Nanyang 1931: From piglets to giants

Chapter 304: Iranian Mutiny
Four months later, not surprisingly, civil war broke out in Iran.

In Tehran in March, fine snow slowly fell from the sky, but before it even hit the ground, it was dyed black by the smog floating in the air.

Over the past four months, Iran's economy has not only not improved at all, but has become worse. After Fatty Qiu came to power, just as Zheng Yi said, British warships blockaded the entire Persian Gulf. Now Iran is not only unable to transport oil, but all daily necessities, and internal and external interactions have almost stopped.

"Sir, the king has ordered the Royal City Army to arrest you. Leave now!"

At the Prime Minister's residence, a waiter ran in in a panic.

On the contrary, Mossadegh himself was very calm and not panicked at all. He had actually anticipated the arrival of this day. He knew that the next moment would determine the fate of his country.

After returning from Southeast Asia, Mossadegh actually tried to communicate with the Soviet envoys first.

But in fact, the Soviet Union is not very interested in Iran now. More and more oil is being discovered near the Ural Mountains, and the Soviet Union does not have enough time to exploit the oil in its own country.

Although the Soviet Union was indeed willing to accept Iran as its younger brother and infiltrate its influence into the Middle East, the offer could not satisfy Mossadegh. The most crucial thing was that the Soviet Union did not promise to provide military protection for Iran.

Its military forces are still concentrated in the east, and it is always paying attention to the war in East Asia.

After comprehensive consideration, Mossadegh rejected the Soviet Union's proposal and decided to follow Zheng Yi and carry out reforms in Iran that were much more radical than in history.

First, they demanded that the Royal Army be disbanded directly, a military representative conference be established, citizens be allowed to legally carry guns, and the appointment and selection of military officers be approved by the Prime Minister.

Second, heavy taxes will be levied on all nobles throughout the country. All those who own excessive land and shares in joint ventures must be confiscated, and this will further eliminate the noble compradors.
Third, he thoroughly reformed religion and confiscated the wealth of religious figures (Iran's religious power during this period was far less than it was later, and it was the most secular country in the Middle East).

Everyone knew that the country would inevitably fall into civil war when the order was first issued. Some people also tried to persuade Mossadegh to take it slow and tackle each item one by one, but Mossadegh refused.

Because he knows very well that Iran has no time left.

Then, that was it.

The bronze statue of Shah Reza was sweating in the moonlight. Mossadegh stood on the terrace of the Prime Minister's residence, gently wiping the base of the statue with a silk handkerchief. As his fingertips traced the Persian inscription "King of Kings", marble powder fell to the ground. In the distance, the sound of armored vehicle tracks crushing the asphalt road came, like a thousand daggers scraping the summer night in Tehran.

"They're coming." Attorney General Jaafari's Adam's apple rolled beneath his gray beard. The jasmine in the courtyard suddenly stopped blooming, and the guards' fingers on their guns twitched on the triggers.

"Damn it! It's all that Zheng Yi's fault. He made us do all of this. Now that the time has come, where are he and his Southern Alliance?"

"Prime Minister, let's go quickly. The Soviet Union has sent a team that can protect you, at least escape from Tehran. Only if we escape can we have a chance to make a comeback."

Mossadegh laughed and said, "Do it again? There's no chance of a do-over. Mr. Zheng is right. A country's independence and prosperity must be achieved through risky efforts and hardships. How can it be so easy?"

Mossadegh pulled a newspaper from a drawer and showed it to Jaafari. The front-page headline read: "After negotiations, the Saudi royal family agreed to the British and American conditions. Effective immediately, the Saudi oil production will be increased, and the cost of oil production will be reduced to $25 a barrel."

"This...this...25 dollars? How is this possible? How can it be so low? I know that Saudi Arabia's oil production costs are lower, but is this really possible? Why? Why is it so cheap?!"

Mossadegh: "Why? Why else? To completely kill us. Fatty Qiu, you're clearly trying to kill me even if it means losing money. There's a Chinese saying about killing a chicken to scare the monkeys. I'm the chicken in Fatty Qiu's hand."

