32: Chapter 32 Bloodstained March

March 29, 1978.

The fortieth day of mourning for the victims in Tabriz.

This time, the protests were no longer limited to Tabriz.

Tehran, Isfahan, Shiraz, Mashhad, Abadan—protests broke out simultaneously in at least twelve cities.

The scale was three times larger than on February 18.

The Pahlavi Government's reaction was also more violent than before.

In Tehran, the Gendarmerie opened fire on university students, killing more than twenty people. In Isfahan, a mosque was set ablaze by tear gas canisters, burning seven people to death. In Abadan, refinery workers went on strike, and the army forcibly cleared the site, injuring over a hundred people.

All of Iran was like a lit powder keg.

Meanwhile, Reza did something in Khuzestan Province—he had Hassan organize a "restrained protest."

It wasn't suppression; it was guidance.

On March 29, memorial services were also held in the mosques of Ahvaz and Abadan. Crowds gathered, their emotions high. But just as the marches were about to spiral out of control, the "militia backbone" arranged by Reza appeared.

They weren't there to suppress—they were there to "maintain order."

"Brothers, we are all angry. But today is not the time to risk our lives against the army," a militia leader shouted in front of the crowd. "The King wants us to be in chaos, he wants us to die so he has an excuse to send the army to suppress us. We cannot fall for it! We must stay alive, live until the day the King falls!"

These words worked.

The crowd did not rush the military barracks; instead, they held a sit-in around the mosque.

The sit-in lasted for three hours. No property was smashed, no cars were burned, and there were no clashes with the army.

Then, at dusk, the crowd dispersed on its own.

Khuzestan Province became the only province in all of Iran to have "large-scale protests but no bloody conflicts."

News of this reached Tehran three days later.

Shah Pahlavi mentioned this during the Imperial Council meeting—he praised Reza, the Governor of Khuzestan Province, for "handling it appropriately."

SAVAK's report also mentioned it—but their interpretation was different. They believed Reza was "too lenient toward the protesters" and suspected he had "some kind of tacit understanding with the opposition."

Both interpretations were correct.

Reza had indeed "handled it appropriately"—he avoided bloodshed and maintained stability within the province.

But he also indeed had a "tacit understanding with the opposition"—those militia backbones "maintaining order" were all his people.

This was a meticulously designed performance.

A performance for three parties—

For Shah Pahlavi: I am loyal, and I can control the situation.

For Ayatollah Khomeini's camp: I have strength, and I can mobilize the masses.

For the people of Khuzestan Province: I am on your side, but I will not let you die in vain.

All three parties were satisfied.

But only Reza himself knew—the true purpose of this performance was to pave the way for the upcoming phone call.

April 2.

Rafsanjani's third letter arrived.

"Your Highness: His Excellency Ayatollah Khomeini agrees to speak with you. The time is April 5 at 9:00 PM. The method of communication—we will provide an encrypted phone number; once you dial, you will be connected to Paris. Please ensure the communication environment is secure."

Reza handed the letter to Karimi.

"Can you verify the security of this number?"

"I can't," Karimi said bluntly. "If the number was provided by Ayatollah Khomeini's people, it definitely goes through multiple jumps. There's only one thing we can do—ensure our side of the line isn't being wiretapped."

"That's enough."

April 5, 8:00 PM.

Reza had Karimi clear the entire second floor of the Governors Mansion. All guards were withdrawn to the first floor, and all staff members were sent home. He was left alone on the second floor.

The telephone sat on the desk.

A German Siemens encrypted telephone smuggled from Tehran—Karimi had spent twenty thousand dollars to get it.

Exactly 9:00 PM.

Reza dialed the number.

The phone rang seven times.

Then it connected.

"I am Ayatollah Khomeini."

The voice was deep and raspy, but it possessed an unquestionable power.

Reza took a deep breath.

"Excellency Ayatollah Khomeini, I am Reza Pahlavi."

"I know who you are." Ayatollah Khomeini's tone was devoid of warmth. "Rafsanjani said you want to cooperate with me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because we have a common enemy."

"You are a member of the Pahlavi family."

"I am a Persian. The Pahlavi family is no longer fit to represent Persia."

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.

"I've heard about what you did in Khuzestan," Ayatollah Khomeini said. "You prevented the people from clashing with the army."

"I didn't want them to die in vain."

"Are you afraid of death?"

