Living With War And Revolution

By William E. Smith

Seven young men, all in their late teens or early 20s, slipped into a deserted dead-end street in eastern Tehran. From a neighborhood mosque, a loudspeaker rumbled with denunciations of America. While two of the youths acted as lookouts, a third placed a boxlike device at the base of a concrete wall, then rejoined his comrades. Subversives? Yes indeed, but not the kind to start an armed rebellion against the government. These, after all, were children of the Khomeini revolution, indoctrinated in the dream of conquering the world for Islam. But on this occasion they had another aim: they began to dance wildly as the pulsating rhythms of Michael Jackson's disco classic Thriller blared from the tape recorder the youth had placed beside the wall.

This scene is part of the cultural underground in Iran today. Among those who can afford them, American rock videocassettes are a big favorite. Groups of young men, many of them draft dodgers, pool their money to buy video recorders. The regime's efforts to eradicate all Western influences, and especially such evils as music, dance and free speech, have spawned a thirst for whatever the Islamic republic denounces as sinful. Example: the continuing popularity of a satirical videotaped movie called Samad Becomes the Imam, featuring a goofy, rustic character who emerges as the supreme ruler of the Islamic state.

The visible side of Iranian life today -- the hundreds of thousands who march in support of Khomeini's pledge to exact vengeance from Iraq, the U.S. and Saudi Arabia -- underscores the fact that the Islamic government still enjoys considerable support. The invisible side is more difficult to assess, but there is evidence of a growing discontent among many Iranians, particularly the educated and the well-to-do.

In the view of dissidents, all the evils for which Khomeini once criticized the Shah -- everything from brutality to official corruption -- are being committed by members of the current regime. The government continues to enjoy both popularity and legitimacy among millions of Iranians and can still command masses of young zealots who believe in Khomeini's promise to "march to Jerusalem" by way of Iraq. But the seemingly endless fighting is producing disillusionment among others. Says a factory manager whose plant is virtually closed for lack of raw materials: "A grocer down the block has lost three sons in the war. It would kill him if he had to accept the reality that they died in vain, that there is no march to Jerusalem."

Many educated Iranians, even including Khomeini loyalists, complain about the number of young men killed on the battlefield. Says Sajid Rizvi, a London- based Middle East analyst: "Don't forget, government officials have children too. They are as worried as everybody else that their sons will go off and never come back." Virtually every family that has money or political connections is desperately attempting to bribe or contrive another way to get a young son out of the country. Often they ask Westerners to help arrange visas for prolonged trips abroad. Explains a Londoner who has friends in Iran: "They realize that the war is going to last a long time and that eventually a son is going to get called to the front. And they are simply unwilling to make that sacrifice." Since the ruptures in Iran's diplomatic ties with Britain and France, long lines of visa seekers have been forming outside the West German embassy in Tehran.

According to one military source, the number of army conscripts who refuse to heed the call to battle has sometimes run as high as 30%. But even if a draft dodger manages to avoid a long prison sentence, he soon discovers that it is almost impossible to get a job, go into business or travel abroad if he cannot produce an honorable-discharge certificate. A young man named Hamid admits that he has been in hiding in the homes of parents and relatives for four years, but insists, "It's better than dying in a stupid war." Tens of thousands are believed to have escaped to Turkey, Pakistan, the gulf states and elsewhere but have little means of earning a decent living in exile.

On occasion the government has felt obliged to draft white-collar bureaucrats into the military, thereby creating manpower problems in civilian life. When a tax officer who had been employed at the Ministry of Economic Affairs and Finance was killed at the front, no one took over his ministry caseload. "During the last few offensives, the authorities have had to ^ mobilize the educated bureaucracy," says Rizvi. "The result is that many departments have lost competent people."

Another social problem is the ever growing number of young widows. The government, fearful that these women will be forced to turn to prostitution if not properly cared for, is encouraging families to marry them off again as quickly as possible, but this time to older men who are unlikely to go to war.

Only two kinds of businesses seem to be thriving: those that sell to the government and those that sell for it. Some merchants who have hoarded such basic items as meat, sugar, flour and even matches have made huge profits. Says a businessman in the import-export trade: "The only money to be made these days is in trading staples, house appliances and the like. People pay whatever they have to to get them."

There is widespread corruption in the bazaars because of the rapid growth of the black market, which now pays at least ten times the official rate of exchange for foreign currency. When the Cabinet discussed the matter recently, Khomeini reportedly vetoed the idea of imposing harsher sentences for black marketeering because he thought it would only lead to greater public frustration.

Inflation, officially pegged at 20%, has risen sharply in the past 18 months. Wealthy shoppers in north Tehran can still find almost anything they want, including imported luxury goods, but at sky-high prices. Because the salaries of lower-paid workers have increased little if at all since the revolution, many have taken additional, part-time jobs. To help them cope with inflation, the government has issued special ration books permitting them to buy food staples for roughly a tenth of the price the same items would cost on the open market.

