Rosewater (Movie Tie-in Edition)

by Maziar Bahari

  In addition to being one of my most trusted sources, Amir was also, despite our age difference, one of my best friends. His brother had worked for my father’s company in the shah’s time and had spoken often of my father. “My brother used to say that Mr. Bahari was the best boss he had ever had,” Amir said. “I had an immense respect for your father. He was not religious in a traditional sense, but his honesty and his big heart made him one of the most religious people I know.”

  To me, Amir represented moderation, and the idea that there were decent people in the system, people who were working to change it peacefully from within, gave me hope. Amir abhorred Ahmadinejad, whom he regarded as a misfit, a low-ranking former local governor and Revolutionary Guard who had somehow managed to become the president. But Amir ultimately blamed Khamenei for Ahmadinejad’s rise to power. “It’s amazing how people can be deceived by flattery,” Amir had said to me not long after Ahmadinejad was first elected. “The relationship between Mr. Khamenei and this man is like a landowner and a serf.”

  Amir had held an important position during the presidency of Ahmadinejad’s predecessor, Mohammad Khatami, a pro-reform president who believed in a more open and democratic interpretation of Islam. In 2005, when Ahmadinejad was elected president, he forced the resignation of many high-ranking government officials. Amir left the Ministry of Interior, but he had retained very good contacts inside Ahmadinejad’s government.

  Two weeks earlier, Amir had shown me a secret poll conducted by the Ministry of Intelligence—the country’s equivalent of the CIA and the FBI in one—in the capitals of all of Iran’s thirty-one provinces. The poll demonstrated that Mousavi was well ahead of Ahmadinejad and predicted that Mousavi would win the election with sixteen to eighteen million votes to Ahmadinejad’s six to eight million. Surveys are not usually accurate or reliable in Iran. People don’t trust the pollsters, and many Iranians are afraid that by expressing their opinion they can get into trouble. But because Ahmadinejad’s own intelligence officials had conducted the poll, I found it to be trustworthy and had written an article about it for Newsweek.

  Amir’s office was large and mostly unfurnished and, like the offices of most Iranian reformists, it had a temporary feel about it, as if he was prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. His desktop was empty, except for one yellow file and a few photographs, and the only decoration on the walls was a large framed poster of the Sheikh Lotfollah Mosque, a marvel of Persian architecture in the city of Isfahan. The dust on the frame showed that it had been there for a long time, and that it had been neglected. When I walked in that morning, I smelled the sweet scent of gaz, which may be one of the most delicious confections in the world (and one of the main causes of cavities in Iran). One of Amir’s relatives owned a pastry shop in Isfahan, and every now and then he sent Amir some gaz, which always put him in a good mood. But that day, the gaz didn’t seem to be having the desired effect. Amir was worried and agitated. He rested his head on his left hand and scratched his chin nervously as he talked to me.

  I barely had time to get out my notebook and pen before he launched into an explanation of what he expected would happen with the election: if there was no vote rigging, Mousavi would win the majority of votes, and the election. But, he explained, that was a very big if.

  Amir noted that Ahmadinejad seemed to have been preparing himself for this election—and the potential for defeat—for a long time, mostly by appointing the right people to key political positions, especially in the Ministry of Interior. For Ahmadinejad, the right people usually meant members of a new, more inexperienced, and therefore more malleable generation of the Revolutionary Guards, men who had not fought in the Iran-Iraq War. “Men who have experienced war will never support this idiot’s bellicose rhetoric,” Amir said. “War heroes hate war and know it can only cause mayhem and destruction. It is this new adventurous and corrupt generation of the Guards who act as the foot soldiers of Mr. Khamenei and support Ahmadinejad’s extremism.”

