When I first read Persepolis, the internationally acclaimed graphic novel by Marjane Satrapi, it struck me how uncannily similar episodes from her life were to mine. A great test for a work of art is that something that at first appears personal and unique turns out to be universal. As with Dr Zhivago and War and Peace, in its modest scale Persepolis too tells of the great sweep of history, elucidated in the tiny intimacies of a girl's real and imagined life. The account rings true because Satrapi is fearlessly truthful. In her audacity and outspokenness she is the rule rather than the exception amongst the Iranian women I know and grew up with.
In patriarchal societies, where men dominate public and political life, women wield immense power in the private arena. Much of the book chronicles the small but constant oppression suffered by Iranians - especially women and the young - at the hand of the Islamic regime. It is often said that small tyrannies are felt much more deeply than large ones. Minor officials invade the private lives of Iranians on a daily basis. Whether it is the biannual crackdowns on satellite dishes or the annual crackdowns on such seditions as capri pants, hair gel and ornate sandals, it is a constant reminder of the oppressive power of the ruling ideology that pits the power of the state against the individual citizen; the ideology of political Islam against libertarian ambitions and individualism.
As elsewhere in the world, however, the range of political discussion around economic policy is curtailed by the forces of globalisation - and in the case of Iran, by US economic sanctions. Debates about high politics are either out of bounds in the public arena or hampered by fatigue and disillusionment. The prospect of reform from within as represented by Mohammad Khatami is now safely contained by both the vetting of the conservatives and the factionalism of the reformists. The civil rights agenda, which focuses on the way private life is prescribed and interfered with by the state, is the only field of struggle left open.
Individualism is almost the only form of active opposition the citizenry has left at its disposal. A nose job, an extravagant hairstyle, bottle-blonde hair, piercings, tattoos, the owning of dogs explain and the wearing of colourful clothes and neckties are all forms of resistance. Iran must be the only country in which people show their rebelliousness through their appearance throughout their lives, not just in their teens.
So Persepolis (now an award-winning film directed by Vincent Paronnaud and Satrapi) is partly a subtle and powerful analysis of the politics of Iran. But though its themes may be universal, it would be a mistake to imagine Satrapi's story is typical. Her tale, as powerful and well-told as it is, is restricted by one important factor - her class.
The dynamics of class struggle formed a background to the Iranian revolution and are a powerful presence in politics today, but Persepolis fails to address them. Satrapi doesn't seem to realise that the great unwashed who mistreat her friends and family (for example, the window cleaner who becomes a hospital manager) are as motivated by class antagonism as they are by Islamic revolutionary ideology.
On the surface, it might appear that the window cleaner is as driven by doctrine as are the ugly, brutish women from deprived neighbourhoods in the south of Tehran who roam the parks and streets of north Tehran on semi-official tours of duty, harassing and bullying the manicured, surgically enhanced, Gucci-clad dog walkers. But class antagonism and resentment is bubbling away underneath. Cosmo Landesman is way off the mark (if tediously predictable) in his review in the Sunday Times: "You wonder if the casual misogyny displayed by so many men is at the root of the Iranian revolution." Er, not really, Cosmo.
In Iran, as elsewhere, the gap between the rich and poor is growing ever wider. I am frequently astonished at the liberal elite's total lack of consciousness of this great chasm that divides society. They think nothing, for example, of importing pedigree dogs (a subtle badge of opposition to Islam). On a recent visit, a relative told me with great pride about the facilities at the four-star kennel that is looking after her dogs in her absence.
Though the revolution allowed certain members of the former proletariat to take over the assets of the Shah's close associates, there was no structural redistribution of wealth. It is possible that that former window cleaner is by now the managing director of a big conglomerate. An opportunist middle manager might have grown a beard and discarded his necktie for advancement, or a merchant in the bazaar may have used his contacts at the mosque to secure a government contract. Corruption is there, as it was before: it just changed its uniform during the revolution.
I know of many cases in which people from humble backgrounds have been able to accumulate massive wealth through their collaboration with the regime. A class of nouveau-riche men and women now rub shoulders and compete for four-star kennel vacancies with the traditional super-rich of north Tehran. But by and large, the dispossessed masses who sweated under the heaviest burdens of the revolution, who spilt oceans of blood fighting Saddam's chemically-armed war machine, are still awaiting a return on their investments.
To be judged good, art that deals with historical events must transcend the background of its author or at least demonstrate consciousness of it. Persepolis falls a little short on this account, though it fares better than much of the art generated with a western audience in mind by members of the wealthy, educated Iranian diaspora. For all its essential integrity and many flashes of truth, Satrapi's work misses a greater truth because of what it leaves unsaid. Iran's class struggle is the grand narrative this work leaves untold.
The vast majority who didn't make it to Europe or the US to escape the horrors of the war and the suffocating atmosphere of the regime, those who are not admitted to the hedonistic parties for which Tehran is legendary, this silent majority, invisible in Persepolis except as caricatures of intolerance, misogyny and zealotry, is still there and holds the key to the country's future. These people are exasperated after waiting for almost 30 years.
The masses who feed off scraps from the tables of the rich north Tehranis, have things to say and are worth listening to. Resistance to the regime that is solely focused on issues of personal freedom and ignores the profound matter of equity and social justice is condemned to remain a fringe issue without any real political traction.
