The smell of formalin, the sleepless nights, the strain of supporting Maryam and myself, the ongoing persecution of our generation which never had a chance to enjoy life, see the world or spend time with friends without fear of arrests, was not all that defined my life in those years. Iranian society, too, was undergoing significant changes and upheavals. The rulers of the Islamic Republic were clearly splitting into two. Rafsanjani had set up a new political party called Kargozaran-e Sazandegi (Executives of Construction) and had as its objective the reestablishment of capitalism. Apparently, as the most powerful man in Iran at the time, he had realized that capitalism was what would help rebuild the economic infrastructure destroyed during the war. In order to achieve this, he called for a more liberal approach. He was not aiming at political reform or the creation of a democracy but he was clearly advocating greater individual freedom. I remember the day when he announced that the Guards and the police should no longer harass young boys and girls if they were seen walking together. We were all amazed\u2014 and delighted\u2014that the great taboo on the interaction of the sexes was finally done away with. It was some time before we noticed the disappearance of the 4WDs from the streets. Rafsanjani even tried to re-introduce the practice of provisional marriage or sigheh, the fixed-term marriage in Shi\u2019a Islam. The duration of such a marriage is fixed at its inception and then automatically dissolved upon completion of its term. An attempt to legitimize civil partnerships, it met with limited success.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the other hand, the political environment was growing even more oppressive. Khamenei announced that the universities had to be \u2018Islamized\u2019. This time the problem was not with the students since they had established several filtering mechanisms to ensure that no controversial student entered the universities; if they did, they were severely controlled. Once again, it was the lecturers and professors who were targeted and the Minister of Higher Education was assigned to carry out the plan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In the course of a year, hundreds of professors with liberal, Western ideas were judged disloyal to the Revolution and forcibly retired, including Dad, who had been promoted to Professor a few years earlier and received the highest scientific honour in Iran. This broke his heart and he never recovered from the impact of not being able to teach any more. He, along with a few of his colleagues and former students, set up a research centre which, supported by the strength of his reputation, went on to become very successful. He was also appointed a member of the Iranian Academy of Science. But none of this could make up for the fact that he had been deprived of his only ambition in life: to die on the job, in the classroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Dad was no longer the same after his retirement. He lost the sparkle in his eyes although he became kinder, less autocratic and more outgoing. I couldn\u2019t help but feel a certain sorrow whenever I saw him groping for a new meaning to his life. He was never commercially astute and his position as managing director of a company that needed to be profitable bothered him. He simply wanted to research, whereas now he had to worry about negotiations and competition from rival companies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mum, on the other hand, began work as a nurse after she graduated but she gave it up a year later and returned to teaching at high school, once again as a librarian.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I decided I didn\u2019t want to follow in Dad\u2019s footsteps by putting all my eggs in one basket. So I began to think about a second career: publishing. My work with the scientific journal plus publishing my book and my bookselling background seemed to me enough preparation for founding a publishing house. I wanted to try and fill the gap in the market for a publisher who would \u2018think globally but act locally\u2019. Most of the publishers I knew were stuck in the past: none of them seemed to have thought of bringing the industry up to international standards. I didn\u2019t have a business plan, I didn\u2019t have the money and I didn\u2019t have any experience in management. But I had an idea and a passionate desire to see it fulfilled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I already knew that I would not be allowed to pursue my medical studies into any area of specialization. And in Iran, if one is not a specialist then one is highly unlikely to become a successful doctor. In the absence of a national health service, people turn immediately to a private consultant. If they have a stomach ache, they\u2019ll consult a gastroenterologist rather than a GP. There are tens of thousands of unemployed GPs in Iran who wander about the country for a few years before they decide to give up the profession and move into other careers. I knew that this would happen to me and I decided to pre-empt it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What I didn\u2019t know was that setting up a publishing company wasn\u2019t as easy as it seemed and that the problems had nothing to do with the business aspects: they lay entirely in government-imposed regulation. Before I could do anything, I needed a Publishing Licence from the Ministry of Culture. No one is allowed to register a publishing company and begin publishing books or periodicals without it; and not everyone is considered eligible to even put in an application for it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In the first place, all applicants had to prove that they were reputable Iranian citizens, at least 27 years old, with sufficient knowledge of publishing and at least a Bachelor\u2019s degree. At the time, being married was another precondition but this absurdity was done away with soon after. Applicants needed to have completed military service and have no criminal record or history of bankruptcy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Once the forms were filled, the application was sent to the Security Department for a background check. If no deviant political, religious or moral activity was detected, the application was then scrutinized by a special committee. If, and only if, all these hurdles were surmounted, a provisional Publishing Licence was issued in the name of the \u2018Responsible Manager\u2019 of the publishing house. Licences were usually valid for a year and could be extended.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I was thinking of setting up a publishing house, I was neither 27 nor had I done my military service. So I persuaded Dad to apply for the Licence. He was a reputable man, the author of several books and articles, the editor-in-chief of a leading journal and a member of the Academy of Sciences. I believed that the authorities would approve his application on the spot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Dad was reluctant to apply but I insisted and reminded him that I hadn\u2019t really asked him for anything ever since the video player. He was not entirely convinced about my decision; he believed I needed to concentrate on my studies. I had to promise to see through my graduation before I began any publishing to finally win him over to my side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We applied in 1994. Dad introduced me as his representative and then the marathon began. I went to the Ministry every two weeks to see how things were progressing and to check if I needed to supply any more documentation. I did, every time: his qualifications, evidence of his prominence in international circles, proof that he was a writer, police check, etc.