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Fri Feb 24 11:55:10 PST 2006
comfortable villa, with a swimming pool. Amini had indicated tha=A0 Sanjabi
was important as the leader of the National Front=8Bthe political remnant of
the most serious previous challenge to the Shah. That had bee=A0 made back in
1951-53 by Mohammed Mossadegh, who, as Prime Minister, confiscated the
formerly British oil holdings and put together=A0 nationalist following
embracing the mullahs, the bazaaris, and, for a time, the Tudeh Party. At
one point, in August, 1953, Mossadegh forced th=A0 Shah to flee the country.
But a countercoup was organized with help from the Central Intelligence
Agency. Mossadegh was driven from power=A0 and the Shah returned. Sanjabi, a
lieutenant of Mossadegh=B9s in those days, had survived years of prison to
emerge as the foremost figure in th=A0 National Front
He spoke French to me, and was wearing yellow-gold-rimmed glasses, a gray
suit of rich flannel, and Italian shoes. =B3There is unhappiness at every
level,=B2 he told me. =B3It engulfs all classes=8Bintellectuals, students,
mullahs, bazaaris, civil servants, teachers, peasants. A true agrarian
reform is necessary. The relations between the landlords and the peasants
are still not just. Despite the talk of land reform, the distribution of
land was not fully achieved. It was not accompanied by the passing out of
the credits, fertilizers, tractors, and irrigation facilities that modern
farming requires. We had a twenty-billion-dollar gift in the oil-price rise
of 1973. We should have developed rural Iran first, and then industry.
Instead, the Shah spent most of that gift on his family. So we had a
terrible inflation, a building boom that collapsed, and acute shortages of
food. Discontent became universal. Now everybody in the universities is
against the regime. The young men have twentieth-century ideas, but, as in =
a
war or any difficult period, their sentiments turn to religion. The corner
mosque is the only forum for discussion. And the mullahs are not as backwar=
d
as you might think. The Iranian people are capable of democracy. The West
thinks we=B9re in the fifth century. That=B9s wrong. Mossadegh was a sincere
democrat. He wanted democracy in this country and in this century.=B2
I brought Sanjabi back to the present with a series of questions. How did h=
e
see the present government? What were the chances of a military coup? What
did he expect from a visit to Paris to see Ayatollah Khomeini, which he was
to undertake the next day?
He said, =B3The government of Sharif-Emami has done some good things. But he
enjoys no confidence. The public doesn=B9t trust him. He has to take radical
decisions, but he doesn=B9t. He waits, and the situation gets worse and worse=
.
Now it=B9s too far gone.=B2 He acknowledged the possibility of a military coup.
=B3But it has no chance of succeeding,=B2 he said. =B3There=B9s no political
support. The Army could stay in power only by force, as in Pakistan and
South Vietnam. It couldn=B9t last. Thus, the great misfortune of this country
is the Shah. He detains all the liberals and keeps down men of integrity. H=
e
likes thieves. He has sexual weaknesses. He is not sincerely for
liberalization. He wants to gain time, divide the religious from the lay
opposition, and go back to his old system, which is essentially military
rule.=B2 Of his visit to Paris, Sanjabi said, =B3I am not worried about my
coming encounter with Khomeini. I am an optimist. Ayatollah Khomeini doesn=B9=
t
want chaos. We have to turn to Ayatollah Khomeini.=B2
As it happened, nobody=B9s plans=8Bnot those of the Shah or those of Prime
Minister Sharif-Emami or those of former Prime Minister Ali Amini o=A0 those
of opposition leader Karim Sanjabi=8Bcarried the day. On Wednesday, November
1st, the Shah, apparently convinced that Sharif-Emam=A0 could not continue,
received Ali Amini for the first time in years and began conversations
concerning the formation of a coalition regime=A0 According to the local
press, Amini told the Shah he needed support from Sanjabi, and the Shah
agreed to receive Sanjabi on his return fro=A0 Paris. On November 3rd, after
seeing Sanjabi, Ayatollah Khomeini said in an interview on the Paris-based
Radio Luxembourg, =B3We have told th=A0 representatives of the opposition, such
as Ali Amini and Karim Sanjabi, that if they agree to negotiate with the
regime they will be banned fro=A0 our movement.=B2 Karim Sanjabi came back to
Teheran and called a press conference to announce his terms for negotiating
with the regime. Th=A0 press conference never took place. By that time, event=
s
had pushed another set of actors, the military, to center stage. Two months
before, o=A0 September 4th, there had been large demonstrations in Teheran to
mark the end of Ramadan. Though the demonstrations were peaceful=A0 thousands
marched, and the military feared that matters might get out of hand. On
September 6th, the government banned unauthorize=A0 gatherings, and the next
day there was another large rally against the Shah in Teheran. That
afternoon, the military leaders went to the Shah an=A0 asked for a
proclamation of martial law. The Shah told them to clear it with the Prime
Minister and his government. The issue was argued betwee=A0 the soldiers and
the Cabinet late into the night of September 7th. Toward midnight, the
Cabinet gave its consent, and early the next mornin=A0 martial law was decree=
d
in Teheran and eleven other cities. But it was too late for a public
proclamation to reach most people. Later that morning=8BFriday, September
8th=8Ba large crowd gathered in Jaleh Square, a central meeting spot in
downtown Teheran. After repeated orders to dispers=A0 were ignored, the
security forces opened fire. More than a hundred people were killed, by the
official count, and many hundreds wounded
The shock of that massacre caused everybody to draw back. Prime Minister
Sharif-Emami was able to negotiate a loose understanding whereby, martial
law was not enforced to the letter. Strikes by civil servants, which had
begun in September, were not broken up, though they were illegal. Nor were
student demonstrations, though the martial-law proclamation forbade any
gathering of more than three persons. =B3There was martial law without there
exactly being martial law,=B2 the Prime Minister observed to me.
That fuzzy condition put an obvious strain on the military leaders. Top
commanders were unsure of their responsibilities. At one point, in October,
the commander of the ground forces, General Gholam Ali Oveisi, sent an
officer to warn the staff of the English-language daily Kayhan against
articles he considered inaccurate and inflammatory. The reporters thereupon
threatened to go on strike, and the Prime Minister backed them up. Unit
commanders never knew exactly when to intervene. At least some of the rank
and file, and perhaps some of the junior officers, sided with demonstrators=
.
On two occasions, provincial police officers were shot by enlisted men in
the Army.
Moreover, the military leaders had trouble reaching a consensus on what to
do. The Shah, to assure his supremacy and to guard against coups, had set u=
p
separate lines of communication with many different security organizations
and their leaders. The Shah himself is Supreme Commander of the armed
forces. He has a personal chief of staff, General Gholam Reza Azhari, who
oversees all the branches of the military, and meets t=EAte-=E0-t=EAte with the
Shah twice a week. There are the chiefs of the three separate
services=8BGeneral Oveisi, commander of the ground forces, with two hundred
and eighty thousand men; Admiral Kamaleddin Habibollahi, commander of the
naval forces, with thirty-two thousand men; and General Amir Hossein Rabii,
commander of the Air Force, with forty-eight thousand men=8Bwho also report
individually to the Shah. There is the head of the rural police, or
gendarmerie, which is some seventy-five thousand strong and exercises
administrative control over all villages with a population of less than fou=
r
thousand, General Abbas Gharabaghi, who was also Minister of the Interior i=
n
the Sharif-Emami government. There is the head of the secret police, Genera=
l
Nasser Moghaddam. There is, finally, the head of procurement, General Hassa=
n
Toufanian, who also serves as Vice-Minister of War to a figurehead Minister
of War, General Reza Azimi.
The differences in military specialty are compounded by variations in
personality and experience. The commanders of the Air Force and the Navy ar=
e
relatively young men=8Bboth are forty-six=8Band do not carry a lot of weight in
the system. Air Force General Rabii is known as a typical fly-boy, weak in
political and geopolitical understanding. General Oveisi, a former classmat=
e
of the Shah at the military college, is particularly close to the ruler.
General Azhari, the Shah=B9s chief of staff, is sixty-nine and is noted for
his deliberate ways and lack of ambition. =B3He is underwhelming,=B2 an America=
n
who worked with him once said. =B3He always gives the impression that he=B9d
rather climb a mountain or read a book than command an army. He=B9s exactly
the right man when tensions run high.=B2
Toward the end of October, I went to the Army headquarters, northeast of
Teheran, to visit General Oveisi. I found a solidly built, plainspoken man
whose chest was covered with ribbons. He was in a distinctly unhappy mood.
He did not like one bit the messy politics associated with the Shah=B9s
liberalization campaign, which he felt played directly into the hands of th=
e
Communists. He said, =B3Two years ago, the Shah decided to let people be
really free. Iranians who had fled the country=8Bwriters and people like
that=8Bcame back here. The National Front began speaking out. The Communist
Party began acting up. The religious people asserted themselves. Basically,
there were two types. One group was very religious. They followed
Shariatmadari, and they didn=B9t meddle in politics. The other group
specialized in politics. They were the followers of Khomeini. They started
to organize people against the government and its institutions. The
Communists took advantage of the situation. They made strong statements.
They burned banks and schools. Some students and many instructors in high
schools and colleges are Communists. The instructors persuaded all the
students to go on strike, and so all classes were postponed.
=B3Most people in the United States and Europe are against our government. Yo=
u
send journalists here who see only leaders of the opposition. Then the
journalists produce stories that are broadcast by the radio here and printe=
d
in the press. So the people here think they are not free.
=B3We have a well-disciplined and well-trained Army. The forces are
ninety-nine per cent loyal to the Shah. Maybe there=B9s one per cent not
loyal=8BI don=B9t know. I just say that to be careful. So we are not worried.
What does worry me is that there is a Communist Party growing stronger. Wha=
t
worries me more is that when the Communists use freedom to write or to spea=
k
to undermine the government, the government is silent. When people strike
and make difficulties for others, it is not correct. It jeopardizes
security.=B2
General Moghaddam, the head of Savak, who is a tall, pleasant-faced man wit=
h
receding iron-gray hair, expressed similar ideas when I called on him in
late October at his headquarters in Teheran. He said that the demonstration=
s
were =B3organized one hundred per cent by the Communists, working through
students and religious leaders.=B2 He said that he himself had talked with
Shariatmadari. He was convinced that Shariatmadari =B3supports the regime but
is afraid to speak out=B2=8Bafraid because the government offered no protection=
.
