In a recent episode of Asraneh, Ebrahim Alizadeh, the First Secretary of Komalah, the Kurdistan Organization of the Communist Party of Iran, gave a long interview about the history of Komalah, the Iranian left, the Kurdish question, the formation of the Communist Party of Iran, the later splits, and the current political situation in Iran.
The interview matters because it is not only a memory exercise. It is not just an older political figure going back over organizational history. For a non-Iranian and non-Kurdish audience, the conversation opens a window into a political history that is usually flattened from the outside.
Iranian Kurdistan is often reduced to mountains, armed groups, borders, ethnic conflict, or geopolitical calculations. Alizadeh’s account gives a different picture: Kurdistan as a political society, as a space of left-wing organization, as a place where the relationship between class, national oppression, armed struggle, women’s liberation, social solidarity, and state repression was tested in practice.
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One of the first important points in the interview is that Komalah cannot be explained simply as a “Kurdish party.” Of course, its social base was in Kurdistan. Its cadres, networks, and mass influence were rooted in Kurdish society. But Alizadeh is careful to say that Komalah was born inside the wider debates of the Iranian and global left in the 1960s and 1970s. He talks about Maoism, Castroism, the Soviet experience, the European left, the guerrilla line, and the arguments among Iranian leftists over the future path of revolution in Iran. In other words, Komalah did not emerge only from ethnic grievance or Kurdish nationalism. It emerged from a broader communist and socialist debate about Iranian society, revolution, organization, and strategy.
This distinction is important. Many outside observers are used to reading Kurdish politics almost automatically through nationalism, separatism, or armed resistance. That is too narrow. In Alizadeh’s account, the “Kurdishness” of Komalah developed naturally because many of the activists involved were Kurdish students, teachers, and militants who knew each other through social and political networks. But their political debates were not only about Kurdistan. They were also about the character of Iranian society, the role of the working class, the limits of guerrilla strategy, the experience of other revolutions, and the possibility of building a communist organization.
Alizadeh makes another useful distinction. He says that, at the same time as the early Komalah circles were forming, there were also Kurdish nationalist activists in the universities who were focused more directly on Kurdistan, the right to self-determination, and the experience of the Barzani movement in Iraqi Kurdistan. These circles knew each other, and sometimes crossed paths, but they were not the same kind of political current. This is one of the most important points for understanding Iranian Kurdistan: the Kurdish political field was never one single thing. It included nationalist currents, communist currents, civic currents, armed organizations, workers’ activists, teachers, students, women’s networks, and many overlapping social forces.
Komalah’s early debates also involved a break with the guerrilla line. Alizadeh says that, although someone looking from the outside might have called them Maoist at the time because of their interest in the Chinese revolution, they did not define themselves in such a fixed way. What mattered more was that they moved away from a purely guerrilla strategy and toward what they called a political-organizational line. This matters because Komalah later became known partly through armed resistance in Kurdistan, but according to Alizadeh, its original self-understanding was not simply military. It was about organization, politics, society, and building a durable presence.
Another central issue in the interview is the debate over the nature of Iranian society. Was Iran a capitalist society where the main contradiction was between labor and capital? Or was it a semi-feudal, semi-colonial society where the peasantry and remnants of old landlord relations still had revolutionary weight? These debates may sound abstract, but they had direct political consequences. If Iran was mainly capitalist, then the working class and urban social struggles would be central. If it was still heavily shaped by feudal or semi-feudal relations, then rural revolt and peasant politics would carry a different kind of importance.
Alizadeh says these debates existed inside Komalah from early on and were eventually resolved, at least formally, in favor of seeing Iranian society as capitalist and defining the central contradiction as labor versus capital. That was a major turning point. It tied Komalah more clearly to a working-class and socialist horizon, not simply to a rural insurgent or nationalist framework. It also helped explain why Komalah later looked for connections with wider Iranian communist currents rather than limiting itself to Kurdish politics alone.
After the 1979 revolution, Kurdistan became one of the most politically open spaces in Iran for a short but crucial period. The old monarchy had collapsed, and the Islamic Republic had not yet fully consolidated its power. Alizadeh describes Kurdistan during that period as a place where political debate was open, where different left-wing groups circulated their writings, where schools, streets, neighborhoods, and public spaces became arenas of discussion. He also notes that after the so-called Cultural Revolution in Iran and the growing pressure on leftists and intellectuals elsewhere in the country, many of them came to Kurdistan as a kind of refuge.
