Losing His Touch?

Knowing the outcome of an election in advance tends to make for a dull campaign. The driving logic of President Mohammed Khatami's campaign is that since the issues matter — and there is no serious rival to beat — people should vote en masse as a giant stamp of approval for the reform movement. Khatami will undoubtedly win next week. But his goal is to win impressively, so the fight is to woo the disenchanted among Iran's 40 million voters, who might be inclined to stay home on election day. This means grabbing people's attention. So when the Khatami camp announced the first — and perhaps only — huge rally of his campaign, it seemed that some fireworks were in store.

For two weeks reformists trumpeted the speech, claiming that Khatami would "tell all." A sports stadium was rented, and the judiciary inadvertently created some last minute excitement by threatening to cancel the event. But inexplicably, instead of maximizing his crowd appeal, Khatami picked the bland route. "Don't vote for sentimental reasons," he urged the 40,000-strong audience. "Vote out of vigilance for democracy." Khatami singled out the voters he wanted: women, students and young workers. But his talk of accountability and democracy was encumbered by so many clichés and boring historical references that the young crowd that had turned out in the blazing sun only heard stale messages in old wrappings. Nearly everything about Khatami's speech left supporters perplexed, yearning for that old Khatami charm. "He's lost that love and feeling," said Siamak Namazi, a Tehran consultant, as he walked out after ten minutes.

The lively pre-speech mood only underscored Khatami's fatigued approach. Loudspeakers blared rousing revolutionary anthems, while supporters sported psychedelic sun visors adorned with Khatami's face and a Technicolor daffodil. The crowd chanted: "Political prisoners must be freed." The stadium fell to a hush when presidential advisor Saeed Hajjarian, still limping from a would-be assassin's bullet, made a surprise appearance, his voice cracking as he recited poetry. "Reform has a price," he cautioned. "And even I am still prepared to pay an ever higher one." Massoud, 27, an engineer, was unmoved: "A higher price? It's already too much to bear," he complained. But the crowd cheered wildly and began chanting, "Death to terrorists!"

From the bleachers, prominent reformists surveyed the crowd. Renowned satirist Ebrahim Nabavi, released from prison in November, interrupted a discussion of a memorable prison football match to traipse off into the throng. "I'm off to get some energy," he said, disappearing into the crowd. But in the end, there was no energy to be found and great expectations collided with a lackluster performance. "I expected a confession, where he would tell us about the obstacles he faced," said Maryam, 34, a teacher. By the middle of the Khatami's speech, though, there were pockets of empty seats in the bleachers.

Being vague is Khatami's strong suit, a tactic he uses to avoid giving his conservative opponents a target for attack. But with his senior aides hoping Khatami will garner 25 to 26 million votes, no one can explain how the President can aggressively court voters while being his usual cautious self. "We know realistically he won't get more than 16 or 17 million, but we don't want this to be used against him later," said MP Ahmed Bourghani. In the 1997 election Khatami received 20 million votes; anything less this time around could be used by the President's conservative opponents to show that Khatami has lost support.

Khatami has succeeded in making the reformist cause mainstream. In his speech, he trumpeted the fact that even his opponents have embraced this message. "For years whoever proclaimed these slogans was condemned as a destroyer of Islam," said Khatami. Today, he said, any politician vying for public support "has to pay them lip service." Khatami may have won the spin battle, but his spin, which once drove his supporters ecstatic, is losing its crowd-pleasing appeal.