A Time To Betray Part 3

The SAVAK was a security and intelligence organization the shah created in 1957 with the help of the U.S. military after the CIA helped overthrow democratically elected Prime Minister Mohammad Mosaddeq because he nationalized Iran's oil. Iranians were still angry about it. Nixon's support of the shah helped keep this wound open. The shah and Nixon were buddies. U.S. products filled Iranian store shelves. Our military was fully Americanized and trained. Iranian pilots helped fight the Vietnam War. The shah supported the royalists in the Yemen civil war that ended in 1970. Then, in 1971, he helped the sultan of Oman put down a rebellion at the bidding of the U.S. In exchange, Nixon visited Iran in 1972, and he allowed the shah to buy any American weapons he wanted. The U.S. saw advantages in having an autocratic monarch as an ally who would do the U.S.'s dirty work in the Middle East. Saddam was the Soviets' man. The shah was America's man.

While Naser was going to school for engineering (receiving excellent grades with little effort), he talked about politics and injustice constantly. Kazem, still struggling with his studies, was a full-fledged devotee of Islam. He mostly agreed with Naser's critique of the shah's policies, but he objected to the encroaching Westernization of the country because he saw it as a key contributor to growing decadence among Iranian youth-girls wearing miniskirts, drunks in the streets, and the preponderance of nightclubs and bars. Kazem and the other members of his poorer religious cla.s.s were hurting financially, and the fabulous profits from oil had not filtered down to them. The shah's modernization had left Kazem's people behind while at the same time a.s.saulting their moral principles.

As Naser pulled into our driveway, I grew anxious. My heart felt heavy because my father was not going to be there and I would never greet him again. When I saw my mother, we hugged each other tight and she cried hysterically. I tried to console her, but nothing could stop her sobbing. My grandfather and grandmother were there and they seemed to be suffering horribly from the loss of their son, but as my mother and I huddled close together, Agha Joon whispered, "Your son is here, be happy."

Kazem and Naser stayed up late with me that night. We talked about my dad and some of the more memorable events of our childhood. Before long, though, our conversation turned back to politics. Little time ever pa.s.sed before one of these two veered back toward that topic.

"This tyranny has to fall," Naser said. "People are suffering. This is the twentieth century and we still live under a dictators.h.i.+p. There is no freedom of speech. No freedom of the press."

Kazem nodded in agreement. "Many people still live in poverty while the shah's family and those around them are obscenely wealthy and stealing what belongs to the people. We have to bring justice to our society. We are becoming a nation of corruption and decay. We need to turn to our faith. Only Islam can rescue us and our country."

"But it's only through Dr. Shariati's view of religion and society that we can find our true selves in all human dimensions and fight tyranny and its moral decay," Naser added. I knew virtually nothing about Ali Shariati. Naser explained that he was an Islamic scholar, sociologist, and critic of the shah and the mullahs. Shariati was so popular that citizens who weren't even students overflowed his lecture halls to hear him speak.

At the time, I did not share Naser's keen interest in politics or Kazem's devotion to Islam. Their well-informed dialogues aroused my interest, but I did not have much to contribute. I had not until this moment understood the intensity of moral outrage against the monarchy. It made the American outrage at Nixon seem like a minor irritation. And maybe that was appropriate. After all, while Nixon had an enemies list, the shah had an execution list.

That night, I also learned about the most famous case of arrest and execution, that of Khosrow Golesorkhi, the Iranian Che Guevara. He was a Marxist-Leninist poet and journalist arrested for a plot to kidnap the shah's son. "In truth, he and other leftists had only speculated about it as a means to trade for the freedom of political prisoners," Naser told me. He also said that since the shah was courting the West and conscious about the declarations by the UN human rights committee on various issues, including the treatment of political prisoners, he allowed what he thought would be an open-and-shut case to be aired on television. The court permitted Golesorkhi to speak, ostensibly to recant his crimes. Instead, he spoke with stirring eloquence on behalf of the peasants laboring under the shah's land reform, comparing their struggles to those of the great martyr Imam Hussein himself and detailing the shah's crimes against humanity. Golesorkhi refused to defend himself; he would defend only the people. When asked if he would continue his terrorist activities against the shah, he brazenly said that he would.

"You know what Golesorkhi did when they took him to be executed? He refused the blindfold and stared his executioners in the face when they fired at him. He was a hero, Reza." Naser shook his head. "No man should live under oppression. You have to stand up for your rights."

Naser then recited a poem by Golesorkhi: "On your breast laythe deep scar of your enemybut, you standing cypress did not fallit is your way to die."

