C H A P T ER 18

Iran's King of Kings

Poglavlje 18

Iranski kralj kraljeva

U periodu od 1975. do 1978. godine sam esto poseivao Iran. Ponekad sam putovao poslom iymeu Latinske Amerike ili Indonezije i Teherana. ahanah (u bukvalnom prevodu, kralj kraljeva, njegova zvanina titula) predstavio je situaciju potpuno drugaiju od onih koje smo videli u drugim zemljama gde smo radili.

Iran je bio bogat naftnim rezervama i nije mu bilo potrebno, kao ni Saudijskoj Arabiji, da se uputa u bilo kakve dugove da bi finansirao svoj ambiciozni spisak projekata. Meutim, Iran se od Saudijske Arabije znaajno razlikovao po tome to njegovu ogromnu populaciju, koja iako je bila uglavnom sa Bliskog Istoka i muslimanskog porekla, nisu inili Arapi. tavie, ova zemlja je oduvek bila izvor politikih previranja kako u spoljnjoj tako i u unutranjoj politici. Zbog svega toga smo osmislili drugaiji pristup: Vaington i poslovna zajednica su udruili snage u pokuaju da pretvore aha u simbol napretka. Between 1975 and 1978,1 frequently visited Iran. Sometimes I commuted

between Latin America or Indonesia and Tehran. The Shah of

Shahs (literally, "King of Kings," his official title) presented a completely

different situation from that in the other countries where we

worked.

Iran was oil rich and, like Saudi Arabia, it did not need to incur

debt in order to finance its ambitious list of projects. However, Iran

differed significantly from Saudi Arabia in that its large population,

while predominantly Middle Eastern and Muslim, was not Arabic. In

addition, the country had a history of political turmoil both internally

and in its relationships with its neighbors. Therefore, we

took a different approach: Washington and the business community joined

forces to turn the shah into a symbol of progress.

Upinjali smo se iz svih snaga da pokaemo celom svetu ta jak demokratski orjentisan prijatelj korporativnih i politikih interesa Sjedinjenih Drava moe da postigne. Nije uopte bitna ta titula koja je oigledno nedemokratska, ili manje oigledna injenica da je CIA organizovala pu kojim je zbaen s vlasti demokratski izabran premijer ove zemlje, Vaington i evropski partneri su bili reeni da vladavinu aha predstave kao alternativu onima u Iraku, Libiji, Kini, Koreji, i nekim drugim zemljama gde je mona struja pritajenog antiamerikanizma izbijala na povrinu.

We launched an immense effort to show the world what a strong,

democratic friend of U.S. corporate and political interests could accomplish.

Never mind his obviously undemocratic title or the less

obvious fact of the CIA-orchestrated coup against his democratically

elected premier; Washington and its European partners were determined

to present the shah's government as an alternative to those

in Iraq, Libya, China, Korea, and other nations where a powerful

undercurrent of anti-Americanism was surfacing.

Spolja je izgledalo da je ah napredni prijatelj obespravljenih. Godine 1962, naredio je da se velika privatna imanja rasparaju i podele seljacima. Naredne godine je otpoeo svoju Belu revoluciju koja je podrazumevala opiran plan drutveno-ekonomske reforme. Mo OPEC-a je rasla tokom sedamdesetih, a ah je postajao jedan od najuticajnijih svetskih voa. Iran je u tom periodu razvio jednu od najjaih vojnih snaga na muslimanskom Bliskom istoku. MAIN je bio ukljuen u projekte koji su pokrivali veliki deo zemlje, poev od turistikih odrednica pored Kaspijskog mora na severu, pa sve do tajnih vojnih objekata za nadgledanje Ormuskog prolaza na jugu.

To all appearances, the shah was a progressive friend of the underprivileged.

In 1962, he ordered large private landholdings broken up

and turned over to peasant owners. The following year, he inaugurated

his White Revolution, which involved an extensive agenda for socioeconomic

reforms. The power of OPEC grew during the 1970s, and

the shah became an increasingly influential world leader. At the

same time, Iran developed one of the most powerful military forces

in the Muslim Middle East.MAIN was involved in projects that covered most of the country,

from tourist areas along the Caspian Sea in the north to secret military

installations overlooking the Straits of Hormuz in the south.

Da ponovim, na primarni zadatak je bio da predvidimo potencijal za rayvoj u svim regionima, a zatim da osmislimo sisteme za proizvodnju, prenos i raspodelu elektrine energije, koji bi svima obezbedili neophodnu struju za napajanje industrijskog i komercijalnog razvoja koji bi proizaao iz tih predvianja. Once again, the focus of our work was to forecast regional development

potentials and then to design electrical generating, transmission,

and distribution systems that would provide the all-important

energy required to fuel the industrial and commercial growth that

would realize these forecasts.

