Remarkable! Do we know of any other writer who, with such intensity and fervor, has spoken about the mute, the voiceless, the tongue-cut and tongue-cutters, the killers of language, and the forms and methods of silencing, torturing, violating, mutilating, and killing language? bell hooks, the African American writer, has written of a kind of linguistic terror she believes must have befallen enslaved Africans. Alongside physical torture—whippings, starvation, sexual assault, mutilation, being thrown to wild dogs, and lynching—the African slaves also endured a form of linguistic violation, as they could not understand the dominant language of the slave ships, slave markets, nor the language of their owners, torturers, and lynchers. In hooks’ view, the psychological and physical pain caused by this “linguistic terror” must have been far deadlier than physical torture. On the other hand, slaves also disrupted the language of the slave owners, trampling on their polished, pretentious accents, sometimes consciously and sometimes unconsciously, showing their hatred of slavery, slaveholders, and the entire slave system through their broken dialects and fractured speech. And how beautifully Baraheni captures these emotions in the poem "H-":
“Halam halam halam lam lam halay halalah halah
And with my native tongue and eyes, he cries,
For crying has authenticity in this language, in these eyes.
Halam halam halam lam lam halay halalah halah…
My tongue! My tongue! ‘The one who says’ I am lost, I am sorrow.”
The prolific and talented Kenyan writer Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o is also one of those passionate souls who has felt the “pain of language.” Constantly journeying from his vulnerable mother tongue, Gikuyu, to the official language of his country, Kiswahili, and from these to English, he has endured countless hardships in these perilous transitions. And then there’s Gloria Anzaldúa, the Chicana-Mexican-American writer, whose rebellious pen boldly speaks of defiant languages and voices, of forbidden thoughts; she has written of physical borders and of the complex, intertwined frontiers of gender, language, femininity, sexuality, and of bodies that are queer, undocumented, exiled, and wounded. And many others, all of them belong to the legacy of the pen and embody the spirit of resistance and struggle!
Baraheni’s pen, however, is more familiar and his language sharper. In his words, we hear the voices of those slain throughout our history, those executed across the Middle East in the most brutal ways for the audacity of their thoughts and the courage of their speech—from Mansur Al-Hallaj, Imadaddin Nasimi, Ayn al-Qudat Hamadani, and Farrokhi Yazdi to the writers murdered in the chain killings twenty years ago, and the horrific murder of Jamal Khashoggi just two months ago. Who can hear the horrifying details of Khashoggi’s dismemberment in the Saudi consulate in Istanbul without thinking of the man in The Hellish Life of Mr. Ayaz, who whispered "I am the Truth" under the fierce, bloody, glistening teeth of Mahmoud’s saw:
"The tongue that once moved in his mouth, releasing words with strength and dignity, with thought and complete emotion from between his lips and teeth, was severed from the root, and that slippery, blood-covered tongue, fresh and radiant with blood, remained in Mahmoud’s hand; Mahmoud threw it into the basin placed beside the bucket. Then the words vanished, and he forgot words, sounds, speech, and expression." (4)
The language of Baraheni’s poetry and prose, like his narrative style, is the living language of the people, with all its eclecticism, impurities, and vibrant hues. Beyond the meanings present in the text, Baraheni challenges linguistic purism and discursive exclusivity through his writing form and even his choice of words. His writing style confronts the elitist and pretentious forms of Persian literature, playing a “subversive” role in the process—one that resonates with Foucault’s ideas of “reversal and transgression.” These “linguistic/literary subversions” not only align with Baraheni’s rebellious character and defiant spirit but are also influenced by his restless nature and his inherent opposition to power. To gaze into the eyes of “power,” to tell it the truth, and to bear the costs of such audacity—or to be willing to bear those costs—is the greatest quality of a responsible intellectual: a thinker with critical consciousness in the vein of Socrates, Gramsci, Edward Said, Hannah Arendt, Noam Chomsky, and others.
In 1952, during his imprisonment by the Shah’s SAVAK, an interrogator asked Baraheni about the victims of December 21 and the novel The Dead of the Vacant House: “Wasn’t your house in Tabriz the center of the heretical books of treasonous parties?” Baraheni responded to this question in two different ways. Inside the prison, he told the interrogator, “We never had a house!” And outside the prison, in Azadeh Khanum and Her Writer, he answers the interrogator’s question like this: “...he wanted to say that in his lifetime, he only liked heretical books and treasonous parties.” This attachment to “heretical books and treasonous parties” embodies the spirit of swimming “against the current” and “gazing defiantly into the eyes of power,” which resonates throughout Baraheni’s writings, from the shadow of God and the crown-wearing man-eaters to the songs of the slain and the secrets of my homeland alongside the roars of the foreign-killing wolf of Azerbaijan.
