Ahmadinejad roadshow seduces an adoring public

He arrives amid a hurricane of swirling brown dust and deafening noise. A dense, rolling cloud of straw and dirt sweeps across the parched field, enveloping turbaned dignitaries, battering the hoisted green, white and red flags of Iran, and forcing thousands of enthralled onlookers to shield their eyes.

As the rotors of the venerable American-made Huey 214 chopper spin slowly to a halt, and the murk clears, a great, human noise replaces the sound of engines. It is not cheering; more like a giant, murmuring sigh, punctuated by shouts of joy and the screams of women.

For Meshkinshahr, a city perched on the desiccated Caspian steppes and mountains west of Ardabil, this dramatic descent to earth has the momentous significance of a prophetic visitation. Local elders say there has been nothing like it in years. Children are out of their heads with excitement.

But President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, clambering out of the helicopter cabin with a big smile on his face, is getting used to it. His visit, part of a magisterial three-day, nine-city procession through Ardabil province in north-west Iran, is the 18th such meet-the-people expedition since he took office one year ago this month.

Mr Ahmadinejad's extraordinary comings and goings are a cross between American-style town meetings, itinerant Islamic evangelism, and pure political theatre. Think Bill and Al's "excellent adventure" during the 1992 US presidential campaign; think Saladin on a soap box; then add a straggly beard, wrinkly, unexpectedly twinkly eyes, a gentle, open-handed style, and a genuine ability to connect - and you have Mr Ahmadinejad, a local hero (he was formerly governor of Ardabil), a would-be champion of Muslims everywhere, and an unlikely grassroots superstar.

The political confidence of a man condemned in the US and Europe for his threats against Israel and his Holocaust denial is plainly growing. It is the first time the Tehran government has allowed a western reporter to witness one of his barnstorming tours. And there is lots to watch.

"We love him. We love Ahmadinejad," says Mahnaz Dargahi, a young woman in her 20s dressed in full hijab and ankle-length chador, who is watching a rally in Nir. "He's very popular. He does a lot for the youth. His focus is on the development of the country and on the poor people." Her friends nod in agreement, giggle, then pull their scarves closer to their faces.

"He is a nice man," says Nafice Mohammadzade, 10, the daughter of an Iran-Iraq war martyr, after presenting the president with a bouquet. "He asked my name and what grade I'm in. He said he hoped I would make progress in life and in Islam." Nafice was given a plastic presidential ballpoint and a scroll.

"We welcome the president," says Ahmad Asaadi, 40, a Turkish-speaking man in the town of Parsabad Moghan. "He's defending our country. He cares about people. He's hard-working. We need more jobs here. He understands the problems we have with schools, with bureaucracy, with the water. He will do something for us."

Exultant

Speaking from a platform decorated with flowers and Qur'anic verses in the city of Ardabil, Mr Ahmadinejad does not disappoint an exultant crowd of up to 20,000 spilling over the pitch of a football stadium. Facing him is a sea of banners and photographs of himself and Ayatollah Khomeini, leader of Iran's 1979 revolution. Two young men have climbed to the top of a floodlight gantry and are frantically waving the flags of Iran, Palestine and Hizbullah.

Men and women are strictly segregated behind crash barriers, and local clerics and other luminaries sit cross-legged in a special enclosure at the front. All but the most ancient mullahs are waving, shouting, hooting and chanting phrases such as "Ahmadinejad, you have the scent of rosewater" and "Nuclear power is our essential right" (it sounds better in Farsi).

The young men, packed tightly together, are heaving with excitement and energy. The women, the majority under 25, seem to be drowning in black, only the white ovals of their faces standing out from their robes. But they, too, are hopping and prancing (dancing and singing is, of course, forbidden). It is like a pop festival without the music.