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Finally, after nine months, his file was deemed complete and then sent off for a background check. The official told me that he\u2019d call me if there was any news.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A year went by. I was about to graduate but there was still no news of Dad\u2019s file. I decided to go to the Ministry and see for myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was almost three hours before I was let in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018What do you want?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Has there been any development in the Publishing License application of my father, Dr Jalal Hejazi?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He looked into his files. \u2018Well, yes,\u2019 he said, smiling, \u2018we had a response a while ago. But I must have been too busy to call.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I leaned forward in my chair, \u2018And?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Unfortunately your father has not been approved. His background shows that he is not very loyal to the Revolution. It is not the end of the world, though. Ask him to come and see me. If he signs a statement that he regrets whatever he has done, the Security Office might reconsider . . .\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I left the Ministry in despair. Dad would never sign such a statement. I talked to him and I wasn\u2019t surprised when he simply smiled and said, \u2018Never!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My dreams of becoming a publisher were dashed to the ground. I began to prepare for military service. I got my papers from the conscription office in April 1996 and was called very soon after.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Another two years of my life. Another two years wasted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
We had two months of military training before being assigned to our posts. A few of my classmates and I and were sent to the Montazeri Military Centre, located in a field 20 kilometres outside the city of Kermanshah in West Iran.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We arrived in Kermanshah at 6 a.m. We were going to spend the next two years in the Revolutionary Guard, the most fearsome and powerful entity in Iran. None of us was religious; although we knew how to play the hypocrite well enough to convince the authorities of our loyalty, we knew it was going to be very different in the army. In the latest parliamentary election, the more liberal Kargozaran Party had been defeated and the hardliners had taken over parliament. There were rumours that the Revolutionary Guard had rigged the results. The Guard believed itself to be the real owners of the country. It had defended the Revolution in its early days, it had defended the country for eight years during the war against Iraq and it was in charge of the huge Basij militia. It controlled the borders\u2014 customs, airports, exports and imports\u2014and had infiltrated most economic activity, from arms manufacture to the oil industry. There was no way we could fool its men.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
It was 7.30 a.m. by the time we got to the infantry base. We were searched thoroughly at the entrance and our cigarettes were confiscated. No one was allowed to smoke in the infantry, it seemed. Later I realized that the whole point of confiscating our cigarettes was to make us buy them from the smugglers within the infantry at a much higher price. We were told we were not allowed to shave our faces, then we were divided into three groups and sent to the three dorms. But there were not enough beds for all of us, so the commander announced that those who lived in Kermanshah could go home at night. We decided to volunteer so that we wouldn\u2019t be trapped in that base for two months.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We were trained again on the use of a gun, how to respond to chemical attacks and how to use RPG-7 rockets. We also attended war strategy classes and received Islamic training.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Hamid was one of the men who left the base with us every evening and we had become friends. When I heard his surname was Barazesh, I asked, \u2018Do you know Barazesh, Deputy Minister of Culture?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He smiled and said, \u2018Yeah, sort of. Why?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018I really wish I could speak to him.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018You can if you want. He\u2019s my brother.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
With growing excitement, I explained Dad\u2019s situation regarding the Publishing Licence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018No problem. Call me when we go back to Tehran.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He truly performed a miracle. Two months later, when our military training was over, we returned to Tehran.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Within a few days, he telephoned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018What do you want to call your publishing house?\u2019 he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Caravan.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018OK, ask your father to come and get his PL tomorrow.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The path that had taken two years and then petered out into a dead-end suddenly opened up again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In Iran, everything was impossible and everything was possible. It all depended on who you knew.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was 7 in the morning. We had just returned to the infantry base and were preparing for the morning ceremony when the Sergeant called us out and asked us to fall in line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018In the name of Allah, the compassionate, the merciful. YOU DIRTY SCOUNDRELS! YOU WIMPS!\u2019 he bellowed. \u2018I thought you were educated! I thought you were doctors and engineers! Now I know that you are nothing but a rotting disease at the heart of the Revolution!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He cursed us for 10 minutes, while we looked at one another in bafflement. What was wrong?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018You\u2019re a disgrace to your country! You think I don\u2019t know what goes on in the dorms at nights? I have eyes everywhere . . .\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ah, he must have witnessed something truly terrible! Perhaps two boys had been caught having sex? Taking drugs?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Don\u2019t you respect the blood of the martyrs who once lay on the same beds as you filthy animals? For this disgrace, you will do 100 push-ups and 100 sit-ups!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We were all scared to death. What on earth had happened? I didn\u2019t sleep in the dorm so I had no clue. I looked at the others to see if they knew what the Sergeant was talking about but they were as astonished as I.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Meanwhile, the Sergeant was about to reveal the unforgivable, heinous crime.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018I have received reports that some of you pigs have been sleeping only in your underwear!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Ha ha ha ha . . . !\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Someone burst into laughter and the sound of it rippled through the courtyard. Everyone turned to gape at him. The Sergeant, too. Oh my God, I don\u2019t believe it: it\u2019s me!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018You, Dr Asshole! Step forward.