The 370th Night of Memories – 4

Compiled by: Iranian Oral History Website
Translated by: Fazel Shirzad

2025-9-23

Note: The 370th Night of Memories program was held on July 23, 2025, with the theme “Muharram at the Front” at the Sura Hall of the Art Center. In this program, Reza Afsharnezhad, Seyyed Saleh Mousavi, and Ramin Asgari shared their memories. The event was hosted by Davood Salehi.

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The second narrator of the Night of Memories program was “Seyyed Sali”, whose real name is Seyyed Saleh Mousavi. The host introduced him as follows: He was seventeen years old when the war reached his city. They [comrades] used to call him the hunter of Russian tanks. The most famous photo of this narrator, a photo that people take pride in, is of a seventeen-year-old boy who has taken off his shirt and has an RPG on his shoulder. More than three to four decades have passed since those days of bravery; but as we Iranians say, even if a lion grows old, it is still a lion.

At the beginning of his speech, the narrator thanked the people for their resistance during the 12-day imposed war and said: I am happy that I was born in this land of unity, resistance, defense, and solidarity. Now that you have seen the recent war, I can more easily talk about the 45-day resistance of Khorramshahr. When I say our house was bombed and the city destroyed, you can understand it better. This 12-day war also had differences from the previous war. At that time, we saw the enemy and fought them face-to-face, but this time it wasn’t like that. The Iraqis attacked us with Russian and American tanks, but you didn’t see the enemy, and certainly, this caused more anxiety. We fought the enemy in two places, but the result was the same: victory! Thank God we emerged victorious. Now you can better understand what it means to be displaced by war. The cowardly enemy destroyed your houses with drones, but you kept the flag of Iran raised high. One night, they assassinated the senior IRGC and army commanders, but the Supreme Leader, in just one day, appointed new commanders to replace them, and the enemy was bombarded with missiles. You had missiles to strike back, but we fought with limited means. I remember taking off my shirt so the Iraqis would fear the IRGC fighters. At that time, whenever the Iraqis killed an IRGC member, their morale would rise. I wanted, if I were to be martyred, to die shirtless so that their morale would weaken.

The narrator continued: Several times I attacked Iraqi tanks and forced them to retreat. On October 1, 1980, when they wanted to capture wide palisade, the ground there was swampy and their tanks got stuck. Along with the Navy commandos in green berets, I attacked them. They were firing with 106mm guns, and we struck back with RPGs. This incident is recorded in the war chronology at the IRGC’s Research Office.

Once, on October 2, 1980, our fighting started at dawn. That day I was on guard duty with Martyr Seyyed Abdolreza Mousavi. We were sitting behind the prefab buildings of Khorramshahr (Apartment Khordad 3). At daybreak, a large number of Iraqi tanks and armored personnel carriers advanced from Shalamcheh road toward the slaughterhouse. I had a small transistor radio and was listening to the news. Through that radio, I realized what was happening. After the anthem, they started broadcasting slogans.

Reza Mousavi saw the tanks and said: Sali (that was my nickname), are those Iraqi tanks? I said: You’re seeing correctly. He asked: What are they going to do? I said: They’re going to give us hell today. I laughed. He said: Even in this situation, you don’t stop joking and laughing. I said: Get up, let’s run.

We ran. Reza Mousavi had long legs and ran after me. The concrete building was being reduced to powder from the shelling. They fired so much that all the stationed forces in the prefab buildings fled. I knew they had a plan. Mousavi followed me as far as the first Khorramshahr–Ahvaz road.

In front of us were warehouses and a mechanical repair shop. Forces were stationed there. The Khorramshahr Navy and army were stationed there as well. The shelling had intensified. The Iraqi artillery was positioned beside them. The sound of the tanks and shelling was like music. Every moment, I saw death and martyrdom before my eyes.

An Iranian navy soldier in khaki lay on the ground, wounded. He said: Brother, help me. I reached out to grab the strap of his weapon, but the tanks fired at him. He was obliterated. God bless him — I didn’t know him. He was martyred in a moment.

Reza Mousavi said: Sali, what should we do? I said: Keep running until we reach the railway square. On one side was the slaughterhouse, which is now called Resistance Square. On the other side was the railway square. We were on the Khorramshahr bypass.

Look at the distance. We ran from the bypass. Halfway there, I lost sight of Reza Mousavi. I kept running until I reached the city. They were firing. People were running here and there, calling out to God. Young men with M1 rifles had fallen on the ground. My sense of honor boiled over. I said: Great God, help me so the Iraqis do not enter. Do not allow our humiliation. Either make me a martyr or make me victorious.

I found Reza Mousavi. I stopped behind the Youth House. Before the Revolution, I used to practice wrestling at the Youth House. On that street, I gathered the neighborhood boys. I said: We must not let them pass. Which is more important: the honor of our country or your lives? Either we become martyrs or we win. Everyone fled.

Ali, who is now missing in action, held my hand. I saw a Russian T-72 tank standing behind me with its barrel aimed at me. The young men had gone to take cover. We also fled. We climbed the wall of a two-story house. When we reached the top, I scolded myself: Sali, why did you run away? I was wearing my Khorramshahr IRGC uniform. With respect, I unbuttoned it. At that time, my hand wasn’t paralyzed. I took off the uniform, folded it, kissed it, and placed it on a sill.

Ali and I made a vow: Either we destroy the tanks or we will be martyred. I felt like I was about to wrestle in a singlet.

We went to the railway square. There was a circular area with a small canal beside it, surrounded by concrete. We went inside the canal. In front of us was the railway mosque. I saw all the Khorramshahr IRGC fighters there, speaking to Jahanara over the radio and giving their wills.

When I saw this scene, I said: God, don’t let it end like this today. It was as if someone told me: Go stand at the mosque walkway. I climbed out of the canal. Tank fire was everywhere. The railway was being bombarded. A tank approached us. I stood tall in front of it and shouted Allahu Akbar! Then I went to greet the Khorramshahr IRGC fighters.

From across the boulevard, a teenage boy with a blue and white thermos ran toward me. He said: Kaka Sali, I brought you water from the house well. We had no water. I drank a cup of that warm water. It quenched my thirst. I felt ashamed. I said to myself: This boy brought water under fire, and I am just standing here.

I went to the mosque and saw my classmate Ahmad Maleki, who was an RPG operator. The two of us went behind the houses near the railway and reached the power company’s warehouses. Two green berets were there. I thought they were Iraqis. They said: Don’t shoot, we’re Iranians. I told them to leave the area.

I told Ahmad Maleki: Whenever I say, open the door. He said: It’s dangerous — you’ll die. I said: I won’t die, I’ll be martyred. I swore that I would either push the Iraqis back or be martyred. He agreed to accompany me.

I could hear the sound of tank treads. They were getting closer. I said: Open the door. I leapt out and stood before the tank with my RPG. The distance was short. I shouted Allahu Akbar!(i.e God is the Greatest) and fired.

I fell into prostration and thanked God. When I stood up, I saw the Khorramshahr IRGC fighters had arrived. I saw the tank had crashed into the wall of the power company’s warehouse and overturned.

The IRGC fighters had also struck the enemy commander’s vehicle. They threw Molotov cocktails, and I fired RPGs. In the end, the Iraqis fled.

I wanted to chase them to Shalamcheh, but the IRGC fighters came and said: Jahanara is calling you. He was riding in a beige pickup truck. When I saw him, I was overjoyed.

Jahanara said: Sali, well done. Today you planted flowers. You are today’s hero.

At the end, the narrator rose from his chair and said: People of Tehran, I love you. Today, you are the heroes of Iran.

To be continued...