It was too weak to take action even against the Communists. =B3Two weeks ago,
we identified a writer who was very active in provoking people to
demonstrate against the government,=B2 he told me. =B3We asked the government=B9s
permission to arrest him. We were told no. We did arrest several press
people for instigating rebellion with false stories. We were obliged to
release them all. The military and the police now have things under control=
.
But there are dangers. It is difficult for our security forces to attack
young people. If the students keep pouring into the streets, they will
paralyze our security forces. If we had a powerful government that met
difficulties in a powerful way, we could deal with the troubles. But we now
believe the government is not strong enough. We in the security forces=8Bin
the Army, the police, and Savak=8Bfeel handcuffed.=B2
The security forces=B9 sense of being handcuffed by a weak government
inevitably intensified in late October and early November. Demonstrations
grew ever larger in scope, and strikes spread, reaching the oil industry an=
d
threatening to cripple it. Negotiations for a wider coalition picked up
steam. In the first week of November, the two series of events moved in
counterpoint to a showdown. In Paris, on November 3rd, Ayatollah Khomeini
refused to play at coalition-making and ordered his followers not to stop
demonstrating until they had forced the Shah from power. In Teheran, on
November 4th, the university students, sallying forth from the campus,
toppled a statue of the Shah at the entrance. The troops there forced them
back onto the campus. But the next day, November 5th, there was another
demonstration. This time, the troops fired first into the air and then into
the crowd, killing several students. The students went on the rampage,
burning banks, theatres, and the British Embassy. The day after that, Prime
Minister Sharif-Emami submitted his resignation, apparently in protest
against the breach of the understanding about limited use of martial law.
The military, with General Oveisi in the van, seized the opportunity. They
insisted that the resignation be accepted and that a military regime be
appointed. The Shah consented.
On Monday, November 6th, at noon Teheran time, the Shah went on national
television and radio with an extraordinary statement. H=A0 announced the
appointment of a military government, but at the same time he recognized th=
e
legitimacy of the opposition, and promised to dea=A0 with grievances and to
move toward free elections. He spoke with contrition, and referred to
himself as the Padeshah of Iran=8Ba term meanin=A0 simply =B3King,=B2 and far less
exalted than Shahanshah, or King of Kings. He said
Dear People of Iran:
In the open political atmosphere, gradually developed these two recent
years, you, the Iranian nation, have risen against cruelty and corruption.
This revolution cannot but be supported by me, the Padeshah of Iran.
However, insecurity has reached a stage where the independence of the
country is at stake. Daily life is endangered and what is most critical, th=
e
lifeline of the country, the flow of oil, has been interrupted.
I tried to form a coalition government, but this has not been possible.
Therefore, a temporary government has been formed to restore order and pave
the way for a national government to carry out free elections very soon.
I am aware of the alliance that has existed between political and economic
corruption. I renew my oath to be protector of the constitution and
undertake that past mistakes not be repeated and [be] compensated. I hereby
give assurance that government will do away with repression and corruption
and that social justice will be restored, after the sacrifices you have
made. . . .=20
At the present juncture, the Imperial Army will fill its duties in
accordance with its oaths. Calm has to be restored with your co=F6peration.
I invite the religious leaders to help restore calm to the only Shiite
country in the world.
I want political leaders to help save our Fatherland. The same goes for
workers and peasants.
Let us think of Iran on the road against imperialism, cruelty, and
corruption, where I shall accompany you.
By validating the revolution and pledging early free elections, the Shah
presumably hoped to put a straitjacket on the soldiers even as he handed
over power to them. He named as Prime Minister of the new government the
mildest of the military chiefs, General Azhari. But the military, once in
office, acted with brisk confidence. Soldiers were moved into the
refineries, and the striking workers, threatened with the loss of their
jobs, gradually went back to work. Demonstrations were repressed with heavy
force. Several leading officials=8Bincluding former Prime Minister Hoveida;
General Nasseri, the former Savak head; and former Mayor Nikpay=8Bwere placed
under arrest. When Sanjabi, the National Front leader, after his return fro=
m
his meetings with Ayatollah Khomeini in Paris, tried to hold a press
conference, he, too, was arrested. Investigations were opened into two
highly sensitive matters=8Bcorruption in the royal family, and corruption in
the Pahlavi Foundation. Either investigation could be conducted in a way
that might implicate the Shah himself.
The opposition reacted very strongly. Both Ayatollah Khomeini in Paris and
Ayatollah Shariatmadari in Qum denounced the military government. Khomeini
exhorted Iranians to =B3broaden their opposition to the Shah, and force him t=
o
abdicate.=B2 In a series of fiery statements, he called for a campaign of
mounting demonstrations during Moharram=8Bthe Shiite month of mourning, which
began this year on December 2nd. He singled out as a special target the
holidays of Tasua and Ashura, which this year fell on December 10th and
11th, and which commemorate the deaths of Hossein, the third Imam and the
grandson of Mohammed, and his followers, at the Battle of Karbala, thirteen
hundred years ago. Normally on Ashura, religious Iranians dress themselves
in black, gather at the principal bazaar, and march to the main mosque. As
they march, some cut their heads with swords and whip their bodies with
chains in an ecstasy of atonement. The processions, with blood drenching th=
e
garments of frenzied believers, are a revolutionary=B9s dream.
Sensing peril, the military government on November 28th banned =B3processions
of any kind=B2 during Moharram. Nevertheless, crowds demonstrated in Teheran
during the first two days of the holy month, and there were violations of
the curfew on a large scale. Oil production dropped from 5.8 million to
below 2 million barrels a day. An exodus of Americans got under way. But
even as high noon approached, the major protagonists drew back. The Shah
ordered that a hundred and twenty political prisoners be freed on Sunday,
December 10th. On December 6th, Karim Sanjabi, the National Front leader,
was released from custody. On December 8th, Ayatollah Shariatmadari, at a
press conference in Qum, urged his followers to avoid violence. That same
day, the military government announced it would permit the religious
processions, and the next day pledged to keep troops only in the northern
sections of Teheran, out of the line of march.
On Sunday and Monday, December 10th and 11th, crowds of several hundred
thousand paraded through the downtown streets. They shouted Islamic
religious slogans, and showed hostility toward the Shah, the military
government, and the United States. But there was no serious violence, and
those who tried to make trouble were constrained by more responsible
elements in the procession. The troops drawn up in the northern section of
town, in the vicinity of the Niavaran Palace, were not even tested.
Obviously, there had been put into effect at the last moment a typically
Persian compromise. The palace and the military government=8Bworking through
former Prime Minister Ali Amini=8Bhad struck a deal with Shariatmadari to
avoid a violent showdown. But, though the testing time has passed, all the
contending forces are still in place. The moment seems ripe for steps towar=
d
a regime that limits the role of the Shah, in keeping with the 1906
constitution. But the moment is not going to last very long. Just before th=
e
peaceful processions began, Shariatmadari indicated that he was prepared to
renew pressure if concessions were not forthcoming. He was asked when the
screw would be turned again. He said, =B3It will be soon.=B2
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<TITLE>FW: A fascinating recount of events leading to the Iranian Revolutio=
n !</TITLE>
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<FONT FACE=3D"Verdana"><SPAN STYLE=3D'font-size:12.0px'><BR>
------ Forwarded Message<BR>
<B>From: </B>Samii Shahla <shahla at thesamiis.com><BR>
<B>Date: </B>Mon, 27 Feb 2006 16:22:14 -0500<BR>
<B>Subject: </B>A fascinating recount of events leading to the Iranian Revo=
lution !<BR>
<BR>
<BR>
LETTER FROM IRAN<BR>
<BR>
December 11, 1978<BR>
by Joseph Kraft<BR>
Issue of 1978-12-18<BR>
</SPAN><SPAN STYLE=3D'font-size:14.0px'><H3><BR>
Posted 2006-02-27<BR>
</H3></SPAN><SPAN STYLE=3D'font-size:12.0px'><BR>
This week in the magazine, Connie Bruck writes about how, as Washington con=
siders taking a tougher line with Iran, exiles are positioning themselves as=
the country’s next rulers. In this article, from 1978, Joseph Kraft r=
eports on conditions that led to the Iranian revolution of 1979.<BR>
<BR>
A story from the Kennedy years which has the rare quality of being true is =
that once, when the President was otherwise engaged, Dave Powers=A0 his origin=
al guide to the poor Irish of Boston and later a combined companion and jest=
er at the White House, was delegated to kill a few minute=A0 with the Shah of =
Iran. Subsequently, he was asked how he liked His Imperial Majesty. “W=
ell,” Powers said, “he’s our kind of Shah.<BR>
I was reminded of that story when I saw the Shah a few weeks ago here in Te=
heran. At that point, Mohammed Reza Pahlavi wasn’t anybody’s kin=
d of Shah. He received me, as he had on several of my previous visits, in a =
ballroom on the second floor of the Niavaran Palace, on the northern outskir=
ts of Teheran. He looked pale, spoke in subdued tones, and seemed dwarfed by=
the vast expanse of the room, with its huge, ornate chandeliers and heavy E=
mpire furniture. He wore a double-breasted suit whose blackness suggested mo=
urning. He started with an apology. He was sorry to have kept me waiting. Th=
e American and British Ambassadors had been in to see him. “They tried=
to cheer me up,” he said. “As if there were anything to be chee=
rful about.”<BR>
I expressed surprise at—and, indeed, felt some suspicion about—=
this show of gloom. There had been demonstrations in many parts of the count=
ry, and strikes, but Teheran, apart from the university, seemed calm, and th=
e Army was in thorough control. Moreover, the opposition was headed by the M=
oslem clergy, and they were clearly divided. Surely, I said, the factions co=
uld be played off against each other.<BR>
“Possibly,” the Shah said, shrugging his shoulders in an elabor=
ate show of disbelief.<BR>
I pointed out that the leader of the lay opposition, Karim Sanjabi, was due=
to go to Paris to see the most intransigent of the religious leaders, Ayato=
llah Ruhollah Khomeini. The gossip in Teheran was that a compromise deal was=
in the works. Sanjabi would win Khomeini’s blessing for a coalition g=
overnment. The coalition would make reforms but maintain the monarchy.<BR>
The Shah expressed doubt that Khomeini would agree to that. “Certainl=
y not with Sanjabi,” he said.<BR>
I further noted that, while there was obvious unrest in the country, the Sh=
ah himself had lifted the lid by easing up on security and initiating reform=
s. Maybe all that was required was a slower pace and more publicity for the =
changes he had made. I mentioned that one of the problems was corruption in =
the royal family. He had decreed a new code of conduct for royal behavior, b=
