petrol was nearly impossible to come by. With the streets almost devoid of traffic, sometimes the only sound you could hear throughout the sprawling city was the familiar crack of gunfire.
In total about 80 of us participated in the occupation. We took turns keeping guard, watching for signs of another attack by the riot squad. As our actions had become a focal point for the demonstrations which were now taking place all around the city, there were now rumours that the authorities wanted one of us shot dead to disperse the demonstrators.
Looking out of windows of the administration block over the main fifth floor balcony and across the square, we could see police barricades stretching 150 metres in all directions. At night, it was as quiet as a cemetery. We were all on edge, fearing a stealth attack by the Shah’s crack troops. Sunrise could not come soon enough, when we would be greeted by the faces of family members, smiling and waving from the far side of the barricades. Later in the day demonstrators would arrive to show their support.
As the days became weeks, the crowd of demonstrators grew larger. Before long we found ourselves watching in amazement at the seemingly endless sea of people that would flood the barricades, waving banners and even trying to break through and join us. And, all too often, we would watch in horror as their efforts were met with gunfire. It was nothing short of murder.
On the 25th and final day of the occupation, after the regime conceded the demand to reopen the university, we marched at the head of a mass demonstration to celebrate our victory. We had issued a call for everyone to come with us to reopen the university. Shops and workplaces closed as around half a millionpeople converged on the campus. A platform was erected in the university square and reporters from all political trends that had supported the occupation were invited to speak. Those of us that had been involved in the occupation were distinguished by armbands.
Because I could speak English I was the spokesperson for the world’s press. One reporter from an American television network asked, ‘What happens next?’, and I remember telling him, ‘When Khomeini arrives from Paris the masses will take over. The people will run the country in a democratic and just manner.’ Unfortunately, like so many others, I misjudged Khomeini’s intent, taking at face value his statement that he wanted no more to do with politics, but only to return to the holy city of Qum to take up his religious duties.
The journalist pressed me further: ‘How will the people exercise this power?’
‘Possibly through the shoras,’ I said. I don’t believe that, at the time, any of us had any more than a vague idea of the possibilities we were presented with… or of the dangers that we were walking towards.
With the reopening of the university and the fall of the Shah, we experienced a real sense of optimism as the snows in Tehran thawed and the winter passed. It was a period that was widely known as ‘the spring of freedom’. The university came alive with a sort of joyous chaos. Its corridors teemed with all manner of people, eager to learn and teach. Everyone seemed to carry a book in their hand, if not a pile cradled in their arms and held in place by their chins. These books – untitled, plain, white – were budget editions of previously banned titles by authors including Marx, Engels and Lenin. They sold in huge numbers now they were freely available.
Every inch of available space at the university was used. You could find a corridor blocked by a crowd of oil refinery workersclustered round a young Fedaii, explaining the workings of the AK47 rifle he held in his hands. In another corner of the building, a group of Islamic students would be praying. Outside on the grass forecourt, there would be a lecture and discussion of what agricultural policy we should now adopt. It was an extraordinary and exciting time.
Revolutionary
In total about 80 of us participated in the occupation. We took turns keeping guard, watching for signs of another attack by the riot squad. As our actions had become a focal point for the demonstrations which were now taking place all around the city, there were now rumours that the authorities wanted one of us shot dead to disperse the demonstrators.
Looking out of windows of the administration block over the main fifth floor balcony and across the square, we could see police barricades stretching 150 metres in all directions. At night, it was as quiet as a cemetery. We were all on edge, fearing a stealth attack by the Shah’s crack troops. Sunrise could not come soon enough, when we would be greeted by the faces of family members, smiling and waving from the far side of the barricades. Later in the day demonstrators would arrive to show their support.
As the days became weeks, the crowd of demonstrators grew larger. Before long we found ourselves watching in amazement at the seemingly endless sea of people that would flood the barricades, waving banners and even trying to break through and join us. And, all too often, we would watch in horror as their efforts were met with gunfire. It was nothing short of murder.
On the 25th and final day of the occupation, after the regime conceded the demand to reopen the university, we marched at the head of a mass demonstration to celebrate our victory. We had issued a call for everyone to come with us to reopen the university. Shops and workplaces closed as around half a millionpeople converged on the campus. A platform was erected in the university square and reporters from all political trends that had supported the occupation were invited to speak. Those of us that had been involved in the occupation were distinguished by armbands.
Because I could speak English I was the spokesperson for the world’s press. One reporter from an American television network asked, ‘What happens next?’, and I remember telling him, ‘When Khomeini arrives from Paris the masses will take over. The people will run the country in a democratic and just manner.’ Unfortunately, like so many others, I misjudged Khomeini’s intent, taking at face value his statement that he wanted no more to do with politics, but only to return to the holy city of Qum to take up his religious duties.
The journalist pressed me further: ‘How will the people exercise this power?’
‘Possibly through the shoras,’ I said. I don’t believe that, at the time, any of us had any more than a vague idea of the possibilities we were presented with… or of the dangers that we were walking towards.
With the reopening of the university and the fall of the Shah, we experienced a real sense of optimism as the snows in Tehran thawed and the winter passed. It was a period that was widely known as ‘the spring of freedom’. The university came alive with a sort of joyous chaos. Its corridors teemed with all manner of people, eager to learn and teach. Everyone seemed to carry a book in their hand, if not a pile cradled in their arms and held in place by their chins. These books – untitled, plain, white – were budget editions of previously banned titles by authors including Marx, Engels and Lenin. They sold in huge numbers now they were freely available.
Every inch of available space at the university was used. You could find a corridor blocked by a crowd of oil refinery workersclustered round a young Fedaii, explaining the workings of the AK47 rifle he held in his hands. In another corner of the building, a group of Islamic students would be praying. Outside on the grass forecourt, there would be a lecture and discussion of what agricultural policy we should now adopt. It was an extraordinary and exciting time.
Revolutionary
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