The Fall of Heaven Page 6
The Shah never denied there were times when he preferred to be somewhere else living a different sort of life. “Let me tell you quite bluntly that this king business has given me personally nothing but headaches,” he once told a group of astonished journalists in New York. He was as forthright in private. “It is hardly a pleasant job,” he remarked in passing to a visiting scholar. “I can think of many more attractive kinds of work to do, here in Iran or abroad.” He was sustained only by his vision to transform his country into a modern state and restore Iran to its former greatness.
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IF HE WAS sure of one thing in life it was the love he believed he shared with the Iranian people, whom he affectionately referred to as his “children.” Their communion could not possibly be grasped by foreigners or intellectuals. “You Westerners simply don’t understand the philosophy behind my power,” he said. “The Iranians think of their sovereign as a father.… Now, if to you a father is inevitably a dictator, that is your problem, not mine.”
Above all the Shah held a fervent attachment to the farr, the Persian mantle of heaven that decreed that so long as a king governed like a benevolent father and kept his people’s best interests in mind he was assured their loyalty and devotion. Force could not be used to hold the farr, and monarchs who committed unjust acts such as shedding the blood of innocents could expect to lose their throne and their life. For the Shah, the farr was the ultimate expression of the people’s will and democracy because it was a social contract based on mutual respect and trust. The Iranian people, he liked to say, “love me and will never forsake me.” “A real king in Iran is not only the political head of the nation,” he explained on another occasion. “Rather, more than anything else, he is a teacher and a leader. He is not only a person who builds roads, bridges, dams, and canals for his people, but also one who leads them in spirit, thought, and heart. This explains why, if he has the confidence of his people, the Shah in Iran can on the basis of his enormous prestige and spiritual influence initiate such fundamental and extensive programs—programs which would not be undertaken elsewhere except through revolutions and curtailments of civil and individual liberties, or through slow evolutionary processes.”
The Shah’s sentimental attachment to the farr helped explain his behavior on two earlier occasions when rivals almost chased him from the throne. In August 1953 he briefly fled Iran during a showdown with Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadeq and left retired army general Fazlollah Zahedi and the army to restore order. In June 1963 religious unrest led by the fiery cleric Ruhollah Khomeini threatened revolution. Once again, the Shah stepped back and allowed a more seasoned and ruthless personality, this time Prime Minister Asadollah Alam, to clear the streets with grapeshot. More than anything, he dreaded the prospect of a confrontation with his people and was temperamentally unable to order his troops to open fire, even on those seeking to destroy him and overthrow the monarchy. His longest-serving advisers understood that the Shah would seek an accommodation or withdraw altogether rather than stand and fight if it meant staining the throne with blood. They fretted that he was too softhearted to rule a country with a long, tortuous history of unrest and rebellion. But the Shah did not see it that way at all. In his eyes, a national leader who used force to stay in power was no better than a dictator, and he never saw himself as one. “I am not Suharto,” he repeatedly said in reference to the Indonesian strongman whose brutal crackdown against leftist agitators cost an estimated half a million lives.
So long as he felt certain in his head and heart that he had God on his side and the Iranians at his back, the Shah ruled with confidence and vigor. But if he sensed that he no longer commanded the hearts of his people, and if doubts about his mission should creep in, he tended to waver, lose his way, and prevaricate. The withdrawal of love and support, no matter how temporary, seemed almost to unhinge him by draining him of focus, energy, and determination. A steady guiding hand was then required to steer him back on course. He was, said one government official who enjoyed his confidence, like “a lamb in lion’s clothing.” Nor was he the decisive administrator he liked to appear. He often left important decisions to the last minute or avoided making them at all. Minor problems left untended became more serious than need be. Too often, this meant that the Shah, who otherwise enjoyed a monopoly on power, risked losing momentum or ceding the initiative to stronger, more forceful personalities.