Both Naser and Kazem sat up with me until I fell asleep. They were by my side when I woke up. I was very thankful that they were there because sleep had caused me to forget temporarily that my father was gone. When I awoke and remembered, the grief overwhelmed me anew. I don't know what I would have done if I didn't have my dearest friends by my side.

Naser and Kazem remained with me during my father's funeral, when every vulnerability in me was exposed and raw. I was my mother's only son and I felt a great deal of responsibility for her, but I knew she would not allow me to quit my studies to care for her-especially since my father had so strongly wished for me to get a degree in America. She was secure financially, but I was not convinced that she could cope emotionally without my father. Kazem and Naser a.s.sured me that they and their families would look after her and check in frequently. They did this because they loved her and they loved me. They knew I had an enormous opportunity in America-an opportunity they couldn't have-and they wanted to make sure I made the most of it. This outpouring of support brought me light in these dark days. I could hardly believe that I had allowed myself to neglect my two best forever friends as much as I had the past few years.

I returned to California determined to devote myself to my studies and to do my father proud. Home would not leave my mind this time and letters from home took on new meaning. Naser wrote about the mounting opposition to the shah. In sending me letters, he risked arrest by the SAVAK, as they monitored communications in and out of the country. I admired Naser's bravery and the pa.s.sion of his commitment to the Iranian people. One of Naser's letters came with copies of some of Shariati's books. Reading these changed my life forever.

Shariati reinterpreted Islam through the lens of sociology, reviving its original principle of social responsibility. He decried both the stodgy mullahs, who replaced scholars.h.i.+p with cant, and capitalism, which encouraged a human being to be a mere consumer, "an economic animal whose only duty is to graze." Shariati foresaw a new type of religious leader who modeled himself after Mohammad, one who earned his leaders.h.i.+p not by tyrannizing people, but by inspiring the best in them. The Quran proclaims that G.o.d and the people are one. Thus, to know G.o.d's will the leader must look to the deepest longings of the people. This radically democratic interpretation of Mohammad's teachings invigorated me.

The Prophet and the great Imams were transformational figures, said Shariati. They were not conservatives. They were radicals. The essence of Islam was dynamic, vibrant, and revolutionary. Shariati reminded us of the radicalism of Hussein, who stood up against the tyranny of his ruler and was beheaded for it. His final words were "Dignified death is better than humiliating life." Shariati said that any modern Muslim who accepted injustice was living a humiliating life. He believed that if every Muslim lived by the example of Hussein, injustice on this earth would end.

Shariati practiced what he preached and this led to his expulsion from colleges, the banning of his books, his arrest, and his exile. The monarchy did everything they could to stop him from talking-yet he wouldn't let up. His words rang so deeply that Iranians like Naser were sending his books and tapes all over the world to those of us living abroad.

I must have read ten Shariati books. Often, I would break down and cry from the power of his writing.

... My Lord, grant me such a life that on my death-bed, I may not be resentful of its worthlessness. And grant me such a death, that I may not mourn for its uselessness. Let me choose that, but in the way that pleases you the most. My Lord, You teach me how to live; I shall learn how to die.

Shariati taught me that I'd allowed the ridiculous mullahs of my youth and the hypocritical leaders of the clergy to disillusion me from the Islamic spiritualism and rect.i.tude my grandmother tried to teach me. While corrupt leaders could bend religion to serve their purposes, the principles of G.o.d were always there, in the hearts of good people. I hadn't allowed myself to embrace religion because I let the wrong people color my opinions. Now Shariati compelled me to dedicate my life to the pursuit of righteousness.

For the first time since I was a boy, I began performing my prayers routinely. I set up a prayer rug in the bedroom of my LA apartment, and while they didn't completely understand it, Alex and Johnny were respectful of my needs. Shariati's clarity of thinking reminded me of what was best in the human heart: justice, compa.s.sion, mercy, and courage in the face of injustice. I began to believe that Shariati himself was the leader he called for in his writings.

Then, in July 1977, I received another letter from Naser: Salam, Reza,I don't know if you've heard the news about Dr. Shariati. After his release from the prison, he was kept under constant surveillance and he left the country for London last month. Reza, I just heard he was murdered in his residence. d.a.m.n this injustice. This is yet another killing under the dictators.h.i.+p of our monarchy. But believe me, his death is only the beginning. He has moved many, and his odyssey will bring changes in our lives.I'll be in touch!

Naser My G.o.d, I thought, tears welling in my eyes, I thought, tears welling in my eyes, Shariati pushed his principles all the way to his own death, just like Imam Hussein. Shariati pushed his principles all the way to his own death, just like Imam Hussein.

