellectuals was extremely important because the pluralism they advocated presented an opportunity for these politicians to realize their ambition of returning to the political arena. The Chap-e eslāmī contested the way the IRP had monopolized the decision-making process and how revolutionary ideology had been translated into a political tool for strengthening the power of an oligarchy. On the one hand, these revolutionaries wanted to introduce reforms to make the system more inclusive, and thus legitimize their renewed position at the expense of the conservative front. On the other, the Islamic Left was composed of different groups, university students and the urban middle classes, which meant that they found themselves representing new social ambitions, such as individual freedoms and political participation. A segment of the Chap-e eslāmī transformed their political language and mode of self-representation, from being enqelābī (revolutionaries) to focus instead on eslāh (reforms). Reformists, therefore, were not outsiders, but part of the revolutionary generation who had been marginalized, or who had voluntarily stepped back from the political debate but now returned to advocate for reforms. They criticized the drift towards authoritarianism that had occurred under the unelected institutions and how their counterparts had translated revolutionary principles in such a way as to grant themselves personal and exclusive privileges. For reasons such as these, the Western label of “reformist” appears too narrow and is unable to satisfactorily capture all the different shades, reasons, demands, and perspectives of this front. Likewise, the reformist label does not encompass the full political scope of the revolutionaries, who had later joined the reformist front but maintained diverse and different views compared to the academic and intellectual reformists.23 Certain notorious figures in Iranian society supported the eslāhtalāb front, such as the Great āyatollāh Hoseyn ʽAli Montazeri, who openly contested the political representation of the Velāyat-e faqīh and sought to delegitimize the Supreme Leader from a religious viewpoint. ʽAli

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Khamenei lacked the religious qualifications of a marjaʽ-e taqlīd and so Montazeri claimed that the rahbar would weaken the structure of the marjaʽiyat.24 The Great āyatollāh stated that the Supreme Leader “can never be above the law, and he cannot interfere in all the affairs, particularly the affairs that fall outside his area of expertise, such as complex economic issues, or issues of foreign policy and international relations […] The way how it is elected [by the Assembly of Experts] has not been successful, creating doubts, confusion and problems in the minds of the majority of the nation, which is supposed to be the very foundation of the government.”25 Similar to other political activists, Montazeri accused the Supreme Leader of betraying the popular premises of the Iranian constitution, implicitly criticizing the rahbar’s arbitrary power. As a result of these statements, the āyatollāh was marginalized and placed under house arrest from that moment onwards. Alongside the academic reflections of religious intellectuals, there were political reformists trying to modernise Islam at a political level by strengthening its populist-democratic stance. Prominent political activists were Mohammad Khatami, Saʽid Hajariyan,26 Akbar Ganji,27 Mostafa Malekian, ʽAbas ʽAbdi, ʽAlireza ʽAlavitabar, Mostafa Tajzadeh, Hashem Aqajari, and Hasan Yusefi Eshkevari. These politicians were former members of the intelligence services, IRGC, or had held office in government. They fuelled the reformists’ political debate by challenging the way in which the guardianship of the Islamic jurist had been used to justify theocratic absolutism. While the conservatives had exploited Khomeyni’s principles to preserve power relations and their predominant position at an institutional level, reformists aimed to challenge this perceived distortion and advocate for the sovereignty of the Iranian people. These politicians were former insiders of the nezām, who had played pivotal roles within its significant institutions and ministries but acknowledged the ongoing drift towards an illiberal system. In their view, politics was meant to work in the national interest and not in the interest of those forces who could monopolize power.28 However, not all the rūshanfekrān-e dīnī endorsed the eslāhtalābān project.29 As such, being labelled a reformist in post-revolutionary Iran could actually refer to any number of diverse ideological claims. The political front that had emerged from a segment of the marginalized Islamic Left could benefit from the enduring debate on pluralism and the quest for popular participation, without having to reject the existing political structure. The eslāhtalābān were political activists that intended to reform the nezām

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from within by implementing a different interpretation of Islam. The discourse shaped by the religious intellectuals remained mainly on an academic level, whereas the politicians advocated for a new reading of religion as a political tool in the wider competition for power.

Political Reformism and Khatami’s Presidency Already at the end of the 1980s, the Islamic Left had opposed the reconstruction and continued to promote a statist economic view. Foreign investments were considered a form of national dependency that needed to be prevented. At the same time, the pragmatic President Rafsanjani understood the necessity to rebuild the country by means of a different economical strategy. The outcome of the five-year economic plans was, however, unsatisfactory, and the ambitious programme to achieve economic modernization partially failed. Meanwhile, there was a growth in corruption.30 Privatization moved slowly, as the lack of technology and capital limited any effective growth, and the fall in oil prices damaged the country’s main source of revenue.31 Unemployment, inflation, and product shortages fuelled people’s dissatisfaction and, moreover, the gap between the rich and the poor widened considerably. While the population grew, the per capita GDP fell to levels last seen before the 1979 revolution. The unfulfilled economic improvements and a lack of opportunities exacerbated the frustrations of the poor, who accused the system of corruption and patronage, criticism that would negatively affect Rafsanjani’s candidacy a decade later in 2005. The reconstruction provided an opportunity for increased personal enrichment: people with the right access could accrue information, accumulate wealth, and even acquire political positions. Waves of monetary scandals and ministries being accused of embezzlement characterized the reconstruction phase, in which there was a proliferation of state-affiliated companies benefitting from government resources while operating as private entities. The Rafsanjani family also increased its political status and presence within the state’s economic affairs.32 The enrichment of these small circles of people is linked to the negative term āqāzādegān, which commonly indicates the patronage system revolving around certain groups of individuals. Privatization was associated with the dynamics of nepotism and self-enrichment at an institutional level, in religious foundations, banks, and the oil sector, which served to deepen public discontent. Nevertheless, there were some positive achievements made during

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Rafsanjani’s presidency, in spite of the harsh repression of dissidents and political opponents, infamously referred to as the qatlhā-ye zanjīreī (the chain murders).33 The expansion of higher education in particular improved female access to school and university; there was a loosening on censorship and on women’s clothing. The internationalization served to ameliorate global relations and expanded economic trade with China and the Central Asian countries born after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Likewise, the Islamic Republic aimed to improve relations with the Arab monarchies in the Gulf, with the aim to no longer be seen as a regional threat, but rather as a stabilizing force in the area. Relations with the European Union took the shape of a “critical dialogue,” where Europe would be willing to talk with Iran if the latter would improve its behaviour “in a number of areas.”34 There were various constraints on both sides that made any full political and economic engagement challenging, but the attempt to normalize bilateral relations emerged as a common will to be accomplished. The parliamentary elections held in 1996 saw the rise of a new political front competing with the traditional right. Technocrats among the government gathered in a new coalition led by Gholamhoseyn Karbaschi, Tehran’s mayor since 1989, which was named the Hezb-e Kārgozārān. Karbaschi had distinguished himself through various urban planning initiatives in the capital, which aimed to develop a new public sphere with cultural centres and to replace the street art praising war martyrs with advertisements. With his ideas for modernizing the capital, he represented the new rising middle classes and political technocrats, and his views were reflected in the Kārgozārān, reaffirming the typical personalization of power in post-revolutionary Iran. As suggested in the previous chapter, this front of technocrats embodied Rafsanjani’s economic policy. The Construction Party emerged due to increasing fractures among the establishment and especially between the Supreme Leader and the executive, whose members were technocrats and engineers holding Ph.D.s, but no longer clerical figures. The Hezb-e Kārgozārān aimed to improve economic growth through the free market economy and industrial conglomerates. For these reasons, the group is commonly labelled as the pragmatic front, which highlights its effort to normalize foreign relations and implement a modern industrial economy while renouncing ideological drivers. The distinctive features of the “modern right,” represented by the Kārgozārān, were economic priorities and

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less attention being given to ideological principles, such as the emphasis on a welfare economy that had proved to be not fully sustainable after the Iran-Iraq War.35 Even though the conservative front is generally considered a monolithic bloc devoted to the founding principles of the Islamic Republic, its political agenda underwent many changes in order to survive for decades. Conservatives embraced different positions without ever questioning the official narrative, but rather carefully transforming that narrative to act as a stabilizing force. Also, as Rafsanjani’s presidency revealed, attempts to introduce reforms were never straightforward and often highlighted factional rivalries. The rahbar ʽAli Khamenei consolidated his authority thanks to the ties established with the military apparatus and the revolutionary clergy of the Qom Society of Seminary Teachers. He also worked closely with Rafsanjani to marginalize common political competitors, such as those who had emerged in the electoral campaign of 1992. However, technocrats were less concerned about social issues and sought to reduce any influence on individual life, while the conservative clergy gathered behind the Supreme Leader, like ʽAli Akbar Nateq-Nuri, Mahdavi Kani, and Ahmad Jannati insisted on a more rigid approach and stricter controls over the public sphere and individual choices. These conflicting views caused a further fracture among the traditional right and paved the way for new alliances. By arguing for freedom of commerce, the Kārgozārān implicitly represented a form of political pluralism, albeit a relative and somewhat limited type. Following the war there was the need to harmonize different ideologies because of the growing emergence of societal pluralism. However, several groups had either been sidelined or their expectations had been frustrated by the way in which the conservatives had turned unelected institutions to their political benefit. The ideological transformation of the post-revolutionary elite has, therefore, shed light on the ongoing disagreements about how best to implement revolutionary values, starting with the economy, while society continued to develop new needs and make new requests. Iranian factions have changed positions, approaches, and tones throughout the decades in order to remain relevant and influential. Behruz Nabavi, founder of the Sāzmān-e Mojāhedīn-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī-e Īrān (Mojāhedīn of the Iranian Islamic Revolution Organization), said that “the change of interests generates the change of affiliations.”36 This view perfectly captures the refashioned ideology of the Islamic Left, which changed its political behaviour to overcome

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marginalization. In the mid-1990s, a segment of the Chap-e eslāmī identified in the fracture among the conservatives and the rise of the pragmatist wing an opportunity to re-enter the political arena. Former Islamic leftists supported the moderate discourse of the Kārgozārān in terms of foreign policy and the relaxation on social issues, as they presented a vehicle for their own agenda and a means by which to regain visibility. Moreover, they acknowledged the necessity to reduce state control over the economy. The leader of the Islamic leftists, and a prominent member of the MRM, āyatollāh Musavi Khoʾeiniha argued that “state monopoly in economic management will not lead to growth in production.”37 This did not necessarily advocate full privatization, but suggested a less ideological and more flexible approach—yet one that was not agreed upon by all members of the MRM. In those years, the fall of the Soviet Union provoked a rethinking of socialist economic models. Changing perspectives over the economy prompted a quest for change by means of a more comprehensive approach led by the reformist movement. In 1997, a year after the initial realignment of pragmatic-reformist forces, the presidential elections offered an important platform to launch the new political group. The scene was again polarized between two major heterogeneous fronts: one represented by the Supreme Leader, the traditional clergy of the JRM, the merchant’s associations, and the military apparatus; one epitomized by the modern right and the eslāhtalābān, which advocated eslāh (reforms). The conservative clerics supported Nateq-Nuri, speaker of the parliament and former Minister of the Interior, whereas the reformists-pragmatist front endorsed the hojjatoleslām Mohammad Khatami, an intellectual cleric who had served as Minister of Culture (1982–1992) and had been responsible for the Islamic Centre in Hamburg before the 1979 revolution. At that time Khatami was the director of the National Library in Tehran and emerged as a powerful and charismatic figure. The widespread popular success of Khatami came from his liberal interpretation of constitutional principles, especially by enforcing the rule of law. His political slogans, like that of the hokumat-e qānūn (rule of law), demokrāsī-ye dīnī (religious democracy), jomʽe-ye madanī (civil society), and the notorious goftogū-ye tamadonhā (dialogue between civilizations), played to the social expectations of the young, educated generation and the political call for pluralism of the reformist front. Mohammad Khatami was a calm, moderate, and amiable figure. His supporters came from the urban middle classes, civil society, and student organizations, like that of the DTV. Previously the

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DTV had gathered together revolutionary students committed to the ideological foundations of the republic and represented the only student association in the country in charge of spreading the mainstream conservative discourse on university campuses. However, the feeling of marginalization from the early 1990s caused the group to rethink its views and call for more participation and less state control over individual life, thereby promoting a less authoritarian system.38 The DTV together with wider civil society played a crucial role in supporting the candidacy of Khatami.39 The leader of the reformist front was elected President of the Islamic Republic on May 23, 1997 (referred to in the Persian calendar as the notorious Dovvom-e khordād, the second day of the month khordād), with an overwhelming victory and a turnout that represented 80% of the population entitled to vote. This massive popular response underlined the rising voices from the urban middle classes, women, and linguistic-religious minorities, who welcomed the programme of tolerance and respect for individual rights. The reformist movement aimed at institutionalizing the ongoing change within Iranian society to strengthen the ties between the population and the state. Therefore, far from rejecting the institutionalized political system, Khatami sought to strengthen its republicanism and counterbalance the arbitrary power of the oligarchic religious establishment. Islam would allow plurality of thought and both recognize and assure people’s rights and the rule of law, all elements that were in fact guaranteed by the Iranian constitution. Khatami did not think of devaluing the role of Islam in either the political sphere or in social life, but rather wished to assert religion’s role in enhancing people’s will. Islam could deliver people’s rights and therefore the republican dimension of the system should be reinforced at the expense of unelected religious bodies. He was not an anti-status quo candidate, but his political discourse changed throughout, adopting different patterns, tones, and motifs. The eslāhtalāb, or reformist front, also emerged with his election, surfacing as a heterogeneous coalition that brought together different ideas and beliefs within the notion of eslāh. Reforms would tackle relevant issues and concerns within the public sphere, political interference in individuals’ lives, diplomacy and foreign policy, and power relations, while the economy followed a policy of liberalization and the (gradual) attempt to privatize state industries. Members of this factions could agree on some topics while disagreeing on others, for example they might accept the free market economy but diverge on social matters.

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The eslāhtalāb front included those who accepted the role of the clergy within the decision-making process, while aiming to lessen its role, but also those who sought to foreground the role of popular representation at the expense of religious authority. There were also others, such as those calling for a sharp division between political institutions and religion, and who had been defined as rādikāl by conservative groups. From this perspective, the term rādikāl implied an anti-status quo tendency, which sits in contrast to the Western interpretation of radicalism that is instead applied to devoted followers of Khomeyni’s revolutionary ideology. The most prominent group within the eslāhtalāb front was the Jebheh-ye Moshārekat-e Īrān-e Eslāmī (Islamic Iran Participation Front. From now simply Moshārekat). It was founded by Mohsen Mirdamadi, who was one of the “followers of the Imām,” and among its leading members were Mohammad Reza Khatami, the President’s brother, ʽAlireza ʽAlavitabar, Mostafa Tajzadeh, and Saʽid Hajariyan. The Moshārekat also gathered supporters of the Mojāhedīn of the Iranian Islamic Revolution, and young Islamic leftists from the middle classes, who were in favour of a socialist economic model. Despite some internal divergences on certain political issues, the eslāhtalāb front sought to capitalize on the widespread malaise present within several segments of Iranian society, which had grown disenchanted with the outcomes of the Iranian revolution. Khatami embodied the need for reform as well as the political will to downsize the arbitrary power held by unelected institutions—those constitutional bodies that were linked to the leadership of the rahbar. The President’s discourse reflected social demands but also the political need to preserve the republic while limiting abuses of power. With Khatami leading the executive, the discourse that had been advanced by religious intellectuals soon began to be realized on a political level, and the demand for pluralism encouraged the debate about moving towards a genuinely democratic system.40 Reformist politicians, however, tried not to openly challenge the figure of the Supreme Leader and the Hokumat-e eslāmī, even though some intellectuals and other politicians voiced criticisms. Instead, they accused conservatives of having monopolized political power by putting the faqīh above the law. Reformists looked to operate within the system and were willing to modify some of its more controversial aspects when it came to power distribution. Therefore, reforms did not imply radical transformations, nor abrupt institutional changes, but rather gradual alterations of the

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authoritarian and illiberal socio-political dynamics. Additionally, reformists were khodī (insiders), but conceived a different interpretation of Islam in the post-revolutionary system, which could avoid power being concentrated in the hands of one group or institution. This different reading of Islam, inherited from religious intellectuals, was designed to introduce political reforms, while challenging their counterparts who sought to enforce their ideological predominance.41 The remarkable victory of Mohammad Khatami reflected not only the deep ideological transformation of the post-revolutionary elite, but also how the social contract between institutions and society underwent a phase of redefinition. As the 1997 elections show, a majoritarian segment of Iranian society was captivated by the rhetoric of mardom sālārī (popular government), which implied more participation and government accountability. Promises of freedom and the rule of law increased individuals’ enthusiasm and interest in political affairs. For these reasons, Western observers have often distinguished reformists as agents of change and conservatives as promoters of authoritarianism. However, although reformists aimed at introducing doctrinal and institutional reforms, they never attempted to completely transform the Iranian nezām. President Khatami sought to implement two types of reforms: socio-political liberalizations and institutional changes. The first concerned the realization of a Jāmeʽeh-ye madanī-ye eslāmī (Islamic civil society) and a state of law, which could guarantee inclusiveness, popular participation, less restrictions on individual life, and control over the public sphere. The second concerned institutional aspects and in particular the effort to pursue constitutional changes to downsize the arbitrary power of the Guardian Council and to reduce the interference of the clergy in daily lives. At the beginning of his first mandate (1997–2001), Khatami aimed to normalize regional and international relations, and thereby replaced animosity with dialogue, and the ideological narrative with a more pragmatic rhetoric. He attempted to re-establish open discussions with foreign powers and move away from a “critical dialogue” to pursue a “comprehensive dialogue” with the European Union. The “dialogue between civilization” was a rhetorical tool to improve the image of the republic abroad and demonstrate its rational and moderate outlook.42 The President also ameliorated relations with Arab monarchies in the Gulf, a difficult but necessary act in order to overcome decades of suspicion and mutual distrust.43 Drawing a line of continuity

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with his predecessor, Khatami continued to present the republic as having moved far from the ideological zeal and aggressive tones of previous years. Though relations with the United States did not see any improvements, Iran intensified exchanges with China, Russia, and the Central Asia republics. These gradual transformations would not be possible without the (indirect) approval of the Supreme Leader, even though his power combined with the pervasive role of unelected institutions would soon start to curb the reformist agenda. Ideological imperatives remained largely on a rhetorical level, designed to strengthen the legitimacy of the republic, but diplomacy and political action were directed towards moderation, dialogue, and trust building. Despite the call for self-sufficiency and strategic isolation, Iranian foreign policy maintained a pragmatic approach in order to protect the country’s national interests.44 At the domestic level, Khatami encouraged freedom of expression and his Minister of Guidance (and later, Culture), Ataʽollah Mohajerani, implemented significant reforms to widen cultural debate by encouraging the diffusion of the printed press, which also began to be circulated outside the main urban areas. He reduced censorship of the press, art, culture, and literature, which led to a flourishing of independent newspapers and journals, such as Salām, Jāme’eh, Tūs, Khordād, Sobh-e emrūz, Neshāt, Moshārekat, ʽAsr āzādegān, and Bahār. The press became the main vehicle for spreading the reformist debate and covered issues within the political domain in order to increase public awareness. Alongside the press, several associations and non-governmental organizations came to light, which helped boost popular activism. Having opened up the political space for debate, these initiatives also highlighted gender issues and the ongoing battle for women’s rights.45 Women’s activism had emerged in 1997, although it was not directly linked to the reformist group. It articulated different demands, some even more traditional or Islamist, with regard to women’s role within Iranian society. The gradual and limited engagement of women in the public sphere brought these forms of female activism together in condemning discriminatory family law and seeking further opportunities for women. During Khatami’s presidency the results were quite modest, but the change in environment and more amenable attitudes allowed women’s issues to enter into both the public and political debate, and triggered grassroots activism.46

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Domestic Reaction to Reformism and the Regional Context It was only at the very end of the 1990s when the reformist front was able to gain control of both the legislative and executive powers. This shift occurred during the local and provincial elections held in 1999, which saw victories for reformist and independent candidates in all the major cities of the country47 (with the exception of Qom, which was a crucial stronghold of the conservative clergy) and represented not just the defeat of conservative politicians but also the existing popular demand for changes among the urban population. As a result, there were high expectations that Khatami could really transform the system, strengthen its republican pillars, and initiate a wider process of democratization. However, while the reformists now controlled both the elected institutions, the centre of “real power” was still dominated by conservative clerics. The attempts to liberalize the political domain and various other aspects of social life provoked a severe reaction from the political opponents of the eslāhtalāb. The conservatives, including the Supreme Leader and his circle of allies, members of the IRGC, and the unelected institutions sought to maintain their privileges and therefore acted to preserve the existing power structures and limit political pluralism. They feared that any changes in the composition of the institutions would result in a breakdown of the entire nezām, and so endanger their legitimacy. Moreover, some of the eslāhtalāb had questioned the absolute leadership of the rahbar and advocated a change to the system that would require the Supreme Leader to be elected by the people. This view was compatible with Islamic tradition, according to the āyatollāh Hoseyn Montazeri, but constituted a risk for those politicians who were in the Supreme Leader’s orbit and claimed the absolute guardianship of the rahbar. Challenged by these views, conservatives adopted several strategies to curb the reformist front’s policies and, ultimately, to exclude its main representatives from the corridors of power. Behind the headlines and the political rhetoric, countering ­reformism became a key concept within the domestic political landscape. In the first years of Khatami’s presidency continuous intimidations, arrests, and the targeted assassinations of journalists, intellectuals, professors, and even members of parliament and prominent reformist politicians sent a clear political message. These attacks were carried out

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with the involvement of the security forces and military apparatus— though suspicious deaths were kept quiet. The Minister of Intelligence, Qorbanʽali Dori-Najafabadi, was a conservative cleric close to the rahbar.48 When he called for an investigation into these suspicious murders and arbitrary attacks, Najafabadi was forced to resign. Constant clashes occurred between the executive power and the security apparatus. The rahbar allowed unelected institutions and religious supervisory bodies to interfere in the political arena, boycotting any attempts to introduce socio-political changes promoted by the eslāhtalāb. The reformists never managed to control the real centres of power, such as the judiciary, the Guardian Council, and the military apparatus, each of whom had played a significant role in boycotting, limiting, persecuting, and frustrating reformist laws, members of parliament, and their various initiatives. The judiciary was engaged in an efficient intimidation of reformist intellectuals and politicians. It enabled the shutdown of reformist newspapers and closed down spaces for public debate.49 There was a mass ban on newspapers and journals during Khatami’s presidency,50 even though they reopened under different names and continued their mission of persuading society by means of a new political discourse. Likewise, the judiciary attacked reformist ministers and politicians. Tehran’s mayor Gholamhoseyn Karbaschi was arrested on corruption charges. He was sentenced to five years in prison (later reduced) for embezzling and wasting public funds.51 Minister Mohajerani was forced to resign after receiving harsh criticism from the Supreme Leader; and the Minister of Interior, ʽAbdollah Nuri, was impeached by the parliament in 1998. A year later Mohsen Kadivar was arrested for expressly criticizing the Velāyat-e faqīh. Pro-system volunteer militias played a significant role in countering reformist supporters, acting as a countermovement.52 Groups like the paramilitary Ansār-e Hezbollāh and basīj patrolled public spaces, university campuses, and streets to enforce Islamic values and to control the rigorous adherence to religious dress codes and behaviours. Moreover, while attacking reformist gatherings, conferences, discouraging gender interactions, or intimidating the “bad hejābī,” women with a loose veil, this “countermovement,” as named by Majid Mohammadi, acted without oversight. Individual choices were politicized to such an extent that any form of divergence from mainstream, conservative norms was perceived as a threat to the survival of the system. The Sāzmān-e BasījDāneshjūyān-e Dāneshgāh (Organization of Basīj University Students)

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was founded in the early 1990s to strengthen the pro-government ideological stance within universities, to control student associations and professors, repress pro-reformist groups, and also to recruit new members.53 University campuses became a more polarized space between pro-establishment organizations and groups supporting the executive, which was why the basīj then tried to counter DTV activism among university students.54 However, since the DTV actively supported the reformists agenda, it was gradually marginalized at political level, paving the way for an increase in the actions of pro-conservative associations within the universities. The relentless repression of reformist members and the closure of their spaces for expression was justified under the banner of guaranteeing national security. All threats to the ruling elite were labelled as a risk to the foundations of the Islamic Republic and its principles. The call for a democratically elected rahbar was characterized as a Western concept, as was the separation between religion and politics. On February 28, 2001, ʽAli Khamenei stated that: “one of the most common words today is ‘reformism.’ I believe that reformism is part of the essence of the revolution. […] Reformism – in the true sense of the word – is an integral part of the revolution, and a Muslim student cannot but be a reformer. Reformism is not a political issue. This should not be used as a political ploy and a means to attract the hearts of this and that. […] The government and the nation are obliged to be reformists. Of course, they should not allow reformism to be defined by others.”55 The Supreme Leader was implicitly accusing the executive of abusing the notion of reform while imitating Western models “corrupted” by Western propaganda.56 Again the notion of a foreign enemy was instrumental when it came to challenging internal opposition, as mentioned in the first chapter of this book. The West not only epitomized an existential threat to the Iranian political system, but the concept of the West as a foreign enemy was also exploited by conservatives to portray themselves as the only legitimate political player willing to protect the survival of the republic. The Supreme Leader started to question the significance of eslāh, claiming that it was the enemies of the republic who were behind the calls for reforms endorsed by the eslāhtalābān: “Now the same United States and Britain, their presidents and politicians and media, are defending and supporting what is called reforms in Iran!”57 In a meeting with the cabinet, he insisted that the real reforms were not those spread by US propaganda, but rather the continual fight against poverty and injustice,

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two of the pillars of revolutionary rhetoric.58 All of these actions and verbal attacks on the eslāhtalāb front exacerbated popular discontent and increased political polarization. Students and human rights activists contested the illiberal system and the lack of civil liberties, launching major protests in both 1999 and 2003. In 1999, the conservative-led parliament passed a law to tighten up controls over the press by the judiciary and allowed for the easier closure of newspapers under the justification of “preserving national order and security.” In July, the forced closure of the reformist newspaper Salām resulted in a brutal clash between students, who advocated more freedom of expression, and the security apparatus, who raided the dormitories of Tehran University with the police and basīj militias. The suppression of the protests ended up in a bloodbath, which has never been forgotten.59 The President failed to provide a prompt response to his young supporters and adopted a low profile when it came to condemning the harsh repression they had been subjected to. While students felt betrayed, the reformists themselves had already become the target of the judiciary and, therefore, the President chose not to offer further provocation that might polarize the issue. Moreover, members of the IRGC warned Khatami that “their patience was running out” and to restore order “before [it was] too late and [the situation became] irreparable.”60 The President was in an extremely vulnerable position and found himself unable and unwilling to fight back against the pressure from conservative institutions. The reformists were unable to fulfil popular expectations and, consequently, gradually started to lose support from those students, intellectuals, and women who had previously and openly endorsed the eslāhtalāb project. Khatami was elected for a consecutive second term in 2001, commanding 78% of the vote. Though this was an important success, low turnout in comparison with previous elections reflected people’s disappointment and a waning interest in political participation. The reformist coalition gathered together within the Dovvom-e khordād,61 a heterogeneous and internally divided front that struggled to maintain any sense of cohesion and, as such, had difficulty agreeing on a well-defined political project. This faction brought together certain personalities closer to the pragmatists of the Kārgozārān, who promoted economic liberalization and social openness, though always within the ideological boundaries of the republic. Others, instead, represented the urban bourgeoisie, who were firmly against the presence of the clergy within the political sphere, and agitated for a reduction of its intrusiveness in

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the decision-making process. And there were still yet others who maintained the traditional economic view of the Islamic Left and supported state centralization. Consequently, all these diverging attitudes about how to run the economy inevitably affected the implementation of economic reforms.62 Despite slight improvements thanks to the rise in oil prices between 1998 and 2000,63 the structural problems of the republic seemed to be unsolvable.64 The reduction of foreign debt, which had reached the threshold of twenty billion dollars, and the inflow of technology and foreign capital were not enough to boost the national economy. Unemployment remained a persistent problem, together with the disparity in the distribution of wealth. Both issues fed further disillusionment with regard to the eslāhtalāb’s ability to achieve consistent socio-economic reforms.65 Together with the judiciary, the Guardian Council played a significant role in downsizing the reformist front, as it could reject candidacies in election rounds, such as could be seen with the mass disqualifications of reformists in 2003 and 2004.66 Finally, it was not just the ongoing domestic situation that resulted in a weakening of the reformist movement. The politics of reconciliation with the West endorsed by Khatami had turned out to be a double-edged sword. Conservatives accused the reformists of conspiring with the enemies of the republic, and the United States repeatedly demonstrated their preference for an aggressive approach to foreign policy in the Middle East. Ideological slogans like that of esteqlāl (independency) and moqavvamat (resistance) were used to criticize those within Iran who wished to maintain an open dialogue with the West. At the turn of the new century, certain important events would further shape developments within the Middle East. After 9/11, political and military transformations only served to exacerbate domestic factionalism within the Islamic Republic. Washington sought to create a less hostile environment for the US and their allies in the Middle East. From 2001, the United States launched a repositioning of their troops in the area with the aim of modifying the existing balance of power within the region. In 2001, the military invasion of Afghanistan was intended to eradicate the presence of the Taliban and Al Qāʽida core networks. The Operation Enduring Freedom resulted in the long-lasting presence of international troops based in Afghan territory, who witnessed interminable violence and instability that did not end with the overthrow of the Taliban and still persists to date. The following year, the US President George W. Bush declared that Iran, North Korea, and Iraq were part of an “Axis

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of Evil,” just like those rogue states who were perpetrating horizontal nuclear proliferation and supporting terrorism.67 Since the aftermath of the 1979 revolution, Iran had been accused of sponsoring terrorist militias, including Lebanese Hezbollāh, for the purpose of destabilizing the region. This persisting narrative, however, did not provide any concrete or satisfactory proof that Iranian regional politics was led by aggressive ideological drivers, as opposed to—as is far more likely—by a defensive or a forward defensive strategy.68 Therefore, the “Axis of Evil” statement seriously jeopardized the reformists’ attempts to pursue a comprehensive dialogue with the West. In 2003, the United States invaded Iraq and launched the Iraqi Freedom mission to eradicate the supposed existence of weapons of mass destruction belonging to Saddam Hussein, which turned out to be an unfounded claim. The US strategy to redefine the balance of power in the Middle East also included the weakening of the Islamic Republic, potentially by provoking a collapse of the governing system in the medium-long term.69 American military operations were, therefore, perceived as an existential threat to Iranian national security and above all to the existence of the Islamic Republic. Iran was surrounded by hostile foreign troops and the insecurity along the borders with Afghanistan and Iraq posed a threat to domestic stability, especially in those peripheral areas inhabited by ethnic minorities, such as Khuzestan or Sistan Baluchistan. The profound sense of distrust towards Washington, and the potential to use this to challenge and weaken the reformist front, led the conservatives to expand their political actions and social repressions. As will be discussed in due course, these external threats and the wider public perception of Iran’s enemies paved the way for stricter policies inside the republic and could be used as a valuable tool to hamstring political opponents deemed to be sympathetic to the West. The Taliban regime collapsed, as did Saddam Hussein’s state and military apparatus, which caused a significant influx of refugees from one side of the border and resulted in long-lasting instability at the other. These drastic regional changes would undoubtedly affect Iranian regional policy, especially in the medium-term, but also provided the conservatives with sufficient reason to suppress political opposition, particularly those groups who wished to reconcile with the West. The militarization of political decisions and increased securitization not only looked to respond to external pressures but also aimed to justify internal repression against reformists.70 The pragmatic and reconciliatory brand

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of foreign politics pursued by the eslāhtalābān faded into obscurity when confronted with the uncompromising stance of the United States, which indirectly emboldened the reformists’ internal opponents to rise up as a defender of national stability. Reformists certainly did not aim to overthrow the system or to abruptly transform the political order. They were insiders who believed in the pluralism guaranteed by the constitution and in delivering the will of the people. President Khatami was a very popular, mild, and moderate figure who demonstrated to the West the brighter side of the post-revolutionary elite. His inclusive approach and sense of moderation, though, were completely replaced by the rise of a new political generation.

From Revolutionaries to Hardliners: Renewing the Old Discourse The Iranian revolutionary front was extremely heterogeneous, and the attitudes of religious radicals encompassed many different ideas in terms of the economy, on social and political issues, foreign policy, and power relations. The establishment of the Islamic Republic did not remove these differences among the religious revolutionary group, and this became abundantly clear only a decade later. The eslāhtalāb project was one of the most striking transformations of any segment of the Iranian revolutionary elite, which would see Islamic socialism delineated into a discourse about human rights and civil society. The religious dimension of the reformists offers some insight into the boundaries within which Iranian politicians operated, but above all it demonstrates how diverse views on political Islam shaped the domestic competition in contemporary Iran. The Islamic Left was not a cohesive and monolithic bloc. Some of its members were keen to protect the populist and socialist components of the constitution, others prioritized a state-controlled economy, and others praised Khomeyni’s ideology and the wider themes of equality and justice. The original social targets of this group also changed with the emergence of the reformist front. Where the first had spoken to the subaltern, urban poor, and revolutionary students, the second turned to the educated middle classes, who were looking for political participation. This shift indicates how the first revolutionary faction had focused on concepts of economic emancipation and social justice, which were guided by revolutionary ideology, while the second, emerging more

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than a decade after, aimed at political intellectualism, civil society, and Islamic democracy.71 The word eslāh was associated with the reformists who aimed to transform the system and power relations from within, but they had no intention to overthrow the status quo, which was seen as the theoretical structure of power. The notion of reform itself, however, became an extremely politicized concept and was perceived as a threat by conservative factions. By the end of Khatami’s presidency, and due to the harsh repression of political activists and religious intellectuals during it, the Iranian system seemed almost untouchable. The unelected institutions had an invasive role in deciding which groups could access the system and thus control it. Their power was cemented by the absolute guardianship of the Supreme Leader. The Islamic Left, however, did not remain a static group but underwent a strategic and ideological re-imagining that went beyond reformism. These other changes were perhaps less evident or certainly less acknowledged internationally, but they were equally important. The transformation of the Islamic Left did not only pave the way to reformism alone. The Sāzmān-e Mojāhedīn-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī (Mojāhedīn of the Islamic Revolution Organization, MIRO) was founded in 1979 and represented a heterogeneous Islamic leftist umbrella which had gathered together several factions beneath it. Together with the IRP, the MIRO has been active in strengthening the foundations of the republic and promoting Khomeinist principles. Its economic agenda represented a major difference from the IRP and resulted in yet further division among the two fronts; whereas the conservative IRP promoted a pro-bazar market, the MIRO retained leftist-socialist tendencies, advocating social justice and praising Shariʽati as an intellectual point of reference.72 The MIRO included non-cleric followers of the Imām, revolutionary students, and komīteh members previously associated with the MEK, and this inner pluralism led to additional schisms. The group dissolved in 1986 because of internal disagreements, even though some of its prominent members continued to influence the statist-welfarist policies promoted by Prime Minister Musavi. The dissolution of MIRO crystallized the existence of at least three major groups: a “left wing,” a “right wing,” and a moderate one.73 Meanwhile, the conservative-pragmatist factions linked to the JRM gradually monopolized the political scene during the so-called “second republic.” In 1991, some MIRO members resumed their previous activities and established

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the Sāzmān-e Mojāhedīn-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī-e Īrān. The name added the word “of Iran” to the original coalition, so that its members could claim legitimacy from their previous political engagement, even though they came away with renewed thoughts and attitudes. The new front was made up by the “left wing” of the MIRO, including individuals such as Behzad Nabavi, deputy speaker of the sixth parliament and former Minster of Heavy Industry in Musavi’s cabinet; Mohsen Armin, deputy speaker of the sixth parliament and the spokesman of the Organization; Mohammad Salamati, the secretary-general of the Organization until 2004; and Hashem Aghajari, a professor of history and a prominent intellectual.74 This group endorsed reformism and would remain politically close to the eslāhtalāb. Not all MIRO activists joined Nabavi’s organization, as not all Islamic leftists endorsed the reformist arguments or political agenda. Some of the Khomeinist Mojāhedīn felt betrayed by the “old guard” conservatives and pragmatists for their pro-market economic agenda, but also let down by the reformists who apparently neglected the pro-poor policies and social contract that had been established with the subaltern classes. The core of the revolutionary principles, like the Islamization of society and the redistribution of wealth and social justice, appeared wasted and outdated, replaced by new themes and slogans. Moreover, generational changes and a demographic boom created certain obstacles for the wholesale implementation of the welfare system, realities that perhaps highlighted the utopian and potentially unobtainable nature of the ideological principles underpinning the revolutionary project. While the general level of poverty decreased and people could more easily access schools, hospitals, and services, even in rural areas, the long established social and economic disparities remained very much in place. The post-revolutionary establishment continued to praise the fight for justice, but in practice at the end of the war implemented asymmetric and restrictive economic policies that resulted in the selective enrichment of certain socio-political groups. Furthermore, the system had displayed its willingness to use violence to repress popular unrest, such as that which had erupted between 1992 and 1994 in illegal urban settlements.75 Militant Islamists and revolutionary activists, who built their political understanding and identity on Shariʽati’s lectures and Khomeyni’s slogans, did not walk the same path as reformists. Rather they argued that socio-political transformations should not occur through eslāh, but by recalling the “roots” and pillars of the revolution.

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A segment of the MIRO that is conventionally referred to as the “right wing” never refuted the influence of ideological drivers, nor of revolutionary zeal or their leftist economic outlook, and from the 1990s started to develop a new political discourse and rhetoric based upon the revival of the old slogans and principles. At the end of the 1990s, another expression of the Islamic Left came to light when the Jamʽiyat-e Īsārgarān-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī (Society of the Devotees of the Islamic Revolution. From now simply Īsārgarān) surfaced. The Īsārgarān was unofficially created in 1997 when Mohammad Khatami assumed the presidency of the republic.76 It should not be confused with the Hezb-e Īsārgarān-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī (Party of the Veterans of the Islamic Revolution) that saw light in 2001. The name comes from the Arabic term īsār (altruism) and is linked to the Persian plural of Īsārgarān, which means “devotees.” Among its founding members were Mahmud Ahmadinejad, at that time governor of Ardabil; Davud Danesh Jafari, who became Minister of Economy and Finance between 2005 and 2008; ʽAli Darabi; Mojtaba Shakeri; Hoseyn Fadai; and ʽAli Yusefpuir. Īsārgarān included war veterans, former members, and commanders of the IRGC, university activists, and basīj members with a more militant and militarist approach—which is why the Society of the Devotees is translated in the West also as the “Alliance of Veterans.” Being involved in the Iraq-Iraq War, these figures directly experienced how revolutionary principles could fuel militarist attitudes. However, at the end of the conflict, war veterans found no real platform within the political environment beyond being the recipients of praise and acclamations. They perceived and to some extent experienced the unfulfilled promises of the revolution, but also witnessed how the incumbent elite had diminished the populist dimension of political decisions and the emancipatory strength of Islam. Even though the Īsārgarān front was heterogeneous and internally divided in certain respects, it claimed a strong allegiance to Khomeyni’s principles. Rather than introducing new themes into the political debate, the Devotees reiterated the values of revolutionary Islam, social justice, equality among the population, poverty reduction, and economic improvements. Likewise, they bolstered support for a militarist approach and revolutionary ideological frameworks. The revival of revolutionary paradigms underlined the perception of the group as being linked to the conservative front, even though it was created to represent a “third wave,” a new political entity to

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be distinguished from both the old guard and the reformists. This Īsārgarān was informally referred to as osūlgarāyān, as they sought to revive revolutionary references, such as the adherence to Islamic codes and values, the enduring theme of social justice, and the exaltation of religious-militant behaviour. In scholarly literature, it has been identified as the “second generation” of conservatives because it embodied similar demands. As explored in the previous chapter, the main difference between the osūlgarāyān and the traditional right did not only reflect certain generational shifts. The second generation expanded with greater political expectations, a more militant attitude, and strong ideological messaging. While the conservatives had gradually moderated their tones, outside of the usual rhetoric, the second generation felt compelled to return to ideological discourses. These new politicians were also instrumental in countering reformism, as they advocated for different political views. Some revolutionary clerics sitting on the Guardian Council, such as Mohammad Yazdi, Mohammad-Taqi Mesbah Yazdi, and Ahmad Jannati, supported the revolutionary spirit of the Īsārgarān, which met their more intransigent vision of top-down Islamization and control over a changing society. In terms of the domestic competition for power and the endemic factionalism, the position of the second generation should be analyzed through the lens of a typical power struggle. The emphasis on pro-market economy and privatization did not improve people’s lives, rather it only increased social disparities. The system was perceived as being corrupt, mainly during Rafsanjani’s tenure, affected by mismanagement, a lack of transparency, and, above all else, the welfarist approach had been replaced by a more liberal and capitalist system. Criticizing these policies by harkening back to the populist and utopian discourse of justice that had spread during the revolution, the Īsārgarān sought to challenge both the reformists and the old guard of conservatives and to emerge as a legitimate new force. As such, some of its key members presented themselves as gheyr-e khodī (outsiders) in order to capitalize on popular dissatisfaction with the incumbent elite. Indeed, the founding members of the group were not renowned politicians in any sense, nor had they played any political role in the system before the end of the 1990s. The prevailing argument in the literature on this topic is that the Īsārgarān revived revolutionary radicalism in order to counter the eslāh and curtail reforms. However, the group was already active when

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reformism first emerged as a political front, and, therefore, it is incorrect to suggest that the rise of the Īsārgarān was a direct reaction to political reformism. At the end of the 1990s, the makeup of Iranian society and its political elite was quite different compared to what existed in the late 1970s. As such, the “roots” of the revolution evoked different meanings, and likely pointed to the unfulfilled expectations of Iranian society. Moreover, the rise of the osūlgarāyān was not a consequence of reformism, as is generally argued, but rather developed contemporaneously with it; and, therefore, its political rise would stand to benefit from the ongoing suppression of the reformist movement. Former members of the MIRO found themselves marginalized and consequently developed diverse political agendas by returning to old discourses. Originally, the Īsārgarān was meant to be a separate new movement but became weighed down by internal divisions. One group moved closer to the conservatives, as it could benefit from their political support.77 Another one, led by Mahmud Ahmadinejad, formed an alternative political front. It seems fair to suggest that most of the misunderstandings concerning the second generation’s political position stems from their ideological proximity to the conservatives and their revival of revolutionary paradigms. Nevertheless, the schism initiated by Ahmadinejad inside the Īsārgarān indicated further levels of complexity and diversification within the post-revolutionary elite. Ahmadinejad’s true intentions would effectively remain concealed behind his use of revolutionary rhetoric, but they would emerge more clearly a few decades later. The heavy defeat of reformist candidates in the administrative elections held in 2003 highlighted people’s disillusionment with the eslāhtalāb. The young and educated middle classes withdrew from political participation, as they felt their impact was insignificant when compared to the unquestionable power of the unelected institutions. As the eslāhāt were not effective in changing the distribution of power and their main base of support stepped back from the electoral process, other demands surfaced from different segments of society, mainly relating to issues of unemployment, which had been rising since the end of the 1990s. Fourteen out of fifteen seats for the capital council were won by members of the Eʾtelāf-e Ābādgarān-e Īrān-e Eslāmī (Islamic Iranian Alliance of Builders. From now simply Ābādgarān), a new group led by Ahmadinejad and other founding members of the Īsārgarān, such as the Secretary-General Hoseyn Fadai. The next chapter will explore the Ābādgarān, which gathered together non-clerics, war veterans, and

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former members of the IRGC, many of whom were relative unknowns on the domestic political stage and had no previous experience in politics. The “builders” or “developers” evoked the spirit of the revolution, verbally challenged social liberalization, as well as criticized attempts at reconciliation with the West and economic privatization. The elections for members of parliament in 2004 marked the total collapse of the reformist experiment, which was a result of the vetoes imposed by the Guardian Council. More than 2000 reformist candidates were disqualified from standing,78 while other exponents of the eslāhtalābān resigned to protest. The reformist forces seemed on the edge of political defeat while the conservatives and neoconservative groups looked to expand their control of all elected and unelected institutions.

Notes





1. See Forough Jahanbakhsh, Islam, Democracy, and Religious Modernism in Iran, 1953–2000: From Bāzargān to Soroush, vol. 77 (Leiden: Brill, 2001), Chapter 5; Behrooz Ghamari-Tabrizi, Islam and Dissent in Postrevolutionary Iran: Abdolkarim Soroush, Religious Politics and Democratic Reform (New York: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2008); Said Amir Arjomand, “The Reform Movement and the Debate on Modernity and Tradition in Contemporary Iran,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 34, no. 4 (2002): 719–31. 2.  See Paola Rivetti, Political Participation in Iran from Khatami to the Green Movement (Palgrave Macmillan, 2020); Mehrdad Mashayekhi, “The Revival of the Student Movement in Post-Revolutionary Iran,” International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society 15, no. 2 (2001): 283–313; Shahra Razavi, “Islamic Politics, Human Rights and Women’s Claims for Equality in Iran,” Third World Quarterly 27, no. 7 (2006): 1223–237. 3. Misagh Parsa, Democracy in Iran (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2016). 4. Mehran Kamrava, Iran’s Intellectual Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), Chapter 5. 5. Forough Jahanbakhsh, “The Emergence and Development of Religious Intellectualism in Iran,” Historical Reflections/Réflexions Historiques 30, no. 3 (2004): 469–89. 6.  See stances of Taleqani and Bazargan in: Hamid Dabashi, Theology of Discontent: The Ideological Foundation of the Islamic Republic in Iran (New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 2008).

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7. Jalal Al  Ahmad, Occidentosis: A Plague from the West (Berkeley, CA: Mizan Press, 1984), 12. 8. Farhad Khosrokhavar, “The New Intellectuals in Iran,” Social Compass 51, no. 2 (2004): 193. 9. Ali Mirsepassi, Democracy in Modern Iran: Islam, Culture, and Political Change (New York: NYU Press, 2011), 113. 10.  Mohsen Kadivar, “Democracy and Ethical Values from Islamic Perspective,” Philosophy & Social Criticism 46, no. 5 (2020): 570–71. 11.  Mohsen Kadivar, “Islam and Democracy: Perspectives from Reformist and Traditional Islam,” in The Politics of Islamism, ed. by Lily Zubaidah Rahim and Naser Ghobadzadeh (Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018), 23–45. 12.  There is a vast amount of literature on Soroush works: Valla Vakili, Debating Religion and Politics in Iran: The Political Thought of Abdolkarim Soroush (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 1996); Behrooz Ghamari-Tabrizi, Islam and Dissent in Post-Revolutionary Iran: The Religious Politics of Abdolkarim Soroush (New York: IB Tauris, 2009). 13. Forough Jahanbakhsh, Islam, Democracy and Religious Modernism in Iran, 1953–2000: From Bāzargān to Soroush (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2001), 153. 14. Abdolkarim Soroush, Reason, Freedom, and Democracy in Islam: Essential Writings of Abdolkarim Soroush (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002). 15. Ali Mirsepassi, Democracy in Modern Iran: Islam, Culture, and Political Change, 87–90. 16.  Farideh Farhi, “Religious Intellectuals, the ‘Woman Question,’ and the Struggle for the Creation of a Democratic Public Sphere in Iran,” International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society 15, no. 2 (2001): 315–39. 17. Forough Jahanbakhsh, “Religious and Political Discourse in Iran: Moving Toward Post-Fundamentalism,” The Brown Journal of World Affairs 9, no. 2 (2003): 246–47. 18. Rouhollah K. Ramazani, “Iran’s Export of the Revolution: Its Politics, Ends and Means,” Journal of South Asian and Middle Eastern Studies 13, no. 1 (1989). 19.  Mohsen M. Milani, The Making of Iran’s Islamic Revolution: From Monarchy to Islamic Republic, 2nd edn (Boulder: Westview Press, 1994), 187. 20. Suzanne Maloney, Iran’s Political Economy Since the Revolution (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 192. 21. Kevan Harris, A Social Revolution: Politics and the Welfare State in Iran (Oakland: University of California Press, 2017), Chapter 5.

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22. Anoushiravan Ehteshami, “After Khomeini: The Structure of Power in the Iranian Second Republic,” Political Studies 39, no. 1 (1991): 151–52. 23. To deepen the religious reformist discourse, see: Mehran Kamrava, Iran’s Intellectual Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 122–24. 24. Mehdi Khalaji, The Future of Leadership in the Shiite Community (Washington: The Washington Institute for Near East Policy, 2017), 58–59. 25.  Geneive Abdo and Ayatollah Hossein'Ali Montazeri, “Re-Thinking the Islamic Republic: A ‘Conversation’ with Ayatollah Hossein'Ali Montazeri,” The Middle East Journal (2001): 15–16. 26.  See Eskandar Sadeghi-Boroujerdi, “From Etelāʿāti to Eslāhtalabi: Saʿid Hajjarian, Political Theology and the Politics of Reform in PostRevolutionary Iran,” Iranian Studies 47, no. 6 (2014): 987–1009. 27. Akbar Ganji, “The Struggle Against Sultanism,” Journal of Democracy 16, no. 4, (2005): 38–51. 28. For more on the political genealogy of reformism and the claims of religious intellectuals see: Eskandar Sadeghi-Boroujerdi, Revolution and Its Discontents: Political Thought and Reform in Iran, vol. 7 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), in particular Chapter 3. 29.  Hamidreza Jalaeipour, “Religious Intellectuals and Political Action in the Reform Movement,” in Intellectual Trends in 20th Century Iran: A Critical Survey, ed. by Negin Nabavi (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2003), 136–47. 30. Suzanne Maloney, Iran’s Political Economy Since the Revolution (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015), Chapter 5. 31.  Kaveh Ehsani, “‘Tilt But Don’t Spill’: Iran’s Development and Reconstruction Dilemma,” Middle East Report 191 (1994): 18–21. 32. Suzanne Maloney, Iran’s Political Economy Since the Revolution. 33. “‫( ”چهره‌های پرونده قتل‌های زنجیره‌ای چه می‌کنند؟‬What are Those Involved in the Death Series Doing?), BBC Persian, http://www.bbc.com/persian/ iran-features-38064804, accessed on January 24, 2019. 34. European Council in Edinburgh 11–12 December 1992, https://www. consilium.europa.eu/media/20492/1992_december_-_edinburgh__ eng_.pdf, accessed on October 25, 2020. 35. Mehdi Moslem, Factional Politics in Post-Khomeini Iran (New York: Syracuse University Press, 2002), 92. 36. “‫ سند‬+ !‫وقتیگروهبهزادنبویمخالفبیبیسیبودوباهنرموافقگفتگوباآن‬/‫”چپ«راست»شدهاستیاراست«چپ»؟‬ (Was the Left Right or the Right Left? When Behzad Nabavi’s Group was Against the BBC and Bahonar Agreed to Talk to Us), Farda News, https://www.fardanews.com/fa/news/297972/ ‫مخالف‬-‫نبوی‬-‫بهزاد‬-‫گروه‬-‫وقتی‬-‫چپ‬-‫راست‬-‫یا‬-‫است‬-‫شده‬-‫راست‬-‫چپ‬-bbc-‫سند‬-‫آن‬-‫با‬-‫گفتگو‬-‫موافق‬-‫باهنر‬-‫و‬-‫بود‬, accessed on January 23, 2020.

