Although President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s ultraconservative government constantly decries the corrupting effects of Western culture, it can do little to control people’s private actions. Consequently, it has sought to make an example of the highest-profile offenders, even when the crime is less than salacious. For instance, a TV host was recently fired for being filmed dancing with the bride at a wedding. Perhaps because the government is unsure about how to deal with immoral personal behavior, it has shifted its focus toward those who publicly distribute the depiction. An aboveground porn industry doesn’t exist in Iran, but in this era of camcorders and the Internet, amateur porn has flourished. Voyeurism is big; government-approved intrusiveness and a general awareness of people’s double lives make snooping a habit, if not a guilty pleasure. People’s appetites were initially fulfilled by the curious distribution of home movies showing ordinary citizens’ parties and family gatherings. Circulated next were videos of celebrities attending illegal mixed-gender gatherings where alcohol was served, as well as photos of the unveiled faces of actresses. Next, more flesh was exposed on film; women in swimsuits were photographed, sometimes with hidden cameras and cell phones. Before long, the movies grew more daring. Men secretly filmed their girlfriends in their bedrooms, though not necessarily naked or having sex; just being there with a man and without a veil was shocking enough. Sometimes the images were used to blackmail the women, causing scandal and disgrace. Three years ago a film appeared on the Internet showing thirteen high school girls wearing Western-style clothes and dancing without veils at a birthday party. Fearing their parents’ reaction, all thirteen committed suicide. Soon after, a man in the northern city of Ray beat his daughter to death when he thought he recognized her wearing “revealing” clothes and partying with Iranian soccer players in some footage. He was mistaken and was sentenced to three years in jail. Finally the first overtly sexy film of willing participants began to circulate. A group of young women from the southern city of Ahvaz danced and stripped in front of the camera, a kind of Iranian Girls Gone Wild that did big business. Then came Narges 2, the first homegrown sex movie to allegedly feature a well-known personality. Given the low overhead of DVD replication, it earned those who distributed it a fortune—as well as a possible death sentence. Seven entrepreneurs are currently awaiting their fate behind bars, but many others have jumped into the market; as a result the film can be found in street bazaars, car trunks and, most helpfully, the hands of home-delivery merchants. Among these filmei, as the latter are commonly known, is one Mr. Farhang, whose name evidently reflects his sensibilities, since it translates into English as Mr. Culture.
“Getting home delivery isn’t all that easy,” he says. “You must be referred by someone the supplier already knows, and then initial contact should be by phone in order to establish trust. Eighty to eighty-five percent of my clients demand porn material from me, and these are mostly wealthy men, although in the case of the Ebrahimi movie, women have also been interested in seeing an actress display her femininity within a private space. This is a growing industry.” And in response, the government has become more threatening. “Beforehand, if we were arrested, we’d be thrown in jail and would have to pay a fine,” he says. “But now things are more dangerous. I’m frightened.”
The Iranian people have grown quite adept at maintaining appearances. As long as a woman wears a hijab, her inner beliefs are her own. The facade is all that counts, and the result is that during the past twenty-eight years two very different lifestyles have existed side by side. A walk on the streets of Tehran suggests a population governed by strict religious and moral values. This is also the image projected overseas. Move just outside the city center, however, and you’ll find women undermining the government’s authority by wearing heavy makeup and reducing their hijabs to fashionably tight, sexy outfits. On many you’ll see nose bandages, betraying an appetite for cosmetic surgery. And behind closed doors, there’s even greater deviation. In the eyes of many Iranians, the only change wrought upon them by the Islamic revolution is that once they prayed in private and partied in public and now it’s the other way around.