I soon learned that a.s.sa.s.sins had killed Dr. Shariati in his daughter's home. Such cruelty was so dishonorable. I vowed that I would not allow his words to die in my heart, immediately joining the Islamic Students' a.s.sociation (ISA) in Los Angeles. The swelling unrest and changes sweeping my country seized our attention. Farzin and Mani, my friends in the ISA, held meetings at their house. We knew that the political tension in Iran was building. People had started to criticize the shah openly. This led to the SAVAK turning Iran into something very close to a police state, which in turn drew the wrath of the international community. When Jimmy Carter became president, he denied U.S. aid to Iran in protest over the shah's human rights violations. Consequently, the shah, in an effort to show the West he was making progress toward liberalizing his policies, released a few political prisoners.

He also a.s.sumed, incorrectly, that these token gestures would stop the protests. But the movement against him was already under way.

Iranians felt ready to sacrifice.

We needed a leader.

4.

SHAH RAFT RAFT:.

THE REVOLUTION.

WHEN MY FRIEND Mani at the Islamic Students' a.s.sociation called to ask me to come to a meeting in the fall of 1978, he had an almost uncontrollable sense of excitement in his voice. To say the least, this intrigued me. I skipped my evening cla.s.s and instead jumped in my car and rushed to his house. When I got there, I found a group of young Iranian students listening intently to a man's voice on a ca.s.sette tape. I asked someone what we were listening to and he told me to be quiet before returning his focus to the speech. Realizing that this had to be what had gotten Mani so excited, I listened as well. Mani at the Islamic Students' a.s.sociation called to ask me to come to a meeting in the fall of 1978, he had an almost uncontrollable sense of excitement in his voice. To say the least, this intrigued me. I skipped my evening cla.s.s and instead jumped in my car and rushed to his house. When I got there, I found a group of young Iranian students listening intently to a man's voice on a ca.s.sette tape. I asked someone what we were listening to and he told me to be quiet before returning his focus to the speech. Realizing that this had to be what had gotten Mani so excited, I listened as well.

"A nation that doesn't have freedom does not have civilization. A civilized nation is one that is free. ..."

Some in the crowd uttered, "Yes."

"There should be freedom of the press and people should have the right to their opinion. ..."

The people in the room grew more excited and I wondered about the man who was speaking. I couldn't recognize his voice. Had he become an important figure in Iran while I was away? Did Naser and Kazem know about him?

"This shah, this Yazid, this servant of America, this agent of Israel, needs to be overthrown and kicked out of Iran. ..."

Many erupted in shouts of approval. I grew more excited myself; I loved what I was hearing. The speaker was incredibly bold, even comparing the shah to Yazid, the ruthless ruler who had ordered the death of Imam Hussein. Iranians view Yazid as one of the most despicable human beings of all time.

"We need an Islamic government, independent of the superpowers, where all Iranians enjoy the wealth and not a specific few. We want to improve not only your material life but also your spiritual life. They have taken our spirituality. We need spirituality. ..."

He was speaking for all of us-for Kazem's people, for Naser's idealist family, for my spiritual grandmother.

"In our government, clergy will not govern but help you with your spirituality. In our government, women will be free, and officials can be publicly criticized. ..."

These were the words of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, the man who would change Iran in ways we could only imagine then. He was a stirring speaker, even though he was not a great orator. He spoke plainly and sometimes repet.i.tively. Yet his voice radiated a steadiness of purpose. His appeal was not intellectual. It was primal. Over the next few minutes, I would discover that he had inspired a movement in Iran, one that pa.s.sed his tapes through the black market all over the world as if he were a rock star.

I had so many questions about him. I sought out Mani and Farzin, who were talking to each other at the corner of their kitchen.

"Glad you made it, Reza," Mani said.

Farzin beamed with excitement. "What did you think of Ayatollah Khomeini?"

I shook my head in wonder. "I could not believe what I was hearing. He is a true leader. His message of political freedom and equality is stunning. But where has he been?"

Mani told me that the shah first imprisoned the ayatollah in the early sixties because of his strong criticism of the government before exiling him to Najaf, Iraq. The ayatollah had been calling for the fall of the shah ever since. He was now in France after fourteen years in Najaf, and he had begun to talk to reporters from all over the world.

In the ensuing days I learned much more about him. I found an interview he gave to Reuters where he said, "The foundation of our Islamic government is based on freedom of dialogue and will fight against any kind of censors.h.i.+p.... In Islamic Iran the clergy themselves will not govern but only observe and support the government's leaders. The government of the country at all levels will be observed, evaluated, and publicly criticized."

To a German reporter, he said, "Our future society will be a free society, and all the elements of oppression, cruelty, and force will be destroyed. Women are free in the Islamic Republic in the selection of their activities and their future and their clothing. ...

"I don't want to have the power or the government in my hand," he told The Guardian. The Guardian. "I am not interested in personal power." "I am not interested in personal power."

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.