The Imaginary Bus: Khalo Who Foresaw His Own Death in a Dream — Volume One
The woman in red looked around, gave her usual mischievous smile and closed her book. She stood and walked over to Lena.
‘At first glance, with those plain clothes and your unassuming manner, you’d never guess you were a travelling library.’
‘Leftists devour books, to be fair,’ said the monarchist.
‘It’s good to read so much,’ the woman in red said. ‘At least you can live more knowingly, and perhaps make fewer mistakes.’
‘If they were so knowledgeable in fifty-seven, that national catastrophe would never have happened,’ the monarchist said.
The woman in red looked at him. ‘I was born two years after the fall of the Pahlavi government. Everything I remember about that period comes from my family and other people’s accounts. But Lena’s explanations make sense to me. We use a great many public services in this country, for example. Do you think that’s a bad thing?’
The monarchist opened his mouth, then said nothing.
‘You monarchists speak as though there were no prisons, torture or executions under the previous government, when one of its prisoners, who was tortured, is sitting right here.’
‘How do you know he’s telling the truth?’ he asked.
‘Many prisoners’ names and accounts of their treatment appear in Amnesty International reports. Following international pressure, prison inspections became possible from 1355 in the Iranian calendar, and representatives of the International Committee of the Red Cross spoke to a number of political prisoners in 1356.’
‘They came on the great commander’s orders too!’ the monarchist said.
She gave an angry laugh. ‘Yes, of course, the great commander must have ordered them to find out why prisoners were being tortured in his country!’
Then she turned to Lena. ‘Dear Lena, could you give us a brief history of humanity, from the beginning to today? Please make it brief. We can come back to the important parts later.’
‘From a leftist point of view again, I suppose,’ the monarchist said.
‘Perhaps from the point of view of historical materialism,’ said the woman in red.
He ran a hand over his head. ‘Will this Marx never leave my poor bald head alone?’
‘I’ll try to explain historical materialism very briefly,’ Lena said, ‘though we’ve covered much of its groundwork already. I’ll try not to repeat myself.’
At that very moment the donkey gave a short bray.
‘He approves,’ said the woman in red, turning towards me.
‘Please don’t appropriate the donkey’s vote. We don’t yet know whether he approves of Lena’s words or objects to the speech being short.’
The newcomer stroked Coco’s head. ‘Perhaps he wants you to begin at a point when his ancestors were part of history too.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘His family’s place in the history of working people is secure.’
The donkey twitched his ears.
Lena paused. ‘To understand historical materialism, we first need to clear up a misunderstanding. It does not say people live only for food and money, or that love, culture, religion, ethics, art and ideas do not matter. It says that before people can write poetry, fall in love, worship, philosophise or make a revolution, they must stay alive.’
‘Bread comes first?’ asked the newcomer.
‘The means to go on living: food, water, shelter, safety and the production of what people need. Historical materialism asks how people in each period produced the means of life. Who controlled the means of production? Who worked? How was the product shared? What relationships arose between the groups in society?’
‘It starts history in the kitchen,’ I said, ‘not in the coronation hall.’
‘Another dig at me,’ the monarchist said.
‘I’m only saying that before a crown could be made, someone had to mine the metal, someone had to melt it, and someone went hungry so that another could wear it.’
‘There’s the title of today’s lesson,’ said the woman in red. ‘History Began in the Kitchen.’
Lena smiled. ‘In humanity’s earliest periods, people lived in small hunting and gathering groups. Private property in its modern form did not exist. One person’s survival depended to a considerable extent on the group’s survival. What people hunted or gathered was generally shared.’
‘Were they all communists?’ the monarchist asked.
‘We mustn’t transplant today’s terms unchanged into a world thousands of years ago. Marx and Engels used “primitive communism” to describe some such societies. That does not mean they had a communist political system, party and state. The later forms of state, social class and extensive private property had not yet emerged.’
‘No general secretary?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘Central committee?’
‘No.’
‘Who settled their disagreements?’
‘Probably whoever failed to share the meat fairly created the first opposition too,’ said the woman in red.
The donkey brayed.
‘Let the minutes record an objection about the hay ration.’
‘Nor should we imagine that life as a lost paradise,’ Lena continued. ‘Death rates were high; nature could be harsh; disease and hunger existed, as did conflict between groups. But society was not yet divided into large classes in which one owned the tools and resources while another worked for them.’
