52: Chapter 49 Ashes of Abadan

August 20, 1978, Ahvaz Governors Mansion.

The fire at the Abadan cinema burned for nearly four hours before it was extinguished.

Estimates of the death toll varied, with the most conservative estimate at 370, while the highest figures claimed over 450.

Reza held the first-hand report Karimi had sent back from Abadan, which stated the number as 392, with a note adding that dozens of bodies were temporarily unidentifiable due to the severity of the burns.

Hassan stood nearby, looking at the report without speaking, his fists clenching and unclenching.

He was a native of Khuzestan Province; for him, Abadan was not just a place name, but a place his grandmother had taken him to when he was a child—that river, those chimneys of the Abadan Refinery, that afternoon he spent eating grilled fish by the pier.

"Did SAVAK do this?" Hassan asked, his voice flat, but unnaturally so.

"I don't know," Reza said. "Historically, there has never been a definitive conclusion on this matter. But that is not important."

"Not important?" Hassan looked up.

"It is not important for the trajectory of history," Reza said, putting down the report. "Whatever the truth may be, there are simply no channels at this point in time to verify it."

"What people see is this: a cinema caught fire, nearly four hundred people died, the government's first reaction was to block the news, and SAVAK appeared at the scene."

"In the absence of other information, people will fill in the blanks in a way that best fits their existing perceptions—and their existing perception of SAVAK is that they are cold-blooded killers."

Hassan was silent for a moment, then asked, "How does Your Highness view this matter?"

"I am not looking at the event itself," Reza said. "I am looking at the direction in which the country's mood will shift in the aftermath of this event."

He stood up, paced the study for a few steps, and then stopped in front of the map of Iran on the wall.

"Abadan is the core city of Khuzestan Province, the gateway for oil transport in the Persian Gulf, a place where workers gather, and historically an important base for leftist forces."

"After this fire, the oil workers in Abadan will be one of the first groups in the country to take action—not driven by religion, but driven by anger."

Reza tapped the location of Abadan on the map with his finger. "I need to catch this anger before it turns into disorderly riots."

"How do we catch it?"

"Send food, medicine, and personnel," Reza said. "Tonight, mobilize ten trucks from the Governors Mansion warehouse, load them with food, drinking water, and medical supplies. Tomorrow morning, enter Abadan and distribute them directly to the families of the victims. Do not go through official channels, do not use the banner of the Governors Mansion, and just say it is a 'spontaneous donation from fellow Persia citizens in Khuzestan Province'."

"In addition, pull twenty men from the guard, have them change into plain clothes, and go along. Nominally, they are there to maintain order during distribution, but in reality, I want them to record: who is organizing the masses in Abadan now, who the real street leaders are, and whose words the workers are willing to listen to."

Hassan was already taking notes in his notebook without looking up. "And the procurement of supplies?"

"Use private funds, do not go through the provincial government's budget," Reza said. "I do not want this matter to have any connection to the official government. Once it is linked to the government, the nature of it changes; it becomes 'the government buying the hearts of the people,' which would be counterproductive."

Hassan closed his notebook and went out to make arrangements.

Reza sat back down at the table and turned to the last page of Karimi's report. There was a handwritten note from Karimi, the handwriting scrawled, which was his habit—the main text was typed, but the notes were handwritten because he felt handwritten material was harder to copy:

"On the outskirts of the fire scene, people have already begun circulating a statement from Ayatollah Khomeini, saying this is the sin of tyranny and that Allah will punish the tyrant. Also: there is news that the Workers Union is holding secret meetings to discuss a strike."

An oil workers' strike.

Reza turned these words over in his mind.

In the original history, the large-scale strike of Abadan oil workers occurred at the end of 1978 and was one of the final straws that broke the Pahlavi Dynasty—oil production plummeted, foreign exchange income dried up, and the army's salaries and weapon imports were entirely dependent on petrodollars. Once the money stopped, loyalty became empty words.

But that was the historical timeline. In this life, the fire burned earlier, the anger accumulated earlier, and the strike might also arrive earlier.

Was it a good thing or a bad thing for Reza that it was earlier?

He thought for about five minutes and reached a conclusion: it was a good thing, but it required active management.

If a strike is unorganized, there are only two outcomes—either it is suppressed by SAVAK, with the anger suppressed in the short term only to rebound even more fiercely; or it spirals out of control, evolving into looting and arson, giving the government a reason to send in troops, while simultaneously pushing international public opinion to sympathize with Pahlavi. Neither of these outcomes is favorable to Reza.

But if the strike is organized, has clear demands, has people who can negotiate, and people who can call it off, then it is not an uncontrollable bomb, but a lever that can be used to apply pressure precisely.

Reza needed to control that organizational capability.

Two days later, Abadan.

Hassan led the men to distribute the supplies, and when he returned, he brought back three names, written on a folded piece of paper, which he handed to Reza.

The first name: Yousef Hemmati, forty-three years old, a team leader in the third workshop of the Abadan Refinery. He had high prestige among the workers, never participated in political activities, but was privately the unofficial backbone of the Workers Union; disputes between workers were all brought to him for mediation.

The second name: Masoud Ghazali, thirty-eight years old, a technical worker with a university degree who had studied economics. He was rare among the worker group for being able to articulate demands clearly, and the internal meeting minutes of the Workers Union were basically all drafted by him.

The third name: Saeed Jalali, twenty-nine years old, a young worker who was radical and daring. He was the voice in the Workers Union advocating for an immediate strike, but he lacked strategic thinking and was prone to impulsive actions.

After reading it, Reza folded it and returned it to Hassan. "Of these three people, I need to see two of them within a week."

"Which two?"

"Hemmati and Ghazali," Reza said. "Do not see Jalali yet; he is too radical. If I see him now, I won't be able to control him, and it will only cause trouble. When the situation matures a bit more, someone like him will naturally find the position he ought to stand in."

"Under what pretext should I arrange the meeting?"

Reza thought for a moment. "Just say the Governor wants to understand the actual difficulties of the workers after the fire and invites the worker representatives to the Governors Mansion for tea to discuss compensation plans."

Hassan frowned slightly. "This reason... won't it make them suspicious?"