In contemporary Iranian history, the name of Martyr Mohammad-Javad Tondguyan is inseparably linked with “self-sacrifice,” “integrity,” and “presence on the front lines of responsibility.” He was a minister who defined his office not from behind a desk but among workers, firefighters, and operational forces—a manager whose simple lifestyle was widely known and who, during the hardest days at the start of the imposed war, stayed alongside the people and employees of the oil industry. Revisiting his life and fate is to revisit one of the purest examples of revolutionary, people-centered management: a man who placed his life in his hands for the sake of responsibility and made his name immortal in Iran’s history.

But the story of Tondguyan is not a simple tale; it is part of a nation’s collective memory. The early days of the war—the turmoil in the south, the fires at Abadan Refinery, the displacement of civilians, and the steadfastness of employees who kept the oil industry running under artillery fire—formed the backdrop to one of the most bitter yet luminous events of those days: the capture of the oil minister of the Islamic Republic of Iran. Recounting this period is not merely retelling a historical event; it is an opportunity to grasp the depth of sacrifices that have too often gone untold.

To shed light on this episode, Shana spoke with Behrouz Boushehri, who at the time of Martyr Tondguyan’s ministry served as his deputy and as CEO of the National Iranian Oil Company, and who was captured alongside him during Tondguyan’s third trip to Abadan in his 40-day tenure as minister. Boushehri witnessed Tondguyan’s character, sacrifice, resolve, and suffering from the closest possible vantage point. The conversation not only reveals lesser-known details but also offers a deeper portrait of a minister whose name is synonymous with honor and responsibility.

From Friendship in a Student Association to Captivity in Baathist Solitary Cells

Boushehri recounts how he first met Martyr Tondguyan:

“I graduated from Abadan Oil Institute in 1967, but my ties with the institute and the Islamic Student Association never ended. I continued helping with activities and mentoring new students. Back then, the association had a beautiful tradition: we collected the addresses of newly admitted students, wrote congratulatory letters to their families, and asked them to inform us of their child’s travel time so we could welcome them and escort the student to the dormitory or campus. My first acquaintance with Martyr Tondguyan dates back to 1968, when he entered the institute. Our first encounter was truly auspicious; from the outset, it was clear we were facing a young man who was Muslim, intelligent, forthright, and capable.”

Tondguyan had also been accepted elsewhere—at Shiraz University (then called Pahlavi University)—and even passed exams for Bank Melli Iran or the Central Bank of Iran, whose top candidates were sent to the UK. But he was rejected at the final interview because of the frankness and firmness of his beliefs. That rejection turned out to be our good fortune, as it brought his valuable presence to Abadan Oil Institute. From there, our friendship deepened day by day, eventually becoming a family relationship, though at the time he was still single and married later.

Dismissal from Abadan Refinery Before the Revolution

Boushehri continues with the story of Tondguyan’s dismissal and ban from working in the oil industry before the revolution:

“After graduation, he was completing his military service while also working at Tehran Refinery. Even then, he remained active with the student association and, once he began earning a salary, supported students even more. On one visit to Abadan to review the Islamic Association and the institute’s library, security harassed him and an incident occurred. The matter was first reported to the institute’s head, then to the refinery director, then to Dr. Eqbal, and finally SAVAK became involved. The outcome was Tondguyan’s dismissal from Abadan Refinery.”

We later learned the details from a file found at the Center for Islamic Revolution Documents after the revolution. Reports signed by SAVAK agents showed precisely how the incident led to his dismissal.

Following his dismissal, his military rank was reduced from officer to private, and he was exiled to Shiraz to complete his service. Afterward, he was effectively barred from government work and from the Ministry of Oil, and lived under hardship. Despite this, our relationship remained close.

