Since 1966, along with other Iranian writers, Bahrami has been active against book censorship and played an active role in the founding of the Iranian Writers' Association in 1968. After the 1979 revolution, he worked towards reviving the association in 1979. Bahrami was also actively involved in preparing and drafting the "We Are Writers" statement, which was published in 1994 with 134 signatures. He has consistently defended freedom of thought and expression without any restrictions or exceptions.
Bahrami and Monarchists and Far-Right Extremists
Monarchists harbor a deep grudge against Bahrami for his exposé work before the revolution, which critiqued the Shah's dictatorship, the torture of political prisoners, and his activism for the freedom of political prisoners. His collaboration with American writers and poets from the PEN International Committee for the Freedom of Arts and Thought in Iran, and his participation in the 1979 revolution, further fuel their animosity toward him.
In Iran, monarchists are part of the far-right and nationalist movements. They discredit Bahrami because of his leftist leanings and his defense of the rights of national minorities and oppressed ethnic groups in Iran. It is no coincidence that Savadi, a security official, spreads absurd lies about him, and that Abbas Milani repeats Savadi's lies about Bahrami. The insults and celebrations of Bahrami’s death by the TV host on "Manoto" demonstrate the deep-seated animosity of the monarchist faction.
Bahrami's views on the right to mother-tongue education and his recognition of Iran as a multi-ethnic country, along with his fight against ethnic oppression, were not only unwelcomed by monarchists, but also upset some segments of the "left" and "democrats."
Bahrami and the Right to Mother-Tongue Education and Ethnic Oppression
Bahrami considers the right to education in one’s mother tongue to be a democratic right. It is rare to find an article or interview by Bahrami that does not touch on ethnic oppression and the right to education in one’s mother tongue.
“We had the right to read books and write essays in our mother tongue only for one year, from Azar 24 to Azar 25 in the Persian calendar. After that, the local government, elected by the people, was overthrown by the central government, and Persian was declared the official language of the region.” (From “The Unwritten Autobiography of a Playwright in Paris - dictated to a friend after death”).
"After December 21, 1946, the Shah's government forced us to gather Turkish books and burn them in the city square, and then demanded we accept that everything must be read in Persian." Bahrami recalls, “My first reference to the suppression of the mother tongue and the destruction of Azerbaijani identity roots appeared in the poem Jangal and Shahr in 1964." (From the introduction of Zol-Allah: Prison Poems - p.34, August 1975).
“It was a betrayal of the majority of the people when public education, which had initially been bilingual before Reza Shah's reign, was transformed into monolingual Persian education after his rule. The owners of other languages and cultures were forced to abandon their original rights and identities through royal decrees and adopt one language: Persian. Through this Indo-European language, the feeling was instilled in all peoples of the country, except the Persians, that they should forget their native and local languages upon entering school... More than sixty-seven percent of the country's children were taught to feel that their mother tongue was a language of humiliation, while the ruling language was the glorious one they should learn and take pride in."
An Azerbaijani should have the right to write, read, study, and teach in their mother tongue. Azerbaijan should have the right to its own identity. Azerbaijanis must manage their own region wisely, in their own language. Otherwise, Azerbaijanis are not your compatriots—they are colonies of the Persian-speaking regions. They are colonies of Isfahan, Shiraz, and half of Tehran. This is a struggle, a fight. Azerbaijanis demand to free their culture from the absolute control of one language. We want cultural, linguistic, and administrative equality. Only withholding this equality from the people of Azerbaijan will lead them to resistance whenever an opportunity arises. Only the equal democratic rights of all nations and ethnicities in the country will guarantee the survival of a country called Iran.” (The Issue of Azerbaijan? Solving the Azerbaijan Question?)
Bahrami believes: Iran is the prison of oppressed nationalities.
In most of his books of poetry, novels, articles, and interviews, Bahrami touches on national oppression in multi-ethnic Iran and consistently speaks out against ethnic discrimination and racism.
Bahrami’s Leftist Leanings
Bahrami comes from a working-class family and has never turned his back on the working class. In all of his novels, and in most of his poetry, interviews, and articles, there are two relatively fixed central themes: ethnic belonging and class belonging (the lower class).
Reza Bahrami is a political figure. He has clear political views and a direct political orientation. He takes action in the political realm. He is a socialist.
The writings and translations of Reza Baraheni, whether poetry, novels, or essays, clearly reflect his leftist orientation without any ambiguity. His translation of the book Arab and Israel by the Marxist Maxim Rodinson in 1969, the translation of The Communist Manifesto by Marx and Engels in 1976, and the translation of Young Lenin by Leon Trotsky in December 1978 all highlight his leftist leanings.
