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Sattar Khan television series, airing on Iran’s Channel One as of February 1, 2018. |
The series Sattar Khan is, in its own way, a disaster—and frankly nonsense. It has neither visual appeal nor any truth about the history of the Constitutional Revolution. Naturally, tolerating a series whose historical consultant is Khosrow Motazed is not easy. This odd character even claims to be a historian. His productions are more like storytelling than history: a bunch of unreliable, useless statements delivered with humor. He knows, for example, how many female nurses were present in the operating room when the Shah’s appendix was removed, or from which side of the mosque courtyard Prime Minister Razmara walked before being assassinated. He probably also knows how many cats roamed Tabriz during the Constitutional Revolution, or with which hand Sattar Khan splashed water while playing. Apparently, he even knows that when Baqer Khan was angry—as in one scene of the series—he cursed in Turkish, saying köpek oğlu (“son of a dog”), even though he supposedly spoke Persian most of the time! But what is it that the series’ historical consultants and its director fail to know, things they ought to have known?
The great absentee of the series is “Tabriz” itself. The director is incapable of creating a historical Tabriz. The artificial setting presented bears no trace of Tabriz, and it is only the audience’s outside knowledge of history that identifies the location. The Tabriz of the Constitutional Revolution was a city with unique characteristics and a personality distinct from other cities—with its own people, culture, language, architecture, passion, and collective spirit. In fact, the Constitutional Revolution could not have taken root in any other city. Tabriz, besieged for eleven months, hungry and starved, never surrendered. Tabriz, which the newspaper Zakavkazskii Obozrenie called the “City of Freedom”:
“For the first time, the ideals of the Constitution appeared in Tabriz, and the first voice calling for struggle for freedom was heard there… By silencing the ‘City of Freedom,’ it was possible for the Constitution to be utterly destroyed. But this responsibility, Tabriz proudly fulfilled.”
In the absence of such a city, naturally there can be neither a commander nor a revolution—and the fake Sattar Khan is only suited to the fake Tabriz of the series. For Sattar Khan and Tabriz are deeply bound to one another. The history of the Constitutional Revolution is full of moments when the two become one: when one fell silent, the other stopped moving; when one rebelled, the other was set ablaze with excitement. Be it the time when Sattar Khan, with twelve of his companions, resisted the reactionary army and urged the city’s neighborhoods to fight, or when by lowering the white flags he roused the city from stillness. Rahim Namvar likens their bond to heart and pulse: Tabriz is the heart of the revolution, and its pulse beats in Sattar Khan’s hands. His talent and genius for organization place him at the very heart of the revolution. Ahmad Kasravi devotes nearly half of his History of the Constitutional Revolution to praising his struggles, bravery, and skills, and dedicates much of The Eighteen-Year History of Azerbaijan to his tragic death, calling him the singular hero of freedom. A commander who, according to Mohammad Amin Rasulzadeh, was known in European newspapers as the “Garibaldi.” A figure who in 1908 received telegrams of support from the Social Democratic students of St. Petersburg University and a public letter from 756 students of Moscow University.
But the Sattar Khan of the series bears no resemblance to our historical Sattar Khan. He is detached from the revolutionary tradition, at times portrayed as cautious and conservative. Broken, flustered, senile—somewhat simple-minded. He creates no believable heroism whatsoever. He essentially lacks heroic and epic qualities. His speeches, contrary to what history attests, are devoid of passion. He is, at times, demeaned in the most insolent ways. When words, sinking into banality, fail to keep pace with the writer, the camera frame steps in to belittle him, portraying him as small and insignificant—a depiction that cannot even tarnish the grandeur of the National Commander’s black-and-white photograph.
Sattar Khan is bound with Tabriz, with the Constitutional Revolution, and with Azerbaijan. In their absence—and in the most optimistic view—he will be nothing more than a television character who, like the romantic subplot imposed on his story, is nothing but a lie.