Abbas

In the courtyard of the ransacked center , the humiliated take their revenge upon the arrogant SAVAK. Young thugs mix with genuine revolutionaries. Violence is latent. I work with one camera only, so as not to attract attention… in vain. A young man shouts : “ Watch out ! he could be a Savaki ! ” and I suddenly feel the sharp blade – very sharp indeed – of a knife upon my throat. “ Give me your camera !

• But YOU have just won ! You wiped out the Savak ! … ”
  I am lucky, I loose only the film inside the camera. Does History play the same ironic tricks with every revolution ?

… at night, why am I not overcome with joy ? All my friends are ! After all, this is also my country, my people, my revolution. Is it because of the constant reference to Islam ? Or is it because I have just seen the face of defeat, that of General Rahimi, the commander of martial law in Tehran ? Two years ago, I had photographed him in his full imperial regalia, with all his medals upon his uniform. This evening he is paraded in front of television cameras in his shirt. His interrogation, led by Ibrahim Yazdi, sounds like a trial : “Do you want to repent ?

• I swore allegiance on the Shah and I will not renege on it now ! ”

A foreign journalist then asks him if he thinks he will be executed. General Rahimi reaches to the sky and says : “ I am in the hands of Alah.”

… five days later I photograph him, almost naked, in a box at the Tehran morgue. He had been shot during the night with three other generals following a brief – and secret – trial. From that day, the revolution is no longer mine.