ut it had not been published. Could I get a copy? The Shah agreed—with=
a weary air.<BR>
If worst came to worst, I went on, there was always the Army. The military =
was strong, and its leaders were loyal. The Shah said that force had its lim=
itations. “You can’t crack down on one block and make the people=
on the next block behave,” he said.<BR>
I asked him if the Army leaders realized that. “I hope so,” he =
said. He went on to mention his son and heir, Crown Prince Reza, who, at eig=
hteen, is now an air cadet in Lubbock, Texas. The Shah said that he might no=
t be able to pass all his powers on to his son, but he could at least pass o=
n the throne.<BR>
I remarked that I had never seen him so sombre, and asked when the black mo=
od had begun.<BR>
“Sometime in summer,” he said.<BR>
“Any special reason?”<BR>
“Events,” he said.<BR>
I intimated that maybe he was overdoing the blues to elicit sympathy and pe=
rhaps support from the United States. “What could America do?” h=
e asked.<BR>
I said that that depended upon what happened, and asked him what he thought=
that might be. “I don’t know,” he said.<BR>
I asked him what his advisers thought was going to happen. “Many thin=
gs,” he said, with a bitter laugh, and he rose, indicating that that w=
as all he had to say.<BR>
<BR>
The day after seeing the Shah, I drove, with an Iranian friend who had agre=
ed to serve as an interpreter, to Qum, a religious center with=A0 population o=
f roughly two hundred and fifty thousand, about seventy-five miles south of =
Teheran. Qum is the country’s foremost training cente=A0 for the priests=
—or mullahs, as they are known in common parlance—of Shiite Isla=
m, the creed of ninety per cent of Iran’s thirty-six millio=A0 people. S=
hiism was made the state religion at the beginning of the sixteenth century =
by a new dynasty, the Safavids, who needed to dig in agains=A0 the Ottoman Tur=
ks. The Shiites form the minority—and largely Persian—branch of =
the Moslem religion. As distinct from the majority branch—the Sunnites=
(who for centuries vested the line of authority from Mohammed in a caliphat=
e that followed the tides of history from Damascus t=A0 Baghdad and thence, wi=
th the Turks, to Constantinople)—the Shiites traced the line of descen=
t through the Prophet’s son-in-law, Ali. Ali=A0 according to Shiite law,=
was the first of twelve Imams, or holy leaders. The twelfth Imam withdrew f=
rom this world and is due to return some tim=A0 as a Mahdi, or Messiah. Ali wa=
s buried in An Najaf, and his son, Hossein, in Karbala, and those cities, no=
w in Iraq, are, after Mohammed’s tom=A0 in Mecca, the principal shrines =
of Shiite Islam. The eighth Imam, Reza, died in Meshed, which is a town some=
five hundred miles east of Teheran=A0 and is the most holy shrine in Iran. Re=
za’s sister, Fatima, died in Qum, so the city includes Iran’s se=
cond holiest shrine as well as man madressahs, or seminaries.<BR>
The most renowned students of Islamic law in Qum, Meshed, and other major c=
ities are referred to by the title Ayatollah, which means, literally, “=
;Sign of God.” For roughly the past fifty years, the Ayatollahs of Qum=
have been the dominant religious leaders in Iran. Ayatollah Khomeini, thoug=
h born in eastern Iran, was educated in An Najaf, and then in Qum, and subse=
quently taught in Qum. He achieved national stature between 1961 and 1963 as=
the leader of the opposition to various features—including coeducatio=
n and, many say, land reform—of what the Shah called his “white =
revolution.” In 1963, Khomeini was expelled, and moved to the shrine o=
f An Najaf. The radical regime in Iraq, which in 1975, after years of bicker=
ing, reached an accommodation with the Shah, forced Khomeini out last Septem=
ber, when troubles became intense in Iran, and he moved to Paris. He had bee=
n succeeded as the dominant figure in Qum by Ayatollah Shariatmadari. For mo=
st of the past dozen years, the madressah students have made Qum a center of=
opposition to the regime. Professor Michael Fischer, of Harvard, who spent =
much of 1975 in that city, described the atmosphere at the time, in a monogr=
aph he called “The Qum Report,” as “one of siege and coura=
geous passive hostility to a state perceived to be the stronger, but morally=
corrupt, opponent.” The present wave of troubles was set in motion ea=
rly this year by violent demonstrations against the Shah in Qum.<BR>
I had telephoned ahead for an appointment with Shariatmadari, and had been =
connected with a Pakistani aide of his named Seyyed Rivzi, who spoke English=
. Rivzi told me to be in Qum by eight in the morning, because His Holiness, =
as he called Shariatmadari, went to the mosque at nine and spent the rest of=
the day in prayer and meditation. My translator friend and I arrived before=
eight and, with the help of directions from the local police, found our way=
to Shariatmadari’s quarters. He lives in a narrow back street, paved =
with white brick and lined with yellowish walls. There are doors in the wall=
s every ten yards or so, and, behind the doors, courtyards leading to buildi=
ngs that are used as offices and houses. We were first shown into an office,=
where we were received by Rivzi, a fat, middle-aged man wearing spectacles =
and a black turban; he kept pushing the turban back from his forehead in ord=
er to scratch his scalp. Rivzi said that I was in luck, for His Holiness was=
feeling ill that day. Because he was not well enough to pray, there would b=
e ample time for the interview. Rivzi asked me to disclose my questions in a=
dvance. He would write them down in Farsi and then read them off to His Holi=
ness—that way, there would be no mistakes. I began reading from a list=
of questions I had prepared. He repeated them in English, then set them dow=
n in Farsi, and read them back to my Iranian friend for his approval of the =
translation. A couple of times, the English version of my question differed =
significantly from the original, and at length I pointed out one of the disc=
repancies. Rivzi said, “I was not trained as a reporter, but in the pa=
st few months I’ve been the interpreter for sixty-eight different inte=
rviews. I’ve become quite good at framing questions. I hope you don=
217;t mind a little editing.”<BR>
After the questions had been given, edited, and translated, we moved across=
the street to see Shariatmadari. He is a man of seventy-six, with a white b=
eard, a frail frame, and a thinnish voice. He, too, wore a black turban and =
glasses—in his case, thick glasses over weak but distinctly friendly e=
yes. He received us in a bare, whitewashed room lit by a single electric bul=
b, which dangled from the ceiling. There were some uninteresting rugs on the=
floor, and a curtain hung across the window on a string. Shariatmadari was =
lying down on an opened crimson bedroll, with his head and shoulders raised =
on a purple pillow. Rivzi and another aide, whose function I never discovere=
d, sat, legs crossed, facing His Holiness. I sat parallel to him, also cross=
-legged, but with my back against a wall. In the course of our talk, which l=
asted several hours, various people came in to see Shariatmadari, kissing hi=
s hand, pressing petitions on him, often with money between the pages, and t=
hen hurrying away. A telephone by the bedroll rang frequently, but it was an=
swered only rarely, by the non-Pakistani aide, who usually managed to pick i=
t up after the caller had stopped trying to get through.<BR>
Shariatmadari began by asking about my trip down to Qum. I said that it had=
been easy but that we had noticed a lot of troops in the town and, on the w=
all of his house, a scrawled sign saying “Death to the Butcher Shah.&#=
8221;<BR>
His Holiness said, “I don’t know what is happening in Iran. I n=
ever saw a nation in such a spirit of revolt. It is erupting like a volcano,=
and, like a volcano, after building up pressure for years and years it is i=
mpossible to stop.”<BR>
My first question had to do with the revival of religion in Iran as a polit=
ical force. Shariatmadari said, “Religion used to be considered margin=
al—apart from the mainstream of events. Now it has become much stronge=
r than before. The reason is that religion provides answers to problems of c=
onscience. It provides a vantage point for fighting injustice. In our Shiite=
religion, spiritual leaders are ready at all times to assert the truth and =
the right.”<BR>
I asked him what injustices he had in mind. He said, “We have never h=
ad free elections. The elections in the past were all dominated by local mag=
nates or the consulates of foreign powers. The consequence has been that we =
now have laws repugnant to Islam and to the public interest. For example, al=
coholic beverages are permitted. There is gambling. There is illegitimate se=
x—by that I mean sexual relations between people under twenty who are =
not married. The authority to marry is in the hands of civil officials. But =
it should not be. Marriage is not a deal or a contract. It is something spir=
itual, and so it should be performed by the religious authorities.”<BR=
>
At that point, there were sounds of firing in the distance, and I started. =
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “We’re used to tha=
t kind of noise.”<BR>
I asked him to tell me about the troubles in Qum. He said, “From the =
beginning of the disturbances in Qum, we have asked people to speak their mi=
nds, but with calm and dignity, not in a provocative way. But I remember a f=
ew months ago a company of soldiers headed by a major general walked into th=
ese premises and announced they were on a mission from the government. They =
started breaking windows and shooting. One person was killed on the spot and=
another died in the hospital. Later, the government apologized. But I ask, =
‘How can you apologize for killing people?’ Had it been the Prim=
e Minister’s house, would it have been enough merely to apologize? Suc=
h an action alone is adequate for me to declare a holy war or a revolution. =
That might have happened if I were not devoted to the cause of moderation.&#=
8221;<BR>
I asked him how he would rectify the many injustices and wrongs he had cite=
d. He said that he favored a return to the constitution of 1906—a docu=
ment that a liberal movement with support from the clergy had wrung from the=
Qajar dynasty, which preceded the family of the present Shah. The 1906 cons=
titution provided for, among other things, a supreme council of five religio=
us leaders who would have a veto right over all laws. “If they found t=
he laws repugnant to Islam or to principles of justice or against the intere=
sts of the majority,” Shariatmadari said, “they could reject the=
m.”<BR>
I asked what would happen if the five religious leaders disagreed among the=
mselves. He said, “That would not be possible, for they represent the =
highest spiritual authority.”<BR>
I persisted with the question about a possible disagreement. “In that=
case,” he said, “the issue would be referred to the highest spi=
ritual authority in the land.”<BR>
I assumed he meant himself, and any doubts on that score were settled by Ri=
vzi. He said, “His Holiness would have the final word.”<BR>
I remarked that many people in Iran, and in other parts of the world, had d=
ifferent views from His Holiness on such matters as religious liberty, land =
reform, and the role of women. He cut in before I could develop this theme. =
“The journalistic community in the world,” he said, pointing a b=
ony finger at me, “has constantly made the libellous charge that we re=
ligious leaders are anti-progressive and reactionary and anachronistic. That=
is not the case. We want science, technology, educated men and women—=
physicists, surgeons, engineers. But we also want clean and honest political=
leaders. Those who make the charges against us are themselves reactionary, =
because their goal is to stop us from instituting a government of hope. The =
government of God is the government of the people by the people.”<BR>
