Supporters of reformist candidate Mir Hossein Mousavi gather on the streets on Saturday protesting the results of the Iranian presidential election in Tehran
Riding around Tehran in dozen-strong posses, the groups of black-clad public order police on motorbikes looked like a bunch of Hells Angels in search of trouble.
And on Saturday afternoon, on the wide, treelined boulevard of Vali-asr Avenue in the city centre, they found it in spades, as tens of thousands of protesters, furious at Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's questionable election victory, yelled a defiant cry in their faces: "Death to the dictator".
Vali-asr Ave stretches some 12 miles from the very north of Tehran to the very south, and is said to be the longest street in the Middle East. In the past week, however, it has also earned a different claim to fame – as the gathering point for supporters of Mir-Hossein Mousavi, the reformist challenger tipped to unseat Mr Ahmadinejad's in Friday's polls.
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Yesterday, despite an official order banning demonstrations, it also became the venue for the biggest display of open defiance that the Iranian regime has seen in years. At midmorning, there were just a few hundred people there, with nervous-looking police dishing out beatings to any man or woman who attempted to loiter for any time.
But by lunchtime the crowds were growing, and by 4pm the streets were packed as far as the eye could see – mainly people in their 20s, but also their parents and even grandparents.
"People, come and support us," shouted the bolder groups, as the police started menacingly. Up went the cry, at first sporadic, but soon as a constant chant: "Marg Bar Dictator" (Death to the Dictator)
Then, as the protesters began to throw rocks, the police finally charged.
Yet as the Sunday Telegraph witnessed from the balcony of a nearby hotel, this was no ordinary public order exercise.
Having first badly beaten a few demonstrators who didn't escape in time, the riot squads went on a riot themselves, hurling rocks into the windows of nearby residential flats and smashing shop windows with their truncheons.
Joining them in their official vandalism were a number of civilians – believed to be basijis, the plain-clothes, pro-regime thugs that Iran's clerical regime deploys to both intimidate and mislead. Mousavi supporters who witnessed the destruction knew straightaway what tomorrow's Iranian newspaper headlines would be: "Reformists go on rampage."
"They were just vandalising everything and smashing windows, so that they could say publicly that it was the protesters' fault," said Abbas Mohammed, 26, watching in horror as the police laid into a woman protester. "This is their typical tactic."
By 6pm, as summer stormclouds gathered and lightning snaked down over the Alborz mountains that ring Tehran the crowds around Vali-asr Ave had dispersed. But in the distant streets, the sounds of further trouble could be heard, with demonstrators shouting and occasional bangs and crashes.
Palls of smoke rose up from side streets, while in shop entrances groups of demonstrators nursed people bleeding from truncheon wounds. Groups of basjis wandered around menacingly, clutching sticks of wood.
The police crackdown was chilling confirmation of last Wednesday's warning from a senior member of Iran's hardline Revolutionary that any attempt at a "Velvet Revolution" by Mr Mousavi's youthful supporters would be nipped firmly in the bud.
It was a sour end to a sour day, that had begun in the small hours of Saturday morning when Iran's interior ministry had announced that President Ahmadinejad had an unassailable lead in the vote. His victory came despite widespread predictions that he might head for a crashing defeat, amid widespread anger at his dismal economic policies and aggression towards the West.
Yet nobody in the reformist camp was that surprised at his 61.6 per cent showing. Why, they said, the authorities had simply rigged the vote again, just as they did in 2005, when Mr Ahmadinejad – then a virtual unknown – first came to power.
"There was a joke going around town that if there was no vote rigging, Mr Ahmadinejad would come fifth out of four candidates," said Mr Mohammed. "Now it doesn't seem so funny."
With no international observers present in Iran's elections, the supporters of Mr Mousavi know there is little chance that any alleged skulduggery will be revealed, never mind rectified. But as they chatted on the streets on Saturday, they noted all manner of suspicious things.
Why had Iran's text message system been switched off since Friday, the system they used to organise rallies? Why was the BBC Persian website blocked, along with a number of other reformist websites normally available? And most curious of all, why did Iran's official new agency announce early in the morning that Mr Ahmadinejad had already only won, when at that time, only 20 per cent of the vote had been counted?
Yet while the reformists might have lost the election on Saturday, the country's mullahs also seemed to have lost the confidence of their people.
The free and good-natured street campaigning last week generated a huge expectation that Iran was finally on the brink of a new era, with many comparing the vast pre-election crowds to those who greeted Ayatollah Khomeini when he arrived in Tehran to start the Islamic revolution in 1979.
But just as the optimism of that time quickly faded, so now has the optimism of last week. "I cannot see anybody wanting to participate in any kind of politics after this," said Mitra Khorshidi, 26, a government worker who attended last week's cheerful pro-Mousavi rallies. "But it has also been a defeat for the mullahs. They had a chance to regain the trust of the people and they lost it."
By 7pm, as trouble flared up yet again in Vali-asr Ave, and riot police laid into another female onlooker, word spread on the streets of another dubious official statement from the interior ministry. It declared that there had been "no post-election violence" in Tehran.
