Iranian Citizens’ Republic
According to the South Iranian government, the city of Kermun is a wartime city, and it looks the part. Once the center of the British administration in southern Iran, the city’s population ballooned when it became the capital of a new sovereign state. The state could do little to manage the expansion, so Kermun was surrounded by slums bearing the decades-old scars of the failed Red invasion, as I saw in my drive from the airport to the city center. The streets were cramped, filled with vehicles and even animal-drawn carts moving every which way. Propaganda posters and banners were up alongside advertisements for the newest soft drink or prepaid cellular phones.
But judging from the propaganda, the invasion never ended, and the second wave was soon to come. The posters were typical for a military dictatorship: brave Iranian soldiers holding the line against animalistic caricatures of Russians and Indians. The captions proved more interesting: “The Sons of Darius stand alone! Ensure your citizenship today!” and “Help preserve eight thousand years of civilization. Only citizens are eligible for state benefits.” On the taxi radio, every other advertisement was from a military department, asking listeners to enlist.
My taxi made it past the slums into the “new city,” the area once bombed to rubble by communist forces. The center of Kermun was nothing like the outskirts. Here, the streets were wide and clean. Because the government banned motorcycles, trucks and most public transportation in the city center, there were no traffic jams. Uniformed soldiers swept sidewalks, cleaned windows, and even sold food from the few street carts permitted by the state. But the propaganda remained, and indeed escalated. Large banners extolled the virtue of not only military service, but civil service, and all of these calls to service came with the promise of benefits.
I met my contact, Colonel Mahmoud Lashgari, in one of the Department of the Army’s many office buildings. It was a massive structure for the city, nearly thirty stories tall, and Colonel Lashgari told me that this building primarily housed is department: Recruiting.
The Iranian Citizens’ Republic, known more colloquially as South Iran, originated with the First Great Game of the 19th century. At the time, the British and Russian empires considered one another to be the greatest threat to the other’s empire, so the two fought an intense competition for influence in the Middle East, Central Asia and South Asia. The unification of the German Empire in 1871, and Russia’s defeat to the Japanese Empire in 1905, changed this calculation. The two empires realized that these new players could be greater threats, and so discussed a negotiated settlement to end their mutual enmity. The Partition of Persia was finalized in 1907, cleanly dividing Iran into north and south: the former going to Russia, the latter going to Britain. This division was initially one of influence, with Iran maintaining its nominal independence. The Persian Uprising of 1911 changed this, when a popular uprising against the Iranian Shah and the two European powers threatened the interests of Britain and Russia. The uprising was crushed, and Iran was divided in two: the nominally independent Empire of Iran to the north, backed by Russia, and the rival Kingdom of Iran to the south, a British protectorate.
I asked Colonel Lashgari about the omnipresent recruitment effort.
“We want to extend service throughout all of Iran.” Colonel Lashgari told me over a cup of tea. “There is so much work to do on Kermun alone, to clean up the city and put it on par with Ankara or even Baghdad. Other cities have it worse, especially near the frontiers. Hospitals, police stations and courts are understaffed. We need more soldiers for these efforts.”
I asked the colonel to clarify. Why were soldiers doing the work of civilians? Colonel Lashgari looked offended.
“Civilian work? These are important functions! They deserve the care and attention of a citizen.”
I was confused at the distinction. Weren’t civilians citizens as well? The colonel shook his head.
“That may be the parlance in foreign states, but in Iran, only those who have served the Iranian state and people after a certain period of time and in a certain capacity are rewarded with citizenship. Non-citizen Iranians, we call civilians.”
British rule in South Iran ended with the fall of the British Empire and its violent replacement with the communist Workers’ Federation. British forces in Iran retreated to India, where they either worked to suppress or joined the communist revolution there. Administration of South Iran was transferred fully to the pro-British Iranian king. This arrangement did not last, as the new Workers’ Federation invaded South Iran in an effort to spread the revolution. The communists succeeded in taking Kermun, destroying the Iranian royal family in the process, but the South Iranians fought on. Aligning themselves with the North Iranians and the Russians, the South Iranian military proclaimed a republic, and franchise to any who would join the fight.
