Memoirs of Haj Abolfazl Almasi

One of the Islamic Revolution fighters in Qom

Selected by Faezeh Sasanikhah
Translated by Kianoush Borzouei

2024-12-6

Salutations to all the warriors of Islam, followed by a loud blessing:
"Allahumma salli ‘ala Muhammad wa Aali Muhammad wa ‘ajil farajahum"
This was the sound of women gathering in our home to collect public donations for the war front. It was the autumn of 1980, and the war had just begun. Streams of aid from the people were flowing toward the battlefields. Our house would be filled with women who spent their days and nights packaging supplies. In one corner, a group would be cleaning vegetables, while in another, others were placing nuts into small bags. Young girls also joined in, helping to arrange these packages into larger cartons.

Through my connections with merchants and the public, I encouraged them to contribute, and they eagerly entrusted their donations to us. Haj Davood Zand, Haj Mohammad Khoshnezhad, and Reza Mohseni were among those who assisted me in organizing and collecting these contributions. Once sufficient funds were gathered, I would head to the wholesale market to order the fruits and vegetables that needed to be sent to the fighters. Within hours, trucks loaded with fresh produce would arrive at our doorstep, and we would unload the boxes one by one into our courtyard.

I procured nuts from the bazaar as well. Sometimes, even when the funds were insufficient, the trust of the bazaar merchants allowed me to place orders and settle the payments later when money became available.

Wherever I saw a group of people gathered—whether in mosques, marketplaces, religious assemblies, or family gatherings—I seized the opportunity to collect donations. In summer, I carried the money in a silk handkerchief, and in winter, I used my hat. People grew accustomed to my voice:
"Help for the warriors of Islam! Contributions for the battlefronts of truth against falsehood! May God grant you onefold in this world and a hundredfold in the hereafter. May He bless your wealth. Say a loud blessing for the destruction of Saddam and his masters and for the victory of our warriors!"

At the Qods Prayer Hall^[1], a room was allocated to us to facilitate donation collection. One of our companions wrote in large letters on cardboard: “Unit for Supporting the Battlefronts of Truth Against Falsehood” and affixed it to the door of the room. Every Friday, we collected donations from worshippers at Friday prayers. After counting the money and preparing reports, we handed it over to the relevant authorities. The Mohseni brothers were responsible for overseeing these efforts.^[2]

Fighting With Bare Hands

From the beginning of the war, I became acquainted with the members of the Construction Jihad and realized I could better serve the revolution in this field. In April 1981, I traveled to Abadan to join my friends in undertaking construction and development projects in the war-torn areas. The zeal of the Basiji volunteers—old and young, laborers and office workers, literate and illiterate—all flocking to the southern frontlines out of love for defending their faith and revolution, remains engraved in my memory. Despite their fervor, exhaustion was evident in their dusty faces and weary bodies.

When I asked the fighters about the state of the war, they expressed dissatisfaction, saying: "Tell the authorities to help us. We don't even have enough bullets to fight. When we want to establish a defensive line, we spend several nights gathering weapons, ammunition, and artillery just to defend for a single night."

This was during the presidency of Bani-Sadr, who managed the war with his policy of "cede land, gain time." I returned from the front, but my heart remained there. I had witnessed the conditions of the fighters, who were battling with bare hands and without adequate support from the government. On the other hand, Imam Khomeini had instructed everyone to avoid divisive slogans, yet Bani-Sadr's supporters were chanting "100% Bani-Sadr" and defending him fervently.

One night, a few friends and I gathered at the shrine. In the grand courtyard, we performed the Maghrib and Isha prayers, led by Ayatollah Mar’ashi Najafi. The congregation sat in orderly rows. As soon as the prayers concluded and the supplication for the well-being of Imam Mahdi (aj) was recited, before the crowd dispersed, I stood atop the grave of Qutb Ravandi near the ever-filled pond in the Atabaki courtyard, just as I had during the pre-revolution protests, and chanted: “Death to Saddam!”

Then I shouted: "O people! Know this: at the frontlines, it’s only the Party of God (Hezbollah) that is serving. The fighters are battling with bare hands."

Some people were puzzled by my statement and began asking questions:
"Doesn’t the government support them?"
"What good is a government that doesn’t aid its fighters during a war?"
"May God destroy all hypocrites! We’re fighting Saddam on one side and these godless internal traitors on the other!"

After chanting these slogans, I felt a sense of peace, as though I had fulfilled my duty to the brave fighters who were defending the country with all their might. The atmosphere had become so charged that it seemed as if Bani-Sadr was solely responsible for the war. The dispute between Bani-Sadr and Beheshti had intensified. Gradually, as the people realized that contrary to their beliefs, Bani-Sadr’s loyalty did not lie with Imam Khomeini and the revolution, the slogan "100% Bani-Sadr" transformed into "Death to Bani-Sadr."

On June 21, 1981, when I heard the news of Bani-Sadr's dismissal on the radio, I was overcome with joy. At that moment, the faces of the oppressed fighters battling Saddam with bare hands, pleading with us to send them supplies, flashed vividly before my eyes.

With every trip to the battlefronts, I dedicated even more time and energy to gathering public contributions. On the other hand, as our network with merchants and the public grew stronger, the volume of donations we received increased significantly. At times, with the cooperation of the Construction Jihad, we managed to dispatch nearly 20 trucks loaded with supplies to the frontlines. The people gave wholeheartedly to support the war effort—from gold and sheep to carpets, household items, shoes, and boots. Everything they could spare found its way to the battlefronts.

One night, while we were collecting donations at the Zain-ul-Abidin Mosque and loading them into vehicles with the help of friends, I heard someone call out, "Mirza! Mirza!" I turned to see who it was. A bent old man approached and said, “Mirza Abolfazl! The doctor told me to eat lemons. So I bought two kilograms of them. But now that I’ve heard you’re heading to the frontlines, I don’t want them. Take these lemons to the fighters.” Tears welled up in my eyes. For a moment, I was frozen, gazing at the old man. I looked at his calloused hands, then at the bag of lemons. I didn’t know what to say. I accepted the bag, kissed his forehead, and thanked him.

When I reached Abadan, I distributed some of the lemons there and took the rest to the Koot-Sheikh region^[3], delivering them directly to the fighters. There were many like him—people who barely made ends meet but managed to find money from somewhere to send to the frontlines through us. The more I witnessed the kindness and selflessness of the people, the more meticulous I became in ensuring that not a single item was wasted or misused. I saw how some went to great lengths, enduring heartbreak, just to collect a few tomans to send to the fighters.

On most of our trips, our group included at least one cleric. These religious scholars not only accompanied us in gathering urban donations but also served as an essential presence on the frontlines. Haj Aqa Motamaseki, Hajian, Rahmani, Fazeli, and Asgari were among the clerics who joined us. Sometimes, they would specifically urge me to visit different areas, speak about the revolution and the war, and, as always, lead slogans.

Besides my involvement with the Construction Jihad group, I also traveled to the frontlines with other groups, including the youth of Chaharmardan and Chehel Akhtarani neighborhoods, seminary students, Construction Jihad forces, and the fighters of the 17th Division. Each group had its own unique spirit and atmosphere.

I had a deep affection for the fighters, and they reciprocated this kindness. If I didn’t show up, they would inquire about me from my friends. Every time we brought public contributions to the fighters, they were so overjoyed that they would fire celebratory shots into the air to welcome or bid us farewell.

Our efforts had a significant impact on the morale of the fighters. If I hadn’t already experienced the satisfaction of serving in the “fortress builders without fortresses” unit, I would have undoubtedly joined the fighters on the battlefield.^[4]