Sharing: Hooman Majd
Posted on October 29, 2008
Laat, like many other Persian words, can be translated in different ways and some dictionaries use the English “hooligan” as the definition, although it is in fact wildly inaccurate. The laat holds special places in Iranian culture: a place that at times can be compared to the popular position of a Mafioso in American culture, albeit without the extreme violence associated with him—and at other times a place of respect and admiration for the working-class code he lives by. Hooligans are anarchic; laats fight only when necessary and to establish their authority.Iran’s cultural history of the twentieth century prominently featured the laat and with perhaps more affection the jahel, the onetime laat who had elevated himself to a grand position of authority and respect in a given urban neighborhood. The jahel, a sort of street “boss,” occupied himself with many different illegal and quasi-legal activities but, unlike gang leaders in America, rarely found himself the target of police investigations—partly because the police were often from his social class, partly because the police were doled out many favors by him, and partly because the governments under the Shah were loathe to disrupt or antagonize a class of society that could be relied upon for support, should it become necessary to buy it.The last Shah, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, when forced to flee the country in 1953, found great use in the jahels and laats of South Tehran when the coup organizers intent on restoring him to power (financed and organized by the CIA) hired a prominent and formerly pro-Mossadeq laat, Shaban Jafari, better known as Shaban Bimokh (Shaban the Brainless), to successfully lead a counter-uprising in the streets of Tehran, and mercilessly beat any anti-Shah demonstrators they came across. Using street savvy toughs rather than military gave the Shah the cover of populist sentiment in his favor, not to mention the convenience of violent reprisal perpetuated in his name, rather than directly by him and his forces.The laats and jahels came from the lower and therefore deeply religious strata of Iranian society and were strong believers in Islam themselves. But they were notorious drinkers and womanizers, not to mention involved in prostitution and drugs. The jahel code, at least they themselves believed, was one of ethics and justice. Shia ethics and the occasional sin would be repented for later, as is possible in Shia Islam. The code extended to their dress: black suits, white tieless shirts, and narrow-brimmed black fedoras perched at an angle on their heads. A cotton handkerchief was usually to be found in their hands as a sort of fetish, and the famous jahel dance in the cafes of working-class Tehran involved slow spinning movements with the handkerchief prominently waved in the air.The jahel, and the laat to a lesser degree, represented the ultimate in Iranian machismo, Iranian mardanegi, or manliness, in a supremely macho culture. Upper-class youths affected their speech, much as upper class white youths in America affect the speech of inner-city blacks. There was, and still is, a perverse male and sometimes female fascination with the culture of the laat that invades even the uppermost echelons of Tehran society.At a dinner party in early 2007, in the very chic and expensive North Tehran Elahieh district, at the home of an actor who has lived in America, a young man who serves as a guide and translator for foreign journalists (some of whom were in the room) peppered his speech with vulgar curse words that would ordinarily have been out of bounds in mixed company. “You probably don’t like me,” he said as he pulled up a chair next to my seat, having noticed my occasional winces in the preceding minutes. He helped himself to a large spoonful of bootleg caviar on the coffee table in front of him. “But I’m a laat, what can I do?”I hesitated, wanting to point out that a laat would hardly be eating caviar in a grand North Tehran apartment, nor would he ever employee the language I’d heard in front of women, not unless he was getting ready to fight.“No,” I replied instead. “I have no problems with your swearing.”“I’m a laat,” he repeated, as if it were a badge of honor. “I’m just a laat.”His wife, seated on my other side, giggled nervously, glancing at the other women around the table whose smiles gave tacit approval to his macho posturing. What would a real South Tehran laat make of this scene, I wondered?Despite their seemingly secular ways, at least in terms of drinking, partying, and involvement with prostitutes, the working class laats and jahels had been ardent supporters of the Islamic Revolution of 1979, and even though some royalists had suggested they be bought again, the Shah seemed to realize that times had changed and Khomeini’s pull was too strong to be countered with cash. Islam’s promise of a classless society, along with the promise of far more equitable economic opportunities in a post-monarchy nation, was appealing enough in working class neighborhoods, but what’s more, those fomenting this revolution were, after all, from the ‘hood. As such, the street toughs and jahel bosses, the uber-laats if you will, had assumed the Islamic state would not necessarily infringe on their territory, but the clerics who brought about the revolution weren’t going to let a bunch of thugs (in their minds) have the kind of authority they considered exclusively reserved for themselves.The jahel neighborhood authority, along with its flamboyance of style and dress, also quickly went out of favor, replaced by cleric-sanctioned and much feared paramilitary committees known as komiteh, which undoubtedly numbered among their ranks many former laats.The laats who joined a komiteh or even the Revolutionary Guards in the dramatic aftermath of the revolution may have thought of themselves as finally empowered politically, but they quickly learned that in an Islamic government, all real authority would rest with the clergy. In one of the first acts of the post-revolution government, ostensibly for Islamic reasons but also as a show of just who was in charge, Tehran’s infamous red-light district, Shahr-e-No, or “New City,” the stomping ground of many jahel and laat, was shut down and razed. Today, the old district is bordered by a broad avenue lined with shops selling surplus military wear, including, as I saw myself, U.S. Desert Storm boots in mint condition and an assortment of other U.S. military clothes and footwear newly liberated from Iraq.On the day I was there, and as I was examining the various articles for sale in the storefront, an old man shuffled by slowly, wearing a dirty black shirt and loafers with the heels pushed down. “See him?” asked the friend who had brought me, a child of South Tehran who spent many a day of his youth in the Shahr-e-No. “He used to walk up and down the street, just like he is now, in the old days. But he was a big guy then.”From: “The Ayatollah Begs to Differ” by Hooman Majd. Available in bookstores everywhere.
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This was a fascinating read. Thanks for the introduction to the book; it’s one I would not have automatically chosen, but in reading your selection, I realize I still have lots to learn about the nitty-gritty of Iranian society.
Even though I have met many Iranians, in America, since the coup, their memories are of the “old” Iran. This book helps to understand who we might be dealing with now.
I found the excerpt about Sharia Law (Shia style) and “being bad”, fascinating. And that there was actual, overt prostitution, too, was a surprise, even under the Shah.
I also wonder if the English word “lout” is somehow related to “laat”, either etymologically OR by the cultural experience of either other countries in the region (themselves, in contact with the British Empire) or with the Brits themselves, in centuries past.
Good choice, Dann.
I enjoyed the picture he painted of Old and new Teheran. Thanks for sharing this unusual and interesting excerpt.
Once again, you have managed to find a book that I probably would have walked by in the bookstore. Extremely interesting as far as learning more about Iran’s society…but especially so insofar as this part of their history. It’s interesting to note the current pride with which the young man stated that he was a “laat”…one wonders if he truly understood the origin of the word, or had bought into the “mythos” of it. The end of this excerpt is telling…from places of power to “shuffling” down the street…how far the once powerful can fall.