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Although I knew I was in trouble, I simply couldn\u2019t stop laughing. That sleeping in one\u2019s underwear was being treated as a national security problem . . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stepped forward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018You have insulted the blood of the martyrs for which you will be punished severely.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He called the group leader. \u2018You start counting, 100 pushups, 100 sit-ups. And you,\u2019 he turned to me, \u2018come with me.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He took me to headquarters and told me to wait outside while he reported my crime to the commander of the infantry. I was no longer laughing but thinking hard, trying to come up with a way out of this mess. Insulting the blood of the martyrs was a serious accusation. I couldn\u2019t defend myself before the General; he wouldn\u2019t care; he\u2019d feed on my fear and make an example out of me for the others. I decided the best way forward was to take the offensive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was summoned inside. The General looked at me contemptuously and said, \u2018The Sergeant has a complaint about you. You have insulted the blood of the martyrs.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Sir, I . . .\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Shut up! Don\u2019t speak until you\u2019re asked to. This is the army, not a hospital.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
the gaze of the gazelle<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I shut up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Do you have anything to say?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Can I speak openly, Sir?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018My fellow soldiers and I are the ones who will file a complaint against the Sergeant.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Both the General and the Sergeant raised their eyebrows. \u2018Can I speak, Sir?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Yes.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Apparently, a few soldiers have been sleeping in their underwear. But no one knew that sleeping thus was a crime. The Sergeant did not explain the rules to us but punished and insulted everyone. Further . . .\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The General and the Sergeant looked at me with ominous smiles. I realized that my case wasn\u2019t strong enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018I will complain against the Sergeant for having insulted the blood of the martyrs.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The smile faded from both their faces. \u2018Why?\u2019 asked the Sergeant, clearly anxious.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I turned to the General and continued,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018The blood of the martyrs is sacred. The blood of the martyrs is what this glorious Revolution and the sacred regime is founded upon. The blood of the martyrs is our most powerful weapon against our arrogant enemies. It belongs to the whole nation and the Sergeant has no right to use it to his personal advantage. More important, he has no right to link the blood of the martyrs to the underwear of the soldiers. This is sacrilege! We will not let this happen again.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Sergeant was shocked, and the General, realizing he had to save himself, asked me to leave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I got back, the team had already finished the 100 push-ups. I asked them not to go through the sit-ups but to wait and see what happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
An hour later, a new Sergeant was appointed. Ours was sent off to lead another team.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was saved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
Two months later, when we were sent back to Tehran, I had become a First Lieutenant Doctor with three stars on my shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was appointed as the doctor at the Corps 10 clinic in the Army of Revolutionary Guards. However, before I could begin, I was sent to set up the clinic in a desert outside Tehran where a huge military manoeuvre was about to take place. I was settled in the clinic, a military tent, with an assistant called Goudarz from Lorestan who barely spoke Persian. For 10 days, I saw no one other than Goudarz. I had no news from the outside world, no books to read and absolutely nothing to do. I was bored stiff by the end of the third day, reduced to counting the minutes and hours, willing time to pass. Slowly I got used to it and began to take notice of the world around me. I had never had a chance to get to know the world of nature; now I spent my time walking in the desert or lying on the ground, looking up at the stars, trying to make out the constellations. I tried to observe the smallest living creatures and soon I realized that, despite the lifeless appearance of the desert, it was teeming with life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This solitude gave me an opportunity to distil my life\u2019s experiences, make sense of all my thoughts. I had seen a lot, much more than I was supposed to have seen by the age of 25. I had too many scars on my soul, which I had spent most of my time trying to ignore. Now was my chance to stop escaping and began to embrace who I really was. We made tea and drank it together, my assistant and I, and we improvised different types of food while we counted the number of scorpions that constantly crawled past our tent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Before the launch of the manoeuvres, the scorpions didn\u2019t bother us. My assistant used to catch them, kill them and dry their poisonous tails under the burning desert sun. Then he would crush them and turn them into a powder, which he smoked with great pleasure. He said scorpions\u2019 tails had a more powerful hallucinogenic effect than hashish and far greater sedative powers than opium. He strongly recommended I try some. Despite my curiosity and keenness to try something new in those days when nothing changed and nothing happened, I refused. I was happy with my cigarettes and determined not to get addicted to the pleasures of drugs. By the time they finished their military service, half the conscripts ended up with some sort of drug addiction that would accompany them for life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
However, no sooner had the manoeuvres begun than the scorpions grew aggressive; my solitude and longing for adventure was overwhelmed by the number of soldiers I had to treat for scorpion bites. I was out of corticosteroids in a day. Had the scorpions been of a lethal variety, we would have been left with a lot of dead bodies on our hands. Instead of thinking of their military duties, the soldiers were hunting scorpions! And the scorpions decided to resist rather than surrender their euphoria-inducing tails without a fight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the last day of the manoeuvres, Ayatollah Khamenei came to the camp and visited the clinic. He greeted the men kindly and praised their courage in the course of these manoeuvres. I tried hard not to smile as I imagined his reaction when he came to know that these \u2018brave\u2019 soldiers were suffering not from war injuries but from scorpion bites!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was introduced to the Supreme Leader as a \u2018brilliant doctor\u2019 working hard to help the injured soldiers. He greeted me and held out his cheek. In the anxiety of being kissed by the Supreme Leader, I put my hand on his right shoulder. Suddenly, an electric shock ran through my body and I was thrown back. It took me a few seconds before I realized what had happened. Then I saw the face of his bodyguard who was wagging his finger at me, motioning \u2018No, no, no.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was my one and only encounter with Ayatollah Khamenei and it ended in my being almost electrocuted. I didn\u2019t know then what kind of device his bodyguard had used on me; later, I discovered it had been a powerful taser.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A quite different meeting from my mystical encounter with his predecessor, Imam Khomeini.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
