IRAN: Twenty-five years after the Iranian revolution, there is not much to be cheerful about in the Islamic state it ushered in. Caitríona Palmerreports from Tehran
Louyi Bijani was just 15 when he died in the Iran-Iraq war. Now, every Friday, his family makes a pilgrimage to Behesht-e Zahra, Tehran's largest cemetery, armed with buckets and rags. As his young nephews and nieces play nearby, Louyi's brother and mother gently wash the white marble headstone and scatter flower petals on his grave.
"He was a very good boy," said Louyi's mother. "He loved me the most out of all of my children."
Louyi's photograph, encased in a rickety glass cabinet above the grave, surveys the scene. He seems all of his 15 years, proudly wearing a barely visible line of fuzz above his top lip. Beneath his photo stands a vase of garish plastic flowers lovingly arranged by his mother.
Around Louyi lie over 200,000 young men, killed during Iran's horrific eight-year war against Iraq. Each grave has its own glass cabinet stuffed full of memorabilia from a short life. Yellowing photographs, ceramic figurines, a copy of the Koran, and again and again, the same bright, plastic flowers.
These are the men revered by Iran's Islamic Republic as "martyrs" to the cause. They are the linchpin of the 1979 revolution.
But such accolades from the theocracy mean little to Louyi's family. And as Iran marks 25 years since the overthrow of the Shah, they say they have few reasons to be celebrating.
"This anniversary makes no difference to us," said Ardel, Louyi's older brother. "I don't have a positive answer about the revolution because everything that they told us has been a lie, and nothing has turned out to be true."
Families like this are not supposed to be criticising the fruits of the revolution. Ardel and his two brothers work for the Revolutionary Guards and the Baseej militia, created during the revolution to cement conservative clerical authority.
"We have no money," said Louyi's mother. "No, I don't have a positive attitude towards the clergy. I have lost my four brothers and son in this war. When I go to the Martyrs' Foundation to look for help, they just shout at me."
Just across the road from the graveyard lies the Holy Shrine of Ayatollah Khomeini. Nearly 15 years following his death, construction on his mausoleum has yet to be completed, forcing pilgrims to pick their way to the entrance through cement blocks and steel cables. Inside the mausoleum children chase pennies on the shiny marble floor while the faithful press their faces against the glass wall of Khomeini's shrine in devotion and prayer. But even here, at the very heart of Iran's Islamic revolution, there is dissatisfaction.
Nestled against a wall of the mausoleum, dressed in a black chador and cradling a Koran, Fatima (35) says she rides the metro once a week to visit Khomeini's tomb.
"For me, it's like coming to my grandfather's grave," she said. "I talk to Imam Khomeini about my problems but I also complain to him about the problems caused by this government like the economy, unemployment, high prices."
"During the time of Imam Khomeini it was better. We liked the core message of the revolution, but now there are people in power who don't sympathise with the revolution and who are after their own goals. They have put aside the people who were the supporters of the revolution."
Twenty-five years on the world's only theocracy is struggling to engage an increasingly alienated population that no longer pays any heed to its official promises of prosperity and freedom.
With a staggering two-thirds of the country under the age of 30, the clerical leadership has plenty to worry about. And many of Iran's youth say they're fed up with social restrictions, a lack of jobs and rampant inflation.
In a coffee shop in affluent north Tehran, 25-year-old Reza is drinking coffee with two female friends while texting obsessively on his mobile phone.
He laughs derisively when asked whether he'll be celebrating the anniversary of the revolution. "No, we won't be participating," he shrugs. "We don't see any reason to celebrate. They haven't given us any happiness so why should they expect us to celebrate?"
Unsure of how to mollify the vast youth population, the conservative leadership recently began to ease social restrictions. Now unmarried young men and women can hold hands in public without fear of arrest, or congregate together in coffee shops and billiard halls.
But according to Reza, social freedoms are the least of their worries. "We've got so many problems that we don't have time to think," he said. "You know, from housing problems to financial problems."
"They've given us more social freedom," he said. "But it's a little too late."
Political analysts say the revolution succeeded in dumping the US-backed monarchy but failed to deliver on its promises of democracy. Perhaps Iranians feel let down because they didn't really know what they were getting into when they embraced Ayatollah Khomeini on his return to Tehran from exile.
"They didn't want the Shah but they didn't really know what they wanted," said one analyst. "They said they wanted an Islamic Republic but it was a reaction. It was not a carefully premeditated, calculated move by the people." More than two decades later, Iranians seem to be back to square one, accusing their leaders of exercising absolute rule.
"Iranians have been walking in a circle for 25 years," he said. "Twenty five years ago they wanted freedom of choice and now once again they want freedom of choice. Iranians want to live the lives they like, they want to be able to choose for themselves and decide for themselves." They may feel they don't have much freedom to choose, but this week as state television rebroadcasts footage of the revolution, many Iranians will be choosing to tune out.
Tomorrow: Michael Jansen on the political battle between the conservatives and the reformers