Part 3 (2/2)

His speeches and interviews gained traction. Soon it seemed as though everyone a.s.sociated with Iran in any way was talking about him. I started to write Kazem and Naser a letter about him, but before I could complete it, one arrived from Kazem. As always, Kazem started his letter with, ”In the name of G.o.d.”

Salam, Reza jon, jon,I hope my letter reaches you in good health and happiness. I am sure the power of our spiritual leader has reached to that side of the world too. There is a lot happening here. We are close to a free Islamic society. Thousands of people are demonstrating throughout Iran. People are burning the flag and the shah's pictures in the streets. Reza, I wish you were here. Naser and I have joined the uprising against the shah. Ayatollah Khomeini is the leader we need. We receive his manifestos and people in all parts of our nation, rich or poor, religious or atheist, man or woman, young or old, are sharing a common voice. It is time for the shah to step down. I will keep you posted. Meanwhile, don't just sit there, man. Join this holy movement.

Kazem Even though most Iranians had enjoyed varying degrees of success under the shah, Khomeini's message resonated with a population weary of oppression and desperate for the political choice they felt the shah denied them. They believed Ayatollah Khomeini could make us not only prosperous, but also free. I heard more from both Kazem and Naser. They seemed thrilled about what was happening in our country and I looked forward to returning home as soon as possible.

The rising tide crested on January 16, 1979, when the shah left the country along with his wife and children. The state-controlled media reported that he was leaving to seek cancer treatment in Egypt, but, in fact, his army was in mutiny and his citizens were rioting. Iran was no longer safe for him and his family.

We gathered at Farzin and Mani's house to see the news on television, watching with unrestrained joy as the shah's departing jet rose into the sky. Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi, the leader of Iran since 1941, had abandoned the country he had inherited from twenty-five hundred years of Persian monarchy. The television showed us hundreds of thousands of Iranians surging through the streets carrying Ayatollah Khomeini's picture and yelling: ”Shah raft! raft!” The shah is gone! The shah is gone! Cars drove through the streets of Iran with headlights on, horns blaring. In LA we loudly echoed this sentiment. I'd never witnessed such a pa.s.sionate celebration, and I wished I could have been there with my fellow citizens. Cars drove through the streets of Iran with headlights on, horns blaring. In LA we loudly echoed this sentiment. I'd never witnessed such a pa.s.sionate celebration, and I wished I could have been there with my fellow citizens.

Two weeks after the shah left, Ayatollah Khomeini took a French plane back to Iran. Watching from America, I imagined what it must be like for this seventy-eight-year-old man to step on his home soil triumphantly after fourteen years of forced exile. Millions of people gathered at Mehrabad Airport in Tehran to welcome him and to show their love and support.

After circling the airport for more than twenty minutes for security purposes, the ayatollah's plane landed. I watched as Khomeini approached the microphone after a fanfare of welcoming songs and introductory speeches.

”We have to thank all cla.s.ses of people of this nation. For this victory up to now has been due to the unity of voice, the unity of voice of all Muslims, the unity of all religious minorities, unity of scholars and students, unity of clergies and all political factions. We must all understand this secret: that the unity of voice is the cause for success and we must not lose this secret to success and, G.o.d forbid, not allow the devils to cause dissent among your ranks. I thank all of you and pray for your health and glory and ask Allah to cut off the hands of foreigners and their cohorts.”

With that, he left the microphone to greet the millions who had come to declare themselves to him.

Khomeini promised the nation that no one would ever have to pay for such public utilities as electricity, water, telephone, and other services. He promised political freedom. The clergy would only improve the spiritual life of the people and would not interfere with the government. He also said that the people's share of oil money would be delivered to their doorsteps. In his first major speech to a huge crowd in Tehran, he criticized the shah for his oppression, invited all Iranians to join the revolution, and promised a government run by the people and for the people.

Who could believe that any man could bring about the fall of the shah, king of kings? This unknown cleric had toppled the Persian kingdom simply by speaking to the people, as the Prophet Mohammad had. He vowed to kick the U.S.A. out of Iran, calling it ”the Great Satan.” The man was afraid of nothing. Many truly believed G.o.d was on his side. And so, apparently, did he.

While we continued our support of the revolution at the ISA, some Iranians still loyal to the shah gathered on the streets of LA and other major cities in America to protest the rise of Khomeini and to demand the return of the shah. To oppose this, we marched down the streets of the city carrying posters of Khomeini and shouting, with fists in the air, ”G.o.d is great! Khomeini is our leader!”

Inevitably, the two forces met. During one of our demonstrations, we ran into a crowd of Shah supporters furious that we were backing the ayatollah. ”We are Persians with so much pride and dignity,” said a middle-aged woman carrying an Iranian flag in one hand and a picture of Mohammad Reza Shah in the other. ”We don't need a mullah to rule our country. He will destroy our kingdom and its dynasty. Did you hear what Khomeini said when an American reporter asked how he felt going back home? Hichi! Hichi! He said he felt nothing.” She shook her head. ”How could you have no feeling for your country?” She turned her back to our crowd and waved her flag. ” He said he felt nothing.” She shook her head. ”How could you have no feeling for your country?” She turned her back to our crowd and waved her flag. ”Dorood bar shah. Long live Shahanshah. Down with Khomeini.” Long live Shahanshah. Down with Khomeini.”