‘When did classes appear?’ asked the newcomer.
‘As ways of producing changed. Once people learnt agriculture and animal husbandry, they could gradually produce more than they needed immediately. There was a surplus. Stored grain, land, animals and tools acquired new value.’
‘A surplus isn’t bad,’ said the monarchist.
‘Not in itself. Greater production made cities, science, art and great civilisations possible. The question is who controlled the surplus and decided what to do with it.’
‘That old question by the fire,’ I said. ‘Where did all the meat go?’
‘The case remains open,’ said the woman in red.
‘Farming encouraged settlement. Villages took shape, populations grew and work became more specialised. People no longer all did the same task. Some farmed, some made tools, others guarded the settlement, and groups managed stores and organised affairs.’
‘And that last group gradually became the bosses?’ asked the newcomer.
‘In many societies, yes. As wealth and harvests grew, so did the importance of holding and controlling them. Those who controlled storehouses, land, water, armed force or religious rituals gained power. Social differences deepened, and the first states, classes and organised armies formed.’
‘So there really was a need for government,’ said the monarchist.
‘The state arose in particular historical circumstances. But the need to administer a society does not make every kind of state and domination eternal or sacred.’
‘Let’s not muddle a leader, an administrator and an owner again,’ said the woman in red.
‘Surely states weren’t created only to defend the rich?’ the monarchist asked.
‘States also carried out public tasks: they built waterways, kept order, defended territory and resolved disputes. At the same time they upheld ownership and the rule of a dominant class. That dual role matters. A state is never merely a policeman, but in a class society it isn’t wholly neutral either.’
‘Like a referee with a whistle,’ I said, ‘whose wages are paid by the owner of one of the teams.’
‘What if his employer’s team scores?’ asked the newcomer.
‘He examines the incident from a historical perspective first.’
The donkey brayed loudly.
‘The linesman objects,’ said the woman in red.
‘In ancient civilisations, slavery became an important form of exploitation,’ Lena said. ‘Prisoners of war and enslaved people were forced to work for owners. Cities, palaces, temples, roads and some of the splendour of ancient civilisations were built through the labour of people who did not own their own lives.’
‘Ancient civilisations weren’t all the same,’ said the monarchist.
‘Correct. Historical materialism does not say every society followed precisely the same path according to a plan written in advance. Geography, culture, war, religion, natural resources and contact between societies led to different paths. History isn’t a train that takes every country through exactly the same stations.’
I checked the mirror. ‘Fortunately. If history were a train, this licence wouldn’t entitle me to drive it.’
‘You think it entitles you to drive this bus?’ said the woman in red.
‘So far, history hasn’t complained.’
The donkey brayed. ‘Apart from the working people’s official representative.’
‘In parts of the world, as slaveholding empires collapsed and economic relationships changed, feudal systems developed,’ Lena continued. ‘Land was the most important means of production. Nobles and great landowners controlled it, while peasants worked it.’
‘Were peasants slaves?’ asked the newcomer.
‘Not always. Their forms of dependence varied. Many were not legally slaves, but were tied to the land, a lord and heavy obligations. They handed over part of their crop or labour in return for permission to live and work on a plot.’
‘Where did the king fit in?’ asked the monarchist.
‘A king’s position varied across places and periods. Sometimes central power was strong; sometimes local nobles held more power. But monarchy, aristocracy, landownership and religious institutions often formed a network of power, presenting the existing order as legitimate, even divinely ordained.’
‘So monarchy is to blame for everything again.’
‘Nobody said that,’ said the woman in red. ‘We’re asking where the king stood in that system: beside the peasant who handed over the crop, or beside the person who collected it?’
‘A king had to think of everyone.’
‘What he had to do and what he did are different things,’ I said. ‘I’m supposed to drive this bus only on its assigned route, but we’re travelling from early society to the twenty-first century.’
‘As trade, towns, markets, navigation and commodity production grew, new groups gained strength,’ Lena said. ‘Merchants, workshop owners and early capitalists encountered the limits of feudalism. They wanted freer trade, more secure property and a greater share of political power.’
‘So some of the people who fought the nobles became the capitalists of the next age?’ asked the newcomer.