"I'm not afraid of death. I'm afraid of meaningless death." Reza's voice was calm. "Excellency, on March 29, if the people of Khuzestan had rushed the barracks, at least a hundred would have died. And then what? The army would still be the army, and the King would still be the King. The only difference would be—a hundred more corpses."

"The blood of martyrs will not be shed in vain."

"Of course, the blood of martyrs will not be shed in vain—if their deaths can push the revolution forward. But if their deaths only provide the King with an excuse for suppression, then it is shed in vain."

Ayatollah Khomeini fell silent again.

This silence was longer.

"You are very clever," Ayatollah Khomeini finally spoke. "But clever people are often not pious enough."

"I am not a religious scholar; I don't understand piety. But I understand Persia. I know what Persia needs."

"Persia needs the guidance of Allah."

"Persia needs independence, dignity, and strength." Reza did not back down. "Allah's guidance is on a spiritual level. But spirit cannot be eaten, it cannot block bullets, and it cannot allow Iran to gain a firm foothold in the Middle East."

"Are you questioning Allah?"

"I am stating facts."

A faint, almost inaudible sigh came from the other end of the line.

"Young man, you are very bold."

"Because I am saying what you also know in your heart." Reza took a gamble. "Excellency, you have been in France for fifteen years. You have seen the strength of the West. You know why Iran is weak—not because of a lack of faith, but because we have been bled dry by the Americans for thirty years. Overthrowing Pahlavi is only the first step. The second step is to make Iran truly independent. The third step is to make Iran strong enough that no country dares to bully us. These three steps cannot be completed by religious fervor alone."

Ayatollah Khomeini did not immediately retort.

This was a good sign.

"What do you want?" Ayatollah Khomeini asked.

"After the revolution succeeds, I want to be in charge of national defense."

"You want to be the Minister of Defense?"

"Not the Minister. The Chairman of the Supreme Defense Council. The military, intelligence, and the defense industry—all under my control."

"You have a large appetite."

"Because I can do it," Reza said. "Excellency, you are skilled at mobilizing the masses, and I am skilled at fighting wars. You will be the spiritual leader, and I will be responsible for defending the nation. This is the most logical division of labor."

"And if I don't agree?"

"Then you'll have to find someone else who is both loyal and capable of fighting." A hint of mockery entered Reza's tone. "Good luck."

There was another long silence on the other end.

Then Ayatollah Khomeini said something—a sentence that Reza would reflect on repeatedly for many years to come.

"Young man, you remind me of someone."

"Who?"

"Myself. Me, forty years ago."

Reza was stunned for a moment.

"But you must remember," Ayatollah Khomeini continued, "forty years ago, I also thought I could change the world. Later, I discovered—it is not man who changes the world, but Allah. Man is merely a tool."

"Then let me be a useful tool."

Ayatollah Khomeini laughed.

Yes, he laughed.

Although it was only a light laugh, almost devoid of emotion, it was indeed a laugh.

"Fine. I will give you a chance," Ayatollah Khomeini said. "But there is one condition."

"What condition?"

"From now until the revolution succeeds, you must obey my commands. You will do what I tell you to do. When I tell you to stop, you stop. No bargaining."

"I can do that. But on one premise."

"What premise?"

"Your orders must align with the grand goal of 'overthrowing Pahlavi.' If your orders would harm this goal—for instance, by sending me to my death—I will refuse."

"Are you negotiating terms with me?"

"I am speaking reasonably to you," Reza said. "Excellency, I am not your slave. I am your ally. Allies can have differences, but they must respect each other."

More silence.

This silence was so long that Reza thought the call had been disconnected.

"What is your name?" Ayatollah Khomeini suddenly asked.

"Reza Farid Pahlavi."

"No. Your true name."

Reza froze.

"The name my father gave me—Reza."

"Reza," Ayatollah Khomeini repeated. "A good name. Just like Reza Shah."

Reza Shah—the founder of the Pahlavi Dynasty and the father of Shah Pahlavi.

"But you will not be like him," Ayatollah Khomeini said. "He established a dynasty. You—if you are clever enough—will establish a nation."

The call was disconnected.

Reza sat in the dark office, staring at the telephone for a long time.

What did Ayatollah Khomeini's last sentence mean?

Was it recognition? A warning? Or a prophecy?

He didn't know.

But he knew one thing—his cooperation with Ayatollah Khomeini had officially begun.