Order appears to have been restored as demonstrators are denounced as 'rioters', writes MARY FITZGERALD.
TO DRIVE the entire length of Vali Asr, the tree-lined avenue that traverses Tehran from north to south, on an ordinary day is to engage in the fierce battle of wills and patience that is negotiating the Iranian capital’s interminable traffic. To drive it yesterday was to observe a city tentatively daring to breathe after two weeks of tumultuous protest.
The street which many Iranians claim is the longest in the Middle East begins at Tehran’s central train station in its southern hinterland, and sweeps north to the craggy Alborz mountains that overlook the city. As it stretches northwards, Vali Asr widens, and the hole-in-the wall kebab stands and crumbling buildings lining its poorer southern reaches give way to chic boutiques, cinemas and furniture stores.
On Fridays, considered the Iranian weekend, this frenetic city of more than 10 million inhabitants usually steps down a gear or two. What was unusual about yesterday was the absence of most of the thousands of police and pro-government Basij militia that have flooded Tehran’s streets since the first protests over Iran’s disputed presidential election erupted exactly two weeks ago. The only police visible where Vali Nasr cleaves central Tehran were those on regular duty guarding the high-walled residence of Iran’s supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei.
Along Vali Asr’s northern half, where several bloody clashes took place after the controversial June 12th vote, only the odd traffic police officer could be seen late yesterday afternoon. At other streets and squares that had been flashpoints during the unrest – Vanak, Tajrish, Ferdowsi, Haft-e-Tir – there was no sign of the sullen Basij vigilantes who had so recently prowled with clubs and sticks ready to break up any sign of a nascent protest. Or the riot police whose shiny black moulded head, leg and chest guards prompted my driver to exclaim: “I’ve never seen anything like it. They look like robots!”
At Engelab [Revolution] Square, there were no police or Basij to be seen, despite the fact that those who attended Friday prayers at nearby Tehran University were still trickling out of the campus gates and into buses that would ferry them to homes on the outskirts of the city. “That’s it, the police have gone. They did their job. Everything is finished now,” said one bystander.
Security around the university was nowhere near as tight as it had been on election day, or the following Friday, when Ayatollah Khamenei delivered a testy sermon which was uncompromising in its condemnation of protests against what he considered to be a legitimate – and fair – election.
Those who assembled for yesterday’s prayers, which every week proves the largest such gathering in Tehran, heard Ayatollah Ahmad Khatami, an influential cleric close to Khamenei, take the denunciation even further. The “rioters” involved in the unrest must be punished “ruthlessly and savagely”, he thundered, and they should be convicted for waging war against God, a crime punishable by death, according to Sharia law. The address was also broadcast on TV and radio.
Across the city, at Baharestan Square, there were few security forces present apart from the usual number posted at entrances to the futuristic cluster of pyramid-shaped buildings housing the Majlis, or parliament. On Thursday, a few hundred protesters were reportedly dispersed by police and Basij as they attempted to gather here.
Everywhere in the city there is a sense of Tehranis desperate to introduce some semblance of normality to their lives after the turmoil of the last two weeks. Following the disputed election that returned Mahmoud Ahmadinejad to power, the city where he once served as mayor has been convulsed by its most serious crisis since the 1979 revolution – at least 17 people have been killed on its streets, hundreds more have been injured and scores arrested.
But even at the height of the disturbances, there were several parts of the city where people insisted on going about their day. Buses and trains ran, and many shops and businesses stayed open and many insisted life must go on.
Some attribute the relative calm of the last few days to the fact the concur (the university enrance examination) has begun. But there is no doubt that the protests, which in the first days after the presidential election ran to hundreds of thousands of people, have tapered off in the face of a widened and very often brutal crackdown by the regime. Iran’s authorities appear intent on rounding up what they refer to as “rioters” and “hooligans”.
State TV regularly appeals for information on those who took part in the demonstrations, broadcasting footage in which protesters’ faces are enlarged and circled in red. More than 400 have been arrested so far.
In the run-up to the election, large parts of Tehran, and many of its denizens, were decked in the signature green of Mir Hussein Mousavi’s campaign as his challenge to Ahmadinejad gained momentum. According to the official results, which Mousavi and his supporters allege were heavily rigged, the capital handed the defeated candidate a 52 per cent majority. Today, only the very brave display anything green – to do so is to invite a beating or worse, say Mousavi supporters.
One taxi driver joked about leaving his lime green car at home to save him from the ire of the Basij. The mass car-horn beeping associated with Mousavi supporters has also petered out. One thing that continues, however, is the defiant cry of Allahu Akbar(God is most great) from the city's rooftops every night, a symbolic act of protest that harkens back to 1979.
As the city dares to return to something approaching normality, the question on most Tehranis’ minds right now, as they ponder the events of the past two weeks, is what comes next.
Is this the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end?