WHAT FOR?

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WHAT FOR?

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"How did it feel to have voted then?", I asked a friend as we left the
small school tucked away from one of Tehran's main roads. "Like having
done my duty, painful though it was", she responds. "Yes, it is like
volunteering a gun to a person that will shoot you in the foot because
the other one will go for your head – no different to how it was for me
in England really", I add, inviting a nervous laughter between us. Like
a song that's over reliant on its chorus we faded to silence and I'm
certain she filled this moment with the same thoughts as I as we
reflected on our recent political action. We'd gone against our
family's aggressive protest as well as the tireless repetition of "what
for?" and "why? spilling from the lips of our peers, had we wasted our
time, or possibly made things worse?

Having handed birth
certificates, pressed our inked-sodden fingers and been issued voting
slips we departed from the line of female civil-servants fully equipped
to relinquish our fate. Two parallel walls hosted a huddle of people
jotting down codes from the 10-large posters filled with details of an
astounding 1200-plus candidates.

Phone calls were made to
confirm spelling as scraps of paper collected scribbles of hope. "Why
are there 5-boxes available for the code and each of the candidates
only have a 4-digit code?", my friend gasped, far from reassured by the
vague verbal instructions given by the onlooking security. We raced
around shouting numbers to one another while collecting the 15-names
needed to adorn the Tehran council. 1200 wasn't enough however, we were
giving it up in style with the occasion offering further exercises of
democracy – two extra ballots were available to embellish, a further
2-candidates were needed for something missed last time around and also
12 of the supreme league – not wanting to feel left out – were in need
of some flattery.

Prior to the
big day I'd planned various strategies for how I'd vote. "No, if the
head in your drawing of a sheep falls between a box then they may count
it a your choice", I was oddly informed. "No, if you vote for women
only then the government will brag to the west about how this system
not only functions but is inclusive and progressive", came more advice.
"Pick the reformist candidates" I was repeatedly told, "but I want to
vote for somebody I want, not for somebody who is opposes the person I
don't want", I ranted, reminding myself of the strategic voting that
distorts the political outcome back on the UK.

"My statement
cannot be lost with the unaware or unconcerned", I answered to the
angry people that accusing me of giving credit to a system they've long
given up on. "Apathy and conscious avoidance register the same with the
absence of a 'none-of-the-above' box", I plead. "Increasing the turnout
must surely represent an active public and an active public should
invite a more conscientious government, spoiling your ballot is surely
an available option", I conclude.

It nearly seemed like a
worthwhile option until I heard, "20,000 Basij have been brought into
Tehran to vote!". Of course, I hadn't noticed, I was not registered to
vote at any specific location, I'd freely walked into a school, handed
my birth certificate and began my art project. And of course, any other
Iranian is at liberty to do so also, potentially giving Tehran a 150%
turnout for example. Indeed, maybe the gun was never in my hand – maybe
we had wasted our time.

I'd left the school having endured a
test, and to the question of democracy I'd indulged it with my answer
of action. I sit and wait to see the results yet even though my answer
may not be counted, the certainty that at least one person had to
decipher my choice, for me at least, counts.