55 years ago, Baraheni translated Arab and Israel by Maxim Rodinson into Persian. The significance of this translation lies in the fact that over half a century ago, he recognized the importance of the Arab and Israel issue and felt it necessary to present it from a Marxist perspective. He believed it was essential for this book to be translated into Persian.
The translation of The Communist Manifesto by Marx and Engels by Baraheni is the only Persian translation that includes Trotsky’s preface. In this preface, Trotsky critiques the theory of “socialism in one country,” criticizes the Second and Third Internationals, and declares, “The Marxist idea today lives only under the banner of the Fourth International” (Trotsky was one of the leaders of the October Revolution, who was assassinated in Mexico in 1940 by Stalin’s agents, three years after writing this preface).
Baraheni is opposed to party literature! In his preface to Story Writing, he writes, “I am against party literature.” Through his experiences, practice, and deep familiarity with the works of enduring global literature, he discovered that the lasting value and impact of a literary work must be free of ideology. Baraheni explicitly states, “I personally oppose ideological literature.” He simultaneously clarifies, “If I write a political article, it must definitely have an ideology, but poetry is much more poetic than to be political, and it should be polyphonic.” (Aftab Journal, Special Issue on Baraheni, January 1997).
In his lecture in Berlin, Baraheni states that it is possible to disagree with a poet’s or writer’s ideology, but still appreciate and admire their works. “If poetry does not transcend the ideology of its poet, it is not poetry.”
Baraheni says, “I dislike poetry that, in its imagined and illusory class consciousness, gives up its poetic nature.” (Contemporary Iranian Literature, Baraheni’s Lecture at the University of Berlin, April 14, 1992, published in Donya-ye Sokhan).
“It is our duty, especially the younger generation, to open all the windows of our minds and cast out our own Stalinism from our worldview. This generation must show that it has abandoned dogmatism and is stepping forward thoughtfully.” Baraheni rejects and criticizes the forms of socialist realism, romanticism, and 19th-century realism. (From the article Critique of Theory and Theory of Critique in the book Awake Dream).
Baraheni and the Woman Question
In 1969, 55 years ago, Baraheni wrote The Masculine History. In 1983, in the preface to the new edition of The Masculine History, Baraheni writes, “The originality of any book is initially related to the specific time framework in which it was written. ... The reader must know that The Masculine History was written in 1969, and naturally, it reflects the spirit of the Iranian society of those years and my own thinking at that time.” In the same preface, he refers to the influence of Jalal Al-Ahmad on The Masculine History. However, he emphasizes, “The intellectual structure of The Masculine History and its underlying theory is unrelated to Jalal Al-Ahmad. Neither I nor any other writer of my generation can ignore the intellectual shock that Al-Ahmad’s Westoxification has left on our minds. But my intellectual approach later took a different path, which is reflected in my subsequent books.”
Despite this acknowledgment, Baraheni, who sheds light on patriarchal society and thoroughly examines the roots of misogyny in Iranian society, analyzes the reasons and causes for the exclusion and backwardness of women in great detail.
Baraheni is one of the few writers who constructs female characters in his works with an awareness of the prevailing patriarchal culture. This is why his profound understanding of and deep sympathy for the fate of women resonate throughout his novel The Secrets of My Land. All the female characters, even those with “negative roles,” possess intellect and independent personalities. This is one of the features of this novel that gives it a significant place in the literary world.
The oppression and injustice faced by women in our land is astonishingly reflected in The Secrets of My Land. The life and experience of each woman in The Secrets tells a sorrowful and regretful story that makes the reader reflect and be moved. The lives of Hussein Mirza’s mother, Raghieh Khanom, Haji Fatemeh Khanom, Ibrahim Agha’s mother, and Tahmineh Naseri, along with that young woman in the market, are united in one thing: they are humiliated, pressured by the patriarchal society, and cannot live their lives as they wish.
In Azadeh Khanom and Her Author (Second Edition), Baraheni addresses the issue of women from a feminist perspective. Azadeh Khanom is a woman who suffers from oppression, rape, and torture: “Know that if anyone is captive in this world, I am that one. If anyone is under torture, I am that one. Is this captivity and torture not because I am a woman?” (Azadeh Khanom, p. 252).
“My husband is nothing but an education, and despite his small size, despite his helplessness in the face of oppression, and despite his bruised appearance, he has accustomed me to being educated.” (p. 256). Bib Oghli, who himself is tortured, is oppressed, but the same victimized man becomes an oppressor toward his wife, Azadeh Khanom, and does the same to her as General Shadan did to him.
“I wish I had a sister instead of a husband. A sister would have comforted me. Surely, my blood would have stopped. Since I don’t have a sister, I am dying. I am being killed. If I had a sister, I would sit her on my lap, comb my hair with her hands, hold her to my chest like a bird, and softly tell her how much I love her…
I wish I had a sister.”
