In Other Words

The Twitter Devolution

Far from being a tool of revolution in Iran over the last year, the Internet, in many ways, just complicated the picture.

Before one of the major Iranian protests of the past year, a journalist in Germany showed me a list of three prominent Twitter accounts that were commenting on the events in Tehran and asked me if I knew the identities of the contributors. I told her I did, but she seemed disappointed when I told her that one of them was in the United States, one was in Turkey, and the third -- who specialized in urging people to "take to the streets" -- was based in Switzerland.

Perhaps I shattered her dreams of an Iranian "Twitter Revolution." The Western media certainly never tired of claiming that Iranians used Twitter to organize and coordinate their protests following President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's apparent theft of last June's elections. Even the American government seemed to get in on the act. Former U.S. national security adviser Mark Pfeifle claimed Twitter should get the Nobel Peace Prize because "without Twitter the people of Iran would not have felt empowered and confidant to stand up for freedom and democracy." And the U.S. State Department reportedly asked Twitter to delay some scheduled maintenance in order to allow Iranians to communicate as the protests grew more powerful.

But it is time to get Twitter's role in the events in Iran right. Simply put: There was no Twitter Revolution inside Iran. As Mehdi Yahyanejad, the manager of "Balatarin," one of the Internet's most popular Farsi-language websites, told the Washington Post last June, Twitter's impact inside Iran is nil. "Here [in the United States], there is lots of buzz," he said. "But once you look, you see most of it are Americans tweeting among themselves."

A number of opposition activists have told me they used text messages, email, and blog posts to publicize protest actions. However, good old-fashioned word of mouth was by far the most influential medium used to shape the postelection opposition activity. There is still a lively discussion happening on Facebook about how the activists spread information, but Twitter was definitely not a major communications tool for activists on the ground in Iran.

Nonetheless, the "Twitter Revolution" was an irresistible meme during the post-election protests, a story that wrote itself. Various analysts were eager to chime in about the purported role of Twitter in the Green Movement. Some were politics experts, like the Atlantic's Andrew Sullivan and Marc Ambinder. Others were experts on new media, like Sascha Segan of PC Magazine. Western journalists who couldn't reach -- or didn't bother reaching? -- people on the ground in Iran simply scrolled through the English-language tweets posted with tag #iranelection. Through it all, no one seemed to wonder why people trying to coordinate protests in Iran would be writing in any language other than Farsi.

A pristine instance of this myopia was a profile, published in Britain's Guardian newspaper, of Oxfordgirl, a Twitter blogger who was described as "a key player" in Iran's postelection unrest. "Before they started blocking mobile phones, I was almost coordinating people's individual movements -- 'go to such and such street,' or ‘don't go there, the Basij are waiting,'" she was quoted as saying. It's a riveting story -- but the reporter failed to ask how Oxfordgirl managed to communicate with residents of Tehran via cell phone when the Iranian government shut down the whole city's mobile network, as it always did on days of protest.

Oxfordgirl was ultimately more successful at gaining publicity for herself than at helping any protesters in Iran. Compare her 10,000 Twitter followers with the 300 followers of a Karaj-based Green activist (who prefers not to be identified or to have his Twitter page publicized). The activist tweets in Persian, which few Western journalists can read, and he is often a source of valuable information about the mood in the country.

The story of Oxfordgirl gives a clue about the real role that Twitter played. There is no doubt that she helped spread news about the Iranian protests -- often very quickly. Twitter played an important role in getting word about the events in Iran out to the wider world. Together with YouTube, it helped focus the world's attention on the Iranian people's fight for democracy and human rights. New media over the last year created and sustained unprecedented international moral solidarity with the Iranian struggle -- a struggle that was being bravely waged many years before Twitter was ever conceived.

But an honest accounting of Twitter's role in Iran would also note its pernicious complicity in allowing rumors to spread. It began with the many unsubstantiated reports from the protests. In the early days of the post-election crackdown a rumor quickly spread on Twitter that police helicopters were pouring acid and boiling water on protesters. A year later it remains just that: a rumor. Other Twitter stories were quickly debunked, like the suggestion that circulated in late June that Mousavi had been arrested at his home in Tehran.