‘A substantial part, yes. A class that at one stage pushed for change and fought the nobility’s hereditary privileges built a new order to protect its own property and interests once it had power.’
‘A class can be revolutionary once and conservative later?’ the woman in red asked.
‘Exactly. No class or political force is revolutionary or reactionary by its nature and for ever. We have to ask what position it holds in production and power at a given time, and what relationships it defends.’
‘Can leftists become reactionary too?’ asked the monarchist.
‘Certainly,’ Lena said without hesitation. ‘If a movement calls itself left-wing but suppresses liberty, forbids questions, concentrates power in a small group and excludes people from decisions, its name does not put it beyond criticism.’
The monarchist smiled. ‘A confession at last.’
‘Examining our own tradition critically is not a confession. It is a responsibility. Someone who criticises only their opponents isn’t thinking; they’re supporting a team.’
‘Please don’t bring the teams onto the bus. We already have more passengers than this discussion can hold.’
‘The Industrial Revolution changed production through machines and factories,’ Lena said. ‘Many people moved from the countryside to the cities. Capitalists owned factories, machines and raw materials, while workers sold their labour power in order to survive.’
‘How was a worker different from a slave?’ asked the woman in red.
‘Workers were legally free. Nobody owned their bodies, and they could leave an employer. But without the means of production or enough capital to live independently, they had to sell their labour to a capitalist or employer. There was legal freedom, alongside economic compulsion.’
‘Hadn’t the capitalist built the factory with his own money?’ asked the monarchist.
‘The initial capital might have been his. But new value was created in production by human work. Marx asked why the product of collective work should become the private property of a few, and why workers received back in wages only part of the value they produced.’
‘If the donkey carries loads all day,’ I said, ‘he gets just enough hay that evening to let him carry loads again tomorrow.’
He brayed so fiercely that Coco jumped.
‘That one hit close to home,’ said the newcomer.
‘For the first time he’s heard the theory of surplus value explained in his mother tongue,’ said the woman in red.
Even the monarchist laughed.
‘Capitalism developed productive powers at a speed no earlier system had managed,’ Lena continued. ‘It expanded factories, science, technology, transport and communications, and broke many old relationships. But it also concentrated wealth on one side, poverty and insecurity on the other.’
‘Standards of living rose, though,’ the monarchist said.
‘In many societies they did. But that was not simply a gift from capitalists. Workers fought for shorter hours, higher wages, the right to organise, an end to child labour, insurance, public education, healthcare and pensions. Many rights we take for granted today came from strikes, organisation and public pressure.’
‘Like the public services we use here in Britain,’ said the woman in red.
‘Yes. The welfare state and services such as public healthcare, education and social support resulted from several factors: long workers’ struggles, strong unions, the experience of wars, ruling classes’ fear of revolution and political choices made in different periods.’
‘Did Marx build every hospital too?’ asked the monarchist.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Though if certain people had their way, you’d have to put up the deeds to your house as security before they let you into A&E.’
‘And if you didn’t own a house?’ asked the newcomer.
‘You’d be free to be ill in the street.’
‘Capitalism did not develop only within Europe’s borders,’ Lena said. ‘Its expansion went hand in hand with colonialism, the slave trade, the seizure of land and resources, and unequal relationships imposed on large parts of the world. Some countries’ wealth cannot be understood apart from raw materials, cheap labour and resources taken from colonies.’
‘When people ask why those from poorer countries come to richer ones today,’ said the woman in red, ‘they leave out part of the history.’
‘Exactly. Capital, armies, companies and goods have crossed borders for centuries. But when a person whose life has been disrupted by those very relationships crosses a border, suddenly the border is sacred.’
‘Money travels without a visa. But a person following the bread that money took from their country has to prove they aren’t dangerous.’
‘You can’t blame everything on colonialism,’ said the monarchist.
‘True. Colonialism isn’t the only cause of today’s problems. Domestic governments, local ruling classes, corruption, repression and political decisions bear responsibility too. But nor can we ignore centuries of plunder, partition, war and economic coercion.’
‘Not everything is the outsider’s fault, nor is it all purely domestic,’ said the woman in red.
‘Yes. Actual history is usually more complicated than a two-word slogan.’
The bus stopped at a red light. Shop lights shimmered in the water pooled beside the kerb.
