IRAN: The clamour for reform in Iran has grown quiet since June. Nicholas Birch in Tehran hears from both reformers and conservatives what they think might happen next
It's not easy getting people to talk about Canadian photojournalist Zahra Kazemi outside the dusty brick walls of Tehran's Evin prison. This is where she was arrested on June 23rd before being beaten to death during interrogation.
Passers-by in this northern suburb in the foothills of Iran's Elborz mountains are few, and most walk past without breaking step. Only one, a middle-aged man, stops long enough to say he hopes the authorities "find and punish the murderers". They are not the only ones keeping their head down. Of five prominent reform-minded MPs repeatedly called on their mobile phones, not one replied.
"No coincidence," quips the youthful political editor for reformist daily Etemad, Mr Roozbeh Mirebrahimi. "They've had them turned off all week."
His willingness to give his name is in itself remarkable. After nationwide demonstrations early in June, hard-liners in the judiciary and executive have cracked down severely on dissent, jailing several prominent journalists and detaining thousands for their part in protests.
"In the current climate, talking about the Kazemi affair is highly dangerous, particularly for reformist journalists," explains one editor who insisted on remaining anonymous.
But Mr Mirebrahimi's defiance is not just youthful bravado. "Ms Kazemi's death could just be the miracle we've been waiting for," he says. "It has opened the world's eyes to what we are facing, and it's a warning to reformists to stick together."
If there is one thing decidedly lacking among pro-reform supporters of President Mohammad Khatami, two years after his second crushing electoral victory, it is solidarity. Dismayed by unelected hard-liners' continual vetoing of liberalising laws, the reformist majority in parliament appears increasingly split between mainly clerical moderates willing to continue working within the system and others who, at least privately, want out.
With rumours rife that a small group of radical MPs may be preparing to resign, analysts question Mr Khatami's ability to hold his group together until elections next year.
"Khatami's insistence on change through consensus has reached the end of its usefulness," says one reformist MP. "The time has come for confrontation."
One of Iran's best-organised protest groups, the student-led Office to Foster Unity, is similarly pugnacious. In a letter to UN secretary-general Kofi Annan early in July, it announced it was withdrawing its support for Mr Khatami's reformers, too timid to bring democracy and human rights to Iran. It accused the hard-liners, meanwhile, of creating a system of "political apartheid".
"The only difference between Khatami and his opponents is that he smiles more," says Azita, an engineering student at Tehran university. "We need more than smiles."
Editor of conservative daily newspaper Resalat, Amir Mohebbian, mocks reformist arguments that Iran's leaders ignore the demands of the people.
"Reformists are like a surfer who has missed his wave," he says. "They overestimate their own support and underestimate support for the status quo."
The scathing criticisms ordinary Tehranis direct against their leaders, reformist or otherwise, suggest he is wrong. But it is debatable how far they are willing to - or can - push for quicker change.
"The situation is deadlocked," says political scientist Dr Davoud Hermidas Bavand. "Iranians voted for Khatami because they wanted reform, not particular reformists. For all his good intentions, though, he has proved too willing to compromise, and too inexperienced to capitalise on his support."
Pro-Khatami businessman, Mr Sayeed Laylaz, is less willing to blame the government. If there is paralysis today, he argues, it is because hard-liners have been just flexible enough to appease most of their critics.
"Their willingness to loosen puritanical laws on dress and public behaviour have created the illusion of freedom," he says.
He also warns against the assumption that grumbles in Tehran are shared throughout Iran. "The Shah made that mistake, and he died in exile," he points out. "Rural Iranians are demanding bread, not reforms."
He may be right. A more convincing explanation for growing Iranian apathy, though, was given by Mohsen, a student at Tehran University. "Look where our last one-night revolution got us," he says. "How can we be sure the next one won't be worse." Without a credible alternative to President Khatami, analysts say, Iranian reform faces a bleak future.
Optimists like Mr Roozbeh Mirebrahimi are convinced the international outcry over Ms Kazemi's death can be used to squeeze concessions from the hard-liners.
He points to a concerted press campaign calling for the resignation of Mr Saeed Mortazavi, the Tehran prosecutor originally appointed to lead the inquiry into Ms Kazemi's death, despite rumours he had participated in her interrogation.
"The man is a psychopath, a hanging judge, detested even by the conservatives," comments British-based Iran expert Mr Ali Ansari. "He's been the main instigator of newspaper closures over the past four years. Now it's pay-back time."
Others feel the reformists' only hope lies in finding support among those who, until now, have tacitly supported the regime.
While the vast majority of Iranian clerics have always considered the country's theocratic system to be blasphemous, they say, recent months have seen growing numbers converting silent hostility into open criticism.
Dr Bavand doesn't hold out much hope for either. "Whatever happens," he says, "we're in for a long wait."