I hadn't known I was eligible to vote in Iranian elections. But this morning I had my finger inked and made my choice
David and Ebrahim's fingers after voting in the Iranian presidential elections. Photograph: David Shariatmadari
It had never occurred to me that I might be able to vote in the Iranian elections. My dual nationality had always seemed like a practical arrangement: as the son of an Iranian man, I can't travel to Iran on my British passport. So, in my early 20s, and planning my first visit there, I had to apply for Iranian one. It took more than a year, and I resented the fact that so many obstacles were put in the way of a simple trip to see my uncle and aunts, the town my dad grew up in, my grandfather's grave.
But it turns out there's something the Iranian state has given me in return for all the hassle: a vote. When I called the embassy a couple of weeks ago, expecting the standard bureaucratic rebuff, I was told I could attend any one of 5 polling stations in London (out of 15 in the UK as a whole). Such is the store the Islamic Republic puts in patrilineage (the children of Iranian women and their non-Iranian partners are not entitled to citizenship). It felt strange to think that I could influence the outcome of an election a country I've never lived in, but it's a privilege the authorities seem happy to dispense "“ 304 polling stations have been set up outside Iran, including 32 in the US. In any case, there was no way I was going to pass up the opportunity.
So that's how I find myself waiting in line at the Islamic Centre in Maida Vale, where I've arranged to meet my friend Ebrahim. He left Iran for Canada 11 years ago and now works for a media organisation in London. It's only the third time he has voted in an Iranian poll "“ the first was in the referendum to establish an Islamic Republic (as an idealistic 17-year-old he voted "yes") and the second was in the 1997 election that swept reformist president Mohammad Khatami to power. The rest of the time he had felt too disillusioned to vote (one of his siblings was executed by the regime), and even today, his wife isn't with him. "She doesn't think there's much point, and she's disappointed that Hashemi is supporting Mousavi." Hashemi, as Ayatollah Rafsanjani is known, is widely seen as having used political power to line his own pockets. "Ahmadinejad won the [2005] election because people wanted to say no to Hashemi. They didn't know who Ahmadinejad was, they weren't really voting yes to him," says Ebrahim.
"Turnout was very low then. This time people who have not voted for a long time will participate." But is it true to say that support for reformist candidate Mir Hossein Mousavi, on whom Ebrahim's hopes for change rest, is restricted to the middle classes, to affluent north Tehranis? "Part of the campaign is middle class, yes, but it's a very varied political front. People from Azerbaijan province support Mousavi [who is ethnically Azeri]. And definitely a majority of students, for example, want change."
The hall is decorated with large photographs of Ayatollahs Khomeini and Khamenei, and at one end there's a huge screen beaming in live reports from Iranian TV. It's early, and there are only about 30 people here, many of them well-off expatriates. One, Sara, an accountant in her 40s, said she's voting for Mousavi to "give a positive opinion and release the people of Iran". As we approach the desk where our papers will be checked, Ebrahim gets more and more excited. "This is a historic moment," he says. I'm nervous that the election officials will say something to me that I can't understand. But it's very simple: my fingerprint is taken and I receive a ballot paper. In my faltering farsi hand, I write down the name and number of my candidate, before posting it in a secure-looking ballot box (I counted eight seals).
And that's it "“ moment over. I stare again at my ink-stained finger and think again about how strange it is that I'm able to do this.
I want to see what the atmosphere is like down at the Iranian consulate, so I jump on the tube to Kensington. The queue to vote is far longer here, with more women than men, and perhaps about 150 people in all. Maryam, a pharmacist who lives in London but is originally from Khorramshahr, says she's voting for the first time since Khatami ran, 12 years ago. "I've realised that there's some difference between the candidates, and there's more possibility to change because more people are voting." Next to us, a woman in her 50s pipes up. She last cast a vote 20 years ago. "I am here because I want Ahmadinejad to continue. He's the hero of the Islamic world and the Middle East. He has brought atomic energy to Iran."
Further down the line I meet a young woman who's half English like me. She says that since she doesn't live in Iran she's voting for Mousavi because she wants to see better relations between her parents' countries. Her friend says he's here because he wants to give the lie to protrayals of Iran as "a third world country without democracy".
He has a point. Iranian democracy is far more than the regime-orchestrated sham many westerners assume it must be. It falls short on two crucial measures: all parliamentary and presidential candidates are vetted by the conservative Guardian Council, and the supreme leader of the nation is, of course, unelected. But there is no denying that in 2009 we have had a real contest; the candidates have been exposed to scrutiny, there is significant difference between the policies on offer and the results are, as yet, anyone's guess.
It'll be a real thrill to watch them unfold, as I know I've actually taken part. If the man whose name I put on my ballot paper wins, it will turn Iranian politics upside-down. And just in case there's any doubt, today, in Maida Vale, I voted green.
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