As he spoke, Mossadegh took out another newspaper and opened it to him. On it was a photo of Zheng Yi with the caption: "Mr. Zheng visited Haifa. Leaders from Israel, Tunisia, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Algeria, Liberia and other countries attended the first Middle East Petroleum Agreement Conference."

"This...this...Mr. Zheng has come to the Middle East? So, can we ask Mr. Zheng for help?"

Mossadegh shook his head and said, "I've been thinking a lot more recently. I have a rough idea of ​​what Mr. Zheng is planning."

"What does he want to do?"

"Tell me, who has the pricing power for oil now?"

"This... the United States? As for the United Kingdom and the Soviet Union... I heard that their oil extraction and refining costs are very high."

Mossadegh nodded and said, "This is also why Fatty Qiu would rather injure himself than not kill me. The British's power to set oil prices is just sucking the blood of us Iranians, isn't it? This power should belong to oil-producing countries like us."

"What does Mr. Zheng want to do? His core base is in Southeast Asia, where oil production far exceeds consumption. Take a closer look. The SAARC's influence covers almost all oil-producing countries and regions. The two oil refining bases in Penang and Haifa combined can refine over 40% of the world's oil."

"To put it bluntly, oil prices should go up. As long as we can unite, control oil production, and agree on a minimum price for selling oil, this can be achieved. What Mr. Zheng wants to do is nothing more than to use the Southern Association for Regional Cooperation to control oil pricing."

Jaafari: "In that case, SAARC should come to our rescue. Iran's oil production accounts for 20% of the world's total! If they can help us develop our military, so that British warships don't dare to run wild in the Persian Gulf, or even support us in building the ability to blockade the Persian Gulf, wouldn't that make it much easier for them to control world oil prices?"

Mossadegh: "But if this happens, Iran will also have to bear enormous pressure from the United States and Britain. Do you think His Majesty the King and the nobles can withstand the pressure or the temptation from the West? They can't bear it just by not being able to buy luxury goods from the West."

"If you were Mr. Zheng, would you trust an Iran like this? The Price Alliance is most afraid of traitors within its ranks. If we can't show Mr. Zheng our determination and cut off our own escape routes, how can we convince him that Iran is trustworthy and worth investing in?"

Jaafari: "Mr. Zheng, he's also American, right? And the US also produces oil." Mossadegh: "Yes, the US also produces oil. I heard that the vice-chairman of the SAARC is John D. Rockefeller Jr. Do you think the American petrochemical consortium, led by Rockefeller, wants world oil prices to be as high as possible, or as low as possible?"

Jafari frowned. "I understand now. This is a fight between the Democrats and Republicans in the United States, but Mr. Zheng is using Iran as a battlefield, forcing the Iranian people to fight and bleed for their own interests."

This is absolutely true. In essence, the Republican Party in the United States wants oil prices to be as high as possible, while the Democratic Party wants oil prices to be as low as possible. The Republican Party's means are naturally Zheng Yi's South Asian Association and the oil and gas reserves in the South Pacific region itself, while the Democratic Party relies on Europe, especially Britain and France, to control the oil trade.

Especially Shell Oil, the world's largest company jointly owned by Britain and the Netherlands, has been responsible for more than 50% of the world's oil transportation business in addition to oil exploration.

Although the Soviet Union is a variable, normally speaking, the Soviet Union should also hope that the oil price is as high as possible, and even their prices cannot be lowered even if they want to.

Iran is the most important oil producing area for British BP, and the Persian Gulf is the most important maritime hub for the British Navy to blockade oil trade. Even the Persian Plateau can be connected to the Soviet Union by land. In addition, Iran accounts for 20% of the world's oil production. No matter how you look at it, this is the most important battlefield.

Mossadegh was quite open-minded. He said, "There's nothing to be sad about. After all, they don't owe us anything. We want their help, and they ask us to prove we're worthy of their help. That's normal. We're lucky to have oil. Otherwise, why would they care about us? This is how the world works. Big countries pay money, small countries pay lives. As long as lives can be sold for a price, it's better than not being sold for anything."

As he spoke, the rumbling sound of tank tracks grew closer. Mossadegh folded his handkerchief into a neat square and said, "If I die, Iran will have successors, but if I run away, Iran will be finished."

