Let Us See Kak Nasser

By Ali Maraj

Nasser is not a common name among Kurdish people; however, many chose this name for their children who were born in 1981 in Paveh. The reason was "Kaak Nasser" or Martyr Nasser Kazemi. Kazemi was selected as the Governor of Paveh by the IRGC when there were violent struggles against the anti-revolutionist separatists. The day he entered the city, the security forces insisted that he took a helicopter to go the Governor’s office, but he preferred to walk among his people. As he entered the building, he decorated a room with a simple carpet and it became his office. A large number of Kurdish people shared their problems with him in the room. The rapport he established with the Kurdish people got so close that when he was wounded in the battlefield, many prayed for him and went to the hospital to see him. Everybody brought him whatever they could: local bread, eggs, and fruits.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781794839366

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L e t      u s       S e e KaK Nasser

Kazemi, Narrated by His Wife

Ali Maraj

Let us See Kak Nasser

This is a work of nonfiction. Names, charac- ters, places, and incidents are based upon a true story and were obtained by a face-to-face interview. In this book no pseudonyms have been used.

Published by arrangement with the Translator All rights reserved.

Copyright© 2017 by Islamic Civilization Discourse Institute

Translation © 2015 by Kak Abdolbaset Saeedian Editing © 2017 by Meisam Mirzaei

This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

For information address: Islamic Civilization Discourse Institute,

Translation Group

13 Rasht Street, Hafez Street, Tehran, I.R.Iran. ICDI Publishing House Web site address is http://www.icdi.ir

Persian Reviser: Mohammad Hamzeh ISBN: 978-600-96322-4-4

Electronic edition: November 2017

Originally published by Ravayat-e Fath © 2003 ISBN-13: 978-0-964-90935-2-9

Author: Ali Maraj © 1999

The Biography of Martyr Kazemi

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In the voluminous book of history, a new chapter called the Islamic Republic has been writ- ten. It is about spring but it is written in blood and this season is not followed by autumn. This chapter is the story of recommitment of human- ity in the last days of history and that’s why it is written with blood and tears, a blood that was spilled on the ground in this land and tears that at the time of farewell, had been hidden at the corner of a veil and was spilled at the tomb of their loved ones when they passed away. And today, tears are running down again, to once again clear the dust of time from the counte- nance of our commanders and hear their stories. In this thick book, a new chapter has been writ- ten which is very romantic.

Nasser Kazemi

March 19, 1982

The best days of her life were always rainy, the day she got engaged to Nasser, the day her only son was born, and the day she saw Nasser in a dream. She loved the rainy weather and it was raining when she fell in love with Nasser. Back then, the only thing she knew about him was that he is an IRGC officer in Kurdistan¹.

In Kurdistan, everybody knows him, even those who have not met him. They have heard of his reputation from their parents, Kak (Brother) Nasser, the commander of the army of Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), the gover- nor of Paveh², a teacher, and a brother. He was

A western province bordering Iraq and hometown to many famousfiguresofPersianlanguage.Itwasoneoftheregionsheav- ily bombed with German and British chemical bombs during the 8-yearwar.

An ancient city in Western province of Kermanshah, Iran, known for its step-like architecture and popular resistance against communist separatist. The city was under heavy bombardment throughout thewar.

supposed to go to Paveh with Manijeh to help in doing cultural activities; something they were never given a chance to do due to the war, not only to Nasser but also to the guys who were under the fire from the Iraqi army, and horrors of MEK terrorists¹ and Komala². Kak Nasser per- manently aimed to do this if the war gave him a chance to.

She sat in front of the entrance of the holy shrine, where they colligate the sick for mirac- ulous healing. She thought the mausoleum was the entrance of the holy shrine. For more than thirteen or fourteen years since her last visit to Imam Reza’s³ (a.s) shrine when she was four or five years old, she had not made her pilgrim- age to the holy shrine. Whenever she said her prayers, she closed her eyes. In her dreams, she

The terrorist group of ‘People’s Mujahedin of Iran’ is called by Iranians as Monafiqeen, meaning 'the Seditious'. After a mas- sive murder and terror of people and authorities in 1981, due to their political and religious disagreement with people and the gov- ernment, fled from Iran, and even took refuge in Saddam's Iraq during the War, where they collaborated with him. For many years they were listed as a terrorist group by the U.S. and Europe; how- ever, today, Western powers supportthem.

AleftistKurdishmilitiagroupwhichrebelledagaintheIslam- icRepublicandkillednumerousrevolutionaryforces.

