Today, Massoud’s body was buried, but left a battlefield behind. The Hezbollahi brothers had mobilized from that morning and did not stop surrounding the body for an instant.
Professor Massoud Ali-Mohammadi
Loudspeakers and electric generators and eulogizers and very high-power stereo systems and organized pickup trucks were all at their disposal. The family and its circle had practically no control and gave up on the program. From the day that Dr. Ali-Mohammadi was assassinated, the officers came and went and insisted that his body be buried during the Tehran Friday prayers. The only point that the family could get its way on was its insistance that the burial ceremonies be held on Thursday.
Massoud’s home was surrounded by a crowd from the early morning. The police had closed all the points of entry. The area was packed with anti-riot forces in uniform and a crowd of plainclothesmen who had not so much as heard Ali-Mohammadi’s name until that day. His family wished to keep the burial services non-political and as dignified as possible. Friends and acquaintances gradually assembled. The home had no space for them. They all stood in the streets outside. A large crowd of people carrying cameras were milling around looking for a vantage point to film the scene. Most of them were from our own official media. Apparently, the foreign media which had representatives in Tehran was being cautious, fearing a repeat of past experiences. Of course, foreign media or its representatives could be seen here and there, but not many.
The brothers from the government who held a constant presence in Massoud’s house during this past day or two had prepared a martial music band, a bus to transport the burial squad, a eulogizer, a grave-digger, an ambulance, and, in short, whatever they thought they needed. Little Massoud was so dear to these gentlemen! He thought of every kind of death except this one. How could anyone imagine that a military officer, a minister, the president of a university, and dozens of other petty and major officials, from the moment he was assassinated, would line up at their home so that the programs for the martyr would be done all properly and nothing deviate from the plan!
It was about eight or nine in the morning when a middle-aged gentleman stood atop the minivan and took the microphone. At first, he spoke calmly and did not chant slogans. Apparently they had promised Massoud’s family not to take partisan political advantage of the services. But “razor and beard” and all the other resources one could imagine were in their hands from the very start. They did as they pleased. The first thing Mr. Microphone did was to extol the martyrs given by the university. He spoke of Martyr [Ayatollah Morteza] Motahhari and Martyr [Kamran] Nejatollahi [doc] (a militant professor who was martyred in the course of the protests and occupation by the university students in 1979 in the Ministry of Education’s office), placing Massoud Ali-Mohammadi alongside them. Next, he took a few minutes to announce from the microphone that the brothers who were ready for the funeral ceremonies to raise their hands. About 150 to 200 scattered among the crowd raised their hands to show
Massoud Ali-Mohammadi's funeral procession
they were ready and the guy on the minivan apparently reached the conclusion that everyting was in order and that enough people were ready to start the show. The coffin was removed from the ambulance and carried into the house and they started chanting special slogans. They tightly controlled the area around the coffin and permitted no family or acquaintances to get under it.
In burying the body, one usually chants ordinary religious slogans like “There is no deity but God and Mohammad is His messenger.” But the chief slogans in this show were of the sort, “Death to Israel,” “Death to the Hypocrites”, “This trampled flower is a gift to the Leader,” and so on. At best I could say that during the entire several hours of this show in which the loudspeaker issued slogans, the ordinary slogan of “There is no deity but God and Mohammad is His messenger” was not used more than a minute or two. And even on the one or two occasions when the “There is no deity but God” was said, when those present were ready to say the second half, “America is God’s enemy” was added and they continued on in their line.
It is a tradition in most burial ceremonies that when the deceased is brought to his home and before he is buried, a few minutes of silence be observed for the household in general and the ladies in particular to bid farewell to their loved one and express what is in their hearts to their God in the language of weeping and mourning and ease their heartbreak over the body of their dearly departed. But in this show, the brothers were apparently so nervous about the details that they did let not the loudspeakers go silent for even a second and the eulogizers and the professional sloganeers played their role in this show so well with the help of their powerful stereos that no one could even hear the weeping of Massoud’s relatives. It was heard that once, one of the gentlemen even snapped at the widow! Apparently, Massoud’s friends and family had no choice but to give in. His family was anxious lest the services collapse and obstacles be created to holding the remaining programs, such as the memorial service [held after three days] and the unveiling of the tomb [held after a week] and so on. Those who loved Massoud had no choice but to offer tears and seek his elevation and forgiveness for his pure soul. They had no choice but to stand aside and surrender Massoud’s body to strangers to do the best they could. People took Massoud’s coffin whose sole acquaintance with him began when he was a blood-drenched corpse.
A bit further on, forty or fifty of the country’s physics professors and researchers looked on teary-eyed and followed the crowd, along with many ordinary people from Massoud’s neighborhood or family or circle, estimated at over one or two thousand. The people who would bury him were at a crossroad. On the one hand, they all wanted to respect Ali-Mohammadi’s soul and to bury his body in accordance with the common tradition. On the other hand, there was the show underway ahead of them, all partisan slogans and partisan participants, and few there were who wanted to appear in a picture with that mob. The photographers of the official media all surrounded the minivan leading this group in motion and steadily followed the figures who were guiding the special atmosphere which prevailed among them.
