Four years ago, Iranians poured into the streets chanting, “where is my vote?” Last week, they poured into the streets chanting, “we took back our votes.” And many, more emotionally, chanted, “Mousavi, Mousavi, we took back your vote”.
Watching the outpouring of joy, it occurred to me that in Iran, people do not “vote.” A “vote” has a clear meaning. It is a decision that just gets counted. It is the decision.
In Iran, people “input.” Every four years, they go to the polls, and give input into the government’s black box. The government receives that input, considers it, evaluates its own strength, its sense of self confidence at that moment, and an output comes out of its black box.
Sometimes the input matches the output. In 1997, former President Mohammad Khatami received over 20 million votes, compared to the establishment candidate’s meager 7 million. In 2013, the moderate/reformist candidate, Hassan Rohani, received more votes than the five other establishment candidates combined.
At other times, the output is a reaction to the input. In 2005, the reformist input was divided and fragmented, and so the government succeeded in conquering the divided pieces, one at a time: first, it misplaced votes to engineer a run-off between the “capitalist” former President Rafsanjani and the “redistributionist” Ahmadinejad; then, it activated its varied levers of power to sharpen and focus that dichotomy to ensure victory for Ahmadinejad. In 2009, the input was strong but the government, flush in oil money and backed by a resurgence of its most passionate base, felt supremely confident about its reactionary output, and so it embarked on crushing the pacifist and resourced-limited opposition with sheer might and perseverance, handing out oil money to its base in exchange for their active support (for example, by riding on motorcycles and clubbing the “greeners”)–or tacit approval, as it engaged in such atrocities.
But the point is that the input, whether in action or reaction, always influences the output. And so in this context, the dichotomy of “boycott vs. participation” that consumes a massive amount of mental energy every election cycle is exposed in its simplicity. It is always necessary to give an input.
Under the former ruler of Iran, the Shah, there was no concept of an “input,” even, let alone of a “vote.” But whatever their success in running a country turned out to be futile–there was no input from below, from the masses, from the universities, and from the streets. The 1979 Islamic Revolution changed that; however, it still did not give people the right to “vote,” partly because the infrastructure was not there.
A vote is a clear decision. A clear decision requires clear alternatives and succinctly defined differences–political parties, civil society, professional media, and free speech are necessary perquisites.
What is most extraordinary about 2013, is that people realized this; without even being able to communicate with one another efficiently (no free press, no free speech, no free assembly, not even reliable internet access), people planned, strategized, executed, and won.
They did not treat the “election” as an occasion to “vote.” (That was their mistake in 2009.) They reached consensus over Rohani–someone who would have been considered a murderer and a regime insider, “one of them,” as early as four years ago; but someone who fit through the input box–not through the ballot box, but through the input box.
It is not even that people learned that lesson–which itself is an achievement of historic proportion, a testament to the emergence of a level of social capital that a nation can dream of.
No. It is that people learned that lesson; that people shared that lesson; that people executed the lessons of that lesson–without even knowing that the person next to them felt the same way.
On election day, each Iranian “inputter” demonstrated a level of self-confidence that the absolute majority of votes received by Rohani was the undeniable output of. On election day, a step toward national peace was taken. This is a Mandela moment, an Obama moment, although it is because of the people of Iran, not who the leader is.
On election day, though maybe not a vote yet, an “input” became more than just an input. On election day, the Iranian inputter matured–and with it, leapt the Iranian democracy movement forward; keeping the candle of freedom lit, since 1905 and the Constitutional Revolution; and grew the Iranian reform movement, from one man in 1840 (Amir Kabir), into millions, in its long, disjointed 173 years.
People who belittle this achievement will remind you that “nothing has changed,” that the “election was not free,” that the “candidates were already vetted,” that Rohani is no different than Ahmadinejad, who was no different than Khatami, who was no different than Bazargan and Sahabi and Mousavi and Karoubi.
But you should remember that that is not the point.
Ali Assareh practices law in New York City. He holds a Juris Doctorate degree from New York University School of Law and BA degrees in Philosophy and International Political Economy from UC Berkeley. He has previously published in Middle East Policy, Inter-Press Service, Insight Turkey, and co-authored a book chapter in Human Rights in the Middle East: Frameworks, Goals and Strategies.
