How Popular Is He Really? Mahmoud Ahmadinejad presents himself as a man of the people. But his support among the poor seems to be eroding.

Byline: Maziar Bahari

You haven't lived 'til you've driven a BMW 740," exclaims Reza, Tehran's self-proclaimed No. 1 Ladies' Man. He accelerates past posters of Iranian, Palestinian and Lebanese martyrs as other drivers eye his slicked-back hair and designer shades with mixed envy and disdain. Bopping to Kamran and Hooman, an Iranian pop duo from Los Angeles, he flips open his mobile. "The stallion's thirsty for you," he croons to one of his (many) girlfriends. Reza is not only rich but also corny and, seemingly, morals-free. "I've paid so many fines for speeding that the government should give me a medal!" Arrested repeatedly for such infractions, or worse, he says he bribes his way out of trouble.

To many Iranians, Reza and his ilk symbolize all that is wrong with their country and its direction. Mahmoud Ahmadinejad calls them "people with money and no pain"--not to mention "corruptors of the earth." The fact that he himself is clearly not of their class is key to his popularity. But beyond the rhetoric, is he doing much to right the balance? Reza and other rich Iranians dismiss the president as all talk. More surprising is the fact that in recent months, so do a growing number of the poor Iranians who are the backbone of his support.

Ahmadinejad can ill afford any erosion of his standing. Last week, as the United Nations deadline for Iran to halt its uranium-enrichment program passed, the president was defiant. "Iran is not going to give up even an iota of its inalienable right to nuclear energy," he declared in the main stadium of the southern city of Orumia, on one of the many trips to the provinces that have cemented his image as a man of the people. But support for such an uncompromising stance could be tenuous. Ahmadinejad took office a year ago promising to improve the lives of ordinary citizens by distributing the country's oil wealth more fairly--in his own words, "by bringing the oil money to people's tables." So far, he has failed to deliver. Having coffers fat enough to withstand Western sanctions, however symbolic, won't be enough if the hopes of millions of Iranians for a fair deal are dashed.

That, according to analysts, is precisely what's happening. Tehran is awash in money--an extra $25 billion last year alone. But ordinary Iranians are seeing little of it. Per capita incomes have failed to keep pace with rising living costs; rents are skyrocketing beyond people's means to pay. In many interviews with news-week during recent weeks, Iranians of all political hues and classes have described Ahmadinejad's economic plans as well intentioned but unsophisticated and unlikely to yield their promised benefits. Longer term, many fear they may end in outright disaster.

Exhibit A, in their view, is the president's impractical Compassion Fund, intended originally to give interest-free loans to newly married couples, create jobs and underwrite security deposits so that poor Iranians could afford down payments on apartments. When proposed to Parliament last year, lawmakers concluded the scheme was so naively idealistic and financially ill considered that they killed it. Ahmadinejad promptly exercised executive privilege to establish a limited version of the plan, and so far 21,000 couples have registered for wedding loans. But how many have actually received money? No one knows.

Similar problems beset another grand design, Shares for Justice. The idea here, decreed by Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, is to privatize state-owned industries and distribute shares to the people as a sort of national mutual fund. Trouble is, the government has changed positions so many times that no one knows any longer ...