100  G. PERLETTA 37.  Quoted from Sussan Siavoshi, “Factionalism and Iranian Politics: The Post‐Khomeini Experience,” Iranian Studies 25, no. 3–4 (1992): 31–32. 38. Paola Rivetti and Francesco Cavatorta, “‘The Importance of Being Civil Society’: Student Politics and the Reformist Movement in Khatami’s Iran,” Middle Eastern Studies 49.4 (2013): 645–60. 39. Mehran Kamrava, “The Civil Society Discourse in Iran,” British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 28, no. 2 (2001): 165–85. 40.  Ramin Jahanbegloo, “The Role of the Intellectuals,” Journal of Democracy 11, no. 4, (2000): 135–36. 41. Said Amir Arjomand, After Khomeini: Iran Under His Successors (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 89. 42. Alam Shah, “The Changing Paradigm of Iranian Foreign Policy Under Khatami,” Strategic Analysis 24, no. 9 (2000): 1631. 43. Hooshang Amirahmadi, “Iran and the Persian Gulf: Strategic Issues and Outlook,” in Islam, Iran, & World Stability, ed. by Hamid Zangeneh (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 1994). 44. Rouhollah K. Ramazani, Independence Without Freedom: Iran’s Foreign Policy (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2013), 168–69. 45. Ziba Mir-Hosseini, “The Conservative–Reformist Conflict Over Women’s Rights in Iran,” International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society 16, no. 1 (2002): 37–53. But also, Ziba Mir-Hosseini, “Debating Women: Gender and the Public Sphere in Post-Revolutionary Iran,” Civil Society in the Muslim World: Contemporary Perspectives (2002): 95–100. 46. For instance, reformism gave voice to women activism, encouraging the debate on women’s rights. See: Majid Mohammadi “Iranian Women and the Civil Rights Movement in Iran: Feminism Interacted,” Journal of International Women’s Studies 9.1 (2007): 1–21. 47. “‫( ”نتایج اعالم شده در مورد انتخابات تهران‬The Announcement of the Results of the Tehran Elections), Etelāʽāt, http://www.ettelaat.com/etbarchive/1996-2014/1999/03/04/P2.pdf, accessed on July 3, 2020. 48.  Geneive Abdo, “From Revolution to Revelations: Khatami’s Iran Struggles for Reform,” Middle East Report 211 (1999): 7. 49. Misagh Parsa, Democracy in Iran (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2016), 140–43. 50. Adam Tarock, “The Muzzling of the Liberal Press in Iran,” Third World Quarterly 22, no. 4 (2001): 590–91. 51. “World: Middle East—Tehran Mayor Goes to Jail,” BBC News, http:// news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/336541.stm, accessed on July 3, 2020. 52. Majid Mohammadi, The Iranian Reform Movement: Civil and Constitutional Rights in Suspension (Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2019), 44–46.

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53. Saeid Golkar, Captive Society: The Basij Militia and Social Control in Iran (New York: Columbia University Press, 2015), 138–39. 54.  Paola Rivetti and Francesco Cavatorta, “Iranian Student Activism Between Authoritarianism and Democratization: Patterns of Conflict and Cooperation Between the Office for the Strengthening of Unity and the Regime,” Democratization 21, no. 2 (2014): 289–310. 55. “‫”بيانات رهبر معظم انقالب اسالمى در جمع دانشجويان و اساتيد دانشگاه صنعتى امير كبير‬ (Statements of the Supreme Leader of the Islamic Revolution to the Students and Professors of Amir Kabir University of Technology), The Office of the Supreme Leader, https://www.leader.ir/fa/speech/2088/, accessed on October 20, 2020. 56. “‫( ”بیانات در دیدار مسئوالن و کارگزاران نظام جمهوری اسالمی ایران‬Statements in the Meeting of Officials and Agents of the Islamic Republic of Iran), Khamenei.ir, https://farsi.khamenei.ir/speech-content?id=3016, accessed on October 20, 2020. 57. “Reforms: Strategies, Challenges,” Khamenei.ir, http://english.khamenei. ir/news/170/Reforms-Strategies-Challenges, accessed on July 12, 2020. 58. “Leader’s Statements in a Meeting with Cabinet Members,” Khamenei. ir,    http://english.khamenei.ir/news/157/Leader-s-Statements-in-aMeeting-with-Cabinet-Members, accessed on July 12, 2020. 59. Geneive Abdo, “Days of Rage in Tehran,” Middle East Policy 7, no. 1 (1999): 78–79. 60. “1378 ‫( ”نامه فرماندهان سپاه به سیدمحمد خاتمی در سال‬Letter from IRGC Commanders to Seyed Mohammad Khatami in 1999), Basijtabari, http:// basijtabari.rzb.ir/post/1304, accessed on October 24, 2020. 61. The name recalled the first election of Khatami on the second day of the Persian month khordād. 62. Jahangir Amuzegar, “Khatami and the Iranian Economy at Mid-Term,” The Middle East Journal (1999): 534–52. 63. Average annual OPEC crude oil price from 1960 to 2017 (in US dollars per barrel), Statista, https://www.statista.com/statistics/262858/ change-in-opec-crude-oil-prices-since-1960/, accessed on July 10, 2020. 64. Olivier Roy, “Tensions in Iran: The Future of the Islamic Revolution,” Middle East Report (1998): 40–41. 65.  Sohrab Behdad, “Khatami and His ‘Reformist’ Economic (Non-) Agenda,” Middle East Report Online 21, no. 282 (2001). 66. Ali M. Ansari, “Victims of Their Success,” The World Today 57, no. 3 (2001): 12. 67. President Delivers State of the Union Address, The White House,   https:// georgewbush-whitehouse.ar chives.gov/news/r eleases/2002/ 01/20020129-11.html, last accessed February 9, 2019.

102  G. PERLETTA 68.  See Survival: “Iran’s Military Strategy,” Survival: Global Politics and Strategy December 2019–January 202,061, no. 6 (2019): 139–52. Available at https://www.iiss.org/publications/survival/2019/survival-global-politics-and-strategy-december-2019january-2020/616-11-ajili-and-rouhi. 69. Ali Ansari, Confronting Iran: The Failure of American Foreign Policy and the Next Great Crisis in the Middle East (New York: Basic Books, 2007). 70. Anoushiravan Ehteshami, “Iran’s International Posture After the Fall of Baghdad,” The Middle East Journal (2004): 183–84. 71. Ramin Jahanbegloo, Democracy in Iran (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013). 72.  To know more about the party’s evolution and development see Ariabarzan Mohammadighalehtaki, Organisational Change in Political Parties in Iran After the Islamic Revolution of 1979: With Special Reference to the Islamic Republic Party (IRP) and the Islamic Iran Participation Front Party (Mosharekat) 2012. Durham University. Available at Durham E-Theses Online: http://etheses.dur.ac.uk/3507/. 73. Ivi., 168. 74.  Sazman-e Mojahedin-e Enqelab-e Islami-ye Iran, Organization of the Mojahedin of the Islamic Revolution of Iran, Iran Data Portal, https:// irandataportal.syr.edu/wp-content/uploads/mojahedinprofile2.pdf, accessed on December 23, 2019. 75. Asef Bayat, Street Politics: Poor People’s Movements in Iran (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997). 76. Abbas William Samii, “The Changing Landscape of Party Politics in Iran: A Case Study,” Vaseteh: The Journal of the European Society for Iranian Studies 1, no. 1 (2005): 1378–358. 77. “‫( ”جمعیت ایثارگران انقالب اسالمی»؛ پای ثابت ائتالف”‌های اصولگرایی‬Society of Veterans of the Islamic Revolution; The Steadfast Foot of the Fundamentalist Coalitions),    IRNA,    https://www.ir na.ir/news/83593896/ ‫اصولگرایی‬-‫های‬-‫ائتالف‬-‫ثابت‬-‫پای‬-‫اسالمی‬-‫انقالب‬-‫ایثارگران‬-‫جمعیت‬, accessed on October 3, 2020. 78.  “Iran: Reformists Fire Unprecedented Criticism at Supreme Leader,” RFELR, https://www.rferl.org/a/1051588.html, accessed on November 2, 2020.

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References “‫( چهره‌های پرونده قتل‌های زنجیره‌ای چه می‌کنند؟‬What are Those Involved in the Death Series Doing?).”   BBC   Persian.   http://www.bbc.com/persian/iran-features-38064804 (accessed January 24, 2019). “‫ سند‬+ !‫ وقتی گروه بهزاد نبوی مخالف بی بی سی بود و باهنر موافق گفتگو با آن‬/‫چپ «راست» شده است یا راست «چپ»؟‬ (Was the Left Right or the Right Left? When Behzad Nabavi’s Group was Against the BBC and Bahonar Agreed to Talk to Us).” Farda News. https://www.fardanews.com/fa/news/ 297972/‫مخالف‬-‫نبوی‬-‫بهزاد‬-‫گروه‬-‫وقتی‬-‫چپ‬-‫راست‬-‫یا‬-‫است‬-‫شده‬-‫راست‬-‫چپ‬-bbc-‫سند‬-‫آن‬-‫با‬-‫گفتگو‬-‫موافق‬-‫باهنر‬-‫و‬-‫بود‬ (accessed January 23, 2020). “Average Annual OPEC Crude Oil Price from 1960 to 2017 (in U.S. Dollars Per Barrel).” Statista. https://www.statista.com/statistics/262858/changein-opec-crude-oil-prices-since-1960/ (accessed July 10, 2020). “European Council in Edinburgh 11–12 December, 1992.” https://www.consilium.europa.eu/media/20492/1992_december_-_edinburgh__eng_.pdf (accessed October 25, 2020). “Iran: Reformists Fire Unprecedented Criticism at Supreme Leader.” RFELR. https://www.rferl.org/a/1051588.html (accessed November 20, 2020). “Iran’s Military Strategy.” Survival: Global Politics and Strategy December 2019– January 2020 61, no. 6 (2019): 139. “Leader’s Statements at Sharif University of Technology.” Khamenei.ir. http:// english.khamenei.ir/news/171/Leader-s-Statements-at-Sharif-University-ofTechnology (accessed February 12, 2018). “Leader’s Statements in a Meeting with Cabinet Members.” Khamenei.ir. http://english.khamenei.ir/news/157/Leader-s-Statements-in-a-Meetingwith-Cabinet-Members (accessed July 12, 2020). “President Delivers State of the Union Address.” The White House. https://georgewbush-whitehouse.archives.gov/news/releases/2002/ 01/20020129-11.html (accessed February 9, 2019). “Reforms: Strategies, Challenges.” http://english.khamenei.ir/news/170/ Reforms-Strategies-Challenges. Khamenei.ir. (accessed July 12, 2020). “Sazman-e Mojahedin-e Enqelab-e Islami-Ye Iran, Organization of the Mojahedin of the Islamic Revolution of Iran.” Iran Data Portal. https:// irandataportal.syr.edu/wp-content/uploads/mojahedinprofile2.pdf (accessed December 23, 2019). “World: Middle East—Tehran Mayor Goes to Jail.” BBC News. http://news. bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/336541.stm (accessed July 3, 2020). “‫( بيانات رهبر معظم انقالب اسالمى در جمع دانشجويان و اساتيد دانشگاه صنعتى امير كبير‬Statements of the Supreme Leader of the Islamic Revolution to the Students and Professors of Amir Kabir University of Technology).” The Office of the Supreme Leader. https://www.leader.ir/fa/speech/2088/ (accessed October 20, 2020).

104  G. PERLETTA “‫( بیانات در دیدار مسئوالن و کارگزاران نظام جمهوری اسالمی ایران‬Statements in the Meeting of Officials and Agents of the Islamic Republic of Iran).” Khamenei.ir. https:// farsi.khamenei.ir/speech-content?id=3016 (accessed October 20, 2020). “‫( جمعیت ایثارگران انقالب اسالمی»؛ پای ثابت ائتالف‌های اصولگرایی‬Society of Veterans of the Islamic Revolution; the Steadfast Foot of the Fundamentalist Coalitions).” IRNA. https://www.irna.ir/news/83593896/-‫پای‬-‫اسالمی‬-‫انقالب‬-‫ایثارگران‬-‫جمعیت‬ ‫اصولگرایی‬-‫های‬-‫ائتالف‬-‫( ثابت‬accessed October 4, 2020). “‫( چهره‌های پرونده قتل‌های زنجیره‌ای چه می‌کنند؟‬What are Those Involved in the Death Series Doing?).” BBC Persian. http://www.bbc.com/persian/iran-features-38064804 (accessed January 24, 2018). “1378 ‫( نامه فرماندهان سپاه به سیدمحمد خاتمی در سال‬Letter from IRGC Commanders to Seyed Mohammad Khatami in 1999).” Basijtabari. http://basijtabari.rzb.ir/ post/1304 (accessed October 24, 2020). “‫( نتایج اعالم شده در مورد مورد انتخابات تهران‬The Announcement of the Results of the Tehran Elections).” Etelāʽāt. http://www.ettelaat.com/etbarchive/1996-2014/1999/ 03/04/P2.pdf (accessed July 3, 2020). Abdo, Geneive. “Days of Rage in Tehran.” Middle East Policy 7, no. 1 (1999): 78–85. ———. “From Revolution to Revelations: Khatami’s Iran Struggles for Reform.” Middle East Report no. 211 (1999): 7–9. Abdo, Geneive and Ayatollah Hossein'Ali Montazeri. “Re-Thinking the Islamic Republic: A ‘Conversation’ with Ayatollah Hossein'Ali Montazeri.” The Middle East Journal (2001): 9–24. Ahmad, Jalal Al. Occidentosis: A Plague from the West. Mizan Press Berkeley, CA, 1984. Alam, Shah. “The Changing Paradigm of Iranian Foreign Policy Under Khatami.” Strategic Analysis 24, no. 9 (2000): 1629–653. Alfoneh, Ali. “The Revolutionary Guards’ Role in Iranian Politics.” Middle East Quarterly 15, no. 4 (2008): 3–14. Amuzegar, Jahangir. “Khatami and the Iranian Economy at Mid-Term.” The Middle East Journal (1999): 534–52. Ansari, Ali. Confronting Iran: The Failure of American Foreign Policy and the Next Great Crisis in the Middle East and the Next Great Crisis in the Middle East. New York: Basic Books, 2007. ———. “Victims of Their Success.” The World Today 57, no. 3 (2001): 10–12. Arjomand, Said Amir. After Khomeini: Iran Under His Successors. Oxford University Press, 2009. ———. “The Reform Movement and the Debate on Modernity and Tradition in Contemporary Iran.” International Journal of Middle East Studies 34, no. 4 (2002): 719–31.

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Bayat, Asef. Street Politics: Poor People’s Movements in Iran. New York: Columbia University Press, 1997. Behdad, Sohrab. “Khatami and His ‘Reformist’ Economic (Non-) Agenda.” Middle East Report Online 21, no. 282 (2001). Chehabi, Houchang and Rula Jurdi Abisaab. Distant Relations: Iran and Lebanon in the Last 500 Years. New York: IB Tauris, 2006. Dabashi, Hamid. Theology of Discontent: The Ideological Foundation of the Islamic Republic in Iran. 2nd edn. New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 2008. Ebtekar, Massoumeh. Takeover in Tehran: The Inside Story of the 1979 US Embassy Capture. Vancouver: Talonbooks Limited, 2000. Ehsani, Kaveh. “‘Tilt But Don’t Spill’: Iran’s Development and Reconstruction Dilemma.” Middle East Report 191 (1994): 16–21. Ehteshami, Anoushiravan. “After Khomeini: The Structure of Power in the Iranian Second Republic.” Political Studies 39, no. 1 (1991): 148–57. ———. “Iran’s International Posture After the Fall of Baghdad.” The Middle East Journal (2004): 179–94. Farhi, Farideh. “Religious Intellectuals, the ‘Woman Question,’ and the Struggle for the Creation of a Democratic Public Sphere in Iran.” International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society 15, no. 2 (2001): 315–39. Ganji, Akbar. “The Struggle Against Sultanism.” Journal of Democracy 16, no. 4 (2005): 38–51. Ghamari-Tabrizi, Behrooz. Islam and Dissent in Postrevolutionary Iran: Abdolkarim Soroush, Religious Politics and Democratic Reform. New York: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2008. Golkar, Saeid. Captive Society: The Basij Militia and Social Control in Iran. New York: Columbia University Press, 2015. Harris, Kevan. A Social Revolution: Politics and the Welfare State in Iran. Oakland: University of California Press, 2017. Jahanbakhsh, Forough. “The Emergence and Development of Religious Intellectualism in Iran.” Historical Reflections/Réflexions Historiques 30, no. 3 (2004): 469–89. ———. Islam, Democracy and Religious Modernism in Iran, 1953–2000: From Bāzargān to Soroush. Vol. 77. Leiden: Brill, 2001. ———. “Religious and Political Discourse in Iran: Moving Toward PostFundamentalism.” The Brown Journal of World Affairs 9, no. 2 (2003): 243–54. Jahanbegloo, Ramin. Democracy in Iran. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013. Jalaeipour, Hamidreza. “Religious Intellectuals and Political Action in the Reform Movement.” In Intellectual Trends in 20th Century Iran: A Critical Survey, edited by Negin Nabavi. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2003.

106  G. PERLETTA Kadivar, Mohsen. “Democracy and Ethical Values from Islamic Perspective.” Philosophy & Social Criticism 46, no. 5 (2020): 563–75. ———. “Islam and Democracy: Perspectives from Reformist and Traditional Islam.” In The Politics of Islamism, edited by Lily Zubaidah Rahim and Naser Ghobadzadeh, 23–45. Palgrave Macmillan, 2018. ———. “The Trivialization of Shi’i Marja’iyyat: Impeaching Iran’s Supreme Leader on His Marja’iyyat.” https://en.kadivar.com/2014/03/25/the-trivialization-of-shii-marjaiyyat-impeaching-irans-supreme-leader-on-his-marjaiyyat, Kadivar.com. (accessed January 25, 2019). Kamrava, Mehran. Iran’s Intellectual Revolution. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. ———. “The Civil Society Discourse in Iran.” British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 28, no. 2 (2001): 165–85. Karsh, Efraim. “The Iran-Iraq War, 1980–1988.” Air & Space Power Journal 17, no. 4 (2003): 111–13. Khalaji, Mehdi. The Future of Leadership in the Shiite Community. Washington: The Washington Institute for Near East Policy, 2017. Khosrokhavar, Farhad. “The New Intellectuals in Iran.” Social Compass 51, no. 2 (2004): 191–202. Maloney, Suzanne. Iran’s Political Economy Since the Revolution. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015. Mashayekhi, Mehrdad. “The Revival of the Student Movement in PostRevolutionary Iran.” International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society 15, no. 2 (2001): 283–313. Milani, Mohsen M. The Making of Iran’s Islamic Revolution: From Monarchy to Islamic Republic. 4th edn. Boulder: Westview Press, 1994. Mir-Hosseini, Ziba. “The Conservative–Reformist Conflict Over Women’s Rights in Iran.” International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society 16, no. 1 (2002): 37–53. ———. “Debating Women: Gender and the Public Sphere in Post-Revolutionary Iran.” Civil Society in the Muslim World: Contemporary Perspectives (2002): 95–100. Mirsepassi, Ali. Democracy in Modern Iran: Islam, Culture, and Political Change. New York: NYU Press, 2011. Mohammadi, Majid. The Iranian Reform Movement. Civil and Constitutional Rights in Suspension. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2019. ———. “Iranian Women and the Civil Rights Movement in Iran: Feminism Interacted.” Journal of International Women’s Studies 9.1 (2007): 1–21. Mohammadighalehtaki, Ariabarzan. Organisational Change in Political Parties in Iran After the Islamic Revolution of 1979: With Special Reference to the Islamic Republic Party (IRP) and the Islamic Iran Participation Front Party (Mosharekat). 2012. Durham University. Available at Durham E-Theses Online: http://etheses.dur.ac.uk/3507/.

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Moslem, Mehdi. Factional Politics in Post-Khomeini Iran. Syracuse University Press, 2002. Parsa, Misagh. Democracy in Iran. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2016. Ramazani, Rouhollah K. Independence Without Freedom: Iran’s Foreign Policy. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2013. ———. “Iran’s Export of the Revolution: Its Politics, Ends and Means.” Journal of South Asian and Middle Eastern Studies 13, no. 1 (1989). Razavi, Shahra. “Islamic Politics, Human Rights and Women’s Claims for Equality in Iran.” Third World Quarterly 27, no. 7 (2006): 1223–237. Rivetti, Paola. Political Participation in Iran from Khatami to the Green Movement. Palgrave Macmillan, 2020. Rivetti, Paola and Francesco Cavatorta. “‘The Importance of being Civil Society’: Student Politics and the Reformist Movement in Khatami’s Iran.” Middle Eastern Studies 49, no. 4 (2013): 645–60. ———. “Iranian Student Activism Between Authoritarianism and Democratization: Patterns of Conflict and Cooperation Between the Office for the Strengthening of Unity and the Regime.” Democratization 21, no. 2 (2014): 289–310. Roy, Olivier. “Tensions in Iran: The Future of the Islamic Revolution.” Middle East Report (1998): 38–41. Sadeghi-Boroujerdi, Eskandar. “From Etelāʿāti to Eslāhtalabi: Saʿid Hajjarian, Political Theology and the Politics of Reform in Post-Revolutionary Iran.” Iranian Studies 47, no. 6 (2014): 987–1009. ———. Revolution and Its Discontents: Political Thought and Reform in Iran. Vol. 7. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019. Samii, Abbas William. “The Changing Landscape of Party Politics in Iran: A Case Study.” Vaseteh: The Journal of the European Society for Iranian Studies 1, no. 1 (2005): 1378–358. Siavoshi, Sussan. “Factionalism and Iranian Politics: The Post‐Khomeini Experience.” Iranian Studies 25, no. 3–4 (1992): 27–49. Soroush, Abdolkarim. Reason, Freedom, and Democracy in Islam: Essential Writings of Abdolkarim Soroush. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002. Tarock, Adam. “The Muzzling of the Liberal Press in Iran.” Third World Quarterly 22, no. 4 (2001): 585–602. Vakili, Valla. Debating Religion and Politics in Iran: The Political Thought of Abdolkarim Soroush. New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 1996.

CHAPTER 4

“Back to the Revolution”: The Rise of the Hardliners and the Revival of Radicalism (2003–2005)

Mahmud Ahmadinejad: The Unknown Mayor Who Become President There is little information about Mahmud Ahmadinejad’s life before his entry into politics. A mysterious figure, who was previously unknown within political circles, Ahmadinejad was somehow able to rise to prominence within the nezām in just a few short years, and yet still today remains an understudied and often misinterpreted character. Whereas it was common for all politicians then orbiting the Iranian system to build up support, establish solid and advantageous family ties, and strong links with key personalities among the ruling elite, Ahmadinejad’s emergence was especially surprising given that he lacked any firm connections to or intertwined relations with the existing revolutionary elite. What makes him an interesting figure and yet one difficult to fully comprehend can be attributed to a widespread and somewhat reductive perception that has seen Ahmadinejad characterized as merely a radical—without ever contextualizing the concept of radicalism in post-revolutionary Iran, or explaining why a politician who had been supported by both the military and the conservative front was able to so dramatically polarize factional politics in the country and transform the existing dynamics of power. Ahmadinejad’s remarkable presidency represented a turning point in post-revolutionary Iran, particularly in terms of the relationships © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 G. Perletta, Political Radicalism in Iran and Ahmadinejad’s Presidencies, Studies in Iranian Politics, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87330-1_4

109

110  G. PERLETTA

between constitutional institutions and in the foundations of the conservative front. He was both the cause and effect of a decisive change among the post-revolutionary elite and a driver behind a growing social discontent with the existing political system. From a Western point of view, Ahmadinejad was a proponent of the Islamist-populist radical ideology, who sought to produce and promote rhetorical and political discourses aimed at reinforcing Iran’s political status within the surrounding region. Indeed, Ahmadinejad’s attitudes harkened back to those at the very roots of the revolution itself, which had allowed for a more persistent socio-cultural Islamization. His foreign policy was based upon narratives of anti-imperialism and economic self-sufficiency, though few changes were ever ultimately implemented. What remained hidden behind his blatant posturing were the core objectives at the heart of his domestic politics. As such, the true aims behind Ahmadinejad’s political agenda have often been ignored or misinterpreted in light of the sometimes bizarre and extravagant rhetorical measures he employed, which served to obscure his real objectives and has hindered attempts to gain a fuller understanding of his political parabola. Ahmadinejad was born on 28 October 1956, in Aradan, a small village in Semnan Province. According to his zendegī nāmeh (autobiography) he was the fourth child of a “religious family.”1 His mother, Seyedeh Khānūm, was a descendant of the Prophet’s family; whereas his father, Ahmad Sabaghian, was a humble worker who in the late 1950s decided to leave the impoverished surroundings of his village and move the family to the eastern suburbs of the capital. At this time, the family’s surname Sabaghian was changed to Ahmadinejad, likely to remove any trace of their rural origins (the Persian word nezhād means “origin,” “lineage,” “ethnicity”) and to demonstrate a link with the Prophet (also referred to as Ahmadī). This religious devotion and the humble origins of his childhood would later define the main themes of Mahmud’s political rhetoric. In his speeches, he strongly argued for the alleviation of poverty and emphasized the value in conducting a modest lifestyle, attitudes designed to attract and resonate with a specific segment of Iranian society. He enrolled in the Faculty of Civil Engineering at Elm-o Sanat, which was the University of Science and Technology in the capital four years before the revolution began. Though this institution was not necessarily at the forefront of the revolutionary momentum, he was nevertheless influenced by the writings of ʽAli Shariʽati, which combined religious values, a strong pillar of his own family education, with the

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themes of social justice, the struggle of the oppressed and political activism—all topics that were already being debated within left-wing groups on university campuses, despite the regime’s best attempts to suppress them. Ahmadinejad became involved in the ongoing political debate by organizing meetings between students and mullās, where Khomeyni’s thoughts were disseminated and discussed through clandestine channels, making it possible to circumvent the censorship imposed by the shāh, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi. This university environment would prove essential in instilling within Ahmadinejad himself the revolutionary fervour that was then circulating among the students and the political activism of Islamic leftists. However, he did not play a prominent role during the shāh’s overthrowing and, therefore, cannot be said to have established any strong relations with the future political elite. In those same years, Ahmadinejad was also part of the Anjoman-e Hojjatiyeh (Society of the proof of the existence of God),2 an Islamic organization that preached Shiite orthodoxy and rejected any involvement of ʽulamā in governing politics. The hojjatiyeh claimed that only the Mahdī could build a true society, and until his return no one could assume his leadership. In 1983, Khomeyni banned the hojjatiyeh, labelling it as fāsed (“corrupt” in the sense of “deviated”), because its quietist position contradicted the doctrine of Velāyat-e faqīh.3 Ahmadinejad’s political views would be significantly influenced by the messianic tendencies of the hojjatiyeh. With the foundation of the Islamic Republic, university campuses became the main incubators of support for the new political project through a system of coercion and the repression of dissidents. This is where Mahmud met the Islamic leftists, the “followers of the Imām” and was likely among the founding members of the DTV—though whether or not he personally participated in the US embassy takeover remains unclear.4 In his autobiography he details his activism in the aftermath of the revolution, his devotion to Khomeyni’s doctrines, and his political convictions, which shared aspects of the young “children of the revolution” and were imbued with a mixture of revolutionary zeal and anti-imperialism. In the 1980s, he briefly served as governor in the cities of Maku and Khoy in Western Azerbaijan, where he tried to stem the turmoil of the Kurdish independence movement and managed to establish ties of loyalty with other young militants, such as Mojtaba HashemiSamareh, who was the nephew of the Prime Minister Mohammad-Javad Bahonar.5 During the Iran-Iraq war, Mahmud was in a position where

112  G. PERLETTA

he could meet members of the IRGC and expand his circles of friends and future political allies. Yet he continued to remain outside the central nucleus of the revolutionary group. One of his long-lasting friendships was with Esmaʽil Ahmadi Moqaddam,6 who was a member of the basīj and head of the Nīrū-ye entezāmī-ye jomhūrī-ye eslāmī-ye Īrān (Law Enforcement Force of the Islamic Republic of Iran, who were simply referred to as the police) from 2005 to 2014. Ahmadinejad soon moved to Sanandaj as an advisor to the local governor when tensions with the Kurds had been reduced and he was able to finish his studies with the reopening of the universities. It was only in 1986 that he took part in the “holy defence” alongside the IRGC and basīj in areas of Iranian Kurdistan, and specifically at the headquarters of the IRGC in the city of Kermanshah. Those two years of participation in that conflict deeply shaped Ahmadinejad’s political trajectory and laid the foundations for his future rhetoric. The exaltation of martyrs and war veterans alike was a distinguishing feature of political discourse in post-revolutionary Iran. The generation who had served at the “front,” former soldiers and IRGC, went on to penetrate the political sphere. At first they achieved this by taking advantage of the economic reconstruction that occurred during Rafsanjani’s tenure, and then subsequently by joining political groups and sitting in key institutions, such as the parliament. The official narrative of this elite was wrapped up in themes adopted from the Iran-Iraq War, which they used to frame a cultural and political ideology, linking religious messages with concepts of resistance, militancy and national unity. A new form of hybrid nationalism arose, combining military strength with religious symbolism. Aside from these brief experiences, Ahmadinejad’s political career started in earnest in 1993 when he became the first governor for the new administrative municipality of Ardabil.7 He was a relative unknown to most but had been chosen by the Minister of the Interior, ʽAli Mohammad Besharati, who decided to appoint a devout and educated young man—most probably under the suggestion of Natqeh Nuri.8 During his governorate (1993–1997), he honed the practice of co-optation, managing to co-opt the merchant class, local clerics and influential members of the IRGC, with the aim of spreading his popularity and expanding his circle of allies. Meanwhile, together with other war veterans and family members of young martyrs from the “Imposed War,” he founded the Jamʽiyat-e Īsārgarān, a new conservative-oriented coalition that came to light after the dismantling of the Sāzmān-e

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Mojāhedīn-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī and the ideological reconfiguration of the Islamic Left.9 When the presidential elections took place in 1997, Īsārgarān members supported the candidacy of the conservative cleric Nateq-Nuri, with the idea of recalibrating the axis of power on the traditional right at the expense of pragmatists and other newly emerged reformist fronts. With the heavy defeat of Nuri and the victory of Mohammad Khatami, many governors were replaced. Ahmadinejad’s tenure in Ardabil came to an end and he went back to the university to serve as a professor. As a result of the wider climate of “openness” implemented by President Khatami, new political groups were formed for the upcoming local elections in 1999. Ahmadinejad was proposed for the capital by a couple of groups close to the conservative clergy, as he was respected for his revolutionary devotion, closeness to military circles, the humble manner in which he conducted his life, and his attention to the subaltern, which was a cornerstone of popular legitimation for the conservative front. Yet he was still a relatively unknown political figure, the extent of whose activism during the revolution was not particularly clear. A year later, sixteen groups with conservative leanings stood in the parliamentary elections for the Jebheh-ye Peyru-e Khat-e Imām va Rahbarī (The Front of the Followers of the Imām Line and the Leader).10 This was a broad and heterogeneous coalition that incorporated the demands of the bāzārī of the Moʾtalefeh-ye Eslāmī, the academic circles of Islamic Association of Engineers (Jāmeʽe-ye Eslāmī-ye Mohandesīn), and Islamic students, grouped within the Jāmeʽeh-ye Eslāmī-ye Dāneshjūyān, a detached segment from the DTV. The choice to include the word rahbarī indicated a bond of loyalty with the Supreme Leader and an intention to distance themselves from the “followers of the Imām,” the Islamic leftists that had attacked the embassy and moved forward supporting the eslāhtalābān. Both groups highlighted their bond with Khomeyni’s principles and their adherence to the values underpinning the revolution, but this newly created front aimed to strengthen their political affiliation with the rahbar, who held the real political power, as a means to counter reformism and undermine its political legitimacy. Although Khatami was reconfirmed as President of the Republic in 2001, the political situation, as well as the electoral one, changed profoundly within a few years. On the one hand, disillusionment with the reformist project significantly reduced voter turnout and, consequently, popular participation in politics. On the other hand, as noted in the

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previous chapter, conservatives were able to put obstacles in the way of the reformist plan through a combination of the judiciary, the intimidation of the basīj and Ansār-e Hezbollāh in relation to student groups, and through the Guardian Council. With the exclusion of many reformist candidates from local councils, Ahmadinejad ran for the 2003 elections supported by a new group entitled Eʾtelāf-e Ābādgarān-e Eslāmī (The Islamic Iranian Alliance of Builders). This chosen name clearly indicated the group’s political position. The use of the term “builders” was not accidental. Rather, it pointed to an attempt to oppose the reformist project that had praised political pluralism by focusing on economic improvements.11 By choosing this label, the group also sought to pose an alternative to the liberal economic policies proposed by the Kārgozārān-e Sāzandegī, which aimed at attracting foreign investments to develop modern industries. The Ābādgarān were mainly technocrats, who had left the Īsārgarān and claimed to have a strong link with Khomeinist principles; they contested both the reformists’ demands and the traditional conservative approach, which did not curtail societal disparities. Also, many of the Ābādgarān members and future Tehran councillors were professors or businessmen who were new to politics and came from outside the nezām. They rose to power on a non-partisan wave using slogans concerned with honesty, social justice, development and individual progress, and demonstrating a willingness to strengthen the welfarist system to meet people’s needs.12 The implication was that the current establishment had been unable to satisfactorily implement social justice.13 Ahmadinejad’s lack of any firmly rooted affiliation with these traditional factions or any other established political circles would be to his advantage, as he was able to first join the leftist revolutionaries and then the conservatives in order to climb quickly through the ranks of the political institution. Though such cynical opportunism would eventually come back to haunt him, it can be seen as a defining feature of Ahmadinejad’s tenure. The Ābādgarān emerged as a new political force that challenged the Iranian elite via a populist platform and through the commemoration of the sacrifices made by war veterans.14 This group managed to exploit the political space between widespread popular disillusionment, which had spread vertically among the social classes due to the limited success of the reformist movement, and what was widely perceived as unfulfilled expectations in regard to inequality reductions.15 A pillar of the Builders’ ethos was their condemnation of political corruption,

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which was perceived as an extensive problem among the political elite. Members of the Ābādgarān were not typically well-known figures, more often engineers and former soldiers, who had been in the orbit of the Jāmeʽeh-ye Rūhānīyat but from whom they differed considerably. Post-revolutionary Islamism had developed along multiple lines and different trajectories, and even within the same front it was possible to find wholly contradictory positions. One example of this can be seen in the very origin of the Ābādgarān, which, as mentioned in the previous chapter, detached itself from the group of the Īsārgarān. The members of the latter were IRGC and technocrats who were closest to the corridors of powers; and, therefore, they supported alternative candidates compared to the Builders. The main difference between these two expressions of the “new right” was the more populist stance of the Ābādgarān, whose policies were tailored towards those on low incomes and the needs of families from poor households.16 While the reformists’ official narrative never neglected the plight of the oppressed, their economic needs were often ignored, and the reform agenda was focused on the quest to boost popular participation amongst the middle classes. Ahmadinejad’s intended targets were those strata of society that had been neglected by both traditional conservatives and reformists. Since 2003, Ahmadinejad started to refashion Khomeyni’s populist narrative to usher in a new third wave. He was a man devoted to revolutionary principles and yet willing to challenge the incumbent establishment. This latter willingness would become evident a few years later, when the presidential elections firmly established him as a significant political figure. Due both to a low turnout17 and the mass disqualification of reformists, in 2003 the Ābādgarān won fourteen out of fifteen seats in the municipality of Tehran and Mahmud Ahmadinejad was chosen to be mayor of the capital, despite his then status as a relative unknown. His victory stemmed more from the failure of the reformist front, and from poor turnout and participation in the election, than from any real and conscious awareness that he was competing in the local council. By a combination of failures and favourable occurrences, it was the crucial support of prominent basīj members, such as that of Esmaʽil Ahmadi Moqaddam, deputy commander of the group, who secured victory for Ahmadinejad.18 As can be seen from his governorship in the city of Ardabil, Ahmadinejad understood the value in co-opting the support of military groups from the outset. At a time of great transformation

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in Iranian politics, with the decline of the reformist front and the rise of the so-called neoconservatives, Ahmadinejad needed to broaden his coterie of allies. The most powerful political circles in Iran were those of the military and paramilitary forces as well as the clergy. During his two years leading the municipality of Tehran, Ahmadinejad continued to emphasize national security and glorify war martyrs, with the express aim of cultivating political support within the military. In his public speeches, the mayor praised the military’s efforts in defending the country during the Iran-Iraq War, holding their efforts up as exemplary behaviour before the Iranian population. The newly emerged so-called second generation of conservatives, war veterans, and lay people had also favoured Ahmadinejad due to his constant praise of the military and his combative approach. He was seen as offering a strong counter narrative to the reformists’ discourse and, as such, could help to bolster the conservative front. Ahmadinejad epitomized the very stereotype of a revolutionary personality, who was devoted to Khomeyni’s principles and did himself conduct a humble lifestyle in accordance with Islamic values. Moreover, his fervent rhetoric and glorification of revolutionary principles was pleasing to both the clergy and some of the IRGC who had started to infiltrate the political system and began to solidify their positions now that they had a figure whom they could openly support. It is for reasons such as these that Ahmadinejad’s political ascendancy has often been considered reactionary, particularly in his attempts to keep alive ideological religious radicalism, as well as a means to counter the pre-existing reformist discourse. As soon as Ahmadinejad was placed in charge of Tehran’s municipality, several controversial proposals and reforms concerning urban planning, budget allocation and the transformation of public spaces were introduced. These measures might be considered instrumental for Ahmadinejad, as he sought to strengthen his political reputation and please his political allies. The new mayor was inexperienced and lacked the necessary political and diplomatic skills for such a role. There were at least two major tendencies that distinguished his leadership at this time: the militarization of Iranian society, exemplified by the increasing praise of military efforts and the strengthening of the military’s role within the public sphere; and the Islamization of politics, which can be seen in the notable support directed towards religious activities and the implementation of religious-oriented reforms. The mayor aimed to refashion urban spaces in a bid to glorify themes such as martyrdom, resistance,

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anti-imperialism, and the efforts of war veterans—in other words, all the thematic cornerstones of Ahmadinejad’s political rhetoric. He proposed to bury the martyrs of the war against Iraq in the public parks and squares of the capital in a bid to transform passive commemoration into active public glorification. In a similar vein, posters of Palestinian fighters were displayed to evoke feelings of resistance and anti-imperialism. An extensive programme of building public fountains with engravings in memory of war martyrs was implemented in the capital. Alongside these more transparent measures, Ahmadinejad also assigned major construction projects to various industrial conglomerates owned by the IRGC, who in return supplied significant funds and donations to the municipality. These funds were never adequately accounted for but were put to use in financing official propaganda to help buy the support of conservative groups.19 Thus, the IRGC and the new mayor established a reciprocal relationship of mutual exchange and support. New buildings and renovated areas became local headquarters for the basīj; and public canteens were set up to offer food during the breaking of fasts in the sacred month of Ramadan. Mosques and heyʾathā (informal gatherings for religious ceremonies) received subsidies from the municipality budget through which they might finance their activities.20 Loans were also given to newly married couples to support them in their married life. The prevailing rhetoric was aimed at encouraging a stricter adherence to Islamic values and, as a result of funds coming directly from the municipalities, religious activities were greatly supported and financed—though the arbitrary and non-transparent use of municipal funding has always been rejected by Mehdi Chamran, head of the local council of Tehran.21 Certain parts of society in the capital viewed this rhetoric and the actual reforms themselves as too overstated, as did sections of the conservative front that sometimes criticized the mayor’s proposals.22 This suggests that making overtures to religious imposition from above was viewed by many as a clear political tool; however, it was also a way to distinguish Ahmadinejad from those other conservative groups that adopted a more moderate position in terms of social, as well as domestic and foreign, policy. By looking at his policies and his political language, however, it is plausible to argue that Ahmadinejad’s primary objective was not to restore a pure religious social code and to challenge “contaminated” principles, but rather to co-opt the powerful political classes, such as the clerics, and economically powerful players, such as the IRGC, in order to

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secure valid allies for himself. Although his rhetoric indicated a greater adherence to revolutionary themes and the desire to implement Islamic values, the mayor’s true political objective was to establish a strong circle of allies, as well as to safeguard his own political legitimacy. This latter aim has been completely ignored by foreign observers; whereas, inside Iran, Ahmadinejad’s position was interpreted as a reactionary stance and his rhetoric was seen as expressing a willingness to return to a more ideological reading of Islam. Mehdi Chamran described the mayor as having a “basīj mentality,”23 that is to say a political predisposition that Ahmadinejad made good use of in gaining the loyalty of the military. With this in mind, it seems clear what truly motivated Ahmadinejad’s urban planning and public space initiative, which was designed to glorify war veterans and praise the idea of resistance through street iconography. Furthermore, as the role of mayor of the capital lacked any specific remit or means to exercise social control, the military sector was essential to guarantee public order and avoid internal insurgencies. Therefore, his relationship with the military guaranteed Ahmadinejad’s fortune and ensured his political survival. In reality, the close alignment between Ahmadinejad and the military stemmed more from an acute political need rather than from any solid bonds of loyalty established over the years, which was how Ahmadinejad tried to portray it. Indeed, many war veterans questioned the extent of the mayor’s participation in the war with Iraq, as he was involved more in administrative affairs at the time. Similar remarks were also made by Mohsen Rezai, IRGC commander-in-chief (1981–1997),24 and others, who would distance themselves from Ahmadinejad when he attempted to challenge the Supreme Leader’s authority. It is not insignificant that, even though Ahmadinejad did not represent the entirety of the IRGC, his political-economic vision both pleased and would benefit many members of the pāsdārān. The Ābādgarān achieved yet another unexpectedly positive result during the 2004 parliamentary elections, winning all thirty seats within the city of Tehran. The continuing disillusionment of reformist supporters, who did not participate in the election, was also accompanied by a boycott by certain figures who complained about manipulation of the voting system.25 It is from this moment that scholarly literature starts to chart the rise of a new movement in post-revolutionary Iran, describing it as “neo-conservatism,” “neo-fundamentalism,” or the “new right.” All these definitions highlight the generational change and

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the transformation of the very concept of conservatism—and yet none of them appear to be informed by Persian categorizations. From that moment on, Iranian conservativism would often be associated with this “second generation,” a group that was less concerned with Islamic seminars and clerical references but linked more to the various military apparatuses and nationalist self-perceptions. Another label used to describe this group is that of “hardliners,” which aims to emphasize the renewed revolutionary zeal and the revival of radicalism. In this book, the words radical and hardliner are preferred not because they do not imply a direct link with the conservative clergy; and, therefore, they seem more appropriate and less misleading. Moreover, this second generation of politicians looked to be an all but homogeneous front; and, despite the fact that they addressed themes that were already current within Iranian politics, the inner pluralism came to the fore during, and very much on account of, Ahmadinejad’s presidency. The political landscape during the run up to the 2005 presidential elections favoured the conservative front. On the one hand, there had been the general defeat of reformism, due to the targeted actions of the unelected bodies, together with the disillusionment of its supporters; on the other hand, new political forces had begun to emerge, led by young figures with undisputed revolutionary credentials, who reinvigorated the ideological message of the Iranian Republic. The demise of Dovvom-e khordād in June 2005 was also the result of a fragmentation in the reformist alliance, given its heterogeneity, which had proven unable to promote a single candidate. The reformists’ votes were divided between Mostafa Moʽin, Minister of Secondary Education and Culture (1989–1993) and Minister of Science, Research, and Technology during the first Khatami presidency, and Mohsen Mehrʽalizadeh. The other candidates were well known to the electorate, such as the former President of the Republic, Hashemi Rasfanjani, who had the support of pragmatic conservatives, and Mehdi Karrubi, a member of the parliament and former speaker (2000–2004). The traditional right grouped together under a broad coalition entitled the Shūrā-ye Hamāhangī-ye Nīrūhā-ye Enqelāb-e Eslāmī (The Coordination Council of Islamic Revolutionary Forces), which was created in 2002 and led by the former Minister of the Interior ʽAli Akbar Nateq-Nuri (1981–1985).26 This broad conservative coalition put forward two names: ʽAli Larijani, who was supported by the traditional clergy and conservative forces, and Mohammad

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Qalibaf, a commander of the IRGC’s Air Force between 1997 and 2000, who was supported by the Islamic Association of Engineers and the Jamʽiyat-e Īsārgarān. On this occasion, members of the conservative coalition were more informally labelled as osūlgarāyān (followers of principles), also simply referred to as principalists. This term had broad connotations and therefore requires some further explanation. At that time, the principalists were lay people, second generation politicians who did not reject the idea of reforms but challenged eslāh and the particular transformations advocated by the eslāhtalābān. These “principle followers” represented a new spectrum of politicians linked with the IRGC and the various military industries, but they were ultimately highly fragmented and fell into different groupings. In 2005, the word osūlgarāyān was used to refer to a broad group of people who had entered into the political sphere, but without necessarily explaining or contextualizing the political inclinations of these individuals and only noting their proximity to the conservatives. In the end, little impact was expected to be made by the sixth candidate, Mahmud Ahmadinejad. Despite being mayor of the capital, he was barely known throughout the rest of the country. A turnout of 62% during the first round meant that it was not possible to assign a clear victory to any of the candidates. As a result, and for the first time in the history of the Islamic Republic, a ballot was held.27 The surprise outcome was not just the defeat of Rafsanjani, who had gained the most votes in the first round yet only secured 10 million votes in the second, but the success of Ahmadinejad. Despite being relatively unknown on the national stage, Ahmadinejad had attracted 17 million votes and thereby was elected the first non-cleric President of the Islamic Republic since 1981. In June 2005, ʽAli Khamenei applauded the people for their response to the electoral call, a necessary requirement both in terms of legitimizing the voting system and the resulting outcome.28

Electoral Campaign in 2005 and Its Themes The political rise of Ahmadinejad was as unexpected as it was remarkable. In a few years, this humble devotee of the revolution had managed to reach the apex of political institutions in the Islamic Republic despite lacking any of the typical religious or revolutionary credentials usually required to become a convincing leader. As he was not the first-choice candidate of the conservative front, it is valuable to explore the roots of

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his political ascendancy and how his electoral campaign played a significant role in the 2005 presidential election. The narrative Ahmadinejad put forward during the campaign was one characterized by fervent populist tones. The masses, the subaltern, the poor and those from low-income households, despite having seen an increase in their standards of living on account of greater access to goods and services, had suffered the most from social disparity and the unfulfilled promises of the revolution. Whereas the disillusioned middle classes opted for pragmatist candidates or simply boycotted the elections, the lower classes were captivated by the direct and simple language used by Ahmadinejad. He reiterated general but highly effective themes that resonated with the masses, such as the fight against corruption (though without ever really outlining any strategy to combat it) and the fair distribution of wealth. His emphasis on these issues enabled him to build consensus and attract followers, despite the lack of any realistic plans to implement prospective changes. Ahmadinejad focused on the economy and built his electoral campaign on the concept of towseʽe-ye ʽedālat (the development of justice), a recurring topic within his government programme.29 These two words were extremely powerful and featured frequently in his political speeches. Rafsanjani had built his rhetoric on the notion of development, which would bring economic progress. But the term towseʽe could also be applied to other fields, such as that of governance and politics, as well as education and culture. Ahmadinejad decided to link the concept of development with the revolutionary slogan of ʽedālat (justice) in order to appeal to both Islamic leftists and conservatives by emphasizing the potential utopian outcomes of an Islamic government under his leadership. As he stated in one public address, “I’ll bring the money from the oil revenues to the Iranians’ tables.”30 Since the beginning of the 2000s, problems of inflation,31 unemployment32 and the diversification of oil revenues had meant that economic concerns were seen to be the highest priority for the executive. The reformist front had not only been politically marginalized but effectively wholly discarded by the electorate. Even if Ahmadinejad shared the same revolutionary zeal as the Islamic leftists, he did not share their changed views towards the eslāh nor did he endorse the reformist agenda. As a result, he chose to address different themes, talked to different strata of society, and adopted a clear and populist narrative. Ahmadinejad spoke to the subaltern, those mostazaʽfān who had not yet enjoyed the promise of prosperity and social justice envisioned by the Khomeinist project.

