A Forum on Human Rights and Democracy in Iran - Gozaar: Compulsory Social Security

Compulsory Social Security
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parhams on 27/07/2010 16:00:00

Ahmadinejad says he opposes the “Morality Police”
My friends plan to get together on Thursday evening when our host calls and
says, “Try not to come from the parkway.”
I ask, “Has something happened?”
He says, “On the way over I saw two or three vans parked at the intersection
and they were pulling girls and women from cars and arresting them for the
slightest bit of hair peeping out.” He added, “Try to change your route, or
if you can’t, tighten up your headscarves so they won’t bother you. I’ll
wait for you somewhere else.”
I glance at my friend who’s driving and sigh, “It’s summer again and the
Morality Police are back… turn on to that street - they’re standing on the
parkway today.”
My friend touches her headscarf and asks anxiously, “Oh great–they’ve
started those up again?”
As an Iranian woman, like many of my compatriots, I’ve long grown familiar
with such frustrated outbursts: the expression of anxiety by families for
protecting Iranian women from the evils of an entity called the Gasht-e Ershad,
or “Morality Police.” Every year, the Morality Police harasses women during
the first few weeks of summer (and in recent years, also at the start of winter)
in the name of “preventing the spread of corruption and prostitution in
society.” This type of dress-code patrolling began in the early
post-revolutionary years when the Islamic Republic, despite its slogans for
women’s freedom, mandated hejab in Iran. The patrolling began by forming local
patrols and has endured under various names with the mandate of enforcing
Islamic “moral guidance” and dress codes for women.
The most notable social reaction to the Morality Police has been the emergence
of a trend of civil disobedience toward the hejab. Even propaganda campaigns by
the state broadcaster, public schools, and Ministry of Culture and Islamic
Guidance have failed to improve the observance of “proper hejab,” or to
subdue the trend of testing the limits of the dress code. Presently, as the
Islamic Republic marks its 31st anniversary in 2010 (and with a year’s delay,
due to the [2009] presidential elections and post-election events), the police
have launched a new effort to fight dress-code violations: the “Chastity and
Hejab Plan,” which is fully endorsed by Iran’s Supreme Leader, and has the
direct backing of the conservative administration of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
$1200 fine and 300 whip lashes for …
I park the car and see Shadi K. and Hengameh Z. stepping out of their car up
ahead. Both are wearing tight-fitting manteaux. Shadi’s small scarf barely
covers her long dreadlocks. Both have tanned faces and heavy makeup. My friend,
who has been arrested by the Morality Police and detained at Vozara, tells them,
“You have guts to come out like this, with the clampdown these days. We went
out of our way to avoid driving past the patrols.”
Hengameh shrugs, “They do their thing, and we do ours.”
I add, “You know that this year they’re cracking down harder than usual?”
Shadi says, “Yes, I’ve heard. They caught one of my friends a couple days
ago. Her ‘offences’ added up to a fine of one million and two hundred
thousand tomans [roughly $1,200].”
Hengameh doesn’t give me time to exclaim, What?!  Raising her hand and
displaying her nails, she says, “Each French-manicured nail is fined $10.
Suntan, $100. Highlights, $100. Tight or short manteau, about $200, short pants,
also $200. With various other things, it totals about $1200. Plus, Shadi’s
offences would be higher because of her dreadlocks.” Her words sound like a
joke –but she’s right. It hasn’t yet been a month since the police
announced that tanning at beauty salons is banned. Hengameh says, “Of course,
we drive everywhere …” My friend tells them, “Haven’t you heard– they
stop cars too.”
Morality Police 2.0
A new phase of the “Social Security Plan” is being implemented in large
cities despite the fact that Brigadier Hossein Sajedinia –the newly-appointed
Tehran police chief– had earlier stated that, “The Morality Police no longer
exists as it used to. We may have patrols, but they will be limited to issuing
verbal warnings. We have changed our approach.”
I run into 26-year-old Soheila M. at Valiasr Square. She’s shopping for a
gray-colored headscarf and we begin chatting. I ask, “Have you ever been
arrested by the Morality Police?” With a bitter laugh, she says, “Lots of
times. Two years ago, my husband and I were at Vanak Square. Yalda was two years
old at the time. The Morality Police arrested me because I was wearing knee-high
boots. I had paid a lot for those boots –they ripped them, on charges of
“excessive beautification!”
