Abdorrahman Boroumand Center

Start of the work at Haft Tappeh and the Outbreak of Labor Protests

I officially joined the Haft Tappeh Sugarcane Company in 2011 but was dismissed in 2014. My dismissal stemmed from the company’s new job classification scheme. At that time, workers on permanent contracts were separated from those on temporary contracts. Those of us who had only recently been hired, many of us with university degrees, were deliberately sidelined. The system was designed to prevent permanent-contract workers from participating in protests and to divide the workforce. A small group of us realized that this was a form of structural fraud and chose to resist. Our protest cost us our jobs for nearly a month.

Even before my time at Haft Tappeh, the company had a functioning labor syndicate. Though it was shut down for a period, the syndicate was revived in 1999 with a general assembly and elections. Security agencies tried to prevent the gathering and arrested several of its leaders, but the syndicate still managed to resume its work.

Knowing this history mattered to me. I had grown up with a political and critical outlook, and when I joined Haft Tappeh, the company seemed like fertile ground for action. The culture of protest that I encountered was passed down from the previous generation, and I was determined to carry it forward. In a factory or any collective workplace, a tradition of protest can be deeply influential once it is established and sustained. At Haft Tappeh, that tradition existed and helped propel us forward. In 1979, the Haft Tappeh Sugarcane Company was one of the world's largest sugar producers.

Before describing my activities, I would like to make a preliminary point. In Iran and more broadly in the Persian language, the word kargar (worker) is not clearly defined. It would be more accurate to use terms like "employee" or "wage earner" because they include anyone who earns wages without owning the means of production, even managers. The only difference between a manager and me as a worker is the size of our paychecks. From the simplest laborer to an office clerk, supervisor, or farmhand, when wages are unpaid, no one has been paid. Yet, some, like teachers, may still insist that they belong to the middle class. However, the reality is that anyone who depends on wages for survival belongs in the same category. A more fitting term like "wage earner" would capture this more accurately.

Job classification has always been a contentious issue in Iran, and we fought hard over it. It is supposed to be updated every four years in all companies. While it can bring some benefits, it also creates divisions. Workers with permanent contracts, supervisors, office staff, day laborers, and workers with temporary contracts are all categorized separately. In crucial moments when unity is needed, these divisions prevent it. At Haft Tappeh, our refusal to accept such divisions is what gave us strength. We told ourselves: "For Haft Tappeh." We believed that there were no workers versus managers—only a single voice.

Job classification is based on eleven indicators, each with a corresponding score that determines pay. The first indicator is education, followed by technical skills, expertise, and so forth. Interestingly, work experience carries little weight. Someone with thirty years of experience but no skills may receive a lower score. However, a serious violation occurred during implementation: the roles of education and work experience were swapped. This illegal maneuver hit us hard. About 150 newly hired workers, including myself, were effectively pushed out. Ironically, around fifty of those same hires are now managers or middle managers at Haft Tappeh.

The question then arose: In this process, did only workers with permanent contracts have the right to protest while those with temporary contracts did not? Initially, all workers objected. However, the classification system was designed so that management, in coordination with the Ministry of Labor, could adjust the rules in their favor by raising or lowering scores and shifting categories until it suited them.

We protested from the outset. However, since workers with permanent contracts were in the majority, management placated them by making work experience the top criterion. We warned them: "This will eventually harm you too, because it's not based on reality." Still, the experienced workers were temporarily appeased, while we continued to resist.

At the time, six of us actively pursued the protests. Three of them were dismissed because of their connection to me. I shouldered most of the burden of protest. We were fired for almost a month but were later reinstated. Our main form of protest was strike sit-ins in front of the management building. Approximately 150 of the newly hired workers recognized the six of us as their representatives. Alongside the strikes, we filed complaints and pursued administrative channels. We informally spread the word about the strikes among ourselves: "Tomorrow we go on strike." We never informed management. If we had waited for permission from the company or the government, we would still be waiting. The state doesn't even recognize the word "strike," let alone issue permits for them.

This is why organizing strikes had to come directly from the workers. At that time, the company was state-owned. However, there is little difference between state and private ownership in Iran since the state is the country's largest employer. During this period, I tried to reconnect with members of the old syndicate. It was a time of harsh repression, but I gradually and cautiously succeeded in establishing contact. Today, there is once again talk of reviving such activities.