\u2018Hi, I\u2019m Dr Arash Hejazi. I\u2019ve been assigned to this clinic.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The short, young doctor held out his hand and said, \u2018Welcome, Dr Hejazi. I\u2019m Dr Jafar Muhammadi. I\u2019m not a conscript, unfortunately, but a cadre doctor of the Revolutionary Guard, sentenced to spend the rest of my life in this rat-hole.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After a few days spent scrutinizing one another surreptitiously, a certain degree of trust was arrived at on both sides. We had two desks in the same room. My job was to examine and treat the patients, his to read the newspapers, magazines and books he brought in each day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I tried to observe the behaviour of the Revolutionary Guard since I\u2019d never been so close to such a powerful organization. The guards were all fervently religious. Shaving was prohibited, although long beards were frowned on as well. Everyone\u2019s beards were trimmed to 3\u20135 millimetres, unless they were commanders. Military ranking had just been introduced to the Revolutionary Guard in an attempt to make it more like a modern army. Until then, over the past 17 years, there had been no insignia or military ranks; they had all been \u2018brothers\u2019. Nor was there any military etiquette: inferiors didn\u2019t salute superiors but kissed one another and shook hands. Uniforms were simple and void of any insignia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But now, since the formal military rankings had been introduced, the air of simplicity had vanished. These guards, trained to defeat the enemies of Iran and to uphold the Islamic Republic, were reduced to fighting over military ranks, posts which inevitably had financial implications.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was another problem: educational levels. In the Iranian army, the level of formal education was the primary determinant of rank. Most of the \u2018commanders\u2019 in the Guard, however, had minimal education or none; others were barely literate. Under the new system, they lost their ranks. This was unbearable. As \u2018commanders\u2019, they had led troops to victory; now they had to accept the superiority of a new recruit fresh from university. Such as Dr Muhammadi.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He had been admitted to medical school with a bursary from the Revolutionary Guard. Anyone whose background was impeccable according to the Guard\u2019s criteria could apply for a bursary. Those who were accepted had to sign a contract to serve the Guard for 30 years. That was why Dr Muhammadi was committed to spending the rest of his life here. Although he had no service history, he was now a Major, a rank much higher than the \u2018commander\u2019 of the Health Department who was a Sergeant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was the length of the beard, therefore, that indicated the \u2018real rank\u2019 of a person. Brother Hassani, commander of the Health Department had a long beard but Dr Muhammadi and I were not allowed to let our beards grow longer than 6mm. No one dared to ask Brother Hassani to trim his beard: he had \u2018authority\u2019.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Dr Muhammadi was not like the others; he adored Iranian cinema, especially films by Mohsen Makhmalbaf and Abbas Kiarostami, two directors frowned upon by the regime, and he insisted I teach him about Western literature. We talked for hours. I told him everything I knew about Western literature and culture, since its beginnings in the golden era of the Greeks right up to modern times. I also made sure that he understood that there was no such thing as \u2018Western Literature\u2019, that every country in the \u2018West\u2019 had its own particular literature. Every day, I gave him one of my books, which he read rapidly and then waited for me to explain. I lent him works by Camus, Sartre, Kundera, Hesse, Boll, Lessing, Auster, Vonnegut, Dostoyevsky, Sholokhov . . . and he devoured it all. He had grown up in a fundamentalist religious family and all he\u2019d learnt was Islamic lore. His love for contemporary Iranian cinema had lured him into a world he could never have imagined. By the time we went our different ways, he had become a humanist who believed that religion was a private matter and that the state had no right to use it as a pretext to control the society. An extraordinary attitude for a Revolutionary Guard, until I realized he was not alone. A large number of the Guards, especially those who\u2019d had some higher education, were also of the same opinion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In return for my cultural tutorials, he told me about the undercurrents of Iranian politics. There was a serious conflict going on and the ruling class was now divided: the traditional right, including those who had supported the Revolution financially; the petit-bourgeois of the Bazaar; the hardline right created after the war, including those members of the Basij now critical of Rafsanjani\u2019s attempt to modernize the country; the technocratic left, represented by Rafsanjani and the Kargozaraan Party; and the reformists.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The reform movement had no single leader and was made up of different people from different classes: it included men who had lost their legs in the war, founders of the Revolutionary Guard as well as those who had occupied the US Embassy. They were closely related to the Kargozaraan Party, the first group to show any inclination towards reform.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018The Kargozaraan won the parliamentary election last year,\u2019 whispered Dr Muhammadi, looking around for eavesdroppers. \u2018But we, the Revolutionary Guard, performed a semi-coup on the day of the election and made sure they weren\u2019t elected.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018No way! That\u2019s not possible!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Believe me, Arash. I was there. The polls showed that the Kargozaran were leading. The night before the election, the country was put on full alert. Election morning, the Guard took over the ballot centres and made sure its candidates won. The election was rigged.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018I can\u2019t believe the Supreme Leader would allow it.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018The order came directly from him.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In June 2009, when everyone accused the regime of rigging the results of the presidential election, no one was aware that this wasn\u2019t the first time such a thing had happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018But this is not going to happen in the presidential election next year,\u2019 concluded Dr Muhammadi.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He told me that Rafsanjani, the President, had made sure there wouldn\u2019t be any manipulation and that the reformists were getting together to choose a candidate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Mir-Hussein Mousavi was their first choice. He was popular because of his impeccable management of the country during the war. But he refused, claiming that he preferred to teach. But,\u2019 he winked, \u2018everyone knows the real reason.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They did indeed. When he was Prime Minister, Khamenei had been President. In a complicated dispute, Khomeini had supported Mousavi rather than Khamenei. But then Khomeini died and Khamenei became Supreme Leader. Everyone knew that he would never let Mousavi run for President. \u2018So, the next option is Khatami.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Anyone who was involved in Iranian culture in any way knew Khatami as the open-minded Minister of Culture who had resigned in protest at the institutionalizing of censorship. I was puzzled: Why should anyone vote for Khatami? No one, especially in rural areas and small towns, had heard of him. Why should they care about Khatami being against censorship? I had to wait and see but I was excited. It was the first time since the Revolution that I actually cared about a candidate and I had already made up my mind whom to vote for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