By December 1977, however, questions of temperament and leadership were abstract concerns, and the unrest of earlier decades was but a distant memory. On a recent trip to the port cities that lined the southern Persian Gulf coastline the Shah had been mightily impressed with the turnout in the streets. “In the afternoon His Imperial Majesty arrived in Kermanshah to the most spectacular display of popular enthusiasm I have ever witnessed,” noted Asadollah Alam. The Shah observed that the local Muslim clergy had been in the forefront of the demonstrations of loyalty. “It’s incredible, but now that living standards have improved it’s the mullahs who are most keen to flatter us on our achievements,” he told dinner guests. “You should have heard what their spokesmen said to me whilst I was going in to the residence.” “I had indeed heard it and was amazed,” Alam confided in his diary.
The Shah firmly believed that “95 percent of the population were in favor of the monarchy.” Asked to explain how he knew his people supported him, the Shah had a ready answer: “You can see by the look in their eyes.”
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POWER MIGHT BE absolute but the Shah, an inveterate planner, had no intention of ruling until his deathbed, and for at least the past decade had talked openly about stepping down once his eldest son was ready to assume the throne.
In October 1971, during the week of the splendid celebrations for the Persian monarchy, he declared before a global television audience that he looked forward to the day when he abdicated his duties. “This is not a new idea,” he told reporters from twenty countries in town for the big party. “My father also thought of doing so.” At the Caspian Sea in the summer of 1972 he shared his thoughts with a family friend. “The time of Reza will be different than mine,” he said. “When Reza is twenty I will retire to the north and they can come and see me if they have any problems.” Again, in September 1975 he told the New York Times that he would step down once he was confident he had strengthened Iran to the point where “nothing can threaten it.” “I want to build a better country for my son to inherit than the one I inherited from my father,” he said. “When I was his age I heard voices whispering in my ear about the destiny of Iran. I want my son to inherit not dreams but the realization of a dream.” He fully intended to work himself out of a job and stage-manage an orderly transfer of power to his son.
In the spring of 1976 the Shah concluded that Iran had become too big, too complex, and too volatile for one-man rule. With oil revenues stagnant and the economy in the doldrums, the public mood was restless. Though distrustful of parliamentary democracy, which he blamed for the instability that marred his early years on the throne, the Shah concluded that it was time to “let off steam” and open up the political system for the first time since the early sixties. As a first step to reform, he eliminated some of the regime’s more unsavory features. To relieve the complaints of liberals and the urban middle class, the Shah supported new laws to protect the rights of political prisoners and outlaw torture. He invited the International Committee of the Red Cross to inspect Iranian prisons. He ordered the relaxation of censorship, encouraged public criticism of the government, and approved investigations into high-level graft. Plans were announced to return power to the provinces, cut waste, and reduce red tape.
Pleased with how this first phase of reform proceeded, one year later, in the summer of 1977, the Shah stepped back from day-to-day management of the ministries and gave his new prime minister the leeway to make decisions. Opposition groups were allowed to gather and organize so long as they did not challenge the basic precepts of the monarchy. At one time the Shah’
s portrait had adorned the front pages of every Iranian newspaper every day. In the autumn of 1977 shrewd observers noticed that Queen Farah’s profile was raised and that she was speaking out on major issues of the day. Crown Prince Reza became more visible, with his first major overseas trip set for Thailand, Australia, and New Zealand in January 1978. These state visits, the first in a series planned over the next year, were to introduce the young heir to an international audience and mark the next phase in his training in kingship.
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AT THE CLOSE of each day the Shah strolled back to the big house for an hour of exercise before dinner. Upstairs in the main residence, near his bedroom, he had fashioned a room the size of a large closet into a gym. His valet, Amir Pourshaja, once suggested he might like to enlarge this space and the adjoining bathroom. “No,” said the Shah, “this is more than enough space for me.” His daily workout consisted of calisthenics followed by a forty-five-minute routine with dumbbells. Pourshaja knew his master’s body well. He had trained and been certified in Austria as a masseuse and after each workout he gave the King a rubdown. At fifty-eight years old the Shah still had an enviable physique. Amir noticed that regardless of the year or season, he seemed never to lose or gain extra pounds.
