From the Qizilbash to the IRGC and Basij
S. Rouzbeh
۲۳ اسفند ۱۴۰۴

A comparison of the Qizilbash and the Islamic Republic’s forces of repression, examining how ideological governments use violence, public displays of loyalty and the construction of internal enemies to enforce obedience.

From the Qizilbash to the IRGC and Basij

The ideological arm of repression in Iranian history

Throughout Iranian history, ideological governments have not relied on decrees and religious edicts alone. Whenever political power has sought not merely to govern society but to remake it by force, it has had to build an arm that is loyal, armed and ready to intimidate, humiliate and eliminate. At the beginning of the Safavid era, that arm consisted of the Qizilbash and their associated networks. In the Islamic Republic, the IRGC, the Basij and special units have taken on the same role. These two historical periods are not identical, but a profound resemblance can be seen in the logic of exercising power: to endure, an ideological government needs a force that imposes official truth on society through violence.

With the rise of the Safavids and Shah Ismail’s conquest of Tabriz, Twelver Shiism was declared the official religion. But this declaration was not merely a religious change; it marked the beginning of a process in which political power sought to bring society openly and forcibly into line with a new official identity. Historical sources indicate that this process involved pressure, threats and elimination. Rituals of cursing, the presence of loyal forces in public spaces, and the monitoring of people’s speech and behaviour were not merely signs of a change in belief; they were tools for consolidating political domination. In such circumstances, belief was no longer simply an inward matter, but became a marker of obedience or defiance.

It is here that one of the most important parallels with the Islamic Republic becomes clear. An ideological government is not satisfied with the people’s silence; it demands a display of loyalty. Under the Safavids, public language and rituals had to conform to the commands of power. In the Islamic Republic, too, obedience must be visible: in dress, in slogans, in attendance at official ceremonies, and in compliance with government norms. In both systems, the government does not want mere citizens; it wants subjects who openly demonstrate their loyalty. Anyone who refuses to take part in this performance is pushed outside the circle of trust and turned into a troublesome element.

Another similarity lies in the nature of the forces of repression. The Qizilbash were not merely a military force; they also embodied ideological loyalty to the Shah and the Safavid order. Their violence was not simply the execution of orders, but a form of armed faith. In the Islamic Republic, too, the Basij and some sections of the repressive forces are not merely administrative agents. They have been trained within an ideological framework that presents repression not only as a government duty but as a defence of truth, religion or the system. It is precisely here that violence is transformed from an executive act into a sacred duty. When repression is given an ideological veneer, its moral boundaries also collapse.

Moreover, in both periods, violence was used not only to eliminate opponents but also to make a spectacle and teach a lesson. Ideological governments do not use repression merely to silence a group of protesters; they want the whole society to remember fear. Historical accounts of Tabriz at the beginning of the Safavid era describe an atmosphere steeped in threats, elimination and intimidation. In the Islamic Republic, too, the suppression of protests over the past decades, and especially during the “Woman, Life, Freedom” uprising, meant more than dispersing demonstrators. Killings, mass arrests, torture, forced confessions and the intimidation of families have all been components of an order whose aim is to return society to passivity and fear. Here, violence is not exceptional; it is part of the art of government.

Another shared feature is the criminalisation of disobedience. In ideological systems, an opponent is not merely someone with a different opinion; they are quickly labelled deviant, rebel, seditionist or enemy. Under the Safavids, refusing to take part in official rituals could be seen as a sign of stepping outside the desired order. In the Islamic Republic, too, civil protest has repeatedly been described in terms such as “rioting”, “sedition”, “foreign allegiance” or “acting against national security”. The pattern is familiar: first, the government excludes its opponent from the sphere of legitimacy, then it justifies suppressing them. In such circumstances, violence no longer appears to the government’s supporters as a crime, but as a necessary act to preserve order or truth.

The constant presence of these forces in people’s everyday lives is another important similarity. The Qizilbash did not play a role only on the battlefield; their presence in the city, the mosque and public spaces was part of the machinery of domination. The Islamic Republic, too, has not confined repression to barracks and prisons. The Basij, various patrols, and the security presence in universities, schools, streets and offices all show that the aim is not merely to defend the government in a moment of crisis, but to penetrate the fabric of social life. To survive, an ideological government needs more than an army; it needs eyes, ears and an intervening hand among the people.

Alongside these features, we must also consider humiliation. In these systems, repression is not carried out solely to silence people; it seeks to break their will. Imposed rituals, forcing people to repeat official formulas, monitoring personal behaviour and staging punishments are all part of a policy designed to shatter human dignity. In the Islamic Republic, too, numerous accounts have emerged of the humiliation of detainees, forced confessions, pressure on families and sexual violence. The issue here is not merely control of the body; it is the breaking of individual and collective character, independence and memory.

Both systems also need to create an internal enemy in order to mobilise their forces of repression. To consolidate its newly established power, the Safavid state divided society into those who belonged and those who did not. The Islamic Republic, too, has always needed to produce internal enemies continuously in order to survive: the woman without a hijab, the student, the protester, the journalist, the bereaved family seeking justice, the civil activist. Without this division, an ideological government loses the psychological force needed to sustain its machinery of repression. The manufacture of enemies is the fuel that drives it.

Thus, the similarity between the Qizilbash and the Islamic Republic’s forces of repression lies in more than violence. Violence exists under many governments. The principal similarity lies in a particular kind of violence that is at once ritualised, performative, ideological and disciplinary. It is used not only to eliminate opponents, but to teach fear, produce obedience and remake society on the basis of submission. From this perspective, the Qizilbash can be seen as one of the earliest forms of the ideological arm of repression in Iranian history—an arm reproduced in the Islamic Republic with more modern tools, more complex mechanisms and a wider field of intervention.

The conclusion of this comparison is clear. The issue is not simply a change in the forces’ names or a difference in their uniforms and weapons. What has endured is a particular form of government that claims a monopoly on truth and, to preserve it, creates a loyal, ideological force that is immune from accountability. The Qizilbash of yesterday and the Basij of today are both products of the union of faith, power and violence. As long as this ideological arm is reproduced within Iran’s political system, despotism will change its face, but not its nature.

Source: https://srouzbeh.com/en/posts/archive-2bc9cb92-37cd-bac6-53c5-9e9dddc19275
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