Another revolution was happening simultaneously: the communications revolution. We had heard of something called the Internet but we had no idea what it was and what it could be used for. What was introduced in the pre-Internet stage was the BBS\u2014Bulletin Board System. The idea was simple but effective. One server connected a huge number of users who logged into the system via their modems and then communicated with one another. For me it was like being in Wonderland. I\u2019d seen this in science-fiction films but had never imagined it possible. I joined the Mavara BBS and soon made a hundred friends whom I had never seen but felt I\u2019d known for ages. We formed several forums and I was chosen to manage the Book Forum. We had online seminars and conferences, file-sharing libraries, political discussions, poetry nights, all of them surprisingly popular. In only a few months, tens of thousands of the inhabitants of Tehran were connected through the BBS. They also played a crucial role in unifying support for Khatami among the educated class of Tehran. In just a few months, Khatami had become incredibly popular. People who wanted to show that they were educationally a cut above would do so by making clear their support for Khatami.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We in the Revolutionary Guard infantry were denied this pleasure. No one dared mention his name. Instead, we were ordered to support Nategh Nouri, Speaker of the Majlis, also running for President. In one of his morning speeches the commander of the corps said, \u2018It is our duty to guard the Revolution, and the Revolution has never been so much under threat as it is now. You are soldiers of the Hidden Imam and you are supposed to follow Him. I am telling you that the Hidden Imam does not want this hypocrite Khatami to be elected as president.\u2019 He didn\u2019t say when and to whom the Hidden Imam had made his wishes clear, and whether he could still be considered \u2018hidden\u2019 if he was so openly supporting a specific candidate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Despite the alleged disapproval of the Hidden Imam, the popularity of Khatami reached the farthest villages. He won the election in June 1997 with 70 per cent of the vote: 20,000,000 people had voted for him. The sun shone brighter, hope and happiness returned to the country. People laughed in the streets and congratulated one another. Even in the Revolutionary Guard more than 70 per cent had voted for Khatami, though of course they all told their commanders they had voted for Nategh Nouri.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
My brother-in-law said, \u2018I am privileged to live in a country where a philosopher is president,\u2019 referring to Khatami\u2019s degree in philosophy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I wasn\u2019t so sure. Yes, Khatami had advocated the need for reform and the need for more individual and political freedom. I was happy, I couldn\u2019t deny that, especially now that I was entering the publishing business and Khatami had clearly promised to stand up against arbitrary censorship. People were celebrating in the streets and I heard from Dr Muhammadi that the Revolutionary Guard had done everything possible to prevent his being elected. He claimed that the chief commander of the Guard had asked the Supreme Leader to make public his support for Nategh Nouri, and that Ayatollah Khamenei had even seriously considered it. However, a few days before the election, Rafsanjani had asked for an urgent meeting with the Leader and told him to abandon any thought of taking sides in these election.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018He said that, according to the polls, Khatami was going to win by more than 70 per cent. Even if Agha took sides, the 70 per cent would not fall below 50 and this would discredit the Leader.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The 1997 election was not perverted. Twelve years later, Khamenei ignored this valuable advice and openly sided with Ahmadinejad. The election turned out to be a huge fraud and the Green Movement denounced the Supreme Leader once and for all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nevertheless, I wasn\u2019t sure if things were going to go the people\u2019s way. Khatami wasn\u2019t a person who would fight for his ideals. He was definitely a good man who believed in what he said. But what he said was too good to be true. I had lived among the Revolutionary Guard for two years. I knew what they were capable of and I saw them propagating their hatred for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But I decided to seize the moment and enjoy the prospect of a better life as long as it lasted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
I spent a few months working at a private hospital after my military service and then decided to give up practicing medicine for good. I was paid a flat fee, plus commissions on each patient. It was a substantial income and I was making good money until I found out that even I, who always criticized the corrupt health care system, was being corrupted. The evil was too powerful for me. I had to get out before I gave in to the dark side. The temptation to create unnecessary expenses for patients and thus receive a higher commission was so strong that one night I went to my room, took off my white coat and left the hospital. Forever. Publishing would allow me more control over my thoughts and actions. At least, that\u2019s what I thought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had published Caravan\u2019s first book while still a soldier, a translation of The Magician\u2019s Nephew<\/em> by C. S. Lewis. I had been fond of the Chronicles of Narnia<\/em> in my childhood and was happy to be the publisher introducing the tales to Iranian children. I translated the book myself and didn\u2019t worry about the matter of rights. Iran has never signed the Berne or World Intellectual Property Organization conventions; anyone can translate and publish any book from outside Iran without paying royalties to the authors. Sometimes, several different translations of a work are published at the same time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Once the 2,000 copies were ready, I found myself faced with a familiar obstacle: distribution. I went to several distributors but they wouldn\u2019t take on the title. Once again, I was left with the entire print run stacked in my room although this time I was determined not to go the same route: I would not be my own sales rep. If Caravan was going to become a respectable publishing house, I would have to act professionally. It was then that I decided to set up a distribution centre with two friends. At the same time, I began to explore the market. I read books