Posetio sam veinu regiona Irana u nekom periodu. Pratio sam staru stazu kojom su karavani ili kroz pustinjske planine, od Kermana (Kirman) do Bender Abasa (Bandar Abbas), i lutao sam kroz ruevine Persepolja (Persepolis), legendarne palate drevnih kraljeva i jednog od uda klasinog sveta. Obiao sam najslavnije i najspektakularnije lokalitete ove zemlje: iraz (Shiraz), Isfahan (Isfahan), i velianstveni ator grad blizu Persepolja, gde je ah krunisan. Za to vreme u meni se javila istinska ljubav prema ovoj zemlji i njenom sloenom narodu. I visited most of the major regions of Iran at one time or another.

I followed the old caravan trail through the desert mountains, from

Kirman to Bandar Abbas, and I roamed the ruins of Persepolis, the

legendary palace of ancient kings and one of the wonders of the classical

world. I toured the country's most famous and spectacular sites:

Shiraz, Isfahan, and the magnificent tent city near Persepolis where

the shah had been crowned. In the process, I developed a genuine

love for this land and its complex people.On the surface, Iran seemed to be a model example of Christian-

Muslim cooperation. However, I soon learned that tranquil appearances

may mask deep resentment.

Late one evening in 1977, I returned to my hotel room to find a

note shoved under my door. I was shocked to discover that it was

signed by a man named Yamin. I had never met him, but he had been

described to me during a government briefing as a famous and most

subversive radical. In beautifully crafted English script, the note

invited me to meet him at a designated restaurant. However, there

was a warning: I was to come only if I was interested in exploring a

side of Iran that most people "in my position" never saw. I wondered

whether Yamin knew what my true position was. I realized that I

was taking a big risk; however, I could not resist the temptation to

meet this enigmatic figure.

My taxi dropped me off in front of a tiny gate in a high wall so

high that I could not see the building behind it. A beautiful Iranian

woman wearing a long black gown ushered me in and led me down a

corridor illuminated by ornate oil lamps hanging from a low ceiling.

At the end of this corridor, we entered a room that dazzled like the

interior of a diamond, blinding me with its radiance. When my eyes

finally adjusted, I saw that the walls were inlaid with semiprecious

stones and mother-of-pearl. The restaurant was lighted by tall white

candles protruding from intricately sculpted bronze chandeliers.

A tall man with long black hair, wearing a tailored navy blue suit,

approached and shook my hand. He introduced himself as Yamin, in

an accent that suggested he was an Iranian who had been educated in

the British school system, and I was immediately struck by how little

he looked like a subversive radical. He directed me past several

tables where couples sat quietly eating, to a very private alcove; he

assured me we could talk in complete confidentiality. I had the distinct

impression that this restaurant catered to secret rendezvous.

Ours, quite possibly, was the only non-amorous one that night.

Yamin was very cordial. During our discussion, it became

obvious that he thought of me merely as an economic consultant, not

as someone with ulterior motives. He explained that he had singled

me out because he knew I had been a Peace Corps volunteer and because

he had been told that I took every possible opportunity to get

to know his country and to mix with its people.

"You are very young compared to most in your profession," he

said. "You have a genuine interest in our history and our current

problems. You represent our hope."

This, as well as the setting, his appearance, and the presence of so

many others in the restaurant, gave me a certain degree of comfort. I

had become accustomed to people befriending me, like Rasy in Java

and Fidel in Panama, and I accepted it as a compliment and an

opportunity. I knew that I stood out from other Americans because I

was in fact infatuated with the places I visited. I have found that

people warm to you very quickly if you open your eyes, ears, and

heart to their culture.

Yamin asked if I knew about the Flowering Desert project.2 "The

shah believes that our deserts were once fertile plains and lush

forests. At least, that's what he claims. During Alexander the Great's

reign, according to this theory, vast armies swept across these lands,

traveling with millions of goats and sheep. The animals ate all the

grass and other vegetation. The disappearance of these plants caused

a drought, and eventually the entire region became a desert. Now all

we have to do, or so the shah says, is plant millions upon millions of trees. After that presto the rains will return and the desert will

bloom again. Of course, in the process we will have to spend hundreds

of millions of dollars." He smiled condescendingly.

"Companies like yours will reap huge profits."

"I take it you don't believe in this theory."