Something that escapes me is my disgust with the situation I find myself trapped in. They call me a woman, look, and do not forget. I wish I could hand myself over to a sister. (p. 235).
I cannot simply dismiss the story of the Golestan Garden of Tabriz, the city of Shams, and the poem The Soul of the Butterfly by Shams, and Azadeh Khanom’s suicide: “At the gate of Golestan Garden, she got out of the carriage. She went into the garden... The charm of Golestan Garden was that it was close to Chokhourlar, Gajil, Nachareh, as well as to Shahnaz, the bazaar, and Qaraaghaj. She sat by the long pool bench and, when she reached into her pocket, pulled out a letter from Azadeh Khanom and started reading... I am wounded for life. So much blood will flow from me that I will die... She looks at her reflection in the mirror, holding the razor blade from Bib Oghli, and then reaches up to touch her soft, bloodless, and lifeless lips. Before proceeding, she softly reads these lines: I am neither a fairy nor a madwoman / I am the soul of the suffering butterfly...
Then she presses the razor against both wrists and, once again, looks into the mirror, and this time, blood spurts out..."
And suddenly a hand was placed on his shoulder and someone said, "Brother! Brother, why are you crying like this?" He lifted his head from the letter. Two large black eyes were looking down at his tearful face. What sorrowful eyes they were! Sharifi said, "Me? Me? I wasn't crying!" He immediately realized who the man was and stood up... Sharifi was seated on the bench, and the man sat beside him. They stared at the pool's water without saying a word. He had decided not to share the secret of the letter with anyone, so he handed it to the man. The man took off his glasses, grabbed the letter, and read it through. Afterward, Sharifi asked him to write the line from the poem "Spirit of the Butterfly" that began with "I have neither seen a fairy nor am I insane / I am the tormented soul of a butterfly" around the letter in his own beautiful handwriting. The man took out his pen and wrote the verses. (Azadeh Khanum, pages 271-272)
One can see the feminist views of Braheni in his relationship with Forough Farrokhzad as well. Braheni says, "I have written over two hundred pages about Forough Farrokhzad in Persian, English, and Turkish." In the article "Forough Has Spoken with Her Poem Directly," he writes, "I have no doubt that Forough Farrokhzad is the greatest woman in the history of Iran... Forough Farrokhzad was the first woman to rebel against the patriarchal family structure, and she manifested this rebellion in both her personal life and poetic work as the central issue of her life and art. This rebellion was against the patriarchal history of Iran, which revolves entirely around male dominance. Forough broke the tradition of the paternal family, the husband's family, and the lover's family. In the first two, the man is dominant. In the third, she chooses a lover outside the conventional married, patriarchal family. Forough disrupted the family system."
"I have never seen anyone speak so openly and eloquently about Forough Farrokhzad's feminist aspect."
Braheni and the "National-Ethnic Spirit"
Braheni wrote "From One Sun to Another" in 1965, "Tabriz After the Round of the World" in 1996, and "Shor Amiref" in 1998.
"From One Sun to Another" is about the painter Ghandriz from Tabriz, but Braheni also describes Tabriz in autumn, its streets, and its people: "Autumn in Tabriz is a stormy season. If you are near the Golestan Garden, you will see the early bare branches commanding the tall trees, and in the evening, the cawing of crows is heard from the other side of the garden. But if you walk a few steps away from the garden, and if no rain has fallen or hail hasn't settled the dust, the wind picks up fine particles of dirt and blows them into your face and eyes. Although streets have been built across the city, just a little deviation from the main street takes you into winding alleys that stretch out to lengths many times longer than the streets... At night, these alleys become endless, dark corridors where pedestrians feel their way along the clay walls and move forward like Alexander in the darkness. Despite this, Tabriz is also a city of light and brightness. In the summer, it seems that the sun sets in the same street that is an east-west avenue, and from any point in the city, the mosque on top of the mountain can be seen..."