I said that I would still like to know where he stood on the issue of equal=
rights for women—coeducation, for example.<BR>
Very smoothly, as if there were no break in the line of thought at all, he =
asked me how many Presidents there had been in American history. I said that=
it wasn’t altogether clear whether the figure was thirty-eight or thi=
rty-nine.<BR>
He said, “You come all the way over to Iran to ask about the rights o=
f women here, and you don’t even know how many Presidents you have had=
in your own country.”<BR>
I explained that the matter was complicated by the fact that Grover Clevela=
nd had been President twice but not consecutively. I said that for the sake =
of argument we could assume there had been thirty-nine Presidents.<BR>
“How many of them have been women?” he asked.<BR>
I said that none had but that that seemed to me beside the point. What, for=
example, did he think about coeducation?<BR>
He said, “I’m not opposed to the education of women for all kin=
ds of tasks. But I do not want coeducation. I want to separate the schools o=
f learning from the schools of flirting. We in Islam don’t look on wom=
en as playthings, accepted as long as they are young and beautiful, and then=
cast away. In Islam, the older the woman, the higher her status. We know th=
at in coeducational schools there is a corruption of moral values, which is =
reflected in the police records. The girls develop certain relations, and so=
me have illegitimate children, and others have abortions. The girl loses her=
self-respect and her status in society. Either she suffers a great personal=
loss or she takes up another way of life—prostitution.”<BR>
I asked him his opinion of abortion. He said, “In Islam, abortion is =
considered murder. Therefore, abortion is not permitted.”<BR>
I asked him his views on birth control. He said, “Birth control depen=
ds on certain circumstances. In small, overpopulated countries that have no =
land, birth control is acceptable. But in our country, where the population =
occupies only one-fifth of the land, there is no need for birth control. Pro=
creation should be free unless there is a particular problem. In our country=
, that problem doesn’t exist.”<BR>
I asked him whether there was equality in Islam for people of other religio=
ns. He said, “In Islam, Christians, Jews, and Zoroastrians are all acc=
epted as equal—unless they become a Fifth Column for foreign meddling =
in this country. Jews are accepted as Jews but not as defenders of Zionist a=
ggression.” He then referred to the Baha’i sect, which began as =
a reform offshoot of Shiite Islam, and has been popular in Iran, particularl=
y among educated people who have done well in business and politics. He said=
, “Baha’i is accepted as Baha’i per se but not as a clique=
dividing up government posts among themselves and working for the foreign i=
nterests.”<BR>
I asked him where he stood on the land reform that the Shah had decreed in =
1963. He said, “Land reform is a question of the past. Even if there w=
ere some objections made at the time, there were no objections to the princi=
ple of land reform but only to the means of implementation. The Shah could h=
ave done the same thing in accordance with the principles of Islam. That is =
typical of his regime. In order to build roads and streets, he destroys the =
house of an old woman and does not give her another house.”<BR>
At that point, Shariatmadari reproached me for picking out one issue at a t=
ime instead of dealing with the culture as a whole. “Culture is a mixt=
ure of many interwoven things,” he said. “You cannot in fairness=
just pick on individual matters as if they were unrelated. For example, in =
the West you cannot conceive of a banking system that does not charge intere=
st on loans. But in Islam, for many different reasons, our view is that inte=
rest should not be charged.”<BR>
I said that that was true; no one in the West could understand how a govern=
ment without the power to raise interest rates could control inflation. I we=
nt on to say that his point seemed valid, and so I would shift subjects. I a=
sked him where he stood on the issue of meetings with representatives of the=
Shah.<BR>
He had had some “unofficial meetings,” he said, and went on, &#=
8220;But we can’t have official meetings. The religious authorities wi=
ll participate in all offers of a solution to the present problems, but only=
with a fair and just government and parliament. We can coöperate fully=
only after free elections have returned a popularly chosen government.̶=
1;<BR>
I said, and he acknowledged, that the Shah had tried to institute some refo=
rms directed toward liberalization of the regime. I observed that many Ameri=
cans felt that President Carter, by his human-rights campaign, had played a =
role in fostering those reforms.<BR>
Shariatmadari said, “Carter’s human-rights policy has not been =
a very important propelling force, though it has not been totally without ef=
fect in pushing liberalization. But in Islam we have some skepticism about t=
he sincerity of Carter’s human-rights approach, because he doesn’=
;t apply it to the United Nations. In the U.N., five countries have the veto=
. That means we are not equal. But the Americans don’t say anything ab=
out that.”<BR>
<BR>
A couple of days later, I flew to Isfahan, with my Iranian friend again acc=
ompanying me as an interpreter. Isfahan, as the 1966 Hachette Guide proclaim=
s with unwonted effusion, is “one of the most marvellous places in the=
world.” The city lies on a plateau watered by a large oasis and a lov=
ely stream. Shah Abbas I—the greatest Persian emperor, not excepting X=
erxes and the three Dariuses—made it his capital at the end of the six=
teenth century; at that time, it had a population of about half a million, a=
nd was among the largest cities in the world. I remembered from a previous v=
isit, a decade ago, broad, tree-lined avenues; a magnificent central square,=
the Maydan-e-Shah; the extraordinary Bridge of Thirty-three Arches; and a g=
eneral air of refined elegance. But even from the air, I could see burgeonin=
g suburbs and smoke from factories—signs that change had come to Isfah=
an.<BR>
A local official, who asked not to be mentioned by name, rapidly brought me=
up to date on developments in Isfahan. He said, “Five years ago, ther=
e were five hundred and sixty thousand people in Isfahan, and this was one o=
f the most beautiful cities in the world. Then the Shah decided that there w=
as too much administrative and economic concentration in Teheran, and that h=
e needed to decentralize. So he put a steel mill here. And an airbase, with =
a helicopter training center. Naturally, foreign companies followed suit. Be=
ll Helicopter came in with the training base. Du Pont put a plant here. Now =
we have more than a million people. The doubling in five years of a populati=
on that had been stable for three hundred years has changed everything. This=
used to be an educational center, with a university, many religious schools=
, and lots of music. Now it is an industrial town. Over three hundred thousa=
nd workers have come in from the countryside, most of them without their fam=
ilies. They live five or six to a room in the poorer quarter of town. They m=
ake good wages—a dollar seventy-five an hour—but they don’=
t have their families, and they’re miserable. Everybody else has been =
affected, too. The bazaar merchants used to be very important. Now the banks=
manage credit, and the engineers are the big shots in town.<BR>
“Students have grown up under the Shah, and they don’t know wha=
t things were like before development started. All they know is that the Sha=
h promised that Iran was going to be like France or Germany. That isn’=
t happening. The huge surge in population means that services are spread too=
thin and are constantly breaking down. There aren’t enough telephones=
. It’s impossible to buy a car. The schools are jammed. Housing is sca=
rce. During the past three years, there has been a recession, especially in =
building, and many laborers are out of work. So the students are in a mood t=
o reject everything that has happened. They are turning back to the old days=
, and pursuing an idealized version of what things were like then. They are =
pushing the mullahs to go back and re-create the wonderful past. The mullahs=
see a chance to regain their prestige and power. The students provide them =
with a power base for putting pressure on the government to give them the co=
nsideration and importance they have been seeking for years. So the mullahs =
go along. That’s the dynamic of trouble in Isfahan.”<BR>
I asked about the circumstances relating to the declaration of martial law =
in Isfahan back in August, a month before it was declared in the other major=
cities of the country.<BR>
The local official said, “That’s a perfect example. All through=
the spring and summer, after riots in Qum in January, and in Tabriz in late=
February, this town was seething with unrest. The workers were demanding be=
tter housing conditions, and more money to meet inflation. The bazaar mercha=
nts were bitching about the loss of their old status, about price controls, =
and competition from the big banks and supermarkets. The intellectuals were =
complaining about the lack of freedom. The students were telling the mullahs=
to do their stuff, and the mullahs were saying ‘right on.’ Abou=
t the first of August, a mixed group of workers and students occupied the ho=
me of the most prominent local religious leader, Ayatollah Khademi. The gove=
rnor-general and the local Army commander went to Khademi and told him to ge=
t them off the premises. He tried, but he couldn’t. On the contrary, t=
he crowds got bigger and bigger. At one point, maybe twenty thousand people =
were camping there. When Khademi tried to cool them down, the students turne=
d ugly. They took down the posters of the Shah and put up posters of Ayatoll=
ah Khomeini. On August 11th, the military decided to clear the place. Troops=
moved in, threw tear gas, and pushed the crowd out at bayonet point. The cr=
owd then went on a rampage. It burned down a bank and a hotel and fifteen ot=
her buildings. It threw a bomb into a bus for Bell Helicopter employees. Tha=
t’s when martial law was declared. The bazaaris—the bazaar merch=
ants—immediately went on strike and closed down their shops in protest=
. The madressah students stayed in their schools, but they demonstrated ever=
y day, always making more radical demands. On the night of August 21st, two =
high-school teachers, who had built up a large following of anti-government =
young people, were arrested and sent to Teheran. Next day, the kids hit the =
streets, and there has been trouble of one kind or another ever since.”=
;<BR>
I asked for and was given the names of the teachers—who had been rele=
ased after a month in custody. They had no telephones, so my Iranian friend =
and I picked one—Hassan Zehtab—and drove out to see him. He live=
s on the outskirts of town, in a neighborhood of narrow, twisting unpaved st=
reets. The car could barely squeeze between the walls, and the puddles and m=
ud in the road reminded me anew of the origins of the custom of removing one=
’s shoes before entering a mosque. Once we were in the neighborhood, w=
e had no trouble finding the house; everybody we asked knew Hassan Zehtab, a=
nd where he lived.<BR>
Mr. Zehtab turned out to be a partly bald, moonfaced middle-aged man with a=
complexion slightly darker in tone than that of most Iranians. He was caref=
ully dressed, in a suit, white shirt, tie, and sweater. I saw only two rooms=
of his home, and they were modest in size and bare of ornament. When we arr=
ived, Zehtab was meeting in one of the rooms with about forty disciples. He =
agreed to see me, and we moved into the other room, with ten of his disciple=
s coming along. I asked Zehtab to tell me a little about who he was and what=
he believed.<BR>
