Democratic Iran

November 2010.

Wellington has just been voted the “coolest little capital in the world” by Lonely Planet.

I’ve said things like that before. No, it’s not the Cinque Terres, but, as a practical place to live and work, it has a lot going for it. One of the many things I like about it – and the country generally – is its openness. I walk through the grounds of parliament, our equivalent of the Whitehouse, every day. It is my shortcut to work. People have their lunch on the lawns, when the weather is nice. One bumps into our members of parliament in Lambton Quay, shopping in their lunch hours, just where we do, and sometimes in the pub across the road; my local.

Last week, Hillary Clinton was visiting. There was some extra security visible as I ambled through the place as usual. No doubt there was much more that was not visible. But, as a citizen, I still felt completely at ease walking through the grounds; it was still my place.

There were about a dozen demonstrators droning on about something, too. It was one of these waving around the placard which caught my eye. It said something about “democratic Iran”.

I looked twice; yes, those were the words.

Now I’ll take it for granted that any half-way intelligent reader is well aware that the most recent “elections” in Iran were about as credible as the latest promises from Robert Mugabe or Voreqe Bainimarama, but let’s suppose, just for a moment, just for the sake of argument, that they were not massively rigged. Even then – even then – Iran would still not be democratic.

Democracy is more than elections. China has elections, and nobody would call the PRC democratic. Democracy is about the freedom of choice, and the people of Iran don’t have it.

Take that demonstrator, for example. In New Zealand, he was free to wave his placard about and shout his opinion. The mob was not going to tear him to bits. Indeed, there was no mob. And, if there had have been, the Parliamentary Services people would have summoned the local police who, with the full support of my tax money, would have protected him, and upheld his right to peaceful protest.

If he’d tried prating on about, oh, let’s say, democratic America, in Tehran, how different would it have been? Well, for a start he’d have been dismantled by the mob. He would not have been protected by the police. Indeed, if by some miracle he had survived, he would doubtless have found his way down into the secret cells for a spot of torture, now wouldn’t he?

I think the thing which most intrigues me about these folks is the exquisite balance of their mental faculties. They’re too dim to appreciate the delicious irony of what they’re doing, and yet, amazingly, contrary to all expectation, somehow they still remember to breathe.