The Embezzler in a Villa, the Protester in Prison S. Rouzbeh ۱۵ آذر ۱۴۰۴ How structural corruption, patronage and a politicised banking system in the Islamic Republic protect the powerful while protesters are imprisoned. The Embezzler in a Villa, the Protester in Prison Banks, Patronage and Reversed Justice in the Islamic Republic S. Rouzbeh In Iran today, the scene is familiar: A young person who has merely taken off her headscarf in the street or chanted a slogan against corruption is sent to a detention centre and court, branded as having ‘disrupted public order’ and ‘acted against national security’; at the same time, a bank executive or a patronage-connected broker who has plundered thousands of billions of tomans from the people either lives a life of luxury abroad or moves about without a care in Tehran’s most desirable neighbourhoods. This contradiction is no accident. It is the hidden logic the Islamic Republic has chosen in order to survive: structural corruption is the system’s fuel, and the protester is its principal enemy. Iran in the Club of the Most Corrupt Countries For years, global indices have placed Iran among the countries where corruption is ‘systemic’ and ‘structural’. A low score on the Corruption Perceptions Index and a ranking in the bottom third of the global table have a clear meaning: Corruption in Iran is not the fault of a few individuals; it is part of the method of governance. This situation is the product of several factors combined: A rentier economy dependent on oil, vast and unaccountable institutions under the umbrella of the rule of the jurist, and a judicial and oversight apparatus that is itself embedded in the power network. In such a structure, corruption is not like a tumour that can be surgically removed; it is the very body of power. Banks: Financial Institutions or Patronage Machines? On the surface, Iran has an extensive network of banks and credit institutions. But a large part of this network is either state-owned, semi-state-owned and affiliated with the IRGC, foundations, holy shrines and executive headquarters, or private on paper but in practice reliant on security and political connections. In these circumstances, instead of acting as a financial intermediary for production and sound investment, the bank becomes a machine for distributing patronage: Massive loans without genuine collateral for ‘insider’ companies, Sham, paper-only letters of credit, Preferential loans for the sons and daughters of the elite and paramilitary institutions, Creating money for projects that are neither transparent nor accountable. When the real owner of a bank or credit institution is a powerful military or religious body, the boundaries of the “fight against corruption” are predetermined: A few mid-level managers can be sacrificed, but reaching the roots of corruption means reaching into the heart of the power network. Why is a protester more dangerous than an embezzler? To understand this inverted justice, we must look at the logic of the regime, not the logic of the law. The government sees its survival and legitimacy as hinging on three things: political control, preserving the ideological narrative (including compulsory hijab), and control of economic resources to sustain its circle of loyalists. In this equation: An unveiled woman, a protesting worker, a journalist and a student taking to the streets directly target the pillars of ideological and political legitimacy; they are therefore deemed a “security threat”. But a corrupt bank executive, a crony contractor or an importer sheltered by access to foreign currency, although they inflict heavy economic damage on society, are often part of the mechanism for distributing rents and buying loyalty; they are not a “threat to the system”, but a cost of running it. The logical consequence of this outlook is: the protester must be repressed so that others will learn a lesson; the rent-seeker must be protected so that the network of loyalty does not fall apart. Corruption as hush money and the glue of power Over the past four decades, rents and financial corruption have become a kind of “hush money” for a large section of the political, security and economic elite. In every sector where large sums of money change hands—from oil, gas and petrochemicals to banking, steel and car manufacturing—the arena is effectively one of dividing up spoils and making political deals. Every faction and every institution wants its share. If corruption were to be tackled in earnest, dozens, if not hundreds, of key figures would have to be held accountable; in other words, the power structure itself would have to be called into question. So in practice, the “fight against corruption” comes down to this: using corruption cases as a tool to weaken a rival faction, bringing a few major cases into the public eye, staging show trials of some second-tier officials, and then quietly returning to the status quo. Corruption is not merely left unchecked; it becomes an unspoken language for dividing power and the “glue” that holds the system together. Astronomical figures, everyday reality The list of major embezzlement and banking patronage cases in Iran is so long that, for ordinary people, the names and figures have lost their significance. Cases involving thousands of billions of tomans across the banking network, billion-dollar abuses of preferential exchange rates, legendary corruption in the steel and petrochemical industries and in sham imports: any one of these, if it happened in a country with a normal system, could bring down governments. In Iran, however, there are a few months of headlines and commotion, a few vague sentences, and then silence. Alongside this major corruption, a vast network of bribery, administrative patronage, organised smuggling, tax evasion and crony contracts with municipalities paints a picture of an economy in which lawlessness is a competitive advantage, while honesty and transparency are seen as foolishness. People experience this reality not through official statistics, but in the price of bread and meat, in rent, in their inability to afford even a basic standard of living, and in their children’s dreams of emigrating. The collapse of trust and the meaning of law When a citizen sees that: a young protester, a grieving mother seeking justice, an unveiled woman or a critical journalist is subjected to prison sentences, flogging, heavy bail and social restrictions for a slogan, a post, an image or simply being present in the street, while an embezzler or beneficiary of patronage, at worst, gets a few years of part-time imprisonment, lengthy furloughs, treatment in a private hospital and, ultimately, an unobtrusive flight to a safe country, the message they take away is clear: “The law is for the powerless, not the powerful.” In such circumstances, faith in justice and the law collapses. A society that feels it is not a citizen but a victim before the law will sooner or later move towards civil disobedience, pent-up anger and periodic explosions. Conclusion: Until the structure changes, justice will not return As long as: the judiciary is not independent of political and military power, independent media cannot freely investigate and expose banks, the Revolutionary Guards, foundations and religious shrines, the economy is not freed from the dominance of oil and patronage, and the government does not depend on citizens’ actual tax contributions, vast economic institutions under the umbrella of the Guardianship of the Islamic Jurist remain exempt from transparency and public accountability, there can be no serious hope of curbing corruption and ending this upside-down justice. In Iran today, a bank embezzler is more likely to end up in a villa or a high-rise than a protester who has demanded nothing more than freedom and dignity. And perhaps that is why the unveiled woman on the pavement, despite her utter solitude, is more dangerous to this corrupt order than any embezzlement case: because she reminds us that something called the ‘right to choose’ can still stand up to ‘structural corruption’. Source: https://srouzbeh.com/en/posts/archive-6611a26d-1b19-f1cd-472b-446438094e2f Please credit the author and link to this edition.