He said, “I’m forty years old, and I have been a schoolteacher =
here in Isfahan ever since I graduated from the University of Teheran, fifte=
en years ago. In all this time, I haven’t seen one truly free election=
, or one instance of concern on the part of those in authority for the happi=
ness of the people. I think the only way to bring about the happiness of the=
people is through an Islamic culture. We’re given to understand that =
the ruling clique is talking about religion now, and putting on a turban and=
the white garments of holiness. But that is a mere pretense. Even a child c=
an see through that. It is like the ceramic facing on the wall of a building=
. Everybody knows that beneath the facing there is a real wall, of a differe=
nt material.”<BR>
I asked him if it was not true that under the Shah the country had taken la=
rge strides toward economic development over the past fifteen years.<BR>
He replied, “I have to say with great sorrow that our economic growth=
is based on a windfall called oil. If we consider where we are, and then wh=
ere the progressive states like Japan are, we realize how little we have acc=
omplished. When I think of Japan, I think of a verse:<BR>
Leila and I were fellow-travellers on the road of life; <BR>
She reached her home, and I am still a vagabond.” <BR>
I said that even if some countries had done better than Iran, Iran had done=
quite well.<BR>
He said, “What we see here is inflation—prices for food have go=
ne way up. What we see is the depletion of our oil reserves. At the present =
rate, we have only twenty years to go. What we see is an agriculture worth z=
ero. We buy vegetables from Israel, wheat from the United States, onions fro=
m Turkey, meat from Australia, oranges from six different countries. Our ind=
ustry is just an assembly line for products made in other countries. We woul=
d be poor fools indeed if we were satisfied with that.”<BR>
I asked him what would satisfy him. He said, “My ideal future is with=
in the framework of Islamic law. That is the guarantee of happiness and a go=
od future for society. On particular religious questions, I don’t find=
it in my area of competence to make answers. I leave that to the highest re=
ligious authorities.”<BR>
All during the interview, Zehtab, his disciples, my Iranian friend, and I w=
ere sitting cross-legged on the floor. I was extremely uncomfortable, and it=
must have been evident, for one of the disciples asked if I would like a pi=
ece of fruit. I said yes, and he took an apple out of a bowl in the middle o=
f the floor. He began to peel it for me, but at the first stroke of the knif=
e the blade separated from its handle. He held out the broken knife. “=
There you see it all,” he said in disgust. “Our country owns twe=
nty-five per cent of Krupp in Germany, but in Iran we can’t even produ=
ce a knife that cuts an apple.”<BR>
Everybody laughed, and I began questioning the disciples. All of them were =
students or professional men between the ages of twenty and thirty, and had =
participated actively in many demonstrations against the Shah. They all supp=
orted Zehtab in his quest for an Islamic society. I expressed surprise that =
young men with professional training should be so drawn to a religion that s=
eemed—to a Westerner, at least—not exactly with it. I went aroun=
d the room, asking the disciples, one by one, a single question: “What=
drew you toward Islam?”<BR>
The first to answer was a mullah, in robes and turban, who had a degree in =
psychology from the University of Teheran. He said, “My love for Islam=
has grown because I have studied it and compared it with other religions.&#=
8221; The others—four students, two employees of the National Iranian =
Oil Company, an accountant, an engineer, and a physicist—all gave near=
ly the same answer. Two of them said that they had compared Islam with the t=
eachings of a nineteenth-century European social philosopher—that is, =
Marx, whose name has been taboo in Iran—and found it preferable. Anoth=
er offered the generalization “Islam offers a solution to the complica=
tions of our life.”<BR>
As we drove away, I remarked to my Iranian friend that the similarity of th=
e answers was disappointing. “You don’t understand,” he to=
ld me. “They all followed the lead of the mullah. It doesn’t mak=
e for interesting answers, but it makes them happy.”<BR>
<BR>
I spent the night in Isfahan at the Shah Abbas Hotel. The clientele was ent=
irely foreign—a sprinkling of Japanese, Indians, Americans, an=A0 Europe=
ans. Apart from the sight of a section of the hotel which had been damaged d=
uring the riots of August, and an armed guard in the gardens=A0 there was no s=
ign of trouble<BR>
Before dinner, I visited Wanda Hake, an American psychologist employed by t=
he United States companies working in the Isfahan region. Mrs. Hake reported=
that most of the Americans in the area lived in a compound, largely removed=
from contact with the Iranians. They had the problems usually found in such=
communities. There was great boredom—especially among the children. A=
lcoholism was common among the women, and many of the children had drug prob=
lems. There was a good deal of contempt for the Iranians. “Because of =
their turbans, many Americans call them rag heads,” Mrs. Hake said. &#=
8220;That’s the nicest name they call them.”<BR>
Mrs. Hake had some guests, and one of them was a bazaar merchant from an ol=
d Isfahan family. “I could cry about what has happened here,” he=
told me. “It used to be a paradise of water and gardens and beautiful=
buildings. Now the town is full of strangers. There are the people from the=
villages. They live in shantytowns. There are ten thousand Americans. They =
drive up the price of everything—especially houses. A house that rente=
d for five thousand rials per month five years ago now costs forty thousand =
rials per month. Many people are unhappy. One of my interests is a building =
project. My workers were Afghanis—three hundred of them. The other day=
, the government sent the Afghanis home. I know why: There was a crime wave,=
and they did a lot of the stealing. But nobody gave me any warning. Now wha=
t do I do?<BR>
“Lots of the young men come to see me about their problems. They don&=
#8217;t know how to deal with the young women sitting next to them in their =
classes. In the past, they had never seen any women, even mothers and sister=
s, who were not wearing a veil. Now they see miniskirts and bare arms and ba=
re legs. They say to me, ‘What do they want, these women? What are the=
y trying to do to me?’<BR>
“When I go to Teheran, I feel as though I were in Hell. Somebody coul=
d die right in front of you and nobody would do anything. Deep sadness comes=
over me when I see the uses to which we have put our oil wealth. So it is n=
ot surprising that there has been a political eruption. Five years ago, Khom=
eini was nothing. Now he is held up as the equivalent of the Shah.”<BR=
>
At breakfast the next day, I met a professor of religion at the university =
who had been educated at Harvard and Oxford. His family are members of the B=
aha’i sect, and he is going back to Oxford, at least partly because of=
religious persecution. He said he would like to talk about the state of rel=
igion in Iran, but only on condition that I not mention his name. I agreed.<=
BR>
He said, “As a student of religion, I read with great interest Toynbe=
e’s ‘A Study of History.’ I always wondered why he felt th=
at the next stage of regeneration in the world would be religious. I felt th=
at religion had been on the run all over the world for centuries. In some pl=
aces, there have been adjustments, but they have been made only slowly and p=
ainfully. Christianity accommodated itself to Darwin, but it was hard even i=
n a tolerant country like Britain. Islam has experienced a number of shocks =
and adjustments. There have been several efforts to update the religion. But=
they have all failed. By and large, the clergy remains narrow, fanatical, a=
nd ignorant.”<BR>
He went on, “The merchants of the bazaars worked hand and glove with =
the mullahs. They were the two most conservative elements in the cities. The=
bazaaris usually rented land from the religious foundations, and made the f=
oundations big gifts. But both the bazaaris and the foundations have been ou=
tmoded by recent developments. When I left Iran to go abroad to school, in 1=
960, this was still a backward country. Only a few cities in the country had=
running water. There were only about ten thousand people who had been or we=
re at universities. Most industry was handicrafts, and about eighty per cent=
of the people still lived in rural villages. In 1970, when I came back, it =
was a different country. All the young people—and that is over fifty p=
er cent of the population—were going to school. There are a hundred th=
ousand university graduates now and almost two hundred thousand people in un=
iversities. On a normal weekend, between one and two million people drive ou=
t of Teheran in their own cars.<BR>
“The mullahs have been losing steadily through these developments. Th=
eir base was education. Now they have to contend against state schools and u=
niversities. They’ve lost the large landholdings they once had. Most o=
f their endowments have been nationalized, and are controlled by the state. =
No one ever paid much attention to them until the present wave of troubles. =
The bazaaris have also lost great power. The banks and big companies have ta=
ken away their control over loans and credit. There are shops out in the str=
eets—across from your hotel, for example—so people don’t g=
o to the bazaar as much. And for a while there was price inspection as part =
of a campaign against inflation. That hit the bazaaris very hard.”<BR>
After a pause, he continued, “People now don’t remember what it=
was like in the old days. As late as 1955, I remember going with my father =
to a village in the countryside. The local khan—the head man—did=
justice the religious way. He cut off hands for thievery, splitting people&=
#8217;s tongues for talebearing. There was a peasant in the village with a b=
eautiful wife. The khan took her, and the peasant complained to my father. T=
he khan went out riding with my father, and they encountered the peasant. Th=
e khan took his riding crop and beat the peasant senseless.<BR>
“The oil boom ended all that and put it out of mind. But it also brou=
ght lots of trouble. Mainly inflation. There are buses now, and vegetables, =
but most people can’t afford them. Moreover, a lot of the money has be=
en spent—I almost said wasted—on big projects and arms purchases=
that don’t do ordinary people any immediate good. And it has to be sa=
id that on the cultural side the Western world has not done well in Iran. St=
udents coming back from Europe and the United States present the cities ther=
e as meccas for drunks, whores, and illegitimate children. They depict a tot=
al breakdown of morale. So to the difficulties of local adjustment there is =
added a tarnishing of the classic model. The West is seen xenophobically, as=
something frightening, and the search for old values is intensified.<BR>
“It also has to be admitted that the Shah, in his enthusiasm to build=
the country, ignored the people in it. The masses were left out of his deve=
lopment program. The bazaaris were left out. The mullahs were left out. He t=
hought he could bring them along through economic progress without any accom=
panying change in ways of thought. The heart of the difficulty, though, is t=
he new group of university students. From fifty to seventy-five per cent of =
them come from poor homes. They are very disturbed when they sit next to a g=
irl in class. They feel a sense of guilt, a fear of being polluted—of =
secularization. All this takes the form of opposition to the regime as the b=
earer of Western values. The sexual drive pushes the students in the directi=
on of religion, and the mullahs latch on to them to maintain their position =