This is an important corrective to the usual image of Kurdistan as only a war zone. Kurdistan was also a political laboratory. It was a place where the Iranian left could breathe for a time, where different currents could debate, organize, publish, and test their ideas. This does not mean it was free of conflict or contradiction. But it does mean that, for part of the Iranian left, Kurdistan was not marginal. It was central.
This is also where the formation of the Communist Party of Iran becomes meaningful. According to Alizadeh, one of Komalah’s major concerns was that Kurdistan should not be isolated. This point appears again and again in his account. Komalah had a strong social base in Kurdistan, but it did not want to remain trapped there as a regional force. The aim was to connect the Kurdish struggle to a broader communist project across Iran. The creation of the Communist Party of Iran was part of that strategy.
Alizadeh describes the discussions with the Union of Communist Militants, including figures such as Mansoor Hekmat, Khosrow Davar, and Iraj Azarin. He says that this connection was useful for Komalah because, in his view, these comrades did not come to separate Komalah from its Kurdish social roots. Instead, they encouraged Komalah to use the specific conditions of Kurdistan in the service of strengthening communism in Iran. This is a very important formulation. The problem was not whether Komalah should be Kurdish or communist. The question was how its Kurdish social base could become part of a wider communist strategy.
The formation of the Communist Party of Iran did not happen under calm conditions. Alizadeh is clear about this. By the early 1980s, the Islamic Republic had launched a massive assault on the left. Arrests, executions, torture, forced repentance, fear, exile, and political demoralization had become part of the reality. He talks about a climate in which people were even burning books out of fear. In that context, forming the party was not based on the illusion that all the conditions for a mass workers’ party were already present. On the contrary, he says they knew the connection with the working class was not deep enough and that many conditions were missing.
So why form the party? In Alizadeh’s account, it was a kind of political trench. It was an attempt to create a center of gravity, to resist despair, to give a scattered left a sense of direction, and to prevent the defeat of the revolutionary left from becoming total. This is a sober point. The party was not formed because everything was ready. It was formed because the situation was dangerous, and waiting for perfect conditions would have meant surrendering the field to the Islamic Republic.
The repression of the 1980s is therefore not a background detail. It is central to the whole story. Alizadeh says that in the first years, the Communist Party of Iran and its networks had connections in many workers’ areas across the country, and that their mailboxes abroad were full of letters from supporters and contacts. But the Islamic Republic gradually rebuilt its repressive capacity, learned how to block these activities, and struck hard. He refers to around 200 cadres from Komalah and the Union of Communist Militants being caught in Tehran, many of whom were later executed. He also places this in the wider wave of repression that culminated in the mass killing of political prisoners in 1988.
This is essential for understanding the later weakness of the Iranian left. It was not only a story of ideological mistakes, organizational splits, or theoretical confusion. It was also the result of systematic state destruction. Islamic fascism did not merely defeat opponents in open political debate. It destroyed networks, killed cadres, filled prisons, forced people into exile, and broke the continuity of organization. Any serious discussion of the Iranian left today has to begin from that historical fact.
The interview also deals with the later splits inside the Communist Party of Iran and Komalah. For a non-Iranian audience, the names and details of each split may not be the most important part. What matters is the political problem behind them. Komalah was working inside a Kurdish national movement, but it wanted to remain socialist and internationalist. It had a mass base in Kurdistan, but it also wanted a national, all-Iranian communist horizon. It had an armed presence, but it did not want to reduce politics to armed struggle. These contradictions were real. They could not be solved only by slogans.
Alizadeh’s discussion of Mansoor Hekmat’s split is especially important. Looking back, he says he does not think that split was necessary at the time. He rejects the idea that the split can be explained simply as a clean conflict between communism and nationalism. His argument is more complex. He says that nationalist tendencies existed in Komalah from the beginning, because Komalah was active inside a mass national movement. That was not a surprise or a sudden discovery. Any communist organization rooted in an oppressed national society will face this pressure. The question is how it deals with it politically.
