Fortunately, I am still alive, so it is better that I write my biography in the first person.
I was born on Friday, February 20, 1953 (1st of Esfand 1331 in the Persian calendar) into a middle-class, culturally engaged family. Although my arrival brought no particular benefit to the world, for some reason I was in such a hurry to come that I was born premature, at seven months! For forty days I was nurtured on my grandmother\u2019s lap, wrapped in cotton, which perhaps served as the incubator of that time. The only difference was that her knees carried me for a lifetime, constantly reminding me of her hardships.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My birth coincided with the political and social unrest surrounding the coup of 1953. In towns like Dezful, a primarily agricultural city under the dominance of landlords, the urban petty bourgeoisie took to the streets, voicing protest against the status quo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My father considered himself a merchant, but the family always struggled with subsistence, as his political and social engagements left little room for steady income. Our old house, located in the Shah Rokneddin quarter at the very center of town, was surrounded by the boldest and often most reckless of the local landowning families.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The second floor of the house was divided into two sections. The eastern wing, with its large room, spacious veranda, and yard, was used by my grandmother\u2019s family and nicknamed \u201cou boom\u201d<\/em> (meaning \u201cthe other rooftop\u201d). On special days in the month of Safar, carpets were laid there for mourning ceremonies in memory of Imam Hussein.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The western wing was where our small nuclear family lived until I was eight years old. Compared to other families in Dezful, we were unusually few in number\u2014just my parents, two sisters, and me. In those years, nearly half of children did not survive infancy, so our survival felt like fortune. Our home had only one carpeted room, serving as guest room, bedroom, and living room. The other room, bare, often housed pigeons my father bought for me. Wild, untamed neighborhood cats, however, frequently dashed my hopes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My childhood was marked by relentless curiosity. I often dismantled household objects, toys, and tools in search of their inner mysteries. My mother would catch me in the kitchen mixing oil, pepper, turmeric, salt, and dried tomatoes together, forcing me to flee. My grandmother and aunts called me \u201cdizom-kar\u201d<\/em>\u2014the Dezfuli term for a mischievous troublemaker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At three, I was banned from the women\u2019s public baths after I startled everyone by staring innocently, yet intensely, at the women\u2019s naked forms amidst their shouting and commotion. This curiosity defined me, though I was otherwise a quiet, obedient child.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At four, I began my first business venture: selling rooster-shaped lollipops (jooje-khooros<\/em>) purchased with coins I had secretly retrieved from my piggy bank. I set up outside my maternal grandfather\u2019s house, right when the nearby girls\u2019 school dismissed. The girls bought everything in minutes, and I earned a handsome profit. Encouraged by my parents, this daily enterprise became my pre-school occupation under the Sabeat arcade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In 1959, I enrolled in Sepah Elementary School in Dezful. Some teachers left vivid marks: one, suffering from psychological problems, demoted children to lower grades for the slightest noise. Another, Mr. Naji, would line up weaker students and lash their tiny hands daily. His tyranny haunted me through fourth and fifth grade until I transferred to Dehkhoda Elementary, where, under kinder teachers, my hidden talents flourished. I realized my performance depended heavily on the temperament of my teachers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In 1965, I entered Qotb High School. The faculty initially included highly educated teachers exiled from Tehran after the coup, which elevated the city\u2019s intellectual atmosphere. Sadly, by the time I enrolled, many classes were staffed by underqualified elementary instructors promoted to secondary schools due to shortages. My memories of those years remain bitter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My teenage years coincided with a severe economic crisis among the petty bourgeoisie. My father, generous and socially engaged, was heavily affected. Land reform had opened opportunities for investment in agriculture, but its true aim was not rural development; rather, it transformed Iran into a consumer market for industrial nations. Many small investors, including my father, faced bankruptcy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This forced me into the family carpet trade, neglecting my studies. Repeated expulsions for absenteeism meant I failed multiple years, spending three years in the fourth grade of the mathematics track. Yet these failures taught me powerful lessons: to rely solely on my own strength, never on others; to prioritize my duties, especially study; and to refuse cheating as a shortcut. From then on, I improved steadily.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In 1973, I was admitted to the School of Economics in Qazvin. The faculty included prominent figures such as Dr. Asadollah Mobasheri (later Minister of Justice), Dr. Madani (later Navy Commander), and others, many of them dismissed intellectuals from Tehran. Their influence deeply shaped my worldview. Later, when tuition was abolished in 1975, the school was integrated with the University of Tehran, but we soon realized our earlier professors were of higher caliber than the newcomers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In June 1977, I began compulsory military service, at the very height of urban demonstrations leading to the 1979 Revolution. Sympathizing openly with the people exposed me to many hardships. After the Revolution\u2019s victory, my service ended in March 1979. Soon after, I prepared to continue my education abroad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n From 1979 to 1980, I studied French at the Sorbonne, then moved to Strasbourg for work, and later to Toulouse for further studies. For six years, I pursued dual programs in Economics and Rural Planning, and in Sociology, at the Universities of Toulouse-Arsenal and Mirail. My dissertation in Rural Planning impressed my supervisor, Professor Bertolo, who wrote to the university president recommending that my abilities be more widely utilized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n By 1986, I had completed two master\u2019s degrees and two doctorates, and returned to Iran.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I first taught at Shiraz University, then at Islamic Azad University in Shahrud, eventually becoming head of research and dean of Humanities. Later, in 1989, I joined Bu-Ali Sina University in Hamedan, where I led the Department of Social Sciences. However, political resistance from the Cultural Revolution Council resulted in my dismissal despite student and faculty protests. Even a direct appeal to the President failed. One official told me bluntly: \u201cSociology is dangerous for us. As long as we are here, you will not be allowed to work.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Faced with this, I refused exile and instead founded the Daneshyar Institute<\/em> in 1991. It grew into a respected, independent higher-education and research center.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Meanwhile, in 1990 my daughter Niousha was born, and in 1997 my son Arya. Today, she is a pediatric gastroenterology specialist, and he holds a doctorate in pharmacy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Although financially independent, in 1992 I joined Islamic Azad University, first in South Tehran, then in Rudehen, as a faculty member in Social Sciences. By 2003, colleagues insisted I accept department leadership despite opposition from senior administration. This role brought intense conflict, but also meaningful progress. Later, in 2008, under new university crises, I reluctantly assumed broader leadership over graduate programs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After three decades in academia, I chose to retire, dedicating myself to developing the theory of Organizationalism<\/em> (Organizasionism<\/em>), which had become my intellectual priority.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thus has been my turbulent life, full of ups and downs. To recount every detail would require volumes\u2014too costly in paper alone! For now, this brief account must suffice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLive in such a way that if you stumble, Fortunately, I am still alive, so it is better that I write my biography in the first person.I was born on Friday, February 20, 1953 (1st of Esfand 1331 in the Persian calendar) into a middle-class, culturally engaged family. Although my arrival brought no particular benefit to the world, for some reason I was in …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":13,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[12],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-398","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-biography"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/drkamran.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/398","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/drkamran.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/drkamran.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/drkamran.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/drkamran.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=398"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/drkamran.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/398\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":401,"href":"https:\/\/drkamran.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/398\/revisions\/401"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/drkamran.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/13"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/drkamran.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=398"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/drkamran.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=398"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/drkamran.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=398"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n\n\n\nEarly Curiosity<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nSchool Years<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nAdolescence<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nUniversity Years<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nMilitary Service and Revolution<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nStudies in France<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nAcademic Career in Iran<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nLater Academic Engagements<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nClosing Reflection<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
\n
angels will hold you up with both hands.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"