A few minutes later, something interesting happened. A crowd of a few hundred students from Tehran University, especially kids from the physics faculty, were assembled behind a picture of Dr. Ali-Mohamnmadi and were following it in silence, except when they would now and then offer a salavat. They gradually opened up a gap between themselves and the government burial squad and parted from the show which had been prepared in advance. The burial squad gradually noticed this crowd and mixed in with them and separated from the ranks of the brothers’ official show. It was an interesting scene. The gentlemen in front suddenly saw that they had been abandoned. There they were, all alone. One or two of them angrily came to snatch from the students’ hands the poster behind which they had assembled, but the crowd resisted.
Gradually, the slogan “There is no deity but God and Mohammad is His messenger” arose from the crowd and filled the street. It was so loud that the brothers’ very powerful loudspeakers could no longer be heard. As the painters say, an interesting contrast was created. On this side, there were tears and “There is no deity but God.” On the other, the exasperating blare of the loudspeakers and “Death to the Hypocrites” and “Death to the opponents of the velayat-e faqih.” On the one hand there were sighs of grief over the loss of a beloved professor whom the students adored like his children and who were now being deprived of even bidding good-bye to his lifeless corpse. On the one hand, there was there was the rage and confusion of those who were anxious about Massoud’s body falling into others’ hands and were protecting it as if it were war booty. On the one hand, there was pure love and a sincere funeral held by those who saw that they had lost Massoud. On the other hand, there were cameras and the violent domination of those who felt that they had seized Massoud. On the one hand, there was the silence of the long-suffering which was the only refuge of the eternal slogan, “There is no deity but God.” On the other hand, there were five or ten people chanting slogans of “Death” and “Infidel” which were, in practice, used to eliminate the other. As soon as the brothers saw that the situation was getting out of hand, they retreated to close the gap between themselves and the green crowd and once more take control. To do this, they even drove the minivan they had been donated in reverse, when one of the ladies shouted, “If you run someone over, don’t say that the minivan was stolen!”
Around this contrasting tableau, there was a black circle of black-clad riot officers with various equipment which had surrounded the crowd, and motorcyclists who were going to and fro. Fear and anxiety filled the air and no one knew if the services would come peacefully to an end. Our friends counted over a thousand anti-riot police. Along the way, a great mass of several hundred of them were being held at the ready in a sports arena.
After an hour of this dual burial ceremony, we learned that the gentlemen had removed the body from the ambulance to the burial site, i.e., the Ali Akbar Chizar Shrine. The participants gradually dispersed and they each tried to reach it however they could.
Around eleven in the morning, the streets around the shrine were filled with the crowd and anti-riot forces. Massoud’s corpse was like war booty in the gentlemen’s hands. There were not even any means to easily approach their crowd. At the same time, people were concerned about the likelihood of a violent confrontation with the gentlemen and did not want to mingle with them.
Massoud’s friends and students were in practice deprived of reading prayers over his body or participating in the burial service. The gentlemen performed these services as they wished. While conducting the burial, the shrine’s gates were locked and we saw bits of
Another scene from Massoud Ali-Mohammadi's funeral
the services from behind the far side of the walls surrounding it. Amir would say that this scene reminded me of the Baqi` Gravesite, which can only be peered into from behind lattice walls.
Even during the burial, the loudspeakers uninterruptedly issued slogans. No one could even hear the sound of the funeral of those few bereaved among Massoud’s relatives who had been able to approach the burial site. It was as if the gentlemen were nervous lest the previous scenario at the burial would be repeated and the mourners would say things which were not to their liking in the course of their weeping.
It was not yet noon when Massoud was buried and it all came to an end. The grieving students returned to their residences and the members of the burial squad each went his own way. By the time the call went up for the noon prayer, there was no sign of the zealots who were worried lest Massoud’s body wind up into others’ hands. Their anxieties were at an end and they could now breath a sigh of relief and leave. If only we could have seen how many of those who had clung so tightly to Massoud’s body showed up to the graveside to recite the Fatiha. Massoud was only away from us these two days after the moment of his martyrdom. From now on, the spiritual effect which remains of him will not belong to some of those who were only present next to his corpse. Massoud was ours for fifty years, and he is still ours. It was only for one day that his coffin was stolen from us, and that’s over.
The Tehran University physics faculty will witness Massoud’s absence tomorrow and the students, despite their tears and sorrows, will earnestly strive to keep the torch of learning blazing in the land of Iran. His family, too, must get used to living without him. What a hard task! Is it possible to forget someone whose presence was felt the whole time he was here and around whom the atmosphere was filled with his energy? But there is nothing for it. One must live. God be their succour.
http://shirzad.ir/2010/01/post_165.html