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At that time, about 50% of the rural population and 20% of the urban population lived on the poverty line.33 He advocated for the “restoration of social equality, the eradication of poverty, job creation, the fair distribution of wealth, the fight against discrimination.”34 None of these themes, of course, were novel in the existing political landscape, as they had always been emphasized by the conservative elite. But Ahmadinejad was not really an enqelābī and, therefore, he needed to strengthen and bolster his political legitimacy. His economic strategy envisaged “self-sufficiency in production, reduction of public expenditure and elimination of privatisation,”35 though these would never be fully realized. Besides promises of economic relief, Ahmadinejad criticized the inefficiency of the bureaucracy, the persisting corruption, the governmental dysfunction, and the state centralization that had characterized the tenures of his predecessors.36 Corruption was among the main causes of a widening gap between the political class and wider society, especially during the reformist presidencies, as demonstrated by the intolerance towards clientelism and what were perceived as the arbitrary mechanisms of power. If the latter were practices enacted by the conservative-oriented unelected institutions, Ahmadinejad presented himself as someone who could eliminate such systemic dysfunction from within the conservative front. In the country’s peripheral areas, however, other issues were of more immediate concern to the electorate, who were as far removed from the intellectual debate as they were apathetic to the quest for social liberalization. The failure to alleviate poverty, to simplify a stagnating bureaucratic sector, or to encourage rapid privatization had led to the failure of the reformists’ attempts to carry out structural economic reforms. Even though equality, social justice and poverty reduction were the intent and purpose behind these reforms, the disappointing economic achievements of President Khatami allowed his successors to focus upon the continuing failure to deliver in these key areas. In 2005, the main concern of Iranian domestic politics was the state of the economy, which was reflected in the speeches of Rafsanjani who, like his rival, addressed issues of social justice, employment and poverty reduction, and promoted above all else his own religious and revolutionary credentials.37 Therefore, in order to build support among the population, it was necessary for Ahmadinejad to restore a utopian idea of society that was based on the Islamic model. At first glance, this desire to return to the “roots of the revolution” appeared to be a reaction to all that had transpired since 1979—that is to say, intellectual and political

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reformism—together with a nostalgic call for a more intensive and comprehensive role for Islam in people’s daily lives. Furthermore, these themes recalled the main slogans of religious radicalism during the revolution and in its immediate aftermath, focusing as they did on social justice, the fight against corruption, political patronage and privatization. As previously mentioned, though these topics had still strongly featured within existing political discourse, new subjects and slogans had started to overshadow them in the 1990s. Ahmadinejad was characterized in the Western press as a radical or hardliner on account of his political dialectic, which tackled conservative themes and recalled religious radicalism.38 He appeared to the international community, but also to most Iranians, as an enigmatic and unknown figure, a former member of the basīj, who was imbued with militant and revolutionary zeal, preaching the dawn of a “new era” in the country. His tone, but also his inexperience and therefore inadequacy to hold such a high position within the institutional architecture, alarmed both moderate and pragmatic groups, as well as the more marginalized secular voices of the population, who feared a forced Islamization from above. But astonishment and concern also gripped foreign powers, who had found themselves quite unable (due to the complexity of the Iranian system) to anticipate the defeat of the pragmatic reformist front or to foresee the rise of the so-called hardliners.39 Ahmadinejad tried to convey the image of himself as a devout man with a sober and modest lifestyle. Cameras often entered his home in the south of Tehran and showed a bare, modest, furniture-free environment, one that would be instantly recognizable to thousands of Iranian families. By emphasizing a shared commonality with the people, he claimed to be a gheyr-e khodī, an outsider from the political elite, who was far removed from existing power relations and political modus operandi. Ahmadinejad was seen as a man of the people and whose main supporters were not those politicians and bureaucrats who had been drawn from political alliances or family lineage but ordinary Iranians. He had identified the main causes of widespread discontent among Iranian society: social inequality, corruption, unemployment, the failure to improve economic conditions, and the enrichment of the few in contrast to the impoverishment of the many. Using these themes, he developed a simple rhetoric, one that was easily understandable, which was intended to mobilize members of those social classes whom the reformists had neglected and poor people in rural areas of the country—all of whom would be visited personally and frequently by the future President.40

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In these geographically peripheral areas, he had promised that particular attention would be paid to enhancing local agriculture and reversing the urbanization process.41 While Khatami discussed the role of civil society and dialogue between civilizations, Ahmadinejad talked about salaries, wages, the distribution of oil revenues, policies to encourage marriages, and low-interest loans for young couples. Ahmadinejad addressed the masses, just as āyatollāh Khomeyni did during his sermons. In order to more effectively reach multiple segments of the population, Ahmadinejad sought to promote an “Islamic-Iranian” identity when it came to interactions with the international community and to preserve the shokūfāī (prosperity) of Islamic civilization.42 Citizens were encouraged to participate in the activities promoted by mosques, such as religious ceremonies of commemoration. The aim was the development of “Islamic traditions in society and the consolidation of national awareness in order to preserve religious values, the independence of the homeland, and pride.”43 What the core of this Iranian identity was, however, was never accurately described, but rather left vague and with no further specifications— though, it should be noted that, from the beginning of his presidency, Ahmadinejad understood the importance of restoring Persian heritage, as it was seen as essential to the progress of society and the advancement of science. Beyond simply his powerful rhetoric, there were also at least three other reasons for Ahmadinejad’s victory in 2005. The first stems from the characteristics of the other candidates, who were unable to secure popular consensus. Rafsanjani was undoubtedly an experienced figure, a cunning politician with irrefutable revolutionary credentials, who was close to the conservative elite, the merchants, and the clergy. He was also the spokesman for economic liberalization and an openness to foreign powers. His strengths were economic reforms, the attempt to improve relations with Western countries, and to ameliorate bilateral relations with the European Union. Yet Rafsanjani was also one of the most unpopular political figures at that time, as his own economic status was symbolic of the rampant corruption in the political system and represented a “deviation” from Khomeyni’s project of social justice. Moreover, during the election campaign, Rafsanjani preferred to focus more on conducting interviews, promoting the need to re-establishing foreign relations, than he did spending time visiting remote areas of the country.44 This approach only served to underline Rafsanjani’s growing detachment from voters of the poorer and rural classes. Many

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of those who had voted for a reformist candidate in the first round chose not to vote in the runoff ballot, thereby not giving their support to Rafsanjani.45 In terms of wider conservative circles, many clearly changed their positions in the second round to favour Ahmadinejad, which also played a decisive role in Rafsanjani defeat.46 The crucial support provided by the militias and the IRGC, as well as his significant visibility in the media, made Ahmadinejad’s election campaign more incisive. The political powers that would never have bet on him in the first round, such as the conservative clergy, the Īsārgarān, the soldiers who supported Qalibaf, and especially the Supreme Leader, changed strategy and backed his candidacy. The āyatollāh Movahedi Kermani, a representative of the rahbar in the IRGC, was a key figure in persuading the IRGC to vote for Ahmadinejad.47 The basīj became a real force of propaganda, as they were able to influence voting due to their widespread and visible presence throughout various territories and their ability to put pressure on the electorate by patrolling the polling stations during the elections.48 Under the leadership of Commander Mohammad Hejazi, the basīj decided to support Ahmadinejad’s candidacy—not because he had significant followers from within the movement but because he was the only candidate who represented their own militant attitudes. Moreover, Ahmadinejad had never posed a threat to the continued economic wealth of the IRGC; as opposed to General Qalibaf who, having repurposed a famous motto of the penultimate Persian monarch Reza Khān, called the former shāh an hezbollāhī,49 and tried to present himself as the promoter of a model of efficiency and modernization. Qalibaf sought to encourage an alternative to Ahmadinejad’s paradigm, which instead looked to the figure of the second President of the Republic, ʽAli Rajaʾi, and sought to associate his own humble life and devotion to the cause “of the people” with the same attitude to that of the former President.50 A second factor in Ahmadinejad’s victory stemmed from the internal wrangling between the existing power elites. The Supreme Leader preferred to implicitly support Ahmadinejad for two main reasons. Firstly, Ahmadinejad placed emphasis on themes characteristic of the traditional right and of Khomeyni’s rhetoric. This could potentially lend credit to one of the alternative discourses of the reformists. Secondly, in 2005, the rahbar had avoided replicating the established political practice of the “second republic” and had not supported Rafsanjani. Ahmadinejad was, effectively, a lesser-known political figure whom the Supreme Leader

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likely thought he might control—or, at least, did not imagine he would have any deep frictions or competition with. He appeared to be a true “son of the revolution,” devoted and respectful of the leadership, while the other candidates and particularly Rafsanjani were strong political personalities and so the potential for disagreements between the executive and the rahbar would be greatly increased. A third possible factor accounting for the election of Ahmadinejad derives from the electorate itself. It could be argued that the vote for Ahmadinejad was a general expression of protest against the establishment. As evidenced in the official polling data, it appears that those areas which were historic heartlands of the conservative front ended up voting for Ahmadinejad.51 Even though the mayor of Tehran stood in vague alignment with the conservatives, he had strongly emphasized his role as a gheyr-e khodī, an outsider, who was entirely unattached to the traditional mechanism of power and the patronage system. Ahmadinejad stood in stark contradiction to the reformists, whose support within the electorate continued to remain negligible. However, he was also in competition with the old guard of the conservative front, whose slogans he had appropriated in order to gain support and bolster his legitimacy, but whose authority he challenged by harkening back to the “roots of the revolution”—not to mention his significant apolitical and non-clerical background. If a historically conservative electorate had been successfully persuaded to vote for Ahmadinejad, it seems credible to suggest that he had taken deliberate aim at winning support within that particular demographic; and, as a result, the competition and ensuing frictions between the conservatives and the President were already beginning to surface by 2005. Likely influenced (and probably conditioned) by the rise of the state security apparatus, Ahmadinejad’s victory in attaining the presidency of the republic was not simply the revenge of one political group over another, or the fulfilment of the military’s aspirations. Ahmadinejad, who presented himself as a “man of the people,” was never the first choice of military groups nor of traditional conservatives. Indeed, Fred Halliday claimed that Ahmadinejad’s victory was the result of a “popular resentment towards the Islamist elite,”52 who were accused of having monopolized the wealth of the state and controlled all the political power. In this regard, Ahmadinejad represented (at least in theory) a clean break with the past; however, he was also willing to restore the vision of Khomeyni’s revolutionary utopia to gain leverage with the conservative

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electorate, and to ensure that he had ample support for his political manoeuvres. Amir Arjomand defines the victory of the unknown mayor of Tehran as a “basīj-induced revolutionary revival,”53 which he bases on the role that the militias had in promoting (if not entirely influencing) the election of their (second choice) candidate. It is worth mentioning that Ahmadinejad obtained the presidency of the republic at a time of heightened popular distrust in the conduct of the Iranian political elite. In addition, the continuous intimidation Iran was subjected to on account of the regime change, which was deemed to be coming from the United States, also played a role in hardening the securitization of domestic politics. Ahmadinejad built up his political stature in this context. The speed of his rise to power, combined with the unpredictable nature of the 2005 election result, has unfortunately limited any deep and reliable understanding of his ideological position and the significance of his ascendancy in post-revolutionary Iran. Ahmadinejad’s rhetoric has, in fact, been incorrectly interpreted as a continuum of post-revolutionary conservatism. Yet, given the considerations explored above, it is not only necessary, but much needed to explore different possible interpretations.

Reinterpreting Ahmadinejad’s Radical Rhetoric Ahmadinejad’s ascent to power happened in just a few short years. The first non-cleric President of the Islamic Republic since 1981 was not part of established political circles before his election, nor was he a prominent figure during the revolution or in its aftermath. He was for many an unknown, a humble devotee of the revolution who placed rhetorical stress on religious radicalism. Ahmadinejad was a gheyr-e khodī, who was able to enter the nezām and quickly reach its apex, establish a circle of loyal allies, and stay in power for eight years. However, even during his electoral campaign and his continual call backs to the “roots” of the revolution, he challenged the ways in which the traditional right had institutionalized religious radicalism. These are key factors, which have often been neglected or have not been appropriately contextualized, that need to be carefully considered in order to understand and appreciate Ahmadinejad’s political trajectory. Similarly, it is necessary to identify both the true aims of his ideologically charged rhetoric and what really lay behind his efforts to return to revolutionary themes. To fully comprehend the meaning and the political significance of Ahmadinejad’s political discourse, it is essential to challenge and deconstruct the existing

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categories of political radicalism, so as to uncover the reasons why he chose to address topics pertinent to the revolution some two decades after its conclusion. His populist rhetoric aimed at attracting the masses and, specifically, those from low-income households, wage workers, and the urban poor, whose needs had been effectively ignored by the reformists in their quest for liberalization. The institutionalization of revolutionary discourse during the 1980s had moved away from religious radicalism, even though the themes of the revolutionary era endured and often characterized official political discourse. As previously discussed, the radical position was overshadowed by attempts to attract foreign investments and maintain practical and productive foreign relations. Due to a myriad of economic problems, the social disparity that existed between the healthy strata of society and those in dire circumstances remained; Iranian society had gradually grown to feel betrayed by the revolutionary elite and disillusioned with the revolutionary ideology.54 In 2005, when a non-cleric and lay person began to call back to the true roots of the revolution, and spoke about social justice and harsh anti-imperialism, he was labelled by Western observers as a radical imbued with revolutionary principles. The political language Ahmadinejad used had seen him characterized as a reactionary figure, one who pleased both the Supreme Leader and the conservative faction, as he offered a counter to socio-political liberalization. However, considering that Ahmadinejad was an outsider and not the immediate first choice of the conservative front, the rhetoric he employed both before and then during his presidency may allow for a different interpretation of his goals and true intentions. One motivation for Ahmadinejad’s style of rhetoric may have been due to the fact that he lacked any strong or established political connections. His discourse was functional, designed to gain legitimacy and build support among conservatives and the traditional clergy, and to resonate within Iran’s political institutions. By employing revolutionary slogans, he portrayed himself as a devout product of the republic, a humble man who sought to strengthen religious ties with political commitments. Focusing public attention on these topics pleased the conservatives and the Supreme Leader, especially for the knock-on effect it had in curtailing the spread of reformism. Ahmadinejad’s political language was, generally, acceptable to the conservatives, which enabled him to situate himself in a position of power within the nezām. Moreover, he had no intention of representing the middle classes, who had gradually

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distanced themselves from political participation and backed the reformist movement, but rather sought to stand for the lower classes, low-wage workers, the urban poor, and families who lived in the suburbs of the cities or in rural areas of the country. He looked to those social groups who had formed the backbone of popular support for the conservatives for many decades. Ahmadinejad wanted to give birth to a “third way” that rejected both reformism, which was seen as a political force that had neglected workers and the poor, and the conservatives, who had institutionalized revolutionary paradigms and seemed to have forgotten their original commitments to the oppressed. This partly explains why Ahmadinejad needed to utilize a certain type of rhetoric, one that would be amenable to those forces who controlled political power but that was also specifically targeted at a widespread segment of Iranian society. However, it does not necessarily reveal his ultimate political goal or how this approach would serve his political ambitions. Since Ahmadinejad’s rhetoric played on populist tones, many believed that his main target was the masses. Though this assumption is not necessarily incorrect, it is perhaps too superficial and warrants further investigation. Iranian society at the time of Ahmadinejad’s first election as mayor in 2003, and then as President in 2005, was both quantitatively and qualitatively very different from that at the time of the revolution. Many of the current generation of voters had not experienced the ousting of the shāh, nor had they actively participated in the “sacred defence,” and thus Ahmadinejad’s rhetoric risked sounding like a nostalgic, reactionary call for revival, as opposed to being an effective means of leveraging the masses. In addition, it seems unlikely that his political discourse would have been attractive to large portions of Iranian society given that the wider population barely even knew who the mayor of Tehran was—not to mention, following the mass disqualification of reformist candidates, that many people were already disillusioned with politics given the arbitrary power wielded by the unelected institutions. The low turnout that has been registered at every election since 2002 reinforces this idea of political disenchantment. It is, therefore, reasonable to assume that Ahmadinejad’s populist tones and Khomeinist inclinations concealed a more precise political goal. Beyond the need for political legitimization and endorsement for his proposed socio-economic improvements for the masses, the mayor’s rhetoric took aim at the political elite—and above all the conservatives. The young leader of the Ābādgarān had launched a verbal assault on endemic corruption and perceived deviations from

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the true origins of the revolution not—or, rather, not only—to persuade potential voters but to directly challenge the entire political class. He called back to Khomeyni’s original message in order to liberate it from the institutionalized interpretation that had been promoted by pragmatic conservatives, or the reformed version advocated by the eslāhtalābān. By speaking to the oppressed, Ahmadinejad did not intend to present himself as a continuity candidate for the conservatives, but rather to directly compete with them by appealing to their traditional voters and hopefully obtaining their support. The appropriation of Khomeyni’s rhetoric was an essential factor in securing Ahmadinejad’s entry into the nezām, even though his stridence in the use of this language appeared notably overemphasized. In post-revolutionary Iran, the call for social justice, drawing attention to the struggles of the oppressed, the need to redistribute wealth and fight corruption, was not only a declared adherence to the founding principles of the revolution, but also constituted a verbal expression of a political challenge to the status quo. Therefore, it is not mere reference to the themes that symbolized the 1979 revolution that deserves particular attention, but rather their deeper political significance. The use of a revolutionary and militant narrative could no longer be said to embody a specific continuity with the past, but it might be interpreted by looking at how it has been used and adapted in a different historical period. Ahmadinejad referred to original Khomeinism with the aim of capturing its radical temper, to criticize the current system and challenge the ruling elite. Highlighting the fight against patronage and corruption implied a criticism of post-revolutionary political groups, who had not managed to eradicate these practices. Ahmadinejad cannot, therefore, be labelled a conservative (or a neoconservative) because his appeal to revolutionary principles held a symbolic value. Emphasizing Khomeyni’s purism represented a return to revolutionary populism, to the struggle against the political elite and the religious hierarchies, who were still perceived as being corrupt even two decades after the revolution. Having considered this, it begs the question whether the label of a radical is still a suitable one to use when identifying Ahmadinejad’s political position. In most scholarly literature concerned with this period, the definition of ultraradicals or hardliners is tied to the revival of a form of militant-religious political ideology, which is interpreted as an amplification of post-revolutionary conservatism. A confrontational approach, the ideological stance towards Western countries, the promotion of a culture

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free from Western models, and a renewed revolutionary zeal saw the term ultraradical become synonymous with that of a neoconservative or a fundamentalist, for they were all interpreted as the maximum expression of conservative ideology. The word radical, therefore, became inherently linked to the notion of revivalism, without ever considering the contextual diversity in which this particular revival took place. As a gheyr-e khodī, an outsider to the political system viewed with some suspicion by those inside it, Ahmadinejad utilized revolutionary themes and rhetoric in order to define his own political identity, to attract important allies, and to assert his legitimacy. Many conservatives, however, would dissociate themselves from Ahmadinejad’s group, demonstrating how his interpretation of Khomeinism, which had proven so instrumental in securing him widespread support, was also seen almost paradoxically to be deviating from Khomeyni’s political view. Khomeinism was the all-encompassing expression of Islamic Left-wing nationalism and religious engagement within politics, which sought to initiate a reversal of the Shiʽite quietism that had endured for centuries. With the birth of the Iranian Republic, Islamic radicalism gradually became institutionalized and crystallized, and became the reason for keeping the system unaltered. Given this, it is inaccurate to define Ahmadinejad as a radical, according to Western categorizations, because he did not truly embody a return to Khomeyni’s original message per se, but rather exploited its political meaning and the anti-status quo temperament. Ultimately, Ahmadinejad had never fully subscribed to Khomeyni’s religious heterodoxy, as demonstrated by his own messianic tendencies, which will be explored in the next chapter. By analyzing his relationship with the Iranian clergy and examining his speeches, it is possible to see how messianic components played a pivotal role in Ahmadinejad’s political discourse, which stands in contradiction to Khomeyni’s radical ideology concerning the Velāyat-e faqīh. Ahmadinejad’s surprisingly rapid rise to the top position in the Iranian political system represented an ideological evolution of the post-revolutionary political class. He and his group moved the axis of confrontation within the conservative sphere itself, ensuring that domestic competition was no longer limited to being between reformists and conservatives. Since the breakdown between the Ābādgarān and the Īsārgarān, it has been possible to identify two conflicting tendencies prevalent within the second generation of conservatives and, consequently, the development of new interpretations of post-revolutionary politics. Ahmadinejad’s

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rhetoric was functionally designed for and effective in creating a system of alliances among the ruling elite. Not being a cleric nor a military man, the mayor of Tehran had to satisfy the expectations of those who were in charge of key institutions, both in terms of the political narrative he presented and the actual reforms he promoted, through substantial donations to local mosques and the promotion of religious activities financed with municipal funds. However, President Ahmadinejad refashioned the old revolutionary rhetoric by exploiting its political meaning and its aims to challenge the status quo. By doing so, not only was he able to gain conservative support, from those who welcomed the revolutionary revival as a means to strengthen their legitimacy, but Ahmadinejad could also play to the demands of the masses. Therefore, the radicalism seen in Ahmadinejad’s political discourse derives from his attempts to challenge established power relations by using the original meaning that stood at the heart of revolutionary ideology. He revealed himself to be a proponent of Khomeinism, but as it had been originally conceived and the core values that underpinned it. Whereas Western literature understood radicalism to be the strict adherence to the pillars of the nezām, Ahmadinejad’s political narrative threatened to confront the institutionalization of religious radicalism. Consequently, he can only be labelled an ultraradical or a hardliner if those categories are interpreted as embodying a challenge to the status quo, and if they denote the intention to impose abrupt changes at a political level, rather than the exaltation of Khomeinist orthodoxy. To confront the status quo, as will be examined in the next chapters, President Ahmadinejad operated within the accepted boundaries of religious morality and Islamic precepts in a way to assure his legitimacy. Yet his wish to return to the “roots of the revolution” must be interpreted according to the theoretical goals to be found in such rhetoric, as opposed simply to its literal meaning.55 The new President did not share the same view as the neoconservatives—also referred to as conservative hardliners by Albloshi56—who came to the fore in the same period with a very particular agenda. However, he was initially linked to this second generation of “right-wing” military men and veterans who were poised to fill the corridors of power. It is, therefore, necessary to deconstruct the simplistic labelling proposed by Western terminology, as it limits a fuller understanding of Ahmadinejad’s political parabola.

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Notes

1. “‫( ” زندگی نامه‬Biography), Ahmadinejad.ir, http://ahmadinejad.ir/-‫زندگی‬ ‫نامه‬/, accessed on February 21, 2019. 2. To explore the Hojjatīeh Society see Ronen Cohen, The Hojjatiyeh Society in Iran: Ideology and Practice from the 1950s to the Present (New York: Springer, 2013). 3. “‫( ”امام خمینی گفتند اگر انجمن حجتیه اعتقاد فاسد ندارد چرا از خود دفاع نمی کند؟‬The Imām Khomeyni Said: “If the Hojjatīeh Society Is Not Corrupt, Because It Does Not Defend Himself?”), Parsine, http://www.parsine.com/fa/ news/255538/ , accessed

on February 23, 2018.





4. Kasra Naji,  Ahmadinejad: The Secret History of Iran’s Radical Leader (Berkeley: I.B. Tauris, 2007), 18–25. 5. Siavush Randjbar-Daemi,  The Quest for Authority in Iran: A History of the Presidency from Revolution to Rouhani (London: I.B. Tauris, 2018), 178. 6. “ ” (Biography: Esmaʽil Ahmadi Moqaddam

1940–), Hamshahrī Online, http://www.hamshahrionline.ir/ details/45277, accessed on February 21, 2020.

7. ‫زندگی نامه‬, Ahmadinejad.ir. 8.  Quoted from: Siavush Randjbar-Daemi, Quest for Authority in Iran: A History of the Presidency from Revolution to Rouhani (London: I.B. Tauris, 2017), 177. 9. Abbas William Samii, “The Changing Landscape of Party Politics in Iran: A Case Study,” Vaseteh: The Journal of the European Society for Iranian Studies 1, no. 1 (2005): 1378–58. 10. “‫ ائتالف اکثریت اصولگرایان‬،‫( ”جبهه پیروان امام (ره) و رهبری‬The Front of the Followers of the Imām and the Rahbar, the Coalition of the Majority of Principalists), Parsine, http://www.parsine.com/fa/news/101604/

, accessed on February 23, 2020.

11. Ali Gheissari and Vali Nasr, Democracy in Iran: History and the Quest for Liberty (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 143. 12. “‫( ”ائتالف آبادگران ایران اسالمی‬Islamic Iran Ābādgarān Coalition), Pajoohe, http://pajoohe.ir/ , accessed on

November 3, 2020.

13. Michael Axworthy,  Revolutionary Iran: A History of the Islamic Republic (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 373. 14. Babak Rahimi, “Contentious Legacies of the Ayatollah,” in A Critical Introduction to Khomeini, ed. by Arshin Adib-Moghaddam (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 292–93.

134  G. PERLETTA 15.  Djavad Salehi-Isfahani, “Poverty, Inequality, and Populist Politics in Iran,” The Journal of Economic Inequality 7, no. 1 (2009): 5–28. 16. Siavush Randjbar-Daemi, Quest for Authority in Iran: A History of the Presidency from Revolution to Rouhani (London: I.B. Tauris, 2017). 17. Only 16 million out of the 41 million eligible to vote participated in the elections, compared to 35 million who participated in the 1999 elections. 18. This is argued by Kasra Naji in his book Ahmadinejad: The Secret History of Iran’s Radical Leader, 32. 19. Nader Habaibi, “Economic Legacy of Mahmud Ahmadinejad,” Working Paper Series (Brandeis University, 2014), 2. 20. Quoted from Asef Bayat, Life as Politics: How Ordinary People Change the Middle East (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2013), 168. 21. “‫( ”پاسخ چمران به شایعه شهردار شدن احمدی نژاد‬Chamran’s Response to Rumors of Ahmadinejad Becoming Mayor), Tābnāk, https://www.tabnak.ir/fa/ amp/news/324779, accessed on November 3, 2020. 22.  Ali M. Ansari, Iran Under Ahmadinejad: The Politics of Confrontation (Oxon; New York: Routledge, 2017), 29. 23. Kasra Naji,  Ahmadinejad: The Secret History of Iran’s Radical Leader, 49. 24.  ” (Mohsen Rezaei in an Interview with ‘Entekhab’: Ask About Products About Ahmadinejad’s Role in the War/Debates Should Have Been Held Twice in 1988/ Khatami, Like Ahmadinejad, Did Not Attend Some of the Assembly’s Meetings), Entekhāb, https://www.entekhab.ir/fa/news/68667/







, accessed on November 24, 2020.

25. 3600 out of 8200 reformist candidates were disqualified by the Guardian Council. The turnout was among the historical lows for the Islamic Republic (about 51%). See: “2004 Seventh Parliamentary Election,” Iran Data Portal, http://irandataportal.syr.edu/2004-parliamentary-election, accessed on February 25, 2018. 26. “‫ الريجاني نامزد قطعي قطعي و نهاي شوراي هماهنگي نيي انقالب است‬:‫”باهنر‬ (Bahonar: Larijani Is the Final and Final Candidate for the Revolutionary Forces Coordination Council), Fars News, http://www.farsnews.com/ newstext.php?nn=8402020063, accessed on February 28, 2018. 27. The other candidates’ results were: Karrubi, 5,056,686 (17.2%), Qalibaf, 4,075,189 (13.8%), Moʽin, 4,069,699 (13.8%), ʽAli Larijani, 1,716,081 (5.8%), Mehrʽalizadeh, 1,287,440 (4.4%). “2005 Presidential Elections,” Iran Data Portal, https://irandataportal.syr.edu/2005-presidential-election, accessed on February 26, 2020.

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28. “Leader’s Congratulatory Message to the Iranian Nation on Presidential Election,” Khamenei.ir, http://english.khamenei.ir/news/262/Leaders-Congratulator y-Message-to-the-Iranian-Nation-on-Presidential, accessed on February 26, 2018. 29. “۱۳۸۴ ‫ مرداد‬,‫ دبيرخانه شوراي اطالع‌رساني دولت‬.‫( ”برنامه دولت نهم‬The Program of the Ninth Government: Government Information Council Secretariat, Mordād    1384), president.ir, http://web.archive.org/web/2005112602 4514/http://www.president.ir//ahmadinejad/dolat9/09/index-f.htm, accessed on February 27, 2019. 30. “‫ باید خود را نشان دهد‬،‫( ”اینکه پول نفت باید سر سفره مردم بیاید‬Oil Money Must Arrive on People’s Table; It Must Be Displayed) Aftāb Khabarī, http://aftabnews. ir/fa/news/77056/‫دهد‬-‫نشان‬-‫را‬-‫خود‬-‫باید‬-‫بیاید‬-‫مردم‬-‫سفره‬-‫سر‬-‫باید‬-‫نفت‬-‫پول‬-‫اینکه‬, accessed on February 27, 2018. 31.  “Inflation, Consumer Prices (Annual %),” The World Bank, https:// data.worldbank.org/indicator/FP.CPI.TOTL.ZG?end=2016&locations =IR&start=1989,   accessed on March 12, 2020. 32. “Iran Unemployment Rate,” Trading Economics, https://tradingeconomics.com/iran/unemployment-rate, accessed on February 27, 2020. 33. Eva Rakel,  Power, Islam, and Political Elite in Iran: A Study on the Iranian Political Elite from Khomeini to Ahmadinejad (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 100. 34. “۱۳۸۴ ‫ مرداد‬,‫ دبيرخانه شوراي اطالع‌رساني دولت‬.‫( ”برنامه دولت نهم‬The Program of the Ninth Government: Government Information Council Secretariat, Mordād), president.ir. 35. Ibidem. 36.  Jahangir Amuzegar, “The Ahmadinejad Era: Preparing for the Apocalypse,” Journal of International Affairs 60, no. 2 (2007): 37. 37. “‫( ”متن کامل بيانيه هاشمی رفسنجانی‬Full text of Hashemi Rafsanjani’s statement), BBC Persian, http://www.bbc.com/persian/iran/story/2005/ 06/050619_mf_hashemi_statement.shtml,   accessed    on    February    28, 2020. 38.  Among the prominent European newspaper: Karl Vick, “Hard-Line Tehran Mayor Wins Iranian Presidency,” The Washington Post, http:// www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/06/24/ AR2005062401696.html, accessed on February 28, 2018; “Hardliner Set for Iran Election Landslide,” Independent, https://www.independent.ie/world-news/hardliner-set-for-iran-election-landslide-25981997. html, accessed on February 28, 2018; “Iran, vince il candidato conservatore,” Corriere della Sera, http://www.corriere.it/Primo_Piano/ Esteri/2005/06_Giugno/25/iran.shtml, accessed on February 28, 2018; “Mahmoud Ahmadinejad remporte l’élection présidentielle

136  G. PERLETTA













en Iran,” Le Monde, http://www.lemonde.fr/proche-orient/article/2005/06/25/mahmoud-ahmadinejad-un-ultraconservateur-president-de-l-iran_666088_3218.html#zJ98VVMRZYq8Zyh5.99,   last accessed on February 28, 2018; “Victory for a Religious Hardliner in Iran,” The Economist, https://www.economist.com/node/4123204, accessed on February 28, 2018. 39. “‫( ”واکنش های بين المللی به پيروزی محمود احمدی نژاد‬International Reaction to the Victory of Mahmud Ahmadinejad), BBC Persian, http://www.bbc. com/persian/iran/story/2005/06/050625_a_election_int_reaction. shtml, accessed on February 29, 2020. 40. Said Amir Arjomand, After Khomeini: Iran Under His Successors (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 152. 41. Kasra Naji,  Ahmadinejad: The Secret History of Iran’s Radical Leader, 82. 42. “۱۳۸۴ ‫ مرداد‬,‫ دبيرخانه شوراي اطالع‌رساني دولت‬.‫( ”برنامه دولت نهم‬The Program of the Ninth Government: Government Information Council Secretariat, Mordād 1384), president.ir. 43.  Ibidem. 44. Ray Takeyh,  Guardians of the Revolution: Iran and the World in the Age of the Ayatollahs (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 235. 45. Siamak Namazi, “The Iranian Presidential Elections: Who Voted, Why, How & Does It Matter?” in Middle East Program, Woodrow Wilson Center (2005): 5. 46. Haleh Esfandiari, “Iran After the June 2005 Presidential Election,” Middle East Program, Woodrow Wilson Center (2005): 3. 47. Said Amir Arjomand, After Khomeini: Iran Under His Successors, 151. 48. Ali M. Ansari, Iran Under Ahmadinejad: The Politics of Confrontation, 36. 49. “‫ قالیباف الگوی “رضا خان حزب اللهی” را در برابر احمدی نژاد مطرح کرده بود‬:‫”هللا کرم‬ (Allah Karam: Qalifab Raised the “Reza Khān Hezbollāh” Against Ahmadinejad), Rahesabz.net, http://www.rahesabz.net/story/41714/, accessed on February 28, 2020. 50.  (Ahmadinejad’s Distance with Rajai Is Like from Earth to Heaven), Khabar Online, https://www.khabaronline.ir/detail/702749/Politics/parties, accessed on February 28, 2020. 51.  Bernard Hourcade and Paul Silverstein, “In the Heart of Iran: The Electorate of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad,” Middle East Report 241 (2006): 10–11. 52. Fred Halliday, “Iran’s Revolutionary Spasm,” Open Democracy, https:// www.opendemocracy.net/globalization-vision_reflections/iran_2642.jsp, accessed on February 25, 2019. 53. Said Amir Arjomand, After Khomeini: Iran Under His Successors, 152. 54. Eva Rakel, Power, Islam, and Political Elite in Iran: A Study on the Iranian Political Elite from Khomeini to Ahmadinejad, 142.

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137

55. Ray Takeyh, Hidden Iran: Paradox and Power in the Islamic Republic (New York: Times Book, 2006), 22. 56. Hamad Albloshi, The Eternal Revolution: Hardliners and Conservatives in Iran (London; New York: I.B. Tauris, 2016).

References “2004 Seventh Parliamentary Election.” Iran Data Portal. http://irandataportal. syr.edu/2004-parliamentary-election (accessed February 25, 2018). “2005 Presidential Election.” Iran Data Portal.  http://irandataportal.syr. edu/2005-presidential-election (accessed February 26, 2020). “Hardliner Set for Iran Election Landslide.” Independent.ie. https://www.independent.ie/world-news/hardliner-set-for-iran-election-landslide-25981997. html (accessed February 28, 2018). “Inflation, Consumer Prices (Annual %).” The World Bank. https://data.worldbank.org/indicator/FP.CPI.TOTL.ZG?end=2016&locations=IR&start=19 89 (accessed March 12, 2020). “Iran Unemployment Rate.” Trading Economics. https://tradingeconomics. com/iran/unemployment-rate (accessed February 27, 2020). “Iran, Vince Il Candidato Conservatore.” Corriere della Sera. http://www.corriere.it/Primo_Piano/Esteri/2005/06_Giugno/25/iran.shtml (accessed February 28, 2018). “Leader’s Congratulatory Message to the Iranian Nation on Presidential Election.” Khamenei.ir.  http://english.khamenei.ir/news/262/Leader-sCongratulatory-Message-to-the-Iranian-Nation-on-Presidential (accessed February 26, 2018). “Mahmoud Ahmadinejad Remporte l’Élection Présidentielle En Iran.” Le Monde http://www.lemonde.fr/proche-orient/article/2005/06/25/mahmoud-ahmadinejad-un-ultraconservateur-president-de-l-iran_666088_3218.html#zJ98VVMRZYq8Zyh5.99 (accessed February 28, 2018). “‫( ائتالف آبادگران ایران اسالمی‬Islamic Iran Ābādgarān Coalition).” Pajoohe. http:// pajoohe.ir/ ‫اسالمی‬-‫ایران‬-‫آبادگران‬-‫__ائتالف‬a-40404.aspx#_ftnref11 (accessed November 3, 2020). “‫ قالیباف الگوی “رضا خان حزب اللهی” را در برابر احمدی نژاد مطرح کرده بود‬:‫هللا کرم‬, (Allah Karam: Qalifab Raised the ‘Reza Khān Hezbollāh’ Against Ahmadinejad).” Rahesabz.net. http://www.rahesabz.net/story/41714/ (accessed February 28, 2020). “‫( امام خمینی گفتند اگر انجمن حجتیه اعتقاد فاسد ندارد چرا از خود دفاع نمی کند؟‬The Imām Khomeyni Said: If the Hojjatīeh Society Is Not Corrupt, Because It Does Not Defend Himself?).” Parsine. http://www.parsine.com/fa/news/255538/ ‫کند‬-‫نمی‬-‫دفاع‬-‫خود‬-‫از‬-‫چرا‬-‫ندارد‬-‫فاسد‬-‫اعتقاد‬-‫حجتیه‬-‫انجمن‬-‫اگر‬-‫گفتند‬-‫خمینی‬-‫(    امام‬accessed February 23, 2018).

138  G. PERLETTA “‫ باید خود را نشان دهد‬،‫( اینکه پول نفت باید سر سفره مردم بیاید‬Oil Money Must Arrive on People’s Table; it must Be Displayed).” Aftāb Khabarī. http://aftabnews.ir/fa/ news/77056/‫دهد‬-‫نشان‬-‫را‬-‫خود‬-‫باید‬-‫بیاید‬-‫مردم‬-‫سفره‬-‫سر‬-‫باید‬-‫نفت‬-‫پول‬-‫( اینکه‬accessed February 27, 2018). “‫الريجاني نامزد قطعي و نهايي شوراي هماهنگي نيروهاي انقالب است‬:‫( باهنر‬Bahonar: Larijani Is the Final and Final Candidate for the Revolutionary Forces Coordination Council).” Fars News. http://www.farsnews.com/newstext.php?nn=8402020063 (accessed February 28, 2018). “۱۳۸۴ ‫ مرداد‬,‫ دبيرخانه شوراي اطالع‌رساني دولت‬.‫برنامه دولت نهم‬, (The Program of the Ninth Government: Government Information Council Secretariat, Mordad 1384).” President.ir. http://web.archive.org/web/20051126024514/http://www. president.ir//ahmadinejad/dolat9/09/index-f.htm (accessed February 27, 2019). ‫( متن کامل بيانيه هاشمی رفسنجانی‬Full Text of Hashemi Rafsanjani’s Statement). BBC Persian. http://www.bbc.com/persian/iran/story/2005/06/050619_mf_ hashemi_statement.shtml (accessed on February 28, 2020). ‫( واکنش های بين المللی به پيروزی محمود احمدی نژاد‬International Reaction to the Victory of Mahmud Ahmadinejad). BBC Persian. http://www.bbc.com/persian/iran/ stor y/2005/06/050625_a_election_int_reaction.shtml  (accessed  on February 29, 2020). “‫( پاسخ چمران به شایعه شهردار شدن احمدی نژاد‬Chamran’s Response to Rumors of Ahmadinejad Becoming Mayor).” Tābnāk. https://www.tabnak.ir/fa/amp/ news/324779 (accessed November 3, 2020). “‫ ائتالف اکثریت اصولگرایان‬،‫جبهه پیروان امام (ره) و رهبری‬, (The Front of the Followers of the Imām and Rahbar, the Coalition of the Majority of Principalists).” Parsine. http://www. parsine.com/fa/news/101604/ (accessed February 23, 2020). “‫( زندگی نامه‬Biography).” Ahmadinejad.ir. http://ahmadinejad.ir/‫نامه‬-‫زندگی‬/ (accessed February 21, 2018). (Biography: Esmaʽil Ahmadi Moqaddam 1940–).” Hamshahrī Online. http://www.hamshahrionline.ir/details/45277 (accessed February 21, 2018). “‫متن کامل بيانيه هاشمی رفسنجانی‬, (Full Text of Hashemi Rafsanjani’s Statement).” BBC Persian. http://www.bbc.com/persian/iran/story/2005/06/050619_mf_ hashemi_statement.shtml (accessed February 28, 2018). “‫ خاتمی هم مثل احمدی نژاد برخی جلسات مجمع را نمی آمد‬/‫( می شد‬Mohsen Rezaei in an Interview with ‘Entekhab’: Ask About Products About Ahmadinejad’s Role in the War/ Debates Should Have Been Held Twice in 1988/Khatami, Like Ahmadinejad, Did Not Attend Some of the Assembly’s Meetings).” Entekhāb. https://www.entekhab. ir/fa/news/68667/

 (accessed November 24, 2020).

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(Ahmadinejad’s Distance with Rajai is Like from Earth to Heaven).” Khabar Online https://www.khabaronline.ir/ detail/702749/Politics/parties (accessed February 28, 2018). “‫( واکنش های بين المللی به پيروزی محمود احمدی نژاد‬International Reactions on Mahmud Ahmadinejad Victory).” BBC Persian. http://www.bbc.com/persian/iran/ story/2005/06/050625_a_election_int_reaction.shtml (accessed February 29, 2018). ‫( نژاد با رجایی از زمین تا آسمان است فاصله احمدی‬Ahmadinejad’s Distance with Rajai Is Like from Earth to Heaven). Khabar Online. https://www.khabaronline.ir/ detail/702749/Politics/parties (accessed on February 28, 2020). Albloshi, Hamad. The Eternal Revolution: Hardliners and Conservatives in Iran. London: I.B. Tauris, 2016. Amuzegar, Jahangir. “The Ahmadinejad Era: Preparing for the Apocalypse.” Journal of International Affairs 60, no. 2 (2007): 35–53. Ansari, Ali. Iran Under Ahmadinejad: The Politics of Confrontation. Oxon; New York: Routledge, 2017. Arjomand, Said Amir.  After Khomeini: Iran Under His Successors. Oxford University Press, 2009. Axworthy, Michael. Revolutionary Iran: A History of the Islamic Republic. New York: Oxford University Press, 2013. Bayat, Asef. Life as Politics: How Ordinary People Change the Middle East. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2013. Brumberg, Daniel. Reinventing Khomeini: The Struggle for Reform in Iran. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001. Cohen, Ronen. The Hojjatiyeh Society in Iran: Ideology and Practice from the 1950s to the Present. Springer, 2013. Esfandiari, Haleh. “Iran After the June 2005 Presidential Election.” Middle East Program, Woodrow Wilson Center (2005). Gheissari, Ali and Vali Nasr. Democracy in Iran: History and the Quest for Liberty. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Habaibi, Nader. Economic Legacy of Mahmud Ahmadinejad. Working Paper Series, Brandeis University, Department of Economics, 2014. Halliday, Fred. “Iran’s Revolutionary Spasm.” Open Democracy. https://www. opendemocracy.net/globalization-vision_reflections/iran_2642.jsp (accessed February 25, 2019), 2005. Hourcade, Bernard and Paul Silverstein. “In the Heart of Iran: The Electorate of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.” Middle East Report 241 (2006): 10–11. Naji, Kasra. Ahmadinejad: The Secret History of Iran’s Radical Leader. Berkeley: I.B. Tauris, 2007. Namazi, Siamak. “The Iranian Presidential Elections: Who Voted, Why, How & Does It Matter?” Middle East Program, Woodrow Wilson Center (2005).

“

140  G. PERLETTA Rahimi, Babak. “Contentious Legacies of the Ayatollah.” In  A Critical Introduction to Khomeini, edited by Arshin Adib- Moghaddam, 291–306. New York: Cambridge University Press. Rakel, Eva. Power, Islam, and Political Elite in Iran: A Study on the Iranian Political Elite from Khomeini to Ahmadinejad. Leiden: Brill, 2008. Randjbar-Daemi, Siavush. The Quest for Authority in Iran: A History of the Presidency from Revolution to Rouhani. London: I.B. Tauris, 2018. Salehi-Isfahani, Djavad. “Poverty, Inequality, and Populist Politics in Iran.” The Journal of Economic Inequality 7, no. 1 (2009): 5–28. Samii, Abbas William. “The Changing Landscape of Party Politics in Iran: A Case Study.” Vaseteh: The Journal of the European Society for Iranian Studies 1, no. 1 (2005): 1378–58. Takeyh, Ray. Guardians of the Revolution: Iran and the World in the Age of the Ayatollahs. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. ———. Hidden Iran: Paradox and Power in the Islamic Republic. New York: Times Book, 2006. Vick, Karl. “Hard-Line Tehran Mayor Wins Iranian Presidency.” Washington P o s t .    h t t p : / / w w w. w a s h i n g t o n p o s t . c o m / w p - d y n / c o n t e n t / a r t i cle/2005/06/24/AR2005062401696.html (accessed February 28, 2018).

CHAPTER 5

Radicalizing the Conservative Front: Ahmadinejad’s Domestic and Foreign Policies

Socio-Economic Reforms and Domestic Politics Mahmud Ahmadinejad’s domestic policies have been less explored and are undoubtedly even less understood by Western observers than his approach to foreign politics. Western politicians tend to have focussed on the President’s provocations to the United States and Israel, reacting to his defiant rhetoric and condemning his antagonistic behaviour. Iranian domestic politics under Ahmadinejad both requires and deserves in-depth and objective analysis, not only to understand and draw attention to the profound changes that were occurring among the post-revolutionary elite, and especially amidst conservatives, but above all to individuate the roots of new emerging trajectories within the political realm more fully. As mentioned in the previous chapter, rhetorical tools were instrumental in allowing Ahmadinejad to propose and justify political reforms and changes. In addition, his simple and persuasive political discourse, imbued with Islamic values and revolutionary principles, was designed to resonate with ordinary people. And it is here that the most controversial aspect of his presidency can perhaps be identified, namely the inconsistency between his rhetoric and his subsequent political actions, which prompted accusations of charlatanism.1 His approach to both domestic and foreign politics, in fact, reflected Ahmadinejad’s desire to bolster his political reputation and many observers were © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 G. Perletta, Political Radicalism in Iran and Ahmadinejad’s Presidencies, Studies in Iranian Politics, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87330-1_5

141

142  G. PERLETTA

enthralled by his charisma and eccentric declarations. However, as is often the case in political affairs, this rhetoric served to conceal more precise political goals, which have hitherto remained unexplored due to the shroud of mystery that has long surrounded Ahmadinejad as a figure. In terms of domestic reforms and socio-economic changes, at least four major factors need to be analysed. First, the immediate and ongoing clashes between the executive and legislative branches of powers, a fractious dynamic that was already well established in post-revolutionary Iran but that now served to highlight the internal divisions among the conservative front. Second, the revived process of securitization that sought to exploit certain external circumstances in order to facilitate military intervention within the public sphere. Third, the Islamization from above that mainly affected the cultural, public and educational dimensions of Iranian society. And, finally, the populist economic reforms that failed to live up to the demands of ordinary citizens for an improvement in living conditions. Ahmadinejad’s meticulous efforts to build up his popular support explain why many of his political manoeuvres and policy changes were always previously telegraphed in his rhetorically charged proclamations.2 His populist slogans and simple language, which was accessible to everyone and lacked the overly formal style used by other politicians, aimed to reach a widespread segment of society, particularly subaltern and low-income families, the oppressed who had been neglected by the liberalization process of the pragmatic-reformist fronts. Ahmadinejad depicted himself as gheyr-e khodī, an outsider to the political system, in order to strengthen his ties with ordinary people and to bolster his popular appeal. As Amuzegar notes, from the very beginning Ahmadinejad was unable to rely on strong political connections and many other politicians looked at him with suspicion. Indeed, the failure to receive ministerial approval after his first presidential election, in many ways, foreshadowed what would be a significant and recurring feature of Ahmadinejad’s political tenure. After having marginalized the reformists and disqualifying their candidates from running in the parliamentary election in 2004, the conservatives dominated the legislative power. With the election of Ahmadinejad in 2005, it appeared that the conservative front would be able to control all three branches of power in the republic, and yet quite quickly internal frictions started to emerge. Having neither real political experience nor truly being an inspiring or charismatic leader, Ahmadinejad never had the full support of parliament, which perhaps says a lot about his approach

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and the political ties he was (or was not) able to establish. The particularism that existed within Iranian conservative circles has been largely neglected in Western literature; and, as a result, scholars, politicians, analysts and journalists have mainly regarded the conservative front as the religious-oriented “old guard” of the revolutionaries, or the second generation of militants, without framing their analysis with reference to these internal divisions. On 3 August 2005, the Supreme Leader ʽAli Khamenei blessed the taking of office of the sixth President of the Islamic Republic. The surprising victory of the then-mayor of Tehran signalled the effective end of the reformist presence within the elected institutions. During the same month, Ahmadinejad had to submit, according to constitutional rules, a list of ministers for the official ratification of parliament. For the first time after the Iranian revolution, the majles was led by a noncleric, GholamʽAli Haddad ʽAdel, a circumstance which could be seen to epitomize the generational changes that were now underway within the Iranian elite, such as the wider replacement of clerics with lay people, many of whom came from roles within the military apparatus. Haddad ʽAdel, however, was a figure close to the rahbar, who had built up a sense of mutual trust through his family connections; his daughter had married the Supreme Leader’s son, Mojtaba Khamenei. The conservative-led parliament rejected two nominations for the Ministry of Education, Welfare and Cooperatives, which in 2011 had been joined with the Vazārat-e Taʽāvūn- e Kār va Rafāeh Ejtemāʽī-ye Īrān (Ministry of Labour, Cooperatives, and Social Welfare), and up to three nominations that had been submitted for the Oil Ministry. It took four months to appoint Kazem Vaziri Hamaneh as the Minister of Oil, and it was the ongoing disputes between the executive and the legislative powers that lay behind this delay. Hamaneh had held the position of deputy Oil Minister during Khatami’s presidency and, as such, his selection appeared to indicate a desire for some sort of continuity with the past, at least within this particularly important sector of the Iranian economy, which could not have been entrusted to either underprepared or inexperienced figures. Unsurprisingly, however, the President and parliament soon found themselves in disagreement—a not unusual occurrence, which could even be said to be a defining characteristic of power relations in Iran after the revolution. When Ahmadinejad became President of the Republic, the conservatives had spread their control over all political institutions, but the perennial conflict between the executive and

144  G. PERLETTA

the legislative powers did not abate. And though these clashes doubtlessly appeared to be merely a continuation of normal service, they also precisely typified Ahmadinejad’s disruptive nature as President and his relentless struggle to establish allies within the establishment, as well as his firm determination to impose his own will on Iranian politics. They also shed light on the infighting among the political elite, who despite using the same slogans and similar political language remained deeply divided. The particular dispute over the nominee for the Oil Ministry represented the struggle between parliament and the President to control the country’s main and most profitable industry. In those years, oil revenues made up about 32% of the national GDP,3 a value that represented a historic high and which could have brought significant improvements to the general living conditions of the wider population. Although members of parliament were mostly first- or second-generation conservatives, many of whom came from the ranks of the Īsārgarān, they rejected all nominations of inexperienced figures that had been proposed by Ahmadinejad. Though he benefitted from the support of certain prominent clerics and the Supreme Leader, Ahmadinejad lacked any strong ties with the existing factions, which proved to be fatal in terms of his political survival. His rhetorical adventurism was alien to parliamentarians, who feared that the political advantages they enjoyed were now under threat. Only two years later, the Oil Minister Hamaneh (2005–2007) was replaced with Gholamhoseyn Nuzari, a former director of the National Oil Company, at the behest of Ahmadinejad. Ongoing tensions between the President and parliament would continue to emerge, perhaps best reflected in the refusal by both to engage in any form of mutual consultation. Ahmadinejad allocated 1.3 billion4 to the Sandūq-e Mehr-e Imām Rezā (Imām Reza Love Fund), which parliament had previously refused to approve. Between 2007 and 2008, the majles announced the provision of cheap gas to remote villages across the country and the desire to reintroduce daylight-saving time, something that the President had formerly abolished for being “non-Islamic.” In those same years, the Minister of the Interior, ʽAli Kordan, was removed from office after only 90 days after having been impeached by parliament. Irritated by the majles’ actions, Ahmadinejad accused the legislative branch of intruding in matters of the executive. As a result, he tried to establish new modes of governance, ignoring the decisions of parliament and ultimately preventing it from having access to the presidential budget. These measures not only