It is a Thursday night in the summer of 2005, the Saturday-like height of the Islamic weekend. A party is taking place in Shah-rak Gharb, a neighborhood in northwest Tehran, at a large white mansion owned by a businessman who made a fortune importing machine parts in the years following the revolution. The house is typical of the area—modern yet unpretentious from the outside. Guests have been asked to deflect official attention by staggering their arrival and coming by taxi or not parking too close to the house. Most in attendance are in their thirties or older, couples, some married, all affluent. Or at least they seem that way, dressed in designer clothes, the women dripping in jewelry under the mandatory long coats they wear with head scarves that they remove the second they enter the house. This is standard practice for any party or get-together in Iran, as is the need to keep the coats and scarves close at hand in case of a police raid. Also handy are wet-wipe tissues for makeup removal, as well as chewing gum and breath spray to mask the smell of alcohol.
A police raid tonight, however, is unlikely. The host has already paid a police officer not only to be incurious but to provide all the liquor. Not a bad deal.
The drinks are in the kitchen, hidden in a cupboard and served in plastic cups that can easily be ditched should a uniformed cop drop by. Soft drinks and snacks are being served by a team of maids in the main room, where people are talking and mingling, and in the rooms en suite, where some are dancing to both Arabic and Iranian pop music—with the appropriate moves for each—and listening to an assortment of English and American hits. Next door is the obligatory opium room. People sit on velvet floor cushions next to small tables with dates and other sweet snacks and pass the pipe; smoke rises as poetry is read and mellow Iranian classical music is played. Among the guests is Catayon, a forty-two-year-old homemaker with an open attitude toward sex. Her husband, Iraj, has another wife, which isn’t outrageous in a society where up to four are allowed, along with a string of lovers, which is also less than remarkable for a wealthy man. At least Catayon feels entitled to take lovers of her own. “I knew before we arrived that Iraj had been trying to get close to Mitra, a friend whose marriage is going through a rocky time because her husband spent a weekend with my half sister,” Catayon later recalls. “As soon as we got to the party, he poured Mitra a drink and began talking with her. That was fine—it gave me the opportunity to chat with Kamshad, whom I had always fancied. Since Kamshad’s wife was spending the summer in the United States, I could have him to myself. We both knew it wouldn’t be long before Iraj and Mitra would disappear into one of the upstairs bedrooms, and at that point we could find a quiet corner.”
This kind of scene, although not commonplace, serves as a counterpoint to the fundamentalist extreme often portrayed as the norm to the outside world. There’s a widespread misconception in the West that sex outside marriage is illegal in Iran, but in fact Islam permits sex outside marriage as long as it is conducted within a legal framework known as seigheh. This is a temporary contract between a man and a woman that allows sexual interaction and sets conditions including the financial obligations of the parties and the actual duration, which can range from a few hours to many years.
This controversial practice, which dates back to the beginning of Islam, lost its popularity in modern Iran until the revolution, when it passed into law. Since then it has commonly been employed by young couples avoiding government harassment, poor or divorced women seeking protection and financial support, and others. Though widely regarded as a loophole legalizing prostitution, seigheh could be another way of exonerating Zahra Amir Ebrahimi should matters proceed to that extent. It may seem surprising that religious hard-liners would allow such a spongy exception, but those crusty-looking mullahs and ayatollahs aren’t nearly as narrow-minded as many people think. Over the years, several of them have taken it upon themselves to serve as the nation
’s sexual arbiters. Indeed, for years following the revolution, one of the most popular TV programs in Iran was one viewers called the “Gili Show.” Each must-see episode featured the Ayatollah Gilani discoursing on a particular topic, often of a sexual nature, and discussing the rights and wrongs as they pertain to sharia law. Today Iranians use the Internet to hear similar advice from ayatollahs all over the Middle East. For instance, at islamonline.net, a site run by Al-Jazeera Publishing, Iranians can see Qatar-based cleric Sheikh Yusuf al-Qaradawi declare that “Muslim jurists are of the opinion that it is lawful for the husband to perform cunnilingus on his wife or a wife to perform the similar act for her husband, and there is no wrong in doing so. But if sucking leads to releasing semen, then it is makruh [blameworthy], although there is no decisive evidence to forbid it.” On the same website visitors are cautioned “not to develop any of the medical symptoms that may result from masturbation, such as weak eyesight, a weak nervous system and/or back pain. More important, feelings of guilt and anxiety can be complicated by missing obligatory prayers because of the need to shower after every incidence of masturbation.” Thanks to external influences as well as Islam’s practicality about the subject, sexual mores have definitely been relaxed.
