by Rick Steves
Of course, the Islamic government legislates women’s dress and public behavior (we’ll get to that later). Men are also affected, to a lesser degree. Neckties are rarely seen, as they’re considered the mark of a Shah supporter. And there seem to be no urinals anywhere. (I did an extensive search—at the airport, swanky hotels, the university, the fanciest coffee shops—and never saw one.) I was told that Muslims believe you don’t get rid of all your urine when you urinate standing up. For religious reasons, they squat. I found this a bit time-consuming. In a men’s room with 10 urinals, a guy knows at a glance what’s available; in a men’s room with 10 doors, you have to go knocking. (And now I can empathize with women who do this all the time.)
Seyed made sure we ate in comfortable (i.e., high-end) restaurants, generally in hotels. Restaurants used Kleenex rather than napkins; there was a box of tissues on every dining table. Because Iran is a tea culture, the coffee at breakfast was Nescafé-style instant. Locals assured me that tap water was safe to drink, but I stuck with the bottled kind. Iran is strictly “dry”—absolutely no booze or beer in public.
Because Iran is “dry,” would-be beer-drinkers seem to fantasize. They drink a “malt beverage” that tastes like beer and comes in a beer can, but is non-alcoholic.
From a productivity point of view, it seemed as if the country were on Valium. Perhaps Iranians are just not driven as we are by capitalist values to “work hard” in order to enjoy material prosperity. I heard that well-employed Iranians made $5,000 to $15,000 a year, and paid essentially no tax. (Taxes are less important to a government funded by oil.) While the Islamic Revolution is not anti-capitalistic, the business metabolism felt like a communist society: There seemed to be a lack of incentive to really be efficient. Measuring productivity at a glance, I assessed that things were pretty low-energy.
I couldn’t help but think how tourism could boom here if they just opened up. There were a few Western tourists (mostly Germans, French, Brits, and Dutch). All seemed to be on a tour, with a private guide, or visiting relatives. Control gets tighter or looser depending on the political climate, but basically American tourists could visit only with a guided tour. I met no one just exploring on their own. The Lonely Planet guidebook, which is excellent, dominated the scene—it seemed every Westerner in Iran had one. Tourists are so rare, and major tourist sights are so few and obvious, that I bumped into the same travelers day after day. Browsing through picture books and calendars showing the same 15 or 20 images of the top sights in Iran, I was impressed by how our short trip would manage to include most of them.
My travel sensibilities tingling from all these discoveries, I was excited to visit the University of Tehran. There I hoped to find another side of Iran: highly educated and liberated women and an environment of freedom. I assumed that in Iran, as in most societies, the university would be where people run free…barefoot through the grass of life, leaping over silly limits just because they can.
But instead, the University of Tehran—the country’s oldest, biggest, and most prestigious university—made BYU look like Berkeley. Subsidized by the government, the U. of T. followed the theocracy’s guidelines to a T: a strictly enforced dress code, no nonconformist posters, top-down direction for ways to play, segregated cafeterias…and students toeing the line (in public, at least).
Hoping to interact with some students, I asked for a student union center (the lively place where students come together as on Western campuses). But there was none. Each faculty had a canteen where kids could hang out, with a sales counter separating two sections—one for boys and one for girls.
In the US, I see university professors as a bastion of free thinking, threatening in a constructive way to people who enjoy the status quo. In Tehran, I found a situation where the theocracy was clearly shaping the curriculum, faculty, and tenor of the campus. Conformity on any university campus saddens me. But seeing it in Iran—a society which so needs some nonconformity—was the most disheartening experience of my entire trip.
Imagine Every Woman’s a Nun
My visit to the university jolted me back into the reality of traveling in a society where morality is legislated—where a crime is a sin, and a sin is a crime. In their day-to-day lives, the women of Iran are keenly aware of the impact of living in a theocracy. The days when the Shah’s men boasted that miniskirts were shorter in Tehran than they were in Paris are clearly long gone. In the post-Islamic Revolution Iran, modesty rules, and the dress and behavior of women are carefully controlled.