Imam Reza (765 AD– 818 AD) is the 8th Imam of Shia, and according to Shias he was appointed by God. He is known for his wisdomandinterfaithdialogues.HisshrineinIranisvisitedbythe Shias from all over theworld.

saw a luscious river, the water was so limpid that its pebbles could be clearly seen. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and traced the wa- ter in her dream. While walking alongside the river, a red rose was suddenly thrown in the riv- er from behind. She was told, Follow the rose and traverse your path. The river took its flow into a house and she followed the path. In the house, there was a doyen Sayyid¹, with a bright beard and an illuminated visage sitting behind a small desk, and there were books lying all over the room. She said hello to Sayyid and sat next to him. Sayyid talked voluminously to her. Then, he put a red apple in one of her palms and in the other, he put the hand of a one- or two-year- old boy and told her, Go and raise him to be strong.

Until that day, I had never seen Imam Kho- meini², even his photo. It was 1977. Everybody was talking about Imam (peace be upon him). On occasions, some revolutionary manifestos

Meaning 'sir', this term is used for descendants of the Prophet (pbuh) who are respected byMuslims.

Being a philosopher, mystic, poet, and the leader of the Is- lamic Revolution, Imam Khomeini (1902-89) led Iran's Revolu- tion stressing the socio-political aspects of Islam, wilayat e faqih, empoweringtheoppressedandpoor,theunityoftheMuslims,and importance of the freedom ofPalestine.

about him were distributed at universities, but there was no picture or image of Imam in my mind. Having heard things about Imam, I hon- ored him from the bottom of my heart. I real-  ly wished to have a picture of him. That day in Imam Reza’s holy shrine, I was ponderous on this fancy; I was wondering maybe I have seen Imam Reza (a.s) or one of the holy figures until I saw Imam’s picture at the University of Tehran one day and realized that the holy figure in my dream was that of Imam Khomeini. He must have reciprocated by visiting me in my dream since I respected him so much.

That year, after many years, my grandmother fulfilled my wish and we headed to Mashhad together; what a wonderful  pilgrimage  we had. Our father couldn’t take us to Mashhad; my siblings had grown up and travelling with seven guys was pretty hard. On the other hand, he could not close his shop which was near our home. Whenever I could, I went to my father’s tailor shop and helped him as I was not that bad at tailoring; at least I could handle some partial tailoring tasks for him. On the eves, he was too busy. On some occasions, we stayed and worked in the shop until dawn, while our mother cared for the children at home. My father and I were

really intimate; when we were alone, we con- fabulated on various issues such as university, university courses, and my friends. My father always insisted that I invite my friends to our home. In so doing, he could know them better and I felt more comfortable. I even talked about the political movements and parties at the uni- versity. My father also engaged conservatively in our conversations, telling some stories about the incidents surrounding the arrest of one of his friends’ daughter and what heinous acts she had endured in her misery.

Some days, my father closed his shop and went on demonstrations alongside the shop- keepers of that neighborhood and friends fol- lowed by my mother, my brothers, and me. At the university, one could not do such things extensively because our university was politi- cally inactive and insular, with a few students and just one field of study, that was, transla- tion studies. The year I was admitted into the university, the first national entrance university exam was administered for our field of study. Before that, only particular individuals from the privileged families who had ties in the govern- ment could enter their favorite field of study. The political ambiance was saturnine and dark,

especially against those who wore chador¹. On the first days of my entrance, similar to my high school period, I went to the university with a scarf. My father who was a tailor designed our clothes himself. To be honest, his designs in- cluding manteaus, pants, blouses, tops and pin- afores, and tunics were fairly good. My head- scarves, with bright colors, were designed and sewed by my mother. When I went to Mash- had, I wore chador and never wore it off, even at the university. At first, my classmates taunt- ed me a lot, especially those country bumpkins who wore roseate chadors at first and now they were apparently modernized. Nevertheless, since I was the top student of the class, they did not harass me much; they knew that one day they would need to ask me for some favor. I accepted and handled the situation, since I was determinate to preserve my chador. Generally,  I was a stubborn girl and it was hard to retract me from my decisions back then. In school, I was a good student, not a bookworm, of course. I usually studied after the morning prayers while the radio was on.

1. Some Muslim women to maintain an active role in public unisex spaces choose to wear black chador whereby they create mutual ethical safety and minimize sexual appeal.

There was an involuted room on one side of the home and two others on the other side. There was a little yard with a tiny pond in the middle as well. In summers, the pond was filled with water so that mild breezes could cool the heat of the rooms. The kitchen was in the basement. No one had an exclusive room. We all sat together, dined together, and studied to- gether. There was no television whose noise could dis- turb Manijeh’s studies. Our father was not in favor of having a television. He said, It is more the source of vices than virtues. Manijeh usually studied after the morning prayers; she found a secluded spot and stud- ied without bothering anybody.

With all domestic bustles of her children, our mother monitored our studies and academ- ic affairs. She was always there to do anything for our better education. So, I studied  well,  and maybe it was the reason why the school authorities didn’t expel me, despite my insis- tence