Later, new management tried to introduce a modern model for the company. However, what struck me was that even the world’s most advanced companies, especially in Europe, had independent labor organizations. At Haft Tappeh, what emerged instead was little more than a state-controlled Islamic Labor Council—a symbolic, powerless body with no real independence.

In 1979, all independent labor organizations were dissolved. From then until the 2000s, Haft Tappeh had no real collective representation. But in the 2010s, labor protests began to surge. Wages went unpaid, management was weak and incompetent, and rumors of privatization spread. Over the course of one or two years, the protests intensified dramatically. Around four to five thousand workers united, demanding the creation of organizations to defend their rights.

The Haft Tappeh Labor Syndicate

Initially, discussions centered on electing representatives and establishing a union or professional association. However, as workers became more aware, they realized that they had once had a genuine syndicate. Therefore, they decided not to create new, ineffective structures, but rather to revive the old one. The authorities opposed this demand. However, when four to five thousand workers openly declared that they would not return to work unless the syndicate was restored, the authorities' resistance proved futile. The workers made their position clear: if the authorities opposed this, they would have to arrest or physically suppress all of them. Faced with this ultimatum, the authorities initially allowed the syndicate to be reestablished. However, it was not long before the crackdown began. Eight of the syndicate’s core members were arrested, and six months later, they were all fired and imprisoned.

After the reestablishment of the Haft Tappeh Labor Syndicate, its members were fired. These dismissals lasted one to two years. For a worker, dismissal means the complete destruction of one's livelihood and life. After repeated follow-ups, constant appeals, and mounting pressure, the workers were reinstated.

Their reinstatement coincided with my own hiring at Haft Tappeh. Although they had previously been permanent employees, they were given temporary contracts upon their return, as though they were new hires. This was a heavy blow to their position and morale. For the first two to three years after their return, they lived under severe repression and were not permitted to speak out or participate in union activities.

In 2014, I began protesting and was subsequently dismissed. After this, I reestablished contact with former syndicate members, and our relationship gradually grew stronger. In 2015, the privatization of the Haft Tappeh Sugarcane Company was announced, which led to severe managerial and economic crises. In response to the destructive performance of private ownership, a new wave of labor protests began. We sought to give structure and coherence to these otherwise scattered protests. During this time, syndicate members rejoined the struggle, and the organization of protests became more serious and systematic. Over time, these efforts resulted in the formation of a new body known as the Independent Council or the Workers’ Representatives Assembly.

No elections have been held since 2008, when syndicate members were arrested and security pressures increased. In fact, the 2008 elections were the last, and none have been held since. One reason we moved toward establishing the Workers’ Representatives Assembly was the suffocating repression faced by syndicate members. According to the bylaws, the board of directors was to organize elections, but its members were under so much pressure that they could not carry them out. We also criticized the syndicate’s leadership. There was a degree of egotism, as well as changes in behavior, among them. Some had shifted their positions entirely. One of them, Reza Rakhshan, even appeared to act as a representative of security agencies such as the IRGC. In collaboration with the government, Rakhshan produced audiovisual content with a clear political agenda. This damaged the syndicate's credibility, and the workers openly declared that they no longer wanted the syndicate to continue.

The Workers’ Representatives Assembly of Haft Tappeh

Despite our efforts, the Haft Tappeh sugarcane workers and the remaining members of the old syndicate were unwilling to simply return to that body. The syndicate’s surviving officials were also unwilling or unable to take the necessary actions. The syndicate’s internal structure was flawed, and Haft Tappeh itself is a large organization. The Representatives Assembly was created primarily for organization, not merely representation.

Haft Tappeh comprised fifteen or sixteen departments. The largest was the Agriculture Department, followed by the Factory Department, then the Equipment Department. I worked in the Equipment Department. During elections, most representatives tended to come from those three departments and, even then, only from certain sections. However, we wanted representatives from every part of the company, including workers in the most remote sections of the fields. To achieve this, we reformed the election structure so that each department would elect a set number of representatives based on its workforce size. For example, the Agriculture Department would elect four representatives, the Factory Department four, the Equipment Department three, the Security Department two, and so on, so that each department would be represented. Ultimately, the assembly grew to more than twenty members, significantly improving our ability to organize and communicate with individual Haft Tappeh workers.

