In Iran, the Staying Power of the Press

Both ideas are discussed openly among Iranians, and in a recent news meeting Baghi scoffed at an article noting that all political parties must pledge fealty to Khamenei. "What's the point of having different political parties but saying they're all obedient to the leader?" he asked. "They are different parties. They should have different positions."

But it's something else to print such sentiments. In Iran, even the name of the new newspaper is "very provocative," Baghi acknowledged. "Jumhuriyat" is the Farsi word for "Republic." Baghi noted that another newspaper had already taken the more acceptable "Islamic Republic."

"Working in the field of journalism in Iran is just like being an acrobat," he said.

Yet as the staff prepared a series of dummy issues in advance of Sunday's debut, senior editor Mohammed Alipour professed less worry about overstepping boundaries than about producing a bland paper. The public will expect certain things of Jumhuriyat, he said.

"Everybody knows us," said Alipour, whose weekly magazine was among 13 publications closed on May Day in 1999, when the four-year crackdown officially began. "They expect us to provide them with good quality material."

He rustled a sheaf of papers. Reporters write in longhand, right to left, in Farsi, then hand the sheets to an editor before carrying the copy next door to a composing room lined with desktop computers and typists. Too much of what he was seeing, Alipour said, was mealy-mouthed.

"After all these newspaper closings, there is no need to tell reporters what not to write. They have got this censoring device in their minds. They are very, very careful. It's bad. They're not very curious about what they're writing about.

"They always have this fear: If they lose their job, what else are they going to do? This becomes part of their nature, part of journalism in Iran. And nobody can do anything about it."

The fear does not seem to have affected Baghi, a tall, bearded man with a quiet charisma. Like most of Iran's leading journalists, he goes about his day with a suspended sentence hanging over his head, one year in prison that conservative officials can impose whenever they like. On the sidewalk outside the newspaper office, he reached into his pocket. A summons had come in the day's mail.

"I didn't tell anyone," Baghi said, with a shy smile. "I don't want to disappoint them. After we publish, I'll tell them."