This is one of the most valuable parts of the interview. Alizadeh does not pretend that Komalah was immune from nationalism. But he also rejects the idea that the existence of nationalist pressures automatically means the communist project had failed. For him, the presence of nationalism was a material fact of working in Kurdistan, not a reason to abandon the terrain. The real challenge was to keep socialist politics rooted in society without dissolving into nationalism or escaping into abstract slogans.
He also discusses the later split associated with Abdullah Mohtadi and others. Again, he argues that the split was not clearly necessary at the time. But he also makes a broader sociological point: Kurdish society itself was changing. The reform movement in Iran, debates over negotiation with the central state, the decline of armed struggle as the only imaginable form of politics, and the emergence of new social expectations all affected Komalah. Because Komalah was a mass organization, debates inside the organization were quickly reflected in wider Kurdish society. Alizadeh even says that discussions inside Komalah would be talked about the next day in cafés and villages. That is a striking image of a political organization deeply embedded in society.
This is why the splits should not be seen only as personal rivalries among leaders. They also reflected a changing society. Kurdistan was not frozen. It was becoming more politically diverse, more urban, more civic, and more internally differentiated. Different social groups and political tendencies began to express themselves through different organizations. That does not make the splits good or bad in themselves. But it does mean they were not simply accidents.
Another important part of the interview is Alizadeh’s claim about the social credibility of socialism in Kurdistan. He does not reduce this to the existence of a party or a few armed groups. He speaks about social solidarity, mutual aid, egalitarian values, respect for women, respect for children, the culture of strikes, and the way people support each other in difficult moments. He gives examples of communities helping people who lack basic needs, and of shop owners or landlords showing solidarity during general strikes. His point is that socialist politics has left traces in the social culture of Kurdistan.
This claim should be taken seriously, but also carefully. It does not mean Kurdish society is somehow naturally socialist. It does not mean class conflict, patriarchy, nationalism, conservatism, or inequality have disappeared. Alizadeh himself does not say that. What he says is that socialist and left-wing politics have had a real social effect. They helped shape a culture of solidarity and civic resistance that cannot be explained only by nationalism. This is important because many outside observers still see Kurdish politics through armed movements and ethnic identity, while missing the civic and social dimensions of political life.
His comments on younger generations also matter. When asked about the aging leadership of Kurdish parties, Alizadeh gives a historical explanation. Many older cadres left the cities when repression intensified. Some became peshmerga, some went to prison, some were killed, and some later went into exile. Over time, younger activists inside Kurdistan replaced many of them in local and civic activity. He argues that at the lower and middle levels, Komalah has repeatedly been renewed by younger people, even if some older figures remain visible at the top. This points to a real tension in many exile and armed political organizations: social renewal may happen below, while symbolic leadership changes much more slowly.
The most politically relevant part of the interview for today is Alizadeh’s position on the overthrow of the Islamic Republic. He says that overthrow is a strategic slogan, not a tactical slogan to be repeated in the same way every hour and every day. This does not mean he has softened toward the Islamic Republic. He is clear that the regime is not reformable and that no real transformation is possible as long as it remains in power. But he insists that overthrow requires material conditions: organization, leadership, social structures, a clear line, and social legitimacy.
This is a crucial distinction. Many opposition currents, especially in exile, treat “overthrow” as a performative identity. You repeat it loudly enough, and that supposedly proves your radicalism. Alizadeh’s view is different. He argues that a movement should not be loaded with slogans beyond its actual capacity. He says this explicitly about the Woman, Life, Freedom movement. In his view, the movement had its own power and its own demands, and it could force the regime to retreat in certain areas. But promising quick victory or claiming that the regime was only months away from collapse was irresponsible.
This does not reduce the importance of the movement. It actually takes it more seriously. A movement is not strengthened by fantasy. It is strengthened by organization, continuity, local leadership, social connection, and the ability to turn protest into durable power. Alizadeh points out that Iranian society has forced the Islamic Republic to retreat many times over the decades: on sports, women’s public presence, internet use, cultural restrictions, and everyday social life. These gains were not gifts from the regime. They were the result of social pressure. But they were also different from immediate regime collapse.
This position offers a useful critique of both reformist illusions and empty maximalism. Alizadeh is not saying people should accept the Islamic Republic. He is saying that people should not be pulled away from struggles over their actual conditions by slogans that lack organization behind them. In other words, the process of overthrow must also be the process of building the alternative. Otherwise, collapse can simply open the door to chaos, military rule, foreign intervention, or another authoritarian project.
