The 368th Night of Remembrance – Part 3

Compiled by: Iran Oral History Website
Translated by Kianoush Borzouei

2025-7-15

The 368th session of the Night of Remembrance was held on 1 Khordad 1404 at the Andisheh Hall of the Artistic Sect of the Islamic Republic in honor of the martyrs of public service. The featured speakers were Seyed Mohammad Jowzi, Sardar Nasrollah Saeedi, and Masoud Dehnamaki. The event was hosted by Davoud Salehi.

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The third narrator of the evening was Masoud Dehnamaki—a journalist, writer, producer, and director in Iranian cinema and television.

He began: “War photographers remember this well—one of the major challenges during the imposed war was that fighters avoided having their photographs taken. And if a photo was taken, many had their heads bowed. Most of them didn’t want to appear in pictures or talk about themselves, for fear of ostentation. They sought sincerity, not spectacle.”

Citing Martyr Kharrazi, Dehnamaki continued:

“Some outlets exaggerate the war; they write loudly, not accurately. We must narrate the war truthfully. We neither defined our enemy clearly for the next generation, nor did we define ourselves properly. That’s why questions arise: If the enemy was so weak, why did the war last eight years? This failure to represent the war truthfully is on us. In terms of self censorship, we’ve sometimes gone to extremes—either excessive suppression or reckless openness.”

Dehnamaki recounted an encounter:

“Around 2009, Scott Peterson, an American journalist and editor at The Christian Science Monitor^[1], came to me and said that a research center in the U.S. had been established to study the distinction between martyrdom and suicide bombing.
He was leading that research project. He said:
‘I’ve been coming to Iran for 7 or 8 years. I attend the Fajr Film Festival and watch your Sacred Defense films.
The global consensus is that Iran was defending itself, and Saddam was the aggressor. But the films you make are anti-war.’ From his perspective, ‘anti-war’ meant self-critique. ‘When we make films like Rocky or Saving Private Ryan, it’s because we invaded and we need to justify the war. But you—using the resources of your revolution—make films that sound like you regret the war. Your intellectuals ask, “Why did we fight at all?”’

He continued:

‘To keep my research grounded, I keep three photos on my office wall to remind me of what your war really was. One of them is Morteza Avini.’ I asked him, ‘Why Avini?’ He said: ‘Because the narration and texts of Revayat-e Fath—written by Avini—express the essence and spirit of your war. Not tanks, not artillery. Not the films that mimic Saving Private Ryan.’”

Dehnamaki reflected:

“Whenever we speak about domestic issues, people complain. But if we reference foreign literature, they applaud. For example, everyone praises Victor Hugo and Les Misérables when we recount how the bishop forgave Jean Valjean for stealing silver candlesticks. But if we tell a local story—like that of Seyed Mahdi Ghavam who forgave a thief and helped him become a devout merchant—it’s met with criticism.

Martyr Mostafa Chamran once said: ‘When the bugle of war sounds, the distinction between men and cowards becomes clear.’ But we only speak of the men of war, not the cowards. We remain silent about those who betrayed.”

He continued:

“I asked Scott about the second photo on his wall. He said it was of Haj Bakhshi. Haj Bakhshi would drive with a loudspeaker through roads flanked by water, under constant Iraqi fire. Even the wounded being evacuated in ambulances were hit by bullets and shrapnel. As we advanced, the roads became piled with vehicles; the smell of blood, smoke, gunpowder, and burnt flesh filled the air.
No one dared retrieve the fallen, but this elderly man would go back and forth, bringing back the bodies of the martyrs.

On his final trip, when his vehicle was hit and engulfed in flames, he tried to extinguish the fire with a blanket to save his son-in-law. This was the spirit of epic he radiated. What blared from his loudspeaker wasn’t noise—it was the soul of the sacred defense.”

Dehnamaki added:

“Years later, when Scott left Iran, he sent me a book titled Let the Swords Embrace Me—a quote from Imam Hussein. In an accompanying letter, he wrote:
‘I met Avini, Haj Bakhshi, and others. Then I traveled to Karbala, and only then did I understand—your war was a continuation of Ashura. Everything you had stemmed from Imam Hussein and Karbala.’ In Karbala, those who defected from Yazid's army to join Imam Hussein remain nameless.
There were two brothers who fought for Yazid until the final moments. But upon seeing how Yazid’s army treated Imam’s family, they turned against them and were martyred. On the other hand, someone had promised allegiance to Imam Hussein, but fled in fear of death. Ironically, he became a key narrator of the Karbala tragedy.
The Sacred Defense has similar anonymous martyrs—men whose stories have yet to be told. There was one fighter whose father chased him all the way to the Karkheh River in a Mercedes-Benz, begging him to return home, threatening to disinherit him. My own father said the same, though—thankfully—he had nothing to disinherit me from!”

In closing, Dehnamaki shared a memory:

“In Hamzeh Battalion, we had a comrade named Saeed Norouzi. A bullet had struck one of his eyes. He had lost his father as a child and inherited considerable wealth. He used to donate his entire inheritance and tell me, ‘Buy me flowers.’ I’d ask, ‘How many?’ He’d say, ‘Two hundred stems.’ I asked, ‘What for?’ He replied, ‘For the nurses. I want to spend all my money before returning to the front, because I know I’ll be martyred. I want to die with nothing, so no one will fight over money after I’m gone. I want to be detached from this world.’

In the next operation, Saeed Norouzi joined another battalion as a regular soldier.
It was only after his martyrdom that we learned he had fallen.”