of importance.”<BR>
<BR>
Back in Teheran, I found mounting turbulence and confusion. A wave of strik=
es that had started in September with employees of the centra=A0 bank had spre=
ad to other banks, to the telecommunications industry, and to the oil worker=
s. One day, there was a rumor that the gas-statio=A0 workers would go on strik=
e. I saw hundreds of cars lined up at several gas stations. Angry motorists =
jockeyed for position, and in one place troop=A0 had to fire into the air to m=
aintain order. The university had been scheduled to reopen at the end of Sep=
tember, and then at the end of October=A0 Each time, registration had been sto=
pped by student strikes and demonstrations. After the second effort, the aut=
horities gave up, and turned th=A0 campus, in downtown Teheran, over to the de=
monstrators. There were daily protests, and one morning I went to watch, wit=
h a visiting America=A0 professor who spoke Farsi. Armed soldiers in tanks and=
armored personnel carriers patrolled the gates, but we were allowed in with=
out an=A0 demand to show our credentials. There were two groups of demonstrato=
rs, marching back and forth. One group—of about seventy-five students=A0=
almost all men—was clearly Marxist in its political sentiments. The s=
tudents carried placards denouncing international imperialism, and chante=A0 s=
logans calling for the unity of the workers. The other group, obviously Isla=
mic in orientation, bore pictures of Ayatollah Khomeini and carrie=A0 signs ca=
lling for an Islamic republic. There were several hundred students in the Is=
lamic group, including many women. All the women wer=A0 veiled. Some wore the =
chador, a garment that envelops the body from head to foot, while others wor=
e bluejeans, blouses, and scarves that veiled their heads and faces. A few t=
imes, word went through the crowd that soldiers were coming. The ranks broke=
and everybody rushed for cover. But that day, at least, no soldiers came.<B=
R>
The professors, having no classes, were available and talkative. By far the=
most interesting was Karim Pakravan, an economist trained at the University=
of Chicago, whose father, a former Iranian general, had at one time been he=
ad of the security-police apparatus, known as Savak, and was now working at =
the Imperial Palace in a high administrative position. He came to visit me a=
t my hotel room, and talked freely of his own situation and that of his coll=
eagues.<BR>
“Young professional people want to escape the establishment,” h=
e said. “The establishment is everybody who has real power. In one way=
or another, either morally or financially, it is corrupt. We are not brave =
enough to join the opposition, but by being at the university we maintain a =
passive opposition. Our case against the government is lack of freedom. All =
creativity has been crushed. I teach a course in economics. I’m not al=
lowed to say that there’s malnutrition or poverty, or that we’re=
underdeveloped. A doctor friend of mine went to the countryside to look at =
health problems. He found all the diseases typical of underdeveloped countri=
es—trachoma, dysentery, that kind of thing. He didn’t find cance=
r and hypertension—the diseases that go with modern society. So he was=
never allowed to make a report.<BR>
“A whole generation of Iranians has been raised, educated, and given =
no freedom. Young engineers, for instance, have only a minor chance to take =
part in technological development. The Shah didn’t develop a technolog=
y—he bought a blueprint of technology from the West. So there were ver=
y few major jobs for Iranians. At least ninety per cent of our people have b=
een left out of development. I have a small consulting firm. I take only pri=
vate clients. Unless we were huge and foreign, we couldn’t get governm=
ent contracts anyway. I might be able to do a project for the government at =
a charge of, say, ten thousand dollars for a couple of months’ work. B=
ut people in the government would rather hire foreigners at a thousand dolla=
rs a day. That way, they get a kickback.”<BR>
He continued, “Khomeini is merely a symbol of opposition. He is respe=
cted as a Moslem, but he has no power. Ten years ago, no prayers were said i=
n the universities. Religious students were mocked. Now there is a genuine s=
tudent problem. Many of the students come from poor families in the province=
s. They have to rent rooms, and the financial burden is unbearable. There ha=
s never been a systematic study made, so we don’t know how badly off t=
hey are. But they don’t have enough money. They have to cluster six or=
seven in a room. In the last few years, there has been an undoubted effort =
to reform things. There’s real talk in the parliament. Those in Savak =
who were corrupt and who tortured people have been ousted. There’s an =
effort to bring roads to villages, and water. If there should he elections s=
oon, I’d probably vote. But I wouldn’t join the government. Next=
year is going to be bad. Already, because of the strikes and the big wage s=
ettlements, it is clear that the gross national product will be down by ten =
per cent. There’ll he an incredible inflation. One good thing I can sa=
y: At last, after twenty-five years, Iranian politics are becoming interesti=
ng.”<BR>
Pakravan put me in touch with another economist trained in the United State=
s, who divided his time between teaching and working for Iran’s Plan a=
nd Budget Organization. Because of his government job, he asked me not to me=
ntion his name. He said that economists at the Plan and Budget Organization =
had repeatedly done studies showing that, while the national wealth was incr=
easing, many people, particularly in the countryside, were relatively worse =
off. He showed me a report that indicated that the income share of the top t=
wenty per cent of urban Iranians had risen from 57.5 per cent in 1972 to 63.=
5 per cent in 1975. The share of the middle forty per cent dropped from 31 p=
er cent to 25.5 per cent. The share of the bottom forty per cent dropped fro=
m 11.5 per cent to 11 per cent. While urban consumption per head was about t=
wo times that of the rural areas in 1959, it had by 1972 grown to three time=
s that of the rural areas. But these studies, while circulated abroad, were,=
he said, not published in Iran.<BR>
The economist went on to talk about the religious revival. “I was ver=
y active in politics during my high-school years,” he said. “At =
that time—the early nineteen-fifties—there were only two importa=
nt groups: the Communist, or Tudeh, Party, and the National Front—whic=
h included the Pan-Iranians, who wanted to take over parts of Iraq, Turkey, =
and Pakistan. The young had absolutely no interest in religion. After that, =
the political situation calmed down. There was a brief revival of politics i=
n 1961 and 1962, when Ali Amini came to office as Prime Minister. He started=
the land reform that the Shah later claimed as his own. The Tudeh Party was=
dead then, but the National Front was strong. The religious people didnR=
17;t count. Khomeini became important only after he was driven into exile by=
the Shah. The Shah’s father, Reza Shah, had been very successful in f=
ighting the mullahs. He made a direct assault on the clergy—forcing wo=
men to take off veils, riding into the shrines and beating the mullahs. He h=
ad public sympathy, because then the clergy were corrupt and wealthy. They w=
ere hated by everybody. Now they have lost their lands and the religious fou=
ndations. The mullahs have been purified. They have the power of poverty.=
221;<BR>
<BR>
The economist at the planning agency introduced me to Magid Tehranian, an i=
ntellectual in his middle thirties who had been trained at Harvar=A0 and then =
co-opted into the Shah’s system as the head of an institute for the st=
udy of communications. I went to see him at the institute, where h=A0 looked e=
very bit the European or American intellectual in his cozy oyster shell; he =
had a comfortable office with a couple of secretaries, and wor=A0 a neat blue =
suit, a silk tie, and shoes of soft Italian leather. He talked briefly about=
Iranian intellectuals. He said, “The great problem facing th=A0 univers=
ity graduates once they are out of school is a lack of freedom. We have lots=
of intellectuals and technocrats who have views, but they ar=A0 never allowed=
to express them. Everything is dictated from the top, and some of it is sil=
ly. For instance, the government tried to build up th=A0 television network=
212;with which I was involved. It was extended to the point where it reached=
seventy per cent of the people in Iran. Then th=A0 palace intervened. They in=
sisted that we show pictures of urban guerrillas confessing their terrorist =
deeds. They made us put Parviz Sabeti, th=A0 head of Savak’s anti-terror=
ist campaign, on the screen, giving his view of history. We have an intellig=
entsia, but they have no chance to participate. They’re just supposed =
to support the regime. But they don’t like slavishly supporting the Sh=
ah, so they turn against him. Yet, with all this, we have been surprised by =
the breadth of the movement against the Shah. It reaches from plush Teheran =
to the remotest villages.”<BR>
Tehranian was said to have been a Marxist before he joined the government, =
and I had gone to see him primarily because I needed some help in ascertaini=
ng the part that the Marxists had played in what had been happening. Clearly=
, the Marxists counted for something in the movement against the Shah, but I=
had been given the most diverse estimates of their role, from the most surp=
rising sources. The view around the palace was that the religious movement h=
ad been totally taken over by the Marxists. That view was shared by the econ=
omist who taught at the university as a form of “passive resistance=
221; to “the establishment.” “The resistance is run by the=
Communists,” he had told me. “If you want to buy weapons, there=
is a number you can call and you get what you ask for. I don’t know e=
xactly who supplies the weapons—the Russians, the Cubans, or the Pales=
tinians. But they’re the ones who have made the country erupt.” =
An American official, on the other hand, put absolutely no stock in the theo=
ry of Communist manipulation. He remarked to me that “the Army and the=
police and Savak have been combing the country all year looking for the Com=
munists behind the demonstrations. So far, they haven’t found a single=
one. Why? Because there aren’t any. The mullahs and the bazaaris betw=
een them have informal networks that they’ve used for years to organiz=
e processions and festivals. That’s all it takes now. That’s all=
there is.”<BR>
I told Tehranian of the confused picture I was getting, and asked if he cou=
ld put me in touch with any of his former Marxist colleagues. He said that i=
t would be easy, and set up an appointment for me with a friend holding a hi=
gh post in the Ministry of Information. The friend would organize an intervi=
ew with three officials in the Ministry. I was not to talk about Marx. Inste=
ad, I should use the euphemism “a European social philosopher of the n=
ineteenth century.”<BR>
At the last minute, I had to change the appointment from the morning to the=
afternoon, but that was no problem. I went to see the official, and after a=
few moments he took me into a room behind his office. Three men, all about =
thirty, were sitting at a table with a woman—a graduate student at the=
University of Michigan, who acted as translator. I asked them if they were =
believers in the philosophy of a certain well-known European social philosop=
her of the nineteenth century, and all three smiled and nodded. I asked them=
about their education and their jobs. They were university graduates—=
one from the Sorbonne, the two others from the University of Teheran. The ma=
n from the Sorbonne helped put together public-opinion polls for the Ministr=
y, and the two others had jobs as engineers.<BR>