After his massage, the Shah dressed for dinner and joined his wife and family members in the downstairs dining room, or he and Farah might drive to the homes of his mother and sisters for dinner. Almost invariably, they dined on traditional Persian cuisine, though the Shah took care to avoid aggravating his sensitive stomach. One meal he could not resist, even though he knew he would pay dearly for it in the morning, was kalleh pacheh or boiled mutton’s head and foot. He rarely drank alcohol and during state dinners would raise the wineglass to his lips but not sip from it—if he indulged at all it was usually with a glass of whiskey after dinner. Tonight, however, New Year’s Eve, he might make an exception. Shortly after four in the afternoon the Imperial Family and government dignitaries would drive to Mehrebad Airport to welcome the arrival of President Jimmy Carter, First Lady Rosalynn Carter, and several hundred American dignitaries, news reporters, and White House staff. The president’s trip to Iran had already been postponed once, due to domestic politics. Both leaders and their advisers hoped that Carter’s visit would help smooth relations after a year of deep strain caused by sharp differences over oil prices, arms sales, nuclear power, and human rights.
The Shahanshah of Iran stood at the wheel of the Pahlavi ship of state, a most formidable structure, which on December 31, 1977, sailed through the night, lights ablaze from end to end, its bulkhead secure, its compartments watertight. There was no reason to worry—he knew the way. Now, as he neared the end of his fourth decade in power, one of the great survivors of the twentieth century seemed destined to go on and on. Only a few embittered enemies, an odd assortment of revolutionaries on the political left and right-wing religious extremists, could imagine a world without him. In recent weeks they had taken advantage of his decision to liberalize by staging protests and launching attacks against symbols of Western modernity such as cinemas, banks, and universities. From neighboring Iraq, where he had lingered in exile for the past thirteen years, Grand Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini called for an uprising to demolish the monarchy and establish a religious state whose laws would be based on the Muslim holy book the Quran. But beyond his immediate following Khomeini was still largely unknown inside Iran, and he faced apparently insurmountable odds against the Shah’s half-million-strong army, air force, and navy.
Nor were there any signs that the middle class, workers, and farmers, the groups that comprised the bulwarks of the royalist state, would abandon the Shah and his family. And why would they? In an uncertain world the Shah stood strong as their protector but also as the cornerstone of stability for Iran, for the Persian Gulf, and for the whole of southwestern Asia; to overthrow the Shah would be seen as a collective act of national suicide.
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ATTACHED TO THE Shah’s private suite in Niavaran was a small bathroom, which included a vanity unit. One of its drawers contained several plastic bottles of pills with false labels attached to them. Only the Shah, the Queen, and several Iranian and French physicians sworn to oaths of secrecy knew their real contents. All that the valet Amir Pourshaja knew was that every five days he was required to phone in an order for refills to the local pharmacy, then send a driver down to collect the prescription. The procedure was straightforward enough—at this time in Iran medicines were sold over the counter without proof of identity or residence.
Pourshaja carefully refilled the bottles as he had been shown by the court physician, Lieutenant General Abdolkarim Ayadi. He did not know that the pills contained powerful chemicals to treat incurable lymphoma. He did not know that Iran’s King of Kings was slowly, inexorably dying of cancer.
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CROWN AND KINGDOM
I wish you life and long prosperity,
May God protect you from adversity!
May heaven prosper all you say and do,
May evil glances never injure you.
Whatever purposes you hope to gain
May all your efforts never bring you pain,
May wisdom be your guide, may fortune bless
Iran with prosperous days and happiness.
—THE PERSIAN BOOK OF KINGS
I found myself plunged into a sea of trouble.
