The transparent sphinx
Political biography and the question
of intellectual responsibility
August 13, 2005
iranian.com
Afshin Matin-Asgari review of Abbas
Milani's biography of Amir Abbas Hoveyda, The
Persian Sphinx (Mage Publishers, 2000). Matin-Asgari is
associate professor of history at California
State University, Los
Angeles, and
author of Iranian
Student Opposition to the Shah (Mazda
Pablishers, 2001). This review was first published in Critique,
No. 19, Fall 2001. Following is
an
excerpt. See full
text with notes.
Political
biography has become a popular genre in post-revolutionary
Iran. Government figures, leaders of political parties,
academics, and professional writers have produced a large
body of autobiographies, memoirs, biographies, and semi-biographical
fiction. When a triumphant Islamic Republic called for
a radical break with the past, it also caused a deep
sense of anxiety and curiosity about all that was suppressed,
rejected, and denied. Despite, or perhaps because of
this official sanitization of history, there seems to
be an endless appetite for books about the Pahlavi era
(1926-79).
Thanks to the bleak realities of post-revolutionary
Iran, not only the old regime, but also even the Qajar monarchy
(1796-1925) has acquired a warm nostalgic glow
in popular imagination. For example, in the late 1990s, a best-selling novel
called Bamdad-e khomar [Morning of intoxication] caused a minor cultural
stir by going against supposedly populist literary conventions to depict wealth
and
aristocratic privilege as positive values. Beyond popular culture, a certain
historical revisionism seems to be at work in serious historical/biographical
studies like Abbas Amant’s Pivot
of the Universe: Nasir al-Din Shah
Qajar
and the Iranian Monarchy: 1831-1896 (Mage, 1997), which takes issue
with pervasive but stereotypical representations of monarchy as the epitome of
decadence
and
stagnation.
Writing political biographies and autobiographies related
to the Pahlavi era and the Islamic Republic, however, remains
more politically sensitive
and intellectually
daunting. Immediately after his overthrow, Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi wrote
Answer to History (1980). A naïvely self-serving account
of his accomplishments and fall, this book was of little
historical import but set the trend for a “literature
of denial,” produced by the old regime’s partisans who, like the
shah, denied its major flaws and/or their own contribution to its failures.
Nevertheless, flickers of self-criticism began to show in works such as Parviz
C. Radji, In
the Service of the Peacock Throne: The Diaries of the Shah’s Last Ambassador
to London (1983); and more so in posthumous releases like Asadollah Alam, The
Shah and I (1991).
Abbas Milani’s The Persian Sphinx is a biography
of Amir Abbas Hoveyda, the shah’s longest-serving prime minister and
Iran’s second most
powerful man during the monarchy’s last two decades. The book is an
ambitious and sophisticated undertaking, easily the most outstanding example
in the genre
of twentieth-century Iranian political biographies. Moreover, its controversial
topic, engaging style, and readable prose make it appealing and accessible
to an audience beyond academia. Any such work is by definition controversial
and
provocative, but Milani’s book requires special critical attention because
of its potential impact, particularly on the non-specialist public at large.
While it has much merit, The Persian Sphinx is ultimately a disappointing work
because Milani has injected strong doses of political bias into his historical
reconstruction.
The careful reader will find almost all of the author’s
assumptions, preoccupations, and conclusions summarized in the
book’s preface. The first major point is the admission that
writing about Hoveyda’s life has been a continuation, “by
proxy,” of Milani’s previous autobiographical project.
Those who have read his Tales
of Two Cities: A Persian Memoir will
remember the peculiarities of that work.
Beyond childhood sketches,
the book had a surprisingly short chapter on Milani’s intellectual
formation during his student years in Berkeley, California, from
the mid-1960s to 1975. There, he joined an anti-shah Stalinist
group, whose Weltanschauung was derived from close readings of
Mao Tse-Tung’s works and the Peking Review. Obviously, Milani
generalizes this experience to characterize all Iranian oppositionists
as closed-minded fanatics. But this is a case of "universalizing
guilt" in order to avoid individual responsibility. Milani
could have chosen the less dogmatic wings of the student movement
or left the opposition for an independent intellectual path. Yet,
he stayed with the Maoist group and was drawn into political entanglements
that are mentioned but not clarified in Tales of Two Cities.
The
most poignant parts of Milani’s autobiography are the
two chapters where he describes his torments as a political prisoner
of the monarchy. After returning to Iran in 1975, Milani became
a university professor and, still connected to the Maoist group,
joined a “think tank” of supposedly reformist intellectuals
formed around the queen. This was the very time we find him publishing
material praising the regime. Is this to imply that his pro-regime
writings, including speeches for the queen, were done when he was
in fact an undercover Maoist? There is no explanation and no clear
chronology of events.
Milani eventually was arrested because of
his leftist contacts, although he maintains
that he had given up revolutionary ideas “long before” landing in
prison. He also mentions reaching a quick agreement with the authorities
that allowed him to be freed in one year, but adds that media reports
distorted his
court testimony into praise for the shah. Again this may be an oblique reference
to his writings that were used to attack the opposition in publications by
the political police (SAVAK).
Although Tales of Two Cities does
not give us clear
explanations of these thorny issues, it may suggest why Milani views Iranian
politics as a dichotomous clash between fanatical opposition forces and a flawed
but modernizing monarchy, a struggle in which real intellectuals had no choice
but to join the latter. The continuity of this theme in The Persian Sphinx
makes the latter an autobiographical work “by proxy.”
In
the preface to The Persian Sphinx, Milani claims that
writing this book convinced him that nearly all his perceptions
about Hoveyda
had been wrong,
thus suggesting
the reader might expect a similar experience. He then gives us a synopsis of
what he learned about Hoveyda: “He was a true intellectual, a man of
cosmopolitan flair, a liberal at heart who served an illiberal master.” Expressed
in no uncertain terms, these words capture the essence of what the author wants
to convey about Hoveyda. He promises to reverse common perceptions by offering
a sympathetic portrait of a man usually seen quite unfavorably.
The question
of the moral responsibility of Hoveyda, and others who served the shah’s
regime in important capacities, is the core concern of The Persian Sphinx.
Milani’s narrative deals with it indirectly, but his position is
stated at the outset. He seeks to show that Hoveyda was a liberal intellectual
who, along with a host of other like-minded technocrats, fought against “poverty,
repression” and “tradition.”
The book is not clear as to
why such efforts failed. Nor does Milani hold Hoveyda, and his cohorts
in the ruling
elite, seriously accountable for the system’s flaws and failures.
He seems to indicate that the obstacles were too great and the shah was
too “illiberal.” Thus
we have the making of a classical tragedy: a despotic king ruling a backward
society, facing meddling foreigners and fanatical opponents, and served
by intellectuals like Hoveyda, whose moral integrity consequently is questioned
and somehow must
be redeemed >>> Full text with notes (Word document)
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