Baraheni's book Masculine History (especially the English edition) takes the reader to the depths of the putrid patriarchal society and sexist culture of Iran, exposing homophobic and repugnant sexual behaviors and discourses with bold and explicit language. Masculine History is a work that was written decades ago in the realm of sexual and gender oppression in Iran, placing the criminal patriarchal system of Iran's history on trial. Despite the passage of several decades since its publication, the book still retains its freshness and dynamism, with its bold penmanship and naked expression remaining unparalleled and unmatched. In this era of flourishing postmodernist and feminist discourses, even the most radical and progressive Iranian feminists have not been able to reach the level of Baraheni’s Masculine History, Dominant Culture, and Oppressed Culture, neither in the boldness of language, nor in the depth of analysis, nor in the diversity of variables and themes explored.
In works like The Madness of Writing and especially The Infernal Times of Mr. Ayaz, Baraheni approaches the subject of sexuality from a different perspective, breaking taboos in the realms of homosexuality, sexual diversity, and queerness. Which of his contemporaries has confronted cultural and linguistic taboos, sexual and gender inequalities, and racial and ethnic oppressions with such boldness and risk? What about contemporary writers, feminists, anti-racists, and anti-sexists? Baraheni, however, “like a lion, unafraid of the howls,” has taken on cultural myths and sexual/ethnic/language/religious taboos, challenging the official, religious, and traditional discourses in a Socratic manner.
“I have written that book with my blood,” Baraheni tells the opportunistic publisher of The Infernal Times of Mr. Ayaz—the cowardly publisher who, in a bid to curry favor with the powers that be, brazenly destroys Baraheni's novel and writes a slanderous letter against him to justify his shameless actions. Most of Baraheni's books are the kind that are written with blood and "heart's blood." In a country where free thought, writing, and speaking freely are crimes, it is only natural that a novel like Ayaz is also written with the author's blood. Are we not currently in the process of commemorating the twentieth anniversary of the murder of dissenting thinkers and writers during the bloody autumn of '77, such as Baraheni's friends and colleagues, Mohammad Mokhtari, Mohammad Jafar Pouyandeh, Pirouz Davani, Majid Sharif, Hamid Hajizadeh, and others? What else awaits the dissenting writers of that land other than poverty, torture, rape, imprisonment, being set ablaze, and being stabbed to death?
In Savak prison, Baraheni tells his interrogator, “We never had a home,” a reality he has referenced in many of his writings and interviews. Baraheni is born of poverty and is familiar with deprivation. His class consciousness has significantly influenced his fascination with the Democratic Party of Azerbaijan and with the figure of Mir Jafar Pishavari, particularly in relation to his commitment to language freedom and the right to self-determination for the people of Azerbaijan. For him, concepts such as the right to self-determination and equal linguistic and citizenship rights have never held an independent meaning outside their material foundations and class relations. He is one of the few Iranian writers who has carefully studied and deeply understood notable Marxist and Marxist texts (reading, understanding, and deep comprehension are three related yet distinct concepts). His Persian translation of the “Communist Party Manifesto” is, in the opinion of this writer, the most beautiful and faithful translation of the original English text of Marx and Engels' "Communist Manifesto."
Class consciousness and a materialistic worldview (of a Marxist nature) are evident in the contexts and backgrounds of most of Baraheni's writings. Years before Kimberlé Crenshaw introduced the theory and term "intersectionality" into academic discourse in the West, Reza Baraheni was discussing the "intertwining" of class, gender, and ethnicity, analyzing these "three fundamental issues" of Iranian society—though in Baraheni's perspective, "class" is not reduced to "a form of identity" but is considered in the broad and profound meanings that Marx outlined.
This point holds true when comparing Baraheni's perspective with that of the "postcolonial school." In Baraheni's theorizing and literary criticism, wherever necessary, there is ample attention paid to the role of colonialism and imperialism in shaping ideologies and specific artistic/literary genres. Baraheni's focus on the impact of class relations, as well as the role of colonialism and imperialism in the context in which literary texts are produced, is significantly greater than that of postcolonial theorists concerning the role of class, colonialism, and imperialism—namely writers like Homi Bhabha, Gayatri Spivak, and even in some cases Edward Said. For this reason, I consider Reza Baraheni not among postcolonial writers but rather among "anti-colonial" writers. The greatest weakness of postcolonial perspectives has been their avoidance of "class" and a regressive turn towards "identity" and "culture." For instance, the late Edward Said could speak for hours about Gramsci and his cultural/language theories without mentioning Gramsci's Marxist and communist beliefs!
