Iran's Hard Line Begins At Home

When Behnaz Mohsenian, 29, started English lessons at Tehran's Najdad Institute this spring, the 15 men and women in her class studied grammar sitting in mixed circles. Last month the language school split the group by gender, with men and women meeting on different days. Now plans are under way to move the women's classes to a separate building, to eliminate altogether the possibility of illicit mingling. "It feels," says Mohsenian, "as if we're all incapable of behaving like normal people and need to be regulated at all times."

	TIME's Tehran correspondent examines what daily life is really like in Iran • Raising a Child in Iran's Cultural Divide Coping with the gulf between Iranian private and public life is a difficult skill even for adults to manage. So what should we teach our children? • A Nation of Holocaust Deniers? The president's skepticism is, surprisingly, shared by many Iranians. But that doesn't mean they are anti-Israel. Let me explain • You've Come Only a Little Way, Baby Bans on foreign, Kurdish and even some ancient Persian names for newborns have been around since the Islamic revolution but are now letting up slightly • Iran's Caesarean Section Craze Well-accustomed to elective surgery, Iranian women are choosing C-sections at such a high rate that it's a challenge now to find a doctor who will perform a "medieval" vaginal birth • How Iran's Populist Lost His Popularity With prices rising and the economy stagnating, Iranians view their President as less a national hero than the latest in a long line of ineffectual bureaucrats • Many Happy Returns, Twelfth Imam! The Mahdi, an imam who happens to be Ahmadinejad's favorite, has become the object of frenzied and government-nurtured worship • Silencing the Voices of Dissent Inside the forced shutdown of Iran's most popular reformist paper, Shargh • Who are the Women Behind the Men Running Iran? First ladies are usually kept in hiding, but one outspoken wife is causing big problems for Ahmadinejad • The Backlash Against Iran's Role in Lebanon The notion that Iranian dollars are going to Lebanese Shi`ites is fueling animosity between the Persian community and the Arab world

When President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad took office last summer, everyone nervously watched to see whether Islamic dogma would shape domestic policy. To much delight, nothing changed: Western films were sold everywhere, women wore skimpy veils, and couples held hands in the street. But the long, libertine honeymoon is over. The hard line now seems to begin at home for the Ahmadinejad regime (which last week inaugurated a new reactor project, defying a U.N. demand to end its uranium-enrichment work by Aug. 31, and gave only a tepid response to the West's offer of incentives). Over the past few months, various branches of the government have stealthily rolled back freedoms with moves like the reinstatement of gender segregation in public institutions. Because the Iranian system comprises ministries with overlapping mandates and security apparatuses that operate independently, it's hard to say whether this is a government-wide crackdown or whether some officials are just feeling emboldened by Ahmadinejad's conservatism. Nonetheless, the tone is being set on high--and the impact is being felt throughout society.

The new hypermorality isn't exactly a return to the days of the Ayatullah Khomeini. Today the tactics are subtler than in the past, when morality police were dispatched onto the streets of Tehran to harass youth. Instead, regular Iranians are being cowed into the role of enforcer.

A month ago, I met a few girlfriends for coffee at a popular café. One of my friends lit a cigarette and was informed by the embarrassed owner that smoking is now illegal for women in cafés. Such small but significant restrictions are a discouragement. Half the women I know don't go out for coffee anymore. So without a single police raid, the authorities have stifled Tehran's bustling café scene.

The restrictions are multiplying daily, with dress codes imposed on women's-clothing retailers and limits on women performing music in public. Last week trucks laden with satellite dishes rolled through my Tehran neighborhood; police have been confiscating the illegal devices all around town.

It isn't clear how long these strict measures will last. So far, the government seems undaunted by the lack of public enthusiasm for its causes. For instance, on the eve of the Lebanon cease-fire, it celebrated Hizballah's non-defeat as if it were an Iranian victory. It cooked what was billed as the world's largest kebab--more than 21-ft. long. And Iranians were "asked" via the state-run media to go up to their rooftops at an appointed hour and shout "Allahu akbar" (God is great). The tradition, from the early days of the Islamic Revolution, used to draw people out en masse. The city reverberated with their cries. Last week, across most of Tehran, one heard only silence.