I asked what they found useful in the works of the nineteenth-century socia=
l philosopher. One said, “He exposes the imperialists and their rape o=
f all the countries of the Third World, including Iran.”<BR>
I asked how, specifically, the philosopher’s theories were relevant t=
o Iran, and was told about the depletion of Iran’s oil reserves and th=
e purchase of American weapons for open “use against the people.”=
; I asked about Iran’s practice of selling natural gas to the Soviet U=
nion, and they responded that there was no shortage of natural gas.<BR>
I asked if they felt that the Russians had designs on Iran. All of them tho=
ught that compared to the United States influence, which was “all-perv=
asive,” the Russian influence was “so small it doesn’t cou=
nt.” I asked what recent works by followers of the well-known nineteen=
th-century social philosopher they had read. After some hesitation, the man =
from the Sorbonne said, “Jean-Paul Sartre.” No other names were =
forthcoming.<BR>
I asked how they felt about the religious movement against the Shah. All sa=
id that they agreed with its objectives. I asked if there wasn’t a con=
tradiction somewhere. Wasn’t religion supposed to be “the opium =
of the people”?<BR>
“Sometimes that is true,” I was told. “But in developing =
countries it is different. At times, religious feelings and social movements=
go hand in hand. That is the way it is now in Iran. We are all of us united=
against the Shah.”<BR>
I asked how they thought the government of the Soviet Union felt about the =
Shah. They said they felt that they had the backing of Moscow.<BR>
I asked whether they and their leaders were working from within the religio=
us movement. There was a silence. Then one of them said, “We are in an=
Islamic country, and all social movements inevitably have a religious color=
ing. We do not believe there will ever he Communism here as there is Communi=
sm in Russia or China. We will have our own brand of socialism.”<BR>
Later, the official who had arranged the interview told me that I should ha=
ve asked him the same questions. “I believe that the Communists are ma=
nipulating the religious movement,” he said. Still later, an American =
official showed me a translation of an article in Navid, a new, underground =
publication of the Tudeh Party. The article, entitled “The Tudeh Party=
and the Moslem Movement,” said, “We are ready to put at the dis=
posal of our friends from other political groups all our political propagand=
a and technical resources for the campaign against the Shah.” I was al=
so shown an interview with Iraj Eskandary, the secretary-general of the Tude=
h Party, now living in exile in Moscow. Among other things, Eskandary said, =
“As far as the religious aspect of the present movement is concerned, =
it should be emphasized that the Shiite clergy cannot be viewed as a force d=
emanding a return to the past, to the Middle Ages. The position of the clerg=
y reflects, to a significant extent, popular feelings. And the fact that the=
religious movement is now playing an important role in the mobilization of =
democratic and nationalist forces against the dictatorial, anti-nationalist,=
and pro-imperialist regime of the Shah can only be welcomed. . . . We are i=
n favor of a union with all democratic forces, including the religious ones.=
”<BR>
<BR>
If the role played by the Marxists in the fomenting of trouble remains obsc=
ure, the role of the liberalization sponsored by the Shah and hi=A0 ministers =
looms larger and larger. The Shah acknowledged when I saw him that he had be=
gun to loosen things up “about two years ago.” I was i=A0 Iran in =
the spring of 1977, and I remember well the widespread talk of relaxation. J=
immy Carter’s emphasis on human rights was one of th=A0 reasons, but onl=
y one, and not the most important. Iranian students in the United States and=
Europe had focussed attention on the repressiv=A0 features of the regime̵=
2;particularly the practice of torture by Savak. The international press, le=
d by Le Monde, of Paris, had picked up the theme. Both the Red Cross and Amn=
esty International, the private human-rights group based in London, were ask=
ing questions and proposing visits. But by far the most important reason for=
the relaxation was that the rapid development that followed the great oil-p=
rice increase of 1973 proved too complicated for direct control from above. =
Dislocations and shortages were universal. I recall visiting a new aluminum =
plant in an industrial area outside Teheran. The plant was supposed to accom=
modate several hundred workers, but they had no housing and no transport, an=
d there were no telephones in the offices. All over the country, power failu=
res were frequent, and the pursuit of scarce goods and services drove inflat=
ion above the twenty-five-per-cent-per-year level. An effort to hold clown i=
nflation by fixing prices was failing in a spectacular manner. It was clear =
that the economy could be made to work only if there was some freeing up, so=
me devolution of authority.<BR>
Signs of reform were abundant that spring. Batches of prisoners were releas=
ed, and were allowed to talk to the press. The Shah declared that torture wo=
uld cease—an admission that it had been going on. Corruption, which ha=
d never been far below the surface—as witness the Persian origin of th=
e word “baksheesh”—became public in the wake of a scandal =
that involved payoffs to high officials of the Iranian Navy. The National Fr=
ont, the chief opposition party, was allowed to circulate letters highly cri=
tical of the regime. Student demonstrations went forward with only token har=
assment. Even the television appearances of Parviz Sabeti, the director of S=
avak’s political section, were part of an effort to prove that the org=
anization had a human face.<BR>
The direction of policy, to be sure, remained ambiguous. Low-level agents o=
f Savak continued to stage raids on opposition meetings. Investigation of co=
rruption at the highest levels was systematically blocked—reputedly by=
the Shah’s entourage. But a key figure in the entourage, Amir Assadol=
lah Alam, the Minister of the Imperial Court, fell ill in 1977, and died in =
New York early this year. His departure from the Court Ministry opened the w=
ay for a political change that signalled an undoubted commitment to reform. =
In August, 1977, the Shah appointed a new Court Minister, Amir Abbas Hoveida=
, and a new Prime Minister, Jamshid Amouzegar. I saw both men at their homes=
in Teheran in late October of this year, along with the Information Ministe=
r in the Amouzegar government, Dariush Homayun. They all talked freely, but =
not for individual attribution. What follows is my interpretation of their a=
ccounts of what happened during the twelve months beginning in August, 1977&=
#8212;a period of sweeping reforms that boomeranged to injure them, and the =
Shah as well.<BR>
<BR>
Hoveida, an affable and highly intelligent man, with degrees in history, ec=
onomics, and political science from the Universities of Paris an=A0 Brussels, =
came to the Court Ministry after nearly thirteen years as Prime MinisterR=
12;the longest term in modern times. He had a major hand in th=A0 rapid develo=
pment that changed the face of Iran and soured so many of its people. Though=
he was said to have been tolerant of corruption in th=A0 past, he was reputed=
never to have been on the take himself, and he certainly did not live on th=
e grand scale. He had realized as early as 1975 tha=A0 the pace of development=
had to be slowed down. “We’re in orbit,” he had told me a=
t the time, “and we have to come down to earth.” He brough=A0 to t=
he Court Ministry a determination to achieve economic slowdown and political=
reform. As he saw it, the key to both was ending corruption a=A0 the highest =
levels. From the beginning, he worked with the Shah on a code of conduct for=
the royal family. That project brought him into conflic=A0 with many members =
of the family who had been active in private business affairs. In July, 1978=
, after a long and bitter battle, Hoveida finally wo=A0 the Shah’s appro=
val for the code of conduct<BR>
The code was not published, for fear that the spelling out of what was henc=
eforth prohibited would be regarded as a confession of past guilt. But the f=
act that it was adopted was made known, and caused virtually every member of=
the royal family to leave Iran. Here—published for the first time, I =
think—is the code that the Shah approved last summer:<BR>
CODE OF CONDUCT FOR THE IMPERIAL FAMILY <BR>
In order to maintain the high status of the Imperial family, which is respe=
cted by all Iranians, the following principles are instituted as the Code of=
Conduct of the Imperial family: <BR>
1) Refraining from conduct considered distasteful by social custom. <BR>
2) Refraining from any acts or actions not in keeping with the high status =
of the Imperial family. <BR>
3) Refraining from direct contact with public officials for the purpose of =
handling personal business. These matters will be handled through the Minist=
ry of Court or His Imperial Majesty’s Special Office. <BR>
4) Refraining from contacts with foreign companies or organizations which a=
re parties to contracts and deals with Iranian public organizations. <BR>
5) Refraining from receiving commissions for any reason whatsoever, from co=
mpanies and organizations, foreign or Iranian, which are parties to contract=
s or deals with the Iranian government. <BR>
6) Refraining from receiving valuable gifts from persons, companies, or org=
anizations. <BR>
7) Refraining from deals of any kind with public organizations, be it the g=
overnment, organizations associated with the government, municipalities, or =
public organizations. <BR>
8) Refraining from direct or indirect (through third person or persons) par=
tnership or holding shares in companies or organizations that are parties to=
deals with the government or public organizations. <BR>
9) Refraining from founding or holding shares in organizations or companies=
whose activities are not compatible with the high status of the members of =
the Imperial family, such as restaurants, cabarets, casinos, and the like. <=
BR>
10) Refraining from the use of facilities and properties belonging to gover=
nment and public organizations for private use. <BR>
11) Refraining from the use—for private or commercial purposes—=
of the services of the employees of the government and associated organizati=
ons who also have responsibilities and duties in foundations associated with=
the Imperial family, or related organizations. <BR>
12) Refraining from asking for special favors or making recommendations to =
public officials in the interest of members of the Imperial family or others=
. <BR>
13) Refraining from the use of legal exemptions for persons outside of the =
Imperial family. <BR>
14) Refraining from the use of nationalized lands belonging to the governme=
nt or public organizations for the purpose of profiting, for example, throug=
h construction projects or establishing commercial, service, or industrial o=
rganizations. <BR>
15) Refraining from receiving anything from persons (natural or legal) in l=
ieu of influencing public officials in order to legalize acts which would no=
t otherwise be eligible for profit-making (such as partnership in ownership =
of large pieces of land in return for registering such lands for the purpose=
of making profit). <BR>
16) Refraining from the use of nationalized lands for agriculture and dairy=
projects. <BR>
17) Refraining from accepting positions on the boards of insurance, banking=
, and other companies. <BR>
18) Voluntary compliance with security regulations and whatever relates to =
public order. <BR>
19) Protecting the prestige and respect of national values and beliefs outs=
ide of the country. <BR>
20) Refraining from contacts with foreign embassies in Iran unless through =
the Ministry of Court. <BR>