on marketing, talked to people in the business, tried to make sure I had a plausible strategy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There were other things I needed to learn: the censorship procedures devised by the government, at once strict yet secret from the rest of the world. For example, the resolution passed by the Supreme Council in 1988 was in direct contravention of Iran\u2019s international obligations and its constitution in which freedom to publish is advocated and censorship prohibited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The resolution in question, \u2018The Objectives and Policies and Conditions for Publishing Books\u2019, outlined seven subjects that did not \u2018deserve to be published\u2019 because they may be \u2018misused for propagating intellectual carelessness and disturbing the rights of the public\u2019 and that the \u2018healthy and constructive atmosphere of book printing and publishing\u2019 should be \u2018guarded\u2019 and \u2018secured\u2019 by observing these limitations. The seven banned subjects were: books that \u2018promote profanity and renounce the fundamentals of religion\u2019; \u2018propagate prostitution and moral corruption\u2019; \u2018incite the public to rise up against the Islamic Republic of Iran\u2019; \u2018propagate and promote the ideas of destructive and illegal groups and deviant sects\u2019; \u2018advocating monarchy, dictatorship and imperialism\u2019; \u2018creating tumults and conflicts between tribes or religious groups or inflicting damage on the unity of society and territorial integrity\u2019; \u2018mocking and weakening national pride and the patriotic spirit, and creating loss of self-confidence and national values before the imperialistic regimes\u2019. Anything \u2018propagating dependence on any of the global powers and contradicting the policy and insight based on guarding the independence of the country\u2019 was also prohibited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A major problem with the resolution was its all-embracing impact. The ambiguity of its language and the frequent use of religious terms left it wide open to personal interpretation. Almost anything could be interpreted as violating one of the restrictions, especially when it came to \u2018profanity\u2019, \u2018moral corruption\u2019, \u2018uprising\u2019, \u2018destructive\u2019, \u2018deviant, \u2018tumult\u2019, \u2018mock\u2019, \u2018national pride\u2019, \u2018national values\u2019, terms for which no one could come up with a precise definition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The other problem was that this resolution was (and still is) in opposition to Iran\u2019s international obligations to enforce freedom of speech, namely the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. This was why the government had to come up with a way of implementing censorship without leaving evidence of it. The first step lay in replacing \u2018censorship\u2019 with \u2018scrutiny\u2019. Publishers were told to submit final pre-press proofs of their forthcoming titles to the Book Department for the censors\u2019 \u2018scrutiny\u2019. If they found no problems, they would issue a permission to publish. If not, they informed the publisher of the modifications required. This was on a sheet of paper with neither a letterhead nor a signature nor an official stamp. The publisher had to make the changes and resubmit the book. If it was decided that the book didn\u2019t \u2018deserve to be published\u2019 at all, the publisher would be notified verbally; no documentation was provided.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Even if you were lucky enough to receive prepublication permission, the government still had several other tools up its sleeve to control what you published.<\/p>\n\n\n\n According to a resolution promulgated by the Supreme Council of the Cultural Revolution, publishers are required to deliver between two and 10 copies of each book they publish to the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance (Ershad) against an official receipt. This is known as \u2018Book Receipt\u2019 or BR, and is an official declaration of the publication of a book. The copies are then distributed to the Iran National Library, the library of the Islamic Consultative Assembly (parliament), the library of University of Tehran and a few others.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This document has also been taken as permission to distribute the books in question. But, even after the book is printed and bound, the BR is required before distribution is permitted. Therefore, the BR, apparently only a bureaucratic formality, forms yet another layer of censorship.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The Ministry didn\u2019t stop there. All publishers made a huge effort to get public libraries to buy their books. The Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance allocated an annual budget for the purchase of new titles by public and specialist libraries. It was also in charge of deciding exactly which books were worth reading. As a result, publishers close to the government received financial support and thus enjoyed a competitive edge over the independent publishers. Moreover, the Ministry ensured that books that had been authorized but were not looked on favourably did not find their way into the public libraries.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The layers thickened and grew murkier. Tehran International Book Fair is a major event for Iran\u2019s publishing industry, an important source of revenue for publishers and a significant attraction for millions of book buyers. The Ministry is in charge of the Fair, allocating stands to publishers and even determining which books that can be sold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Even after obtaining all these permissions, a book is not safe. The Attorney General has the right to prosecute any books he finds \u2018disturbing\u2019; those who have authorized the publication of such a book may themselves be prosecuted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n None of these layers were as powerful as censorship by fear, the most powerful tool in the hand of a tyrant. Publishers who have established a business and invested in it don\u2019t want to lose their licences by publishing dubious content; authors fear to let their imaginations fly lest they create a monster; the censors fear the loss of their jobs if they approve the publication of a controversial text; Ministry directors fear more open policies on the content of such books lest they are held responsible for errors . . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n The vicious circle has no end.<\/p>\n\n\n\n No one dares to push at its edges.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n There I was, 26 years old, in the autumn of 1998, feeling stripped of my youth, stripped of my medical career, stripped of my money\u2014I had lost my investment in the publishing house through a few fraudulent distributors and their bounced cheques\u2014but I was still hopeful. Society had become much more open under Khatami\u2019s presidency: there had been an explosion of independent newspapers which openly discussed political matters. The film industry was flourishing, despite the restrictions\u2014such as the law that actresses had to wear hijabs in the films, even in their bedrooms\u2014and was attracting a huge audience to both its commercial and intellectual releases. The arbitrary and unleashed censorship on books and other media was done away with (although prepublication censorship was still at work). The economy was opening up as well as a result of Khatami\u2019s paradigm of \u2018Dialogue among Civilizations\u2019. The idea had been well received in international societies and Iran\u2019s relationship with Western countries was improving day by day. Khatami had addressed the American people\u2014previously the Great Satan\u2014as a \u2018great nation\u2019. There was nothing but hope to be seen on the horizon. I had dedicated myself full-time to publishing but it had got me nowhere so far.