Borzou Daragahi in Teheran
Three times a week, 17-year-old Kamran and a dozen pals
find their way to a gymnasium in northern Teheran to practise
hand glides, head spins and turtles - all classic moves in the
breakdance lexicon. With rap and heavy metal blaring, they
pop, spin and jump with acrobatic precision.
They are upbeat, if angst-ridden, kids. They complain that
they hang out in parks late at night because they have nowhere
else to go. They love watching videos on satellite television.
They drink soft drinks and shun alcohol and drugs as
unhealthy.
In any other part of the world, Kamran and his breakdancing
buddies would be considered decent, though offbeat, kids. But
in the Islamic Republic of Iran they have become unwitting
soldiers on the front lines of a cultural war. After spotting
Kamran breakdancing in a video taken during a party about two
months ago, semi-official religious authorities stormed into
his home, took him away and fined his father US$250 (HK$1,950)
for having a satellite dish. Kamran was locked up and beaten
on the back of the head for several days. 'I just got out,' he
said during a lull while breakdancing at another private
party. 'I'm terrified of going back in.'
During the years of Shah Muhammad Pahlavi's rule, cabarets
and nightclubs abounded in Iran's big cities. Teheran on a
Friday or Thursday night was one noisy party. Each trade group
and company had its own supper club, where employees and
guests could party into the wee hours.
The Islamic revolution of 1979 swept all that away. To rid
the nation of what the clerical hierarchy of the Islamic
Republic called Western decadence, liquor, dating and, for the
years immediately following the revolution, anything other
than folk, classical or religious music were strictly
forbidden.
Dancing, or any kind of 'suggestive' movement, is
considered haram, a sin. And despite years of relaxing Iran's
infamous moral codes, officials recently arrested Mohammad
Khordadian, a popular Los Angeles-based Iranian-American
dancer, on his way out of the country.
Khordadian, on his first trip home since the revolution, is
awaiting trial on charges of 'inciting and encouraging
corruption among young people', his family has said.
Khordadian's popular videos and CDs show him dancing with
scantily clad women. Dancing between members of the opposite
sex is strictly forbidden in the Islamic Republic. Just before
Khordadian performed across the Persian Gulf in Dubai a decade
ago, members of the Iranian Hezbollah vowed to burn him alive.
Some observers have likened the fundamentalists' disdain
for dance to repressed homosexuality. 'Khordadian's distinctly
camp and kitsch performances have led many to speculate about
his sexuality and watching him may have prompted certain
clerics to question their own,' wrote Iranian.com, an online
cultural magazine.
But the battle over dance began centuries ago, and
observers say it is really a conflict over different versions
of Islamic culture: the puritanical versus the down-to-earth;
the stern edicts of the entrenched clergy versus the
hedonistic poetry-inspired dances of the Sufi Dervishes; the
solemn, black-cloaked stiffness of the pious elite versus the
colourful outfits and folksy dances of the ethnic minorities.
'Dance has deep roots in our culture,' said Mehdi
Assodolahi, a well-known sports historian and columnist for
the newspaper Kayhan Sports. 'Since the beginning of our
history, people have been dancing and moving and playing the
drums. It's a way to get closer to God.'
Iran's young and restless bump and grind against the ban.
Discos are outlawed. But wild private dance parties thumping
with the latest house imports from Europe or Persian pop tunes
from Los Angeles rattle windows. During soccer games at
Freedom Stadium, spectators are dragged out if they dance to
the music. So they do the wave. During pop concerts, allowed
recently, audience members must sit during the performance. So
they sway in their seats.
Even modern dance is outlawed. But thanks to
ballerina-turned-choreographer Farzaneh Kabuli it has made its
way back in the guise of something called 'Harmonious
Movement'.
In Kabuli's elaborately costumed and choreographed recent
show, Simorgh, Satan pops up numerous times to disrupt dancing
couples. Each time he shows up he becomes larger, uglier and
more powerful. He kills butterflies. He brings tears to the
eyes of innocent maidens. He rallies his troops and defeats
the white angel who has come to defend the villagers. In the
end he locks all the villagers inside a gigantic cage. They
cry. They rattle the cage. It is futile.
They begin to mill about. Slowly, almost imperceptibility,
the music begins to boil up again, and their gestures of
futility begin to take on form. In the end the imprisoned
villagers - men and women - are engaged in an elaborate,
raucous line dance.
Satan - bigger, stronger and uglier - rises from the stage.
He spreads his enormous wings, blocking the audience's view.