Amouzegar came to the office of Prime Minister with a reputation as a brill=
iant public servant. He was educated at the University of Teheran, at Cornel=
l, and at the University of Washington, and has a Ph.D. in civil engineering=
. Before becoming Prime Minister, at the age of fifty-four, he had successiv=
ely headed four Ministries—Labor, Agriculture, Finance, and Interior&#=
8212;and had also served as Iran’s chief negotiator in the price-fixin=
g sessions of the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries. Though less=
supple than Hoveida in political matters, Amouzegar was thought to be equal=
ly free of corruption and far more competent in economics. As Prime Minister=
, he set his sights on curtailing inflation and rooting out corruption at th=
e ministerial level. By squeezing hard on the money supply, he cut inflation=
from thirty-five per cent in August, 1977, to ten per cent in August, 1978.=
In the process, he earned the enmity of many of those dependent on credit, =
including most of the bazaar merchants and the high rollers in the construct=
ion field. As for corruption, he pushed General Nematollah Nasseri out as th=
e head of Savak and off into a corner as Ambassador to Pakistan. He forced H=
ushang Ansari, the Minister of Finance, to step out of the Cabinet and becom=
e head of the National Iranian Oil Company. He obliged Mayor Gholam Reza Nik=
pay, of Teheran, to quit. Those actions put him at odds with both the Shah a=
nd Hoveida, who had close ties to several of those who had been shunted asid=
e. In the recesses of the Imperial Court, an intrigue was concocted which ca=
me to engulf everybody.<BR>
The starting point was the death, late in October of 1977, of Seyyed Mustaf=
a Khomeini, the son of the exiled Ayatollah. The son, a mullah, was forty-ni=
ne at the time, and he died, according to supporters of the Shah, of a heart=
attack. His father suspected foul play, and, during the Shiite days of mour=
ning for the dead, which fell in late December last year, circulated a numbe=
r of letters throwing blame on the Shah. Early in January this year, there w=
as sent from the office of the Court Minister, Hoveida, to the office of the=
Information Minister, Homayun, the text of an article. Homayun, as was the =
custom, passed the article on for publication to the editors of a leading Te=
heran daily, Eta’alaat. The editors at the paper were sufficiently dis=
turbed by the text to check with Homayun. He told them that it came from the=
Court and they should go ahead and publish it. The editors then apprised Am=
ouzegar of what was in the works. Amouzegar called Homayun, who repeated the=
explanation that the article came from the Court and was supposed to be pub=
lished. Exactly who wrote the article is not known to me, but the unwillingn=
ess of those involved to name the author suggests that it was either the Sha=
h himself or somebody acting on his orders. My impression is that part of th=
e motive was to embroil the Amouzegar government with the religious oppositi=
on.<BR>
The article appeared on January 7th. It bore the title “Iran and the =
Red and Black Imperialism,” and contained a harsh personal attack on A=
yatollah Khomeini. It started obliquely, with references to the recent days =
of mourning in which Ayatollah Khomeini had circulated his grievances agains=
t the Shah. It moved on to a discussion of forces designated as Red and Blac=
k Imperialism, meaning the Communists and the clergy. It said that coöp=
eration between the two had been “rare” but that an exception wa=
s “the close, sincere, and honest coöperation of both vis-à=
;-vis the Iranian revolution, especially the progressive land reform in Iran=
.” The article went on to recall the opposition to land reform back in=
1963, including the “riots of June 5th and 6th,” which had prec=
ipitated the expulsion of Ayatollah Khomeini. It said that the opposition to=
the reform had come from the Communists grouped in the Tudeh Party and from=
“the landowners who had been robbing the peasants for many years.R=
21; These groups, the article continued, had turned for “succor to the=
clergy since the clergy enjoy great respect among Iranians.” Most of =
the clergy, the article said, proved “far too intelligent to act again=
st the Shah’s-people’s revolution,” so at that point the o=
pponents had decided to “recruit someone from the clergy who would be =
adventurous.” That “someone” had turned out to be Ayatolla=
h Khomeini. According to the article, he had “an unknown past,” =
but apparently had lived for many years in India, where he had developed =
220;contacts with centers of British imperialism.” The article conclud=
ed by denouncing Ayatollah Khomeini as “someone who had taken the init=
iative in carrying out the plans of Red and Black Imperialism . . . who foug=
ht land reform, the women’s vote, the nationalization of the forests .=
. . who would sincerely serve conspirators and Fifth Columnists.”<BR>
On January 9th, two days after the article appeared, the religious students=
in Qum went into the streets to protest the attack on Khomeini. A clash wit=
h police ensued. Nine people were killed and many were injured. Forty days l=
ater, in Tabriz, a memorial service was held for those killed in Qum. Again,=
there was a clash with police. This time, thirteen people were killed. Afte=
r that, trouble came in Teheran and Isfahan and Meshed, and then in Qum once=
more. August 5th marked Iran’s Constitution Day, and the eve of Ramad=
an, the Moslem month of abstention. The Shah delivered a nationwide televisi=
on broadcast, pledging that he would go ahead with the liberalization progra=
m. But all through that month, in city after city, there were assaults on th=
e symbols of Western modernity associated with the Shah’s rule—b=
anks, casinos, and cinemas. The campaign reached a horrible climax in Abadan=
, the site of the country’s largest oil refinery. On August 20th, the =
Rex Cinema was destroyed by arson, and some four hundred and thirty people l=
ost their lives in the blaze.<BR>
After that, Amouzegar had had enough. He resigned as Prime Minister and was=
replaced by Jaafar Sharif-Emami, a political veteran from a religious famil=
y who had worked closely with the Shah as, among other things, head of the P=
ahlavi Foundation, a multimillion-dollar semi-family enterprise, which is th=
e owner of most of Iran’s foreign holdings. Sharif-Emami moved swiftly=
and across the board to make concessions to the troublemakers. He lifted pr=
ess censorship and arranged for live radio broadcasts from the previously do=
zing Majles, the lower house of the parliament. With the wraps off, resentme=
nt found tongue. In the parliament and in the press, there was a surge of co=
mplaints about corruption and discrimination against the middle and working =
classes. The new government met the strikes with generous concessions on wag=
es and pensions. In response to charges of corruption, investigations were o=
pened into the cases of General Nasseri (who was recalled from Pakistan) and=
former Mayor Nikpay. Thirty-four leading officials of Savak, including Parv=
iz Sabeti, were dismissed in one day. At every opportunity, Sharif-Emami sou=
ght to placate the mullahs. He closed down casinos, and cinemas showing fore=
ign films. Provincial and university officials who had taken a strong stand =
against religion were replaced by milder men. Most important of all, Sharif-=
Emami entered into consultations with religious leaders, including Ayatollah=
Shariatmadari, and with the lay opposition, including Karim Sanjabi, the he=
ad of the National Front, for a broad understanding about new elections.<BR>
<BR>
I went to visit Sharif-Emami in his office, just before the end of October.=
I found a large, bluff, partly bald man in his sixties who exude=A0 confidenc=
e. He said that there were many “dissatisfied and unhappy people in Ir=
an who turned to the mullahs to voice their grievances.” Hi=A0 strategy =
was “to establish a good relation with the clergy.” As he saw it=
, the clergy was divided into two groups. “One group, which follow=A0 Ay=
atollah Khomeini, is radical but very small,” he said. “The othe=
r, which follows Shariatmadari, is moderate and very large. A split betwee=A0 =
them exists in every city and every village.” He was negotiating with =
Shariatmadari for some kind of convocation where the majority coul=A0 prevail.=
“They must do it,” he said of his plan for forcing a decision. =
“Somebody must be the head of our clergy, a Pope.<BR>
He told me he was sure that lifting the lid on censorship and on the Majles=
debates was the right thing to do. “A free press is much better than =
pressure,” he said. The economic consequences of the strikes and the h=
igh wage settlements were, he thought, “not serious.” There woul=
d be a cost to the state in higher wages and pensions, but that could easily=
he made up by a cutback on expensive military projects and plans for nuclea=
r power plants. He favored the allocation of more money to the villages, for=
“by increasing credits for machinery, electricity, and water, rural l=
ife can be made more attractive and agriculture more effective.” He sa=
id he hoped to “draw the men who came to town back to the villages.=
221; He acknowledged that inflation might be a problem, but he hoped to keep=
it down by subsidies on basic commodities—rice, bread, sugar, tea. He=
did not fear a military coup. “If they come in, there will be killing=
and shooting,” he said. “Nobody wants that.” He did sense=
that a test would be coming within the next six weeks, and he hoped to put =
together a large political grouping that would help open the way to free ele=
ctions. Among other people, he mentioned former Prime Ministers Hoveida and =
Ali Amini. “I’m a patient man,” he said. “I do not i=
ntend to leave this office until there is calm in Iran.”<BR>
<BR>
Sharif-Emami had begun the interview by saying that that day Teheran, at le=
ast, was calm. But driving from his office back to my hotel I had to detour =
around thc center of town. I smelled burning rubber and saw a car in flames.=
Later, I learned that students had come off the university campus and smash=
ed shops and destroyed cars in what was considered the worst day of rioting =
that month. Convinced that Sharif-Emami could not last, I went to see the ma=
n widely tabbed as his successor—Ali Amini, a renowned liberal and ref=
ormer, who had been Prime Minister at the time of the land-reform legislatio=
n of the early sixties.<BR>
Mr. Amini received me at his home, a comfortable villa in the northern sect=
ion of Teheran. He had been educated in Paris, and, like most of the older g=
eneration of the Iranian élite, spoke French more easily than English=
. He said, “The heart of the problem is the Shah. He doesn’t lik=
e to hear the truth. He has allowed himself to be surrounded by flatterers w=
ho have isolated him. He has given over the country to a class of nouveaux r=
iches. They show off all the time. That shocks people and turns them against=
the regime. The clergy has become important only because there is a lack of=
rapport between the Shah and the people.”<BR>
His solution was to form a government of national unity which would take ov=
er the country and open the way to new elections. He would include represent=
atives of the National Front. “Sanjabi isn’t much,” he sai=
d of the Front leader, “but his party has a great name.” The key=
to such a government, however, was the Shah. “He has to learn to reig=
n, not rule,” Amini said. “He must accept the idea of a constitu=
tional monarchy in Iran. In fact, he must lead the way to constitutional mon=
archy.”<BR>
I asked Amini whether he thought the Shah was ready for such a step. He sai=
d that he had not seen the Shah in some time, and went on, “I’m =
prepared, but I don’t think he wants to see me. That probably means he=
isn’t ready to lessen his role in government. But I’m waiting.&=
#8221;<BR>
<BR>
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