Given the strict dress code, the face is an Iranian woman’s powerful tool. If the nose isn’t quite right, it can be fixed. We saw many nose jobs healing. And those eyes…truly a contact sport.
While things are casual at home, Iranian women are expected not to show their hair or show off the shape of their body in public. This means that, when out and about, a proper woman covers everything except her face and hands. There are two key components to traditional dress: Hijab (“hih-JOB”) means to be dressed modestly, with the head covered under a scarf. The chador (“shah-DORE”) is a head-to-toe black cloak wrapped around the front and over the head. All women must follow hijab rules, and many older, rural, and traditional women choose to wear a chador.
In addition to the dress code, Iranian women face other limitations. They’re relegated to separate classrooms. While they are welcome at more genteel sports, they’re not allowed to attend soccer games (for fear that they might overhear some foul language from the impassioned fans). On the subway, women have two options: Ride with men in the mixed cars, or in a separate, women-only car. (When I questioned an Iranian woman about this, she said, “Perhaps the women of New York wished they had a car only for them to avoid the men on their subway trains.”)
Women can choose to ride in segregated subway cars. Rather than an oppressive measure, this offers a welcome option to sit apart from strange men.
From a Western viewpoint, it’s disrespectful (at best) to impose these regulations on women. But from a strict Muslim perspective, it’s the opposite: Mandated modesty is a sign of great respect. In the Islamic Republic of Iran, women’s bodies are not vehicles for advertising. Having scantily clad babes selling cars at a trade show would be considered unacceptably disrespectful. You don’t see sexy magazines. There is almost no public display of affection. In theory, the dress code provides a public “uniform,” allowing men and women to work together without the distractions of sex and flirtation.
Still not buying it? You’re not the only one. Local surveys indicate that about 70 percent of these women would dress more freely in public, if allowed. Many push the established bounds of decency—with belts defining the shape of their bodies and scarves pulled back to show voluptuous cascades of hair—when out on the streets. When filming, I found the women’s awareness of our camera fascinating—they seemed to sense when it was near, and would adjust their scarves to be sure their hair was properly covered.
In spite of attempts to enforce modesty, vanity is not out of bounds. Women still utilize their feminine charms. In a land where showing any cleavage in public is essentially against the law, a tuft of hair above the forehead becomes the exciting place a man’s eye tends to seek out. Cosmetic surgery—especially nose jobs—is big business here among the middle class. Faces are beautifully made up, and—when so much else is covered—can be particularly expressive and mysterious. Throughout Iran, I was impressed by the eye contact.
Women are covered, yet beautiful… a wisp of hair can be ravishing.
Trying to grasp Iran’s mandated modesty in Christian terms, I imagined living in a society where every woman is forced to dress like a nun. Seeing spunky young Muslim women chafing at their modesty requirements, I kept humming, “How do you solve a problem like Maria?”
Iran’s “Revolution of Values”: Living in a Theocracy
The status of women in Iranian society is just one of many ways in which Iran’s theocracy affects everyday life. For example, as I settled into a
plane that flew our crew between two Iranian towns, the pilot announced, “In the name of God the compassionate and merciful, we welcome you to this flight. Now fasten your seatbelts.” Even though Iran is technically a “Shia democracy” with an elected president, the top cleric—a man called the “Supreme Leader”—has the ultimate authority. His picture (not the president’s) is everywhere.
The seeds of the Islamic Republic of Iran were sown during the Islamic Revolution in 1979. The rebellion, with its spiritual leader Ayatollah Khomeini, led to the overthrow of the US-backed Shah and the taking of 52 Americans hostage for 444 days. As a gang of students captured the world’s attention by humiliating the US, this was a great event for the revolutionaries…and a wrenching one for Americans.