I clarified my question. It seemed to me that Iran’s soldiers were doing jobs that are not military in nature.
“Not all service is directly martial in nature, and not all citizens served in the military. Those you would call civil servants or bureaucrats, they too become citizens, but their path is longer because their jobs are less dangerous and demanding. But it is true that the military has taken on many non-martial functions. A more prosperous, orderly Iran is a stronger Iran, so every service contributes to the defense of the country. This is why the military is responsible, in part, for these functions.”
I asked about how the Iranian military encourages service. I already knew that service guaranteed citizenship, but why was citizenship so desirable?”
“Citizens have greater privileges than civilians, of course. Civilians have rights, protected by our constitution, but only citizens are eligible for state benefits, and they have the exclusive right vote and run for office. Civilians are limited in political participation to supporting citizen candidates.”
Wasn’t the right to choose leaders an inalienable human right? The colonel laughed.
“You are starting to sound like an American! They can believe whatever nonsense they want, but we are not going to throw away eight thousand years of history for a stupid idea. Before men can lead, they must learn to follow. Service teaches the citizen how to serve his country and his community. Only afterwards does he have a true appreciation for what a ballot means.”
I asked Colonel Lashgari to elaborate.
“A ballot is force. When a man votes, he is choosing who among his countrymen has the authority to use force legitimately. Because that is what politics is, Mr. Chana. It is force. Like a gun or a bomb, political power is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands, but essential and beneficial in the right ones.”
To get another perspective, I stayed in the new city, but my contact was a civilian. Dariush Gilani was the founder and sole owner of Gilani Industries, the largest company in South Iran. Mr. Gilani was the richest man in South Iran, but he had no right to vote and was vocal in his criticism. His office reached out to me once he got wind that I was covering his home country in this book. He met me at Gilani Industries headquarters, the tallest building in Kermun. We sat together at a restaurant near the roof of the building, overlooking the city. The Presidential Palace and the buildings of the different military branches were all visible. I asked him to give me his criticisms of the system in a nutshell.
“The leaders of this country claim that their system is the only one in the world free of corruption, but that simply isn’t the case,” he told me over a glass of pre-revolution French wine.
“Most citizens are poor and uneducated. They join the military to become eligible for state benefits, and have no interest in any high-minded ideas. Iranian democracy is no less flawed than any other on the planet. It makes no sense that I, and millions of other educated Iranians, cannot vote because we were too busy building businesses, inventing new technologies, and improving the lives and economy of this country. This is not to say that service should be looked down upon, but it should be its own reward.”
Doesn’t service teach soldiers how to be good citizens?
“Mopping floors and wiping windows doesn’t teach a man how to be a responsible political actor. It teaches obedience, how to never ask questions, how to accept the system as it exists.”
But doesn’t Mr. Gilani have a voice? Surely, with his billions, he has more say in Iranian politics than the citizen voter. Mr. Gilani shook his head.
“I have campaigned and lobbied for an expansion of the franchise. I am not a radical who wants universal suffrage all at once, I understand that is constitutionally impossible. For years, I campaigned for expanding the franchise to taxpayers who pay above a certain amount per year, because do we taxpayers not serve the Iranian state and people by filling its coffers? That does not require a constitutional amendment, just a change in the definition of ‘service’ in Iranian law. But the Citizens’ Assembly has rejected it. They do not want their own power challenged.”
But what about the people? Why didn’t citizen voters elect politicians who promised to expand the franchise?
“The same reason! The ‘citizens’ in this country have a sense of superiority over civilians. They believe the right to vote is theirs alone, and they are loathe to share it. No politician who has voted for expanding the franchise has ever been re-elected. To make matters worse, much of the Citizens’ Assembly are ex-military officers, and they still hold power over their former subordinates.”
Did Mr. Gilani have any hope for change in the country? He shook his head again.
“I used to. I have spent millions of my own money to try and give basic human rights to my fellow Iranians, who are deserving of the label ‘citizen’ as much as those who served the state. But I feel that there is no changing the system, and I am close to giving up. I only ask to speak with you so that word goes out to the rest of the multiverse about what is going on here.”