The government launched an all-out campaign against gouging last month, giving inspectors the power to impose fines, shut down shops and force owners to post prices. The names of closed shops are published in daily newspapers, along with the correct costs of basic items. On a morning radio show called Hello, Have a Good Day, listeners have repeatedly complained about high prices and profiteering. Some gripe that while government employees can barely make ends meet, a few merchants are getting richer and richer. Nonetheless, the social and political status of the bazaari, the powerful businessmen who traditionally have run the economy, seems to be declining as the government assumes a larger role in setting prices.

In such an atmosphere, corruption thrives. One prosperous bazaari, who lives in a villa on a tree-lined street above the center of Tehran, says he can still bribe a policeman when the officer stops him late at night in his Mercedes-Benz for drunken driving. A diplomat discloses that he pays off local police before giving a dinner party and afterward finds them in his kitchen dining on the leftovers and drinking his vodka.

Less corrupt but far more menacing than the traditional authorities are the Pasdaran, or Revolutionary Guards, who constantly patrol the streets. Says a young Iranian Jew who fled to Israel: "They stop you if they do not like your looks or if they have the slightest suspicion that you are not obeying the rules of Islam. If you go hand in hand with your wife, they will stop you and force you to show them your marriage license. If you do not have the document, you will be arrested." In the minds of many Iranians, the Revolutionary Guards have taken the place of SAVAK, the Shah's dreaded secret police.

In paying for the war, the government suffered a serious setback last year when its oil revenues fell from a projected $18 billion to $8 billion. Yet the country is not on the brink of financial disaster. Its central bank has a relatively healthy $5.1 billion in foreign reserves, plus at least $2 billion in gold. Now that oil prices are climbing again, Iran expects to earn as much as $12 billion this year.

Tehran, the capital, is unmistakably seedy these days, but it has suffered surprisingly little damage from the war. Women in black chadors still peer into shopwindows filled with Western-style wedding dresses and lingerie. As always, automobiles choke the city, creating a blanket of smog. Near the airport, concrete walls are covered with political cartoons, some depicting America as the "Great Satan" and others attacking Iraqi President Saddam Hussein. One drawing shows Saddam's face peering out of a pot surrounded by hand grenades, and another depicts the U.S. as a skeleton clutching bombs in its hands.

Relics of the past, slowly decaying, can be seen everywhere. Far above the capital stands one of the Shah's palaces, now a sort of museum where schoolchildren gaze in wonder at the cavernous rooms full of crystal and gold. In front of the palace, half of the great bronze statue of the former ruler can still be seen; the monument was severed at the waist during the revolution.

Despite the war, many Iranians enjoy themselves. In summer thousands flock to the Caspian Sea, and in winter the ski resorts remain popular. Both beaches and slopes have separate zones for men and women, and there are always the Revolutionary Guards and their chador-clad female counterparts on hand to enforce proper Islamic behavior and maintain the segregation of the sexes. The cinemas, which are often jammed, feature both postrevolutionary Iranian fare and heavily censored foreign films. One recent hit was Barabbas, a 1962 picture starring Anthony Quinn. Another was the Iranian film The Call of the Forest, which dealt with the popular resistance to the Cossacks, a cavalry unit at one time led by the late Shah's father Reza Shah, who ruled Iran from 1925 to 1941.

Though television antennas sprout in even the smallest villages, the country has only two TV channels. Apart from morning shows for children, the broadcast day usually begins at 2 p.m. with readings from the Koran. The rest of the fare includes foreign-language classes, American science programs of 1950s vintage and news programs in Farsi, Arabic and English, a feature designed to spread Iranian views to the gulf states. The Iranians can even watch quiz shows; one favorite involves teams of players racing to complete a crossword puzzle. Live and televised soccer matches draw large audiences, which watch the four major teams that play regularly in the capital.

Yet the dreadful war never seems far away. With so many men off in the army, women are being given basic military training for civil defense. Apart from worries about loved ones at the front, there is the fear of a revival of the "war of the cities," which flared up again early this year when Tehran and other urban centers were bombed by Iraqi planes. Since then the attacks have abated, but the nervousness remains. When a severe thunder-and-lightning storm struck the capital last month, causing heavy flooding, some city dwellers thought an air raid was in progress and rushed to an underground passageway, where an unknown number drowned in the torrent.

Because so many of the war's victims are from the lower class, the impoverished southern section of Tehran has been particularly hard hit. Posters bearing photographs of the dead are prominently displayed outside many homes. Black cloths hang near the entrances to homes, and small shrines that are covered with mirrors are set beside the doors. "If you drive around the city after a large military operation, you see many of these shrines," says a Tehran resident. "They are all over the southern section. Posters of the dead form a sort of collage dedicated to martyrdom. Every so often, municipal workers come to remove the posters, but soon the walls are covered again. It has become so common that people hardly notice anymore."

Without doubt the war has given focus to the country and purpose to the revolution. But the disaffection, however great it may be at present, will grow inevitably as the interminable struggle continues. A recent business visitor to Tehran told a senior Iranian official bluntly, "I have spent three weeks talking to people here, and I haven't found a single one who is satisfied with the regime." Replied the official matter-of-factly: "God's satisfaction is what matters."

With reporting by Raji Samghabadi/New York and Adam Zagorin/Paris, with other bureaus