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amplified tensions on a political level but they also affected matters of transparency in relation to financial operations, obscuring the processes around the allocation of funds and making the management of oil revenues and their distribution even more controversial. Ahmadinejad exacerbated the conflict between various institutions and, at the same time, deepened the existing differences within the conservative front—or, more precisely, within the heterogeneous post-revolutionary group that embraced the same rhetorical paradigms but advocated different policies and approaches. While he was intent on boosting his reputation as a popular and charismatic leader, parts of the population began to question his capability to deliver on the promises made during the election campaign. Only a year after Ahmadinejad’s election, the restructuring of local councils and the reshuffling of members in the Assembly of Experts represented a major victory for moderate and pragmatic conservative candidates. This also entailed a heavy defeat for those nominees who were close to the President. An early sign of popular discontent was reflected in the low turnout, where only 28 million opted to vote out of the 43 million entitled.5 The defeat of the President at the local level was also reflected in events in the capital, where reformists obtained four out of fifteen seats, and seven were assigned to the coalition supporting the newly appointed mayor, General Mohammad Qalibaf, who would be backed by the Īsārgarān a year later. The appointment of Rafsanjani as head of the Assembly of Experts also represented a setback for Ahmadinejad, as the former opposed those hardline clerics who were in favour of the President. He started to lose both popular support and political allies, and his ongoing struggles with parliament resulted in a general weakening of the conservative ranks. Ahmadinejad’s populist tendencies and his revival of revolutionary principles epitomized the manifesto of the conservative front and, consequently, the pillars of its political legitimacy. However, it appeared evident from the early years of his presidency that Ahmadinejad was determined to confront existing institutionalized power relations, which provoked some harsh criticism, especially from conservatives. For both first- and second generation conservatives, the need to distance themselves from the President and to rehabilitate the wider front in the eyes of the public first became apparent with the failure in the local council elections. Moreover, another profound fracture between the conservative-led parliament and the President came to the fore during the parliamentary elections in 2008. While reformist candidates were barred from participating, as alleged by

146  G. PERLETTA

the reformist deputy Fatemeh Haqiqatju,6 pragmatist and moderate conservatives were forced into a strategic rethink in order to distance themselves from Ahmadinejad’s circle. A broad coalition was formed under the name of Jebhe-ye Mutahed-e Osūlgarāyān (the United Front of the Principalists). This incorporated three factions: the Jebheh-ye Peyru-e Khat-e Imām va Rahbarī (the Followers of Imām and the Supreme Leader), the Jamʽiyat-e Īsārgarān and the Eʽtelāf-e Rāiyehe-ye Khosh-e Khedmat (the Coalition of Good Servants), and a group who was closer to Ahmadinejad. Despite using broadly similar labels and coming together under the same heterogeneous banner as the United Front of Principalists internal rifts soon emerged. Some of the pragmatic conservatives, such as Mohammad Qalibaf, ʽAli Larijani and Mohsen Rezai, distanced themselves from this broad coalition and created yet another movement called the Eʽtelāf-e Farāgīr-e Osūlgarāyān (the Pervasive Coalition of Principalists).7 As discussed in the previous chapter, the label osūlgarāyān had already been circulating in political circles since 2003, where it was used to identify the rise of a “second generation” close to the conservatives. The term was only formally adopted by political groups in 2008, with the precise intention of allowing pragmatic, moderate conservatives to distance themselves from the President. Therefore, Ahmadinejad himself cannot be labelled as such, for the term reflected a specific desire to reaffirm what precisely conservatism was and who exactly were the legitimate “followers of principles.” Another reason behind this polarization within the conservative front can be found in the management of Iran’s nuclear programme, which will be explored later. The parliamentary elections in 2008 marked a decisive defeat of Ahmadinejad’s allies, while the conservatives maintained a majority in the majles until 2016. As discussed in the previous chapter, Ahmadinejad’s rhetoric was the cornerstone of his electoral campaign in 2005, when the call for both economic and social reforms posed a more nuanced challenge towards the existing system. The quest for transparency, welfarism and justice was a revival of Khomeyni’s brand of populism, not simply to gain public support but also to justify changes and the reshuffling of relevant political players. In a public speech delivered in Esfahan during his electoral campaign in 2005, Ahmadinejad declared his intention to fight “the mafia present in the oil industry” and to uncover the corruption at bureaucratic levels.8 What this statement was intended to justify was the replacement of important executives within the Iranian National

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Oil Company with figures loyal to the President. In this case, the existing power structure was gradually challenged from within, not through eslāh (the concept of reform, according to the definition given by the reformists) but by means of well-established revolutionary paradigms. The “roots of the revolution,” meaning the fight against corruption and injustice, were translated into a strategy designed to downsize institutional power and remove certain figures from their roles within those institutions. Under the guise of eliminating systems of patronage and nepotism, Ahmadinejad was able to appoint his own loyal allies, but in doing so he effectively kept alive the same dynamics. Moreover, people close to the President, even those who were unqualified or lacked relevant political or administrative experience, were put in charge of companies, government offices and semi-state organizations. As a result, the purported anti-corruption campaign was nothing more than a pure facade. However, it was largely instrumental in enabling Ahmadinejad to create a network of political supporters. Likewise, his populist project did not achieve the desired results but rather served to accentuate economic inequalities. The economic plan proposed by the President was dressed up as an attempt to combat poverty, ostensibly aimed at achieving social justice and improving the living conditions of ordinary citizens, especially the poor and the working class. The rhetorical emphasis on the redistribution of wealth and creation of jobs also implied a veiled critique of widespread iniquity.9 From the outset of his presidential tenure, Ahmadinejad was able to rely on oil revenues, which had grown from $36 per barrel in 2004 to $94 in 2008.10 Thanks to the wealth created by the country’s oil resources, he could implement his populist economic policy, raising the minimum wage from 122,000 tomans up to 389,000 tomans, and thus increasing purchasing power for a short period.11 Ahmadinejad had widely criticized the privatization system adopted by his predecessors, Hashemi Rafsanjani and Mohammad Khatami, because neither the pro-market economy nor liberalizations had led to a diminishing of social disparity and had thereby failed to achieve the goals of the revolution. But despite all this rhetoric, Ahmadinejad continued with a similar brand of economic politics, which resulted in the increasing control of state (and state-related) companies over the economic sector. There is a vast amount of literature on the controversial subject of how neoliberalism and privatizations increased state control in the economic sectors of Middle Eastern countries. The Islamic Republic’s attempt to attract

148  G. PERLETTA

foreign investment, to break with the theme of ideological self-sufficiency and to support privatization also resulted in an increasing number of state-related companies and monopolies owned by firms of the IRGC. The economic reforms implemented by the President did not reflect the anti-privatization rhetoric that had characterized his campaign. Ahmadinejad put forward a reform system entitled Sahām-e ʽedālat (justice quotas), which aimed to support the poorer strata of society. The programme oversaw the distribution of 40% of shares in privatized companies to low-income families at advantageous prices.12 More than 2000 companies were involved in the plan and about four million people were declared eligible for obtaining quotas. Due to irregularities in the Iranian political and economic systems, the remaining 40% of the quotas, though destined to be sold on the market, were incorporated by bonyād and semi-state agencies. In practice, the Sahām-e ʽedālat laid the foundations for certain structural loopholes within the economic process, which resulted in religious foundations holding most of the shares in privatized companies and the remainder being delivered to investors often in close proximity to the government. As a result, only a small portion of the general public benefited from this privatization plan, and those tended to be families of basīj members, war veterans or martyr’s families. By appeasing these groups, Ahmadinejad hoped to strengthen his legitimacy in their eyes, in contrast to the views of an increasingly disillusioned middle class who advocated other kinds of reforms. In 2010, Ahmadinejad managed to implement a five-year plan to reduce gasoline consumption. Despite high domestic production, limited refinery capabilities meant that Iran imported almost 40% of its crude oil to meet domestic demands. The price of gasoline was already subsidized at a much lower price than its real cost.13 In the 1980s, the post-revolutionary elite established a welfare system that aimed to provide basic goods at subsidized prices to improve living conditions. With the demographic growth that occurred in the decades afterwards, these subsidies were no longer sustainable, and from Rafsanjani’s presidency onwards the executive tried to cut financial support in relation to oil. In 2007, Ahmadinejad had announced his aim to reduce oil consumption, but it was only after his re-election in 2009 that he managed to win over the opposition in parliament to implement the necessary reform. At that time, it is generally assumed that ca. 25% of Iran’s GDP (estimated at 390 billion USD in purchasing price parity, PPP) was included in the comprehensive subsidy plan. It proved extremely costly to keep this

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system running, considering the growth in population and the consequent increase in consumption due to subsidized goods.14 In 2011, the subsidies reforms came into action. The President eliminated subsidies on gasoline, replacing them with a quota system where each family could request a sum of money in cash for the purchase of fuel. This measure would guarantee cash subsidies to low-income families and eliminate price subsidies over five years. However, it was extremely difficult to ascertain the real income of individual households. As such, cash was given to all citizens who applied for it, calculated as monthly payments per capita.15 As a result, though poverty levels were reduced between 2009 and 2013 (dropping from 13.1 to 8.1%),16 this plan caused significant economic problems. Firstly, the money had not only been allocated to low-income households due to inefficiencies in the monitoring procedures. There was no reliable statistical system to assess the households covered by the quota plan or to ensure that those exempted from it were appropriately excluded. Therefore, the true cost of these cash subsidies ended up far exceeding the sales revenues coming in from the higher prices in the energy sector. Secondly, the price of oil and basic goods (such as milk, rice, wheat and sugar) increased significantly, and this paved the way for widespread popular discontent.17 The rising price of goods resulted in higher production costs, which had been managed by the government in lieu of a proper liberalization system. Thirdly, the allocation of cash subsidies increased the rate of inflation, which reached 35% in 2013 on account of market liquidity.18 Overall, the outcomes of these economic measures were deeply unpopular, even for entrepreneurs who were forced to reduce their activities to the detriment of workers and their wages. Economic mismanagement led to a worsening in working conditions and a lack of rights, as demonstrated by the continuous protests and strikes led by several different types of workers, such as bus drivers. Workers became a significant element of Ahmadinejad’s political discourse, which placed emphasis on production and workers’ activities as essential pillars that required national development.19 However, this rhetoric not only neglected to mention the ongoing strikes but it was also not followed up with any recognition of workers’ rights or meeting of their demands.20 The labour law ratified in 1993 provided rights and duties to permanent employees but excluded temporary workers. As privatization accelerated, buyers faced higher costs to acquire companies at the expense

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of workers’ salaries and job security. Workers were forced to accept temporary contracts and experienced more precarity in the job market. Ahmadinejad tried to mitigate this by increasing productivity to assure job security. However, this paved the way for the laying off workers at no additional cost to employers.21 At a social level, workers’ protests continued and intensified during Ahmadinejad’s second term, but these were continuously repressed. On the political stage, the President’s opponents were able to leverage these failures against him, blaming Ahmadinejad for having adopted misguided and inadequate policies.22 The conservatives saw an opportunity to rehabilitate themselves, in terms of their public perception, by condemning the economic failures of the incumbent executive. One example of this would be the criticisms levelled at the banking reform, which not only proved to be inefficient but actually harmful to the country’s national interests. The President required stateowned commercial banks to provide low-interest loans to state-owned companies. As a result, these banks were forced to borrow from the bānk-e markazī (the Central Bank of Iran), which only served to increase the public sector debt. It has been estimated that the debt owed by stateowned commercial banks to the Central Bank may have quadrupled in just six years.23 Among his more populist measures, the President also implemented the Tarh-e Maskan-e Mehr, which was a housing project,24 and the Imām Reza Love Fund. The former involved the construction of residential units intended to house low-income families. The houses were built in the suburbs of cities and often lacked water or electricity—while some remained under construction without ever being completed due to an interruption in the funding provided by the banks. In November 2017, a major earthquake hit the Western province of Kermanshah. Most of the houses that suffered extensive damages could be dated back to those built as part of Ahmadinejad’s initiative, which led to a large controversy about the quality of the buildings. The then incumbent Rouhani government criticized the scheme, capitalizing on the popular demonstrations that had followed the earthquake for political advantage.25 The Tarh-e Maskan-e Mehr was an extremely ambitious and costly project. It has been estimated that around ten billion in USD was borrowed from Iranian banks.26 Moreover, the lack of transparency with regard to the allocation of these houses led to further criticism concerning the arbitrary nature by which they had been assigned. The Imām Reza Love Fund was designed to assist young people in finding jobs and helping

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newly married couples to obtain mortgages. The fund was implemented without any previous consultation with parliament, as the latter had already criticized the proposal for its potential effect of increasing the rate of inflation. The lack of transparency in monitoring the allocation of government funds to these projects limited any ability to establish the exact amount of money that was destined for either the Imām Reza Love Fund or the housing project. As such, it proved difficult to precisely ascertain the way in which these funds were distributed and spent. Lastly, in an attempt to strengthen the political power of the executive, Ahmadinejad dissolved the Sāzmān-e Modīriyat-e Barnāmehrīzī (Organization for Management and Planning) in 2007, a government body responsible for drawing up development and resource control plans which had been highly critical of the measures implemented by the President. Each provincial section of the Organization was to become subordinate to the relevant provincial governor and, as a result, its financial resources were brought under the sole control of the executive. Following the mantra of “fighting the mafia in the oil industry,” reshuffling also occurred at political and diplomatic levels. Ahmadinejad started to replace ambassadors, who were mainly operating in European offices, heads of the state banks, such as the Keshāvarzī, Sāderāt, Sepah, Mellat, Mellī and Tejārat, and the nuclear negotiator ʽAli Larijani was substituted out for the lesser-known Saʽid Jalili. As noted by ʽAli Akbar Velayati, adviser to the Supreme Leader and former Foreign Minister (1981–1997), many conservatives were suspicious that the inexperience of both the President and the members of his cabinet could well have compromised the stability of the system, especially when it came to the (mis)management of complex matters such as the negotiations around the nuclear programme.27 However, not all the names in Ahmadinejad’s cabinet were unknown. There were figures who had already been operating in the nezām, such as the Attorney General Saʽid Mortazavi, who was implicated in the infamous case of Zahra Kazemi, who had died in suspicious circumstances; or the Minister of Intelligence Gholamhoseyn Mohseni Ezhehi, who between 1995 and 1997 had been Prosecutor of the Dādgāh-e Vīzheh-ye Rūhānīyat (the Special Court for clergy). These names were associated with some of the most controversial cases of abuses and violations of human rights that had occurred in post-revolutionary Iran. At the same time, technocrats, lay-people, war veterans and members of the IRGC came to power off the back of Ahmadinejad’s need to establish a circle of powerful allies. In 2006, 1200 projects,

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including the construction of the South Pars gas pipeline, the Tehran’ subway and the Assaluyeh Iranshahr viaduct, were assigned to companies owned by the IRGC.28 The presence of the basīj, the IRGC, and former members of the intelligence services within parliament, the government cabinet and the diplomatic corps, certainly supported the impression that a new form of authoritarianism had taken hold.29 This was also partly reinforced by increasingly repressive acts against civil society, activists, opponents and political dissidents but also against academics and intellectuals. Intimidations and arbitrary arrests, the reduction of press freedom and the deterioration of human rights were linked to the militaristic composition of the new government. Emerging from relative anonymity and in desperate need of political allies, Ahmadinejad’s had to build his political reputation and public persona from scratch. At first glance, his rhetoric was designed to obtain support from the conservative front, adapting Khomeyni’s Islamist populism to fit the current socio-political situation. The process of Islamization from above was further intensified, even though it was an already existing practice in the Iranian system. In order to strengthen his reputation and legitimacy, the President imposed a stricter observance of Islamic dress codes and gender separation in public spaces. Censorship increased in relation to the arts, cultural content, films and the press. In 2006, for instance, Sharq and Nāmeh, two newspapers aligned with the reformists, were forced to close. To Western observers, this second generation of conservative politicians was perceived to be formed exclusively of reactionaries willing to promote puritan models and an orthodox adherence to Iranian revolutionary paradigms.30 Despite the fact that Ahmadinejad’s measures were interpreted as a return to the chaotic excesses of the post-revolutionary decade, a more in-depth analysis perhaps offers alternative interpretations. One significant reform that hinted at Ahmadinejad’s true purpose behind his revival of revolutionary models was the new Enqelāb-e farhangī (Cultural Revolution). This second Cultural Revolution aimed to strengthen control over the universities and academic output in general, which resulted in several notable changes. The Shūrā-ye ʽĀlī-ye Enqelāb-e Farhangī (Supreme Council for the Cultural Revolution) oversaw a redefining of the school system, mainly directed at purifying educational environments and making them free from Western influence. These changes took many forms: from the revision of curricula through to the modification of school texts, the compulsory attendance of religion classes and the replacement of school

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administrators. Several figures, many of whom had questionable academic credentials, were appointed due to their ties with or proximity to the President. Teachers and students also underwent a selection process designed to establish their ideological viewpoints.31 Professors could only be appointed if they were perceived to be sāleh (righteous), muʾmen (religous) and a moʽtaqed (believer) in the sacred system of the Islamic Republic.32 Meanwhile, membership of the Sāzmān-e Basīj Dāneshjūīī (Basīj Student Organization) expanded and many of its members were assigned leading roles in defining university programmes and activities. In addition, the Sāzmān-e Basīj Ostāīd-e Keshvar (Organization of State Basīj Teachers) widened its sphere of influence.33 The role of basīj students was to exert control and suppress any dissent that might be incubated within university environments. Thanks to the support they had “from above,” they were able to act with impunity in imposing specific moral conduct and a respect for Islamic codes. There are few sources in English regarding the Organization of Basīj Professors, which was created in 2001 by professors who were both veterans of the war and figures close to the politicized clergy. The organization aimed at strengthening control over the university system, which at that time was dominated by student groups sympathetic to the reformist movement.34 Though it had already been in operation since 2001, during Ahmadinejad’s tenure the organization has seen a significant increase in its membership through its co-optation of others operating within the academic sphere. These professors could benefit from important concessions by being enrolled in the organization. Despite promises to the contrary, patronage and nepotism were still very much evident during Ahmadinejad’s tenure. At first glance, the purges within the universities, at educational and cultural levels, looked like an attempt to return to revolutionary ideology, to consolidate the foundations of the republic and to impose a stricter observance of Islamic codes and behaviours from above. Yet this second Cultural Revolution was quite different compared to the one in the 1980s, especially in terms of its political effects and the new priorities of the elite. In the 1980s, the newly formed republic witnessed internal clashes and mutual antagonism between revolutionary groups. The first Cultural Revolution, which had been fostered by religious radicals, was aimed at strengthening political Islam in order to dominate cultural production, control what was going on in university campuses and to eradicate leftist groups. This time, however, Ahmadinejad’s aim

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was to cement his political ties and establish a circle of allies. The outcomes of these two Cultural Revolutions were quite distinct from one another, but they were both still welcomed by the conservative front from the perspective of eliminating reformist activists.35 Many figures close to the President also ended up holding ministerial positions, such as Masʽud Mir Kazemi, who was appointed as the Minister of Commerce (2005–2009) and then as the Oil Minister (2009–2011), Mohammad Soleymani, who was the Minister of Communication and Information Technology (2005–2009), and Mohammad Hoseyn Safar Harandi, the Minister of Culture and Islamic Leadership (2005–2009). The project of Islamization of the universities continued even more rigorously with Kamran Daneshju, Minister for Science, Research and Technology between 2009 and 2013. Research within humanities subjects was the most affected due to the limitations imposed on scholars and the closure of exchange programmes with foreign institutions.36 Behind the scenes, Ahmadinejad had the approval, if not the full support, of the Supreme Leader, who continued to advocate that scientific knowledge was an essential component for progress in the country so as “not to depend on the West,”37 and that enduring religious devotion was the vital core of the Islamic Republic’s identity. In a public speech addressed to students and lecturers at the University of Science and Technology in Tehran, ʽAli Khamenei praised students who had managed to eradicate secular and leftist movements within the university.38 Within a few years, committees for the Islamization of the universities were set up, while Minister Harandi became a promoter of strong censorship of the press. What followed was even more control exercised from above, political and social repression, the detention of journalists and academics and restrictions on individual rights and on foreign professors.39 What can be inferred from this process of Islamization is a strategy that was aimed at strengthening political control. By means of this campaign of social restrictions, Ahmadinejad was implicitly criticizing other political groups for not having followed the revolutionary path and of having compromised when it came to implementing revolutionary values in terms of policy. Accusations were pointed at those who had not given respect to or oversaw the enforcement of Islamic codes. Therefore, it could be argued that the main target behind this campaign of Islamization was the judiciary itself, which had historically served as the right hand of the Supreme Leader. If there was a need to enforce Islamization from above, it suggested that the institutions had until

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now failed to properly exercise their duties and to ensure the fulfilment of customary measures. This process of Islamization inevitably affected the reformists and their attempts to gradually liberalize social spaces but it also had consequences for the conservatives. Ahmadinejad’s need to reaffirm revolutionary values was a thinly veiled challenge to those other political forces who had seemingly failed in that regard. Social restrictions became a political weapon to damage some of the powerful institutional bodies controlled by the old guard, such as the judiciary. From this perspective, it becomes clear how these campaigns relating to customs and adherence to Islamic morals were used as proxy battlegrounds by the various factions. On one hand, the conservatives welcomed the renewed zeal and the wider process of Islamization from above; however, on the other, the same “pro-system” narrative adopted by the President was designed to challenge their own political authority. In theory, this struggle played out between conservative forces, but in reality Ahmadinejad had never really embraced the conservative label. It is difficult to ascertain if the plan was originally thought up by the President himself, but there is no doubt that the revival of revolutionary themes ended up heavily polarizing the conservative front and became a fundamental component of Ahmadinejad’s approach to domestic politics. The suspicion that social reforms were intended to create rifts between the conservatives was also further fuelled by the President’s proposal to open stadiums up to female audiences during men’s football competitions. The access of women to stadiums had been banned since 1979 during the first wave of Islamization after the revolution. This provocative proposal from Ahmadinejad in 2006 drew criticism from the most conservative āyatollāhs in Qom, such as Mohammad Fazel Lankarani, Lotfollah Safi Golpaygani, Mirza Javad Tabizi and Naser Makarem Shirazi, who argued for the absolute prohibition of women from attending men’s sporting activities in line with Islamic doctrine.40 In his second presidential term, which started in August 2009, Ahmadinejad expressed his desire to reduce the arbitrary power of the moral police in prosecuting bad-hejābī (women wearing a loose veil) and to replace social repression with cultural programmes. Members of the conservative clergy, namely Ahmad Jannati (head of the Guardian Council) and Mashhad Ahmad ʽAlamolhoda (Imām-e jomʽeh of Mashhad), harshly criticized the President’s approach, arguing that it was absolutely necessary to control the correct use of the compulsory veil.41 Similarly, religious authorities contested the President’s attempts to interfere with strictly religious

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matters. Undeniably, Ahmadinejad frequently crossed the dividing line between his own political remit and that of the clergy, a trend that would only serve to further divide the conservative front and, ultimately, lead towards his political marginalization. At the end of 2006, Ahmadinejad gave a speech at the headquarters of the Amir Kabir scientific university in the capital, which provoked significant protests from students. The prompt response of the military was effectively identical to previous instances of social repression against demonstrators. The only difference was that, from this time on, it became increasingly difficult to distinguish between the areas of responsibility and authority of the basīj and the pāsdārān. As such, the function of the militia, the regular army and that of the moral police began to overlap. Both the military and the police became much more invasive presences in citizens’ lives, such as when it came to monitoring compliance with the new moral campaign on customs. At the same time, parliament introduced more stringent legislation relating to the adherence to Islamic dress codes for both females and males.42 The moral police became more active and pervasive in public spaces, while the capital court imposed the so-called Tarh-e Amnīyat-e Ejtemāʽī (Public Safety Programme) in the summer of 2007, which would counter the illicit trafficking of narcotic substances and alcohol and give greater powers to the police. Meanwhile, basīj members were engaged in street patrols and monitoring compliance with Islamic moral codes. As previously suggested, this Islamization at a social level served two main purposes. The first was to strengthen Ahmadinejad’s control over society and to solidify his alliances with certain military groups that were on the rise within the political sphere. The second was to indirectly challenge the conservative front by exploiting a political cause that they could not publicly contest. Likewise, the struggle with parliament demonstrated how the President exacerbated the conflict within conservative ranks, and how the political narrative he pursued served to further polarize the group. Ahmadinejad’s presidency was an extremely erratic one, which saw him personalize the executive power and transform both long-established and more informal power relations. He constantly reshuffled his cabinet and changed ministers, but also replaced provincial governors and high-level bureaucrats.43 Moreover, other politicians were forced to resign, which paved the way for further discontent towards the President among the remaining political factions. Finally, Ahmadinejad’s populist economic agenda only served to worsen the national economy, thereby preserving social inequality and increasing popular unrest.

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Securitization and Militarism The rise of individuals from the wider military apparatus and members of the IRGC to key positions within the Iranian nezām started in the 1990s, when the majles authorized the pāsdārān to use their engineering skills to bolster reconstruction after the Iran–Iraq War. The IRGC managed to infiltrate profitable infrastructure industries and to either establish control over or secure ownership of numerous firms and companies in the oil, agricultural and communication sectors. They were able to act and operate in the shadows, benefitting from the general lack of transparency across the economic Iranian system and from their proximity to political circles. And it was precisely this inability to track the IRGC’s activities that made their endeavours extremely profitable, much to the detriment of the very notion of economic transparency in state affairs. The pāsdārān controlled imports into the country and, as a result, played a key role in managing trade flow by patrolling borders, ports and airports. In the 1990s, they had control over all of the country’s strategic military resources, war technology and missile programmes, as well as military operations abroad through the assistance of militant groups in Lebanon and Palestine. Moreover, the IRGC headed up Iran’s most important and lucrative private construction company, the Khātam al-ānbiyā (literally “the last of the Prophets”), which was also known as the GHORB. The Khātam al-ānbiyā had a monopoly on major civil engineering projects, like the construction of highways, metro lines in the capital, telecommunication networks, in the mining sector, the expansion of oil and natural gas fields and the construction of dams and pipelines. The transformation of the pāsdārān from an exclusively military outfit to an economic and political actor began after the death of Khomeyni, who had always intended to exclude the IRGC—or any other military body—from the realm of politics and, accordingly, had sought to prevent their politicization. The succession of the Supreme Leader changed this, with the IRGC becoming a crucial ally of ʽAli Khamenei, who lacked any recognized religious qualities or sense of political charisma. He identified the IRGC as a vital ally able to strengthen his political authority, serving as he did as their commander-in-chief. Khamenei sought to create a strong bond of mutual loyalty with the pāsdārān, so much so that some scholars have even described them as the Supreme Leader’s “praetorian guards.”44 It is certainly undeniable that they exerted significant force in order to protect the current system, the status quo and the leadership

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of the rabhar. Meanwhile, those who were critical about the increasing power of the IRGC, and their growing presence in the political sphere, like the āyatollāh Mohammad ʽAli Movahedi Kermani, were purged and silenced.45 The pāsdārān cynically exploited their original mission, which was to defend the integrity and the values of the revolution, by throwing their weight behind a specific faction and, thereby, ensuring their political survival. As the embodiment of the security imperatives of this particular political front, the IRGC were able to act with impunity when it came to repressing any opposition to the conservatives, and they justified any such measures by citing an ideological authority. This intrusion into politics by the pāsdārān profoundly altered internal factionalism and succeeded, alongside the actions of other unelected institutions, in suppressing the political aspirations of the reformists, as previously discussed in Chapter Three. Former Generals and Commanders settled themselves into strategic positions within the nezām, whether in parliament itself or in roles within local and provincial councils. Some examples are Mohsen Rezai, General of the pāsdārān between 1981 and 1997, who later became a member of the Majmaʽ-e Tashkhīs-e Maslahat-e Nezām (the Expediency Discernment Council of the System or more simply the Discernment Council) by appointment of the Supreme Leader himself; and ʽAli Larijani, a Brigadier General, who became head of the national radio and television system. Until 2004, he was the Secretary in the National Security Council and was then replaced by ʽEzatollah Zarghami, a distinguished figure during the Iran-Iraq War. Considering the popular response to the conflict against Saddam Hussein, it is no surprise that many of these rising political figures had taken part in the war effort or had assumed key roles within the IRGC. However, their growing influence within the political system brought new needs and demands and required new slogans designed to denigrate the domestic political competition. Moreover, it was not only changing internal dynamics that had caused reshuffles within these various political groups but external circumstances also played a part in justifying the expansion of the pāsdārān in the nezām. 9/11 marked the beginning of a new era of international relations and paved the way for significant transformations in the political equilibrium of the Middle East. Rising instability and the vacuum of power left in neighbouring Iraq and Afghanistan intensified the Iranian security dilemma, as well as presenting favourable conditions for Iran to fortify

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and improve its own strategic position. The security dilemma was firmly rooted in Iran’s historical heritage, as a Persian Shiʽa country that had never been formally colonized by foreign powers, and which feared both border instability and threats coming from the surrounding Arab Sunni states. With the collapse of the Taliban regime in Afghanistan in 2001 and the fall of Saddam Hussein in Iraq in 2003, the Islamic Republic witnessed the disappearance of its main regional enemies. The former represented an existential threat from both an ideological and geopolitical perspective. As discussed in Chapter Three, the Taliban spread a fundamentalist Salafi reading of Islam that threatened the existence of Shiʽa communities. Moreover, the internal instability in Afghanistan was responsible for the mass migration flow through one of the Islamic Republic’s most controversial areas, the south-eastern province of Sistan Baluchistan. The United States military had also repositioned its forces along the Iranian border, which was likewise perceived as an existential threat. These conditions shaped foreign policy during Ahmadinejad’s presidency but also had consequences in domestic terms, for Iranian foreign politics often tended to reflect the ongoing domestic factionalism. External crises, for example, could be exploited to justify exceptional internal measures, as can be seen in the growing prominence of military figures and the security forces within the Iranian political system, resulting in what Said Hajariyan termed a dowlat-e pādgāneh (security state). To counter external instabilities and existential threats, more power was given to the military, who were then able to exert more control on a domestic level. The threat of a military invasion led by US troops only served to further politicize these security issues, which often exaggerated the actual risk. As demonstrated by the constructivist school of Copenhagen, when a threat is perceived as being existential, states are more prone to implement exceptional measures that would not be deemed legitimate in other circumstances.46 Existential threats challenge the survival of a country, and particularly its territorial integrity and thus its political stability. From the early 2000s, the securitization of Iranian politics was noticeable, as the military oversaw the country’s defence against outside pressures. As a consequence, they were more justified in repressing any form of domestic dissent that was perceived to endanger the established order. The dynamic of increasing social control in the name of national security was already well established in the Iranian Republic, but it intensified during Ahmadinejad’s presidency. The first reason for this came from

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the escalation of regional instability that followed the fall of Saddam Hussein. Iraq transformed into a battleground between non-state actors, terrorist movements and domestic militias supported by external players. Iran feared that the domestic instability spreading within the neighbouring country could reach its own borders, and particularly those volatile provinces that accommodated Arab Iranian minorities. Iran was, therefore, determined to reduce any source of threat coming from Iraq and aimed to occupy the vacuum of power in order to ensure its own strategic depth. The Islamic Republic could exploit the situation to shape Iraqi politics through a skillful employment of soft and hard powers, and the potential threat outside their borders enabled them to tighten up domestic socio-political control. The securitization of Iranian politics allowed the IRGC and volunteer paramilitary forces, like the basīj and the Ansār-e Hezbollāh, to become more involved in the public sphere and in controlling individuals’ lives. Ahmadinejad welcomed the rising power of the security apparatuses because he saw them as a means to fortify his own political legitimacy. Moreover, the privatization measures implemented by the President helped to reinforce the economic capital of the IRGC’s firms. Furthermore, the growing instability in the region combined with escalating tensions with the United States and their regional allies, such as Saudi Arabia and the State of Israel, also provided an important strategic advantage for Ahmadinejad. The President of the Republic could justify stricter controls at a domestic level, and eradicate any forms of resistance, opposition and bottom-up demands. This was achieved under the guise of fighting external threats, which were claimed to be trying to infiltrate Iranian society. In these circumstances, the ruling elite often referred to the concept of jang-e narm (a soft war), as they feared not only military confrontation but also the spread of foreign culture and Western propaganda that might weaken the republic. The progressive securitization of Iranian domestic policy had three major effects. Firstly, the  Ābādgarān and Ahmadinejad  could benefit from the existential threat posed by the United States and exploit regional transformations to marginalize opponents and impose top-down coercive measures. The United States’ foreign policy during the Bush administration exacerbated the long-standing mutual distrust and confrontation between Washington and Tehran. With military operations in the Middle East, the United States passed up the opportunity to safeguard the reformists’ attempts to promote a dialogue that might have overcome this mutual hostility. Verbal attacks from the United States,

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and the potential domino effect that could have occurred following events in Iraq and Afghanistan, posed a serious risk to the stability of the Islamic Republic, and as a result, prompted a more contentious attitude from the Iranian elite. Conservatives could take aim at the reformists for selling off the country to its oldest enemies, which was a recurring narrative used to criticize their opponents.47 This trend was supported by the Supreme Leader, who continued to demonize the United States as the “Great Satan” willing to curtail Iranian development and scientific progress.48 The second effect was to install a proverbial siege mentality, which was largely explicable in light of the country’s historical tensions with other regional players. Persia had conflicting relations with the Ottoman Empire during the Safavid Kingdom. It had fought against tzarist Russia and lost its territories by means of the most humiliating treaties, such as that of Golestan (1813) and that of Turkmenchay (1828). It had also been caught up in the colonial ambitions of Great Britain and Russia during the so-called “Great Game” of the nineteenth century. Similarly, it is perhaps significant to look back at the Tobacco Revolt of 1891 (and the events that followed) to more fully understand Iranian intolerance towards foreign interference and their concern of becoming dominated by it.49 Iranian nationalism, therefore, had been shaped by these historical events, the importance of independence and anxiety over preserving border security. Thirdly, the securitization during Ahmadinejad’s presidency had reinforced the role of the IRGC, bolstering their extraterritorial missions as well as their domestic activity in the economic sphere and in wider society. The existence of an external enemy supported security imperatives and, as a result, the IRGC became more involved in regional theatres of war to externalize threats and fight the enemies of the republic beyond its borders. Which also happened to provide a justification for increasing stricter controls over both the political and social spheres, domestically. By expanding the presence of the military in the system, the decision-making process prioritized security issues. After Ahmadinejad’s re-election in 2009, the political landscape became more polarized at the expense of social freedoms. The repression of popular dissent became more and more stringent, through arrests, forced detentions, a tightening up of censorship and as a consequence the relationship between the political system and the Iranian population began to fray.50 The repression of any dissent within public spaces was not only the result of the securitization of Iranian politics but also a

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reaction to the regional tensions that had erupted after 2011 following the so-called Arab Spring. At the same time, these blatant demonstrations of authoritarianism had their raison d'être in the growing clashes and internal disputes within conservative circles, and for the need to ensure the system’s survival. It is possible to argue that many in the conservative front, such as the traditional clergy, the unelected institutions, pragmatic conservatives and those in the military apparatuses, started to perceive a systemic threat aimed at undermining the foundations of the republic and, consequently, their political legitimacy. Therefore, they decided to strike out at those political movements that held the greatest popular support: the reformists, who had always represented their traditional opposition, and Ahmadinejad’s own circle, which concealed the intent for systemic change behind its populist rhetoric.

Mahdism as a Political Strategy Back in 2003, Mahmud Ahmadinejad proposed to build a road connecting the capital with the Jamkaran mosque, which was located in the city of Qom. The impulse to further develop infrastructure was not particularly surprising since, as previously observed, the mayor of Tehran had awarded major constructing projects to various IRGC firms in return for political support. What was surprising, not to mention full of political meaning, however, was the renewed interest in Jamkaran, which was no ordinary place but a location of highly symbolic value. According to local folklore, the mosque that was built there in the eleventh century would be the site for the reappearance of the twelfth Imām.51 If, at first, Ahmadinejad’s proposal had not aroused amazement in political circles, this initial step signified the revival of the messianic faith and not purely as a personal belief. When he became President of the Republic, Ahmadinejad decided to allocate the equivalent of about 12 million USD to the development of the mausoleum in Jamkaran with the aim of making it among the most privileged destinations for religious pilgrimages.52 This apparently frivolous decision actually concealed a clear political purpose. At that time, as is the case even today, the main site for religious pilgrimage in Iran was the mausoleum of the Imām Reza located in Mashhad, the city stronghold of the Supreme Leader ʽAli Khamenei. The construction of a new site for pilgrimage with significant symbolic value could be seen as a challenge to the rahbar and the politicized clergy.

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Through this emphasis on Jamkaran, Ahmadinejad, revived the messianic worship of the return of the Mahdī, which is considered by Shiʽites as the moment when justice will be re-established and an egalitarian society created. The term Mahdism refers to this mystical and messianic worship, which finds its origins in the succession of the last Shiʽa Imām.53 This cult has traditionally been linked to the refusal to recognize any legitimate form of government during the so-called ghaybah al-kubra, the Major Occultation of the Imām that started in 941. As the Occultation is ongoing and will only finish at the end of time, the Imamite clergy remains quietist and refuses to take part in political affairs while waiting for the return of the Mahdī.54 This pillar of the Twelver Shiʽa has, historically, ensured the distancing of the clergy from political matters, in some cases even resulting in the abjuration of religious dogmas to escape persecution and intimidation.55 The Iranian ulamā have historically maintained their socio-economic autonomy from their political rulers. From the Safavid until the Qajar, they played a prominent role in local administrations and in education but kept their distance from the monarchy. This is also one reason why, in the late nineteenth century, the masses viewed the clergy as a suitable actor who could assert their demands against the unquestionable power of the monarchy. Khomeyni had completely altered the relationship the clerics had with political power since the early 1960s. Moreover, in post-revolutionary Iran, participating in the political management of the state became a moral and religious obligation, and Mahdism became marginalized and excluded from the debate. In fact, the first rahbar banned the Anjoman-e Hojjatiyeh for being fāsed (corrupt), as the return of the Mahdī could pose a challenge to the political role of the Iranian ulamā. One of the factors that irreversibly exacerbated the internal fractures within the conservative front was how Ahmadinejad’s messianic worship manipulated the political discourse. In several public speeches, delivered both inside the country as well as abroad, the President alluded to the imminent return of the Mahdī. During his speeches at the United Nations General Assembly headquarters in New York, Ahmadinejad announced his forthcoming reappearance and, without limiting himself to mere mystical reminiscences of the Shiʽa messianic cult, also claimed to be in contact with the Mahdī, which aroused a certain degree of hilarity from the audience.56 In Ahmadinejad’s view, as expressed in a speech delivered in September 2005, the inevitable and approaching end of the ghaybat was the moment that would see the “realization of

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justice and peace on earth.”57 Ahmadinejad often highlighted the imminent return of the Mahdī, and, therefore, waiting for this event could no longer be a passive activity.58 In an interview with the US Fox News channel, he argued that the return of the Imām would not be an apocalyptic event but rather would see a stop to injustices and the restoration of brotherhood and peace. At the end of the interview, Ahmadinejad added that the return would be even more imminent than many may have thought.59 In 2007, giving a speech at Columbia University, Ahmadinejad appealed to God to speed up the return of the Mahdī.60 Also, during a speech held in Saudi Arabia given to Iranian pilgrims going to Mecca, Ahmadinejad stated that the value of the pilgrimage derives from the recognition of the authority of the twelfth Imām and of his promised return, a universalist creed of the Muslim faith.61 Similar rhetoric was also used in public speeches delivered inside Iran. While talking to the clergy in Mashhad, Ahmadinejad claimed that the enemies (referring indirectly to the United States) had invaded Iraq to speed up their political agenda as they were aware of the imminent arrival of the Mahdī and the resulting end of injustice on earth.62 If the speeches abroad nurtured the idea of a superstitious President who was trying to bolster his political reputation, those given within the country had an entirely different objective. The Iranian President lacked religious credentials and was not a distinguished political figure before his election in 2005. His references to messianic prophecy were often considered by external (but also some Iranian) observers as an expression of Ahmadinejad’s superstition, which spread an international image of him as being a religious fanatic. However, to fully understand the reasons why a lay person such as Ahmadinejad would have based his political rhetoric on such a theme, it is necessary to investigate the value and the significance of Mahdism in post-revolutionary Iran. It was not by accident that Ahmadinejad revived the mythological aspects of Shiʽa mysticism to further his political goals, which sheds some light on his anti-status quo attitude. In 2005, the President inaugurated the Hamāyesh-e Beynolmelālī-ye Doktrīn-e Mahdavīat (Annual International Conference on the Doctrine of Mahdism), which was an important step in reviving the mystical theme of Shiʽa traditionalism. Moreover, he declared his willingness to develop economic and cultural programmes and expand engineering projects to accommodate the return of the Mahdī. The Iranian Canadian scholar

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Mohammad Tavakoli-Targhi defines this trend as Mahdist utopia, meaning a juxtaposition between the revival of Shiʽite traditionalism—in order to delegitimize the clergy in the nezām—and the promotion of a politicized version of the Mahdist prophecy, which enabled non-religious figures to get involved in religious matters.63 Mahdism turned into a political strategy because it offered a challenge to the status quo. The reappearance of the Mahdī would render the Velāyat-e faqīh irrelevant, but it would also nullify the 1979 Iranian constitution, which is only valid until his return. The outcome of this transition was envisioned to be the establishment of a utopian system led by the Mahdī, where the clergy would go back to merely operating in the religious sphere. Unsurprisingly, then, this messianic narrative was received with hostility by Iran’s politicized clergy.64 Another element that reveals how Mahdism was used as a political strategy is that Ahmadinejad not only advocated the Mahdī’s imminent return but also on several occasions claimed to be in direct contact with him. This notion, far from simply underlining the President’s superstition, was intended to discredit the political role of the Iranian clergy by exploiting a traditionally accepted and popular narrative. Mahdism was instrumental in strengthening the President’s authority as a republican (in contact with the hidden Imām) in opposition to the religious authority of the rahbar. At the same time, it was integral in garnering popular support by overcoming the intermediation of the politicized clergy.65 The scholar Mehdi Khalaji suggests that the expected (and to be welcomed) coming apocalypse was a necessary image to present a conscious alternative to the unsatisfactory promises of the Islamic Republic.66 This was an attempt to move forward from the utopian project of the revolution to suggest a possible alternative world that could be achieved with the forthcoming return of the Mahdī. The criticism of the President’s economic mismanagement, the enduring political corruption and the failure to tackle social inequalities could all be resolved with the expected return of the Mahdī, as it represented the moment when justice would be firmly re-established. Ahmadinejad had no intention of entering into any deep theological debate, for which he would have had no real authority, but rather to use this widely established concept, which was highly accessible to the masses and in theory not open to questioning by the Shiʽite clergy, to fortify his position. The President adopted a rhetoric of hope and of awaiting the return, which was also part of traditional

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pre-Islamic Iranian culture, bringing together popular beliefs and the traditionalist (and therefore not revolutionary) understanding of Shiʽism. Moreover, this messianic narrative provided a line of continuity with ancestral Iranian culture, where eschatological reflection was also a distinctive aspect of Zoroastrian worship.67 If the Shiʽa prophecy was close to being realized, the population only needed to wait confidently for the appointed moment, forgetting the difficulties of the times and praising the return to traditional faith, as they were disenchanted with the clergy in power. This framework of expectancy served as an incubator for social discontent, as it provided a glimpse of a future based on social justice and equality of the sort that had never been fully implemented following the revolution. From a more pragmatic perspective, this messianic rhetoric contributed to diverting attention away from the economic difficulties and the social restrictions of those years and pleased people who had grown dissatisfied with political developments. Ahmadinejad’s messianism was interpreted as a populist stream of traditional Shiʽism. The President’s wish was not for popular mobilization, as advocated by ʽAli Shariʽati decades earlier, but rather to strengthen his bond with the people by showing his devotion and loyalty to traditional Shiʽite worship. By declaring to prepare society for the imminent return of the Imām, the President ensured control of both the cult and any religious rituals relating to the promised revelation, such as encouraging pilgrimages to the mosque in Jamkaran. Mahdism turned out to be a political instrument, a rationally expedient and rhetorically driven strategy that proved to be strongly impactful, and enabled the pursuit of certain political objectives, namely to eradicate the clergy’s dominance within state institutions and to restrict its powers to religious affairs. Ahmadinejad appeared to restore the models of traditional  Shiʽism, departing from Khomeinist revolutionary radicalism. He had been strongly influenced by the Anjoman-e Hojjatiyeh, although there were significant differences between the President’s political messianism and the apolitical tendencies of the group.68 The restoration of Hojjatiyeh thought implied two tendencies. The first was to provide an alternative to the failure to deliver the revolutionary utopia, which could be seen as the politicized clergy’s inability to create a fair and just society. Instead, the return of the Imām would ensure the spread of social justice. The second emphasized the “deviancy” of the current religious class in relation to traditional Shiʽism, which had been consolidated over many

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centuries of quietism. Traditionalist Shiʽa clergy criticized the Iranian politicized ulamā for deviating from tradition, whereas, in post-revolutionary Iran, political messianism was perceived as a deviation from the institutionalized principles of the republic. In many respects, Ahmadinejad’s messianic rhetoric offered a synthesis of tradition and modernity, but not without some contradictions. The President called back to a foundational concept of Iranian culture and a pillar of Shiʽite traditionalism, but adapted it to modern times to form some sort of political ideology. The contradiction, however, was the opposition to the Velāyat-e faqīh, the constitutive pillar of the Islamic Republic, which had served to empower the role of the clergy in political life. Unlike the Hojjatiyeh Society, Ahmadinejad looked to accelerate the return of the Imām, an idea that is conspicuously absent in Shiʽite quietism, which instead advocated a passive and patient period of waiting characterized by devotion and prayer. Ahmadinejad “modernized” the eschatological Shiʽite cult, alluding to the active role of both politics and people in accelerating the Mahdī’s return. He was able to utilize these well-known concepts to counter the more institutionalized interpretation of religious dogma, and so to call into question the political role of the clerical establishment, thereby bolstering the republican and non-religious dimensions of the Iranian state. It is difficult to determine whether the politicization of Mahdism was the intended outcome of a carefully conceived project or simply the result of continuous attempts to redefine and exploit any existing themes within the current factionalism. It is equally difficult to determine how much of the emphasis on this messianic hope owed to the President’s own sense of spirituality and his true belief in Shiʽite tradition. It could be argued that Ahmadinejad’s messianic rhetoric offered a means to secure the legitimacy he sorely needed, being a non-cleric and not being able to call on any other source of authority aside from populism. Ahmadinejad was perceived as a man of faith. His intent was not to de-Islamize social and cultural aspects of contemporary Iranian politics, rather he identified Shiʽite traditionalism as a platform upon which he could build his legitimacy in the eyes of the people. It also offered the opportunity to oppose the institutionalization of Khomeinist radicalism, in other words, the politicized clergy, who had contributed to the founding pillars of post-revolutionary conservatism. The ways in which Ahmadinejad attempted to speed up the prophecy was through the

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creation of infrastructural enterprises and the implementation of economic measures. From this, two major conclusions can be drawn. First, that there was a “secularization” of Mahdism because Ahmadinejad, as a non-cleric, constantly declared himself to be in contact with the Mahdī and claimed that he could actively predict his imminent return. Second, that this interpretation of the messianic return as being reflected in the proliferation of engineering projects aimed at redefining public spaces would benefit Ahmadinejad’s political allies. As the predicted return of the Mahdī would result in the diminishing of the political role of the clergy, the Imām-e jomʽeh of Mashhad, Ahmad ʽAlamolhoda, took aim at the osūlgarāyān who criticized the President, presumably to avoid further polarization among the conservative front. He claimed that it was perfectly legitimate for the President to speak about the Imām because “the Mahdī encouraged the construction of the Iranian political identity.”69 Ultimately, not only did Ahmadinejad try to “depoliticize” the clergy, but, by claiming to be in contact with the twelfth Imām, he also foreshadowed the beginnings of “Shiʽite Protestantism,” which would desacralize the role of religious figures as intermediaries between people and God. If people could communicate with the Mahdī, the authority of the clergy would be further weakened, this time in the spiritual sphere. As such, the President’s circle started to be referred to as enherāfī (deviants) because their messianism posed a challenge to the status quo. Ahmadinejad could be considered a deviant in respect to Khomeinist radicalism—because he wished to undermine the political role of the clergy—but also a deviant with respect to Shiʽite traditionalism, which refuted the possibility of accelerating the Mahdī’s return. In conclusion, the emphasis on Mahdism was never intended to provoke a debate on the theological nature of religion, but rather to determine who had the legitimacy to govern the Islamic Republic. This Mahdist discourse was inserted into the political arena, and the confrontation took place within the very institutional structures that Ahmadinejad had tried to challenge but never ultimately managed to replace. A final clarification concerns the importance afforded to Mahdism in Ahmadinejad’s political rhetoric. He proposed a populist alternative that would empower the non-clerical components within the political system. It was no longer a matter of favouring interpretative pluralism, as advocated by reformist intellectuals, but rather of endorsing the President and his circle of lay people for being both interpreters and promoters of the Mahdī’s return.