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was the Internet, another great revolution, that changed my life forever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In its early days the Internet was not available to everyone; it was considered a very dangerous tool. But we members of the BBS community managed to gain access. I remember one of my first discoveries on the Internet was Project Gutenberg, a vast database of books already in the public domain. For us, who had no access to the outside world and no way of buying books, it was spectacular! We could download a major portion of human wisdom! This was so exciting that we decided to download the entire Project Gutenberg and make it available to our BBS Book Forum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But the major joy of the Internet wasn\u2019t information, it was communication. Until the Internet, we had no access to the outside world; now we could get in touch with anyone who had an email address anywhere in the world. The youth of today cannot imagine life without the Internet\u2014without mobile phones and SMS and Facebook and Twitter\u2014just as I cannot imagine life without radio and TV. We think we know how life was before TV but we haven\u2019t a clue. When Dad was a child, people spent their time playing in the streets and sitting under a special heating system powered by coal, listening to the stories of their grandparents. Nowadays the children don\u2019t have time. They are busy playing videogames, sending texts or emails, watching TV and surfing the Internet on their mobile devices.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For us, the Internet was a magic much more exciting than flying carpets and crystal balls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suddenly, I had an idea. As I have mentioned earlier, international copyright conventions are ignored in Iran. This can, at times, lead to a certain amount of confusion when it comes to translations. None are authorized and some are clearly a great deal better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then, I read The Alchemist<\/em> by Paulo Coelho and was astonished by its resemblance to a story by Persian poet Jalaluddin Rumi in his book Mathnavi. The Alchemist<\/em> was translated and published by a medium-sized Iranian publishing house and was relatively successful. But I thought the author deserved much more. He was Brazilian, and literature from Latin America was extremely popular in Iran, thanks largely to Jorge Louis Borges and Gabriel Garcia Marquez. He also touched on subjects close to Persian mystical lore and I felt that having their stories re-told by a Westerner might interest Iranians. Rumi\u2019s stories had been around for 800 years but they weren\u2019t reaching the younger generation any more. Now, Coelho had made these complex ideas accessible to everyone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I searched for and located Coelho\u2019s website and sent him an email. I explained that I worked as an editor in a small publishing house and that I wanted to publish his latest book, Veronika Decides to Die. I also sent him a translation of my novel, Grief of the Moon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He sent me the complete text of Veronika Decides to Die<\/em> in Portuguese and told me that he was enthusiastic about having an official publisher in Iran. He introduced me to his agent, Monica Antunes, and told me that he was very interested in visiting Iran. He also said he had enjoyed reading my book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We signed an agreement with Monica. All my colleagues said that this was stupid; I could easily translate and publish the work without paying a cent. But I was determined to respect Paulo\u2019s rights. He had trusted me by sending me his book and I had a good feeling about the relationship.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But the book was in Portuguese and we could find no translators. I decided to translate it myself. I knew a little French and a little Spanish, and one of my friends told me I could easily learn Portuguese. I spent eight hours a day teaching myself Portuguese. I had no one to speak to but after three months I had a good grasp of the language, enough to begin to translate the work with the help of dictionaries and by checking my translation against the English and the French. When the translation was finished and we had edited and prepared the book, we sent it to the Ministry of Culture for prepublication scrutiny.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The book was published at the beginning of July 1999, with a note from Paulo Coelho introducing us as his sole official publisher in Iran. The book was released exactly at the same time that the political scene was changing again. The Iranian student protests of 9 July 1999 were on their way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The two years of Khatami\u2019s presidency, from September 1997 to July 1999, witnessed a significant opening up of the political scene. Various independent newspapers kept alive the various political debates; new moderate parties were founded and the reformist movement that had begun by supporting Khatami was gaining power. The reformers believed it was time to revisit the Islamic Republic\u2019s strategy at home and abroad. Prominent leaders of the movement, most of whom had been Khomeini\u2019s closest friends and allies during the Revolution, claimed that having survived the war, international sanctions and internal threats, the Islamic Republic was now strong. They believed the world had accepted Iran as a legitimate power in the Middle East and that the government no longer needed to suppress every contrary opinion and idea to survive. At the same time, a more liberal political attitude would build up Iran\u2019s profile internationally and motivate all of society to participate in taking the country forward. And all of this, without betraying the fundamentals of the Islamic Republic of Iran and its constitution.<\/p>\n\n\n\n However, there was another political current very much alive: the hardliners, supported by the Revolutionary Guard. It had fallen silent for a while and everyone had assumed it had accepted the changes. Apparently it had not: the democratic environment created in the past two years hadn\u2019t appealed to it at all. Democracy meant that power was no longer polarized in the hand of the Supreme Leader and his army of followers. So, after a year of silence, it decided to show its hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There were incidents that accelerated the crackdown, the most important of them being the case of the Chain Murders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The Chain Murders of Iran included about 80 murders and disappearances over a period of eight years. At first, no one realized that these mysterious deaths were related. Some were car accidents, some were stabbings, some were robbery-related shootings, some (staged) suicides and one a \u2018heart attack\u2019. Some had even happened outside Iran and the victims were from varied backgrounds: writers, translators, poets, political activists and academics.