Tabriz is also a city of mourners, with chains and chest-beating groups, and perhaps the bustle during mourning days is more intense than at any other time. The people of Tabriz are mostly traders or workers. The majority of them, when their work ends, gather in groups with their evening provisions in hand, heads bowed, and take the path home. An hour after sunset, the sound of footsteps disappears in the back alleys, and darkness deepens. But in the city center, there are still cinema-goers, café dwellers, and drunkards. But within two or three hours after sunset, usually, even the streets become empty. No one remains except a few late passersby in a hurry or a few drunks who show no urgency, and beggars who sleep against walls or under doorways, and the flies that continue their nocturnal wanderings through the wind, rain, and snow." (Masculine History, pages 177-178)
In "Tabriz After the Round of the World," Braheni writes: "Shams of Tabriz once said something that is truer about me than about himself: 'To see one friend with one eye, you must see a hundred enemies.' I have read dozens of books on history, novels, and poems related to World War II, and I have seen hundreds of films, but the truth is that when I think properly, I realize that World War II began in that 'Dead Man’s Gutter' of Tabriz, but in order to understand this simple truth, I had to travel around the world and 'see a hundred enemies.' I have traveled the world to understand Tabriz better. It's not about prejudice. Someone who doesn't return to their birthplace has never seen the world; or better yet, hasn't been born. But one cannot understand this in the early days. It's not that one lacks intelligence, no! There is a feeling that lurks just below the heart and above the stomach, waiting. It waits and stays. Until traveling around the world and experiencing its people makes one’s hands rise and place them on that feeling. Whether you’re a man or not, you feel that pregnancy, and then you realize, even if it has no meaning, there is something far beyond meaning."
The strange and enchanting relationship between "From One Sun to Another" (written in 1960) where a friend asks Baraheni to visit Qandriz, a painter in Tabriz, and Baraheni writes about this visit in 1965 in Book Critique, continues to be evident in his writing until 1996 when he writes Tabriz After the World's Journey. Every time Baraheni speaks of Tabriz, his writing becomes wondrous, strange, and magical.
In 1998, Baraheni writes "I Will Not Speak of Shor Amiraf":
"I will not place you in my heart, lest you become...
I will not place you in my sight, for you will be disgraced...
I place you in my soul, not in my sight or heart,
Until the last breath, you become my companion."
(From the articles of Shams)
It is as familiar as the palm of the hand, as familiar as the lines in the palm. I will not speak of Shor Amiraf. I will speak from Tabriz to Savalan. From Shams to Zoroaster. The human mountains speak together. I do not speak. The soil, soaked with the scent and incense of those who have passed, is mine. It is no more than 200 kilometers. From the top of Savalan to the places where oil reaches the earth and ignites fire three thousand years ago, it is still the same soil, wet with the scent of those who have passed.
The thieves of fire are there. And Baku’s origin is not from Baku, though its winds blow in fear. Its origin is the god of wine, Bacchus, whose root is "Bogh" in all the ancient languages of Asia, meaning God. I will not speak of Shor Amiraf. From the tumultuous winds that blow endlessly, if you are not trapped in the hair of the Caspian, which later becomes an auditory image in Amiraf, you will again return to the image and hear the difficult but pleasant sound of the waves splitting.
You must hear it a thousand times, and each time you hear it, you will see that the entire lower side of the Caucasus Mountains, at least until the ancient Tower of Babel, speaks to you. This music speaks and speaks beyond speech. With me, it does this... In the end, I have heard these themes from my mother’s chest, straight from the depths of the Caspian and Lake Urmia, from the very roots of the mountains that send the Euphrates south, from the faces—white, prominent, brown, radiant—and the waves and people, and horses that call for excitement. My chest must tear open to make space for all these, in this novel and unique form, and as the rhythms accelerate, I no longer see the hands and feet of men and women; I hear them. When they dance, they turn their faces, and then suddenly, sorrow presses everywhere.
...In these melodies, we do not have two, three, four, or ten Azerbaijans. We have a thousand Azerbaijans. This is what Amiraf Ganjavi has done!"
Tabriz, Azerbaijan, and Azerbaijani identity have a special place in Baraheni's poems, essays, writings, and later in his novels.
When Baraheni writes about Saadi or Shahriyar, he also writes about Tabriz, the legendary and magical Tabriz. Or when he recalls the poem "Gari" for his dear friend, his forever companion, Gholamhossein Saadi, he masterfully, beautifully, and at the same time, terrifyingly depicts the pain, suffering, and yearning of a nation. The reader of the poem feels their breath catch and the weight of the oppressed nation’s pain on their shoulders:
"And then, with a heavy sigh, they threw Savalan onto the cart and took it away,
And they threw the starry sky of Tabriz onto the cart,
From the cart, hundreds of thousands of Tabriz eyes cried:
They took us away,
And,
They took away the flowers of Tabriz's gardens when they threw the Ark of Ali Shah
Onto the cart, and took it away."
Baraheni knows well that the historical experiences of a nation, its geographical position, and its cultural heritage form the "national-ethnic spirit," which is why he consistently addresses historical experiences, geographical conditions, and cultural heritage in his works.
Baraheni understands that it is this "national spirit" that makes a nation a nation.
Baraheni’s writings are the manifestation of the "national-ethnic spirit."
September 2024
As quoted from the first volume of the forty-first and final issue of Voice of Exile, published in three volumes.
Link to the original text in Farsi: https://asre-nou.net/php/view.php?objnr=63602