"The desert is a symbol. Turning it green is about much more

than agriculture."

Several waiters descended upon us with trays of beautifully presented

Iranian food. Asking my permission first, Yamin proceeded to

select an assortment from the various trays. Then he turned back to

me.

"A question for you, Mr. Perkins, if I might be so bold. What destroyed

the cultures of your own native peoples, the Indians?"

I responded that I felt there had been many factors, including

greed and superior weapons.

"Yes. True. All of that. But more than anything else, did it not

come down to a destruction of the environment?" He went on to explain

how once forests and animals such as the buffalo are destroyed,

and once people are moved onto reservations, the very foundations

of cultures collapse.

'You see, it is the same here," he said. "The desert is our environment.

The Flowering Desert project threatens nothing less than the

destruction of our entire fabric. How can we allow this to happen?"

I told him that it was my understanding that the whole idea behind

the project came from his people. He responded with a cynical laugh,

saying that the idea was planted in the shah's mind by my own

United States government, and that the shah was just a puppet of that

government.

"A true Persian would never permit such a thing," Yamin said.

Then he launched into a long dissertation about the relationship between

his people the Bedouins and the desert. He emphasized

the fact that many urbanized Iranians take their vacations in the

desert. They set up tents large enough for the entire family and spend

a week or more living in them.

"We my people are part of the desert. The people the shah

claims to rule with that iron hand of his are not just of the desert. We

are the desert."

After that, he told me stories about his personal experiences in the

desert. When the evening was over, he escorted me back to the

tiny door in the large wall. My taxi was waiting in the street outside.

Yamin shook my hand and expressed his appreciation for the time I

had spent with him. He again mentioned my young age and my

openness, and the fact that my occupying such a position gave him

hope for the future.

"I am so glad to have had this time with a man like you." He continued

to hold my hand in his. "I would request of you only one more

favor. I do not ask this lightly. I do it only because, after our time

together tonight, I know it will be meaningful to you. You'll gain a

great deal from it."

"What is it I can do for you?"

"I would like to introduce you to a dear friend of mine, a man

who can tell you a great deal about our King of Kings. He may

shock you, but I assure you that meeting him will be well worth your

time."

C HA P T E R 19

Confessions of a Tortured Man

Several days later, Yamin drove me out of Tehran, through a dusty

and impoverished shantytown, along an old camel trail, and out to

the edge of the desert. With the sun setting behind the city, he

stopped his car at a cluster of tiny mud shacks surrounded by palm

trees.

"A very old oasis," he explained, "dating back centuries before

Marco Polo." He preceded me to one of the shacks. "The man inside

has a PhD from one of your most prestigious universities. For reasons

that will soon be clear, he must remain nameless. You can call

him Doc."

He knocked on the wooden door, and there was a muffled response.

Yamin pushed the door open and led me inside. The tiny

room was windowless and lit only by an oil lamp on a low table in

one corner. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that the dirt floor was covered

with Persian carpets. Then the shadowy outline of a man began to

emerge. He was seated in front of the lamp in a way that kept his

features hidden. I could tell only that he was bundled in blankets and

was wearing something around his head. He sat in a wheelchair, and

other than the table, this was the only piece of furniture in the room.

Yamin motioned for me to sit on a carpet. He went up and gently

embraced the man, speaking a few words in his ear, then returned

and sat at my side.

"I've told you about Mr. Perkins," he said. "We're both honored to

have this opportunity to visit with you, sir."

"Mr. Perkins. You are welcome." The voice, with barely any detectable

accent, was low and hoarse. I found myself leaning forward

into the small space between us as he said, "You see before you a

broken man. I have not always been so. Once I was strong like you. I

was a close and trusted adviser to the shah." There was a long pause.

"The Shah of Shahs, King of Kings." His tone of voice sounded, I

thought, more sad than angry.

"I personally knew many of the world's leaders. Eisenhower,

Nixon, de Gaulle. They trusted me to help lead this country into the

capitalist camp. The shah trusted me, and," he made a sound that

could have been a cough, but which I took for a laugh, "I trusted the

shah. I believed his rhetoric. I was convinced that Iran would lead

the Muslim world into a new epoch, that Persia would fulfill its

promise. It seemed our destiny the shah's, mine, all of ours who

carried out the mission we thought we had been born to fulfill."

The lump of blankets moved; the wheelchair made a wheezing

noise and turned slightly. I could see the outline of the man's face in

profile, his shaggy beard, and then it grabbed me the flatness.

He had no nose! I shuddered and stifled a gasp.