His position on foreign war follows from this same logic. Alizadeh is very clear that he does not see a US and Israeli attack on Iran as an opportunity. He calls it an anti-opportunity. Unlike some Kurdish nationalist currents that may see external military pressure as a chance to weaken Tehran, he argues that war is more likely to strengthen the cohesion of the Islamic Republic’s military and security apparatus, push society into survival mode, destroy infrastructure, and weaken independent popular organization.
This is one of the most important messages in the interview for non-Iranian audiences. Opposition to war on Iran is not the same as support for the Islamic Republic. In fact, for Alizadeh, the argument is the opposite: foreign war destroys the social conditions needed for a real emancipatory alternative. It gives the regime security arguments, strengthens militarized politics, and forces ordinary people to think first about survival, family, food, shelter, and immediate safety. In such conditions, collective political agency becomes harder, not easier.
Alizadeh refers to Iraq, Afghanistan, and Libya as warnings. These are not abstract examples. They show what can happen when a regime is destroyed or weakened without a strong, organized, independent social alternative capable of replacing it. The result is not necessarily freedom. It can be occupation, civil war, militia rule, social collapse, or externally manufactured government. In Iran, with its size, complexity, class divisions, national questions, and regional position, such a scenario could be even more destructive.
This is also why he rejects the idea that external powers can simply install an alternative. He notes that Khomeini was not just an individual returning from exile. He had deep social roots, networks, institutions, mosques, clerics, bazaars, and a kind of state within the state before the monarchy collapsed. By contrast, many opposition forces today have not built comparable social structures. This is a direct criticism of fantasies of regime change from above, including monarchist hopes that foreign pressure or military collapse will deliver power to them.
At the end of the interview, Alizadeh addresses the question of unity among the different Komalah branches. His answer is practical. He does not think all groups carrying the name Komalah can or should mechanically merge back into one organization. Kurdish society has changed. It is politically diverse. Different tendencies exist, and that diversity has to be recognized. For him, the real question is not formal unity based on a shared name, but concrete political alliances around specific goals at specific moments.
This is a mature point. Political diversity in Kurdistan should not automatically be treated as fragmentation or failure. It can also be a sign of a politicized society. The question is whether these forces can act together when necessary: against repression, against war, for general strikes, for civil freedoms, for workers, women, and oppressed communities. Unity as a slogan means little. Unity as a concrete political practice can matter.
The broader importance of Alizadeh’s interview is that it forces us to look at Iranian Kurdistan differently. It is not just a borderland. It is not only a battlefield. It is not only a national question. It is not only an armed question. For decades, Kurdistan has been one of the places where some of the hardest questions of Iranian politics have been lived in practice: Can a movement rooted in an oppressed national society remain socialist and internationalist? Can a local struggle connect to a national horizon without being absorbed or erased? Can armed resistance avoid replacing mass politics? Can social movements avoid both reformist illusions and empty promises of instant revolution? Can opposition to the Islamic Republic also reject foreign war and externally manufactured alternatives?
These questions are not only Kurdish questions. They are Iranian questions. They are also questions for the global left. Too often, people outside Iran look at the country through two bad frameworks: either the Islamic Republic as an “anti-imperialist” state, or the Iranian opposition as a ready-made pro-Western replacement waiting to be installed. Both views erase society. They erase workers, women, teachers, students, prisoners, ethnic and national minorities, migrants, the unemployed, and the actual organizations and struggles that make political change possible.
Alizadeh’s interview is valuable because it brings society back into the frame. It shows that the history of Komalah is not just the history of one organization. It is also a history of the Iranian left trying to solve the relation between class and nation, local roots and national politics, armed resistance and social organization, revolutionary goals and real balance of forces. Not every answer given by Komalah was successful. Not every decision was correct. The splits, defeats, and limits are part of the story. But the questions remain alive.
For anyone trying to understand Iran today, especially from outside the country, this is the main lesson: do not reduce Iranian Kurdistan to geopolitics. Do not reduce Kurdish politics to armed factions. Do not reduce the Iranian left to old slogans or failed organizations. There is a deeper history here, one that still matters because the same problems are still unresolved: how to build organization, how to connect struggles, how to resist both domestic tyranny and foreign war, and how to create an alternative that is rooted in society rather than imposed from above.