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Foreign Policy Between Ideology and Pragmatism Ahmadinejad’s foreign policy agenda has been one of the most debated aspects of his presidency. This section does not aim to cover all features of Iranian foreign policy between 2005 and 2013 but to assess the President’s position in order to understand what lay behind all the rhetoric and ideological imperatives. This analytical effort cannot overlook the regional factor. Ahmadinejad’s tenure(s) occurred during a time of growing regional tensions. The Middle East had witnessed an increase in unrest and instability: the outbreak of civil wars (Iraq, Syria and later Yemen), regime changes (Iraq, Egypt, Libya), the proliferation of jihadi groups (Al Qāʽida in Iraq and in the Arabian Peninsula, Jabhat al Nusra in Syria and the so-called Islamic State between Iraq and Syria—to name but a few), forced displacement, the migratory flow of ethnic and religious minorities, were just some of the ongoing crises taking place in the region during those two decades. Regional insecurity and the perception of various threats resulted in an 87% increase in arms sales by Middle East states between 2009 and 2013 and between 2014 and 2018.70 The Islamic Republic expanded its presence through both hard and soft power, via engagements with Shiʽa militias and by participating in several different theatres of war. This expansion was perceived as an existential threat by Iran’s regional enemies, who accused Tehran of adventurism and interfering with other countries. However, it also justified Iran’s adversaries in raising military expenditure and adopting more aggressive rhetoric. Without neglecting these crucial aspects, the aim of the following section is to reveal the true intentions behind Ahmadinejad’s controversial rhetoric. In order to do so, some of his most notorious actions and posturing will be examined, such as the relationship with the Gulf monarchies and the State of Israel, the Third Worldism and the Palestinian issue and the long-standing debate on Iran’s nuclear programme. The intention is not to provide a comprehensive analysis of his foreign policy agenda, but to suggest an alternative view of its significance in trying to navigate between ideology and pragmatism. During Ahmadinejad’s presidency a significant shift occurred in Iranian relations with the West. The foreign political scene was not only an opportunity for an inexperienced President to make an exhibition of himself but also a platform by which he could justify the introduction of new domestic transformations. The policy of conciliation adopted by Hashemi Rafsanjani and Mohammad Khatami was replaced with more

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robust tones, belligerent declarations and to some extent a more provocative attitude, and this was not only as a result of Ahmadinejad’s naivety as well as that of some members of his cabinet. What occurred was effectively a complete renovation, which affected both the approach to interacting with foreign countries as well as the international positioning of the Islamic Republic. During the election campaign, Ahmadinejad deliberately relegated issues of foreign policy to the sidelines; however, from the moment he first took office, this changed to become a crucial component of his political agenda and one of the most debated issues at an international level. His defiant rhetoric towards the United States and Israel was criticized both on the international stage and by several factions inside Iran itself. After a period of moderation and critical dialogue, the return to a more aggressive posture raised Western suspicions that the Islamic Republic was back in the hands of forces who were hostile to the idea of compromise and could destabilize the balance of power in the Middle East. This renewed revolutionary zeal was interpreted by external observers as a sign that the revolution was still ongoing and that Iran remained an ideologically driven actor pursuing an unpalatable agenda.71 As previously discussed, this general interpretation was not just misleading but also served to the benefit of certain other political players, who could then pressure Iran by accusing it of radical behaviour.72 Furthermore, the revival of ideological themes validated the constructivist assumption that foreign policy is the result of a consolidated political discourse whose foundations should be based on shared values and principles. But the difficulty in understanding the political goals that lay behind Ahmadinejad’s proclamations has fuelled inaccurate conjecture about his real intentions. Constructivists interpreted Ahmadinejad foreign policy as being driven by revolutionary imperatives, like the fight against “arrogant” and imperialist powers. However, constructivists have not focussed much on the fact that the President was a gheyr-e khodī, an outsider to the political system in need of alliances, and the revival of revolutionary slogans and rhetoric had a very precise intention and objective. The emphasis given to ideological principles allowed Ahmadinejad to cement his relationship with the Supreme Leader and the IRGC, who were very pleased with the President’s discourses. What perhaps was not at first clear was that these revolutionary principles were being used by the establishment to legitimize themselves internally, while Ahmadinejad (as previously discussed) sought to challenge the current status quo and wanted to change the republic’s international image.

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The main issue that needs to be resolved, in order to better understand Ahmadinejad’s foreign politics, concerns several enduring misconceptions about Iran’s regional and international position. The problem relates to the fact that the Islamic Republic is often portrayed strictly in terms of its ideological outlook, which risks limiting the various lenses through which its approach to foreign politics can be read and, as a consequence, understood. Maaike Warnaar argues that Iran’s decision to support Christian Armenians against the Shiʽite Azerbaijanis in the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict underlined its ideological stance of providing support to the “oppressed.”73 Similarly, Arshin Adib-Moghaddam interprets the events of the Iran-Iraq War through the lens of cultural identity, which is taken to eclipse national and pragmatic interests. According to the constructivist approach, the Iran–Iraq conflict was said to be the result of a cultural identitarian tension between the two neighbouring countries. The pan-Arab nationalism promoted by Saddam Hussein, who aimed to be a leader in the wider region, stood in stark opposition to the pan-Islamism promoted by revolutionary Iran, a Shiʽa majority and Persian country.74 This perspective risks neglecting national interests and more pragmatic purposes, which overshadowed identitarian struggles and religious affiliations, as demonstrated by the fact that Shiʽite Iranians and Shiʽite Iraqis fought against each other. This ideological justification for the war is, therefore, understood to be its main catalyst. In contrast to these views, which afford a prominent role to matters of identity and ideology in the shaping of Iranian foreign politics, there are other scholars, like Mehran Kamrava, Anoushiravan Ehteshami, Brenda Shaffer and Ruhollah Ramazani, who have argued that post-revolutionary Iranian foreign politics has been defined by rationalism, pragmatism and a degree of cautiousness, which saw the importance of the ideological imperatives diminish.75 Moreover, even though ideology had been instrumental in justifying more practical and pragmatic decisions, it cannot be considered the “prime motivator” for political action. After the revolution, Iran favoured more pragmatic choices, and ideology was the rhetorical tool used to achieve these strategic interests. This, of course, is not to deny the importance of shared values in shaping political decisions but to consider them secondary to more rational and pragmatic choices that were dictated by political strategy. Furthermore, Iranian foreign politics is not defined by a single monolithic purpose and, as such, occasionally separate and distinctive trajectories may arise. In terms of foreign affairs, the Supreme Leader is commander-in-chief of the IRGC,

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and their special troops engage in extraterritorial missions, but there is also the diplomatic board, the various ministries and the President himself who all have a say in matters. For this reason, foreign politics tend to mirror the internal political dialectic and the internal struggle for power and is thereby used by rival factions as a means to fortify their position at the domestic level. The constitution recognizes that the Supreme National Security Council (SNSC) has the duty to protect national security and territorial integrity, “determining the defence and security policies of the country within the boundaries defined by the leadership.”76 The SNSC gathers together the President, the ministers of Foreign Affairs, of the Interior, of Intelligence; the speaker of the parliament; the head of the military forces, and the Chief of Justice. This explains how Iranian foreign policy is the result of a combination of different viewpoints and positions, and why sometimes compromise may not be able to be reached. The ambiguities in foreign politics are, therefore, the outcome of this complex and intricate institutional system. During Ahmadinejad’s presidencies, relations with other regional countries deteriorated and there was an increase in confrontations, especially with those in the Arab Peninsula,77 which resulted in a general widening of tensions across the Middle East. Still, the general sense of pragmatism over ideology persisted and, as such, Iran aimed to improve foreign relations in order to minimize security threats. Regional transformations that occurred from 2003 onward led to an increase in the geoeconomic and geopolitical competition between Riyadh and Tehran, which was concealed behind a reductive narrative of sectarianism between two competing religious and political models. These relations struggled to normalize due to the persistent confrontation between the United States, who was a commercial partner and arms provider to the Saudi Kingdom, and Iran, who wished for a Middle East free from American troops.78 Countries like Jordan and Saudi Arabia, for instance, had to rely on the American military presence in the area since the Iraqi invasion with the hope of downsizing the growing influence of the Islamic Republic. In fact, the rhetoric of a “Shiʽa crescent,” and the repeated calls of the Saudi King Abdullah urging the US to “cut off the head of snake”79 were favourably received among Iran’s “enemies” and competitors in the region, and even among those states who looked at Iran with some suspicion. In light of these circumstances, Ahmadinejad aimed to put his own personal mark on Iranian foreign politics by adopting a more controversial approach. In 2007, he made his first official visit

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to Saudi Arabia to discuss the nuclear issue, as well as the situations in Lebanon and Palestine. This was an attempt to re-establish diplomatic relations with neighbouring countries to overcome widespread feelings of distrust and even paranoia stemming from the continued impasse over the Iranian nuclear programme, and to reduce rising animosity over the perception of a Shiʽa revival.80 The Gulf Cooperation Council even considered the idea of developing a collective nuclear deterrence to counterbalance Iranian nuclear threats and to safeguard security interests in the Arab Peninsula.81 Iran was accused of destabilizing the region through its military involvement and support of pro-Iran Shiʽa militias, but more than anything else it was Ahmadinejad’s rhetoric that was responsible for dampening the Saudi-Iran relationship.82 The Iranian President also continued to travel to the Gulf in order to divert attention from accusations of spreading sectarianism, though with little success. Beyond the ideological rift, Saudi Arabia and Iran engaged one another in non-conventional conflicts, fighting through proxies in third-party states to assure their own power gains in the Middle East.83 Ahmadinejad tried to establish good relations with the Arab regimes, even if from an ideological perspective they were the furthest removed from Iran’s “representative theocracy.” The so-called Arab Spring of 2011 had eliminated pro-Western and anti-Iranian political systems in the region, with Egypt being perhaps the most emblematic case. The ensuing rise of Islamist groups had a predominantly Sunni makeup, and some of these militant cells operated in unstable countries fomenting a specifically anti-Shiʽa sectarianism.84 On 5 February 2013, at the end of his second term, Ahmadinejad was the first Iranian President to visit Egypt since 1979 as part of the Organization of Islamic Cooperation. The efforts towards reconciliation between the two countries, however, dated back to Rafsanjani’s presidency and continued into the tenures of his successor, Mohammad Khatami. Some meetings between diplomatic figures had already taken place before 2013, but the Egyptian President, Honsi Mubarak, held a general attitude of suspicion towards Iran. Also, Saudi Arabia was an essential ally for the Egyptian economy, which had inhibited any attempts at rapprochement between Tehran and Cairo.85 Ahmadinejad secured diplomatic relations with President Mohammed Morsi (2012–2013), the head of the Muslim Brotherhood, a traditionalist Islamist group adherent to Sunni faith, who was democratically elected after the fall of Mubarak. This could be seen as a pragmatic move by Iran given that they had experienced a gradual deterioration

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in relations with other regional countries. Ideologically, the Islamic Republic was by no means an ideal model or a possible ally of Morsi’s new political system, but Ahmadinejad sought to re-establish relations with Egypt and the Muslim Brotherhood by strengthening Islamic paradigms. Beyond this, Iran would also have benefited from normalized relations with one of the most important and pivotal actors within the region. The idea was to reduce Egypt’s economic dependence on Saudi Arabia, to stem the possible geopolitical domination of anti-Shiʽite sectarianism in the Middle East,86 and to reconnect with Hamas, with whom historical ties had weakened with Tehran in the context of the Syrian conflict.87 However, frictions between Iran and Egypt were substantial, mainly due to their positions on the Syrian civil war.88 Where Cairo supported the Syrian opposition, Iran had remained a loyal ally of Bashar al Assad’s government. In addition to the strategic alliance, which had already been inaugurated during the Iran-Iraq War, Syria represented for Tehran a necessary thoroughfare to the Levant, which was essential to maintain a line of direct contact with the Lebanese Hezbollāh militias. The enthusiasm for the alleged bidārī-e Eslām (Islamic awakening)89 a term that was erroneously given to other popular uprisings in the Arab world, and which had been positively welcomed by Tehran, progressively deteriorated. The main cause of this was the disastrous continuation of the Syrian conflict and the criticism—including that from President Morsi—regarding Iranian support for the regime in Damascus. Iran also embarked on a process of intense rapprochement with Turkey during the presidencies of Necdet Sezer and Abdullah Gul. In those years, the Iranian economy was the subject of international sanctions, which it tried to overcome through bilateral trade with Turkey.90 The intensification of diplomatic relations had started in 2002, when Turkish foreign policy began to undergo significant transformations. The common interests in controlling the Kurdish question, and in preventing a break-up of Iraq after 2003, provided a crucial basis for strengthening the relationship between Ankara and Tehran—while also benefitting their respective national security and border controls. In 2008, Iran was Turkey’s largest trading partner with a trade volume worth ten billion USD, which was mainly in the oil and gas sector, while eight years before it had only approximately reached one billion.91 From a political point of view, Turkey represented a distinctly secular political model, and yet it had witnessed the emergence of Islamist political forces such as those in

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the Party for Justice and Development (AKP). The AKP was profoundly different from (and to some extent in competition with) the model portrayed by the Iranian Republic.92 These differences could be seen in the Syrian conflict, in relations with the United States, with Turkey being a member of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), in the management of Tehran’s nuclear programme, and also in certain ideological debates. However, the ideological diversity was concealed behind far more fruitful bilateral relations. The efforts to normalize relations with regional states reflected a sense of realism and bandwagoning that Ahmadinejad adopted, hoping to dissuade neighbouring countries from opposing Tehran through the use of aggressive rhetoric. The Iranian President focussed on the transversal and transnational concepts of justice, Islamism and resistance that crossed religious, nationalistic and ideological boundaries, even though he proved incapable of overturning the general distrust towards Tehran, especially given the strength of his influence and persistent interference in the territories of the so-called Shiʽa crescent. While Tehran was increasing its influence in the region, stability in the Middle East continued to deteriorate. The “sectarianization” of the Syrian conflict, which became more evident after 2013, the spread of a Sunni jihadist threat and the geoeconomic competition between Iran and Saudi Arabia derailed attempts at normalization between Tehran and other regional actors. If relationships in the Gulf did not show much improvement, another area of hostility came from the State of Israel. The Iranian President had filled many of his speeches, both at home and abroad, with a strong anti-Zionist rhetoric. Since its foundation in 1948, Israel had represented for Arab governments and Muslim communities a symbol of oppression and imperialism at the expense of Arabs, Muslims and Palestinians. It was only after the revolution in 1979 that Tehran raised its voice against the injustices perpetrated against Palestinians. This was a way to represent the struggle of regional countries by focussing on common religious beliefs and themes of resistance, while downplaying national identity and ethno-linguistic differences. Ahmadinejad, in particular, had inflamed the criticism of Israel with provocations and statements that were considered excessive and inappropriate.93 On 26 October 2005, Tehran hosted the Hamāyesh Jahān-e bedun-e Sahyunīsm (Conference of the World without Zionism) at which the President made one of his most controversial statements: “our dear Imām said that the regime occupying Jerusalem must disappear from the pages of time.”94 Ahmadinejad emphasized the

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urgency there was to solve the Palestinian issue, but, in doing so, was perceived to be verbally threatening the existence of the State of Israel, adopting a belligerent tone that many considered deplorable and unacceptable. Furthermore, since 2007, the debate over a potential pre-emptive Israeli attack on Iranian nuclear sites had intensified.95 This growing international animosity, combined with internal criticism, persuaded the President to make a slight change in his approach. In some of his speeches, it appeared that Ahmadinejad wished to instil doubt about the historical existence of the Holocaust. This was a strategy designed to challenge the foundation of the State of Israel as a response to the atrocities suffered by Jews in the first half of the twentieth century. In Azadi square in Tehran, Ahmadinejad declared that the “myth” (he uses the Persian word bot, which conveys the sense of an “idol” or “object of worship”) of the Holocaust had been unmasked.96 In another public appearance, he enquired: “if it is true that this fact has occurred, who is responsible [for it]?”97 This was undoubtedly a rhetorical question taking aim at certain European powers. As they had been responsible for allowing such an event to occur, it was incumbent upon them to find a different solution other than the occupation of Palestinian lands. At the International Conference against Racism held in Geneva in 2009, Ahmadinejad slightly modified his language, avoiding any direct denial of the Holocaust such as he had more or less made on several previous occasions. While he was approaching the end of his first presidential term, Ahmadinejad claimed that this “incident” had been exploited in order to justify the creation of Israel at any cost, thereby denying the Palestinians self-determination. He launched a sort of “Palestinization” of his foreign policy, manipulating Islamic solidarity to elevate Iran to a seemingly leading role in the fight to liberate Palestine, a land inhabited mostly by Sunni Arabs. With their growing presence in the region, the Islamic Republic was accused of posing an existential threat to neighbouring countries. However, the republic itself was well aware of its slim chances of being recognized as the key hegemonic player in the Middle East. As previously observed, the Velāyat-e faqīh was not particularly attractive to Shiʽa communities in neighbouring countries, for it was perceived as bringing a nationalistic and specifically Iranian adaptation of religious principles into the political realm. For these reasons, beyond mere ideological posturing, Ahmadinejad adopted an accommodation policy with Iraq, which involved political and economic cooperation after the fall of Saddam

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Hussein.98 Iran wished to have a stabilized and amenable government in Baghdad and to avoid divisions along ethnic confessional lines.99 Tehran also wanted to reduce any military threats or national instability that could spread along its borders, particularly in provinces inhabited by Arab and Kurdish communities. For these reasons, the Islamic Republic influenced post-Saddam Iraq through economic exchange, political and even military support of Shiʽa parties, such as the Islamic Party Dawa and the Iraqi Islamic Supreme Council, as well as Shiʽa militias, like Badr, and Muqtada al-Sadr related ones, like Jaysh al Mahdī (JAM). Despite ideological differences, the IRGC’s special troops were committed to coordinating, training, equipping and supporting Shiʽa militias to fortify Iran’s strategic depth and strengthen the alliance between Tehran and Baghdad.100 From an economic perspective, the Islamic Republic supplied energy, machinery and agricultural products that were essential to meet Iraqi demands. In 2005, the construction of an oil pipeline was agreed upon between the city of Basra and the Iranian city of Abadan. The crude oil imported from Iraq would be refined and then re-exported to the neighbouring country through a second pipeline. In 2007, Tehran exported about 1000 tonnes of liquid gas, estimated as meeting 20% of Iraq’s demand.101 Lastly, another vital link between Iran and Iraq in those years was the cultural factor, as Tehran increased and supported religious pilgrimages to Najaf and Karbala, and founded charities and religious schools to increase its soft power in the country. Sunni groups looked with suspicion at the rise of the Shiʽite parties and the sectarian politics pursued by Iraqi Prime Minister Al Maliki (2006–2014),102 who marginalized and alienated Sunni proponents within Iraqi society. Due to the growing resentment of Sunni groups, Iraq became a fertile environment for the infiltration of non-state actors and terrorist groups, who brought together former military members and fighters ready to exploit the growing instability in order to spread chaos. Since 2006, the jihadi movement Al Qāʽida had been present in Iraq, laying the foundations for what would become, over many years, a serious existential threat, not only for the Iraqi Shiʽite population, who were the main targets of Qaedists violence, but for the security of the entire region.103 In 2011, the popular protests that became widespread in the Arab world, labelled internationally with the rather misleading name of the “Arab Spring,” but referred to internally with the Arab term thawra (revolution), served to hamper Iran’s rise as the key power in the region. The Islamist groups that emerged after the fall of pro-Western regimes

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in North Africa (Egypt and Tunisia) did not replicate the Iranian model, but rather embodied a Sunni expression of political views. Moreover, the Syrian civil war had only intensified the antagonism between Riyadh and Tehran, as the conflict turned into a fight between proxies so as to avoid any direct confrontation. Iranian involvement in the Syrian conflict bolstered the rhetoric of the mehvar-e moqavvamat (the axis of resistance),104 which was the political alliance between the Islamic Republic, Assad’s government in Damascus and the Lebanese Hezbollāh. This axis had been further reinforced by the narrative of the Shiʽa crescent and the wider perception of an ongoing sectarian struggle for regional hegemony. However, Iran proved to be more willing to protect its own national and security interests, such as fortifying its strategic position and externalizing military threats, rather than pursuing ideological goals based on religious affiliation. It was during Ahmadinejad’s presidencies that the shift from religion to nationalism and militarism became much more evident and the latter would start to occupy the central core of Iranian foreign policy. Being a lay person and wishing to put his own personal mark on Iranian foreign politics, Ahmadinejad could not rely on religious solidarity, a theme that had often been used in official circles to reduce the divergencies between Sunni and Shiʽite and to rehabilitate the regional role of the Islamic Republic. Ahmadinejad would never represent a truly religious leader and, therefore, he tried to move beyond just Islam,105 away from the radical Shiʽite message of emancipation to embrace a nationalistic and anti-imperialist discourse. The President took up the mantle of Third Worldism, calling for the empowerment of Third World and developing countries from Latin America, South Asia and Africa that were struggling to improve their economic and international statuses. Ahmadinejad carried out over 45 meetings with representatives of the so-called “rogue states” and developing countries, which shared the Islamic Republic’s attitude of anti-imperialism.106 Third Worldism was also a theme that had been used during the revolution, for it epitomized the struggle against injustice and the unfair distribution of worldly wealth. Ahmadinejad returned to this topic not as a means to praise or revitalize revolutionary discourse, but rather to establish allies and commercial partners. In particular, the Iranian President shared with countries like Cuba, Bolivia, Nicaragua and Venezuela, the sense of economic pauperism and the idea of social justice, which in Iran’s case was declined through Shiʽa principles and, in the others, through a socialist

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economic worldview, as well as difficult relations with the United States. From an ideological point of view, Ahmadinejad wanted Iran to spearhead the resistance movement against imperialism through a transactional alliance that was not only based on religious connections.107 Instead, he proposed an alternative way that would be representative of those oppressed countries subjugated to the “arrogance” of the United States. Ahmadinejad wanted to stand up as a defender of the oppressed and to develop markets in order to overcome both economic and political isolation. To achieve this pragmatic goal, Ahmadinejad set aside religious solidarity so as to reach a wider spectrum of potential allies. The non-allied movement provided both the necessary and ideal partners for Iran because all of these “rogue states” had been the subject of sanctions by the United States and Europe. Economic needs, as opposed to ideological proximity, prompted Ahmadinejad to improve relations with Venezuela under the leadership of President Hugo Chavez.108 Therefore, Third Worldism  concealed an attempt to establish trade relations with developing countries in light of restrictions imposed on Iran and its international isolation due to the impasse over its nuclear programme. Accordingly, it is now time to turn to that most controversial of issues pertaining to Iranian foreign politics during Ahmadinejad’s presidencies: Iran’s nuclear programme. The international debate between the Islamic Republic and major European states (the so-called EU3: the United Kingdom, France and Germany) had already begun in 2002, and there had been some progress in limiting the development of Iran’s nuclear capabilities, from providing international monitoring of its nuclear activities to establishing a constructive dialogue with the parties involved. As a signatory member of the Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), Iran had outlined its intention to develop its nuclear programme for civil and domestic use, such as in the areas of research and energy production, as detailed in Article 4 of the NPT. Although the Islamic Republic had the right under the NPT to develop an atomic programme, the general lack of transparency, failure to declare the construction of certain facilities and an increase in other related nuclear activities only lowered levels of trust towards the Iranian state and complicated the efforts of the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) to gather a complete picture of Iran’s nuclear programme and to verify that the nature of the country’s nuclear activities was suitably peaceful. This situation resulted in more than a decade’s worth of intricate negotiations, during which rare moments of diplomatic dialogue were usually followed by periods of deadlock. Iran’s

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nuclear programme became a crucial matter for the Islamic Republic, as it not only epitomized national sovereignty but also served as a significant deterrent. At the same time, other regional and international players feared horizontal proliferation, which could result in Iran acquiring the technical capabilities to build an atomic bomb. After Ahmadinejad took office in 2005, he adopted his own personal approach to the nuclear dossier, which was portrayed as a symbol of national pride and independency, but also as the country’s undeniable sovereign right. During his presidency, the nuclear issue became an even more widespread and heated debate in foreign politics, and Iran was subjected to major pressures from outside; however, it is important to note that Ahmadinejad was not the only influential player responsible for having brought the negotiations to repeated dead ends. Moreover, both the nuclear programme and Iran’s approach to international diplomacy reflected domestic tensions and factional struggles within the country. Ahmadinejad had certainly put his own personal spin on the republic’s approach to the nuclear brief, but certain elements of his position have also been largely misinterpreted. Even though, on a rhetorical level, the Iranian President persisted with his confrontational attitude, in practice he attempted to reach a satisfactory agreement with other international powers—one that would be instrumental in increasing his political legitimacy back in Iran. In 2005, the Iranian President announced the resumption of the uranium enrichment programme that had been suspended nine months earlier under the framework of the Paris Agreement. Consequently, the EU3 broke off negotiations with Tehran. Russia then tried to re-establish a dialogue with the Islamic Republic through bilateral negotiations, offering Iran the possibility to share ownership of a uranium enrichment plant located in Russia, as opposed to domestically producing the Low Enriched Uranium (LEU) necessary to fuel the Bushehr power plant. Iran perceived this as a violation of its right to advance its nuclear capabilities and Seyyed ʽAli Hoseyni Tash, head of the negotiation team with Moscow, together with members of the Supreme Council for National Security, rejected the proposal by reiterating the Iranian right to control the entire nuclear process.109 From this time onward, there was an ongoing (and inconclusive) debate that was often conducted through track two diplomacy, in an attempt to find an agreement that would satisfy all the parties involved, mainly by the Iranians and the American administration (through unofficial meetings between the two). Iran’s lack of cooperation and the failure to give assurances of the peaceful nature of the

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country’s nuclear activities convinced the IAEA to refer the case to the United Nations Security Council in early 2006. From then on, the negotiation table was expanded to include representation from the five permanent members of the Council (Russia, China, the United States, the United Kingdom and France) plus Germany, which was a member of the original EU3. The P5+ 1 became the main interlocutor on the Iranian nuclear programme. Ahmadinejad’s aggressive tones, his anti-American and anti-Israel discourses and his non-compromising attitude increased concerns over the nature of the country’s nuclear programme and on Iran’s ability to develop a nuclear weapon that could be used to destabilize the region. Despite his robust rhetoric and willingness to maintain the nuclear programme, a month after he had taken office Ahmadinejad touted at the UN’s headquarters the possibility of building a partnership with “public and private sectors of other states to implement uranium enrichment programmes in Iran.”110 This was an attempt to open up dialogue despite his declared hostility towards other “arrogant powers.” Regardless, two months after lifting the suspension over enrichment-related activities, Iran successfully produced LEU for the first time, which led Ahmadinejad to declare that the Islamic Republic had joined the ranks of the world’s nuclear powers.111 Once this milestone in the evolution of Iran’s nuclear programme had been achieved, he sent a letter to the President of the United States, who had only recently joined the negotiating table. Ahmadinejad encouraged George W. Bush to adopt a political model in relation to the Middle East that was based on the universal values of justice, peace and self-sacrifice.112 What lay behind this letter was a concerted attempt to establish a dialogue between the two countries—even if through ambiguous messaging and rhetorically charged means. Ultimately, this symbolic gesture failed to overcome the seemingly permanent contradiction between the Iranian President’s attempts at openness and the “confrontational diplomacy” he adopted at international conferences.113 The lack of trust towards Iran led the United Nations to pass four resolutions between 2006 and 2008.114 These resolutions, 1696, 1737, 1747 and 1803,115 which were in compliance with Chapter Seven of the UN’s foundational charter, were meant to put more pressure on Iran and to convince the country to reimpose a suspension on its enrichment activities. As a result of the international sanctions imposed by these UN resolutions, all the external assets of ten Iranian associations and twelve Iranian individuals, who were believed to

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be linked to the nuclear programme, were frozen and all imports of missile and nuclear-related technology to Iran were halted.116 In addition, the Iranian banks Sepah and Sāderāt were banned from access to the US financial market, while eight of the main European banks (such as Credit Suisse, HSBC, UBS, ABN Amro, Credit Lyonnais, Société Générale and Barclays) either broke off or restricted their agreements with Iran. These were significant measures intended to mitigate Iranian intransigence and to force Iran to return to the negotiating table. Instead, and in line with his robust and confrontational attitude, Ahmadinejad declared the UN resolutions as nothing more than “worthless pieces of paper.”117 Undoubtedly, this was a piece of political theatre to demonstrate that the Islamic Republic would not agree to relinquish one of its undeniable rights, but the inevitable outcome was a hardening of the respective positions involved. Against a background of strong internal and international pressure following the disputed 2009 elections, Ahmadinejad’s team was looking for success on the international stage to deflect from criticism over the military’s repression of the Green Wave, but also to rebuild his domestic political reputation. At that time, Barack Obama had taken office in Washington and the United States’ position and the tone they adopted towards Iran gradually changed—even though the new administration still wanted to limit Iranian nuclear development. In October 2009, the IAEA backed a US proposal that would enable Iran to export the majority of its 3.5% enriched uranium stockpile in return for 20% LEU fuel for the Tehran Research Reactor (TRR), which was used for medical purposes. This would appear to acknowledge, at least to some extent, the recognition of Iran’s right to develop a nuclear programme, but also served to reduce the short-term risk of Iran’s nuclear activities and materials being diverted for militaristic purposes. The IAEA’s General Director, Mohamed ElBaradei, stated that this represented an important confidence-building measure.118 Despite positive first signs, with Ahmadinejad declaring himself ready to cooperate,119 the agreement still sank, mainly due to internal tensions within the nezām. The following year a trilateral proposal was put forward with the backing of Brazil and Turkey, under which Iran was able to export about 1200 kg of LEU to Turkey in exchange for 20% enriched uranium reactor fuel for the TRR.120 The agreement was criticized at an international level because it would mean that the Islamic Republic could maintain a larger stockpile

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of LEU and would not be prevented from enriching uranium up to 20%, a point that is considered a crucial threshold for producing High Enriched Uranium (HEU) for military applications. As a result, the UN Security Council, with the approval of Russia and China, who had generally adopted a softer approach to Iran when compared to Western powers, imposed a robust package of sanctions on Tehran. UN Resolution 1929, which was adopted in 2010, expanded these restrictions on trade and finance, on energy, and in terms of the arms embargo.121 The US Congress also enforced further sanctions on Tehran by means of the Comprehensive Iran Sanctions, Accountability, and Divestment Act of 2010,122 as did the European Union, whose High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy was Catherine Ashton (2009–2014). Through these restrictions, EU “Member States should prohibit the sale, supply or transfer to Iran of key equipment and technology as well as related technical and financial assistance, which could be used in key sectors in the oil and natural gas industries.”123 In addition, visa bans were imposed on Iranian citizens, which made trips to or movement through Europe extremely difficult, and many European companies ceased trading with Iran.124 This large programme of sanctions caused a loss of over 160 billion dollars within Iran’s oil market and froze around 100 billion dollars’ worth of Iranian assets abroad.125 With the Iranian economy already suffering due to internal mismanagement, these measures caused the situation to further deteriorate and many ordinary citizens were directly affected—as were several other industries, such as the pharmaceutical sector.126 During the last two years of Ahmadinejad’s presidency, meetings between Iran and the P5 +1 continued in Moscow, Istanbul and Baghdad, but the general atmosphere of distrust and uncertainty persisted between the parties involved. In 2012, the IAEA stated that the Islamic Republic had increased its number of centrifuges and had reached the enrichment threshold of 20% at its sites in Natanz and Fordow.127 The difficulties in reaching the sort of compromise necessary for any agreement also stemmed from internal tensions and divisions within Iran. Political elites ignored national interests in order to prevent the President from achieving an important victory in relation to the nuclear dossier. The official abandonment of international meetings happened in conjunction with the elections of 2013 and the transition to Hasan Rouhani’s presidency, who was a former negotiator at the time

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when the reformists were in power. He managed to reopen the dialogue with the P5 +1, with the indirect backing of the Supreme Leader, and this paved the way for the multilateral agreement that was signed on 14 July 2015. This did not signify the end of the debate but was a significant and remarkable achievement in multilateral diplomacy and an example of positive engagement with Iran. In terms of what has been covered so far, there are at least two major conclusions that can be drawn on the nature of Ahmadinejad’s foreign policy. The first is that the President’s focus on and personal approach to foreign affairs was a means to build up his social and political reputation in the domestic realm. He used well-established slogans and a robust rhetoric to stoke up Iranian nationalism and militarism—even at the expense of international relations. The second is a rather surprising inclination for pragmatism when it came to ideological imperatives, despite apparent evidence to the contrary. This is evident from the negotiations over the nuclear dossier. The approach Ahmadinejad adopted towards the nuclear programme has been considered highly controversial but is also often misunderstood. His robust speeches and intransigence on the diplomatic stage were often followed by more pragmatic and practical actions, which puzzled his international counterparts. The President exploited the nuclear issue for two main reasons. Firstly, he wanted to instil the idea in Iranian minds that the country’s national sovereign right was being denied by foreign powers, who sought to prevent Iran from legitimate technological development. The nuclear programme became the symbol of national sovereignty, a source of pride and unity that would bolster the President’s reputation and popularity at a domestic level. Secondly, the intransigence he frequently displayed during the negotiations with the international community did not necessarily signify a rejection of any potential willingness to compromise, but rather the desire for Iran to take a domineering role in proceedings. A conclusion to the long-running debate over the nuclear programme would have represented a major victory for the President and a global recognition of Iran’s status as a nuclear power. Relations between Iran and the United States were particularly tense because of the lack of trust and growing sense of mutual suspicion. As previously remarked, establishing one another as enemies was useful to both sides, as it allowed their respective leaders to adopt specific policies and political discourses. The United States under George W. Bush’s administration had frequently tried to exert pressure on Iran even before

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the US had sat down at the negotiating table. They considered the immediate abandonment of the uranium enrichment programme to be an indisputable and essential prerequisite for any further dialogue. An anonymous source, who had attended several backchannel diplomatic meetings between the two parties between 2005 and 2011, revealed that the main obstacle for the United States was the inability to identify a trustworthy interlocutor on Iranian affairs. As they were unclear with whom they could speak and as a result trust, the preconditions they attached were extremely restrictive. The official position coming out of Tehran did not always line up with what was being discussed in unofficial meetings, and this generated confusion about the true intentions of the Islamic Republic and the lack of a unified opinion in respect to their nuclear dossier.128 The Iranian President’s attempts to open up a diplomatic channel with the United States, while officially continuing to reject any blind compromise, formed the grounds for an internal battle between traditional and pragmatic conservatives and the President’s own circle.129 Ahmadinejad wanted to reach an agreement on his conditions and that could be accredited to his men. In these unofficial meetings, he could rely on one of his most trusted advisors, Mojtaba Samareh Hashemi, even though the final say on foreign political matters was a prerogative of the rahbar. The failed proposal for the TRR proved just how much these negotiations reflected the internal competition. To avoid enabling Ahmadinejad, who had become more isolated during his second term, to claim an international victory both reformists and conservatives tactically blocked his efforts, as can be seen in relation to the interim agreement in 2010. As such, the impasse over the Iranian nuclear programme can also be attributed to ongoing internal disputes and the continuing rivalry between the domestic political factions. Camouflaged by ideological slogans, Ahmadinejad foreign policy was characterized by a pragmatic impetus, which did not pass up any opportunity to exploit both cultural and ideological issues to justify policy positions and political decisions when necessary. What occurred during his two presidential terms appears to reiterate those guiding principles of Iranian foreign action as identified by R. Ramazani: independence and nationalism.130 Over the decades, these imperatives had taken shape in different narratives and through the exploitation of various developments on the regional or international scenes. Ahmadinejad capitalized on pre-existing issues within Iranian society, exploiting them for their rhetorical value and political capital—though in certain respects this proved

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counterproductive as it provoked criticism both inside and outside Iran. Although his inexperience and spasmodic attempts to establish himself as a charismatic political leader likely fuelled his erratic approach to foreign policy, which at times was antagonistic towards both the United States and Israel, while at other times sought reconciliation through thinly veiled letters and backchannel international meetings, it is credible to suggest that Ahmadinejad’s actions were guided by rational calculations. Finally, Ahmadinejad’s foreign policy can be described in three key ways: ambiguous, short-sighted and difficult to predict. Ambiguous because of the inflammatory tones he adopted and the criticisms of Israeli imperialism, which stiffened foreign relations and polarized the debate on Iran’s nuclear programme, while also suggesting that the President was pursuing an ideological cause at the expense of national interests. It was not the case that Ahmadinejad wished to prevent the ratification of a compromised agreement, but rather that he sought to agree on one under his own conditions, which could then be presented as a victory for his negotiating team. But the approach he adopted scuppered the chances of opening up a constructive dialogue with the United States. Short-sighted because Ahmadinejad’s rhetoric only served to accentuate foreign distrust towards the Islamic Republic, which resulted in heavy sanctions against Tehran and a deepening of Iran’s isolation within the international community. And, finally, Ahmadinejad’s foreign policy approach was often unpredictable because it was also the product of internal strife and factional wrangling among the Iranian political elite, which mirrored the domestic struggles against the President back home.

Notes

1.   ( A h m a d Khatami’s Explicit Irony to Ahmadinejad and His Allies: You Can’t Play with Charlatans) , Donyā-e eqtesād,  h t tps: / / dony a -e -e qte sa d. c o m /



2. Ali Ansari, “Iran Under Ahmadinejad: Populism and Its Malcontents,” International Affairs 84, no. 4 (2008): 686–700. 3.  “Oil Rents (% of GDP),” The World Bank, https://data.worldbank. org/indicator/NY.GDP.PETR.RT.ZS?end=2014&locations= IR&start=1970&view=chart, accessed on March 6, 2020.



, accessed on May 21, 2020.

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187

4. “Iran Leader to Set Up ‘Love Fund’,” BBC, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/ hi/middle_east/4198906.stm, accessed on November 3, 2020. 5. “2006 Municipal Councils Election,” Iran Data Portal, http://irandataportal.syr.edu/2006-municipal-councils-election, accessed on March 8, 2020. 6. Fatemeh Haghighatjoo, “Iran’s March 14, 2008 Majlis Elections Part 2,” Middle East Institute, http://www.mei.edu/content/irans-march14-2008-majlis-elections-part-2#_ftn1, accessed on 8 April 2018. 7. “‫( ”شعارهای انتخاباتی ائتالف فراگیر اصولگرایان اعالم شد‬The Electoral Slogans of the Pervasive Coalition of the Principalists Have Been Announced), A s r i r a n ,     h t t p : / / w w w. a s r i r a n . c o m / f a / n e w s / 3 6 9 1 3 /

, accessed on April 19, 2018.



8.  (The Endless Story of the Oil Mafia/The Positions of the Oil Ministers of the Hashemi, Khatami and Ahmadinejad Governments on the Oil Mafia), Khabar Online, www.khabaronline.ir/news/117642/



9. Suzanne Maloney, Iran’s Political Economy Since the Revolution (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 321. 10.  “Average annual OPEC crude oil price from 1960 to 2018 (in US dollars per barrel),” Statista.com, https://www.statista.com/statistics/262858/change-in-opec-crude-oil-prices-since-1960/, accessed on March 7, 2018. 11.  (24% Reduction in Wage Value with Targeted Implementation/ Comparison of Minimum Wage in Hashemi, Khatami, Ahmadinejad Gov e r n m e n t ) ,   K h a b a r   N e w s ,   h t t p s : / / w w w. k h a b a r o n l i n e . i r / news/223889/ , accessed

, accessed on May 14, 2020.









on November 5, 2020.

12. Nader Habaibi, “Economic Legacy of Mahmud Ahmadinejad,” Middle East Brief, Crown Center for Middle East Studies (2014): 3. 13. “Iran’s Rationing System Working to Control Gasoline Consumption,” Oil & Gas Journal, https://www.ogj.com/articles/print/volume-106/ issue-44/general-interest/iranrsquos-rationing-system-working-to-control-gasoline-consumption.html, accessed on April 17, 2018. 14. Semira N. Nikou and Cameron Glenn, “The Subsidies Conundrum,” The Iran Primer (2010): 104–7. 15. Nader Habaibi, “Economic Legacy of Mahmud Ahmadinejad,” 4.

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16. “The World Bank In Islamic Republic of Iran,” The World Bank, http:// www.worldbank.org/en/country/iran/overview, accessed on April 20, 2020. 17. Djavad Salehi-Isfahani, Bryce Wilson Stucki, and Joshua Deutschmann, “The Reform of Energy Subsidies in Iran: The Role of Cash Transfers,” Emerging Markets finance and Trade 51, no. 6 (2015): 1144–62. 18. “Inflation, GDP Deflator (Annual %),” The World Bank, https://data. w o r l d b a n k . o r g / i n d i c a t o r / N Y . G D P. D E F L . KD.ZG?end=2016&locations=IR&start=1999, accessed on April 15, 2020. 19.  M. Stella Morgana, “Talking to Workers: From Khomeini to Ahmadinejad, How the Islamic Republic’s Discourse on Labor Changed Through May Day Speeches (1979‒2009),” Iranian Studies 52, no. 1–2 (2019): 151–52. 20.  Ibid. 21. Kaveh Ehsani, “Survival Through Dispossession: Privatization of Public Goods in the Islamic Republic,” Middle East Report 250 (2009): 26–33. 22. “‫”آفتاب یزد در گفتگو با کارشناسان سیاسی ادعای اصولگرایان در‌باره تغییر احمدی‌نژاد را بررسی کرده است‬ (In a Conversation with Political Experts, Aftāb Yazd has Examined the Fundamentalists’ Claims about Ahmadinejad’s Change), Aftāb-e Yazd, http://aftabeyazd.ir/99644- ‫احمدی‬-‫کذایی‬-‫دوگانه‬%E2%80%8C‫فعلی––قبلی‬-‫نژاد‬, accessed on December 3, 2020. 23. Kasra Naji, Ahmadinejad: The Secret History of Iran’s Radical Leader, 226. 24. “‫( ”مراحل ثبت نام مسکن مهر‬Registration Process for the Case Mehr Project), Mehr.ir, http://mehr.mrud.ir/, accessed on April 16, 2019. 25. “‫( ”زلزله غرب ایران؛ پرسش‌هایی در مورد طرح مسکن مهر‬Earthquake in the West of Iran. Questions about the Mehr Housing Project), BBC Persian, http://www.bbc.com/persian/iran-41963637, accessed on April 16, 2018. 26. Maskan-e Mehr, Tābnāk, https://www.tabnak.ir/fa/tags/4057/10/ ,

accessed on November 4, 2020.

27. “Ahmadinejad Deals with Aftershocks of Nuclear Negotiator’s Dismissal,” The  New  York  Times,  http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/23/world/ africa/23iht-iran.5.8024796.html, accessed on March 8, 2018. 28. Kasra Naji, Ahmadinejad: The Secret History of Iran’s Radical Leader, 258. 29.  The definition of “new authoritarianism” is given by Hen-Tov who claims that Iran in the 2000s faced a transition from theocracy to a conventional authoritarian state, due to the reformist experience and the

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redefinition of US foreign policy following the events of September 11, 2001. 30. Alireza N. Haghighi and Victoria Tahmasebi, “The ‘Velvet Revolution’ of Iranian Puritan Hardliners: Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s Rise to Power,” International Journal 61, no. 4 (2006): 959–70. 31.  Saeid Golkar, “Cultural Engineering Under Authoritarian Regimes: Islamization of Universities in Postrevolutionary Iran,” Digest of Middle East Studies 21, no. 1 (2012): 6. 32.  (Regulations for Establishing the Supreme Commission to Select University and Higher Education Professors with the Approval of the Supreme Recruitment Commission), irandoc.ac, https://irandoc.ac.ir/sites/fa/files/ attach/page/jazb-formation_0.pdf, accessed on March 12, 2019. 33. “‫( ”سازمان بسیج دانشجویی‬Organization of Basīj Students), Bso.ir, http:// www.bso.ir/, accessed on March 10, 2019. 34. “‫( ”سازمان بسیج اساتید کشور‬Organization of State Basīj Professors), Basijasatid.ir, http://basijasatid.ir/, accessed on 10 March 2019. 35. See the Supreme Leader’s speech to the Supreme Council of the Cultural Revolution: “‫( ”دیدار اعضای شورای عالی انقالب فرهنگی با رهبر انقالب‬Members of the Supreme Council of the Cultural Revolution met with the Leader of the Revolution),  Khamenei.ir,  https://farsi.khamenei.ir/news-content?id=12693, accessed on December 4, 2020. 36.  Saeid Golkar, “Cultural Engineering under Authoritarian Regimes: Islamization of Universities in Postrevolutionary Iran”, 7. 37. “Leader’s Address to Academics,” Khamenei.ir, http://english.khamenei. ir/news/1001/Leader-s-Address-to-Academics, accessed on March 10, 2019. 38. “Leader’s Speech in Meeting with Professors and Students of University of Science and Technology,” Khamenei.ir, http://english.khamenei.ir/ news/1899/Leader-s-Speech-in-Meeting-with-Professors-and-Students-ofUniversity, accessed on March 10, 2020. 39. Jahangir Amuzegar, “The Ahmadinejad Era: Preparing for the Apocalypse,” Journal of International Affairs 60, no. 2 (2007): 43. 40.  (The Opposition of Religious Authority to the Presence of Women in Football Stadiums), BBC Persian, http://www. bbc.com/persian/irers/stor y/2006/04/060426_mf_footbal.shtml, accessed on March 20, 2018. 41. “‫( ”اعتراض شدید جنتی به سخنان احمدی نژاد درباره حجاب‬Jannati Strongly Protests Ahmadinejad’s Remarks about hijab), BBC Persian, https://www.bbc. com/persian/iran/2010/06/100618_l38_iran89_fridayprayer_janati, accessed on December 4, 2020.

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42. “‫( ”قانون ساماندهی مد و لباس‬Law on the Organization of Fashion and Clothing), Nazarat.shora, http://nazarat.shora-rc.ir/Forms/FileLoad. aspx?id=t7QszE2MjMg=&TN=l7tLyhyOobj0SooAFUE3mxNvtpCLep2dxbPdNDkZ5RA=&NF=bHiIRfspeW0=, accessed on March 18, 2021. 43. Siavush Randjbar-Daemi, The Quest for Authority in Iran: A History of the Presidency from Revolution to Rouhani (London: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2017), 196. 44. Roozbeh Safshekan and Farzan Sabet, “The Ayatollah’s Praetorians: The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps and the 2009 Election Crisis,” The Middle East Journal 64, no. 4 (2010): 548. 45. Ali Alfoneh, “Changing of the Guards: Iran’s Supreme Leader Struggles to Control Military,” American Enterprise Institute, Middle Eastern Outlook 1 (2010): 4. 46.  Barry Buzan and Ole Waever, Regions and Powers: The Structure of International Security (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). 47.  Jahangir Amuzegar, “Iran’s Crumbling Revolution,” Foreign Affairs (2003): 44–57. 48.  Among Khamenei’s speeches ‫( آمریکا به مانند ابلیس اغواء میکند‬America seduces like Iblis (Satan)), Khamenei.ir, http://farsi.khamenei.ir/ newspart-index?tid=1195, accessed on March 15, 2019; “Leader’s Address to Education Ministry Officials,” Khamenei.ir, http://english. khamenei.ir/news/159/Leader-s-Address-to-Education-MinistryOfficials, accessed on March 15, 2020. 49. See Nikkie R Keddie, “The Iranian Power Structure and Social Change 1800–1969: An Overview,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 2, no. 1 (1971): 10–11. 50. Maike Warnaar, Iranian Foreign Policy during Ahmadinejad: Ideology and Actions (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), Chapter 7. See also “Iran: Silenced, Expelled, Imprisoned: Repression of Students and Academics in Iran,” Amnesty International, https://www.amnesty.org/ en/documents/MDE13/015/2014/en/, accessed on November 29, 2020. 51. “History of Masjid Jamkaran,” al Islam, https://www.al-islam.org/history-masjid-jamkaran/history-masjid-jamkaran, accessed on March 21, 2018. 52. “‫( ”دولت احمدی نژاد و ظهور امام زمان‬Ahmadinejad’s Government and the Emergence of Imām Zamān), Aftāb News, https://aftabnews.ir/fa/ news/30111/‫زمان‬-‫امام‬-‫ظهور‬-‫و‬-‫نژاد‬-‫احمدی‬-‫دولت‬, accessed on December 5, 2020.

5  RADICALIZING THE CONSERVATIVE FRONT: AHMADINEJAD’S DOMESTIC … 







191

53. To know more about Islamic messianism, see: Abdulaziz Abdulhussein Sachedina, Islamic messianism: the idea of Mahdi in Twelver Shi’ism (New York: SUNY Press, 1981). 54. See: Abdulaziz Abdulhussein Sachedina, The Just Ruler in Shi’ite Islam: The Comprehensive Authority of the Jurist in Imamite Jurisprudence (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), in particular Chapter 3. 55. Shīʽa believers adopted the practice of taqīyya to hide or even deny their faith and therefore avoid abuse by Sunni rulers. 56. Ali Rahnema, Superstition as ideology in Iranian Politics: From Majlesi to Ahmadinejad (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011), part I. 57. “Address by H. E. Dr. Mahmood Ahmadinejad President of the Islamic Republic of Iran before the Sixtieth Session of the United Nations General Assembly New York—17 September 2005,” United Nations, http://www.un.org/webcast/ga/60/statements/iran050917eng.pdf, accessed on March 22, 2020. 58.  “Transcript of Ahmadinejad’s U.N. Speech,” National Public Radio, https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=6107339, accessed on March 22, 2020. 59. “Dr. Ahmadinejad Fox News Interview | Sept. 24, 2010,” YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2IJpMfGgszY, accessed on March 22, 2019. 60. “Mahmoud Ahmadinejad Speech to Columbia University 24 September 2007,” YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OD1PnbJwfSw, accessed on March 21, 2020. 61. “‫( ”متن سخنراني احمدي نژاد در منا‬Text of Ahmadinejad’s speech in Mena), Farda  News,  https://www.fardanews.com/fa/news/43144/ ‫منا‬-‫در‬-‫نژاد‬-‫احمدي‬-‫سخنراني‬-‫متن‬, accessed on June 18, 2020. 62. “‫”احمدي نژاد آمريکا آمريکا عراق را اشغال کرد چون مي دانست امام ز اين منطقه ظهور مي‬ (Ahmadinejad: America Has Invaded Iraq Because They Know That the Imām Will Reappear in This Region), YouTube, https://www.youtube. com/watch?v=-GQVZmmM-a0, accessed on March 22, 2020. 63.  The concept of clerical-engineer or mojtahandes, in Mohammed Tavakoli-Targhi, “The Emergence of Clerico-Engineering as a Form of Governance in Iran,” Iran Nāmeh 17 (2012). 64. Jean-Pierre Filiu, “The Return of Political Mahdism,” Current Trends in Islamist Ideology 8 (2009): 29–31. 65.  Said Amir Arjomand, After Khomeini: Iran Under His Successors (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 156–57. 66.  Mehdi Khalaji, “Apocalyptic Politics: On the Rationality of Iranian Policy,” Washington Institute for Near East Policy (WINEP), Policy Focus 79 (2008).

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67.  Mohebat Ahdiyyih, “Ahmadinejad and the Mahdi,” Middle East Quarterly 15, no. 4 (2008). Also see Shaul Shaked, “Eschatology i. In Zoroastrianism and Zoroastrian Influence,” Encyclopaedia Iranica 8, no. 6 (1998): 565–69. 68.  Mehdi Khalaji, “Apocalyptic Politics: On the Rationality of Iranian Policy,” 14. 69. “‫(  ” نظرامام جمعه مشهد درباره سخنرانی احمدی نژاد‬The Idea of Mashhad’s Friday Imām on Ahmadinejad’s Speech), Farda News, https://www.fardanews.com/fa/news/51632/ ‫نژاد‬-‫احمدی‬-‫سخنرانی‬-‫درباره‬-‫مشهد‬-‫جمعه‬-‫نظرامام‬, accessed on June 24, 2018. 70. “Global Arms Trade: USA Increases Dominance; Arms Flows to the Middle East Surge, Says SIPRI,” Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, https://www.sipri.org/media/press-release/2019/globalarms-trade-usa-increases-dominance-arms-flows-middle-east-surge-sayssipri, accessed on June 6, 2020. 71. Said Amir Arjomand, “Has Iran’s Islamic Revolution Ended?” Radical History Review 2009, no. 105 (2009), 133. 72. Kenneth N. Waltz, “Why Iran Should Get the Bomb: Nuclear Balancing Would Mean Stability,” Foreign Affairs 91 (2012). 73. Ivi., 31–32. 74. Arshin Adib-Moghaddam, The International Politics of the Persian Gulf: A Cultural Genealogy (Abingdon: Routledge, 2006), 35. 75.  Among others: Anoushiravan Ehteshami, “The Foreign Policy of Iran,” in The Foreign Policies of Middle East States, ed. by Raymond A. Hinnebusch and Anoushiravan Ehteshami (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2002), 283–84; Trita Parsi, Treacherous Alliance: The Secret Dealings of Israel, Iran, and the United States (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007); Brenda Shaffer, “The Islamic Republic of Iran; Is It Really?,” in The limits of Culture: Islam and Foreign Policy, ed. by Brenda Shaffer (Cambridge; London: MIT Press, 2006). 76.  Art 176, Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran, accessible at https://www.wipo.int/edocs/lexdocs/laws/en/ir/ir001en.pdf. 77.  Mahjoob Zweiri, “Arab-Iranian Relations: New Realities?” in Iran’s Foreign Policy: From Khatami to Ahmadinejad, ed. by Anoushiravan Ehteshami and Mahjoob Zweiri (Reading: Ithaca Press, 2008): 115–28. 78. Banafsheh Keynoush, Saudi Arabia and Iran: Friends Or Foes? (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016), 12. 79.  Ross Colvin, “‘Cut Off Head of Snake’ Saudis Told U.S. on Iran,” Reuters, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-wikileaks-iransaudis/cutoff-head-of-snake-saudis-told-u-s-on-iran-idUSTRE6AS02B20101129, accessed on November 15, 2020. 80. Vali Nasr, The Shia Revival (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2006).

