What Do You Do When You're Waiting?
Examining what was on Iranian people's minds in the days leading up to the revolution
On January 16, 1979, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, the Shah of Iran left the country, never to return. On February 1, 1979, Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini returned to Iran after 14 years and some months of exile. The majority of those years were spent in Iraq though the most photographed of those years were the last months he spent in Neauphle-le-Château, an hour or so drive to the West of Paris.
On February 11, 1979, after days of street fighting, the army announced its neutrality. As a result, the security forces occupying the road to the state radio and television building withdrew, allowing the announcers (who had joined massive nationwide strikes) to broadcast the victory of the revolution. (The 1979 Iranian revolution had two victory announcements but that’s a story for another time.)
In Iran, the 10 days between Khomeini’s return and the declaration of the revolution’s victory are called the 10 days of dawn [daheh-ye fajr] taken from a Quranic verse. It’s a term and a time the evoke feelings of some sort in anyone who grew up there during the past 40 odd years. But it’s not just the Islamic Republic that is focused on these two endpoints. When talking about the revolution, more often than not, we have a tendency to focus on these massive flashpoints with a smattering of other events thrown in, such as Khomeini’s announcement that Mehdi Bazargan will be the prime minister of the interim government.
Those 10 days were undoubtedly strange days. Shapour Bakhtiar, a longtime critic of the Shah who had been appointed by him as prime minister at the end of December 1978, was still technically head of government. Yet it’s clear that with Khomeini’s return—even just the fact of his return—power had already shifted away from Bakhtiar. A cursory glance at the two official newspapers in Iran at the time, Kayhan and Ittilaat, leave little doubt in one’s mind that the struggle was over the minute Khomeini stepped off that plane, behind him a coterie of men who would be killed or fall out of favor in the decades to come.
History, the kind that is written and narrated, has a way of flattening human experience. It makes it linear, going from point to point. But life doesn’t look and feel the way we historians make it be afterwards. It’s full of holes and spaces and jumps, sometimes even folding back onto itself. So what happened in 1979 inside those in-between spaces of Feb 1-Feb 11? More accurately, considering that on February 5, 1979, you were not in-between (for how would you know what was coming?) but waiting, the question is:
What happened in that waiting space? What did it feel like to know something is coming, something big perhaps but perhaps not? What do you do when you’re waiting?
Rather than mark the 44th anniversary of the Iranian revolution with yet another think piece about is this the end of the regime? is there another revolution? etc, let’s take a look at a fascinating waiting space: The column in both Kayhan and Ittilaat that printed some of the phone calls they had received from their readers. Put together, these printed phone calls reflect anxieties, everyday issues and the tightening of the space for being neutral. As if not taking sides was itself a crime, itself a feeling that hits so close to home today.
These calls represent in glorious detail what some people were thinking as they were waiting.
There are themes that emerge. It is clear that already in this waiting period, people believed the revolution had happened. The wait was not for its victory but for the shape of things to come even though in some letters the fact that the new government would be an Islamic Republic seemed fait accompli. Even for those who supported Bakhtiar, the question wasn’t if he could stem the tide of the revolution, but whether he could carry out the revolutionary agenda (Ittilaat, 2/5/1979).
Many letters were complaints about wages not paid, electricity being cut off, traffic jams, road conditions, and other everyday worries and anxieties. There are also phone calls complaining about the harassment of unveiled women and that of people who shared names with someone who been named Savaki [informant for the monarchy’s security apparatus]. I was also surprised by how quickly, changing the names of cities and streets were happening and how for some places, such as the city of “Shahi” which was renamed Qaemshahr, the name changed happened on a local level.
Lastly, almost every day, there was a phone call about Khomeini’s infamous “hich,” the answer he gave to a foreign reporter on his flight to Iran when asked how he feels now that he’s returning after all these years of exile: “Nothing,” he said with a hint of a smirk. All my life, uncles, aunts, elders of the family, friends, would tell this story as a metaphor for the way things unfolded after the revolution, particularly the Iran-Iraq war in the 1980s. For how, they would ask us kids, could someone who feels nothing upon returning to his country care what happens to it and its people? I was surprised at how even before the revolution was deemed victorious, this word and this smirk lodged itself in people’s psyches.
Below is my translation of a smattering of these phone calls from Ittilaat’s pages (which was both shorter and more numerous than Kayhan’s). I curated them based on how representative they are (i.e. themes that repeats over many days by various callers), how surprising they were (to me at least), if they made me crack a smile (a handful did), and to cover a range of opinions.
Ittilaat, Feb. 1, 1979
“Sir, I am an old man who has a stall in Tajrish bazaar and this stall is the only source of income for me and my family. These days every time I want to open my stall, a bunch of youngsters who used to harass the girls but now have turned to religion harass me and won’t let me open my stall. Is that fair?”
“Recently, it’s become fashionable to change the names of cities and places that have “shah” as prefix or suffix…I suggest now that the word "shah has become “yucky” as the expression goes, change the name of Shahnameh [the Book of Kings from the 11th century and revered epic poem] so to calm people down.”
