© the eyeranian

My Makarenko Story

few months ago I heard from an old friend. This has probably been the best part of this weblog experience as a few people I had lost contact with, somehow found me here and we reconnected. This friend was one of the most important ones.

I say important for various reasons but most notably because he was a friend from that period of a couple of years in my life, that I had completely disassociated myself from and have very few connections to. If you have been reading the eyeranian regularly, you have read references to that period before.  

I was almost 12 when the Iranian revolution came to realization. Let me correct that; I was 12 when yet another chapter of the ongoing Iranian revolution came to an end in 1979. Between then and 1981, when I was forced to re-birth myself after the major crack-downs began, and then involuntarily leaving Iran in 1983 may all seem like a rather short window, but to me it lasted forever and has continued to be the most influential part of my life. 

This particular friend was from those first two years of that experience. What was amazing to me was how vividly he also remembered the period. He originally wrote me asking if I knew a “Pedram Moallemian” that went to Hadaf School, etc. To which I replied; “How many Pedram Moallemians do you think are out there?” stressing the fact that my name is rather unique even amongst Iranians. Shortly after that we were talking on the phone and he said that he was surprised I remembered him, to which I replied of course I did, after all didn’t HE remember me?. He said something that has been on my mind for months now and this post is part of my own self-directed therapy session about that. He said “EVERYBODY, remembers YOU. Just most would not expect you to still be alive.” 

The second part of that comment did not trouble me too much. I am often wondering about that myself and besides, trying to completely disassociate myself from certain circles and friends was by design and it would be natural for some of them to fear the worst. However, the first part was something I was completely unaware of myself. EVERYBODY would remember tiny, unnoticeable and unimportant me? 

To me, I was just another kid going to school everyday. Yes, I had two wall-newspapers going on at the same time and yes I did participate in military style workouts every morning often leading it too, and yes I did organize the biggest lunch cooperative ever, sometimes having hundreds of students participate in the daily exercise of sharing a humble lunch of Sangak bread with feta cheese and fresh dates, but other kids had their own stuff too and I never realized mine was so noticed. Well, apparently it was.
 
I am now more determined than ever to one day write a book. To include some of those memories and share the experiences. I don’t know yet if I am old enough to write an autobiography, I’m not even sure if the book will be all non-fiction. But I’ve promised myself to do it, if time and life-span allows it.

Consider this a brief sub-chapter:

y the start of the school year in fall of 1980, the brief period of social and political freedoms was quickly coming to an end. Although the government was not yet directly involved in large-number of arrests and eventual mass executions that were to begin within the next 9 months, the various pressure groups had made it impossible for any voices of dissent to function freely. The first few political prisoners had already been jailed, many of opposition publications were banned and official warrants had been issues for certain political figures.  

The main intensity of the onslaught was carried by vigilante groups. Known primarily as Falange (named after the Spanish Fascists) or Chomagh-Dar (stick-handlers, because of their weapon of choice), these were small groups of extremists who would attack bookstores, information tables, women who did not cover themselves to their standards and flyer-distributing teenagers and often severely beat them to the point of causing several deaths in various cities. It was a brutal and effective way, as by then there was an atmosphere of fear taking over the earlier euphoria we had all experienced.

At the time, I was between relationships. Meaning I was between supporting one group and going to another. Did this a couple of times back then. There was virtually no music on radio, movie-theaters only showed movies from 50 years ago and all of the chopped up by the censors, and television only showed religious teachings, Koran lessons and occasional reports from the warfronts, so what was a teenager supposed to do? Politics was our only entertainment and just as kids today would switch between being a fan of X rock/pop group to follow Z, we were all trying various ideas. 

More importantly though, I was suffering from a severe case of withdrawal. Before that, there were mini political debates in every corner, often literally blocking traffic as the crowds would gather to hear some lively discussions. There were also tables set up by various groups on busy intersections, where you could browse their latest flyers, buy a book or listen to a recorded speech on loud speakers. People of the “Chomagh” had already ended all of that. In search of an intellectual environment, I found a temporary but interesting refuge;

The Boulevard movie theater on Tehran's elegant Keshavarz Boulevard was showing a Russian movie called "Manzoomeye Pedagojiki". I have no idea what the original title of the movie is or who made it, but it was based on the teachings and theories of Soviet educator Anton Semyonovich Makarenko. The movie was mainly about Makarenko's experience in establishing the Gorky Colony, a home for children left homeless by the Russian Revolution and then Dzerzhinsky Commune, an institution for juvenile offenders. Makarenko who became a staunch Stalinist, focused on the importance of physical labor and discipline in education.

The theatre had become a favorite hangout of Iranian Communist Party (Tudeh) members and then the faction of Fadaeian Organization they had managed to separate from the rest of the group and now after they had all seen the movie, other intellectual types were hanging out there too. Most, like me, were not even communists, but had found a place to be relatively safe from the daily harassments and hung out after the movie to discuss Soviets, revolutions, education systems, freedom of ideas, etc.

After seeing the movie a couple of times, I started this new venture. Everyday, I would gather a bunch of kids from school, bribe the doorman to let us out, take the bus all the way down and spend a few hours in the Boulevard area before and after watching the movie. Sometimes there were only 2 or 3 of us, other times close to 20. I think I watched that movie at least 30 times, with no exaggeration. Most of the kids were just participating because of my talent in smuggling them out of school, then taking them down there and back, but a few actually wanted to see something intellectual. I didn't care. Everyone was welcomed and a mundane movie on Makarenko provided that needed refuge, the atmosphere to converse and think freely in that small theatre and much more.

I really enjoyed those visits, but more importantly made friends with a caretaker of one of the buildings nearby. He had let me use his gardening hose to wash up one time and the next day I brought him a sandwich from this shop close to nearby Val-Asr Square.

A few years later, I was to meet a friend at Laleh Park in close proximity. A meeting gone wrong as we both walked into a trap and within minutes there were foot chases, sound of gun shots and blacked-out Benzes swarming the area. I ran non-stop, without looking back and suddenly found myself in front of that very building with a friend's face poking through the cracked door, wondering what the commotion was all about. Without saying a word he let me in, hide me really well in this rather large commercial building and helped me sneak out later that night.

Watching Makarenko saved my life.

Posted by Pedram at December 13, 2003 10:33 PM