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In 1998, three writers, a nationalist political activist and his wife were found dead within less than two months. Journalists associated with the reformist movement began to investigate the murders alongside the Revolutionary Guard and the Ministry of Intelligence. Khatami promised he would personally oversee the investigations and, finally, was forced to admit that the deaths had been masterminded from within the Ministry of Intelligence. It was revealed that over the past 10 years, the Ministry\u2014or \u2018rogue elements\u2019 within the Ministry\u2014had conducted several assassinations within Iran and abroad, including that of Shapour Bakhtiar, the last prime minister of Iran before the Revolution. Khatami discharged his Minister of Intelligence and arrested those involved. The entire responsibility was placed on the shoulders of Deputy Minister Saeed Emami who had been in the Ministry for many years. However, before a proper investigation could take place, Emami was found dead in his prison cell, allegedly having committed suicide by consuming Vajebi, a powerful local brand of hair-remover. The rest of the arrested suspects disappeared without their identities ever being revealed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This incident alarmed the hardliners who were responsible for the thousands of crimes, assassinations and illegal executions. The politically open atmosphere and the free press were not welcome any more. The press came under pressure and Khatami\u2019s administration was attacked via the judiciary (still in the Guard\u2019s control) and the full force of the Basij militia. A year later, Saeed Hajjarian, the director of one of the most important reformist newspapers, survived an assassination attempt but was left paralyzed for life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As we were about to distribute Veronika Decides to Die<\/em>, in which we had invested everything we had, the Judiciary ordered the shutdown of Salaam<\/em>, a leading newspaper from the reformist front. This was the first of nearly a hundred other newspapers and periodicals that were to be banned in the years to come.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Our office was located quite close to the student dormitories of University of Tehran so we immediately realized that something was wrong in that first week of June 1999.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A number of students formed a group to protest peacefully against the closure of Salaam<\/em>. We knew this was happening but we were sure that it would not be a problem. During Khatami\u2019s presidency, peaceful student demonstrations happened every once in a while, lasted for a few hours and then everyone went home. My partners and I decided to proceed with our marketing activities for Coelho\u2019s book. We had already signed a contract with two high-circulation reformist newspapers to publish our ads every day. We were the first publishers who had decided to advertise our books in the mainstream press and they had given us a significant discount to encourage other publishers to follow suit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We had also printed a thousand posters. There was no money left to hire billboards so we decided to go out in the middle of the night and put them up ourselves in the areas designated for free posting. We began at 2 a.m. on 10 June 1998 and we had no idea of what had happened a mile away until our eyes began to burn from the teargas and we were seized by the police.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018What are you doing?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n I turned around and my blood froze in my veins at the sight of the patrol police.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Putting up posters, Sir . . .\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Get off that stool, now!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stepped down from the stool we had been carrying with us all night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Why in the middle of the night, if you are not doing something illegal?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n My partner was left speechless. I tried to remain calm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018We didn\u2019t want to get caught in the daily traffic.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018What is that poster? Give it to me. To which political group do you belong?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n My partner handed over a poster with trembling hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Veronika Decides to Die? Is this a secret code for suicide attacks on the Revolution?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018What?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n My colleague pulled me back and answered, \u2018No, Sir, by no means! It\u2019s an ad for a book we\u2019ve just published. The book is authorized by the Ministry of Culture and has the permissions.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018The Minister of Culture? You mean the same asshole who instigated this mess?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018What mess, Sir?\u2019 I said, \u2018It\u2019s only a book, a nice novel on why suicide is a bad thing. And as you know, suicide is a cardinal sin in Islam. This book is preaching the same principle.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n I tried to speak in the language learnt during my years in the Revolutionary Guard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The officer laughed and returned the poster.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I don\u2019t mean this shit! Haven\u2019t you heard? The city is ablaze. Go home, boys. It\u2019s not a good time to promote your books. You might get killed. Tonight, Tehran is a slaughterhouse.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n Next day, we realized what had happened. My friends in the dormitory told me the whole story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A few hundred plainclothes hardliners, the Ansar-e Hezbollah or Supporters of the Party of Allah, and the Basij had attacked the university dorm. They had broken the doors and windows, attacked the students and set fire to everything. They had thrown students from the third-floor balconies onto the pavement. Three students were killed and dozens were injured while the police stood by and watched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thus began the street protests that took over Tehran for the next few days. Students poured into the streets protesting the way they had been treated after their peaceful demonstration. The Basij and the plainclothes forces cracked down on them, killed a few more, arrested hundreds and beat thousands. My friends and I attended one or two of the protests. The streets were filled with armed plainclothes forces who beat us in front of the police. No one knew who these plainclothes people were, who could move around so easily and terrorize the people without being prosecuted. Then it was revealed that they belonged to the Revolutionary Guards\u2019 secret service.<\/p>\n\n\n\n People ran in different directions, the air was filled with teargas and terror governed the streets. But the students, led by the Islamic Society of Students, announced they would remain in the streets until justice was served.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Khatami appeared on National TV at the end of the week and implored the students to go home. He promised that he would investigate the raid on the student dorms and make sure that those responsible were punished. This statement calmed the students and the protests slowly came to an end.<\/p>\n\n\n\n However, over the next few months, not only was no one held responsible for the raid but hundreds of students were taken to court and sentenced to long-term detainment despite Khatami\u2019s objections. The Supreme Leader had decided to take control of the country into his hands again and strip the President of his powers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But the reform movement proved stronger than the hardliners thought: in the parliamentary election of 2000, the reformists won the majority of the seats.<\/p>\n\n\n\n