My earliest memories are rooted in Najafabad, a small agricultural town near Isfahan, where I was born in 1922. Life was simple, centered around farming and the rhythms of a devout community. My father, a farmer, also taught Quran to the townsfolk, imbuing me with a deep respect for religious knowledge from a young age. Though my formal schooling was brief and marked by a harsh teacher, the seminary in Isfahan, which I entered at twelve, became my true home, a place of profound learning and spiritual anchor. In 1941, I moved to Qom, dedicating myself to theological studies under the guidance of esteemed scholars, most notably Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, who would later refer to me as "the fruit of my life."
As the years progressed, the political climate in Iran grew increasingly turbulent under the Shah's regime. I found myself drawn into the burgeoning anti-government movements, my religious convictions compelling me to speak out against injustice. The Shah's White Revolution in 1963, with its sweeping reforms, further ignited my resolve. When Ayatollah Khomeini issued his powerful denunciation of the Shah and was subsequently arrested, I actively supported him, participating in demonstrations and campaigning for his release. My political activities intensified, leading to my own arrests, interrogations, and periods of exile, during which I continued to criticize the regime from the pulpit and organize resistance.
The triumph of the 1979 Islamic Revolution brought a new chapter, one in which I played a significant role. I became a leading figure in drafting the new constitution, advocating for the doctrine of Velayat-e Faqih, which established a senior Shi'ite cleric as the supreme leader of the country. I was elected to the Assembly of Experts for the Constitution and served as its head. My dedication to the revolution and my close ties to Khomeini led to my designation as his successor in 1984, a position I accepted with a profound sense of responsibility for the future of the Islamic Republic.
Yet, as the revolution consolidated its power, I began to perceive a troubling divergence between its initial ideals and its unfolding reality. My conscience stirred by what I saw as increasingly repressive policies, particularly regarding human rights and the judiciary. I found myself writing candid letters to Ayatollah Khomeini, expressing concerns about the conduct and immense costs of the Iran-Iraq War, the disarray in the judicial system, and the lack of accountability for errors and weaknesses within the military structure. I urged for a unified leadership and for the inclusion of diverse, expert voices in governance, rather than concentrating all responsibilities in a few busy individuals.
The most agonizing period, and the ultimate catalyst for my break with the leadership, arrived in the summer of 1988. I was confronted with the mass execution of thousands of political prisoners across the country. My heart ached at the injustice, and I voiced my severe condemnation directly to the members of the "death panel," warning them that such actions would forever stain the revolution's legacy and portray Khomeini as a "bloodthirsty murderer." I argued vehemently against these killings, stressing that confronting ideas with violence was wrong and that mercy, as exemplified by the Prophet and Imam Ali, should prevail. I believed that even those who held opposing ideologies deserved fair trials and that their beliefs alone were not grounds for execution.
My unwavering opposition to these massacres and my continued criticism of the government's policies ultimately led to my dismissal as Khomeini's designated successor in March 1989. In a strongly worded letter, Khomeini stated that I had lost my legitimacy, fearing I would hand the country over to liberals and hypocrites after him. Despite the immense personal cost, I continued to speak out, advocating for civil liberties, freedom of expression, and the rights of all citizens, including religious minorities like the Baha'is, whose rights I championed even though their religion was not recognized by Islam. I believed that the legitimacy of the state ultimately rests on the will of the people and that no institution should forbid criticism or freedom of expression.
My later years were spent under house arrest in Qom, yet I remained a politically influential voice, particularly among reformist movements. My memoirs, a collection of recollections and official documents, were compiled from hours of conversations during this period, offering my perspective on the tumultuous events of contemporary Iranian history and my evolving understanding of an Islamic state. They serve as a testament to my belief that a truly Islamic government must uphold justice, human rights, and the dignity of all individuals, and that when the public is not content, the government loses its legitimacy.