Working Together at Pars Toshiba

Boushehri recalls working with Tondguyan at the largest factory in Gilan province before the revolution:

“After leaving the oil company, I attended an MBA program affiliated with Harvard University in Tehran and then joined Pars Toshiba (now known as Pars Khazar), a large factory with about 3,000 workers, 40% owned by Japanese partners. While I was managing the factory in Rasht, Tondguyan came to see me. He said he was working at Butane Company and that a colleague had been arrested for revolutionary activities. He worried not for himself, but that it might cause trouble for his manager. I suggested he come to Rasht for a while. He initially refused, saying it would cause problems for me, but eventually accepted. That’s how our collaboration at Toshiba began around 1974.”

The factory had a highly sensitive foreign procurement post. Anyone appointed to it was sidelined by the Japanese within three months, as they insisted all purchases be made from Japan, especially Toshiba. We sought self-sufficiency. After several failed attempts, I told the Japanese CEO that if Tondguyan wasn’t suitable, I would leave myself. I warned Tondguyan he might not last three months—but the opposite happened. Within three months, not only had the Japanese managers befriended him, but workers and staff had developed a special fondness for him. His character, insight, and integrity shone at every stage of life—student, employee, manager.

Later, I left Pars Toshiba for Butane Company, while Tondguyan stayed on and became one of the key managers among about 50 engineers and executives. After the revolution, many workers elsewhere dismissed managers as “agents of the ancien régime.” At this factory, all managers were removed—except Tondguyan, whom the workers not only retained but elected as factory head. That trust spoke volumes.

Return to the Oil Industry After the Revolution

Boushehri explains Tondguyan’s return to the oil sector:

“During the interim government, I went to the Ministry of Oil. The late Engineer Mo’infar, the first oil minister, appointed me deputy for administrative and financial affairs and effectively entrusted operations to me. I called Tondguyan and said, ‘Javad, it’s time to come back to oil.’ He resigned from Pars Toshiba and joined the ministry, and after about a year and a half apart, we were together again.”

In 1979, I formed a group to review oil industry personnel and put Tondguyan in charge, alongside Engineer Louh, Mr. Asghari (later justice minister), and the late Haddadi representing workers. Thus began Tondguyan’s official post-revolution role in the oil industry.

How Tondguyan’s Name Came Up for Oil Minister

Boushehri describes how Tondguyan was proposed to Martyr Rajaei for the ministry:

“While I was deputy minister, Tondguyan was sent to Khuzestan as acting head of the oil-rich regions—a critical role. When Martyr Rajaei formed his government, he summoned me and proposed me for oil minister. I asked to come with my team—Tondguyan, Engineer Sadat, Engineer Hakim, and Dr. Yahyavi—so he could decide collectively. He agreed.”

That night Tondguyan rushed from Ahvaz to Tehran and stayed with us. The next morning we met Rajaei. Others argued I was the better choice, but I insisted Tondguyan was more deserving—because of his competence, integrity, and simple life. Everything he owned fit in a pickup truck. He had endured prison before the revolution and proven his management at Pars Toshiba. Rajaei dismissed the others, leaving just the three of us. I told him if Tondguyan became minister, we would all stay and work with him.

Years later, as the three of us were being driven toward Baghdad in captivity, Tondguyan said, “Behrouz, in that meeting I felt you spoke only for God—that’s why Rajaei accepted your words.” Rajaei ultimately appointed him oil minister. Tondguyan’s first decree as minister appointed me as his deputy and CEO of the oil company.

Not a Desk-Bound Minister

Boushehri describes Tondguyan’s approach as minister:

“He was not a desk-bound minister. From the outset, he believed ‘the oil minister must be in the field.’ On his first trip south after becoming minister, as he stepped off the plane he said, ‘I bought a round-trip ticket, but this is no place to sit behind a desk—we must be in the thick of the work.’ Our capture stemmed from this very outlook.”