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More Than an 'Input'; Less Than a 'Vote'
June 17, 2013
Four years ago, Iranians poured into the streets chanting, “where is my vote?” Last week, they poured into the streets chanting, “we took back our votes.” And many, more emotionally, chanted, “Mousavi, Mousavi, we took back your vote”.
Watching the outpouring of joy, it occurred to me that in Iran, people do not “vote.” A “vote” has a clear meaning. It is a decision that just gets counted. It is the decision.
In Iran, people “input.” Every four years, they go to the polls, and give input into the government’s black box. The government receives that input, considers it, evaluates its own strength, its sense of self confidence at that moment, and an output comes out of its black box.
Sometimes the input matches the output. In 1997, former President Mohammad Khatami received over 20 million votes, compared to the establishment candidate’s meager 7 million. In 2013, the moderate/reformist candidate, Hassan Rohani, received more votes than the five other establishment candidates combined.
At other times, the output is a reaction to the input. In 2005, the reformist input was divided and fragmented, and so the government succeeded in conquering the divided pieces, one at a time: first, it misplaced votes to engineer a run-off between the “capitalist” former President Rafsanjani and the “redistributionist” Ahmadinejad; then, it activated its varied levers of power to sharpen and focus that dichotomy to ensure victory for Ahmadinejad. In 2009, the input was strong but the government, flush in oil money and backed by a resurgence of its most passionate base, felt supremely confident about its reactionary output, and so it embarked on crushing the pacifist and resourced-limited opposition with sheer might and perseverance, handing out oil money to its base in exchange for their active support (for example, by riding on motorcycles and clubbing the “greeners”)–or tacit approval, as it engaged in such atrocities.
But the point is that the input, whether in action or reaction, always influences the output. And so in this context, the dichotomy of “boycott vs. participation” that consumes a massive amount of mental energy every election cycle is exposed in its simplicity. It is always necessary to give an input.
Under the former ruler of Iran, the Shah, there was no concept of an “input,” even, let alone of a “vote.” But whatever their success in running a country turned out to be futile–there was no input from below, from the masses, from the universities, and from the streets. The 1979 Islamic Revolution changed that; however, it still did not give people the right to “vote,” partly because the infrastructure was not there.
A vote is a clear decision. A clear decision requires clear alternatives and succinctly defined differences–political parties, civil society, professional media, and free speech are necessary perquisites.
What is most extraordinary about 2013, is that people realized this; without even being able to communicate with one another efficiently (no free press, no free speech, no free assembly, not even reliable internet access), people planned, strategized, executed, and won.
They did not treat the “election” as an occasion to “vote.” (That was their mistake in 2009.) They reached consensus over Rohani–someone who would have been considered a murderer and a regime insider, “one of them,” as early as four years ago; but someone who fit through the input box–not through the ballot box, but through the input box.
It is not even that people learned that lesson–which itself is an achievement of historic proportion, a testament to the emergence of a level of social capital that a nation can dream of.
No. It is that people learned that lesson; that people shared that lesson; that people executed the lessons of that lesson–without even knowing that the person next to them felt the same way.
On election day, each Iranian “inputter” demonstrated a level of self-confidence that the absolute majority of votes received by Rohani was the undeniable output of. On election day, a step toward national peace was taken. This is a Mandela moment, an Obama moment, although it is because of the people of Iran, not who the leader is.
On election day, though maybe not a vote yet, an “input” became more than just an input. On election day, the Iranian inputter matured–and with it, leapt the Iranian democracy movement forward; keeping the candle of freedom lit, since 1905 and the Constitutional Revolution; and grew the Iranian reform movement, from one man in 1840 (Amir Kabir), into millions, in its long, disjointed 173 years.
People who belittle this achievement will remind you that “nothing has changed,” that the “election was not free,” that the “candidates were already vetted,” that Rohani is no different than Ahmadinejad, who was no different than Khatami, who was no different than Bazargan and Sahabi and Mousavi and Karoubi.
But you should remember that that is not the point.
Ali Assareh practices law in New York City. He holds a Juris Doctorate degree from New York University School of Law and BA degrees in Philosophy and International Political Economy from UC Berkeley. He has previously published in Middle East Policy, Inter-Press Service, Insight Turkey, and co-authored a book chapter in Human Rights in the Middle East: Frameworks, Goals and Strategies.