Inside Iran, the gra.s.sroots movement forming behind Khomeini was so powerful that shah loyalists declared martial law. Thousands of Iranians galvanized by Khomeini's return demonstrated anyway, and soldiers opened fire on them. Citizens took up arms, rampaged on military bases, broke open the armories, and pa.s.sed out military armaments to the people. A week after Khomeini's arrival in Iran, Kazem and Naser called me together. It was the first time they'd ever done that.

”We were at the Eshrat Abad Garrison today,” Kazem said. ”We forced them to surrender.”

Then Naser jumped in. ”We each got our J-three machine guns, Reza.”

They were shouting, laughing, and talking at the same time. They had so much energy that I could barely understand them. ”Wait, wait, guys. What's going on? One at a time.”

Kazem explained that they were among the demonstrators attacking the garrisons around the city of Tehran. They forced the shah's soldiers out to the street and disarmed them. Meanwhile, others entered the facilities and took away the soldiers' weapons.

”The victory is upon us, Reza,” Kazem said.

This had been a risky operation, but they were triumphant. I could not believe that my friends were among those willing to sacrifice their lives for a free Iran. I was proud of both of them. Naser, a secularist intellectual, and Kazem, a religious devotee, were acting as brothers in a common fight. They were representative of all of Iran for that brief, s.h.i.+ning moment-in perfect agreement and acting as one. Every faction and ideology-religious, liberal, secularist, Marxist, or Communist-had rallied under Khomeini's banner. Within a couple of months, the provisional government held a national referendum. The question: Islamic Republic, yes or no? The lack of other options caused some to raise their eyebrows, but in the heady aftermath of Khomeini's return, 98 percent voted yes.

On April 1, Ayatollah Khomeini declared an Islamic Republic that reflected strong, traditional Islamist values. As a concession to liberal powers in the country, Khomeini appointed Mehdi Bazargan as the first prime minister of the Islamic Republic of Iran to show that he was upholding his promise to keep his clergymen away from positions of political power. Bazargan was the head of the Liberation Movement of Iran. Ali Shariati had been among its founders, and the party dedicated itself to gaining freedom, independence, and democracy for the Iranian nation based on a modern interpretation of Islamic principles. The shah's regime had jailed Bazargan many times, but he and his party maintained a code of civil disobedience and moderation. In fact, Bazargan had objected to calling Iran the ”Islamic Republic” and wanted to call it the ”Islamic Democratic Republic.” We had every reason to believe he would rule fairly and evenhandedly.

I couldn't wait to get home, and in June of that year I did. At age twenty-five, I had a master's degree in systems engineering and I was eager to lend my expertise to the revolution. My mother, still mourning the death of my father three years earlier, had moved into a condominium in a high-rise and I chose to live there with her.

The day after my return, Naser picked me up in the red Impala convertible we used to drive without his father's knowledge. Since Naser was using it all of the time anyway, Davood finally just gave it to him. His brother, Soheil, and his sister, Parvaneh, were in the backseat.

”We're going to pick up Kazem and then we're going to get ice cream for us and creme caramel for Parvaneh, since that's her favorite. We're celebrating.”

”What are we celebrating, Naser jon jon?” Parvaneh asked. Although she was fifteen, she was small for her age and looked like she was no older than eleven. Her hair was still curly, though her pigtails were longer than I remembered. She even acted younger than her age, swaying her arm back and forth through the open window without a care in the world, trying to catch the wind with her hand.

”My best friend is back from America,” Naser said, smiling and glancing over at me. ”That is a good reason. And our country is free-that is a better reason.”

”If it's free, why can't I go to the college?” Soheil said sharply. ”I want to attend the College of Fine Arts at the University of Tehran, and now there is a rumor that they are closing down all the universities.”

Naser gestured to his brother to calm down. ”It's not going to be that way, da Vinci. If they do close the universities, it'll only be for a short while.” We couldn't know then that Naser was being overly optimistic. The next spring, the government shut down the universities for several years in what they called a cultural revolution to eradicate Western influence on the universities and bring them in line with s.h.i.+te Islam.

After we picked up Kazem, we roamed around Tehran. Everything seemed different to me. Yes, there were new high-rises and new highways. But what struck me most was the palpable spirit of the people. Some handed out flowers and candies. At the traffic lights they flashed victory signs and congratulated one another. In coming days I would see people from different political groups gathering in the universities or at corners around town discussing politics and religion openly and in peace. It felt like the beginning of a Persian Renaissance. I was convinced that we would soon show the world how to integrate religious idealism with modern values, as Shariati had envisioned. I imagined a future of creativity and innovation led by religious principle.

It was great to be back with Naser and Kazem. We met at my place or at Feris, a small cafe on the ground level beneath Mom's apartment. These days, we talked about nothing other than the revolution. Both of them were already contributing. Naser graduated as a civil engineer and got a good job working for a private company. Meanwhile, Kazem had impressed so many people in the Islamic Students' a.s.sociation with his dedication that the Revolutionary Guards hired him and quickly promoted him to the secretive Intelligence Unit.