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81.  Ivi., 173. 82.  Amir M. Haji-Yousefi, “Iran’s Foreign Policy During Ahmadinejad: From Confrontation to Accommodation,” Alternatives: Turkish Journal of International Relations 9, no. 2 (2010): 9–10. 83. Frederic Wehrey et al., Saudi-Iranian Relations Since the Fall of Saddam: Rivalry, Cooperation, and Implications for US Policy (Santa Monica: Rand Corporation, 2009). 84. Peter Jones, “Hope and Disappointment: Iran and the Arab Spring,” Survival 55, no. 4 (2013): 73–84. 85.  Mahmood Monshipouri and Anthony Zamary, “Re-evaluating IranEgypt Relations: A Look at the Evolving Geopolitical Context,” Insight Turkey 19, no. 2 (2017). 86.  Ivi., 222–23. 87.  Erik Mohns and André Bank, “Syrian Revolt Fallout: End of the Resistance Axis?” Middle East Policy 19, no. 3 (2012). 88. Geneive Abdo and Reza H. Akbari, “Morsi’s Just Not That into Iran,” Foreign Policy, http://foreignpolicy.com/2012/08/30/morsis-justnot-that-into-iran/, accessed on June 19, 2020. 89. Meris Lutz, “Iran’s Supreme Leader Calls Uprisings an ‘Islamic awakening’,” Los Angeles Time, http://articles.latimes.com/2011/feb/04/ world/la-fg-khamenei-iran-egypt-20110205, accessed on June 19, 2020. 90. Nader Habibi, “Turkey and Iran: Growing Economic Relations Despite Western Sanctions,” Middle East Brief 62 (2012). 91. William Hale, “Turkey and the Middle East in the ‘New Era’,” Insight Turkey 11, no. 3 (2009): 153. 92.  Daphne McCurdy, “Turkish-Iranian Relations: When Opposites Attract,” Turkish Policy Quarterly 7, no. 2 (2008): 87–106. 93. “Address by H.E. Dr. Mahmood Ahmadinejad President of the Islamic Republic of Iran before the Sixtieth Session of the United Nations General Assembly New York—17 September 2005.” 94.  For a complete Persian language version of Ahmadinejad’s speech see: “‫”متن کامل سخنرانی سخنرانی دکتر احمدی احمدی نژاد در همایش جهان بدون صهیونیسم‬ (Full Text of Ahmadinejad’s Speech at the Conference of the World Without Zionism), Ensani, http://www.ensani.ir/fa/content/122143/default. aspx, accessed on March 25, 2021. 95. Abdullah Toukan, “Study on a Possible Israeli Strike on Iran’s Nuclear Development Facilities,” Center for Strategic and International Issues, March 2009, also available at https://csis-website-prod.s3.amazonaws. com/s3fs-public/legacy_files/files/media/csis/pubs/090316_israelistrikeiran.pdf.

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96. “‫( ”احمدی نژاد “بُت هولوکاست” را شکسته است‬Ahmadinejad Broke “The Cult of the Holocaust”), YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZkVBLHYhYls, accessed on March 24, 2020. 97. “‫( ”انکار هولوکاست توسط احمدی نژاد‬Holocaust Denial by Ahmadinejad), YouTube,  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v= WohFklzHHDY&t=38s, accessed on March 25, 2020. 98. Kayhan Barzegar, “Iran’s Foreign Policy Strategy After Saddam,” The Washington Quarterly 33, no. 1 (2010): 173–89. 99. Kamran Taremi, “Iranian Foreign Policy Towards Occupied Iraq, 2003– 05,” Middle East Policy 12, no. 4 (2005): 28–47. 100.  Babak Rahimi, “Iran’s Declining Influence in Iraq,” The Washington Quarterly 35, no. 1 (2012): 28. 101. Joshua Partlow, “Tehran’s Influence Grows as Iraqis See Advantages,” The Washington Post, January 26, 2007, https://www.washingtonpost. com/archive/politics/2007/01/26/tehrans-influence-grows-as-iraqis-see-advantages/f24f32c3-86be-4ee5-be37-637d0e493b84/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.99133fba55fe, accessed on July 9, 2020. 102. Harith Hasan Al-Qarawee, “From Maliki to Abadi: The Challenge of Being Iraq’s Prime Minister,” Middle East Brief, no. 100 (2016). 103. Safa Rasul Al-Sheikh and Emma Sky, “Iraq since 2003: Perspectives on a divided society,” Survival 53, no. 4 (2011), 122–23. 104.  Erik Mohns and André Bank, “Syrian Revolt Fallout: End of the Resistance Axis?,” 25–35. 105. Maaike Warnaar, Iranian Foreign Policy During Ahmadinejad: Ideology and Actions, 7–88. 106. Anoushiravan Ehteshami and Mahjoob Zweiri, Iran and the Rise of Its Neoconservatives: The Politics of Tehran’s Silent Revolution (London; New York: I.B. Tauris, 2007), 106. 107. Walter Posch, “The Third World, Global Islam and Pragmatism: The Making of Iranian Foreign Policy,” SWP Research Paper 3 (2013): 27–28. 108. Teresa Cespedes, “Chavez Says Iran Helping Venezuela find Uranium,” Reuters,  https://www.reuters.com/article/us-venezuela-iran-uranium/chavez-says-iran-helping-venezuela-find-uranium-idUSTRE59G1WQ20091017?feedType=RSS&feedName=topNews, accessed on June 16, 2020. 109. Anoushiravan Ehteshami and Mahjoob Zweiri, Iran and the Rise of Its Neoconservatives: The Politics of Tehran’s Silent Revolution, 120. 110. Address by H. E. Dr. Mahmood Ahmadinejad President of the Islamic Republic of Iran before the Sixtieth Session of the United Nations General Assembly New York—17 September 2005, United Nations.

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111. Nazila Fathi, David E. Sanger and William J. Broad, “Iran Says It Is Making Nuclear Fuel, Defying U.N,” The New York Times, https:// www.nytimes.com/2006/04/12/world/middleeast/12iran.html, accessed on June 14, 2020. 112.  “Ahmadinejad’s Letter to Bush,” Washtington Post, http://www. washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/ar ticle/2006/05/09/ AR2006050900878.html, accessed on June 16, 2020. 113. Rey Takeyh, Guardians of the Revolution: Iran and the World in the Age of the Ayatollahs (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 239. 114. The chief negotiator ʽAli Larijani was replaced by Saʽid Jalili. 115.  UNSCR Search engine for the United Nations Security Council Resolutions, http://unscr.com/en/resolutions, accessed on April 3, 2021. 116. “Timeline of Nuclear Diplomacy With Iran,” Arms Control Association, https://www.armscontrol.org/factsheet/Timeline-of-NuclearDiplomacy-With-Iran, accessed on April 4, 2020. 117.  “UPDATE 1-Ahmadinejad Labels Iran Sanctions ‘Worthless Paper’,” Reuters, https://www.reuters.com/article/nuclear-iran-china-idAFSGE65A0AY20100611, accessed on April 4, 2020. 118.  “IAEA Draft Agreement Circulated at Nuclear Fuel Talks,” IAEA, https://www.iaea.org/newscenter/news/iaea-draft-agreement-circulated-nuclear-fuel-talks, accessed on December 3, 2020. 119. “‫ آماده توافق اتمی هستیم‬:‫( ”احمدی نژاد‬Ahmadinejad: We Are Ready for a Nuclear  Deal),  BBC  Persian,  https://www.bbc.com/persian/ iran/2009/12/091218_wmj-ahmadinejad-nuclear,  accessed  on November 29, 2020. 120. Ephraim Asculai and Emily B. Landau, “The Nuclear Fuel Deal: A Gift to Iran?” INSS Insight, no. 184 (2010). 121. “Security Council Imposes Additional Sanctions on Iran, Voting 12 in Favour to 2 Against, with 1 Abstention,” United Nations, https://www. un.org/press/en/2010/sc9948.doc.htm, accessed on April 5, 2020. 122. “Comprehensive Iran Sanctions, Accountability, and Divestment Act of 2010,” Treasury.gov, https://www.treasury.gov/resource-center/sanctions/Documents/hr2194.pdf, accessed on April 5, 2020. 123. COUNCIL DECISION of 26 July 2010 concerning restrictive measures against Iran and repealing Common Position 2007/140/CFSP, Official Journal of the European Union, available at https://eur-lex.europa.eu/ LexUriServ/LexUriServ.do?uri=OJ:L:2010:195:0039:0073:EN:PDF. 124.  “Council regulation (EU) No 961/2010 of 25 October 2010 on restrictive measures against Iran and repealing Regulation (EC) No 423/2007,” Official Journal of the European Union, http://eur-lex. europa.eu/LexUriServ/LexUriServ.do?uri=OJ:L:2010:281:0001:0077 :EN:PDF, accessed on April 5, 2020.

196  G. PERLETTA 125. Zachary Laub, “International Sanctions on Iran,” Council on Foreign Relations,  https://www.cfr.org/backgrounder/international-sanctions-iran, accessed on April 5, 2020. 126. Abdol Majid Cheraghali, “Impacts of International Sanctions on Iranian Pharmaceutical Market,” DARU Journal of Pharmaceutical Sciences 21, no. 1 (2013). 127. “Implementation of the NPT Safeguards Agreement and relevant provisions of Security Council resolutions in the Islamic Republic of Iran,” IAEA,  https://www.iaea.org/sites/default/files/gov2012-55.pdf, accessed on April 5, 2020. 128. Peter Jones, “US–Iran Nuclear Track Two from 2005 to 2011: What Have We Learned? Where Are We Going?” Negotiation Journal 30, no. 4 (2014): 354–55. 129. Mehdi Khalaji, “The domestic logic behind Iran’s foreign policy plots,” Japan Times, https://www.japantimes.co.jp/opinion/2011/11/05/ commentary/world-commentary/the-domestic-logic-behind-irans-foreign-policy-plots/#.WyPAhaczbIV, accessed on June 12, 2020. 130. Ruhollah K. Ramazani, “Iran’s Foreign Policy: Independence, Freedom and the Islamic Republic,” in Iran’s Foreign Policy from Khatami to Ahmadinejad, 1–15.

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200  G. PERLETTA “‫( سازمان بسیج اساتید کشور‬Organization of State Basiī Professors).” Basijasatid.ir. http://basijasatid.ir (accessed March 10, 2019). “‫( سازمان بسیج دانشجویی‬Organization of Basiī Students).” Bso.ir. http://www.bso. ir/ (accessed March 10, 2019). “‫( شعارهای انتخاباتی ائتالف فراگیر اصولگرایان اعالم شد‬The Electoral Slogans of the Pervasive Coalition of the Principalists have been Announced).” Asriran. http://www. asriran.com/fa/news/36913/  ‫شد‬-‫اعالم‬-‫اصولگرایان‬-‫فراگیر‬-‫ائتالف‬-‫انتخاباتی‬-‫شعارهای‬ (accessed April 10, 2018). “‫( قانون ساماندهی مد و لباس‬Law on the Organization of Fashon and Clothing).” Nazarat.shora. http://nazarat.shora-rc.ir/Forms/FileLoad.aspx?id=t7QszE2MjMg=&TN=l7tL yhyOobj0SooAFUE3mxNvtpCLep2dxbPdNDkZ5RA=&NF=bHiIRfspeW0= (accessed March 18, 2021). “‫( متن کامل سخنرانی دکتر احمدی نژاد در همایش جهان بدون صهیونیسم‬Full Text of Ahmadinejad’s Speech at the Conference of the World without Zionism).” Ensani. http://www.ensani.ir/fa/content/122143/default.aspx (accessed March 25, 2021). “‫( مخالفت مراجع مذهبی با حضور زنان در ورزشگاههای فوتبال‬The Opposition of Religious Authority to the Presence of Women in Football Stadiums).” BBC Persian. http://www.bbc.com/persian/irers/story/2006/04/060426_mf_footbal. shtml (accessed March 20, 2018). “‫( مراحل ثبت نام مسکن مهر‬Registration Process for the Case Mehr Project).” Mehr.ir. h t t p : / / m e h r . m r u d . i r /    ( a c c e s s e d    A p r i l    1 6 ,    2 0 1 8 ) .

(24% Reduction in Wage Value with Targeted Implementation/Comparison of Minimum Wage in Hashemi, Khatami, Ahmadinejad Government).” Khabar  News.  https://www.khabaronline.ir/news/223889/

(accessed November 5, 2020). “‫ با شارالتان بازی نمی‌توان جلوی قانون راگرفت‬:‫کنایه صریح احمد خاتمی به احمدی نژاد و یارانش‬ (Ahmad Khatami’s Explicit Irony to Ahmadinejad and His Allies: You can’t Play with Charlatans).” Donyā-e eqtesād. https://donya-e-eqtesad. com/

(accessed May 21, 2020).

Abdo, Geneive, and Akbari, Reza H. “Morsi’s Just Not That into Iran.” Foreign Policy.  http://foreignpolicy.com/2012/08/30/morsis-just-not-that-intoiran/ (accessed June 19, 2020). Adib-Moghaddam, Arshin. The International Politics of the Persian Gulf: A Cultural Genealogy. Abingdon: Routledge, 2006. Ahdiyyih, Mohebat. “Ahmadinejad and the Mahdi.” Middle East Quarterly 15, no. 4 (2008).

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Alfoneh, Ali. “Changing of the Guards: Iran’s Supreme Leader Struggles to Control Military.” American Enterprise Institute, Middle Eastern Outlook, no. 1 (2010). Al-Qarawee, Harith Hasan. “From Maliki to Abadi: The Challenge of being Iraq’s Prime Minister.” Middle East Brief, no. 100 (2016). Al-Sheikh, Safa Rasul and Emma Sky. “Iraq since 2003: Perspectives on a Divided Society.” Survival 53, no. 4 (2011): 119–42. Amuzegar, Jahangir. “The Ahmadinejad Era: Preparing for the Apocalypse.” Journal of International Affairs 60, no. 2 (2007): 35–53. ———. “Iran’s Crumbling Revolution.” Foreign Affairs (2003): 44–57. Ansari, Ali. “Iran Under Ahmadinejad: Populism and Its Malcontents.” International Affairs 84, no. 4 (2008): 683–700. Arjomand, Said Amir. “Has Iran’s Islamic Revolution Ended?” Radical History Review 2009, no. 105 (2009): 132–38. Asculai, Ephraim and Emily B. Landau. “The Nuclear Fuel Deal: A Gift to Iran?” INSS Insight, no. 184 (2010). Barzegar, Kayhan. “Iran’s Foreign Policy Strategy After Saddam.” The Washington Quarterly 33, no. 1 (2010): 173–89. Buzan, Barry and Ole Waever, eds. Regions and Powers: The Structure of International Security. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Cespedes, Teresa. “Chavez Says Iran Helping Venezuela Find Uranium.” Reuters.  https://www.reuters.com/ar ticle/us-venezuela-iran-uranium/chavez-says-iran-helping-venezuela-find-uranium-idUSTRE59G1WQ20091017?feedType=RSS&feedName=topNews (accessed June 16, 2020). Cheraghali, Abdol Majid. “Impacts of International Sanctions on Iranian Pharmaceutical Market.” DARU Journal of Pharmaceutical Sciences 21, no. 1 (2013). Colvin, Ross. “‘Cut Off Head of Snake’ Saudis Told U.S. on Iran, Reuters, November 2010.” Reuters. https://www.reuters.com/article/us-wikileaks-iransaudis/cut-of f-head-of-snake-saudis-told-u-s-on-iran-idUSTRE6AS02B20101129 (accessed November 15, 2020). Ehsani, Kaveh. “Survival through Dispossession: Privatization of Public Goods in the Islamic Republic.” Middle East Report, no. 250 (2009): 26–33. Ehteshami, Anoushiravan and Mahjoob Zweiri. Iran and the Rise of Its Neoconservatives: The Politics of Tehran’s Silent Revolution. London; New York: I.B. Tauris, 2007. Fathi, Nazila, Sanger, David E. and Broad, William J. “Iran Says It Is Making Nuclear Fuel, Defying U.N.” The New York Times. https://www.nytimes. com/2006/04/12/world/middleeast/12iran.html (accessed June 14, 2018).

202  G. PERLETTA Filiu, Jean-Pierre. “The Return of Political Mahdism.” Current Trends in Islamist Ideology 8 (2009): 26–32. Gaietta, Michele. The Trajectory of Iran’s Nuclear Program. New York: Springer, 2016. Golkar, Saeid. “Cultural Engineering Under Authoritarian Regimes: Islamization of Universities in Postrevolutionary Iran.” Digest of Middle East Studies 21, no. 1 (2012): 1–23. Habaibi, Nader. “Economic Legacy of Mahmud Ahmadinejad.” Middle East Brief, Crown Center for Middle East Studies (2014). Habibi, Nader. “Turkey and Iran: Growing Economic Relations Despite Western Sanctions.” Middle East Brief 62 (2012). Haghighatjoo, Fatemeh. “Iran’s March 14, 2008 Majlis Elections Part 2.” Middle East Institute. http://www.mei.edu/content/irans-march-14-2008majlis-elections-part-2#_ftn1 (accessed April 8, 2018). Haghighi, Alireza N. and Victoria Tahmasebi. “The ‘Velvet Revolution’ of Iranian Puritan Hardliners: Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s Rise to Power.” International Journal 61, no. 4 (2006): 959–70. Haji-Yousefi, Amir M. “Iran’s Foreign Policy During Ahmadinejad: From Confrontation to Accommodation.” Alternatives: Turkish Journal of International Relations 9, no. 2 (2010). Hale, William. “Turkey and the Middle East in the ‘New Era’.” Insight Turkey 11, no. 3 (2009): 143. Hinnebusch, Raymond A. and Anoushiravan Ehteshami. The Foreign Policies of Middle East States. Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2002. Jones, Peter. “Hope and Disappointment: Iran and the Arab Spring.” Survival 55, no. 4 (2013): 73–84. ———. “US–Iran Nuclear Track Two from 2005 to 2011: What Have We Learned? Where Are We Going?” Negotiation Journal 30, no. 4 (2014): 347–66. Keddie, Nikki R. “The Iranian Power Structure and Social Change 1800–1969: An Overview.” International Journal of Middle East Studies 2, no. 1 (1971): 3–20. Keynoush, Banafsheh. Saudi Arabia and Iran: Friends or Foes? New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. Khalaji, Mehdi. “The Domestic Logic Behind Iran’s Foreign Policy Plots.” Japan Times. https://www.japantimes.co.jp/opinion/2011/11/05/commentary/ world-commentary/the-domestic-logic-behind-irans-foreign-policy-plots/#. WyPAhaczbIV (accessed June 12, 2020). ———. “Apocalyptic Politics: On the Rationality of Iranian Policy.” Washington Institute for Near East Policy (WINEP), Policy Focus 79 (2008).

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CHAPTER 6

The Decline of Ahmadinejad’s Circle and a New Quest for Legitimacy

The 2009 Elections as a Turning Point With the famous slogan: “mītavānīm pas mīshavad”1 (we can, so it is possible), Mehdi Kalhor, the cultural advisor of the outgoing President, launched Ahmadinejad’s communication strategy for the presidential elections that were to be held in June 2009. Four years earlier, Ahmadinejad, the then-mayor of Tehran, had emerged rather unexpectedly onto the political scene and was a relatively unknown quantity to most of the population. In 2009, however, the Iranian people were now deeply familiar with him, as well as being fully aware of his unfulfilled promises. During his first term, as previously explored, Ahmadinejad had not managed to alleviate economic disparities nor had he delivered his project of social justice, which remained a cornerstone of his political rhetoric. While the Islamic Republic entered into a period of maximum international isolation and severe economic sanctions, due to the negotiations over the nuclear programme being at an impasse, the domestic political landscape grew more and more polarized. The fractures within conservative circles were now glaringly evident and could no longer be ignored or glossed over. Of course, the election campaign for local councils and members of parliament in 2006 had already displayed rifts among the conservative front and between the old guard and those of the second generation. As examined in Chapter 4, tensions arose as a © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 G. Perletta, Political Radicalism in Iran and Ahmadinejad’s Presidencies, Studies in Iranian Politics, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87330-1_6

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206  G. PERLETTA

result of Ahmadinejad’s economic policies, his struggle with the legislative power and his contentious approach to foreign politics. Pragmatic conservatives and the traditional clergy had emphasized the strengthening of revolutionary principles in order to solidify the status quo, whereas Ahmadinejad had come to power off the back of that very same rhetoric, which he used to attract and convince his circle of allies and then to mount a challenge against the ruling establishment. This risked damaging the image of the conservative front, which found itself internally divided, witnessing a deepening rift between high- and low-ranking clerics and even a polarization within the military, and above all pervaded by a sense of “political deviance,” as this chapter will examine. From 2009, Ahmadinejad’s political trajectory would provoke severe social and political criticism, but it would also reveal the existence of a political minority within the nezām, which was ready to overturn consolidated power structures through populist demands and nationalistic fervour. The Guardian Council permitted only four candidates to stand for election in 2009. Among them, in addition to the outgoing President, were Mohsen Rezai, who represented the conservative faction, and two nominees from the reformist front. One of them was the former spokesman for the majles, Mehdi Karrubi, who was a reformist cleric and founder of the Hezb-e Eʿtemād-e Mellī (Party of National Trust).2 The second was Mir Hoseyn Musavi, a former Prime Minister (1981–1989) and a figure who had been previously marginalized due to his disagreements with ʽAli Khamenei, who had at that time been President of the Republic. Musavi was very close to āyatollāh Khomeyni and was a former member of the Islamic Left who had advocated for greater state control over the economy. Despite being marginalized after the 1980s, he still maintained sufficient revolutionary credentials and, therefore, the Guardian Council were unlikely to disqualify him. Ahmadinejad enjoyed the support of the Supreme Leader, while Mir Hoseyn was supported by former President Khatami, who had withdrawn his own candidacy in order to back that of the former Prime Minister. Mir Hoseyn Musavi was not the most expected choice of candidate for reformist voters. He could not call himself a gheyr-e khodī, primarily because of his political involvement in the post-revolutionary years, and, given that he was a prominent figure in the first decade after the revolution, he had been one of the key architects responsible for the current structure of the nezām. Musavi was also a relatively unknown figure in the eyes of the country’s youth, who had by the early 2000s assumed an important role in the election

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process. As of today, about 60% of Iran’s 80 million population is under the age of 30, meaning that for many the 2009 election was there first time voting.3 Therefore, at first glance, it is difficult to ascertain what led Iranians to give their support to Musavi. One decisive factor was almost certainly the endorsement of Mohammad Khatami, who was still seen as a major authority by reformist voters. In the June before the election, as argued by the reformist intellectual Sadegh Zibakalam, hundreds of young people and students gathered in the streets and universities in Tehran to show their support for Mir Hoseyn simply because he had been endorsed by the former reformist President.4 Young voters demonstrated their support for Musavi by tying a green bandana, the colour of his electoral campaign, around their wrists. During my fieldwork in Iran, when speaking with some educated young students between the ages of 28 and 34 from different urban areas, such as Tehran, Shiraz and Hamedan, it emerged that many did not really consider Musavi an agent of change, nor had he been absolved of responsibility for being a part of the same political class accountable for the current dysfunctional system.5 He was, rather, considered a key player in the crystallization of the Islamic Republic and a core member of the establishment, who after the end of his prime ministership was no longer politically relevant. However, the political landscape in 2009 was very different compared to previous decades. Musavi was seen as the only alternative to Ahmadinejad and the only possibility of bringing about change domestically. Nonetheless, there were also people who reconfirmed their support for Ahmadinejad or opted to give it to him for the first time. Thanks to high oil revenues, the populist economic policies implemented by the outgoing President were welcomed by low-income and poor families. For instance, a taxi driver in Shiraz, with whom I had an informal conversation, said that he had voted for Khatami in 1997, but then switched his vote to Ahmadinejad in 2009. Though he was not persuaded by the President’s socio-political plans, the cash subsidies were extremely appealing to him and went some way to meeting his economic needs. The main competition turned out to be between Mir Hoseyn and the outgoing President, two figures who shared the same revolutionary principles. However, while Musavi had embraced the eslāhtalāb front, Ahmadinejad had persisted with revolutionary orthodoxy, so much so that he was considered a neoconservative. The main focus of the election campaign was the economy, at a time when Iran benefitted from high oil revenues and Ahmadinejad was considered responsible for the

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mismanagement of state resources. The theme of social justice, a pillar of the Islamic Left, was used by both candidates, though approached from different perspectives. Ahmadinejad framed the fight for social justice as a way to eliminate corruption and social-economic disparities, while Mir Hoseyn interpreted the same concept to mean the provision of employment and the respect for civil liberties while limiting state interference in individuals’ lives.6 Debates between the candidates were also broadcast on Iranian television channels, an innovative practise that had the advantage of bringing the political campaign to the attention of the wider public.7 Perhaps thanks to these public debates, the weeks leading up to the vote showed renewed popular interest in the upcoming elections, unlike those held in 2005 when popular dissatisfaction with the political elite and the intrusive role of the Guardian Council had discouraged many from voting. Despite the country’s growing international isolation and the detrimental effects suffered as a result of economic sanctions, Ahmadinejad leveraged nationalistic sentiment to overshadow any concerns surrounding his questionable domestic and economic policies. Iran had returned to being a major regional power throughout the 2000s, assuming a position of strength due to the president’s uncompromising attitude to the West in relation to the nuclear program.8 The more that internal domestic politics descended into continuous clashes between the warring elites, and the more evidence there was of widespread discontent among young people over the closure of public spaces, and of the poorer classes due to the lack of any improvements in living standards, the more Ahmadinejad diverted attention to his perceived successes in foreign politics. On June 12, over 39 million Iranians went to the polls, recording a turnout of about 85% (at least according to official data).9 These figures look questionable due to the absence of any empirical study able to prove and verify the numbers. Typically, the mainstream narrative in Iran sees high turnout at elections as an expression of pro-reformist support, as voters consider the election the only possible way to bring about changes within the system and balance the number of conservatives within unelected institutions. Lower turnout, on the other hand, is usually a sign of victory for conservative candidates. This trend has been reflected in election results ever since the emergence of the pragmatic-reformist front in the mid-1990s. If these assumptions are proved to be correct, then the high turnout witnessed in 2009 would seem to signify a widespread popular desire for change, a claim further supported by the

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fact that those provinces with a significant increase in voter turnout did not support Ahmadinejad.10 Moreover, since the low turnout in 2005 had resulted in Ahmadinejad’s victory, large mass participation in 2009 appeared to signify an attempt to remove him from office.11 Surprisingly for many Iranians, the outcome of the 2009 elections did not appear to epitomize a widespread popular desire for change, even despite many segments of society having suffered greatly from social restrictions, such as students, women and intellectuals.12 The Minister of the Interior communicated news of Ahmadinejad’s victory, while Musavi was proclaiming his own success to his supporters. Ahmadinejad obtained more than 24 million votes, about 63% of those who cast a ballot, while Mir Hoseyn scored roughly half of that figure (13 million votes, 32%).13 The other candidates achieved derisory results: Mohsen Rezai obtained 681,851 votes (1.75%) and Mehdi Karrubi only 338,278 (0.87%).14 Although it is difficult to either confirm or contest these numbers, suspicions of irregularities arose from the fact that Ahmadinejad had won in almost every province with the exception of Western Azerbaijan and the Sistan Baluchistan, where Musavi gained a slim majority by only a few more votes.15 There were also rumours that, in certain districts, the number of votes tallied exceeded the number of eligible voters and that many had not shown their shenāsnāmeh (identity card) when casting their ballot, thereby potentially enabling an individual to vote more than once.16 According to a study published by Chatham House, the irregularities in the 2009 elections were fairly evident. In some cases, like in the provinces of Yazd and Mazandaran, turnout had reached 100%. Looking at these numbers, it suggests that Ahmadinejad had managed to secure support from pragmatic-centrist voters and even 44% of the votes from reformist sympathizers—a highly improbable outcome.17 The alleged lack of accuracy in the entire electoral process and, above all else, the suspected manipulation of results was the main basis for reformist complaints. The eslāhtalābān criticized the system as being fraudulent, due to the lack of independent oversight, and called on their supporters to peacefully take to the street in an act of protest. On June 15 about three million citizens responded to the call from reformist leaders and occupied the streets of Tehran to contest Ahmadinejad’s victory. At the same time, other protests erupted across other Iranian cities, which would continue over the course of the following weeks. The Islamic Republic witnessed the largest demonstrations since the 1979 revolution: young people, students, workers, those in the suburbs and peripheries, residents

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of rural villages, professionals, urban middle classes and traders all contested the result of the election, deploying the famous slogan rāʾy-e man kojāst? (where is my vote?).18 These street protests, which started as an immediate expression of discontent after the elections, were effectively a prelude to the eruption of a heterogeneous popular movement, one that stood in opposition to the incumbent government and which would eventually result in a major turning point in post-revolutionary Iranian history.19 The aftermath of the 2009 election was, therefore, an explosion of popular discontent, especially against current social and political measures that were considered illiberal and autocratic. The electoral process was meant to be an important and legitimate expression of the people’s will, even though the choice of candidates was deliberately limited due to the intrusive role of the Guardian Council.20 Despite appeals from the defeated candidates and a partial recount of the votes, the Supreme Leader declared the election result valid on the basis of the high turnout.21 Days before the election, the rahbar had argued that the issue of electoral fraud was being stoked up by malevolent individuals who sought to work against the Islamic Republic.22 Although not directly, ʽAli Khamenei was blamed for this fraud—or, at the very least, was considered a key figure who benefited from the declared results. The Supreme Leader had, in fact, personally disagreed with the former Prime Minister’s politics, but he likely believed that he would be able to control Ahmadinejad, in spite of the latter’s excessive rhetoric. Since the demonstrations continued to occur, the government decided to carry out a series of repressive manoeuvres, which may well be regarded as the bloodiest and most counterproductive measures in the republic’s history.23 Pāsdārān and basīj, the effective enforcers of the Supreme Leader’s will, were authorized to suppress the rallies, which resulted in violent clashes with protestors and lead to many deaths, multiple injuries and hundreds of arbitrary arrests. Indeed, it is not without reason that, according to Human Rights Watch, since 2009 Iran has witnessed a steep deterioration in the respect for human rights, especially those of women, students and intellectuals. These popular protests, which took the collective name of Mūj-e Sabz (Green Wave) from the colour that had been associated with Musavi’s campaign, and had been started with the aim of contesting the election’s outcome, continued until February of the following year. The violent and disproportionate response only served to demonstrate the establishment’s vulnerability, at both the domestic and international level, and not just as a result of

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pressure coming from the United States over the nuclear programme. A few months after the eruption of the Green Wave, the wider Arab world had also been affected by large-scale popular protests. As seen in Chapter 5, the Supreme Leader welcomed these protests in other Arab countries and called them an Islamic awakening and a rejection of the US and their sponsored regimes. The activists involved in the Green Wave, however, viewed the Arab Spring as a means to highlight a common purpose and desire to overthrow authoritarian political systems.24 In an already heavily securitized environment, the 2009 repressions ultimately underlined how the social contract between the people and the institutions that governed them had broken down. The movement represented a wide range of social groups, workers’ categories, rural and urban contexts, and not just the reformists’ followers.25 Moreover, pro-system proponents also criticized the way in which the government had stepped out into the streets. Members of the first generation of basīj and the “old guard” of war veterans condemned the violent repressions carried out by the younger generation of paramilitary militias.26 As the situation unfolded, pro-system proponents found themselves alienated from Ahmadinejad, whose government refused to commission an inquiry.27 Many reformists and Karrubi himself condemned the brutal treatment of people held in detention. Some reformist intellectuals, such as ʽAbdolkarim Sorush and ʽAli Kadivar, were forced to flee the country, as did many of the citizens who had participated in street demonstrations. The Green Wave (also referred to as the Green Movement) was a significant moment of protest, which led to one of the most profound legitimacy crises in post-revolutionary Iran and undoubtedly marked a watershed in the country’s modern history, both in terms of state-society relations and the role of grassroots movements. There is a vast amount of secondary literature related to social movements within authoritarian contexts and how grassroots mobilization can emerge, solidify and transform in such an environment.28 Likewise, there are several comprehensive analyses on the nature of the Green Wave, exploring the way it affected domestic politics and state-society relations, and attempting to address the quest for changes expressed at different levels of society by the activists involved. Though this book does not intend to delve into the wider phenomenon of the Green Movement, the complexity of which deserves further study, it is necessary to highlight some of its characteristics in order to fully grasp the role that it played following

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the 2009 elections and, above all, to clarify what the movement signified for the post-revolutionary system. Defined by ʽAbdolkarim Sorush as a “plural and inclusive movement of believers, non-believers, liberals, and socialists,”29 the Green Wave had its origins in the reformist legacy, which had first expanded the space for political debate. Asef Bayat has claimed that that the Green Wave more reflected political and social divisions, and the demand for meaningful reforms, rather than the “revenge of secularism against theocracy.”30 Indeed, as pointed out by Majid Mohammadi, several religious people within the Movement advocated for the separation of religion and the government without ever contesting the religious nature of the system itself—in other words its “theocratical structure.”31 Paola Rivetti has argued that the Movement flourished as a continuation of the reformist effort because its language was not created ex novo but rather represented a restoration of that of the eslāhtalābān.32 Therefore, it was an expression of a decade’s worth of youth, student and female activism, which due to the controversy over the elections in 2009 had emerged with a renewed resentment towards the ruling elites. Moreover, what started out as a spontaneous protest intent on challenging the outcome of the elections had, after a few months, turned into a larger and heterogeneous movement that criticized various different aspects of the system, such as its illiberal dynamics, its inability to distribute economic wealth, its intrusiveness in the private sphere, the widespread corruption, the restriction on individual freedoms, and its failure to deliver social justice. For instance, a significant and noteworthy aspect of the Green Wave was the prominent participation of women, coming from diverse backgrounds, in street demonstrations.33 From this perspective, the Green Wave signified an opportunity to lobby for more rights and the end of discriminatory laws against women. As mentioned before, the protest spread throughout the country, taking place in different environments, such as in urban areas, within universities and during sports events, while also taking advantage of popular gatherings related to religious national holidays. When āyatollāh Montazeri died, in December 2009, fresh clashes broke out between protestors and the security forces, as the āyatollāh had supported the movement’s cause and recognized the protestors’ claims as being legitimate. The Green Wave repositioned itself, transforming from a spontaneous fringe phenomenon into a mass movement, devoid of any specific ideology and, therefore, able to attract and unite different social and professional groups, and thus becoming an

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expression of many different interests and different requests.34 Moreover, in 2011, Mehdi Karrubi and Mir Hoseyn Musavi (together with his wife Zahra Rahnavard) were placed under house arrest, apparently after having expressed their support for the protestors who were demonstrating against their respective governments in Egypt and Tunisia, at the beginning of the so-called Arab Spring.35 As the protests continued, it became readily apparent that the Green Wave was not purely an urban and middle-class phenomenon, as it had initially started out, but had become a catalyst for dissent at various different levels of society. Workers continued to express their discontent at the failure of economic policies, even after the Green Wave had been largely subdued by widespread arrests and government repression.36 In the end, what the aftermath of the 2009 elections revealed was a deep disconnection between certain sections of the political elite and parts of society, as well as the pluralism that existed among both. Given that the Green Wave was heterogeneous in terms of its demands and societal make up, some of its members did not consider Mehdi Karrubi and Mir Hoseyn Musavi to be representative of their attitudes and wants and, as a result, did not view them as agents of change. As previously mentioned, both politicians were considered to be part of the very system that was under protest, and therefore were not seen as credible leaders of any opposition to it.37 In terms of the political elite, the protests represented a way to reaffirm the “right” interpretation of Islam, and the right implementation of revolutionary values and republican pillars from which other political forces had deviated.38 On a popular level, however, the protests became an incubator for wider social discontent: a means to demand institutional changes beyond simply expressing dissatisfaction with general social and economic policies. It is important to note, though, that not all protesters and activists embraced or felt represented by the reformist elite. As Paola Rivetti and Alam Saleh point out, the quest for political participation and the demands for legal reforms stems from the legal hybridity embedded within the Iranian constitution, which includes both secular and liberal notions of individual rights together with Islamic precepts.39 This allows for a perennial dichotomy between actors and demands. In other words, between pro-regime forces that invoke Islamic and revolutionary aspects to support the discourse of the elites, and opposition forces, which appeal to the same constitutional principles to advocate reforms. As a result, the demand for political participation and respect for individual rights promoted by the reformists and their followers, and

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manifested in 2009, did not represent anything that might be considered alien to or incongruous with Iran’s constitutional history, but did accuse the system of having deviated from its original path. The Islamic Republic had long witnessed protests and uprisings ever since its initial foundation. There is a recognized “grey zone” in which discontent is, to some extent, both accepted and tolerated—which is why social media is still active within the country despite official censorship. However, the 2009 elections also clearly demonstrated that the military apparatus, which not only supported the legitimacy of the system but also guaranteed its survival, could frustrate and even limit public participation in the electoral process and thereby dampen individuals’ political representation. The domestic spaces in which people could express their political views were, in a sense, violated and the harsh repression that followed alienated not just reformist supporters but also pro-system groups. At the political level, the reformist front was without leadership and, therefore, had to find other ways to channel popular discontent and to redirect this sense of betrayed expectations to the next set of presidential elections in 2013. On the other hand, the main loser in terms of the 2009 election was the Supreme Leader himself. By becoming openly involved in electoral politics and supporting Ahmadinejad, ʽAli Khamenei jeopardized his own legitimacy; his standing was extremely weakened as he was seen to be an increasingly autocratic figure, who was less inclined to respect popular will in the electoral process. His position was also under threat. Before the June elections, the Supreme Leader feared that the reformist front could potentially weaken his office, even though its candidates were founding members of the nezām. For ʽAli Khamenei, the only way to consolidate the status quo was to marginalize the reformists, accusing them of complicity with foreign countries who then sponsored a “velvet revolution” and had infiltrated the Green Wave. However, it was Ahmadinejad who would undermine, far more effectively, the authority of the rahbar and would become the main internal threat to the preservation of Khamenei’s authority.

The Deviant Current and the New References of Iranian Nationalism Ahmadinejad began his second term during a very delicate and complex phase of the Islamic Republic. While the popular protests were ongoing and the conservative front looked more polarized than ever before,

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the President packed his cabinet with political allies, many of whom lacked any relevant previous experience. The role of Oil Minister was given to Masud Mirkazemi (2009–2011), who had previously been the Minister of Commerce (2005–2009), but he was later replaced by Rostam Qasemi, a former member of the IRGC. Qasemi was the fourth Oil Minister during Ahmadinejad’s presidency, which perhaps sheds some light on the internal tensions within the political system and the President’s erratic style of governance. Another surprising nominee was Esfandiar Rahim Mashai, who was appointed as moʽāven-e avval (First Vice President). Only a week later, the Supreme Leader rejected his nomination, due mainly to the rising criticism of Ahmadinejad coming from the conservative religious establishment.40 Rahim Mashai was a rather marginal and little-known political figure. He had served in the intelligence unit in the Kurdistan region and in the local Security Council of Western Azerbaijan, where he had likely first met the then future President of the Republic. During Ahmadinejad’s two terms as the mayor of the capital, Mashai served as director of the Sāzmān-e Mīrās-e Farhangī-e Sanāīʽ-e Dastī va Gardeshgarī-ye Īrān (Iranian Cultural Crafts and Tourism Heritage Organization). In those years, the relationship between the two friends was further strengthened by the marriage of Mashai’s daughter to Ahmadinejad’s eldest son, ʽAlireza. But it was during Ahmadinejad’s first tenure that Mashai had shown himself to be something of a controversial character, at least in the view of certain political groups. What irritated the political clergy the most was his statements about the State of Israel. In 2008, Mashai had stated that: “Iran today is a friend to the American people and to the people of Israel. No nation in the world is our enemy. We consider America one of the best nations in the world.”41 This declaration came at a time of great international tension and during an impasse in negotiations over Iran’s nuclear programme. The official rhetoric adopted by the republic had for decades labelled both the United States and Israel as “arrogant,” the “great and small Satan,” and “enemies,” terminology that had shaped Iranian minds towards these nations. The Supreme Leader Khamenei promptly added that it was “a mistake to speak of friendship with the people of Israel.”42 The rahbar wanted to reaffirm that Mashai’s words were not reflective of the Islamic Republic’s official position, stating that “we are not friends with the people of Israel.”43 Through these statements, Rahim Mashai’s position clearly emerged as a divisive one, and his forced resignation underlined the fact that ʽAli

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Khamenei continued to have the final say on matters of both domestic and foreign politics. In reaction, Ahmadinejad exhibited his “radical” political temperament by appointing Mashai as his own chief of staff. This move plainly demonstrated that the President had reached the point of openly challenging the will of the Supreme Leader and hence was willing to invert consolidated practises and established power relations. The arm-wrestling between the rahbar and the President was about to start in earnest, and even those hardline clerics who had initially supported Ahmadinejad’s approach, such as the āyatollāhs Mesbah Yazdi and Ahmad Khatami, disagreed with the decision to retain Mashai in a key position within the executive. The politicized clergy was to be constantly irritated by Mashai’s speeches and how he framed the revival of secular and pre-Islamic nationalism as a matter of national cohesion at the expense of revolutionary religion. After 2009, an alternative political discourse began to emerge. Rahim Mashai began to call back to the glory of pre-Islamic Persian culture and its imperial past, reviving old symbols of secular nationalism but with a purely political purpose in mind. During the nineteenth century, several intellectuals, such as Mirza Fathʽali Akhundzadeh, Mirza Malkom Khan and Mirza Aqa Khan Kermani, had sought to revive a political discourse that was based on pre-Islamic Persian nationalism. Decades later, Ahmadinejad and his circle of allies attempted a similar thing, adapting the same narrative to the contemporary political debate. The President did not merely aim to show admiration for the glorious past but to use its rhetorical value to build up a political narrative in challenge to the status quo. He had repeatedly praised the famous Manshūr-e Kūrosh (Cylinder of Cyrus the Great), a block of clay upon which is written a declaration in the name of the king of the Achaemenes, which makes explicit the appropriate ways in which to order and run a society. Ahmadinejad placed emphasis on the concepts of freedom and justice that were touched upon by the cylinder, claiming that Iranian history had reached the apex of its development during the Persian empire by abolishing slavery. The glorification of the cylinder, which has been recognized by historians as a vivid example of the codification of human rights, was a thinly veiled criticism of the existing political establishment, particularly of the clergy. In a public speech, Ahmadinejad argued that if the true face of the “real Iran” was to be made manifest it would frustrate the colonial ambitions of interfering foreign powers and drive them from the country. The value of the scientific and artistic heritage

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of pre-Islamic Persian civilization would be a great asset and, therefore, if these aspects were made evident, then all other nations would be attracted to the Iranian model.44 Moreover, Rahim Mashai claimed that “some have considered Cyrus the Great one of the prophets.”45 Although this association of Cyrus with the prophets was not necessarily new in Iranian political discourse, in this case, it seemed to represent a challenge to the politicized clergy. This can be seen by the fact that Mashai specifically praises the qualities of the Persian king as an example of good leadership and a source of great pride for Iranian civilization. He also claimed that Cyrus’ slogans were the same as those of the Mahdī because they both celebrated justice and the fight against oppression. The implication being that the ruler should have the same qualities and rectitude as the Imām. From these statements, it seems clear that Mashai’s discourse was designed to unify pre-Islamic nationalism (the Persian empire and the rectitude of Cyrus as a leader) with Shiʽa traditionalism (by recalling the Mahdī).46 The commemoration of Cyrus the Great, and of the example set down in clay concerning appropriate governance, seemed to form part of an attempt to reposition revolutionary religious identity as subordinate to national, secular and pre-Islamic identity, without neglecting traditional Shiʽism. The latter, of course, recalled a more populist creed and folkloric elements within a strictly apolitical dimension. Another discourse that alienated the politicized clergy within the republic was embodied in the concept of Maktab-e Īrānī (the Iranian school), which was intended as a bastion of cultural expression built upon Iranian nationalism. The idea was to glorify imperial Iran as a shining example of Persian civilization’s progress, thereby implicitly suggesting that the main source of national sentiment was no longer radical Islam, which empowered the Iranian clergy, but rather a feeling of affiliation with the cultural and imperialist heritage of the country. The Maktab-e Īrānī emphasized the notion that the core focus of the country’s identity had shifted away from revolutionary Islam towards its non-Islamic and imperial past, which had already been celebrated by Mohammad Reza Pahlavi. The last king of Iran tried to base the nation’s sense of pride and social unity around the restoration of its former glory. However, in the 1960s and 1970s, this discourse was almost exclusively restricted to elitist circles, far removed from the masses that remained attached to clerical figures and religious traditionalism. What appears different during Ahmadinejad’s presidency is that his circle of close allies

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seemed to be reviving both imperial and nationalist sentiments, not to challenge traditional groups and spread a “secular” model (as the shāh had tried to do) but to undermine radical religious ideology and, as a consequence, the clergy in power. The diffusion of this “Iranian school” was to make nationalist pride prevalent over religious pride. From this perspective, the emphasis on the Persian empire and Cyrus the Great, as the “best strategist in the world,” was not therefore intended as a mere revival of ancient Persian glorious history but was designed to spread a discourse based on pre-Islamic identity. It is important to mention that Ahmadinejad did not deny the value of religion in Iran, but he often placed emphasis on its later development, as a sort of temporal subordination (at least in the political sphere). Mashai declared that “our goal is to introduce the school of Iran instead of the Islam school [because] our understanding of Islam is [to be found] in the Iranian school … [which] must be introduced from now on..”47 He also stressed that “Islam without Iran would be lost, so if we want to preserve the true face of Islam, we must raise the Iranian flag.”48 In line with these declarations and statements, the President then exhibited the cylinder of Cyrus at the Tehran National Museum, appearing alongside Mashai at the unveiling, who declared “why don’t we consider this [cylinder] as a sign of God?”.49 The discourse spread by Ahmadinejad and Rahim Mashai presented what Afshin Marashi defined as the “two cultures dilemma,”50 a sort of struggle between two major sources of national feeling that had been historically politicized in order to support different political projects. During the twentieth century, the nation-building effort witnessed the coexistence of two “conceptual” systems: pre-Islamic nationalism, which remained limited to the powerful elite, and religious affiliation, which provided the basis of a politicized popular identity that found its place among the urban poor and subaltern segments of Iran’s population. In the light of the constant clash between these two different paradigms of Iranian identity, Ahmadinejad established himself in a completely innovative way and his group became the promoter of a new form of nationalism. The President tried to combine the two cultures to overcome this dilemma, proposing an alternative identity system that could potentially embody both the pre-Islamic past and Shiʽite traditionalism—that is to say, the worship of the messianic cult. The intention was to recover a sense of Persian nationalism and harmonize it with the Shiʽite eschatological discourse. An example of this mixing can be

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seen in Ahmadinejad’s statements on Ferdusi, the renowned author of the prominent Persian national epic Shāhnāmeh. The President claimed that the poet had “saved the school of the Prophet of Islam”51 by having preserved the founding values of Iranian civilization in his lyrical poetry. One of these values was the acceptance of Islam and, therefore, the principles of benevolence and freedom (reflected, for example, in the absence of slavery) that were already present in the pre-Islamic past. To establish a direct connection between the poet and Islam, Ahmadinejad declared that Ferdusi had been born during the beginning of the Great Occultation of the hidden Imām.52 Through these declarations, Ahmadinejad made the implicit suggestion that it was a lay poet who had kept religious traditionalism and its values alive, not the revolutionary clergy and its hierarchy. The emphasis on pre-Islamic Persia and the messianic cult provoked heavy criticism from different political groups and especially from conservatives, who criticized the President’s circle of allies. Among them was Hoseyn Shariʽatmadari, director of the pro-conservative newspaper Kayhān, who asked pointedly: “what are the expectations of Mr. Ahmadinejad [in] offering us the cylinder of Cyrus instead of our dear Islam?”53 This rhetorical question seemed intent to instil doubts over the President’s genuine prospects of subverting the traditional identity scheme, based on revolutionary religious ideology, through the restoration of pre-Islamic Iranian tradition. ʽAli Larijani, spokesman of the parliament, also expressed criticism towards the President by claiming that his position was anachronistic, as the cylinder had been written in a very different time when compared to the modern world. Similarly, ʽAli Motahari, deputy of the majles, judged Ahmadinejad’s position and that of his group to be “inappropriate.” Criticism also came from hardline clerics and even from those who had previously offered their support for the President. Mesbah Yazdi, for instance, openly criticized the Maktab-e Īrānī: “those who shamefully introduce the Iranian school instead of the Islamic one are gheyr-e khodī.”54 Ahmadinejad had built his own rapid political ascendance on this very concept, for it symbolized his distance from certain power structures. However, Mesbah Yazdi used it to undermine the legitimacy of Ahmadinejad’s wider circle.55 In the eyes of the politicized clergy, enhancing Iran’s ancient culture and its pre-Islamic history would have implicitly downgraded the role of religion and, in particular, of Iranian revolutionary Islam. This was also at a time when Ahmadinejad was claiming to be in contact with the Mahdī

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and continuing to spread his messianic discourse. Therefore, the hostility towards Ahmadinejad’s circle began to grow and they started to be referred to as Jariyān-e enherāfī (the deviant current). The messianic rhetoric, the politicization of Mahdism, the claim to be able to predict the return of the hidden Imām, together with the revival of pre-Islamic nationalism were all perceived as a threat to the foundation of the republic. The label Jariyān-e enherāfī was used by the osūlgarāyān, conservatives, pragmatists and the politicized clergy within the institutions to distance themselves from Ahmadinejad and to frame his political discourse within the boundaries of deviancy. Terms such as rādīkāl or tond-ro are generally not used by the Iranian elite to refer to Ahmadinejad and his circle, meaning that radicalism is not an appropriate categorization by which to define and ultimately judge their approach to politics. The label “deviant” was designed to highlight the divisive, polarizing and dangerous power that they held within the system. The President posed not only a threat to the conservative establishment, as the term rādīkāl or tond-ro would have suggested, but had revealed himself to be a dangerously unorthodox figure intent on deviating from the established and accepted norms of Iranian politics. Moreover, this deviancy was all the more dangerous because it represented a threat within the system itself, a threat that would instil different and alternative para­ digms to challenge the status quo. Therefore, these accusations of deviancy were linked both to the ideology being portrayed by Ahmadinejad and his circle through their political discourse and to the more practical aspects of their political conduct. Formally, the politicized clergy’s response to Ahmadinejad’s messianic rhetoric was to argue that it was impossible to predict the return of the Imām. What motivated the President, they claimed, was “his ambition for power within a factional context … but this attitude is in conflict with the Prophet because it dishonours his representative [the rahbar].”56 While Ahmadinejad claimed that only the fight against corruption would accelerate the return of the Imām, the Iranian clergy accused him of being “a source of spreading chaos, moral corruption and challenge to the system of the Islamic Republic.”57 Moreover, the āyatollāh Mesbah Yazdi argued that the founding principles of the Islamic Republic were the Velāyat-e faqīh and the guidance of the rahbar, two conditions that should remain unchanged until the return of the Mahdī. The obedience to the faqīh is not limited to the occultation phase and, consequently, the obedience to the faqīh corresponds to an obedience to

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the Imām. The position taken by Mesbah Yazdi assigned a timeless value to Khomeinist precepts, and thus criticism against the rahbar signified a divergence from the path of “true Islam.”58 Ahmadinejad had started the debate about what real Islam is and who was its legitimate interpreter. Far from being a reconsideration of revolutionary religious dogmas, as the reformist intellectuals had attempted to do, this stance was uniquely political. Ahmadinejad entered into religious discussions by overstepping the traditionally accepted limits of his political office, revealing that even someone who was not a member of the clergy could question the role of religion within the political system. As it became evident that Ahmadinejad’s circle could pose a direct challenge to the foundations of the nezām, the conservatives attempted to marginalize this perceived “deviant current.” The judiciary made a series of arrests and began a campaign of intimidation towards Ahmadinejad loyalists. It had been suspected that Mashai was behind the distribution of a series of documentaries concerning the return of the Mahdī, which aimed to convey the idea of an imminent, cathartic moment for the realization of justice on earth. Together with ʽAbbas Ghafari, Rahim Mashai was arrested on charges of witchcraft,59 whereas others were detained on charges of corruption and money laundering, similar to what occurred to the first Vice President, Mohammad Reza Rahimi (2009–2013), and Hamid Baghai, head of the Nahād-e Rīāsat-e Jomhūrī (the President’s office) a few years later.60 Hamid Baghai had been the first deputy of the Cultural Heritage Organization and then Vice President for executive affairs (2011–2013). In 2015, he was arrested on charges of corruption, accusations of which continued until 2018 when he was arrested again in March of that year.61 Against this background, the strategic alliance between the pāsdārān and the President began to weaken, as the IRGC turned their backs on Ahmadinejad. The IRGC commander ʽAli Jaʽfari had declared that the “main enemy of the Islamic Republic is internal,”62 referring to those who wanted to accelerate the return of the Imām. Jaʽfari also added that “people are aware of the new hypocrisy,”63 which was an attempt to reduce popular support for the President. Furthermore, the pāsdārān accused the government of being plagued by a festering wound, one that could even affect the presidential elections in 2013.64 Ahmadinejad sought to challenge a system of which he was one of its main representatives. The domestic factionalism had demonstrated how the survival of revolutionary values remained confined to the

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realm of rhetoric, whereas long-established practises had needed to be adapted and changed in order to meet evolving national interests and a constantly developing political agenda, some cases being more evident than others (such as in foreign politics or in relation to economic plans). Ahmadinejad was not exempt from this inner struggle for power, even though his true intentions were often masked by his politicized rhetoric. He engaged in the political dialectic by highlighting the internal divisions between high-ranking figures of the conservative front and medium to low-rank personalities of the second generation and ended up leading a minority group willing to reverse existing power structures. Messianic rhetoric did not prefigure the idea of a secular state, but rather of a religious state led by lay politicians and nationalists willing to restore pre-Islamic heritage and fulfil the Khomeinist idea of justice and equality. The fact that the pre-Islamic discourse emerged in such a disruptive way, especially after the events of 2009, indicates that the President had consciously changed his approach as a result of increasing popular disillusionment with the outcome of the revolution, especially with regard to the clergy in power. But above all, Ahmadinejad had changed his stance towards the political elite in order to strengthen his own position. If the term radical—in the way Western literature frames it—does not fully encapsulate Ahmadinejad’s intentions and political trajectory, a Western label that can perhaps better capture his approach to politics is that of a national populist, paraphrasing Pejman Abdolmohammadi65 had managed to exploit the preferential paradigms of Iranian conservatism to rise to the highest position of the nezām and to secure important allies from across the political spectrum, from the clergy to the security forces and from within the military apparatus. After having personalized his approach to domestic and foreign politics, he promoted a hybrid nationalism to distinguish himself from the khodī (the insiders of the system), by borrowing from traditional Shiʽism and pre-Islamic nationalism. Ahmadinejad’s objectives were always political, for it was not institutional relations but only the people themselves that could guarantee his political survival. His populism was, in fact, tailored to a specific segment of society and directed as a challenge to the conservative establishment.