The race to escape "class" in favour of identity and cultural discussions peaked following the collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s. Postmodernist, post-structuralist, and right-wing globalist theories began to seize the strongholds of discourse and class-oriented praxis. It reached a point where Mr. Fukuyama declared "liberal democracy" the victor of class conflict and triumphantly announced "the end of history." For thinkers like Baraheni, who tracked events with a materialistic-Marxist perspective, it was evident that the celebrations of neoliberalists, postmodernists, and postcolonialists would not last long, and it would not be long before capitalism revealed its internal contradictions. And indeed, that happened. The economic crises of 2008 once again highlighted the instability of the capitalist system. The increasing class divide within capitalist societies and in peripheral societies reached such a level that even bourgeois economists and theorists began to protest, acknowledging the divide between the one-percenters—multi-millionaires and billionaires—and the ninety-nine percent—impoverished, hungry, homeless individuals.
From behind the promised liberal democracy of Mr. Fukuyama, the monstrous specter of neoliberalism emerged, shamelessly heralding the imposition of the law of the jungle in human societies. This monster, which had been creeping forward quietly since the Thatcher and Reagan eras, surged forward with dizzying speed with the rise of Trump and Trumpism, becoming a source of inspiration for the emergence of quasi-fascist characters and movements across the globe, from the Philippines to Brazil, Australia, and various European and Middle Eastern countries. The defiance of racism and white nationalism in North America and Europe, the unprecedented destruction of the environment coupled with even more unprecedented plundering of natural resources, and the alarming rise of militarism, religious fascism, xenophobia, and anti-immigrant sentiment are small signs of a greater catastrophe looming ahead—unless a leftist alternative revives and stands up against unbridled capitalism and its racist, nationalist, and fascist supporters.
The reality is that "class-averse" theories are incapable of analyzing the capitalist system and its increasing dilemmas. Thinkers like Homi Bhabha and Gayatri Spivak, recognized as pioneers of postcolonial theory, were among the first scholars to acknowledge the inefficacy of postcolonial theories in the era of neoliberalism, having observed the troubling trends of capitalism. Among bourgeois theorists, Mr. Francis Fukuyama also discusses in his recent book, "Identity," the identity games and policies of the past twenty to thirty years as the root causes of tribalism, hate literature, the rise of Trumpism, and "white nationalism," and (in his own bourgeois style) expresses a desire for class-oriented theories and activities to return to the social struggles in America, to curb the rapidly growing class divide and medieval tribalism before it is too late.
In this context, Reza Baraheni stands out as a creative writer and leading literary theorist with a brilliant record. Despite his deep understanding of postmodern theories and his awareness of their various achievements, especially in the fields of language and literary theory, Baraheni was not intimidated by postmodernist schools of thought. His works on ethnic oppression, the right to self-determination of peoples, and the freedom of languages are not written from an ethnic nationalist perspective but from an anti-racist and anti-xenophobic standpoint. In fact, being anti-racist is the exact opposite of any form of ethnocentrism, tribalism, or racism. Which aware and responsible writer or intellectual can witness blatant Aryan racism and remain unresponsive? Which conscientious human being can observe the homelessness, hunger, and helplessness of others and take no action? Who can witness the horrific disaster of sexual oppression and gender inequality and remain silent? The refusal to remain silent in the face of social injustices is the prominent element that, alongside his enduring literary and theoretical creativity, defines Baraheni: as a responsible writer, a committed intellectual, and a creative and fighting human being.
And it is precisely because of his bold writings and activities against racism, sexism, and class oppression that intellectuals, students, and the reading public cherish this writer and great teacher. And it is for this very reason that Baraheni cannot and must not be forgotten.
Long live December 21, the eighty-third birthday of Professor Reza Baraheni!
Azadeh comes in the spring
— or whenever she arrives, spring has come —
and she opens the door halfway, discreetly
and reads our secrets back to us…
سن گـَلنده گیلانارلار گول اودو
عؤمرون غوربتلرده چورودو
Footnotes
Baraheni, Reza (1997). Azadeh Khanum and Her Writer: The Private Auschwitz of Dr. Sharifi. Second edition. Sweden: Baran Publishing. p. 324
Azadeh Khanum and Her Writer, pp. 299-300
Baraheni, Reza. The Hellish Times of Mr. Ayaz. p. 42
Baraheni, Reza. The Hellish Times of Mr. Ayaz, pp. 42-43
Azadeh Khanum and Her Writer, pp. 256-257
Baraheni, Reza. In Memory of a Friend: Gholam Hossein Saedi, Storyteller, Playwright, Lover. Radio Zamaneh Archive. Link
Fukuyama, F. (2018). Identity: The Demand for Dignity and the Politics of Resentment. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
Quoted from "Voice of Exile," Issue 32.
Link to the original text in Farsi: https://avaetabid.com/?p=4393
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