  The Revolutionary Guards had been continually expanding its power, and redefining itself, since the organization’s inception in 1979 as a military force. After Saddam Hussein’s army invaded Iran in September 1980, many young men joined the Revolutionary Guards, wanting to defend their country. During the war, the Guards’ power expanded into other areas. While the official Iranian army mostly carried out its military duties, the Guards started import-export companies and built industries. After the November 1979 takeover of the American embassy in Tehran, the United States and its allies imposed economic and military sanctions against Iran. The Guards obtained illegal arms from the international arms black market and developed its own engineering organization to rebuild the infrastructure destroyed by the Iraqis. Its leaders started a new front in the regime’s war against the West and Israel, by training Hezbollah militia in Lebanon. Under Ruhollah Khomeini, the Guards practically had free rein. By the time the cease-fire between Iran and Iraq was signed in 1988, the Guards had become one of the mightiest institutions in Iran.

  Its influence expanded further after Khomeini’s death in 1989, when Ali Khamenei replaced him as the supreme leader of Iran and Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani became president. Rafsanjani believed that Iran had to be economically developed and Iranians prosperous before human rights and freedom of expression could be introduced into Iranian life. In the postwar chaos, many Guards members took advantage of this opportunity. Pushing the competition out through threats, intimidation, and brute force, the Guards’ main engineering company, Khatam ol Anbia (the Last Prophet), became Iran’s main industrial contractor, receiving many lucrative contracts in the infrastructure, oil, and petrochemical sectors.

  After the war, many members of the Guards resigned and started their own import-export companies with branches outside of Iran. They used their connections inside the government to monopolize parts of the market. The corruption of former guardsmen became legendary as they threatened their competitors, avoided customs, and evaded duty taxes.

  As the supreme leader, Khamenei chooses and dismisses each and every commander of the Guards. By selecting only people who are extremely loyal to him as commanders of the Guards, Khamenei tried to turn the Guards into his own private army. Yet many commanders resisted becoming slaves of Khamenei’s, and while they largely remained loyal to him, they also maintained a good relationship with other prominent members of the regime, such as Rafsanjani and Mohammad Khatami.

  This caused a split within the Guards. After many reformists within the regime supported the student riot in 1999, Khamenei ordered the creation of a series of ideological courses, which they called Basirat, or Wisdom, for a selected group of younger members of the Guards. Basirat was more than an indoctrination process; it was also a filtering process for creating the Revolutionary Guards’ intelligence unit, which eventually became the country’s main intelligence-gathering and security organization.

  According to my friend Amir, the Guards’ intelligence unit had been instrumental in rigging the 2005 election, when Ahmadinejad became president. It was during the four years of Ahmadinejad’s presidency that the Guards had taken over many important economic centers of power in Iran, including the oil industry and the nuclear program. The Guards became Iran’s biggest industrialists, owning many front companies under different pretenses and names in Iran and abroad. There had been several reports of current and former members of the Guards setting up companies in Iran, Dubai, and Canada—which, on the surface, had no connection with the Guards—for the purpose of laundering money for the Guards. In order to continue its monopoly over Iran’s economy, the Guards needed a friendly government in power. Amir said that Guards leaders were preparing to use every resource at their disposal to get Ahmadinejad reelected.

  If elected, Mousavi would not be able to stop the Guards, but a transparent government, which he was promising to create, would no doubt interfere with the Guards’ control of Iran’s politics and economy.

  Amir told me that after the 2005 electio
n, one of the commanders of the Guards had asked that Amir and all his close associates be removed from the Ministry of Interior. “He knew that my team would never accept tampering with people’s votes,” Amir said. “So they fired all of us.”

  The current Minister of Interior, Sadegh Mahsouli, took the cake when it came to corruption. A Guards commander in the 1980s, he had forced many people to sell their houses to him at a fraction of what they were worth. He and his Guards buddies then demolished those houses and built high-rises on the properties. Mahsouli had also taken millions of dollars in bribes from Kurdish and Shia Iraqi refugees who were forced, by Saddam Hussein’s government, to move to Iran in 1991, during the First Gulf War.