Twitter followers of #iranelection also helped quickly name Saeedeh Pouraghayi -- who was allegedly arrested for chanting "Allah Akbar" on her rooftop, only to be raped, disfigured and murdered -- a new "martyr" of the Green Movement. Her tragic story quickly made the rounds on Twitter and other social networking websites. Mouasvi and his aides even reportedly attended a commemoration ceremony that was held for her in Tehran.

Yet the whole story turned out to be a hoax. Pouraghayi later appeared on a program on Iran's state television and said that on the night when she was supposedly arrested, she had escaped by jumping off her balcony. In the intervening two months, she said was being treated at the home of the person who found her in the street. A reformist website later wrote that the Iranian government had planted the story in order to cast doubt on opposition claims about the rape of post-election detainees and pave the way for further arrests of opposition leaders. Twitter, it seems, can serve the purposes of Iran's regime as easily as it can aid the country's activists.

To be clear: It's not that Twitter publicists of the Iranian protests haven't played a role in the events of the past year. They have. It's just not been the outsized role it's often been made out to be. And ultimately, that's been a terrible injustice to the Iranians who have made real, not remote or virtual, sacrifices in pursuit of justice.


In Other Words

The Real Impact of the Elections

Far from being a wipeout, the Green Movement was a historic success. Too bad no one was watching.

Iran's June 2009 presidential election -- which pitted the incumbent Mahmoud Ahmadinejad against former prime minister Mir-Hossein Mousavi -- and its aftermath took most Iranians and observers of Iran by surprise. The conventional wisdom got many things drastically wrong: the nature of the election, the nature of the regime's intentions, and the nature of the public's outrage.

Few analysts anticipated that the presidential election would turn into a real race centering on the issue of significant change versus the status quo: After all, Mousavi was an insider, an active supporter of the Islamic Revolution. But commentators should have noticed how much Mousavi's campaign reflected changes in Iranian society. Women played a much more visible role in his campaign -- a first in Iranian history. Zahra Rahnavard, Mousavi's wife, appeared at his side on the campaign trail, gave interviews, and addressed the crowds. She was more outspoken than her husband on a number of social and political issues, including women's rights. Rahnavard's presence and her message galvanized not only Iran's women, but also its youth and its broad middle class. Mehdi Karrubi, the other reformist candidate, responded with an announcement that he would appoint a woman as his foreign minister to negotiate with Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. Even the conservative candidate, Mohsen Rezai, took on an advisor for women's affairs.

Commentators understandably assumed that the vote would not see massive fraud. In previous elections, candidates were carefully vetted and the spectrum of choices was severely limited, but tampering with the vote count did not take place on a significant scale. On this occasion, however, massive vote fraud appears to have occurred. When the results were announced less than 24 hours after the polling stations had closed, giving the incumbent an improbable majority of over 60 percent, Iranians reacted with disbelief.

No one foresaw the protests that followed, and most were probably surprised by the ferocity of the government's response. The regime clearly decided that it would rather pay the price of worldwide condemnation than allow the opposition movement to continue to grow or to allow opposition leaders to come to office. Some among the hard-liners in the regime must have seen the opportunity to silence the reformers and moderates in their midst once and for all, and they seized it.

In the mass trials that followed the crackdown, government prosecutors accused (and their judges then condemned) their own comrades-in-arms of scheming to overthrow the regime through "a velvet revolution." To me, this was another astonishing turn of events in an astonishing year. In 2007, when I was arrested, jailed, kept in solitary confinement, and subjected to months of interrogation by Iran's Intelligence Ministry, I was accused of working to bring about a "velvet revolution" in Iran. I found it hard to believe that the regime was now bringing the same charge against men with impeccable revolutionary credentials who had high-profile careers in the Islamic Republic. In my interrogations, I had felt the overwhelming sense of paranoia and fear among Intelligence Ministry officials that the regime would be overthrown by a foreign-inspired movement. I never imagined that the regime would direct this accusation against prominent insiders, much less call a peaceful protest movement over a contested election "seditious," resort to mass show trials, and risk international opprobrium and its own legitimacy because it concluded that the protests put its very survival at risk. But everything over the last year should have taught me never to underestimate the unpredictability of a regime that believes even limited reform will snowball into a demand for massive change.

Read on:  "The Twitter Devolution," By Golnaz Esfandiari

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