Mr Ahmadinejad may not know much about the Holocaust. But he certainly knows how to work a crowd. He begins slowly, softly, talking to his audience as if to friends. He is no ranter, no demagogue. His words caress and seduce, they do not impose or dictate. But then, with the crowd's voice rising and falling with his own, his address gathers pace, strength and purpose. "We will build a railroad from Ardabil to Tehran," the president announces to loud cheers. This is a long-delayed project. Now, magically, it has the go-ahead. "We will build a petrochemical plant." Another cheer. "We will reduce the interest rate on loans so young people can get jobs and start their own businesses."

The cacophony of applause just grows and grows. And down on the pitch, aides collect bundles of letters and written pleas for financial or other help, all of which they say will receive the president's personal consideration.

Like a Persian emperor of old, but dressed in a circa 1970s casual fawn jacket, Mr Ahmadinejad dispenses favours and justice with a flick of his wrist. His modern-day satraps, Ardabil's governor and MP, watch nervously, wondering, perhaps, how they will pay for all this largesse.

Then he switches to international affairs. The US and Britain "have disgraced the UN security council by opposing a ceasefire in Lebanon", he says. Cheers. Lebanon is "the real Holocaust". The impotent council should be renamed the "council for massacres". More cheers. "God's promises have come true. On one side there are the corrupt powers of the criminal US and Britain and the Zionists with modern bombs and planes. On the other side is a group of pious youth relying on God." Hizbullah's resistance has succeeded, he says. Theirs is the glory. The crowd roars.

"Kofi Annan [the UN secretary-general] talked to me on the phone," Mr Ahmadinejad suddenly reveals, as if letting his listeners into a secret. "He told us not to be angry about the UN resolution [that ordered Iran to stop its nuclear activities]. But nuclear power is our right. No one can take this way from us. The security council is a puppet of the Global Arrogance (this is Mr Ahmadinejad's new term for the US, formerly known as the Great Satan). The people will make a "new Middle East", not the Americans ...

"The enemies of Iran are trying to divide the Iranian nation. But they should know the people are wise to this trick. They will not fall for it again. Our main task is to develop and build the Iranian nation. No one will stop us." By now the crowd is beside itself. And Mr Ahmadinejad has hardly raised his voice.

"We hate the UK," says Abdul Ali Majnoni, 39, after the speech. "The UK and the US are imposing their ideology on other people. Tony Blair is a Satan and his appearance is like a fox."

His companions titter at his strong language. Iranians are generally extremely polite. Mr Majnoni smiles. "Don't take it personally," he says.

The rally speeches, repeated with local variations throughout Ardabil province, serve several purposes. They bolster nationalist sentiment, especially over nuclear power; and they emphasise Iran's leadership role among Muslim and developing countries.

The provincial tours are a reminder to political rivals and reformists that Mr Ahmadinejad, the blacksmith's son who came from nowhere, is a formidable political force whose support is apparently growing. They speak directly to the youth in a fast-growing nation where the majority is under 30. And they also seem designed to prepare ordinary people for sharpening confrontation with the west, including tougher US-directed sanctions.

Not all Iranians are happy about Mr Ahmadinejad's leadership. He faces considerable criticism among the secular-minded urban elite, intellectuals and middle class professionals who abhor his social conservatism. The president is also described by some as a front man for sinister rightwing and fundamentalist forces that are dragging the country backwards. In much of the US and western Europe, Mr Ahmadinejad's outspoken and sometimes shocking anti-Israeli statements have further isolated Iran.

Outspoken

For Mr Ahmadinejad's provincial speechifying carries another, more profound message, and it is repeated wherever he goes. It appears aimed as much at George Bush and the western "crusaders" as his Ardabil followers. And it tells of a future in which the justice of the righteous, as discerned by the president, will triumph.

"God has the power. No human being has all the power. Power is a gift from God," he tells his audience. They are hushed now, listening intently. "Power has to be used to help people. This applies to the leaders of countries as well as ordinary people. God rewards believers and those who have patience. Those who believe should not be scared of anything. For God is with you. The people of Lebanon are believers. They were not scared. And they did succeed. God kept his promise to the people of Lebanon. And he has given them victory."

And, in the Ahmadinejad roadshow, the victory of the Iranian faithful is also only a matter of time.