After the war began, refineries—especially Abadan—were under direct Iraqi fire. The Arvand River was so close that Iraqi soldiers could see individuals and target the refinery. Despite this, Tondguyan insisted we go ourselves. Abadan Refinery was engulfed in fire and smoke; daylight looked like dusk. We evacuated and secured all units—pipes, pumps, tanks—so not a drop of oil remained to fuel fires.

Within less than a month of the war’s start, Tondguyan traveled to Abadan three times. Though he had to attend government meetings in Tehran, he believed managers must stand by their staff in such days.

 “I Am Mohammad-Javad Tondguyan, Iran’s Oil Minister”

Boushehri recounts their capture:

“On the third trip, we were captured at Abadan’s entrance. We drove from Dezful via Shadegan. Because of heavy attacks, planes couldn’t even reach Ahvaz. Along the way, we saw people fleeing on foot; fuel and vehicles were scarce, and ours was the only car on the road.”

Near Abadan, men in work clothes stopped us. The guards stepped out, and suddenly the car came under fire. Tondguyan, Mr. Yahyavi, and I jumped out but were captured. Today, a memorial marks that spot.

We were transferred in separate vehicles. Since we had hidden our documents, they didn’t know the oil minister was among us. One vehicle carrying rubber shoe bags was hit by a mortar that failed to detonate; the driver was wounded. We tried to escape amid the chaos but were recaptured.

They took us to a tank pit holding 30–40 prisoners, bound our hands, feet, and eyes, and opened fire. Some shouted “Ya Hussein.” Tondguyan said he wanted to identify himself. When he declared, “I am Iran’s oil minister,” the shooting stopped. He was separated and taken elsewhere; we were sent to Basra. There, we saw him again arguing with an Iraqi officer: “You are Muslims, we are Muslims—why did you attack us?” It was futile.

In Basra, a general named Abu Shahid contacted Saddam to report the capture of “Iran’s oil minister.” That night, Iraqi TV broadcast him for propaganda.

 Two Years Hearing Tondguyan’s Prayers from Solitary

Boushehri describes captivity:

“Each of us spent more than two years in solitary confinement—small, dim, suffocating cells. Tondguyan was elsewhere, but we heard him at night praying, reciting the Qur’an, chanting slogans. He had memorized Du’a al-Iftitah and Kumayl and constantly murmured them. Those years were unbearably harsh.”

After two years, Mr. Yahyavi and I went on a hunger strike because they neither transferred us to a camp nor allowed letters. Eventually they relented and put us together. Later we learned Tondguyan was gone. Guards gave conflicting answers—some said he had died, others that Saddam had ordered him moved to a “safer place.” We were certain his conditions were far worse. Ten years passed like this, without even a letter, until we were finally moved to a camp.

Sacrifice Was His Defining Trait

Boushehri sums up Tondguyan’s character:

“He had many virtues, but two stood out: being of the people and self-sacrifice. He never put himself first. When Abadan was under siege and others fled, he stood with firefighters and workers and never retreated from responsibility.”

He recalls a fatal accident near Rasht in which a worker died. At the police station, the worker’s son wept and said, “I’m not crying for my father—I’m crying for Mr. Tondguyan, who will suffer because of this.” It showed the love people had for him.

Before the revolution, we didn’t own a TV, believing the programs inappropriate. In 1977 I bought one, but Tondguyan didn’t. After the revolution, he invited us to his home and celebrated with a small TV and a simple meal—memories I cherish.

 A Moving Story of Tondguyan’s Father

Boushehri recounts a story of the family’s patience:

“After 12 years of captivity, Tondguyan’s father went to Iraq with others to receive his son’s body. Throughout the process—retrieval, pilgrimage, funeral—he showed no tears. But when the body entered Iran, he asked several times, ‘Are there no Iraqis here anymore?’ When he was sure everyone was Iranian, he broke down and wept. He had endured years of grief but would not let foreigners see his tears. In his homeland, his heart found peace.”

 Boushehri concludeds:

“May God bless his soul, and may God reward his parents for raising such a righteous son.”