  In March 2008, when Mahsouli was appointed minister, I decided to write an article about him, but after a few interviews, Amir warned me that I should be very careful about publishing my findings. “The Guards have become like a mafia,” he said at the time, looking me in the eye. “They have taken over the country and can easily eliminate you if they wish.”

  I remembered Amir’s warning from more than a year ago as I watched him now, holding his chin with one hand and tapping nervously on his desk with the other. The sun was shining through the blinds, creating ominous lines on Amir’s face; he looked as if he were behind bars. “With Mahsouli in charge of the elections, I’m beginning to fear that Ahmadinejad has almost guaranteed his reelection,” Amir said. “They have done their best to manipulate the public before the elections, and now they’re frightened that their plans may not work. Mahsouli is exploring different ways to rig the votes.”

  Although Amir opposed everything Khamenei stood for, he had several photos of himself and Khamenei on his desk at home. In one of the photographs, Amir was sitting next to Khamenei as he lay in a hospital bed.

  Once, Amir saw me looking at the pictures.

  “I’ve known Mr. Khamenei for more than forty years,” he said, taking the first photograph in his hand and cleaning the wooden frame with his index finger. “After the assassination attempt against him in June 1981, his right hand was paralyzed and he almost lost his life. Mr. Khamenei was like a brother to me then, and I visited him all the time in the hospital. You know, Maziar, he is a cultured man. He’s been reading a novel every week since I’ve known him. He’s a poet and likes traditional Iranian music. I don’t think he was so interested in power when he was made supreme leader in 1989.” Amir paused and picked up another photo. In it, Khamenei, Amir, and a group of other Islamic Republic officials were sitting on their knees in a circle around Ruhollah Khomeini. It didn’t look like a government meeting; it was more like a saint giving an audience to the faithful. “Leadership of the Islamic Republic was a cloak that fit Imam Khomeini,” Amir noted. “It looks too big on Mr. Khamenei. But power is even more addictive than heroin, and Mr. Khamenei is hooked on it now.”

  Back in the office, Amir’s cell phone rang. He had to join Mousavi and a group of his advisers for evening prayers. “Amir jaan,” I said as I stood to leave. “You’re telling me Mousavi will win for sure but they are going to change the results?”

  Amir held my hand in his. “The only chance of having a fair election is if Mr. Khamenei prevents the Ahmadinejad gang and the Guards’ intelligence unit from rigging the votes. All we can do is pray that the supreme leader will make a wise decision.”

  On my way home that evening, as I passed by murals of Khamenei on walls throughout the city, Amir’s words stayed with me. I hoped that Khamenei would consider saving his legitimacy not by helping Ahmadinejad steal the election but by listening to his people. Of course, I highly doubted he would do that. As Amir had said, Khamenei was intoxicated by his power and wanted to expand it by having an obsequious subordinate he could control. And that man was Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.

  As I passed yet another group of young men and women dressed in green and holding Mousavi signs, I knew that the people of Iran, silent for so long, had finally found their voice. The question now was: Would Ali Khamenei choose to listen?

  Chapter Three

  In Iran, the weekend is celebrated on Thursday and Friday, and Friday is called Jom’eh, which means “gathering.” On this day, Muslims are supposed to pray together. Many do but many others, if they can afford it, spend the weekend on the shores of the Caspian Sea, about three hundred miles north of Tehran. Others go hiking in the Elburz Mountains, in north Tehran. This is how I spent many of my weekends in Iran, and it was the only way I wanted to spend June 11, the day before the election.

  I left my mother’s house at four A.M. with a plan to hike into the mountains for as long as I could and then descend by cable car. Every reporter prays for a chance to come across a life-changing story. Reporting the election was mine. I wanted to hike long enough to clear my head and put some distance between myself and politics, in the hope of keeping some perspective.