I recall that in the snowstorm-filled winter of 2007, the police chief had
declared that women dressed in knee-high boots promote “excessive
beautification” and warned that all women wearing tall boots would be arrested
and their boots would be torn up.
Soheila continued, “Someone should’ve asked, ‘What kind of people are you,
to get turned on by a pair of boots?’”
I ask her, “Have you heard that this year, the Morality Police will work under
a new name?”
She says, “I know. I’ve heard that this year they won’t take arrested
women to Vozara detention center, but straight to Evin prison–” I finish her
sentence for her: “To the women’s ward.”
Ferial P., who is standing next to Soheila, says, “Instead of fretting over
people’s hair, they should give some thought to the economy. I think this is
another ruse to deflect people’s attention from the economic and political
crises that are devastating the country.”
Moral guidance –by force
I’m reading news on the internet, when a quote by the director of the Center
for Women and Family Affairs catches my eye: “The use of force by Morality
Police may be used to enforce the Chastity and Hejab Plan.”
Of course, Maryam Mojtahedzadeh followed this sentence, by stressing that it was
not yet time to use such measures to promote chastity and hejab: “Our society
is Islamic; therefore if cultural campaigns to promote chastity and hejab are
unsuccessful, we must resort to other tools to safeguard our values.” She
added, “I doubt this will prove to be the case –but the use of force is the
final option for ensuring Social Security.”
One of my journalist friends had witnessed an officer–a young man serving his
mandatory military service term–trying to force a girl, Shaqayeq, to board the
police van. The officer grabbed her hair and threw her into the vehicle. When
she continued to struggle, he slammed her head against the doorframe until she
passed out. This incident was reported in one or two newspapers later that year.
It seemed Shaqayeq would be able to press charges, as several eyewitnesses had
been present at the time, but the police flatly denied the allegation. Two
months after the incident, Shaqayeq left Iran for good.
Related or relationship?
The hiking trail at Darbad is crowded, as it always is on Fridays. Young men and
women wearing backpacks, alone or in groups, stream by. After climbing for some
time, we stop at a teashop. The teashop is full and we have to share a table
with a young couple. Mahtab S.,  20, is an undergraduate at Payam Nour and
Hamid, 22, is a student at Azad University.
Mahtab says, “We used to go to parks, cafés, and the movies together. But
frankly, ever since this “Relations Patrol” was launched, we’re afraid to
go to parks. That’s why we’re here hiking.”
These days, I’ve often heard the term, “Relations Police.” My friend,
however, asks with surprise, “What’s that?”
Hamid explains: “It means that they stop you and,” he points at me, “this
lady. They take the two of you someplace and put you in front of a camera and
ask, ‘How are you related to each other?’ They film your answers. If you can
prove you’re related, they let you go. If not –they arrest you.”
My friend asks, “You mean to say this kind of stuff still happens? Back in the
80s they’d stop people and ask questions like ‘What color is your
refrigerator’ and ‘What’s your aunt’s name?’ I can’t believe
they’ve started that up again!”
I say, “It had stopped since Khatami, but now …”
I had read in a newspaper that Brigadier Esmail Moqadam, the former Tehran
police chief, considered this plan “a joke,” saying: “I don’t know
anything about a ‘Relations Plan.’ I never issued such an order. It sounds
like a joke.” I repeat this quote to the young couple.
Hamid laughs and says, “You believe that, Miss? The Tehran police chief is
lying when he claims he doesn’t know anything about the plan. Mahtab’s
friend and her boyfriend were caught recently. Plus, it’s not just the taped
confession –after that, they took the girl to the Coroner’s Office to be
examined … [i.e., to check if her virginity is intact].”
My friend asks me, “By the way, why had they stopped [this type of patrolling]
before?” The answer was: rising statistics for children born out of wedlock
and dating couples under age 18 who were forced to get married.
The plan’s span: from preschools on …
“Even preschools must become more active in promoting Islamic culture. We have
launched a comprehensive program in collaboration with the Education Ministry.
There are currently certain problems at preschools. I hope that with teacher
training and appropriate children’s games, we will see Islamic culture
flourish at preschools.” These were the words of Mostafa Mohammad-Najar, the
tenth administration’s Minister of Interior, who had graduated to this post
from the Revolutionary Guards, and was a staunch supporter of the Chastity and
Hejab Plan. His words may seem laughable, but they appear to reveal the
conservative administration’s intentions to promote such culture at every
level of the public education system.