Tehran-based Alireza Doostdar finds that election campaigning brings out young Iranians’ sarcasm and sense of humour.

To get to most places in Tehran from my apartment in the north-east of the city, I need to make my way through Niavaran, the northernmost major street in Tehran that stretches east-west from Niavaran Palace toward Tajrish Circle. This is one of the more affluent parts of Tehran, known for its boutiques, parks and pricey apartment blocks built on the ruins of former orchards and villas. Niavaran also sits astride several villages, Chizar, Darband, Dezashib, Kashanak, and others, whose rural inhabitants find themselves increasingly outnumbered by wealthy Tehranis moving north on the crest of the city’s maniacal expansion. As the presidential election approaches its climax, northern Tehran is as good as any region in the country to feel the rising social and political heat.

Like much of the rest of Tehran, Niavaran and its surrounding streets have seen some of the most intense campaigning in the two weeks leading up to this year’s vote. The streets are dotted with posters, banners, and graffiti extolling the virtues of one candidate or another, and ridiculing rival candidates and their supporters. Campaigners, mostly young men and women, hand out posters and balloons, wave flags, and yell slogans at passing cars. President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s supporters wrap themselves in Iranian flags or wave them over their heads. Supporters of reformist challenger Mir Hossein Mousavi distribute green ribbons and scarves, and brandish green flags, gesturing to the candidate’s holy lineage and his message of prosperity and change - spring after winter.

If the intensity of street campaigning is any indication, the contest will come down to these two men, whose fate will be determined this Friday or, if none win an absolute majority, at a run-off next week. The other two candidates, former Majlis Speaker Mehdi Karrubi and former Revolutionary Guards Commander Mohsen Rezai, are barely noticeable on the street. As I was shooting cell phone pictures of a congested street near Niavaran Park on Tuesday, a driver whipped out a Rezai poster and shouted: ‘Film me too! Show that Rezai is also in the race!’ I doubt anyone else on the street took much notice.

As afternoon fades into evening, the streets grow increasingly crowded and restless. Tehran’s notorious rush hour traffic morphs into a supercharged campaign carnival that marches non-stop until around 2:00 a.m. The throngs of pedestrian campaigners absorb ever greater numbers, and inch further and further on to the streets, choking the flow of traffic. Drivers honk their horns when they see likeminded campaigners. Crowds boo at cars boasting a rival’s poster.

By late evening, electioneering dissolves into frenzy. Rival camps scream slogans at each other. A car suddenly stops mid-traffic, its stereo blasting party music. Its passengers, almost certainly Mousavi supporters, disembark and break into frenetic dancing, joined by gleeful onlookers. Further down the street, a group of young women stop another car, kneel down in a circle in front of the beaming headlights, touch the pavement with their forefingers, and enact a mock children’s game: ‘Kalagh, Par! Gonjishk, Par! Mahmoud, Par!’ [Crows, fly! Sparrows, fly! Mahmoud, flies! … away.]

Never had I seen an Iranian election with so many improvised, emotive, slogans. Walking toward Ahmadinejad’s campaign headquarters on Niavaran a few days ago, I heard a young campaigner, walking boldly in the middle of the street, flag draped over his shoulders, shouting at the top of his lungs: ‘He’s a man! He catches thieves!’ Another young man walking a few steps behind shouted ‘Dozdgir-e 88 resid!’ [The 2009 Security System, or, closer to the original Persian, ‘Thief-Catcher’ has arrived!] The president is seen by his supporters, many of them from among the economically disadvantaged, as a stalwart champion of social justice, uncompromising defender of rights of the downtrodden and brave warrior against rich oligarchs.

One such oligarch, in the eyes of Ahmadinejad and his supporters, is Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani, a former two-time president and current head of the powerful Expediency Council and Experts’ Assembly. The president has accused Rafsanjani’s family of corruption and the man himself of single-handedly orchestrating a movement of disinformation and obstructionism against his government. At a recent rally, Ahmadinejad supporters chanted ‘Yek, Do, Seh, Qatel-e Kooseh!’ [One, two, three, killer of the shark!], referring to the president’s campaign against Rafsanjani, the ‘shark’ – a colloquial description of men who cannot grow full beards.

The Ahmadinejad camp’s slogans against Mousavi are less venomous. Many capitalise on the candidate’s less-than-eloquent use of the word ‘cheez’ [thing] to fill gaps in his sentences when he fails to find a better word. ‘Cheez, cheez cheeseburger!’ yell some campaigners. Or ‘Ma dowlat-e cheeseburgeri nemikhaym!’ [We don’t want a cheeseburger government!], with the western fast-food serving as a stand-in for the perceived elitism of Mousavi’s campaign.

Mousavi supporters retort loudly with ‘Cheez behtar az cheetozeh’ [cheese is better than Cheetos], a reference to an Iranian brand of potato chips with a cartoon monkey as its mascot – a not-so-subtle jab at Ahmadinejad. Other personal attacks follow: ‘Do hafteh, do hafteh, Mahmoud hamoom narafteh’ [Two weeks, two weeks, Mahmoud has not bathed]. The social class and religious overtones of these attacks are hard to miss: the president is seen by some of his young, secular middle-class detractors as a backward, unkempt religious fanatic. A more pervasive insult is ‘Dorooghgoo’ [liar] – a key theme emphasised by Mir Hossein Mousavi himself, who has repeatedly accused his rival of lying to the nation, particularly about his government’s economic performance.

This past week, Ahmadinejad and Mousavi have both brought out their Tehrani supporters in massive shows of force: Ahmadinejad in a rally at the Musalla grounds in central Tehran, which got so crowded he decided to skip it himself; and Mousavi in a 25-kilometre-long ‘human chain’ on Vali-e Asr street, stretching from the Tehran Train Station in the south to Tajrish Circle in the north. On Wednesday night, the final night of campaigning before the mandatory 24-hour lull, the shouting, booing, singing and honking outside my window was at its loudest. This time, a few firecrackers were also thrown into the mix. All this enthusiasm and frenzy will have to be translated to silent paper ballots on Friday. For the victors, the real street party is yet to come.

Alireza Doostdar is a doctoral student in social anthropology at Harvard University. He is currently conducting fieldwork in Tehran.

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