‘In the twentieth century, major revolutions took place in the name of socialism,’ Lena said. ‘Many people fought to end the power of landlords, capitalists and colonial rulers. Some of those revolutions achieved wider education, industrial development, better healthcare and reduced inequality.’
‘And prisons and executions,’ the monarchist put in at once.
‘Yes. Some of those governments restricted political freedom, repressed opponents and concentrated power in the party and state apparatus. If we examine history honestly, we can neither deny the achievements nor excuse the repression.’
‘So they failed,’ he said.
‘Some collapsed; others changed form. But the questions that gave rise to socialism did not vanish. Why do some acquire vast fortunes through others’ labour? Why do millions go hungry when food is plentiful? Why should housing be a commodity for profit? Why should healthcare, education and even water depend on the ability to pay?’
‘The collapse of a government doesn’t mean the problem it claimed to address was solved,’ said the newcomer.
‘Exactly. Nor does a revolution’s failure prove that what preceded it was just.’
I looked at the monarchist. ‘We could write that bit in large letters on the bus window, if you like.’
‘I’m listening,’ he said.
‘Great progress today. Listening is the first stage of historical recovery.’
The woman in red laughed.
‘After the Cold War,’ Lena went on, ‘some declared that history had ended and liberal capitalism was humanity’s final way of life. History paid them no attention. Economic crises, wars, inequality, unemployment, forced migration and environmental destruction continued.’
‘How is today’s capitalism different from the old factories?’ asked the newcomer.
‘Factories still exist, but capital is more global and financial. Companies can move production where wages are lower and labour protections weaker. Capital crosses a border in seconds, while a worker may die at sea trying to cross the same border.’
‘And now people’s information is a commodity too,’ said the woman in red.
‘Yes. In digital capitalism, it isn’t only physical work that creates value. Attention, behaviour, personal information, tastes and relationships also become sources of profit. Sometimes a person is a worker, a consumer and a commodity whose data is sold, all at once.’
‘When we imagine we’re browsing the internet for free,’ I said, ‘perhaps we ourselves are somebody else’s ticket.’
The donkey brayed.
‘Do they collect the donkey’s data too?’ asked the newcomer.
‘Of course. Tomorrow his entire page will be filled with adverts for organic hay and orthopaedic horseshoes.’
‘The world is wealthier today than in any previous age,’ Lena said, ‘yet millions still lack adequate food, homes, healthcare and education. That is the central contradiction of our time: we can produce abundance, but access to what is produced is unequal.’
‘The five fingers aren’t alike,’ the monarchist said.
‘There are those five fingers at last!’ said the woman in red.
‘Am I wrong?’
Lena raised a hand. ‘The five fingers are different, but none owns the hand and puts the other four to work. Human differences are natural. One person is taller, another sings better, another runs faster, another writes better. But natural differences do not explain one person owning billions while millions go hungry.’
‘And if the thumb declares that, being different, all the food must go into its mouth,’ I said, ‘the body won’t survive.’
‘Khalo, I can’t tell whether that was science or an announcement that you’re hungry,’ said the newcomer.
‘Historical materialism isn’t detached from the stomach.’
The donkey brayed.
‘And let’s not forget the hay.’
‘You want everyone to be exactly equal, then?’ asked the monarchist.
‘Social equality doesn’t mean making people identical,’ Lena said. ‘It means nobody should be deprived of a decent life because of their family, class, gender, ethnicity, skin colour or birthplace. People are different; those differences do not justify one person dominating another.’
‘And utopia?’ asked the woman in red.
‘Any vision of a better society that overlooks liberty, criticism and people’s participation can turn into its opposite. Justice without freedom may amount to silence shared equally. Freedom without justice can seem like little more than a word to someone hungry and homeless.’
For a few seconds nobody spoke. Even the monarchist turned from the window to look at Lena.
‘Historical materialism isn’t a timetable that predicts the future to the hour and date,’ she continued. ‘It’s a way to examine the connections among production, ownership, class, the state, culture and social struggle. It asks what material relationships underpin a political order and who benefits from them.’
‘What about individuals? Kings, leaders and heroes?’ asked the monarchist.
‘Individuals can make an enormous difference, but they act in circumstances they did not create on their own. No king can rule without an army, an administration, taxes, landowners and people who produce. No revolution comes about simply because one person wills it.’
‘Even the greatest commander gives shorter orders when his kitchen shuts down,’ I said.