The former US Embassy, where the crisis took place, was a stop on our filming route. Our minder/guide, Seyed, seemed almost proud to let us walk the long wall of anti-American murals. He encouraged us to film it, making sure we knew when the light was best for the camera.
Thirty years later, the former US Embassy wall is still lined with hateful political posters.
As I walked along the wall, it occurred to me that the crisis had happened three decades ago. While it remains a sore spot for many Americans, Iranians—over half of whom weren’t even born at the time—appeared content to let the murals fade in the sun. The murals seemed to drone on like an unwanted call to battle…a call that people I encountered had simply stopped hearing. In fact, looking back, many Iranians believe that the hostage crisis hijacked their Revolution. By radicalizing their country, it succeeded in putting things in the hands of the more hard-line clerics.
Today the Islamic Revolution has become deeply ingrained. After chatting with one young man who didn’t look as if he was particularly in compliance with the Revolution, we said goodbye. Later—after he’d thought about our conversation—he returned to tell me, “One present from you to me, please. You must read Quran. Is good. No politics.” Looking at the evangelical zeal in his eyes, I realized that he had just as earnest a concern for my soul as a pair of well-dressed Mormons who might stop me on the street back home. Why should a Muslim evangelist be any more surprising (or annoying, or menacing) than a Christian one? He simply cared about me.
Seeing the Ayatollah Khomeini from the Iranian perspective was jarring: Rather than the impression I’d long held—of a threatening, unsmiling ideologue—many Iranians consider Khomeini a lovable sage…unpretentious, approachable, and a defender of traditional values. After the Shah’s excesses and corruption, locals seemed to overlook Khomeini’s sanctioning of brutal tactics. Khomeini’s simplicity and holiness had a strong appeal to the Iranian masses. Locals told me that Khomeini had charisma, and if he walked into a room, even I, a non-Muslim, would feel it. To the poor and the simple country folk, Khomeini was like a messiah. As the personification of the Islamic Revolution, he symbolized deliverance from the economic and cultural oppression of the Shah. Khomeini gave millions of Iranians hope. Khomeini’s successor, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, has had much less of an impact on the people.
For many Iranians, what they would call “family values” trumps democracy and freedom. That’s why they follow a supreme leader: Khomeini (right) and his successor Ali Khamenei (left).
Iranians who support the Revolution call it a “Revolution of Values.” Many conservative Iranians I met told me they want to raise their children without exposure to cheap sex, disrespectful clothing, drug abuse, and materialism—all things they associate with America, and all things that, they believe, erode character and threaten their traditional values. It worries them as parents. It seemed to me that many of them willingly trade democracy and political freedom for a society free of Western values (or, they’d say, “lack of values”). It’s more important to them to have a place to raise their children that fits their faith and their cherished notion of “family values.”
Iranians are constantly reminded that charity is Muhammad-like. With a religious offering box on literally every street corner, extra money is raised for orphanages, schools, and hospitals.
One day, while filming on the street, a woman walked up to me and asked if I was an American journalist. I said yes. She then tapped her finger repeatedly on my chest and said, “You go home and tell your friends that we just don’t want our little girls raised to be like Britney Spears.” She had heard the rhetoric of “regime change,” and she worried that if we installed “another shah” on the throne, her daughter’s values would be hijacked—Westernized—and she’d become a boy toy, a drug addict, and a crass materialist.
Of course, there’s plenty of drug addiction, materialism, and casual sex in Iran. But these vices are pretty well hidden from the determination of the theocracy to root them out. In general, the Revolution seems to be well-established. For example, in terms of commercialism, Iran and the US stand at opposite extremes. Back home, just about everywhere we look, we are inundated by advertising encouraging us to consume. Airports are paid to drone commercials on loud TVs. Magazines are beefy with slick ads. Sports stars wear corporate logos. Our media are shaped and driven by corporate marketing. But in Iran, Islam reigns. Billboards, Muzak, TV programming, and young people’s education all trumpet the teachings of great Shia holy men…at the expense of the economy. Consequently, many in Iranian society tune into Western media via satellites and the Internet, and barely watch Iranian media. Iran’s youth are very Web-savvy.