“Ms. Minoo Khorrami had written that the results of this revolution is that I’ve fallen behind on rent for two months. Please tell her on my behalf that everyone needs to have a part in this revolution. She can give her information to the newspaper and I, as a religious sister, will help her. Fatemeh Jawhari” (the column notes that two other readers had offered to help her and gives their phone numbers.)
Ittilaat, Feb 3, 1979
“A large number of students living abroad have for a while wanted to return to their country to announce their support and take part in the national struggle but the national airline workers strike has prevented them from returning. It’ll be good if the striking workers do something to facilitate the return of these students. Mother of a Student.”
“Today is January 31st but the wages for pensioners have still not been paid. Struggle for freedom is good but only until it does not do harm to innocent people. If the employees of banks want to go on strike, they still have to remember to carry out their responsibilities towards a bunch of retirees who have their lives behind them. Apparently these bank employees who still get their salaries on the 25th of each month have no idea what’s happening to those of us who are hungry. Sadeghi, retired teacher.”
“The radio announced that according to the military head of the airport, the airport is open from dawn to dusk. Is the airport a women’s bath [hamam] that makes it follow the rising and setting of the sun? Plus if the military takes orders from the prime minister, how is it also issuing orders?”
Ittilaat, Feb 4, 1979
“To the gentleman who said said Ittilaat newspaper has become the Ayatollah paper: All the newspapers around the world have become Ayatollah papers because he is the symbol of the Iranian revolution. Also if this gentleman has a complaint, why didn’t he complain in the days when the newspapers were “suppression” papers? Mohammad Olayi”
“Instead of congratulating you on freedom of the press, I want to give you condolences. Is this freedom of the press? Does freedom of the press mean that there are no shah supporters in this country? I’m not a military person and no one put a gun to my head but I took part in the protection of constitution demonstration [pro-government demonstrations on Jan 25, 1979]. Now the newspapers call me and others thugs. Why? Sari—Maliheh Khalaj.”
“If you have any dignity, you’d print these few words: When entering Iran, Ayatollah Khomeini in response to a journalist who asked him now that you are going to step foot on your country’s soil, what do you feel said: “nothing.” You read into this the whole story. Mehran”
“In the ceremonies to welcome his excellency Grand Ayatollah Khomeini, religious minorities, Zoroastrian, Assyrian, and Jewish, were all present but unfortunately none of the press named the Zoroastrians. The Zoroastrian Society.”
Ittilaat, Feb 8, 1979
“For god’s sake, if you know how to get Mr. Bakhtiar to listen, get him to understand that the Iranian nation has only one path ahead and that is deposing this regime and putting in place an Islamic Republic government. Mohammad Hussein Mantiqi.”
“Unfortunately, despite what the clerical figures keep stating, some irrational and intolerant people insult unveiled women. Also recently, landlords have become hostile to their tenants and vice versa. If this continues, it’s cause for concern. Parvin Salehi, university student.”
“My son is a soldier who has deserted his post in support of the revolution so he that would not have to engage in fratricide. But I ask the powers that be to speak some sense into young people like him so that at least they let their families know where they are. Mrs. Khakpour”
“A few days ago in Kermanshah, a list was published containing names of people who were alleged to have cooperated with SAVAK. This list contains names of some religious believers, particularly that of a journalist who is trusted by all the people of Kermanshah. Please write in your newspaper that people should not be fooled by these conspiracies because the enemy is trying to find different ways to turn people onto each other. A Group of People from Kermanshah”
But about February 11, 1979? On that day, the newspaper, which covered the events of the day before, had no column of people’s phone calls. Instead its pages were taken over by photos of street battles:
On February 12, 1979, once again, no column. As if the fall of the monarchy heralded a time when to be heard you just had to go out and shout.
On February 11, it turns out, the newspaper’s headquarters was a site of battle between armed guerrilla groups and the soon-to-be-no-more government military. The guerrillas took position on the rooftop of Ittilaat’s offices and exchanged gunfire with security forces. Some of them entered the offices as the journalists were putting together the newspaper. A young guerrilla fighter was then shot, “his blood bringing color to the newsroom’s tiled floors.” Ismail Abbasi, one of two journalists who had the night shift at the newspaper writes on page 7 of the next day’s edition that when they came in after the revolution had become victorious, “we couldn’t remember a more beautiful and glorious night.” And there, among the guerrilla fighter’s blood “decorating the floor,” bullets piercing the walls, and glass shattered everywhere, the newspaper’s phone rings and rings:
“Sir, congratulations. Congratulation on the revolution to the Iranian people.”
“Sir, help us, the [royal] guards are attacking.”
“Sir, they say Tehran’s water has been poisoned. What should we do?”
“I’m calling from Nahavand. What’s going on there?”
“Sir, there’s a rumor that thugs are coming to Narmak [a neighborhood in Tehran]”
Clearly, that particular wait was over. Another had just begun.