Mossadegh turned, his hands behind his back, his gaze growing more determined. "Remember when Shah Reza suppressed the seminary in 1935? Those tanks rolled over the cobblestones of Qom in the same way. But tonight, I want to try to make the tracks turn where they belong."

Teng!
As searchlights pierced the night, T-34 tanks from the th Armored Division smashed through the cast-iron gates. General Zahedi's boots trampled through the jasmine petals, leaving bloody footprints on the white marble steps. As he raised his Luger, he saw the white-haired Prime Minister distributing sugar cubes to the guards.

"In the name of the king!" The general's roar startled the nightingales in the sycamore tree, and the T-34 tanks of the th Armored Division smashed the cast iron gate.

Mossadegh walked out of the Prime Minister's Office calmly, but between him and the tanks were not only the guards of the Prime Minister's Office, but also countless ragged Tehran citizens.

The tracks of the first tank suddenly made a metallic whine, and the old woman in the printed robe smashed the milk can against the armor plate. The milky white liquid flowed along the red star emblem to form the Arabic numeral "5" - that was the month when Mossadegh's oil nationalization law was passed.

A bespectacled middle school teacher unfolded a copy of the Book of Shahnameh and placed it horizontally under the barrel of the gun. Between the yellowed pages was a miniature painting of Rustam killing a white elephant.

“Allahu Akbar!”

Bakers took off their flour-stained scarves and formed a colorful barrier in front of the tank observation windows. Female students in bahorak trousers linked arms and sang "Song of the Aryans". The silver bells in their braids resonated with the roar of the tank diesel engines, forming a strange chord.

Union members carried a faded Qajar flag, turned upside down to reveal a portrait of Mossadegh painted on the back with paint from an oil barrel.

This was never a war between the king and Mossadegh alone.

This is a war between two interest groups: the Iranian people and the aristocratic compradors who represent feudalism and corruption.

In 1910, the citizens and workers of Mexico City held hands and stood in front of the tanks in the same gesture to defend their beloved leader. Today, it is Iran's turn.

Everyone is waiting for the judgment of fate: will this country move towards modernity and civilization, or will it forever sink into feudalism and corruption?

General Zahedi opened the hatch and saw fresh fig branches stuck in the turret crevices. A lame shoemaker was stuffing walnut lasts into the tracks. His missing right leg was shot through by the royal guards while suppressing a tobacco protest ten years ago.

The general's pupils suddenly contracted. In the flickering searchlight, the silhouettes of all the citizens overlapped into the protesters who were crushed by tanks at King Reza's coronation ceremony.

"Aim at those thugs! Shoot them!!"

No one listened to him.

The sighing loader even saw his mother's face through the sight. She was sticking the Koran on the armor plate. The cover of the book was still stained with oil from baking pancakes for him last night.

Thousands of citizens sang in unison the lines from "The Rose Garden": "A tyrant cannot king, and a jackal cannot shepherd sheep."

Slowly, Mossadegh pushed through the crowd and walked towards the tank himself, facing the black muzzle, still holding a contract in his hand.

"General, have you seen any British tankers taking Iranian oil away from Abadan recently?"

Mossadegh suddenly shouted, "Iranian warriors, look! This is the spoils-sharing agreement our king secretly signed with the British oil company BP last month. As a token of his gratitude to the British for helping to eliminate a traitor like me, he will give them more than 60% of our country's oil. Can you accept these terms?"

"As a favor, the British will send warships to block our oil and prevent us from making a good living by selling oil. But in Abadan, our king's trade with the British will continue. He and those nobles can continue to sell their oil to buy Western industrial products and luxury goods for their extravagant enjoyment."

"After my death, 60% of the oil will go to Britain, 30% to the United States, and the remaining 10% will be used for the enjoyment of their royal family. Can you accept such a treaty? Who should you aim your guns at?"

With that, the tank's turret suddenly swung, its dark barrel pressed against the general's back. The young loader poked half his face out, his cheeks still stained with Isfahan's dust.

The call to morning prayer rang out from the south city, and the tank crews leaped from their vehicles. They knelt on the crushed jasmine flowers, their foreheads pressed against the gasoline-smelling earth. General Zahedi's pistol fell into an anthill, where swarms of worker ants were carrying the last sugar cube.

(End of this chapter)