Cleric Uses Weapon of Religion Against Iran's Rulers

By ELAINE SCIOLINO

TEHRAN — Despite his

turban and cloak, or perhaps

because of it, Mohsen Kadivar is a

very dangerous man for the Islamic

Republic of Iran.

The 41-year-old cleric and

confidant of President Mohammad

Khatami trained at the best

theological seminary and taught at

some of the best universities in the

country. He was active in the

revolution that toppled the

monarchy 21 years ago and has

written heavy tomes on Islamic

philosophy and law.

But that was before he was

banned from teaching, before he

was tried and sentenced to prison

for disseminating lies, defaming

Islam and disturbing public opinion

with his newspaper commentaries suggesting that the rule of the clerics

had become as tyrannical as the rule of the kings.

Now, after 18 months in prison, Mr. Kadivar is free, in a manner of

speaking. He was released in July but is still banned from teaching. He

has been told that he faces new criminal charges, but does not know

what they are or when they will be filed.

Most of the reformist newspapers for which he wrote are closed. Many

of the journalists and clerics he counts among his friends are behind bars.

And his attempt to give a speech with another leading reformer in the

western industrial city of Khorramabad in August was blocked by armed

vigilantes, causing riots that left a policeman dead and 100 people

wounded.

Mr. Kadivar has a lot of time to talk these days, but it was unusual for

him to invite an American reporter to his home. The Western press is

accused by many conservatives, including the country's hard-line

newspaper commentators, of being part of an international conspiracy

that has infiltrated the reform movement to undermine the stability of the

Islamic state.

But Mr. Kadivar was upbeat, as he sat in an armchair in the living room

of the comfortable apartment he shares with his wife and four children,

surrounded by glass-encased, ceiling-to-floor bookcases filled with

leather-bound books.

"I truly believe in the things I have said," he said in a three-hour

conversation over sour cherry juice and platters of fruits and sweets.

"And I have already paid the price for it."

The bearded, bespectacled mid- level cleric has refused to obey the

dictum of the clerical court that convicted him — that he keep his pen still

and his mouth shut. "I have no intention of listening to them," he said. "If

they want to act against me again, this time it is they who will have to pay

the price."

Mr. Kadivar is so dangerous because he is armed with one of the key

weapons of the Islamic Republic — the language of religion.

Iran is locked in an intense struggle between reformers who want to

make the system more responsive to the will of the people and

conservatives supported by armed street vigilantes who are determined

to keep their hold on power through their rigid interpretation of Islam.

Mr. Kadivar comes to this ideological battlefield armed with Koranic

verses and complex theological scholarship. When he talks of

democracy, he does not demand the overthrow of the Islamic Republic

and its replacement with a secular form of government.

"I believe in a religious democratic state," he said. "I believe that

democracy and Islam are compatible. But a religious state is possible

only when it is elected and governed by the people. And the governing of

the country should not be necessarily in the hands of the clergy. So what

I support is the healthy state the reformers are promoting as an Islamic

Republic, not what exists now."

And what exists now, he continued, is a system in which one man,

Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, has too much power, under a system of

government known as the "rule of the Islamic jurist." Under Iran's

Constitution, Ayatollah Khamenei wields more power than the president

and controls the national police and the security agencies and appoints

the heads of the military, the Revolutionary Guards, the judiciary, national

television and radio and the ostensibly charitable foundations that control

hundreds of companies and industries.

But there are Islamic thinkers, Mr. Kadivar included, who argue that the

power structure has become distorted over the years. Proof of that came

last month, Mr. Kadivar said, when Ayatollah Khamenei stunned the

popularly elected Parliament — and much of the nation — when he

decided that that Parliament would be prohibited from amending a

restrictive press law.

"This is the meaning of the absolute authority," Mr. Kadivar said,

referring to the ayatollah's position. "If one person is going to rule the

same way the monarchy did, well, it was not the goal of the revolution to

have one-person rule, even if he is a fair and knowledgeable man."

In the current political climate in Iran, such criticism is breathtakingly

bold. Essentially, Mr. Kadivar is arguing that the official interpretation of

Islam developed under the Islamic Republic is misguided. But he speaks

so openly in part because that is what he is trained to do.

The clerical system in Shiite Islam is a democratic, non-hierarchical, even

rowdy one in which students are trained to speak their minds and

challenge the authority of their professors.

Still, in clerical circles, Mr. Kadivar is an odd fit. He began his studies in

electrical engineering at the prestigious University of Shiraz, where he

learned English, and turned to religious studies in the dusty, provincial

holy city of Qum only after the secular universities were closed in the

cultural crackdown early in the revolution. For 16 years, Mr. Kadivar

studied and taught a wide variety of courses, including Arabic literature,

logic and religious law and philosophy.

Nine years ago, he antagonized conservative clerics when he wrote an

article using the views of various Islamic thinkers to argue that there are

other forms of Islamic government than one ruled by one "Islamic jurist."

More writing on the subject followed, and eventually a newspaper that

published the article was shut down, and Mr. Kadivar was stripped of his

teaching responsibilities.

Until his trial in early 1999 before the powerful Special Court for the

Clergy, however, he was overshadowed by his more prominent sister,

Jamileh Kadivar, a journalist, politician and mother of four. She is

married to Ataollah Mohajerani, a layman who, as minister of islamic

culture and guidance, has struggled to liberalize film and the media.

In February, Jamileh Kadivar came in second place in the election for

Parliament from Teheran. She is so outspoken that on the first day of her

brother's trial she declared before the television cameras, "This court is

worse than the executioners of the shah's regime."

Even from behind bars, Mr. Kadivar continued his relentless criticism of

the clerical system. In his most pointed commentary, contained in a letter

to his wife from prison in May 1999, Mr. Kadivar wrote, "The Islamic

Republic is faced with a historic catastrophe in its 20th year of life in

Iran." The main goal of the 1979 revolution, he added, was "the end of

absolute monarchy and the transformation to an Islamic Republic. So the

return to the same conduct of absolute monarchy cannot be called an

Islamic Republic." (He also found time in prison to finish his doctoral

dissertation.)

And in an article for the reformist newspaper Khordad before it was shut

down earlier this year, he wrote, "No one with a different mentality —

even if he or she is one of the founders or true supporters of the

revolution — is safe in these chaotic conditions in which aggression

prevails, bookshops fall easy prey to arson, people in cinemas and parks

have to expect being unexpectedly raided, tourists are attacked and legal

gatherings and lecturers are so often assaulted."

Asked about his writings now, Mr. Kadivar replied: "I stand by what I

said then — word for word. I said these things to strengthen Islam in our

society and to implement freedom."

He has been just as outspoken since his release, branding the judiciary a

tool of the conservatives and "minority monopolists" and criticizing the

elected Parliament for not yet working to fulfill the needs of the people.

And he keeps in contact with his fellow reformers, even those in prison.

During the conversation, Akbar Ganji, one of Iran's best-known and

most daring political commentators, called from Evin Prison, where he

has been held for five months awaiting trial for his articles against the

excesses of the system. Mr. Ganji was excited about an article he had

written in an obscure reformist newspaper published in faraway Zanjan

Province that has not been shut down — at least not yet.

Mr. Kadivar has no doubt that in the long run, his side will prevail. "The

pressure against people like me cannot last forever, because the demands

of the people are the opposite of what is happening in this country," he

said.

In any case, he added, "can one live without hope?"