  · · ·

  The music and fresh mountain air calmed me down. “My baby’s going to be born in four months’ time,” I hummed to myself as I hiked. “In four months’ time I will be a father.” The idea energized me, and as the sun rose over Tehran, I walked briskly.

  By ten A.M., I was hot and winded. I sat down to eat the dates I had packed. All of Tehran was spread out before me. As usual, a dark cloud of smog hung over the city. I poured a little of the tea I had brought and slowly ate my dates. The exhaustion of the last few days had settled in my body, but even so, I believed myself poised on the edge of so much possibility: a better future for my family; for my career; and, I prayed, for my country. I felt invigorated and happy.

  After I packed my things and began the walk to the cable car, a sad, old voice, as thick as the smog covering the city, began to croon in my ears. It was Leonard Cohen, singing “Everybody Knows”:

  Everybody knows that the dice are loaded

  Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed

  Everybody knows that the war is over

  Everybody knows the good guys lost

  Everybody knows the fight was fixed

  Cohen’s words have an unrivaled ability to put a tunnel at the end of the light. While listening to Cohen, I remembered Amir’s words. The possibility of Khamenei making a wise decision was quite remote. After all, despots are hardly known for their inclination toward fairness.

  When I returned, my cell phone rang. It was Amir. “Where’ve you been?” He sounded nervous. “I’ve been trying to call you all day. Come to my office as quickly as you can.”

  An hour or so later, when I walked into his office, he immediately put his index finger to his lips, then asked me to sit down. “How is your mother, Maziar?” he asked, taking my cell phone. He turned it off and took out the battery. It was believed that Iranian security could eavesdrop on your conversations through your cell phone, even if the power was turned off.

  “She’s well, thank you,” I said, feeling ill at ease as Amir handed me a piece of paper. “I’m so happy to hear that,” he said.

  The paper was an open letter from Mousavi to Khamenei that would be made public in a few hours. Never before had a presidential candidate written such an irreverent letter to the supreme leader. In it, Mousavi expressed concern that members of the supervisory councils and election observers were acting in favor of Ahmadinejad and that Ministry of Interior officials were creating obstacles for Mousavi’s representatives who were supposed to supervise the preparation of ballot boxes and the counting procedures.

  Mousavi also complained about the interference of the Revolutionary Guards and the Basij in the electoral process. He said that Ahmadinejad was illegally using government money and government offices for campaign purposes. In his letter, Mousavi also warned the supreme leader that some groups were trying to tamper with people’s votes. None of these accusations were new—at least not to the voters—but it was important that a candidate had taken a bold step and was voicing the people’s concerns.

  “Please be sure to tell your mother that I was asking about her,” Amir said, sliding
another piece of paper slowly across the desk.

  The page contained a phone number and a message: “Call me on this number from a public telephone tomorrow. Don’t give it out to anyone. I think we’re being watched.”

  Chapter Four

  All day on Friday, I thought about Amir’s warning, but I didn’t know what to do. I was sure that the Guards and Ministry of Intelligence agents were watching some reporters, but there was no way for me to know if I was one of them. My father had always said that in a dictatorship, the fear that the rulers want to instill in the people is more important than what they can actually do. “They can’t assign a secret agent for every citizen,” my father used to say. “But they try their best to make you believe that you’re being watched all the time.”

  I was mindful of Amir’s warning but decided to carry on reporting. The day of the election was cooler than normal. Rather than the typical ninety-degree June weather, the temperature hovered in the high seventies. I was happy for the relief from the heat. My body ached from the previous day’s hike, and I couldn’t bear the idea of spending hours on the back of Davood’s motorcycle. I called Mr. Roosta instead. Ershad, the Ministry of Culture, had asked the foreign press to report from one specific polling station, but I had never thought of myself as part of the foreign press. I was an Iranian, so I planned to visit as many polling stations as I could. At ten A.M., as I waited for Mr. Roosta’s cab to arrive, I called Amir on the number he had given me. I didn’t recognize the voice of the man who answered.