Public Moves

The initiative by palls in Islamic Councils Coalition and INP in making contacts with me after my freedom and their vast spiritual support saved me from the danger of losing my believes and getting back to the struggle. As Ayatollah Khamenei said: “…people are moving…”, the best scene in the struggles were being made by people without any affiliation to any group, sect or organization.

The years 1978 and 1979 were the peak of revolutionary activities by people. I freed myself as a drop in this ocean. The presence of the youth in different aspects was something so interesting to me. In 1979 it was the people who said the last word, not a group or sect. Among my relative, my sister’s children were more active. They would welcome the dangers enthusiastically and did not care if it was day or night. They thought about Haj Mehdi and me as their role models and would ask about our experiences to use in their own struggle. They would ask us repeatedly: “Dear uncle! They shoot people. How can we find guns? How should we make Molotov Cocktail? And …” I would willingly tell them all I knew. Observing those youth and the people my heart was full of hope to reach the victory.

Despite disabled legs, I would go to the mosque by any means and take part in the activities.

People’s rallies were so great and I was really wistful that I could not take part the way I liked to. At the first night of Moharram when I heard the call of “Allah-u Akbar (God is the Greatest)” I jumped on my motorcycle and joined people. When I watched the roaring wave of people, my tears came down and I believed that wave was undefeatable. On those days revolutionary people would stand against the regime army and bravely shout: “Down with Shah”. After this rally, I did never stay at home just to tell the youth what to do, but I would take part in all the rallies. I had bought a motorcycle and would tie my sticks on it and the move with that wherever I liked.

You could hear the shouts of “Allah-o Akbar”, “Hail Khomeini” and “Down with Shah” from all the corners of the city. It was during these rallies that Mohammad Mazaheri, a good friend of mine in INP, was martyred. I will keep his memory in my mind forever.

In the second half of 1979, all the workers and government employees joined the revolution and the wheels of factories and organizations slowed down or stopped because of strikes. So, it was hard to supply daily needs for families and in that condition poor ones would hurt more. So, along with some other friends and the people in our district, we established a cooperative at mosque. We would distribute oil, gas, foodstuffs among the people in our district; those days were full of love, devotion and compassion. The families who had a better financial condition would gift their share to others. Some rich people would generously help our cooperative. Because of my physical conditions I would do the office affairs and the duty of gathering goods and money was done by other friends. I observed great scenes of devotion and compassion among people there. I saw a needy family who rejected to use its oil share in that heavy cold winter and used charcoal instead.

Revolution was going to reach its peak and countdown for the regime had begun. Hot preaches were made in the mosques. The bars and nightclub were closed or fired one after another. Rallies and strikes were growing. Mosques and universities were the leading headquarters of struggles. The students would not go to their classes or exams. And I would lamely run and pant after the people with my weak body…

Shah went and people became full of joy and happiness, particularly the martyrs’ families. The cheering people would pray God for this success.

The countdown started. People were counting the seconds for Imam’s arrival; what a heavy and hard wait! They changed the slogans against the Bakhtiar regime to shorten the waiting gap: “Bakhtiar! Bakhtiar! The powerless servant”, “Oh Bakhtiar! Damn on you if Imam’ doesn’t arrive tomorrow!” … and finally, on February 1^st 1979 the full moon came to Iran’s sky. People washed and cleaned all the streets and put flowers in the middle of them to welcome their heavenly Imam.

My disabled legs were still a big problem for me. They would impede me from many activities. Once it was on the day of welcoming Imam. I had to watch Imam’s arrival live on TV. However, the broadcasting was suddenly interrupted. I could not wait. I took my sticks and jumped out of home by my motorbike. Waves of people were in the streets. I passed through the Lashgar Crossroads to 24^th of Esfand Square (Enqelab). However, the compressed dam of people impeded me. I begged people: “Dear sisters and brothers! Please move away I cannot walk. Let me pass by my bike.” However, my shouts of beg were missed among the passion and enthusiasm of people. I put the bike away and locked it to a lamp-post and began walking by my sticks.

 I think before the interruption of live broadcasting the streets were not that much crowded. By this unthinking attempt the regime aroused people’s emotions and forces them to show a revolutionary reaction and they burst into streets and rushed toward the airport.

In Eisenhower Street (Azadi), the rushing crowd was crushing me. Right then I saw the car carrying Imam driven by Mohsen Rafighdoost. It passed in front of me I could luckily visit the heavenly face of Imam. I could not go any farther; I would possibly be hurt. People would hit to me unintentionally. I was not able to keep myself on foot. So, I returned back the way I had come; I saw my parents and wife had joined the rushing waves of people.