“In sexual matters, most Iranians take their lead from Iraj Mirza,” says Reza, a psychologist, referring to the early twentieth-century poet and intellectual known for his extremely graphic musings on the subject. “His advice was to do it but not talk about it. Well, Iranians’ attitudes toward sex are currently evolving. These days, virginity is still an important issue in many towns and villages, where young girls could lose their lives for indulging in illicit sex. Yet for many guys in Tehran the whole issue of a girl’s virginity is no longer relevant.” Oddly, says Reza, this change may be the unintentional consequence of some government policies. “Years ago boys and girls would date by meeting in parks and other public places. Thanks to the government’s harsh regulations, this is no longer possible. The only place they can hook up is behind closed doors, so instead of things progressing slowly, the teens end up in bed faster than ever. On average, teenagers now have sex on their second or third date, and doing so is considered normal among large sections of the nation’s youth.”
Such changes have taken place in many countries but are happening so rapidly in Iran that the government hasn’t had time to plan its next move. A sociocultural revolution heavily influenced by the West is confronting these nations head-on, and those in power find themselves caught between the devil and the deep blue Caspian Sea.
Kayvan knows all about his friend Rozbeh’s sex parties. The twenty-four-year-old college student had such a great time at the three he attended that he asked if he could bring his friend Pouya to the next gathering, and Rozbeh agreed. Like Kayvan, Pouya is a rich kid studying computing, but at the age of twenty-two he’s never gone to this kind of party before, so he’s feeling a bit self-conscious when Rozbeh greets them at the door of his parents’ villa in Lava-san, a suburb of northern Tehran, on a warm and sunny evening in the fall of 2006. But Pouya’s nerves quickly disappear when Rozbeh, dressed in a fashionably loose sweater and baggy pants, ushers the two young men into a romantically candlelit main room and introduces them to four girls sitting on a leather sofa. All are wearing sexy, tight-fitting tops and jeans, and two other guys are sitting at the bar, drinking wine and vodka.
“The number of men and women should always be equal,” says Rozbeh. He’s a computer-studies student from a wealthy family and sports designer stubble and spiky gelled hair. “After all, when people pair up and have sex, we can’t have someone left on his or her own.” The extent of Pouya’s track record in the sack may consist of a couple of times with his girlfriend, yet he isn’t shy. On this particular evening he’s not all that choosy about whom he’ll end up with. “It’s just one night,” he reasons, “and afterward we’ll never meet again.” All things being equal, though, he’d rather have a girl younger than he is, someone less experienced. Like most of his fellow countrymen, he would prefer to save face than learn something new.
Seven couples have been invited to the party, and when Rozbeh puts on a heavy-metal album they all start dancing on cue. Keenly aware of needing to escape police attention, the host avoids cranking up the volume. Often, dancing lasts several hours, but it’s hardly the key item on tonight’s agenda. It’s true that these party animals are from rich and middle-class backgrounds, and that they belong to a faster crowd than most kids do. But it’s also true that they are pacesetters. Other young people may not be as daring, but they’re also image conscious and interested in fun; in that way they too challenge authority and pose a threat to the government.