Back to Pragmatism and the Marginalization of Radicals On account of his humble lifestyle, promoting the values of religious behaviour, and the devotion shown to the principles of the revolution in his political rhetoric, Mahmud Ahmadinejad was able to benefit from

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the support of the Supreme Leader and hardline clerics. ʽAli Khamenei had supported Ahmadinejad from the very beginning and this endorsement became even more evident in the 2009 election when, in relation to a diatribe between Ahmadinejad and Rafsanjani, the rahbar said: “the ideas of the President of the Republic are closer to mine.”66 The Supreme Leader had likely thought that he would be able to control the President and, as a result, interjected in the political campaign to reinforce his support. However, he was also able to cleverly balance Ahmadinejad’s adventurism by granting extensive powers to Hashemi Rafsanjani, as the leader of the Discernment Council. Rafsanjani continued to exert influence in the political debate and played a key role within the nezām, even though he was attacked by both conservative and neoconservative groups. Rafsanjani’s position shifted, as he moved closer towards the pragmatic-reformist front, and his support for Mir Hoseyn Musavi in 2009 resulted in further political pressure against him. His son Mehdi Hashemi Rafsanjani was arrested on the charge of supporting the Green Wave, while his daughter Faʾezeh Hashemi, a political activist and founder of the newspaper Zān (which was closed in the late 1990s), remained in prison for six months on charges of spreading anti-regime propaganda. The controversial elections of 2009, as mentioned above, had polarized the political spectrum, and the internal divisions that existed within the conservative front rose to the surface. Khamenei’s endorsement of Ahmadinejad was a significant moment, which not only made the political interference of the rahbar clear in the public’s eyes but also in the end put Khamenei in a difficult position. ʽAli Khamenei and Ahmadinejad represented two very different political standpoints in post-revolutionary Iran. A sense of mutual proximity was needed for Khamenei to marginalize reformists and Ahmadinejad provided all the necessary rhetorical credentials to achieve that result. However, Ahmadinejad rather quickly demonstrated his will to pursue a “third way,” introducing a new political discourse that challenged the authority of the Supreme Leader and exploited nationalist feelings to garner popular support. The most noticeable friction between the Supreme Leader and the President emerged during the appointment of important governmental figures during Ahmadinejad’s second tenure. In the summer of 2009, Ahmadinejad appointed Mashai as first Vice President, but only a week later the rahbar rejected his nomination. As previously discussed, Mashai was an extremely polarizing figure and his discourse on pre-Islamic nationalism alienated the clergy within the nezām. In August, Heyder Moslehi was appointed Minister

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of Intelligence. Moslehi had been a cleric close to Khamenei, for whom he had been the main representative of the ground forces of the pāsdārān and basīj. In 2011, Moslehi resigned because of pressure coming from the President’s office. Just a few months before, Ahmadinejad removed the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Manuchehr Mottaki, without any prior consultation with the Supreme Leader. Mottaki was replaced by ʽAli Akbar Salehi, former Head of the Atomic Agency of Iran, and Iran’s representative to the IAEA during Khatami’s presidency (between 1998 and 2003). When Heyder Moslehi resigned in 2011, it was clear that the President was attempting to reshape the cabinet by purging figures close to the conservative clergy and replacing them with his allies. Khamenei rejected Moslehi’s forced resignation and reappointed him. In reaction to the rahbar’s decision, Ahmadinejad did not participate in two subsequent meetings of the cabinet. The disobedience and scornful attitude of the President towards Khamenei was criticized by several political factions, including the IRGC. In the same year, during a public speech in the province of Kermanshah, Khamenei said: “There will be no problem if one day in the near or distant future—probably in the distant future—it is felt that a parliamentary system is more favourable than a presidential system … The Islamic Republic will be able to change its structure.”67 Through this speech, the Supreme Leader speculated on the possibility of eliminating the office of the President of the Republic, and this provocative statement was intended to reassert his primacy over Ahmadinejad and, above all, over the executive. By interfering directly in the dynamics of the cabinet, a matter that was traditionally considered out with his role, the rahbar sent a strong signal to Ahmadinejad, who now found himself even more isolated. The President demonstrated a thinly veiled intolerance to any direct interference by the rahbar. At the same time, ʽAli Khamenei, whose own legitimacy had been significantly weakened after the controversial elections of 2009, soon experienced the negative consequences of having supported Ahmadinejad. The Iranian parliament, led since 2008 by the spokesman ʽAli Larijani, began to consider the possibility of producing a report on the events that had occurred a few years after the 2009 elections.68 Moreover, parliamentary deputies considered the possibility of impeaching the President. This was by no means a new political mechanism, rather an old manoeuvre typically used to discredit members of the executive. In addition to Ahmadinejad’s adventurism and disrespectful attitude towards the rahbar, the dismal results in terms of his

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economic policies, and the general climate of public dissatisfaction with the government, there was another reason that particularly irritated the political elite. Since Ahmadinejad could not run for a third consecutive presidential term, rumours had emerged that Rahim Mashai could represent the “deviant current” at the 2013 elections.69 From 2011 to 2013, Ahmadinejad’s inner circle was subjected to a severe form of marginalization. To exclude the enherāfī from the political scene, the conservative front, bringing together traditionalists, pragmatists and moderates, took action through two different channels. One was the use of the judiciary, which was directed to target figures close to the President, and the other was a rethinking of certain alliances. Many politicians close to Ahmadinejad and Mashai were arrested, like Mohammed Sharif Malekzadeh, the Deputy Foreign Minister; Kazem Kiapashaa; ʽAli Asghar Parhizkar and ʽAlireza Moghimi, both managing directors of the Arvand Free Zone; and ʽAli Akbar Javanfekr,70 director of the IRNA agency and the President’s press adviser, who was arrested on the charge of having insulted the Supreme Leader. There were also other figures like Azadeh Ardakani, head of the National Museum of Iran and then head of the Cultural Heritage and Tourism Organization, and ʽAbbas Amirifar, a cleric at the head of the Nahād-e rīāsat-e jomhūrī, who were arrested by a Special Clerical Court on the accusation of insulting political figures.71 Others, as highlighted previously, were arrested on charges of corruption or on charges of witchcraft because of the continuing claims about the imminent return of the Imām. The second method used by the conservative front to undermine Ahmadinejad’s circle was their political realignment with pragmatists and moderates, figures who had been severely marginalized since 2005. As a consequence of this, conservative pragmatists who were ideological followers of Hashemi Rafsanjani came back to power. The “deviant current” had threatened the very pillars of the republic, in other words, the institutionalization of religious radicalism that had flourished with the formation of post-revolutionary power relations. The conservative front opened itself up to moderates and pragmatists in order to both rehabilitate Iran’s international image and to reduce the economic pressures felt as a result of international sanctions. However, Hashemi Rafsanjani was disqualified from running in the 2013 presidential election for his previous clashes with the rahbar, when he had supported the reformist front. From his once unconditional support for the President, ʽAli Khamenei now began to place the sole responsibility for bad governance and

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disastrous economic management on Ahmadinejad. The Supreme Leader would not be able to publicly confront Ahmadinejad, but he did manage to detach himself from the failures of the executive.72 In addition, āyatollāh Mesbah Yazdi, who had been considered the President’s “spiritual mentor,” also soon distanced himself from Ahmadinejad. In 2011, Mesbah Yazdi was among the founding members of the Jebhe-ye Pāydārī-ye Enqelāb-e Eslāmī73 (Front of Islamic Revolution Stability),74 which reaffirmed the absolute authority of the Velāyat-e faqīh and stood in open opposition to the “deviants.” The Pāydārī front embodied the most orthodox forces on the post-revolutionary scene. Its members were also referred to as ultraconservatives or hardliners due to the emphasis they placed on military power, securitization and suspicion towards any dialogue with the West. Being more ideologically oriented, the Pāydārī members clashed with both traditional conservatives as well as the so-called no-osūlgarāī, or neo-principalists, which is to say the second generation of lay people and technocrats close to the military apparatus. Some prominent figures of the Pāydārī, such as its leader Mesbah Yazdi or his disciple Qassem Ravanbakhsh, had initially supported Ahmadinejad but later distanced themselves from the President and his circle after repeated clashes with the rahbar and the introduction of references to political secularization and other deviant tendencies.75 By the end of his second tenure, Ahmadinejad had lost many important allies and the start of his wider political marginalization was well underway. In 2012, the elections for the renewal of members of parliament delivered a heavy defeat to the President. The Guardian Council disqualified many members of the Hāmiyān-e Goftemān-e ʽEdālat-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī (Coalition of Supporters of the Justice Speech of the Islamic Revolution), which was close to Ahmadinejad, granting a huge advantage to the United Front of Principalists. The 2013 presidential elections came at a time of growing antagonism towards the “deviant current” and a strong need for the republic to improve its foreign relations in order to ameliorate issues around the national economy and to recover Iran’s position on the international stage. There is no doubt that both regional and international circumstances accelerated Ahmadinejad’s marginalization and that of the “deviant current” he was seen to lead, but the result of the 2013 elections was mostly a reflection of domestic problems. Gradually, Ahmadinejad’s circle was purged and Rahim Mashai

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had been barred from running for the presidency. It was deemed that the nezām required a more moderate politician to ensure its stability, a non-divisive figure who would be able to balance and keep in check the various internal political forces. Although elections in Iran are always an unpredictable affair, in 2013 the country required significant changes and, above all, it needed to avoid a similar outcome to that of 2009. The political system sought to regain the legitimacy it had lost in the previous election.76 Only five candidates had been allowed to run by the Guardian Council. Among them was Saʽid Jalili, who had since 2007 been the chief negotiator on the nuclear programme and was supported by the Pāydārī front. Mohammad Qalibaf, the mayor of Tehran and a figure close to the IRGC, who was supported by the newly formed Jamʽiyat Pīshraft va ʽEdālat-e Īrān-e Eslāmī (Front of Development and Justice of Islamic Iran). Another well-known candidate was Mohsen Rezai, who had been defeated in both the 2005 and 2009 elections and was supported by the Jebhe-ye Īstādegī-ye Īrān-e Eslāmī (simply referred to as the Endurance Front). In addition, ʽAli Akbar Velayati also ran for the presidency; he was an icon of the traditional conservatives close to the clergy and an advisor to the Supreme Leader. Lastly, the only clerical figure permitted to take part in the electoral campaign was the hojjatoleslām Hasan Rouhani. Despite being identified and labelled by Western observers as a moderate or a reformist candidate, Rouhani represented the conservative establishment. He had a long history of serving in prominent positions within the nezām: as a member of the Assembly of Experts (1980–2000), of the Supreme Defence Council (1982–1988), of the Executive Committee (1986–1988) and as the Secretary of the Supreme Council for National Security (1989–2005). Between 2003 and 2005, he was also the Chief Nuclear Negotiator, later replaced by ʽAli Larijani. He was supported by the Hezb-e Eʽtedāl va Towse’e (Moderation and Development Party), a group founded at the end of the 1990s to advocate development through a more moderate approach. The positive term eʽtedāl (moderation) was intended to oppose the idea of efrātī (deviant), which generally carried a negative connotation. Therefore, Rouhani used to refer to his group as eʽtedālgarā (moderates) in order to be distinguished from rādīkāl and tond-ro. He endorsed the quest for political moderation and development after the turbulent tenures of Ahmadinejad

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and, moreover, placed emphasis on issues of social justice and economic progress, two slogans that had long characterized political debate in post-revolutionary Iran. Hasan Rouhani won in almost all provinces, and particularly in peripheral regions like Sistan Baluchistan, Kurdistan and West Azerbaijan,77 obtaining almost 18,000 votes and 50% of the total number of ballots cast.78 Mohammad Qalibaf finished second but only achieved 6000 votes. There were several important factors that lead to Rouhani becoming the seventh President of the Islamic Republic. First and foremost, he was part of the establishment, a khodī, and a clerical figure who could re-establish the authority of the politicized clergy. With the gradual replacement of religious figures with technocrats, the clergy had witnessed a severe reduction in its sphere of influence, and after eight years of Ahmadinejad it was important to have a member of the clergy heading up the executive. Secondly, he benefitted from the tacit endorsement of the Supreme Leader. As previously seen, various Presidents of the Iranian Republic had been downgraded, marginalized or even dismissed after having a more or less explicit struggle with the rahbar. This common trend underlines the notion that the Supreme Leader holds the “final say” in both domestic and foreign affairs. As such, Rouhani was an attractive candidate for Khamenei, as he represented a much-needed figure to navigate the internal polarization, to solidify the stability of the system and to ensure continuity in established power relations. Furthermore, Rouhani had received endorsement from Hashemi Rafsanjani and Mohammad Khatami, which meant he could rely on votes from both the reformist front and pragmatist groups, who intended to support the “government of hope.”79 Indeed, the notion of hope was widespread among the Iranian youth, who had not forgotten the outcome and events of 2009, but had still voted to support a desire for change from within.80 In his electoral campaign, Rouhani addressed themes that were important to both coalitions.81 The crucial aspects of his campaign were the concepts of moderation, rationality and prudence in both foreign politics and in all other aspects of political life, but also the need to guarantee respect for individuals’ rights.82 He emphasized economic recovery and the creation of jobs together with the fight against youth unemployment, which had reached almost 30% in the final two years of Ahmadinejad’s tenure.83 On one hand, he advocated for a moderate and pragmatic approach to foreign politics, in order to reintegrate Iran into the global economic system, end the country’s international isolation

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and to finally resolve the impasse over nuclear negotiations. Indeed, an essential part of his presidency would be his diplomatic efforts to conclude the long-running negotiations on the nuclear issue and thereby relieve economic sanctions, to guarantee national security and preserve the survival of the system.84 The attraction of foreign investment and the development of industries recalled the pragmatic plans of the Kārgozārān. On the other hand, Rouhani also attracted reformists by advocating for women’s rights, liberalization on various social issues, more attention to be paid to the peripheral areas of the country and the release of political prisoners and key figures responsible for the Green Wave. As a result, great expectations were placed upon Rouhani and on his ability to deliver these electoral promises.85 There are several reasons that prevented the President from succeeding, but these can be mainly put down to irregularities in the system, the intricacy of power relations and the overlap between centres of power. Though it is not possible to offer a detailed overview of Rouhani’s presidency here, the above highlights how domestic politics was reshaped after Ahmadinejad’s second presidency and how the system of alliances was modified in order to marginalize certain inner threats and to consolidate the system.86 Rouhani was an essential figure during this delicate phase, even though widespread domestic factionalism did not abate. His election managed to reduce the number of clashes between conservatives and the broader spectrum of moderates, bridging the distance between reformists and more centrist figures.87 However, due to Rouhani’s failure to achieve some of the objectives that were demanded by reformists, the front itself ended up considerably weakened.88

The “Government of Spring,” the New Quest for Legitimacy After 2013 As is customary for outgoing Presidents, after August 2013 Ahmadinejad sat on the Expediency Council, even though his political allies had been marginalized and he was considered responsible for endangering the stability of the republic. For a while, the “deviant current” disappeared from the political scene, and both internal and international attention was no longer on the charged rhetoric of the former President, but on the call for moderation and diplomacy by the new incumbent head of the executive. Hasan Rouhani represented a significant change, both in terms of his own rhetoric and approach to foreign politics, which were two of the most debated aspects of Ahmadinejad’s tenure. Rouhani was

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in place to finally resolve the impasse over the nuclear negotiations while Iranian politics itself desperately needed to get away from Ahmadinejad’s rhetorical excesses, confrontational attitude and antagonistic position towards the other political factions. He continued to teach at Elm-o Sanat University in Tehran and declared his intention to leave politics and any political groups,89 while members of his entourage were still in jail or had been barred from assuming political roles. After 2013, Ahmadinejad and his allies remained behind the scenes, but the former President continued to visit rural areas and the peripheries of the country, where he gave public speeches to small gatherings of his few followers.90 These events largely escaped the notice of Western observers and internally the conservative-pragmatic front had regained control over the executive and was focussed on resolving the nuclear impasse. To understand these dynamics and look at how Ahmadinejad attempted to rebuild his political reputation, it is crucial first to briefly frame the negotiations on the Iranian nuclear programme. After two years, President Rouhani secured a historic deal on Iran’s nuclear programme, which would end the long-running international dispute. On July 14, 2015, a multilateral agreement was eventually reached, thanks hugely to the charismatic figure of Mohammad Javad Zarif, the Iranian Foreign Minister, and the efforts of the European Union through its High Representative of the Union for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy, Federica Mogherini. The JCPOA stated that the Islamic Republic would have to reduce its uranium enrichment programme and number of centrifuges in exchange for the abolishment of international sanctions. From the Iranian perspective, the deal was considered a significant step for improving economic conditions, as well as reopening the Iranian market to foreign investors. This explains the enthusiasm of the Tehrani people, who gathered in the famous streets and squares of the capital to cheer the recently signed deal in July 2015, hoping for improvements in their individual lives. On the European side, Federica Mogherini declared that the JCPOA would “positively contribute to regional and international peace and security,”91 underlining how Western perceptions and the approach towards Iran had moved on from confrontation to positive engagement. Therefore, renewed enthusiasm encouraged Chinese, German, Italian and French companies to invest in Iran and to sign memorandums of understanding in several strategic sectors, such as transportation and machineries. Tourism in Iran grew considerably in just a few months and a wave of new opportunities arose. In 2016 and 2017, Iran

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doubled its crude oil export, reaching two million barrels per day,92 and GDP grew from -7% in 2012 up to 13% in 2017.93 The Iranian economy was on the brink of recovery thanks to the lifting of international sanctions and the increase in oil exports, whereas non-oil exports did not experience the same growth.94 However, the desired and expected results of the JCPOA were to be compromised by a multitude of factors. Firstly, the domestic opposition to Rouhani started a counter narrative designed to damage the President’s image, accusing him of working with the republic’s enemies. Secondly, when Barack Obama’s administration in the United States was replaced by its successor, most of the positive attempts to reduce mutual hostility vanished completely. President Donald Trump was surrounded by politicians who were particularly hostile to Tehran, from John Bolton, the national security advisor from April 2018 to September 2019, to Mike Pompeo, US Secretary of State from April 2018 until January 2021. Despite the Iranian compliance with international obligations, which had been verified by constant monitoring by the IAEA,95 the United States threatened to withdraw unilaterally from the JCPOA, which finally happened in May 2018 with the nuclear agreement being decertified in the following October. Washington reintroduced secondary sanctions and imposed draconian restrictions on Iranian oil exports as well as on foreign companies that were willing to invest in or trade with Iran. This “maximum pressure” policy was intended to increase popular discontent and create economic difficulties to precipitate a change in Iran’s power projection in the Middle East, which was perceived as detrimental to the US and their regional allies. Internally, this was a favourable turn of events for the opposition, who then accused Rouhani of having trusted Iran’s enemies and selling off the country. As a result, Rouhani’s cabinet went through a period of reshuffling and changes were made due to consistent pressure coming from hardline conservatives in parliament. On this occasion, the Supreme Leader issued a more pragmatic response by calling for national unity and political cohesion in order to fight the real external enemy, while the Iranian economy worsened on several levels. At a time of rising internal and regional tensions and economic uncertainty, the Islamic Republic was heading again towards presidential elections in May 2017. The campaign was to prove extremely interesting because it occurred during a period of major pressure from the United States, when Rouhani’s pragmatic front was becoming increasingly weaker and the Supreme Leader was keenly aware of the need to

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avoid any form of polarization within the nezām. Furthermore, months before the election, rumours had begun to circulate about the possible candidacy of Mahmud Ahmadinejad. In May 2016, the newspaper Donyā-e Eqtesād carried the headline: “Will Ahmadinejad return?”96 This question hinted at the possibility of Ahmadinejad staging a political come back—though at first glance this may have seemed unlikely. The former President of the Islamic Republic had maintained a low profile, but he was already considering a return to politics. Just a year after Rouhani’s election, the newspaper Ārmān had written an article entitled: “Ahmadinejad’s five policies to return to power.”97 While entirely ignored in the West, within Iran an initial debate arose about the possible re-entry of Ahmadinejad into politics. Though they had escaped the notice of the international community, the visits of the former President to certain controversial regions in the country, like that of Khuzestan or areas in southern Iran, started to receive significant domestic attention. Ahmadinejad was trying to keep his popularity among low-income households and the unemployed youth alive. These segments of the population appeared to have been marginalized by central government, which was more intent on pleasing the impoverished urban middle classes. Moreover, the first tangible results of the nuclear agreement were only really noticeable in large cities and other industrial agglomerations, which were more closely involved with foreign trade and investment. On the other hand, no real changes had occurred in more peripheral regions nor among the poorer urban population and the educated youth.98 In these neglected areas, Ahmadinejad held public appearances and managed to gather a significant following by using his familiar populist tones and persuasive rhetoric, and often starting his speeches with overtures to the well-known religious belief concerning the Mahdī. Nevertheless, the political fracture caused by Ahmadinejad had been extremely serious and no one would have foreseen his return to politics. Following his succession, Ahmadinejad had devised a strategy to come back to power as soon as the right circumstances would allow. He quietly organized a network of supporters that might be able to facilitate his political return, for instance, by influencing the political debate through parliament. But beyond the political sphere, it was necessary to rebuild his reputation among the population and to allow his message to spread from below. A volunteer-based network was formed under the name of Havādārān-e Mahmūd-e Ahmadīnezhād (the Supporters of Mahmud Ahmadinejad), also simply known as “Homā.”99 This informal group

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was active in creating content for social media and online blogs, and in organizing gatherings in support of the former President. Its related newspaper, also called Homā, was later forced to close in 2015 by the judiciary for not having the necessary license. In addition, Ahmadinejad was able to use a few tools to strengthen what remained of his (low) popular opinion, launching a very active media campaign on social media channels, creating accounts on Telegram, Twitter and Instagram, as well as new websites, like that of Ahmadinejad.ir, Raʾīs-e jomhūr-e mā (ourPresident.ir) and the prominent Dowlat-e Bahār (the government of spring). Across all of these online resources, references to the advent of the Mahdī were conspicuous, which perhaps underlines how powerful Ahmadinejad perceived this messianic belief to be in terms of the political discourse. Besides these websites, there were also others spread by his various supporters, which were occasionally closed down by the judicial authorities. Some of these accounts managed to escape governmental censorship and reach the digitally active population of the country and further galvanize public support. At the current time of writing, the Telegram profile Dowlat-e Bahār reaches roughly 351,000 followers. Through these platforms, Ahmadinejad and his supporters spread content, videos, speeches and statements to highlight the successes achieved during his previous presidential terms and to criticize the current management by the incumbent executive. Within this context, the main political slogan used by Ahmadinejad in his new quest for political legitimacy was around the notion of bahār, which quite literary means “spring.” His first use of the term occurred in September 2012, when Ahmadinejad ended a speech at the United National Assembly by repeating the refrain “long live spring” three times.100 It was subsequently used by his followers to show their affiliation and eventually turned into a political slogan. During the annual ceremony of the 22nd Bahman, the anniversary of the revolution in February 2013, Ahmadinejad again reiterated “zendeh bād bahār” (long live spring). From that time on, the slogan became a key characteristic of Ahmadinejad’s rhetoric and the political speeches given by both himself and those in his circle. The term itself would be interpreted in different ways within Iran, yet it has never been fully explained. Perhaps the ambiguity of the label was not accidental. It could be linked to the wider messianic notion about the potential return of the hidden Imām. Ahmadinejad stated that “spring will finally come, and the truth of human beings will flourish, and no factor can prevent the flourishing of

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spring.”101 Moreover, Rahim Mashai made frequent references to the Mahdī, who is often referred to as bahār-e jānhā (the spring of souls).102 From this perspective, the use of bahār reinforced the politicization of Mahdism and revived the concept of the imminent return of the Imām as a political instrument. The arrival of spring would signify the end of injustice on earth and therefore represented a change in power relations within the Islamic Republic. For this reason, the notion of bahār drew criticism from political groups. In March 2013, Hossein Shariʽatmadari, editor-in-chief of Kayhān, posed the rather loaded question of “which kind of spring?”103 This was intended to suggest that Ahmadinejad had once again gone beyond his duties and responsibilities and was straying into areas outside of his competence. Beyond the religious allusion, the term bahār also recalled the 2011 Arab Spring, which is to say the bottom-up attempts to overthrow autocratic governments across the Middle East. As a populist leader, Ahmadinejad used the concept of spring, as an opportunity for rebirth, to exacerbate the feelings of discontent that were spread throughout specific segments of Iranian society. Therefore, whether it was linked to religious traditionalism or in reference to mass protests, bahār was a label signifying confrontation and political challenge. The notion of a “government of spring” was used to convey the idea of a different type of executive, freed from the inadequacies of the existing political system and unable to be controlled by unelected institutions. In order to spread this idea of spring, the label had been used as a political slogan for Mashai in 2013 before he was disqualified by the Guardian Council. Nevertheless, this notion of a “government of spring” continued to be an identifying characteristic of Ahmadinejad’s group, who actively used it to self-represent themselves, likely in a concerted attempt to shake off the tag of “deviants.” From 2013 to 2016, Ahmadinejad was able to benefit from a minority segment within the population that was still amenable to his populist message, even though he was no longer a gheyr-e khodī and had lost the support of the various conservative-principalist factions. When in 2016 rumours started to circulate about his possible return to politics, the domestic situation was already largely polarized due to the uncertain future of the JCPOA. In September, the Supreme Leader had publicly advised Ahmadinejad not to run for the presidency because it was “not in the interest of the country.”104 ʽAli Khamenei’s decisive step into domestic politics here was intended to avert Ahmadinejad presenting his candidacy and, thus, to avoid any further disputes that could

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widen internal factionalism. Once again, the rahbar was directing the elections and, following his warning, Ahmadinejad sent him a letter to guarantee that he would respect the recommendation. Nevertheless, as demonstrated in a video clip circulated in April 2017, Ahmadinejad registered for the presidential elections together with his close associate Hamid Baghai. This unexpected and surprising decision by the former President provoked criticism from a broad spectrum of political factions, and especially from conservatives and hardliners. Ahmadinejad had publicly contradicted Khamenei’s warning. As expected, both Ahmadinejad and Baghai were disqualified by the Guardian Council that eventually approved only six candidates. The Ahmadinejadis, as they were henceforth called, were trying to boost popular support by addressing anti-institutional policies and gathering consensus from those who were disappointed by the elites currently in power. They represented a minority who could count on direct and simple language to mobilize ordinary Iranians. During the months following the elections, Ahmadinejad launched a highly critical campaign against the judiciary, which was headed at that time by Sadeq Larijani, making powerful and accusatory speeches against the unelected institutions. Through his social media channels, videos of improvised street gatherings were spread, during which Ahmadinejad criticized the arbitrary power of the judiciary and its widespread inner corruption, going as far as to ask for Sadeq Larijani’s resignation. Larijani was accused of inappropriate behaviour and of having committed terrible sins, such as accusing people without proof, and thereby was perceived to be endangering the reputation of the whole judiciary.105 Moreover, the clash between Ahmadinejad and Sadeq Larijani coincided with the faltering prospects of the Larijani family, as the Larijani brothers started to be replaced in their key institutional roles. By the end of 2017, Ahmadinejad’s criticisms and accusations turned towards the entire political establishment. In a public speech held in Bushehr in December 2017, he claimed that there was not a divinely appointed and popular leader who was willing to talk about the wealth of the few at the expense of the poverty of the many.106 In saying this, Ahmadinejad pointed his finger at both the incumbent President of the Republic as well as the Supreme Leader himself, whose legitimacy descends from God according to the Iranian constitution. Ahmadinejad was also asked why he decided to run for the 2017 presidential elections and, by doing so, rejected Khamenei’s warning. The former President promptly answered: “If the Supreme Leader has an opinion and you

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have a different one, should you die?”107 This statement clearly exposed Ahmadinejad’s confrontational attitude and his clear intention to challenge the Supreme Leader’s authority. However, this attitude did not find widespread popular support. Ahmadinejad’s double standards in criticizing the arbitrary arrests and actions of the judiciary, while having allowed these same practises to continue during his own presidency, raised concerns among the population as well as with his previous political allies.108 What was surprising is that Ahmadinejad himself managed to continue to act mainly undisturbed and no major measures were taken to limit his public speeches or gatherings with his followers in the streets, whereas his closest allies were jailed. Despite his challenging attitude, there are two reasons that may explain why Ahmadinejad himself was never arrested. Firstly, with the rift that had been opened after the 2009 elections, the Islamic Republic could not openly demonize Ahmadinejad, even though his group was perceived as a potential threat to the political equilibrium of the system. Secondly, the former President could not rely on any extensive political or social support, nor could he set a massive propaganda machine in motion. In comparison, the reformist front was a group supported by prominent religious and political figures within the nezām, not to mention the revolutionary elite as a whole. Reformists could mobilize newspapers, rally university groups, and gather consensus from a wide spectrum of educated and urban middle classes, who were a more active, rich and dynamic generation. As such, the reformist front’s members were intimidated and arrested; whereas, after 2013, and having curtailed his group of supporters, Ahmadinejad did not constitute a profound systemic threat. Nevertheless, criticism of his confrontational approach quickly arose. In the summer of 2017, Hamid Baghai was arrested and sentenced to 15 years in prison on the charge of embezzlement and illegal business transactions. The trial for Baghai took place behind closed doors and, in front of the tribunal, Ahmadinejad launched an inflammatory attack on the judiciary and its arbitrary actions, as well as on the impossibility for people to express their opinion or even to hold slight disagreements.109 The most controversial part of his speech was when Ahmadinejad claimed that things would soon change in the country, which hinted at his willingness to actively return to politics in order to reverse practises and transform power relations. Furthermore, two other important allies of Ahmadinejad were arrested in March 2018. Esfandiar Rahim Mashai and ʽAli Akbar Javanfekr were sentenced to six and a half and five years

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in jail respectively on charges of conspiracy and crimes against national security. Mashai was also accused of spreading propaganda against the Islamic Republic due to his protest outside the British embassy in Tehran against Baghai’s imprisonment. Once again, the judiciary intervened to curtail Ahmadinejad’s circle, which remained on the sidelines of political power yet continued to raise quite a few concerns within the establishment. In the upcoming months, the idea of Ahmadinejad as an anti-system figure operating inside the system itself crystallized, and his “deviancy” was to some extent institutionalized behind the slogan of the Dowlat-e bahār, a new populist message aimed at capitalizing on popular discontent among poor, unemployed and low-income households. At the end of 2017, a significant wave of popular protests erupted in the city of Mashhad along the peripheries of the republic, spreading throughout 85 cities and provincial towns. These protests against the incumbent government were initiated by the lower classes due to the high cost of basic goods, but soon grew into more general criticism towards the current political system. Such eruptions of popular discontent were not new in the Islamic Republic, where demonstrations have been a recurrent theme ever since its initial foundation, but these protests presented some new features. Firstly, they were spontaneous and unorganized, and the reasons for each individual dispute were often very different from one to the next. Whereas people in Khuzestan protested against air and water pollution, or over delayed wage payments at the sugar cane company Hafte-tappe, in Mashhad the protests followed a reduction in subsidies, and in Esfahan young people protested about the lack of jobs. Secondly, the socio-demographic composition of these protests was heterogeneous; they included the educated youth looking for jobs, families of war veterans, workers from different sectors, truck and taxi drivers, factory workers and teachers. Protests began from the end of 2017 and revealed new paradigms and changing references on both a political and social level.110 The discontent had emerged from the traditional social bases of the conservatives, the cornerstone of the republic’s foundations. Differently from the Green Wave in 2009, the protestors could not rely on any solid political representation; they appeared as apolitical and without a defined leadership able to express their demands at a national level.111 The capital had seen only marginal involvement with only a few groups of students gathering at university campuses, but the main source of discontent came from other social and geographical areas. The reformists criticized these destabilizing events and acts of violence,

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yet again demonstrating their inability to speak up for the interests of certain affected groups, such as workers and the lower classes, as had also been evident during the Green Wave. These protests continued sporadically until the end of 2019 and throughout 2020. They had started with economic dissatisfaction, through strikes and street demonstrations, and ended up becoming a focal point for political criticism, pointing out the general lack of transparency in political processes and widespread corruption (among other claims). In November 2019, after the proposed reduction of subsidies on fuel came into effect, a wave of protests reached such high levels of tension that major incidences of civil disorder occurred in several towns and cities, and particularly in the Khuzestan province. Arrests were barely covered by the media as internet services within the country had been censored by the government for a number of days.112 Inside Iran, the political elite blamed internal and external enemies for fuelling the discontent and instigating disorder, while heavily repressing the protests. Some had also argued that Ahmadinejad might have had a role in prompting the discontent, given his targeting of the very same social groups involved with the protest movement and his criticisms of the incumbent government.113 This possibility, however, seems unlikely. Despite Ahmadinejad’s popularity among certain social groups, it is doubtful that he would have been able to mobilize such a large mass. Ahmadinejad lacked the means, the appropriate channels and the broad network that would have been necessary to coordinate such a heterogeneous movement or spread his message nationwide to encourage those at different levels of society, who were disenchanted with the current political system, to rise up. Nevertheless, it still remains likely that the Ahmadinejadis may well consolidate political power in the next few years.114 Even if the protests were not necessarily related to Ahmadinejad’s quest to re-establish his legitimacy, they may have emboldened his will to return to politics. His speeches continue to employ anti-elitist tones and promote a message of justice, and he has of course previously presented himself as a “nobody,” in order to create the impression that he is just like everyone else.115 Moreover, his approach in representing himself as a man of the people is still seemingly capable of building a consensus, especially from those who do not trust the incumbent government and continue to suffer (yet again) from international sanctions, not to mention the fallout from the 2020 COVID pandemic.

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In terms of the current political landscape, between 14 ex-ministers and former governors from Ahmadinejad’s tenure(s) managed to re-enter parliament in 2020. For instance, there are now a few key personalities in parliament that previously served in Ahmadinejad’s cabinet. Among them are ʽAli Nikzad, former Minister of Roads and Transportation in 2011 and Minister of Urban Development (2009–2011); Fereydun ʽAbbasi, former head of the Atomic Energy Organization (2011–2013); Hamid-Reza Haji Babai, former Minister of Education (2009–2013); Shamseddin Hoseyni, former Minister of Economy and Treasury (2008–2013); Abdolreza Masri, former Minister of Welfare (2006–2009) and Assadollah ʽAbbasi, former Minister of Cooperatives, Labour, and Social Welfare in 2013. These figures may yet play an important role in spreading Ahmadinejad’s message throughout the provinces and in influencing the domestic political debate to, ultimately, pave the way for his potential return. Speculations have circulated about this possibility, even though it would seem that the time has not yet come for Ahmadinejad to resume a significant role within the current political landscape. There may well be other members of the majles, however, who sympathize with the former President, even if they do not declare their official support. Throughout 2020 and in early 2021, Ahmadinejad continued to visit urban peripheries and organized street gatherings with his followers. His social media channels have been extremely active in promoting his message, spreading his speeches and showing his popular following. In July 2020, in an interview reported in the newspaper Hamshahrī, Ahmadinejad implicitly denied his intention to run for the 2021 presidential elections, but by using his customary vagueness: “What is happening in the economy now? What decisions are being made now? […] As a person, I do my job at every stage. This is the task now; we should not think about other things at all.”116 Nonetheless, he continued to release audio and video messages in which he addressed various political themes and considerations over the economy and foreign relations. The elections in Iran are usually unpredictable, due to the very nature of the system and the uncertainties surrounding the validation of candidates by the Guardian Council, but also because it is difficult to predict popular turnout. Nevertheless, months before the 13th presidential elections held on 18 June 2021, rumours circulated about Ahmadinejad’s possible candidacy because of his regular travels, speeches and activities spread across his media channels. He continued to address themes such

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as the alleviation of poverty, the duty there is of listening to people’s needs, together with regular accusations concerning the executive’s economic (mis)management, or the centralization of political power into the hands of a privileged few. Despite his constant criticism, he neglected to outline any concrete plans on how to combat corruption and fight poverty. On the 2nd of Ordibehesth (22 April 2021), Ahmadinejad gave a speech from the Ministry of the Interior, provocatively stating that “lies, organized corruption, hypocrisy, rent seeking and discrimination, religious aristocracy, political aristocracy, and economic aristocracy have discouraged people from reforming existing mechanisms. It is not possible to introduce reform due to the way the country is now run.”117 During this speech, he placed great stress on the widening distance between the government and the people, and the unfair electoral competition that does not take the will of the people into consideration, as demonstrated by the vetoing process of the Guardian Council, which often results in low turnout, as occurred for the 2020 parliamentary elections. “This is the big deviancy (Ahmadinejad uses the team enherāfī to underline what he perceives as the real form of deviancy in the post-revolutionary system, from his point of view) […] by removing the people from the decision-making process, the country has become weaker […] Choice is the right of the people and officials should not judge their choice […] in the case of disqualification, I declare from now on that I will not approve the election and I will not participate in it.”118 In addition, Ahmadinejad drew attention to the frustrations of the lower classes and tried to highlight all the malfunctions of the current system, so as to once again stress his status as an outsider to it. On 12 May 2021, Ahmadinejad registered as a candidate for the presidential elections, and then took to social media to post footage of the crowds of his supporters on the streets, so as to emphasize the extent of his popular following. As expected, the Guardian Council disqualified him and none of his political allies or sympathizers were allowed to run for the presidency. It is clear from his public speeches that Ahmadinejad had foreseen his disqualification; however, his registration is not without significance and must be read in the context of his potential long-term political strategy. He aimed to exploit the situation in order to stoke up criticism against the system and emphasize its restrictive and deeply unpopular measures, from which he was keen to distance himself. Even before the list of eligible candidates was made public, Ahmadinejad insisted that the will of the people had been violated and

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that the vetoing process was a form of betrayal from revolutionary principles. His disqualification, therefore, was instrumental in raising further voices against the nezām and building wider social consensus with the presumable aim of returning to politics once more favourable conditions arise. The prominent reformist journalist Sadeq Zibakalam has claimed that Ahmadinejad could have gathered up to 20 million votes and may even have defeated Ebrahim Raʾisi, who was the favourite candidate going into the 2021 elections and, indeed, was duly elected President, and this is likely why Ahmadinejad is still viewed with some suspicion by the elite.119 Nevertheless, even though power relations may shift and change, particularly after the succession of the Supreme Leader, it seems unlikely that Ahmadinejad will be able to amass a significant social and political following and ultimately change the institutional structure of the republic. The former President has alienated the middle classes, the conservative establishment and the security apparatus due to his erratic behaviour. It therefore seems doubtful that he could succeed in building a more structured and recognized opposition movement in the near future. However, there were almost three million new voters in the 2021 elections, young people who were voting for the first time and might not remember both of Ahmadinejad’s previous presidencies nor the controversial 2009 elections. Ahmadinejad could well target this segment of the electorate in the months to come. To conclude, several distinct trajectories can be traced and identified in post-revolutionary Iran, but the Ahmadinejad era has come to represent a clear watershed in the country’s political history, which can be effectively separated into what came before and what has transpired after his tenures in charge. Ahmadinejad has demonstrated his keen ability to take the political debate onto the streets and, through various informal channels, to get closer to ordinary Iranians. His provocative statements are deliberately aimed at leveraging societal frustrations and the unfulfilled expectations of the lower classes, who have remained the principal and most important target of his political rhetoric. If the foundations of the republic were built on the consensus of the disenfranchized classes, it is precisely within these groups that the most active grievances have festered and spread following the Ahmadinejad era, as demonstrated by the popular protests which erupted between 2017 and 2020. Ahmadinejad’s pauperism and populism have to some extent strengthened the feelings of injustice and the desire for revenge harboured by less wealthy people, without ever providing them with an adequate political channel

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through which to express themselves. Moreover, he has exploited these movements to validate his own political discourse, to raise consensus or pretend to head up a significant group of followers, but without ever addressing their particular demands in any practical or deliverable way. Even if Ahmadinejad’s populism is detrimental to his political credibility, young people and new voters may see in him an alternative to the current political system—more as a means to express their discontent than as a reflection of any genuine support of him as a figure. At the political level, Ahmadinejad faced a struggle for legitimacy within the ruling elite and exacerbated the confrontation among the conservatives. His reconfiguration of revolutionary paradigms resulted in a deepening of the factional dispute among the first and second generations of the conservative front, which dominate the modern political scene. On the one hand, his political experience has forced a realignment between moderates and pragmatists, alienating the reformists and forcing them to move closer to the technocratic/moderate camp, as was the case during Rouhani’s presidency. On the other hand, his religious narrative has served to weaken the politicized clergy and the figure of the faqīh as the mediator of the people, and as a result has forced the system to rehabilitate the role of those members of the clergy who are close to the Supreme Leader, as can be seen in the sponsorship of a traditional conservative personality such as Ebrahim Raʾisi. Therefore, a part of the establishment fears Ahmadinejad’s interference in politics and is using formal and informal channels to prohibit his return. The system combats Ahmadinejad and his messages through the use of formal processes, such as disqualifying his candidacies for the presidential elections, or using the judiciary to curb other examples of his “deviant current,” but also by informally criticizing his provocative statements and feverish desire to be visible in the public eye. The official list of admitted candidates for the 2021 presidential elections clearly underlined the intention to preserve the status quo, by limiting both reformist and moderate candidates, but also many members of the IRGC whose names had been circulating before the elections as possible contenders. Leaving aside the electoral result, the disqualification of Ahmadinejad in 2021 (as in 2017) demonstrates the intention of the “deep state” to move away from his brand of political populism, which has shifted from the use of revolutionary themes to recent attempts to present himself as a “liberal democrat.” Ahmadinejad was once in the good graces of the conservatives, the security apparatus and hardliner clerics, and he was

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personally involved in a phase of major social restrictions. Now, however, he seeks to contest established practises and the consolidated processes of exclusion, such as those governed by the Guardian Council, in order to claim legitimacy’. In this context, Ahmadinejad confirms his status as a “radical” and, therefore, as an anti-status quo figure. While he used the roots of the revolution to challenge the incumbent establishment, he now pursues a different form of opposition, branded by his own version of nationalism and political Islam. This approach is evidently harmful to the stability of the current establishment, for it reveals its distorted mechanisms of power and institutional overlaps, but still it does not seem to pose too serious a threat. Ahmadinejad’s radical temper, that is the anti-status quo sentiment that drives him, is effectively contained and balanced out by the system, and it does not seem likely that he will ever be able to turn his popular support into a larger wave of protest or a robust political movement. Rather than being threatened necessarily by him, the nezām is more threatened by his methods and approach to politics: his ability to engage wide segments of the population, his refusal to adhere to established formal protocols and his success in operating through simple communication channels. Ahmadinejad’s populism is not a powerful force due to its specific contents (his criticisms are never followed up with any concrete plans for alternatives), but because of his persuasiveness when criticizing the system, his speaking loudly out about malfunctions and political corruption, which finds fertile ground among the impoverished classes, who have long felt betrayed and left behind by the political elite. It is no coincidence that, even in the electoral campaign of 2021, the seven candidates who were authorized to run took up themes of a populist nature, spent most of their time criticizing one another as opposed to outlining specific policies, and constantly reiterated the need to respect and operate according to the people’s will. In the final analysis, Ahmadinejad institutionalized populism in Iranian politics, and the new battlegrounds for political forces were ordinary Iranians, the educated yet jobless youth, and the empowerment of poor people—though without entering too much into the field of social liberalization. If Ahmadinejad is the one representing the only acceptable and yet controlled form of opposition, more in his adopted tones rather than necessarily the contents of his words, what this speaks to is the failure of the post-revolutionary system to renovate itself from within.

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Notes 1. “‫ میشود احمدینژاد‬:‫( ”شعار شعار‬Ahmadinejad’s Slogan: We Can, so It’s Possi b l e ) ,   D o n y ā - e   E q t e s ā d ,  h t t p s : / / d o n y a - e - e q t e s a d . c o m /













April 5, 2018.

, accessed on

2. The official website ‫( حزب اعتماد ملی‬Party of National Trust), Eʽtemādmellī, https://etemad-melli.com. 3.  “Statistical Center of Iran, Census 2016—General Results,” Āmār, https://www.amar.org.ir/english/Population-and-Housing-Censuses/ Census-2016-General-Results, accessed on July 4, 2020. 4.  Sadegh Zibakalam, “Historic Elections,” bitterlemons-international. org,  http://www.bitterlemons-international.org/previous.php?opt= 1&id=277#1130, accessed on April 9, 2021. 5. This information was not gathered through structured interviews, but through informal talks with students and young people I met in the cities of Tehran, Hamedan, Kerman, Qazvin, Yazd, and Shiraz. 6.  Kaveh Ehsani, Arang Keshavarzian, and Norma Claire Moruzzi, “Tehran, June 2009,” Middle East Report Online, http://www.merip. org/mero/mero062809, accessed on April 10, 2020. 7.  “Full Ahmadinejad—Mousavi Debate [English],” YouTube, https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DNmR15Lui8, accessed on April 10, 2020. 8.  Anoushiravan Ehteshami, “Domestic Politics and Foreign Policy in Contemporary Iran,” in Iran and the International System, ed. by Anoushiravan Ehteshami and Reza Molavi (New York: Routledge, 2012), 121–29. 9. 2009 Presidential election, Iran Data Portal, https://irandataportal.syr. edu/2009-Presidential-election, accessed on September 3, 2020. 10. Ali Ansari, Daniel Berman, and Thomas Rintoul, “Preliminary Analysis of the Voting Figures in Iran’s 2009 Presidential Election,” Chatham House and the Institute of Iranian Studies, University of St Andrews 21 (2009): 2. 11. Farideh Farhi, “The Tenth Presidential Elections and Their Aftermath,” in Iran: From Theocracy to the Green Movement, ed. by Negin Nabavi (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 9–10. 12.  Farhang Morady, “Who Rules Iran? The June 2009 Election and Political Turmoil,” Capital & Class 35, no. 1 (2011): 52. 13. “2009 Presidential Election.” 14.  Ibidem. 15. “‫( ”اه ناتسا کیکفت هب تسایر تاباختنا جیاتن‬Election Results on the Presidency of the Republic Divided for Each Province), Dolat.ir, http:// dolat.ir/detail/178301, accessed on June 9, 2018.