Kazem had grown a beard with a mustache neatly cut above his lips like so many other religious young men supporting the revolution. Among ideologues unwavering belief was powerful. That quality of cert.i.tude, rather than scholars.h.i.+p, experience, or qualifications, had made Khomeini our leader.

”Reza, this is where you should be,” Kazem said of the Guards. ”Your expertise with computers and your faith in the revolution are a.s.sets. Do you want me to talk to my commander and see if there is an opening for you?”

I thought this was a good idea, as I had to land a job soon and I wanted to contribute. He quickly arranged an interview for me with his commander.

”They need you, Reza. The Guards are in the process of installing a computer system in their bases around the country and are now hiring. I told them that you are their man.”

The next day, I went to the Guards' base in the south of Tehran. Kazem's commander, Rahim, had an office at the end of a long narrow corridor on the first floor of one of the four-story buildings that formed the base. Rahim was a short, chubby man. Like Kazem, he wore a full beard and a trimmed mustache.

”Salam, Brother. Nice to meet you,” he said when I entered his office. Brother. Nice to meet you,” he said when I entered his office.

As Kazem had instructed, I brought the papers doc.u.menting my education in America, including my master's degree. Rahim did not want to see any of these and asked only a few questions about my knowledge and skill. Instead, he focused his questions on my activities in America and my devotion to Islam and our leader. He wanted to know who I stayed with and a.s.sociated with in America. I told him about my involvement with the ISA, about how I came to support Ayatollah Khomeini, and how moved I was by his pa.s.sion for Iran and Islam. I told him about my parents and grandparents and, to leave him with the best possible impression, I told him how my grandmother had taught me to be a devoted Muslim.

”I am looking forward to contributing fully to the revolution,” I said.

”We are proud of brothers like you who are back from abroad to serve the country. We need your expertise desperately for the Guards. You can start right away and, inshallah, inshallah, you will do your utmost for the revolution.” you will do your utmost for the revolution.”

I began work immediately and Kazem showed me the ropes. We were happy to be employed in the same place. He had the respect of insiders, and he vouched for me at every turn. Kazem believed in me, and I was proud to have his respect. I felt as though fortune had s.h.i.+ned upon me.

But soon a shadow descended. In the early morning of November 4, 1979, two months after I'd been hired, Kazem came to my office and said, ”Come on, we're going over to the American Emba.s.sy. There is a demonstration going on in opposition to America allowing the shah into their country.”

I got up from my desk immediately. All of us were angry that President Carter had given the shah sanctuary in the U.S. under the guise of getting him the best cancer treatment. We wanted our tyrant back here so we could put him on trial. I would happily partic.i.p.ate in this demonstration.

We drove twenty minutes northeast to the U.S. Emba.s.sy. There we found hundreds of demonstrators gathered in front chanting slogans and carrying signs. They were mostly students, though I could see some older women in black chador veils. The press was there, of course, and men with megaphones incited the crowd. Emotions escalated to the point where most of the demonstrators began shouting, ”Death to America!” Kazem joined in, lifting his fist into the air, and hollering, ”Marg bar Amrika.” ”Marg bar Amrika.”

This made me uncomfortable. My years in America had been good ones and I had become quite fond of the American people. I was here to protest a policy, not call for the death of America. At the same time, though, I felt the need to express solidarity, so I chanted along with them. The chants of those near me reached a crescendo whenever news cameras were aimed in our direction.

”Reza, look!” Kazem said, pointing. I stopped shouting as I saw people climbing the walls and front gate of the emba.s.sy and dropping down inside. The only emba.s.sy guard I saw couldn't bring himself to shoot. He chose to run inside instead. Somebody managed to break the chain on the gate, and protesters swarmed onto what was officially U.S. property. I later learned that a woman had hidden a chain cutter beneath her chador. The intruders fanned out in different directions, as if they knew exactly where they were going.

I stood next to Kazem with mouth agape. This was not a rout. It was not an act of pa.s.sion. It seemed too managed for that. The people who rushed in seemed to know one another and to know what to do. Military members of the Guards arrived quickly. I wondered how they heard about the break-in so fast. Then the Komiteh, the religious police recently given official status by Khomeini, came and promised to keep order. But the only thing they kept orderly was the takeover itself. Busloads of people arrived and joined the demonstration, another sign that this gathering was not spontaneous. Within minutes, the protesters controlled the compound.

I was uneasy at the cameras filming. Wasn't this against international law? I knew the media would display this all over the world. What if my face ended up on TV? What would Johnny and Alex think?

The protesters marched out of the emba.s.sy shouting, with their hands raised in victory signs as they brought out a blindfolded American with his hands tied. My stomach churned. I remembered visiting this very emba.s.sy to receive my student visa. The consul general received me so well that day. He even joked with me, encouraging me to pursue my studies but also have fun. Back then, not that long ago, Iranians and Americans shared a mutual affection. Americans had treated me as one of their own while I was there.

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