Registering the Assembly legally was never our primary basis of legitimacy. It was created by the workers themselves based on internal legitimacy. Many argued that the Assembly had no legal standing. We responded by asking, "What is the law?" We are the workers, and we recognize this structure. That recognition is sufficient for us. If the state or the governor’s office refused to accept it, that was their problem. What mattered was that we had accepted it ourselves. When the authorities declared that the Assembly’s representatives would not be recognized, we said it wouldn't make a difference—the strike would continue. Ultimately, they were forced to hold meetings with the Assembly’s representatives.

We had two options: either the state would respect the dignity and demands of the workers and allow us to have an independent organization, or, if our rights were ignored, we would be forced to wield power through actions such as strikes. In that situation, a strike was our only means of upsetting the unfair balance of power. We knew seeking official permission to form an independent organization or hold protest gatherings would be futile, so we never applied for it. Experience in Iran shows that, unlike in some European countries, it is effectively impossible to obtain legal authorization to form independent organizations or hold labor assemblies. The only officially sanctioned mass gathering is Friday prayer, which operates within state-controlled structures.

Before forming the Representatives Assembly in 2018, we had organized many large-scale protests. These demonstrations were not limited to the factory floor. Sometimes, they took place outside the workplace, in front of the governor’s office and the provincial administration. Worker groups and the Assembly’s representatives coordinated these gatherings. There were roughly twenty to thirty active representatives responsible for coordination. For instance, we announced at the Haft Tappeh embankment that the strike would continue until a specified date. We also said that if our demands were not met, we would gather in front of the governor’s office the next day. This information spread rapidly through the workers' network and via social media.

Security Pressures and a Failed Assassination Attempt

Our communication network was both spontaneous and grassroots. Many groups formed, and there was widespread communication among the workers. Although we came under pressure from security and intelligence agencies at times, our response was always clear. I repeatedly said that I held no formal responsibility. It was the workers themselves who pressured me. If I failed to be present, they confronted me directly. The pressure from the workers was actually far more serious and effective than that of the security forces. On one occasion, the situation escalated to an assassination attempt. At the time, the employer had gathered a number of men with criminal and violent backgrounds around him and paid them to carry out acts of aggression. These individuals openly admitted that they had been paid to act against us.

In January 2018, I delivered a public speech from a stage while wearing sunglasses. In the speech, I spoke out against the Friday Prayer leader and the employer. I had already exposed the employer's attempt to forge documents and register workers’ land in his own name before this. That same evening, after getting off the shuttle bus from work, I was physically attacked. A man attacked me with a machete, wounding my hand, but I quickly fled into the crowd. The attackers hesitated to follow, fearing entering the gathering of workers.

Achievements of the Workers’ Representatives Assembly

At that time, the Friday Prayer leader had close ties with the new private owners of Haft Tappeh. The governor’s office, the judiciary, and other state institutions treated these owners as though they were shareholders in those institutions. Years of effort were required to demonstrate that these so-called investors were not sacred or untouchable, but rather engaged in exploitation and looting. Privatization was treated as a divine command, but it was actually nothing more than abuse and plunder. The Haft Tappeh lands covered 24,000 hectares, and the sale price was so absurdly low that the entire company could be bought with the proceeds from selling two houses in Tehran. One of the most important achievements of our protests and of the Assembly’s effectiveness was that we were able to force the other side to concede to our demands. At that time, 2,000 workers were employed under one-month contracts at minimum wage. They had been hired through contractors so that the employer could cut costs. They earned about one million tomans a month, and one of their main demands was simply to have their contracts extended from one month to three. Through collective struggle and persistent protest, we achieved this goal.

The private owners viewed the workers as mere numbers. They believed that instead of employing three thousand people with monthly wages of several million tomans, they could replace those workers with two thousand temporary employees on one-month contracts with a salary of one million tomans. One of our greatest achievements in terms of job security was changing the employment status of those 2,000 workers to permanent contracts. We also stopped privatization plans that aimed to break up Haft Tappeh or turn it into a holding company. Many incompetent managers, who were appointed through connections rather than merit and some of whom did not even have a high school diploma, were removed from their positions. Additionally, back wages that had gone unpaid since 2015, including salaries for February and March, were recovered and paid to the workers thanks to the Assembly’s persistence. Although the Assembly officially existed for little more than a year, it remains active, and these achievements are preserved in the collective memory of the Haft Tappeh workers.

Haft Tappeh as a Symbol of Struggle

A remarkable number of demonstrations were held during just one year of activity. Even after my arrest, the protests continued for eighty consecutive days in front of the governor’s office. During interrogation sessions, I was informed that over 1,400 to 1,500 strikes had been documented. The organization of these demonstrations and strikes was cited as one of the charges against me.