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16. Eric Brill, “Did Mahmoud Ahmadinejad Steal the 2009 Iran Election?” Iran’s View, http://www.iransview.com/did-ahmadinejad-steal-2009iran-election/400/, accessed on April 9, 2021. 17. Ali Ansari, Daniel Berman, and Thomas Rintoul, “Preliminary Analysis of the Voting Figures in Iran’s 2009 Presidential Election.” 18. Majid Mohammadi, The Iranian Reform Movement: Civil and Constitutional Rights in Suspension (Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2019), 275–76. 19.  Kevan Harris, “The Brokered Exuberance of the Middle Class: An Ethnographic Analysis of Iran’s 2009 Green Movement,” Mobilization: An International Quarterly 17, no. 4 (2012): 436. 20. Amin Saikal, “The Roots of Iran’s Election Crisis,” Survival 51, no. 5 (2009): 100. 21. “Leader’s Friday Prayer Address,” Khamenei.ir, http://english.khamenei.ir/news/1159/Leader-s-Friday-Prayer-Address, accessed on April 10, 2021. 22. “Leader’s Interview After Voting,” Khamenei.ir, http://english.khamenei.ir/news/1255/Leader-s-Interview-After-Voting, accessed on June 21, 2020. 23.  Ali Ansari, “Iran Elections: Monumental Miscalculation,” The World Today 65, no. 7 (2009): 4–6. 24. Narges Bajoghli and Arang Keshavarzian. “Iran and the Arab Uprisings,” in The Arab Spring: The Hope and Reality of the Uprisings, ed. by Mark L. Haas and David W. Lesch, 2nd edn (New York: Routledge, 2018), 176–77. 25. Majid Mohammadi, The Iranian Reform Movement: Civil and Constitutional Rights in Suspension, 277. 26. Narges Bajoghli, Iran Reframed: Anxieties of Power in the Islamic Republic (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2019), Chapter 1. 27.  “Human Rights Issues Regarding the Islamic Republic of Iran,” Human Right Watch, https://www.hrw.org/news/2011/08/29/ human-rights-issues-regarding-islamic-republic-iran#_ftn55, accessed on June 20, 2020. 28.  Navid Pourmokhtari, “Understanding Iran’s Green Movement as a ‘Movement of Movements’,” Sociology of Islam 2 (2014): 144–77. 29. Ramin Jahanbegloo and Abdolkarim Soroush, “Iran on the Edge,” New Perspectives Quarterly 27, no. 2 (2010): 32–33. 30. Asef Bayat, Life as Politics: How Ordinary People Change the Middle East, 2nd edn (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2013), 284–85. 31. Majid Mohammadi, The Iranian Reform Movement: Civil and Constitutional Rights in Suspension (Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2019), 284.

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32. Riccardo Redaelli and Paola Rivetti, “La lunga primavera araba e il precoce inverno persiano. Le proteste e i cambi di regime mediorientali visti da Teheran,” in La primavera araba: Origini ed effetti delle rivolte che stanno cambiando il Medio Oriente, ed. by Michela Mercuri and Stefano Maria Torelli (Milano: Vita e Pensiero, 2012), 225–40. 33. Fatemeh Sadeghi, “The Green Movement: A Struggle Against Islamist Patriarchy?” in Iran: From Theocracy to the Green Movement, ed. by Negin Nabavi (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 123–36. 34.  Fariba Adelkhah, “The Political Economy of the Green Movement: Contestation and Political Mobilization in Iran,” in Iran: From Theocracy to the Green Movement, ed. by Negin Nabavi (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 9–10. 35. “Opposition Leaders Arbitrarly Held,” Amnesty International, https:// www.amnesty.org/download/Documents/32000/mde130862011en. pdf, accessed on June 20, 2020. 36. Yassamine Mather, “Iranian Workers Say: We Have Nothing to Lose but Our Unpaid Wages,” New Politics 12, no. 4 (2010), 108–12. 37.  Shabnam Holliday and Paola Rivetti, “Divided We Stand? The Heterogeneous Political Identities of Iran’s 2009–2010 Uprisings,” in Political Identities and Popular Uprisings in the Middle East, ed. by Shabnam Holliday and Philip Leech (Lanham, MD, USA: Rowman and Littlefield, 2016), 17–35. 38. Fatemeh Haghighatjoo, “The Green Movement and Political Change in Iran,” in Power and Change in Iran: Politics of Contention and Conciliation (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2016): 228–29. 39. Paola Rivetti and Alam Saleh. “Governing After Protests: The Case for Political Participation in Post–2009 Iran,” in Islamists and the Politics of the Arab Uprisings: Governance, Pluralisation and Contention, ed. by Hendrik Kraetzschmar and Paola Rivetti (Edinburgh, Scotland: Edinburgh University Press, 2018): 36–53. 40.  Zahra Hosseinian, “Iran Hardliners Criticize Ahmadinejad Over Deputy,” Reuters, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-iran/iran-hardliners-criticize-ahmadinejad-over-deputy-idUSTRE56I18Q20090719, accessed on June 19, 2020. 41. “‫( ”اظهارات غيرمنتظره مشايي درباره دوستي با «مردم اسرائيل‬Unexpected Statements by Mashai About Friendship with People of Israel), Tābnāk, http://www. tabnak.ir/fa/news/14024/‫اسرائيل‬-‫مردم‬-‫با‬-‫دوستي‬-‫درباره‬-‫مشايي‬-‫غيرمنتظره‬-‫اظهارات‬, accessed on June 19, 2020. 42. “‫( ”واکنش آیت هللا خامنه ای به سخنان جنجالی مشایی‬Ayatollah Khamenei’s Reaction to the Controversial Speech of Mashai), BBC Persian, http:// www.bbc.com/persian/iran/story/2008/09/080919_ka-khamenei. shtml, accessed on June 19, 2020.

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43.  Ibidem. 44.  “Ahmadinejad Use Pre-Islam History of Iran for Regime Political Goals,” YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9riBZDMvmX8&feature=youtu.be, accessed on June 17, 2020.



45.  (Ahmadinejad: Cyrus’ “Posture” Is That of the Prophets/Mashai: Why Don’t We Recognize Cyrus’ Cylinder as a Sign from God), Farda News, https://www.fardanews.com/fa/news/120337/



46. “‫ دست و”پا زدن های تیم احمدی نژاد‬- "‫”پیام جنجالی رحیم مشایی تحت عنوان "“ز کورش کبیر تا مهدی موعود‬ (Rahim Mashai’s Controversial Message Entitled: From Cyrus the Great to the Promised Mahdi), YouTube, accessed on June 17, 2020. 47. “‫( ”هدف ما از”اين پس معرفي "مكتب“ايران" اس” نه "مكتب اسالم‬Our Goal Is to Introduce the “School of Iran” Instead of the “Islamic School”), Fars News A g e n c y ,    h t t p s : / / w w w. f a r s n e w s . c o m / n e w s / 8 9 0 5 1 3 0 1 7 4 /

accessed on June 17, 2020.



accessed on June 19, 2020.



48. “‫ اسالم بدون نام ايران گم مي شود‬:‫( ”مشايي‬Mashai: Islam Without Iran Is Going to Be Lost), Mashregh News, https://www.mashreghnews.ir/ news/3035 /‫شود‬-‫مي‬-‫گم‬-‫ايران‬-‫نام‬-‫بدون‬-‫اسالم‬-‫مشايي‬, accessed on June 19, 2020.



49.     ( T h e    S t r a n g e Criticism of Ahmadinejad and Mashai: Putting Keffiyeh on Cyrus’s Neck Have Disrespected the basīj), Asriran, , accessed on June 22, 2020.





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58.     ( Ā y a t o l l ā h Mesbah: Unfortunately, Many People Treat the Velāyat-e faqīh as a Political Slogan), Khabar Online, https://www.khabaronline.ir/ detail/150858/Politics/parties, accessed on June 23, 2020. 59. “‫( ”جوانفکر بازداشت شد‬Javanfekr Has Been Arrested), Khabar Online, https://www.khabaronline.ir/detail/246426/society/judiciar y, accessed on June 20, 2018. 60. “‫( ”محمدرضا رحیمی به زندان اوین رفت‬Mohammad-e Reza Rahimi Went to Evin Prison), Fars News, https://www.farsnews.com/news/13931126001437/ ‫رفت‬-‫اوین‬-‫زندان‬-‫به‬-‫رحیمی‬-‫محمدرضا‬, accessed on June 20, 2018. 61. “‫( ”حمید بقایی بازداشت شد‬Hamid Baghai Has Been Arrested), Asriran, http://www.asriran.com/fa/news/399745/ accessed on



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55. “‫( ”آیت هللا مصباح یزدی بار دیگر از رحیم مشایی انتقاد کرد‬Āyatollāh Mesbah Yazdi Had Criticised Again Rahim Mashai), Radio Farda, https:// www.radiofarda.com/a/f4_Mesbah_Yazdi_attack_to_Mashei_ Iran/2148787.html, accessed on June 19, 2020. 56. “‫ جا خوش کرده است‬،‫ انجمن حجتیه در دفتر رئیس جمهور‬:‫( ”سید حمید روحانی‬Seyyed Hamid Rouhani: The Hojjatiyeh Society Was Welcomed to the President's Office), Khabar Online, https://www.khabaronline.ir/detail/198216/ Politics/government, accessed on June 21, 2018. 57.  Ibidem.

62. “‫جدید ترین اظهارات فرمانده سپاه پاسداران در خصوص والیت پذیری احمدی نژاد و جریان‬ ‫( ”انحرافی‬New Statements by the Commander of the Revolutionary Guards on (How) Ahmadinejad and the Faction of the Deviants Accept the Velāya t),  Khabar  Online,  https://www.khabaronline.ir/detail/146238/ Politics/military, accessed on June 23, 2018. 63. Ibidem. 64. “‫( ”هشدار دو مقام ارشد سپاه درباره جریان انحرافی‬The Warning of Two Senior Officials of the Sepāh on the “Current of the Deviants”), Donyā-e Eqtesād, https://donya-e-eqtesad.com/

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65. Pejman Abdolmohammadi and Giampiero Cama, Contemporary Domestic and Foreign Policies of Iran (Cham: Springer Nature, 2020), 92. 66. “‫( ”خامنه ای از نسبت دادن رمالی به رییس دولت انتقاد کرد‬Khamenei Criticizes Those Who Attribute the Label of Superstitious to the Head of State), YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uiei3O5-hgQ, accessed on June 24, 2020.

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72. Karim Sadjadpour, “The Rise and Fall of Ahmadinejad,” The Washington Post, https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/the-rise-and-fall-ofirans-ahmadinejad/2011/07/08/gIQACK4ADI_story.html?utm_term=.338d910746d8, accessed on June 25, 2020. 73. See the official website: http://jebhepaydari.ir/main/index.php?Page= definition&UID=1812735. 74. “‫( ”جبهه پايداري انقالب اسالمي» به‌زودي اعالم موجوديت مي‌كند‬The Coalition for the Stability of the Islamic Revolution Will Soon Be Announced), Fars News,     http://www.farsnews.com/newstext.php?nn=9004295199, accessed on April 23, 2018. 75. “‫ چرایی حمایت جبهه پایداری از سعید جلیلی‬/‫( ”بابت رای به احمدی‌نژاد پشیمان نیستیم‬We Do Not Regret Voting for Ahmadinejad/Why the Front for Sustainability Supports Saeed Jalili), Mashregh News, www.mashreghnews.ir/ news/970609/     accessed   on









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252  G. PERLETTA 103. “‫( ”انتقاد تند مدیر مسئول «کیهان» از احمدی نژاد‬Kayhān CEO’s Sharp Criticism of Ahmadinejad), Magiran, accessed on July

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104.  “Iran’s Supreme Leader Tells Ahmadinejad Not to Run Again for President,” Reuters, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-iran-politicsahmadinejad/irans-supreme-leader-tells-ahmadinejad-not-to-run-again-for-President-idUSKCN11W0WK,      accessed      on January 3, 2020. 105. “‫( ”محمود احمدی نژاد خواستار استعفای صادق الریجانی شد‬Mahmud Ahmadinejad Called for the Resignation of Sadegh Larijani), Radio Farda, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4B5lwBy-oI, accessed on August 1, 2020. 106. “‫ ‘رهبر انقالبی’ که غیبش زد‬:‫( ”محمود احمدی نژاد‬Mahmud Ahmadinejad: The ‘Revolutionary Leader’ Who Disappeared), BBC Persian, https:// www.bbc.com/persian/blog-viewpoints-42788749, accessed on July 30, 2020.

107.    ( A h m a d i n e j a d : If the Leadership Has an Opinion and You Have an Opinion, Should You Die?), Radio Farda, https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=xnehmXX9wc8, accessed on August 3, 2020. 108.  (How Ahmadinejad Feels These Days; What Is He Angry About? Revelations Against Mahmud), Donyā-e      Eqtesād,    https://www.donya-e-eqtesad.com// -3357995/62, accessed on August 3, 2020.

109. “‫( محمود احمدی‌نژاد را هم به دادگاه راه ندادند‬Mahmud Ahmadinejad Was Not Allowed to Stand Trial Either) Bahār News, http://www.baharnews.ir/ news/143187/‫ندادند‬-‫راه‬-‫دادگاه‬-‫هم‬-‫نژاد‬-‫احمدی‬-‫محمود‬, accessed on August 4, 2020. 110. Afshin Shahi and Ehsan Abdoh-Tabrizi. “Iran’s 2019–2020 Demonstrations: The Changing Dynamics of Political Protests in Iran,” Asian Affairs 51, no. 1 (2020): 1–41. 111.  Asef Bayat, “The Fire That Fueled the Iran Protests,” The Atlantic, https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2018/01/iranprotest-mashaad-green-class-labor-economy/551690/  accessed  on August 4, 2020. 112.  Giorgia Perletta, “Iran Protests: A Quest for Reform Turns into Widespread Discontent,” Atlantic Council, https://www.atlanticcouncil.org/blogs/iransource/iran-protests-a-quest-for-reform-turns-intowidespread-discontent/, accessed on August 4, 2020.



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113. “‫ حال و آینده (بخش اول‬،‫ گذشته‬،‫( ”)برجام‬Barjām, Past, Present and Future), Aparat,  https://www.aparat.com/v/Q0S1y29%_‫_حال_و‬،‫_گذشته‬،‫برجام‬ ‫بخش_اول‬%28_‫آینده‬, accessed on August 5, 2020. 114. Giorgia Perletta, “How Recent Protests Could Revive Ahmadinejad’s Fortune in Iran,” Atlantic Council, https://www.atlanticcouncil.org/ blogs/iransource/how-recent-protests-could-revive-ahmadinejad-s-fortunes-in-iran/, accessed on August 4, 2020. 115. “‫ نارمک‬72 ‫( ”فیلم کامل سخنرانی دکتر احمدی نژاد در میدان‬The Full Video of Dr. Ahmadinejad’s Speech at 72 Narmāk Square), Dalfak, https://www.dalfak.com/w/37wmc/‫نارمک‬-72-‫میدان‬-‫در‬-‫نژاد‬-‫احمدی‬-‫دکتر‬-‫سخنرانی‬-‫کامل‬-‫فیلم‬, accessed on January 3, 2021. 116. “۱۴۰۰ ‫( ”واکنش احمدی‌نژاد به حضورش در انتخابات ریاست جمهوری‬Ahmadinejad’s Reaction to His Participation in the 1400 Presidential Election), Hamshahrī, h t t p s : / / w w w . h a m s h a h r i o n l i n e . i r / news/527566/ accessed on July

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December 14, 2020).

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(How Ahmadinejad Feels These Days; What Is He Angry About? Revelations Against Mahmud).” D o n y ā - e      E q t e s ā d .   h t t p s : / / w w w. d o n y a - e - e q t e s a d . c o m / / (accessed August 3, 2020).

“‫( هشدار دو مقام ارشد سپاه درباره جریان انحرافی‬The Warning of Two Senior Officials of the Sepāh on the “Current of the Deviants”).” Donyā-e Eqtesād. https://donya-e-eqtesad.com/ (accessed June 21, 2018).

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CHAPTER 7

Conclusions

The Iranian Republic is a revolutionary system that has undergone several phases of consolidation and has struggled to deeply reform itself for the sake of its political survival. However, while trying to preserve its own brand of political Islam, generational changes, economic needs, and evolving national interests have resulted in a shift in political approaches, foreign relations, and economic agenda. As a result, despite being unable to introduce significant institutional reforms, the revolutionary Republic of Iran has managed to institutionalize its religious radicalism and solidify power relations in order to survive for over four decades. Nevertheless, the official narrative remains highly politicized and tied to revolutionary paradigms, which are still essential components used by domestic forces to claim legitimacy. What has frequently escaped Western attention is the strategic calculus behind the use of ideological rhetoric, a miscalculation that has for decades affected bilateral and multilateral relations between Iran and the West, and particularly with the United States. As a consequence, the incorrect use of nomenclature has shaped Western collective imagination and made it difficult to understand the behaviour of the Iranian Republic. In addition, biased images portrayed by policymakers, media channels, and journalistic reports have also served to justified specific political decisions in relation to the country, which have proved more or less detrimental in terms of bringing about any form of peaceful engagement with post-revolutionary Iran. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 G. Perletta, Political Radicalism in Iran and Ahmadinejad’s Presidencies, Studies in Iranian Politics, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87330-1_7

263

264  G. PERLETTA

Western observers have tried to understand and interpret contemporary Iranian socio-politic dynamics through their own political categories and terminologies, with the result of oversimplifying the reality and reducing—if not entirely misconstruing—the complexity and the peculiarities of the Islamic Republic’s conduct, the intricate nature of its domestic relations, and the ongoing political factionalism within the country. By too often neglecting the concept of Iranian self-representation, the attribution of Western labels has also contributed to the spread of fallacious and erroneous interpretations of the Iranian elite and their interests, both at a domestic and international level. As explored in the introduction to this book, the use of rigid, Western-derived categories fails to acknowledge Iranian particularism and its political complexities, and hence tends to mystify reality, often for political means. Having foregrounded these challenging aspects, the deconstruction of political categories was essential to unveil their related conceptions, frame their (mis)usage, and indicate their alternative readings and applications to an Iranian context. In particular, the category of radicalism appears to be overused in discussions of the contemporary Iranian political landscape and yet it has never been fully contextualized nor evaluated, both in terms of its Western origins and how it is understood, and in its declinations in the Persian language. The lack of any universal definition of what is radical and how political radicalism is conceived in the West implies a fluid and changing meaning to the category itself. This has led to the label being used or applied in a vague and ambiguous manner, employed without appropriate guidelines or outside a defined ideological framework. At the same time, in Iran itself, numerous terms related to the concept of radicalism appear without any fixed categorization, but rather are applied to diverse political phenomena and from various different perspectives. An essential part of my research has dealt with a critical deconstruction of the meaning of radicalism, in order to reveal its different uses and meanings, and ultimately to provide guidance on how to frame the concept within a post-revolutionary Iranian context. A suitable case study in which to test this approach was identified in the presidencies of Mahmud Ahmadinejad, an 8-year period in which the use of incorrect political categories and the misuse of the label radicalism has largely served to mystify the reality in Iran. Before Ahmadinejad’s political ascendancy, the clash between the heterogeneous conservative front, which included the politicized clergy, members of the military, various technocrats and

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pragmatists, and the reformists, such as those who aspired to renovate the republic from within, without destroying its institutional framework, had relegated expressions of radicalism to little more than a nostalgic revival of the 1979 revolution. The category of radicalism had come to identify the revolutionary fervour that persisted until the end of the 1980s. Then, with the ousting of the Islamic Left, it turned into a stabilizing element, a pillar of conservative groups that relied on revolutionary paradigms to ensure their political survival. Therefore, the term radicalism itself had effectively lost its original anti-status quo connotation, and now contributed to preserve the legitimacy of the conservatives. From a Western point of view, radicalism continues to be associated with revolutionary temper, and so is applied to forces that are typically hostile to any reconciliatory approach to the West. Their radicalism relates to their ideologically oriented brand of foreign politics, their links with Shiʽa and pro-Iran militias in the region, their restrictive attitudes on social issues, and an adopted rhetoric of resistance and self-sufficiency. From this perspective, Ahmadinejad became an icon of radicalism due to his provocative attitude and his role in prompting troubled relations between Iran and the West during his presidential tenures. This reading of radicalism sees the term function as little more than an ideological modifier, in the sense that most ideological forms are taken to have their “radical”  or “moderate” expressions. What is missing here, however, is the recognition of radicalism as an anti-status quo attitude, as the original etymology of the term suggests. The result is a distortion of the category that then takes on other subjective meanings, which are rarely explained and often misunderstood. Whereas, within the Islamic Republic, the category of radicalism appears to be used in a different manner, as a dialectical tool intended to discredit political opponents. Internally, Ahmadinejad’s political posture was framed and explicated through many diverse categories and related labels, such as that of enherāfī (deviant) because of his attempts to break away from institutionalized power relations, which posed a serious threat to the foundations of the nezām. The deviancy alluded to here carries negative connotations and indicates a political position that the system not only tried to avoid but sought to actively resist. The conservative front distanced itself from the former President when it became clear that his general strategy was to exploit revolutionary ideology for his own political interests, thereby endangering the very pillars of the republic, not to mention the conservatives themselves. As such, Ahmadinejad

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cannot credibly be labelled a radical if the term is intended to represent the second generation of conservatives and technocrats, who all firmly supported the institutionalized system. When looking at domestic politics, there is a significant gap between the former President and those hardliners of the second generation, who are driven by a genuine ideological adherence to revolutionary principles. The notion of deviancy, on the other hand, captures very well the interpretation of radicalism as (to quote F. Halliday) “a revolt against the status quo […] a break with the constraints of the past, the traditional or established society.” These considerations can tell us a lot about how radicalism as a term is misused and what its limits are within the context of contemporary Iran, especially when the category itself is not properly clarified. And it is in these terminological and interpretative discrepancies between the ways in which the West and Iran label political phenomena, and particularly in how they each refer to radicalism, that the conclusions of my research are to be found. The former President of the Islamic Republic, Mahmud Ahmadinejad, remains an eccentric and yet deeply fascinating figure, not only on account of his ambiguous discourse and the widespread polarization that came about as a result of his particular approach to politics, but especially because his presidential tenure represented a watershed moment in post-revolutionary Iran. From heading up the Islamic Iranian Alliance of Builders through to his later adopted position as a promoter of bahār, Ahmadinejad frequently transformed his political posture and shifted his alliances, at times seeking support from the conservative clergy, then from military technocrats, and later still trying to foment a new breakaway from the institutionalized political fronts by targeting the masses. Ahmadinejad was commonly referred to as a radical by Western scholars and observers due to his provocative approach towards the West. Through this application, the category is confined to a simple judgement of the former President’s message, his rhetoric, and his erratic behaviour, but without an attempt to understand the aims that lay behind any of these. At first glance, by assuming that Ahmadinejad was simply restoring revolutionary principles as a reflection of his own ideological adherence, the nature of his political objectives remains in the shadows. In other words, a simplistic attribution of the label radical to Ahmadinejad’s politics does not help to uncover its purposes, nor its intentions. Although, as a common dynamic in post-revolutionary Iran, all factions claim that theirs is the true interpretation of revolutionary principles, Ahmadinejad

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had not sought to revive them in order to prove his own loyalty to the system, but rather he intended to exploit their original meanings to challenge the status quo and, ultimately, to weaken the ruling elite. By returning to the roots of the revolution as a means to confront part of the establishment, he paradoxically posed himself as a figure of discontinuity. Therefore, radicalism could be used to describe Ahmadinejad if it is in reference to his erratic personality, his indifference to formal protocols, and his willingness to overturn established political customs. Moreover, the former President confronted the ruling establishment from within and exploited religious traditionalism to increase the power of the executive and enable it to take a more dominant role in the decision-making process. The messianic discourse analysed in Chapter 5 was employed as a reinterpretation of Shiʽite eschatology and was designed to be used in opposition to revolutionary Islamism and, as such, the politicized clergy. Along similar lines, Ahmadinejad further alienated the establishment on account of his secular-oriented nationalism, which was intended to spread an alternative official discourse based on pre-Islamic heritage and the Persian imperial past. While the reformists followed the path towards liberalization, with the aim of reducing the monolithic interpretation of revolutionary Islam, and thus to reform established power relations, Ahmadinejad did not attempt to re-interpret the values of the Republic, but rather sought to use its foundational ideology for the purposes of challenging the status quo. In the end, he would effectively perform the role of the opposition to the very system at which he stood at the vertex. Therefore, Ahmadinejad can be credibly labelled as an “anti-systemic force within the system,” even though he did not manage to provide an alternative power structure, nor was he able to fatally undermine the foundations of the nezām. He epitomized the constant ideological readjustment of the elite, who are forced to move within precise boundaries, but are still able to adopt and treat the same themes from different perspectives and for distinct proposes. For all that has been explored here, if it is assumed that Ahmadinejad is indeed a radical figure, radicalism in post-revolutionary Iran only emerges and can only survive within the system itself, even though it aims to undermine it. Furthermore, radicalism in the Islamic Republic does not accurately reflect the current Western view of adherence to the revolution and its ideological framework. Instead, it expresses itself as the manipulation of those same values and slogans, which are used to challenge the institutional structures of power. Ahmadinejad attempted to unhinge the

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entrenched mechanisms of power and to personalize the political spectrum. Nevertheless, and with only a modest following within Iranian society, political groups and high-ranking members of the military have prevented him—at least at this time of writing—from succeeding. In conclusion, the legacy of Mahmud Ahmadinejad’s presidencies is the evident centralization of power around groups supporting the system and who are hostile to the notion of changes. His controversial tenures provoked a significant shift in the axis of power towards the conservatives, who were not only previously but are still today threatened by his anti-elitist and populist rhetoric. On the other side, the reformists underwent a serious phase of marginalization after 2009, which resulted in the need to redress their fragmentation by realigning with moderate and conservative pragmatists. This move has certainly weakened their relationship with the electorate, as became evident during Rouhani’s presidency. Ahmadinejad exacerbated the infighting among the conservative front, and, by highlighting the existing pluralism within pro-system groups, their vulnerabilities were also revealed. For this reason, the establishment continues to resist Ahmadinejad’s message through both formal and informal channels, voicing criticism of his “inappropriate appearances” and his populist discourse. What remains surprising, however, is the lack of more restrictive measures being placed upon Ahmadinejad, beyond the persistent (though never full) censorship of his various communication channels and the purging of his closest allies. As of now, Ahmadinejad seems to be fairly unrestricted in broadcasting his messages and slogans and is free to travel across the country to give public speeches. It is perhaps plausible to suggest that this light touch treatment is in some ways tied to the disputed outcome of the 2009 elections. It does not seem appropriate for the nezām to attempt to suppress Ahmadinejad, whose re-election had profoundly weakened the system and threatened its legitimacy and had particularly undermined the authority of the conservative front. A further consideration may also be that, at least to some extent, Ahmadinejad does not quite have enough political followers to form an effective and structured opposition movement. On the other hand, the current establishment appears to be extremely influenced by Ahmadinejad’s brand of populism, in terms of the issues it addresses, the media tools it uses, and its attempts to establish itself in the widening political gap between the state and wider society, especially with regard to the latter’s most excluded segments. While the middle classes have stoically been awaiting economic improvements

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and, especially after 2017, have increasingly abstained from participating in the electoral system and generally retreated from political life within the country, the less wealthy strata of society are the ones who are taking to the streets and against whom the system has been most prone to using repressive techniques to downplay their grievances. Ahmadinejad now represents the only acceptable opposition, but he is still very much able to be contained by the powers that be and limited in his means of expression. Consequently, although he continues to represent a challenge to the system, Ahmadinejad does not seem able to embody a serious threat to the republic itself. As shown by the protests that have been erupting since 2017, Ahmadinejad is neither a leader of nor a channel for this particular strain of popular discontent. None of the groups protesting have been shown to have ties with Ahmadinejad, nor have they indicated that they see him as a figurehead for their demands. Lastly, the Iranian Republic seems unable to change and reform itself. The former President is now playing the role of the opposition, but he is adopting the exact same pro-poor rhetoric that he used while he stood at the vertex of the nezām. Rather than representing an exaltation of conservative principles, radicalism indicates an opposition to the status quo that can only be expressed, however, within the system itself. Indeed, this mechanism is what prevents the system from ever changing, from ever renewing itself or modifying its established power relations. Ahmadinejad triggered a profound transformation in the style of political discourse, by using new methods and ways of speaking. He introduced a whole new level of populism, which is currently being adopted by the elite at different levels and with varying degrees. Ultimately, he has fundamentally changed the paradigms of political debate, boosting populist narratives, and reviving the revolutionary discourse in order to challenge the (unpopular) revolutionary elite.

Glossary

Āqāzādegān   sons of the elite. This term has a negative connotation as it refers to people who abuse political or economic power through family connections. Āyatollāh   a title used in Shīʽa Islam to indicate a high-ranking scholar who possesses advanced knowledge of Islamic law. Bonyād   foundation. In the context of post-revolutionary Iran, it generally indicates religious foundations, which accumulated significant assets during those years and thus became important para-governmental organizations impacting on the state’s economic and political affairs. Bonyādgarā   fundamentalism. Chap   left. In pre-revolutionary Iran, it referred to leftist groups and intellectuals, and Marxist-Leninist guerrilla movements. In post-revolutionary Iran, it indicates the Islamic left. Chap-e Eslāmī   Islamic Left. A heterogeneous group advocating state control over the economy, an aggressive and ideologically driven approach to foreign politics and the implementation of a welfare system. Part of this group would be foundational to the reformist movement in the 1990s. Chap-e Rādīkāl   radical left. This term was mainly used by conservative factions to criticize the Islamic Left, whose representatives held the majority in parliament until the end of the 1980s. © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 G. Perletta, Political Radicalism in Iran and Ahmadinejad’s Presidencies, Studies in Iranian Politics, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87330-1

271

272  Glossary

Dovvom-e khordād   literally, the second day of the Persian month khordād. It refers to the victory of Mohammad Khatami on May 23, 1997. Later, this term would be used to identify the heterogeneous reformist group who supported his policies. Dowlat   government. It mainly indicates the executive, such as the cabinet and the presidency of the republic. Dowlat-e bahār   the government of spring. This term was adopted as a political slogan by Ahmadinejad’s circle from 2013 onwards. Dowlat-e pādgāneh   security state. This term, as explained by Saʽid Hajariyan, denotes a form of government in which members of the security forces and military apparatus are able to take up positions of power within key centres and institutions throughout the country. Eʽtedāl   moderation. This term is used in opposition to radicalism. ʽEdālat-e ejtemāʽī   social justice. A pivotal concept and slogan of the 1979 revolution and a theme that would later come to characterize Ahmadinejad’s discourses. Efrātī   extremist. Enherāfī   deviant. In post-revolutionary Iran, this word refers to any perceived sense of divergence from the founding ideological pillars of the Islamic Republic. It is used by politicians to deride and undermine their counterparts. Enqelāb-e farhangī   Cultural Revolution. This refers to the closure of universities and the implementation of widespread reforms within the schooling system throughout the 1980s. The same terminology was borrowed by Ahmadinejad two decades later when he sought to reshuffle professors, and administrative and student groups, in order to assert more control over university spaces. Eslāhāt   reforms. This term is associated with a political group that emerged during the domestic factionalism in the 1990s, advocating for specific political changes. The movement took the name of Eslāhtalābān (reformists) and, as a result, the term Eslāhāt hinted towards their particular brand of socio-political reforms. Eslāhtalābān   reformists. Eslāhtalābān-e efrātī   radical reformists. Faqīh   an Islamic jurist who is an expert in Islamic jurisprudence. Followers of the Imām   this term refers to the group of revolutionaries and Islamist students who supported Ruhollah Khomeyni. The group was responsible for the takeover of the US embassy in November 1979.

Glossary

  273

Gharbzadegī   Westoxification. This term was coined by Jalal al Ahmad and refers to the westernization of Iranian culture, which was seen as a disease that needed to be defeated by restoring endogenous values, such as Islamic identity. Gheyr-e khodī    outsider, someone who is not a member of the establishment. Goftogū-ye tamadonhā   dialogue between civilizations. This concept was developed by Mohammad Khatami to promote the necessity for dialogue between countries as opposed to confrontational attitudes and the “clash of civilizations.” Hokūmat   government, as the broad political system. Hokūmat-e qānūn   rule of law. Jang-e narm  soft war. This term is used by conservative factions to indicate the spread of foreign culture and ideas through information and communications technology, typically by external actors intent on weakening Iranian culture. Jariyān-e enherāfī   deviant current. This label was used by conservative factions to refer to Ahmadinejad’s circle with the aim of discrediting their political posture. Khodī   insider, a member of the establishment. Komīteh   committee. Volunteer-based groups born after the 1979 revolution to patrol the streets and control the implementation of and adherence to Islamic values. Majles-e Khobregān-e Rahbarī    Assembly of the Experts of the Leadership. This is an elected body composed of 88 clerics who appoint and are able to dismiss the Supreme Leader. It played an important role in drafting the constitution of the Islamic Republic. Maktab-e Īrānī   Iranian school. This concept was defined by Esfandiar Rahim Mashai to indicate the primacy of Iranian nationalism to preserve Islam. Mardom sālārī-ye dīnī   popular government, also translated as religious democracy. This represents a crucial element of the reformists’ political thought and indicates a participatory form of government. Marjaʽ-e taqlīd   source of emulation. In Shīʽa Islam, this refers to the highest authority and preeminent expert in Islamic jurisprudence. Maslahat   translated as expediency. This is a complex concept that relate to courses of action that are specifically pursued to serve the national interest.

274  Glossary

Moqavvamat    resistance. This is a politicized concept used by the Iranian elite to claim independence from and assert resistance to the West and other imperialist powers. Mostazaʽfān   oppressed. In a political context, this indicates the subaltern classes to whom Ruhollah Khomeyni’s revolutionary discourse was primarily addressed. Nezām   the political system. This includes all institutions and centres of power. Osūlgarāyān   literally “followers of the principles,” but often translated into “principalists.” This label is generally used to identify the “second generation” of conservatives. Osūlgarāyān-e sonnatī   traditional conservatives. Osūlgarāyān-e tond-ro   conservative hardliners. Rādīkāl   radical. This term is typically used by politicians to discredit their counterparts. It does not indicate any specific political category, but rather is used as a dialectical tool within political debate. Rahbar    Supreme Leader. He is the highest religious and political authority in the Islamic Republic and derives his legitimacy from the Velāyat-e faqīh. He supervises all domestic and foreign policies, is the commander-in-chief of the armed forces, controls the judiciary and national media channels, and among other duties appoints those who lead the Friday prayer. Rāst   (political) right. In post-revolutionary Iran, this refers to the politicized clergy and the traditional classes, such as the merchants, who advocated for a more liberal economic approach, stricter control over social issues and individual lives, and the Islamization of customs from above. Rāst-e modern   modern right. This refers to pragmatic-conservative politicians who promoted mass industrialization and a moderate approach to foreign politics. Rāst-e sonnatī   traditional right. This refers to the politicized clergy and the “old guard” of the revolutionaries, as opposed to the modern right. Rūshanfekrān-e dīnī   religious intellectuals. These intellectuals investigated and promoted a new role for and understanding of Islam within the Iranian post-revolutionary system. Shūrā-ye Negahbān   Guardian Council. This is a constitutional body composed of 6 clerics appointed by the Supreme Leader and 6 lay

Glossary

  275

people appointed by the judiciary. It oversees the wider legislative process and electoral system by approving or disqualifying candidates. Tond-ro   literally, “who goes/moves fast.” In a political context, this is used to criticize the behaviour and approach of certain individuals and factions. Both conservatives and reformists use this term to discredit each other’s position. Towse’e   development. This term refers to different kinds of development—economic, social, and political—and characterized most of the political slogans and debate in post-revolutionary Iran. Ulamā   religious scholars. Velāyat-e faqīh   the authority of the jurist. Conceived by Ruhollah Khomeyni, this doctrine assigns to the faqīh, who is the preeminent expert in Islamic jurisprudence, the political leadership of society in the absence of the twelfth Imām. It was constitutionalized after 1979 and served to ensure the religious and political legitimacy of the Supreme Leader.

Index

A Ābādgarān. See Islamic Iranian Alliance of Builders Aftāb Khabarī (newspaper), 135, 138 Ahmadi Moqaddam, Esmaʽil, 112, 115 Ahmadinejad, Mahmud, 2, 3, 6–8, 13, 14, 18, 19, 32, 33, 53, 54, 94, 96, 109–132, 141–156, 159– 176, 178–186, 188, 205–211, 214–230, 232–243, 264–269 ʽAlamolhoda, Ahmad, 155, 168 Anjoman-e Hojjatiyeh. See Society of the proof of the existence of God Ansār-e Hezbollāh, 86, 114 Ārmān (newspaper), 232 Asr-e mā (newspaper), 72 Assembly of the Experts (Majles-e Khobregān-e Rahbarī), 37 B Baghai, Hamid, 221, 235–237 Bani Sadr, Abdolhasan, 73

Basīj Student Organization (Sāzmān-e Basīj Dāneshjūīī), 153 Bazargan, Mehdi, 35–37, 43, 73, 97 Beheshti, Mohammad, 44, 46 C Chamran, Mehdi, 117, 118 Chap-e eslāmī. See Islamic Left Coalition of Good Servants (Eʽtelāf-e Rāiyeheh-ye Khosh-e Khedmat), 146 Coalition of Supporters of the Justice Speech of the Islamic Revolution (Hāmiyān-e Goftemān-e ʽEdālat-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī), 226 Combatant Clerics Association, 46, 48, 74, 80 Council of the Islamic Revolution (Shūrā-ye Enqelāb-e Eslāmī), 35 Cultural Revolution, 43, 152–154, 272

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 G. Perletta, Political Radicalism in Iran and Ahmadinejad’s Presidencies, Studies in Iranian Politics, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87330-1

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278  Index D Daftar-e Tahkīm-e Vahdat. See Officefor Strengthening of Unity Deviant current, 220, 221, 225, 226, 229, 242, 273 Devotees of Islam, 33, 34 Donyā-e Eqtesād (newspaper), 186, 232, 244, 248, 249, 251, 252 Dovvom-e khordād, 81, 88, 119 Dowlat-e Bahār. See Government of spring DTV. See Office for Strengthening of Unity E Endurance Front (Jebheh-ye Īstādegī-ye Īrān-e Eslāmī), 227 Enqelāb-e farhangī. See Cultural Revolution Eslāhtalābān. See Reformists Eʾtelāf-e Ābādgarān-e Īrān-e Eslāmī. See Islamic Iranian Alliance of Builders Eʽtelāf-e Farāgīr-e Osūlgarāyān. See Pervasive Coalition of Principalists Eʽtemād (newspaper), 1, 56 Executives of Construction Party, 48, 78–80, 88, 229 Expediency Discernment Council, 158 F Fadai, Hoseyn, 94, 96 Fadāʾyān-e Eslām. See Devotees of Islam Followers of the Imām, 43, 48, 72, 82, 92, 111, 113, 146 Freedom Movement of Iran (Nahzat-e Āzādī-e Īrān), 36 Front of Development and Justice of the Islamic Iran (Jamʽiyat Pīshraft va ʽEdālat-e Īrān-e Eslāmī), 227

Front of Islamic Revolution Stability, 226, 227, 326 The Front of the Followers of the Imām Line and the Leader, 113, 146 G Ghafari, ʽAbbas, 221 Government of spring, 233, 234, 237, 272 Green Wave, 182, 210–214, 223, 229, 237, 238 Guardian Council (Shūrā-ye Negahbān), 38, 47, 83, 86, 89, 95, 97, 114, 134, 155, 206, 208, 210, 226, 227, 234, 235, 239, 240, 243 H Haddad ʽAdel, GholamʽAli, 143 Hajariyan, Saʽid, 32, 76, 82, 159 Hamshahrī (Newspaper), 239 Havādārān-e Mahmūd-e Ahmadīnezhād. See Supporters of Mahmud Ahmadinejad Hezb-e Jomhūrī-ye Eslāmī. See Islamic Republican Party Hezb-e Kārgozārān-e Sāzandegī. See Executives of Construction Party Hojjatiyeh. See Society of the proof of the existence of God Homā. See Supporters of Mahmud Ahmadinejad I IRGC. See Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps IRP. See Islamic Republican Party Īsārgarān. See Society of the Devotees of the Islamic Revolution

Index

Islamic Association of Engineers (Jāmeʽeh-ye Eslāmī-ye Mohandesīn), 113, 120 Islamic Coalition (Moʾtalefeh-ye Eslāmī), 46, 113 Islamic Consultative Assembly, 39, 46, 49, 80, 85, 86, 88, 97, 112, 119, 142–146, 148, 151, 152, 156–158, 172, 205, 206, 219, 224, 226, 231, 232, 239 Islamic Iranian Alliance of Builders, 96, 114, 115, 118, 129, 131, 160, 266 Islamic Iran Participation Front, 82 Islamic Left, 31, 43, 46–50, 69, 72–77, 79, 80, 89, 91, 92, 94, 113, 131, 206, 208, 265, 271 Islamic Republican Party, 31, 36, 37, 40, 44, 46, 73, 75, 92 Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, 48, 52, 53, 73, 76, 85, 88, 94, 97, 112, 115–118, 120, 125, 148, 151, 152, 156–158, 160–162, 170, 171, 177, 210, 215, 221, 224, 227, 242 Islamic Revolution Committees, 36, 37, 92, 273 Islamic Students Association (Jāmeʽeh-ye Eslāmī-ye Dāneshjūyān), 113 J Jalili, Saʽid, 151, 195, 227 Jāmeʽeh-ye Rūhānīyat-e Mobārez. See Society of the Combatant Clergy Jamʽiyat-e Īsārgarān-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī. See Society of the Devotees of the Islamic Revolution Jannati, Ahmad, 79, 95, 155 Jariyān-e enherāfī. See Deviant current

  279

Javad Zarif, Mohammad, 230 Javanfekr, ʽAli Akbar, 225, 236, 249 Jaʽfari, ʽAli, 221 JCPOA. See Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action Jebheh-ye Moshārekat-e Īrān-e Eslāmī. See Islamic Iran Participation Front Jebheh-ye Mutahed-e Osūlgarāyān. See United Front of the Principalists Jebheh-ye Peyru-e Khat-e Imām. See Followers of the Imām Jebheh-ye Peyru-e Khat-e Imām va Rahbarī. See The Front of the Followers of the Imām Line and the Leader Jebhe-ye Pāydārī-ye Enqelāb-e Eslāmī. See Front of Islamic Revolution Stability Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action, 1, 230, 231, 234 JRM. See Society of the Combatant Clergy K Kadivar, Mohsen, 70, 86, 98 Kalhor, Mehdi, 205 Karbaschi, Gholamhossein, 78, 86 Kārgozārān. See Executives of Construction Party Reconstruction Karrubi, Mehdi, 119, 134, 206, 209, 211, 213 Kayhān (newspaper), 30, 32, 55–57, 219, 234 Kayhān-e farhangī (newspaper), 70, 72 Khamenei, ʽAli, 15, 36, 41, 46, 47, 49, 72, 75, 79, 87, 120, 143, 154, 157, 162, 206, 210, 214, 215, 223–225, 234

280  Index Khatami, Mohammad, 76, 80, 83–86, 91, 92, 94, 113, 119, 122, 143, 147, 169, 173, 206, 207, 224, 228 Khomeyni, Ruhollah, 28–31, 33–40, 43, 45–47, 49, 52, 59, 72–74, 76, 82, 91, 93, 94, 111, 113, 115, 116, 124–126, 130, 131, 146, 152, 157, 163, 206 Kīān (newspaper), 72 Komīteh. See Islamic Revolution Committees Kordan, ʽAli, 144 L Larijani, Sadeq, 235 Larijani, ʽAli, 56, 119, 134, 146, 151, 158, 195, 219, 224, 227 M Majles. See Islamic Consultative Assembly Majles-e Shūrā-ye Eslāmī. See Islamic Consultative Assembly Majmaʽ-e Rūhānīyūn-e Mobārez. See Combatant Clerics Association Majmaʽ-e Tashkhīs-e Maslahat-e Nezām. See Expediency Discernment Council Mashai, Esfandiar Rahim, 215–218, 221, 223, 225, 226, 234, 236, 237 MEK. See People’s Mojāhedīn Organization Mesbah Yazdi, Mohammad, 95, 216, 219, 221, 226 MIRO. See Mojāhedīn of the Islamic Revolution Organization Moderation and Development Party (Hezb-e Eʽtedāl va Towse’e), 227

Mohajerani, Ataʽollah, 84, 86 Mojāhedīn of the Iranian Islamic Revolution Organization, 46, 79, 82, 93 Mojāhedīn of the Islamic Revolution Organization, 92–94, 96 Montazeri, Hoseyn ʽAli, 75, 76, 85, 99, 212 Moslehi, Heyder, 223, 224 Motahari, ʽAli, 219 Moʾtalefeh-ye Eslāmī. See Islamic Coalition Mottaki, Manuchehr, 224 MRM. See Combatant Clerics Association Mūj-e Sabz. See Green Wave Musavi Ardabili, ʽAli, 36 Musavi, Mir Hoseyn, 206, 207, 209, 210, 213, 223 Musavi Khoʾeiniha, Mohammad, 43, 80 N Nabavi, Behruz, 79 Nabavi, Behzad, 46, 93 Nateq Nuri, ʽAli Akbar, 79, 80, 113, 119 Nikzad, ʽAli, 239 O Office for Strengthening of Unity, 44, 80, 81, 87, 111, 113 Osūlgarāyān. See Principalists P Pahlavi, Mohammad Reza, 34, 46, 111, 217 Parliament. See Islamic Consultative Assembly

Index

Pāsdārān. See Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps Pāydārī. See Front of Islamic Revolution Stability People’s Mojāhedīn Organization, 47, 73, 92 Pervasive Coalition of Principalists, 146 Principalists, 17, 18, 31, 50, 52, 53, 95, 96, 120, 146, 168, 220, 234, 274 Q Qalibaf, Mohammad, 119, 125, 145, 146, 227, 228 R Rafsanjani, ‘Ali Akbar Hashemi, 36, 46–50, 72, 74, 77–79, 95, 112, 119–122, 124–126, 145, 147, 148, 169, 173, 223, 225, 228 Rahbar. See Supreme Leader Rahimi, Mohammad Reza, 221 Raʾisi, Ebrahim, 41, 241, 242 Reformists, 12, 16–18, 31, 32, 49–53, 67–72, 75, 76, 80–93, 95–97, 113–116, 118–123, 125, 126, 128–131, 142, 143, 145–147, 152–155, 158, 160–162, 168, 184, 185, 206–209, 211–214, 221, 223, 225, 227–229, 236, 237, 241, 242, 265, 267, 268, 272 Religious intellectuals, 69, 70, 72, 75–77, 82, 83, 92, 98, 99, 274 Rezai, Mohsen, 118, 146, 158, 206, 209, 227 Rouhani, Hasan, 150, 183, 227–232, 242, 249, 250, 268

  281

Rūhānīyat. See Society of the Combatant Clergy Rūhānīyūn. See Combatant Clerics Association Rūshanfekrān-e dīnī. See Religious intellectuals S Safar Harandi, Mohammad Hoseyn, 154 Salām (newspaper), 72, 84, 88 Salehi, ʽAli Akbar, 224 Samareh Hashemi, Mojtaba, 185 Sāzmān-e Basīj-Dāneshjūyān-e Dānesgāh (Organization of Basīj University Students), 86 Sāzmān-e Fadāʽyān-e Khalq-e Īrān (Organization of Iranian People’s Fadaian), 73 Sāzmān-e Mojāhedīn-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī-e Īrān. See Mojāhedīn of the Iranian Islamic Revolution Organization Sāzmān-e Mojāhedīn-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī. See Mojāhedīn of the Islamic Revolution Organization Sāzmān-e Mojāhedīn-e Khalq. See People’s Mojāhedīn Organization Sāzmān-e Basīj Ostāīd-e Keshvar (Organization of State Basīj Teachers), 153 Sepāh-e Pāsdārān-e Enqelāb-e Eslāmī. See Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps Shabestari, Mohammmad Mojtahed, 70 Shariʽati, ʽAli, 75, 92, 93, 110, 166 Shariʽatmadari, Hoseyn, 219, 234 Shūrā-ye Hamāhangī-ye Nīrūhā-ye Enqelāb-e Eslāmī (The

282  Index Coordination Council of Islamic Revolutionary Forces), 119 Society of the Combatant Clergy, 31, 35, 46, 49, 80, 92, 115 Society of the Devotees of the Islamic Revolution, 94–96, 111, 113– 115, 125, 131, 144, 145, 166, 167 Society of the proof of the existence of God, 111, 163, 166 Sorush, ʽAbdolkarim, 70, 71, 211, 212 Sorush, Dabbagh, 71 Supporters of Mahmud Ahmadinejad, 232, 233 Supreme Leader, 15, 30, 37–39, 41, 45, 47, 49–51, 60, 70–73, 75, 76, 78–80, 82, 84–87, 92, 113, 118, 125, 126, 128, 143, 144, 146, 151, 154, 157, 158, 161, 162, 165, 170, 171, 184, 185, 189, 206, 210, 211, 214–216, 220, 221, 223–228, 231, 234–236, 241, 242, 274 Supreme National Security Council (SNSC), 172

T Tābnāk (newspaper), 134, 246, 249, 251 Third Worldism, 35, 169, 178, 179 U United Front of the Principalists, 146 V Vaziri Hamaneh, Kazem, 143 Velayati, ʽAli Akbar, 151, 227 Y Yazdi, Mohammad, 95 Z Zān (newspaper), 223 Zibakalam, Sadegh, 207, 241, 244