Vali-asr Ave stretches some 12 miles from the very north of Tehran to the very south, and is said to be the longest street in the Middle East. In the past week, however, it has also earned a different claim to fame – as the gathering point for supporters of Mir-Hossein Mousavi, the reformist challenger tipped to unseat Mr Ahmadinejad's in Friday's polls.
Related Articles
Ahmadinejad says victory is blow to 'oppressive' world
Iran elections: rival won't accept Ahmadinejad victory
Iran elections commentary: dreams of change turn to dust
Iran elections: Tehran in tense stand-off
Iran elections: riots in protest at 'rigged' victory
Protesters look for leadership as Ahmadinejad supporters celebrate
Yesterday, despite an official order banning demonstrations, it also became the venue for the biggest display of open defiance that the Iranian regime has seen in years. At midmorning, there were just a few hundred people there, with nervous-looking police dishing out beatings to any man or woman who attempted to loiter for any time.
But by lunchtime the crowds were growing, and by 4pm the streets were packed as far as the eye could see – mainly people in their 20s, but also their parents and even grandparents.
"People, come and support us," shouted the bolder groups, as the police started menacingly. Up went the cry, at first sporadic, but soon as a constant chant: "Marg Bar Dictator" (Death to the Dictator)
Then, as the protesters began to throw rocks, the police finally charged.
Yet as the Sunday Telegraph witnessed from the balcony of a nearby hotel, this was no ordinary public order exercise.
Having first badly beaten a few demonstrators who didn't escape in time, the riot squads went on a riot themselves, hurling rocks into the windows of nearby residential flats and smashing shop windows with their truncheons.
Joining them in their official vandalism were a number of civilians – believed to be basijis, the plain-clothes, pro-regime thugs that Iran's clerical regime deploys to both intimidate and mislead. Mousavi supporters who witnessed the destruction knew straightaway what tomorrow's Iranian newspaper headlines would be: "Reformists go on rampage."
"They were just vandalising everything and smashing windows, so that they could say publicly that it was the protesters' fault," said Abbas Mohammed, 26, watching in horror as the police laid into a woman protester. "This is their typical tactic."
By 6pm, as summer stormclouds gathered and lightning snaked down over the Alborz mountains that ring Tehran the crowds around Vali-asr Ave had dispersed. But in the distant streets, the sounds of further trouble could be heard, with demonstrators shouting and occasional bangs and crashes.
Palls of smoke rose up from side streets, while in shop entrances groups of demonstrators nursed people bleeding from truncheon wounds. Groups of basjis wandered around menacingly, clutching sticks of wood.
The police crackdown was chilling confirmation of last Wednesday's warning from a senior member of Iran's hardline Revolutionary that any attempt at a "Velvet Revolution" by Mr Mousavi's youthful supporters would be nipped firmly in the bud.
It was a sour end to a sour day, that had begun in the small hours of Saturday morning when Iran's interior ministry had announced that President Ahmadinejad had an unassailable lead in the vote. His victory came despite widespread predictions that he might head for a crashing defeat, amid widespread anger at his dismal economic policies and aggression towards the West.
Yet nobody in the reformist camp was that surprised at his 61.6 per cent showing. Why, they said, the authorities had simply rigged the vote again, just as they did in 2005, when Mr Ahmadinejad – then a virtual unknown – first came to power.
"There was a joke going around town that if there was no vote rigging, Mr Ahmadinejad would come fifth out of four candidates," said Mr Mohammed. "Now it doesn't seem so funny."
With no international observers present in Iran's elections, the supporters of Mr Mousavi know there is little chance that any alleged skulduggery will be revealed, never mind rectified. But as they chatted on the streets on Saturday, they noted all manner of suspicious things.
Why had Iran's text message system been switched off since Friday, the system they used to organise rallies? Why was the BBC Persian website blocked, along with a number of other reformist websites normally available? And most curious of all, why did Iran's official new agency announce early in the morning that Mr Ahmadinejad had already only won, when at that time, only 20 per cent of the vote had been counted?
Yet while the reformists might have lost the election on Saturday, the country's mullahs also seemed to have lost the confidence of their people.
The free and good-natured street campaigning last week generated a huge expectation that Iran was finally on the brink of a new era, with many comparing the vast pre-election crowds to those who greeted Ayatollah Khomeini when he arrived in Tehran to start the Islamic revolution in 1979.
But just as the optimism of that time quickly faded, so now has the optimism of last week. "I cannot see anybody wanting to participate in any kind of politics after this," said Mitra Khorshidi, 26, a government worker who attended last week's cheerful pro-Mousavi rallies. "But it has also been a defeat for the mullahs. They had a chance to regain the trust of the people and they lost it."
By 7pm, as trouble flared up yet again in Vali-asr Ave, and riot police laid into another female onlooker, word spread on the streets of another dubious official statement from the interior ministry. It declared that there had been "no post-election violence" in Tehran.
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