Then They Came for Me_ A Family's Story of Love, Captivity, and Survival - Maziar Bahari [20]
During Imam Mahdi’s absence, Shias have a duty to follow a religious leader, called a marja, who interprets the teachings of the Koran for them.
Marjas are chosen from the ranks of grand ayatollahs, high-ranking religious scholars, and each Shia Muslim is free to choose the marja of his or her choice.
Most Shias in the world believe that the role of the marjas is limited to teaching about Islam and taking care of the weak and the needy. But in the 1960s, Khomeini took the concept of the marja a step further and divined his velayat-e faqih theory, about the leadership of the supreme jurisprudent. According to Khomeini, a supreme jurisprudent should not only teach his followers about Islam but should rule an Islamic government with absolute authority, ensuring that all affairs of the country are conducted in accordance with Islamic teachings. Given that this leader will be in charge of all the systems of checks and balances in the country, it is not difficult to see why Iran became a dictatorship soon after Ruhollah Khomeini came to power in 1979.
Most Shia clerics in Iran and around the world never accepted Khomeini’s theory and believe in a separation of mosque and state. But by stirring Iranians’ nationalist sentiments, Khomeini gained popular support and led the Islamic Revolution, which established the first velayat-e faqih government and installed Khomeini himself as the first supreme leader.
After Khomeini’s death in 1989, Ali Khamenei succeeded him as the valie faqih, the supreme jurisprudent, or supreme leader. His followers simply call him by his unofficial title: Agha, the master.
That is what Alireza, the young Ahmadinejad supporter, liked to call him.
“We are not a nation, we are the umma,” Alireza told me, using the Arabic term for the Islamic community. “As the umma, we have to obey the commands of Agha. The most important characteristic of Ahmadinejad is that he is devoted to Agha,” Alireza said. “Ahmadinejad is a man who has dedicated his life to Agha and the return of the imam.”
I could see that Davood was getting uncomfortable as Alireza told us that our votes were not worth anything and that our destiny could be determined only by Agha. When it was time for us to leave, Davood avoided having to kiss Alireza, as would have been appropriate, and did not even shake his hand. “We’ll invite you to our celebration ceremony,” Alireza said before kissing me on both cheeks.
“Mr. Maziar, I’m going to start the motorcycle,” Davood said, practically running toward the door.
Davood was waiting for me outside of Ahmadinejad’s campaign office. “You are a very patient man, Mr. Maziar,” Davood told me as we drove north. “I could’ve killed that guy.”
“He has a right to his opinion,” I said. “Anyway, Khamenei is the one who should be upset now. Just look at all these people. Do you think Ahmadinejad has any chance to win?” It was evening, and hundreds of young men and women in bright green shirts and scarves still lined the streets, singing patriotic songs.
In the evening, more people gathered in the streets. I didn’t want to go home. I asked Davood to take me to his neighborhood, a working-class area called Poonak in west Tehran. There, the street was blocked off and hundreds of young people were holding a party. I called Paola from my cell phone and told her that as much as I missed her, I was very happy to be in Tehran at this moment.
I knew Paola understood my exhilaration. When we’d met, at a lecture about the Middle East conflict in a London journalists’ club in March 2007, I was on my way to Iraq to produce two documentaries about the ethnic conflict in that country for Channel 4 and the BBC. At the time, a number of journalists had been kidnapped or murdered and it was a dangerous assignment. But Paola knew that I would be careful and shared my excitement about the trip.
Now, pumped up by the excitement and emotion