—THE SHAH
Fifty-eight years earlier, on the cool autumn afternoon of October 26, 1919, a young woman named Nimtaj went into labor in her family home in Tehran. Her husband, Reza Khan, a ranking brigadier in the Shah of Iran’s elite Cossack regiment, stood smoking in an outside courtyard, anxiously awaiting the outcome. Reza’s first wife, Tajmah, had died in childbirth delivering a girl. For his second marriage, he wed the sturdy Nimtaj, the daughter of his commanding officer. The couple’s first child, a daughter, Shams, was born healthy in 1917, but more than anything, Reza longed for a son. The wait ended when a soldier ran out of the house with the joyous news: “It’s a boy!” The father started inside when the midwife met him at the door. “Wait,” she told him. “There is another child.” Five hours later a twin girl was safely delivered. A clergyman came to the house and intoned a prayer in the ears of each child. Reza Khan held his son up and delivered his own benediction: “O God, I place my son in your care. Keep him in the shelter of your protection.”
Destiny had two very different outcomes in store for the twins. “To say that I was unwanted might be harsh, but not altogether from the truth,” remembered Princess Ashraf Pahlavi. “To be born on the same day as Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, future Crown Prince and then Shah of Iran, I would always feel I could lay no claim to my parents’ special affection.” For the boy, crown and kingdom awaited. The tide of history would propel the humble soldier’s son from a mud brick house to the palace of the shahs, launching him from obscurity to that rare pantheon of statesmen whose decisions change the destinies of nations and alter the course of history.
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PERSIA, HIS FUTURE inheritance, Land of the Lion and the Sun, formed a splendid land bridge between continents, a great salted corridor hemmed in by the Caspian Sea and the Alborz Mountains to the north, stretching almost a thousand miles south to the Zargos Mountains and the warm waters of the Persian Gulf. The Aryan peoples of Central Asia first appeared on the Iranian plateau more than six thousand years ago and lent their name to it. From land as dry as dust and worn as parchment paper, in 550 BC Cyrus II, scion of a dynastic union between two royal houses, the Medes and the Persians, seized power and established the Achaemenid Dynasty. After first securing the high plateau that stretched south from the shores of the Persian Gulf and north to the Caspian Sea, Cyrus ventured forth to conquer Asia Minor, Babylon, Assyria, modern-day Egypt, and Turkey, as well as the seaports of the eastern Mediterranean. Under Cyrus’s rule, said the renowned historian Arnold Toynbee, the great Persian Empire stood alone as the world’s “first sole superpower.” “The est
ablishment of the largest empire in antiquity, one of the most benevolent of any in world history, if any empire is good, is associated with the Persians,” wrote historian Touraj Daryaee. “Its founder, Cyrus the Great, changed the map of the world and brought the Afro-Asiatic world together for the first time in history.”
The conquest of Babylon in 539 BC inspired Cyrus to inscribe in clay a personal pledge to accord “all men the freedom to worship their own gods and ordered that no one had the right to bother them. I ordered that no house be destroyed, that no inhabitant be dispossessed.… I accorded peace and quiet to all men.” Cyrus is remembered today as an empire builder but also as the liberator who ruled with social justice and the rights of the individual in mind. His successor Darius the Great pushed the empire west into Libya, south into the Arabian peninsula, and east as far as the Indus River. Outside Shiraz he built a dazzling new capital at Pasargade, “the camp of the Persians.” The Achaemenid ascendancy collapsed in 330 BC, when Alexander the Great’s legions swept through and the young warrior declared himself King of Persia. His death seven years later, accompanied by the flight of the Macedonians, was followed by the rise of the Parthian Kingdom, which endured for five centuries, and then by the Sasanians, whose mighty empire conquered the Holy Lands of the Levant, including Jerusalem. Though they defended their dominions from frequent Roman incursions, Sasanian defenses were fatally breached in AD 651 by Arab horsemen bearing the green flag of Islam. Ten other dynasties followed until the advent of the “storm from the east,” the brutal Mongol invasion and occupation of Persia in the early years of the thirteenth century, which in turn gave way to Safavid, Zand, Afshar, and finally Qajar (1789–1925) dynastic rule.