"Not a pretty- sight, would you say, ah, Mr. Perkins? Too bad you

can't see it in full light. It is truly grotesque." Again there was the

sound of choking laughter. "But as I'm sure you can appreciate, I

must remain anonymous. Certainly, you could learn my identity if

you tried, although you might find that I am dead. Officially, I no

longer exist. Yet I trust you won't try. You and your family are better

off not knowing who I am. The arm of the shah and SAVAK reaches

far."

The chair wheezed and returned to its original position. I felt a

sense of relief, as though not seeing the profile somehow obliterated

the violence that had been done. At the time, I did not know of this

custom among some Islamic cultures. Individuals deemed to have

brought dishonor or disgrace upon society or its leaders are punished

by having their noses cut off. In this way, they are marked for life

as this man's face clearly demonstrated.

"I'm sure, Mr. Perkins, you're wondering why we invited you

here," Without waiting for my response, the man in the wheelchair

continued, "You see, this man who calls himself the King of Kings is

in reality satanic. His father was deposed by your CIA with I hate

to say it my help, because he was said to be a Nazi collaborator.

And then there was the Mossadegh calamity. Today, our shah is on

the route to surpassing Hitler in the realms of evil. He does this with the

full knowledge and support of your government."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Quite simple. He is your only real ally in the Middle East, and

the industrial world rotates on the axle of oil that is the Middle East.

Oh, you have Israel, of course, but that's actually a liability to you,

not an asset. And no oil there. Your politicians must placate the Jewish

vote, must get their money to finance campaigns. So you're stuck

with Israel, I'm afraid. However, Iran is the key. Your oil companies

which carry even more power than the Jews need us. You need

our shah or you think you do, just as you thought you needed

South Vietnam's corrupt leaders."

'Are you suggesting otherwise? Is Iran the equivalent to

Vietnam?"

"Potentially much worse. You see, this shah won't last much

longer. The Muslim world hates him. Not just the Arabs, but Muslims

everywhere Indonesia, the United States, but mostly right

here, his own Persian people." There was a thumping sound and I

realized that he had struck the side of his chair. "He is evil! We

Persians hate him." Then silence. I could hear only his heavy breathing,

as though the exertion had exhausted him.

"Doc is very close to the mullahs," Yamin said to me, his voice

low and calm. "There is a huge undercurrent among the religious

factions here and it pervades most of our country, except for a

handful of people in the commercial classes who benefit from the

shah's capitalism."

"I don't doubt you," I said. "But I must say that during four visits

here, I've seen nothing of it. Everyone I talk with seems to love the

shah, to appreciate the economic upsurge."

"You don't speak Farsi," Yamin observed. "You hear only what is

told to you by those men who benefit the most. The ones who have

been educated in the States or in England end up working for the

shah. Doc here is an exception now."

He paused, seeming to ponder his next words. "It's the same with

your press. They only talk with the few who are his kin, his circle. Of

course, for the most part, your press is also controlled by oil. So they

hear what they want to hear and write what their advertisers want to

read."

"Why are we telling you all this, Mr. Perkins?" Doc's voice was

even more hoarse than before, as if the effort of speaking and the

emotions were draining what little energy the man had mustered for

this meeting. "Because we'd like to convince you to get out and to

persuade your company to stay away from our country. We want to

warn you that although you may think you'll make a great deal of

money here, it's an illusion. This government will not last." Again, I

heard the sound of his hand thudding against the chair. "And when it

goes, the one that replaces it will have no sympathy for you and your

kind."

"You're saying we won't be paid?"

Doc broke down in a fit of coughing. Yamin went to him and

rubbed his back. When the coughing ended, he spoke to Doc in Farsi

and then came back to his seat.

"We must end this conversation," Yamin said to me. "In answer

to your question: yes, you will not be paid. You'll do all that work>

and when it comes time to collect your fees, the shah will be gone."

During the drive back, I asked Yamin why he and Doc wanted to

spare MAIN the financial disaster he had predicted.

"We'd be happy to see your company go bankrupt. However, we'd

rather see you leave Iran. Just one company like yours, walking

away, could start a trend. That's what we're hoping. You see, we

don't want a bloodbath here, but the shah must go, and we'll try

anything that will make that easier. So we pray to Allah that you'll

convince your Mr. Zambotti to get out while there is still time."

"Why me?"

"I knew during our dinner together, when we spoke of the Flowering

Desert project, that you were open to the truth. I knew that our

information about you was correct you are a man between two

worlds, a man in the middle."

It made me wonder just how much he did know about me.