Though sex may be discussed on television, it’s usually a verboten subject in the average Iranian home. Pouya’s parents have no idea how he spends his time, or they choose to have no idea as long as he’s not overly involved in politics. “My going to university makes them very comfortable,” he says, “and they don’t give much thought to who I’m seeing or what I’m doing.” Indeed, college provides kids with a no-questions-asked safety net, which may be why the Department of Education recently warned families about the rapidly increasing level of drug use among students. Still, there are protocols. “No one does drugs at sex parties,” Kayvan insists. “If they do drugs before coming to the party, that’s another matter. Sex parties are different from X parties”—ecstasy-fueled raves—“where you can find everything from grass to crack. At sex parties there’s just drink to help people lose their inhibitions.”
They may lose their inhibitions, but they don’t totally misplace them. Compatibility and confidentiality remain keys to a good time. Couples generally require their own rooms, meaning that even in larger homes, guest lists never exceed twenty people. Group sex and switching partners are virtually unknown. “I’ve never seen group sex,” says Farshad, one of the other male guests. “At the end of the night, when everyone’s totally drunk, people may fall on top of one other and play around, but I’ve never seen it lead to very much. Group sex is for the movies. As far as I’m concerned, the girl I sleep with at a party is mine until the night is over. We are, after all, Iranians, and there’s something in our psyche that precludes certain kinds of behavior.” The relationships end with the night.
“That’s the rule,” says Kayvan, “and you can be sure that if I’m invited to Rozbeh’s next sex party, I won’t meet the girls who were here tonight. We don’t enjoy being recognized, and it’s also more fun to sleep with someone when you know nothing of her past or future. Instead, for a few hours you can just focus on the moment.” Still, why do these young men risk arrest? It’s not for sex; after all, the government allows seigheh. What the government is against is pure fun, and this is what the young people are flouting. “People need to have fun,” Kayvan says. “Leisure time is all about going to parties and having drink, drugs, and even sex with a girl. It’s about hal—enjoying yourself to the fullest. And it’s the same for girls. They enjoy having sex too, and they want it. Of course, for five thousand to six thousand toman [five to six dollars] I can have sex with a prostitute, but sex isn’t what it’s all about. It’s about partying, dancing to heavy-metal music, being with friends and plenty of hal.” These days, hal is the mantra of the young, while that of their parents is “See no evil, hear no evil.” This, after all, is a country of pretense: while the government pretends it doesn’t know about its citizens’ private transgressions, the parents pretend they don’t know the extent of their children’s double lives, and the offspring pretend they’re obeying the rules—up to a point. “I’ve been arrested a number of times,” says Leila, a twenty-three-year-old coed at yet another covert party in the Tehran suburbs. At this one there’s only dancing and drinking, which means all present are taking a huge risk to have what a vast portion of the world regards as fun. “The first time, I was frightened, but after that I didn’t care. It’s always the same: The police are rude, they push us around, and then they ta
ke us to an overnight prison where they question us and give us advice. Maybe they slap some of the guys in the face. They’re such idiots.” Since the arrests aren’t a big deal to Leila, she acts with little sense of fear or shame. “The government is an irrelevant nuisance,” she shrugs. “My father has to pay a one hundred thousand toman fine [one hundred dollars] every time I’m arrested.”
“So what?” interjects her friend Sahar.
“Our parents wanted the revolution. Let them pay!”
Skeptical of promises of an afterlife, fed up with social restrictions, and bearing the brunt of the country’s chronic unemployment, Iranian youths are well aware of how their peers live elsewhere in the world. Thanks to satellite TV and the Internet, they see the excitement and opportunities denied to them, and they’re angry. They hold their government responsible for the country’s lousy economic situation as well as its international isolation. They struggle with a national pride that was badly bruised when reformist former president Mohammad Khatami’s hopes for a “dialogue among civilizations” evaporated when President Bush named Iran to the “axis of evil” in 2002. That was soon followed by the election of anti-American populist Ahmadinejad to the presidency. He promised to restore that pride, create more jobs, and fight corruption. To date, little of this has been realized, leaving young people feeling trapped with no way forward, betrayed by and ambivalent toward a West whose freedom and fashions they invariably try to emulate.
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