‘Back to the kitchen,’ said the woman in red.
‘All empires end up there. A hungry soldier can’t live on the national anthem.’
‘People make history, but not under conditions they have freely chosen from nothing,’ Lena said. ‘They carry the inheritance of earlier generations’ economies, cultures, laws, wars, defeats and victories. Yet they aren’t entirely prisoners of the past. Through struggle and organisation, they can change those conditions.’
‘History isn’t predetermined, but neither is it pure chance,’ said the newcomer.
‘Exactly. Different possibilities exist. The outcome depends on social forces, awareness, organisation and people’s choices.’
‘What would you say about Iran?’ asked the monarchist.
‘You can’t explain its history simply by changing the names of kings or leaders. You also have to examine the relationships among landowners, the clergy, the bazaar, the state, foreign powers, oil income, workers, peasants, the middle class and social movements.’
‘So the Shah accomplished nothing?’
‘That isn’t what I said. In any period we must examine policies, reforms, repression and their results together. Building universities, roads or factories cannot erase torture and the absence of political freedom. Nor does opposition to monarchy automatically make every opponent a champion of liberty and justice.’
‘So let’s neither paint the past spotless nor sanctify everyone who fought it,’ said the woman in red.
‘Correct. History is not a supporters’ court. If we enter only to prove our own side innocent, we learn nothing.’
The monarchist looked at me. ‘And you? Were you really tortured?’
I kept my eyes on the road. For a few moments there was only the rain and the windscreen wiper.
‘The body remembers certain things better than a history book,’ I said.
The bus was silent.
‘That’s enough for me,’ the woman in red said quietly.
The monarchist did not speak. Neither did Lena. The donkey lowered his head a little, and Coco pressed against the newcomer’s leg.
After a moment, I said, ‘Of course, being imprisoned and tortured doesn’t mean every political opinion I hold should be accepted without question. Suffering is evidence that an injustice happened. By itself, it isn’t proof that every belief the sufferer holds is correct.’
‘That is precisely the distinction historical understanding must keep,’ Lena said. ‘We must hear victims’ testimony and not deny the wrong, while keeping the right to question and criticise alive.’
The woman in red turned to the monarchist. ‘See? The man who was tortured doesn’t demand that you accept everything he says. He asks you not to deny that the torture took place.’
‘Perhaps I went too far on that point,’ the monarchist said softly.
The donkey gave a little bray.
‘Put it in the minutes. Our second historic advance of the day.’
‘What was the first?’ asked the newcomer.
‘Listening. The second was saying “perhaps”.’
‘What will the third be?’ asked the woman in red.
‘It depends. If he says “I might have been mistaken” before the end of the journey, we’ll have to stop the bus and declare a national holiday.’
This time the monarchist laughed too.
‘My point in brief,’ Lena said, ‘is that history isn’t only a story of kings, wars and commanders. It’s the lives of the people who planted, built, carried loads, raised children, went on strike, migrated, were imprisoned and fought to change their lives. Many have no names in any history book, yet without their work no civilisation would exist.’
I looked at the donkey. ‘Hear that? The burden-bearers have finally entered history.’
He raised his head proudly.
‘He’ll apply for a pension tomorrow,’ said the woman in red.
‘And he’ll deserve it. He’s been carrying history for centuries.’
Lena picked up her water bottle. ‘That was the shortest explanation I could give.’
‘How many years would the full one take?’ asked the newcomer.
‘Until the final victory,’ I said, ‘if the traffic lets us.’
The light turned green and the bus moved on. The monarchist stared at the wet street. He said nothing more about the great commander or the five fingers. The woman in red opened her book, though her eyes were not on the page yet. The donkey had gone quiet; Coco rested her head on the newcomer’s knee.
I shifted my hands on the wheel. Lena had finished, but a new question was walking among the seats:
If ordinary people truly make history, why are their names so often buried beneath those of kings, commanders and the wealthy?
To be continued…
Naser Kamali
Translator’s notes
- ‘Fifty-seven’: Here the characters mean 1357 in the Iranian solar calendar, corresponding to 1978–79 and the revolution that ended the Pahlavi monarchy.
- 1355 and 1356: These Iranian calendar years correspond approximately to 1976–77 and 1977–78, respectively.
دیدگاهتان را بنویسید