The interrogations often aimed at goals far removed from reality. The interrogators sought to create preconceived scenarios to produce propaganda against the labor movement for TV programs such as 20:30. They tried to force me into a narrative drafted by figures such as Ameneh Sadat Zabihpur, a state TV reporter aligned with security agencies. They asked questions unrelated to Haft Tappeh, and ultimately, they failed to prove anything. Even when they claimed to have obtained "confessions" from me, I told them: "If that's true, then why did you only broadcast part of it? If there really was a confession, release the whole thing, even if it's thirty minutes long."

Their main objective was to prevent Haft Tappeh from becoming a symbol, but they failed. Haft Tappeh has indeed become a powerful symbol. In a country where most of the population are workers, a labor symbol can be a driving force on a national scale. What would happen if fifty million people simply refrained from going to work for one week? The authorities refuse to allow independent labor organizations to exist in Iran precisely because of this reality. They fear labor associations because they know their power. 

The Workers’ Representatives Assembly of Haft Tappeh was never officially registered. We created it out of the demands and lived experiences of the workers. No authority founded it, nor did any authority have the right to dissolve it. Despite changes in Haft Tappeh’s structure, a group of workers has preserved that space. Communication among former Assembly members continues to this day, and the Assembly is ready to be revived whenever the need for organizing arises again.

Security Forces’ Efforts to Undermine the Assembly

During the Assembly’s active period, we held regular meetings. Usually, about 23 or 24 of us gathered, and we divided up the areas of responsibility among small groups. Some focused on employment issues, some dealt with the dismissal of day laborers, and some corresponded with banks. Everyone reported back at the weekly meetings. These reports were reviewed and shared with the broader body of workers. Our structure resembled a genuine council or labor association, with clear divisions of labor and collective participation. In response to our organization, the ruling and security authorities made extensive efforts to destroy the Assembly. One of their main tools was intimidation and threats. They tried to make participating in the Assembly costly for individuals and opened security files on many members. Around 300 to 400 cases were fabricated against labor activists. These cases pressured not only the workers, but also their families. Families were contacted and threatened with arrest. They were also warned about future employment prospects and, in some cases, faced the threat of dismissal. As a result, though they believed in the legitimacy of the protests, some workers chose to limit themselves to participating in strikes without engaging in representative activities.

Another tactic used to discredit activists was to level false accusations against them, ranging from financial misconduct and absenteeism to immoral behavior. These rumors were deliberately spread to damage the activists’ reputations among the workers and call the Assembly’s legitimacy into question. The goal was to turn the workforce against its own representatives. In addition to this external pressure, some less resilient Assembly members succumbed to heavy pressure from intelligence agencies, shifted their positions, and began collaborating with the system. This was one way the authorities sought to weaken the Assembly from within by creating divisions through inducement or threats.

Another formal structure within the company was the Disciplinary Committee. For a time, we succeeded in disrupting this imposed body, but unfortunately, it later resumed its activities. In a symbolic act of protest, workers sealed the doors of the Islamic Labor Council with mud. During that period, Haft Tappeh was in the news almost daily, with workers advancing their struggles through creativity, persistence, and solidarity. Ultimately, the Workers’ Representatives Assembly and the Islamic Labor Council differed in their origins, legitimacy, and independence. The Assembly emerged organically from the workers themselves, free from government or security agency interference. The Islamic Labor Council, on the other hand, operated according to bylaws written by official institutions to control workers. Its mandate was dictated from above, not from below. Rather than serving as true representatives of the workers, its members primarily functioned as intermediaries of the authorities.

Pressure to Join the Islamic Labor Council

After my arrest and subsequent release in 2018, we witnessed intensified pressure from security agencies on the Assembly’s representatives. They were explicitly told that they had to join the Islamic Labor Council. The language used was along the lines of: "What difference does it make if the same people continue their activities within the framework of the Islamic Council?" Despite being in poor psychological condition at that time, some labor activists came to consult with me. I clearly stated my opposition. However, I told them that if they wanted to experience it firsthand, they could go ahead. I emphasized that they could not later claim that I had permitted it because I was firmly against it.