Despite all of this, when it comes to religion, I was surprised by the general mellowness of the atmosphere in Iran compared to other Muslim countries I’ve visited. Except for the strict women’s dress codes and the lack of American products and businesses (because of the US embargo), life on the streets in Iran was much the same as in secular cities elsewhere. In fact, ironically, despite the aggressively theocratic society, the country felt no more spiritual than neighboring, secular Muslim nations. During my visit, I didn’t see spiny minarets and didn’t hear calls to prayer—a strong contrast to my visit to Istanbul during Ramadan (described in chapter 6).
While the focus of my trip was on the people rather than the politics, Iran’s theocracy makes civil rights concerns unavoidable. Civil liberties for women, religious minorities, and critics of the government are the mark of any modern, free, and sustainable democracy. I believe that, given time and a chance to evolve on their cultural terms, the will of any people ultimately prevails. But in Iran, that time is not yet here. For now, this country is not free. (And no one here claims it is—locals told me, “Iranian democracy: We are given lots of options…and then the government makes the choice for us.”) A creepiness that comes with a “big brother” government pervaded the place. Every day during my visit, I wondered how free-minded people cope.
While the Islamic Republic of Iran’s constitution does not separate mosque and state, it does allow for other religions… with provisions. I asked Seyed if people must be religious here. He said, “In Iran, you can be whatever religion you like, as long as it is not offensive to Islam.” Christian? “Sure.” Jewish? “Sure.” Bahá’i? “No. We believe Muhammad—who came in the seventh century—was the last prophet. The Bahá’i prophet, Bahá’u’lláh, came in the 19th century. Worshipping someone who came after Muhammad is offensive to Muslims. That is why the Bahá’i faith is not allowed in Iran.”
I asked, “So Christians and Jews are allowed. But what if you want to get somewhere in the military or government?” Seyed answered, “Then you’d better be a Muslim.” I added, “A practicing Shia Muslim?” He said, “Yes.”
Friday: Let Us Pray
Esfahan, Iran’s “second city” with over 3 million people, is a showcase of ancient Persian splendor. One of the finest cities in Islam, and famous for its dazzling blue-tiled domes and romantic bridges, Esfahan is also just plain enjoyable. I’m not surprised that in Iran, this is the number-one honeymoon destination.
Esfahan’s great Imam Mosque is both a tourist attraction and a vibrant place of worship.
> Everything in Esfahan seems to radiate from the grand Imam Square, dominated by the Imam Mosque—one of the holiest in Iran. Dating from the early 1600s, its towering facade is as striking as the grandest cathedrals of Europe.
We were in Iran for just one Friday, the Muslim “Sabbath.” Fortunately, we were in Esfahan, so we could attend (and film) a prayer service at this colossal house of worship.
Filming in a mosque filled with thousands of worshippers required permission. Explaining our needs to administrators there, it hit me that the Islamic Revolution employs strategies similar to a communist takeover: Both maintain power by installing partisans in key positions. But the ideology Iran is enforcing is not economic (as it was in the USSR), but religious.
President Ahmadinejad had inspired a fashion trend in Iran: simple dark suit, white shirt, no tie, light black beard. Reminiscent of apparatchiks in Soviet times, it seemed to me that all the mosque administrators dressed the part and looked like the president.
To film the service—which was already well underway—we were escorted in front of 5,000 people praying. When we had visited this huge mosque the day before, all I had seen was a lifeless shell with fine tiles for tourists to photograph. An old man had stood in the center of the floor and demonstrated the haunting echoes created by the perfect construction. Old carpets had been rolled up and were strewn about like dusty cars in a haphazard parking lot. Today the carpets were rolled out, cozy, orderly, and covered with worshippers.