Some argued that it made no difference. "Just as we raised our voices in the Assembly, we will do the same in the Islamic Council." Our response was: "No, it doesn't work that way." They won the Council elections. However, only days later, they returned visibly shaken and carrying documents showing that they had met with intelligence officials. Security agents had severely threatened them, warning, "If you cross the red line, you will face serious consequences." They were told that the employer could dismiss any council representative at will, even those who were supposedly there to defend the workers. Furthermore, an employer’s representative sat on the council itself. They were given a host of tasks that were completely incompatible with genuine worker representation.

While I was in detention, an officer from the Intelligence Ministry mocked me, saying: “See how all your plans failed? Everyone joined the Islamic Council, and now they’re chanting slogans in support of the system.” He said this to humiliate me. I replied, "I guarantee the Islamic Council won't last a year." My prediction came true. In less than six months, the council collapsed. Its members resigned one after another. Six of the eight said they had no authority and were just following orders from higher institutions. They were representatives of the state and the employer, not the workers. Later, I reminded that security officer: "Remember I told you it wouldn't last a year? It didn't even last six months."

The Islamic Labor Council was formed after the Islamic Revolution, when all independent organizations were suppressed. Any groups leaning toward independence were severely restricted or eliminated at that time. While I don't remember the exact name of its earliest structure, it's clear that during the Reformist era, particularly under President Mohammad Khatami, the Islamic Labor Council was recognized as the sole official labor body. From then on, these councils became legally present in villages and workplaces, and the council structure became the only state-sanctioned channel for labor activity. Independent organizations were eliminated.

One of the main problems with the Islamic Labor Council is that its members receive employer-provided privileges, such as salary increases, meeting allowances, travel expenses, and other benefits. In practice, these perks tie the representatives to the employer. At Haft Tappeh, there was also an individual who was once considered radical but who, under the Council’s framework, became a tool of the employer while still claiming to represent and organize workers.

Support Fund for Imprisoned Workers

We made efforts to establish a support fund for imprisoned workers. However, due to heavy propaganda carried out by the employer against activists, constantly claiming that they were receiving money, we decided not to create an official fund until we had achieved greater organizational maturity. Instead, when necessary, we collectively provided financial assistance to the families of imprisoned workers. However, we preferred not to establish a formal fund so as not to provide the employer with a pretext for further attacks.

After I was arrested by the Ministry of Intelligence, the issue of my dismissal was raised. To this day, it has never been clarified whether my dismissal was based on a judicial ruling or an administrative decision since no one has accepted responsibility. The Ministry of Intelligence claims that no such case exists. The employer insists he had no role in it and has sworn to that effect. Intelligence authorities likewise deny involvement. When I pursued the matter at the Labor Office, I found that its officials were too intimidated to tell the truth. They said they no longer had the authority to decide the case. Yet, we all knew perfectly well where the order had come from. I am still seeking reinstatement. I filed a complaint, but the Labor Office was forced to rule against me under pressure. I told them: "You yourselves admitted that there is no evidence or document against me. Then why was the ruling issued to my detriment?" The officials disclaimed responsibility in a passive tone. I asked them to issue a written statement specifying which institution ordered the ruling, but they refused. The case has now been sent to prison authorities, and despite more than six months having passed, no court has yet been convened to hear it. 

I would like to note that in Iran—or more broadly in Persian—the word kargar (“worker”) is not properly defined. Instead of the term "worker," I wish words like "employee" or "wage earner" were used, since these terms cover everyone who receives wages without owning the means of production. I worked at Haft Tappeh, but it might have been more accurate to call me an "employee" in terms of my official position. Although I held a supervisory title, my job was such that I was directly engaged in production and physical labor. Therefore, at times, even the label "worker" could be used against me.

In reality, even managers belong in the same category. When you become a manager, you still earn wages. The only difference between a manager and me as a worker is the amount of pay. From unskilled laborers to office employees and supervisors to those working in the fields, we all find ourselves in the same position when the company fails to pay wages, whether for two or three months. In such circumstances, there is no difference between workers and employees—no one has been paid.

Some teachers also believe that they belong to the middle class. Again, this is a matter of terminology. The reality is that they are wage earners, too. Indeed, they do not wear work uniforms, their hands are not soiled, and they are not exposed to dust and dirt; yet in the end, they too earn wages. Their social status does not properly align with the middle class. One would expect teachers to be able to say, "Our pay and benefits place us firmly within the middle class," but this is not the reality. They cannot say, "I am not a worker." I wish a term like "wage earner" had been used instead of "worker," encompassing all wage earners across every sector and profession under one definition.