This is the story of Hassan, a Black American who, in 1980, in Washington, acting on a fatwa allegedly issued by the Ayatollah Khomeini, assassinated the Shah’s representative to the United States, Ali Akbar Tabatabai. Since then, he has been wanted by the FBI and has lived in exile in Iran.

In Hassan’s story, like many life stories, there comes a time when a crucial choice must be made: to stay and rot in “freedom” in Iran, or to face justice and prison in the United States while trying to explain his version of the truth, a version that raises more questions than it answers. In the wake of the events of September 11, Hassan’s role in Mohsen Makmalbaf’s film Kandahar sent a shock wave through the United States. Today, the face-off between the conservative authorities in Iran and the US government makes Hassan an irritant to all sides.

Approaching the truth of a character is a slow process, just as a character’s ability to approach the truth of a film and the demands of another person’s gaze comes slowly: trust must be earned on both sides. Before the shooting started, I had met Hassan on a number of occasions in Iran over the previous six years. Right from the start, our relations were frank and direct.

I was intrigued by Hassan’s story precisely because he seeks neither to elude his past nor to evade his responsibilities. On the contrary, he takes full responsibility for his acts and choices; he accepts the consequences and indeed, agrees to bear the blame in the world’s eyes, if not to his own mind. He has always said he was prepared to face his country’s justice system.

Hassan’s account unfolds alongside our investigation in the United States. The picture he paints is blurred by Joe Trento’s revelations on the role of the secret services and Gary Sick’s conjectures on the outcome of the 1980 hostage crisis at the US Embassy in Tehran. Suddenly, Tabatabai’s assassination appears in a new light, murkier and more confused. Who did what and on behalf of whom? Who knew what about whom? Hassan’s story brings the underside of history into full view. Beyond the drama that played out between the assassin and his victim emerges a portrayal that reveals a troubling aspect of relations between Iran and the United States over the course of the past 25 years.

Why did I make this film? Because cinema allows me to get closer to individuals, to their innermost beings, than might be possible if I didn’t have a film to make. What drives my passion for making films is precisely the possibility of creating cinema at a human level. I am pursuing the pursuits of men and women, not the objects of their pursuits. That requires spending time with the person, patiently, moving closer to the other without becoming the other, in order to better gauge his or her place and role, while at the same time respecting the person’s secrets. I wholeheartedly agree with Spinoza’s maxim: “Neither laugh nor cry, but understand.”

Cinema is my philosopher’s staff. It allows me to advance, feeling my way along unpredictable paths, and especially, to share the journey for a while, the time of a poem, a point of view, a tale told, a thought, a sense of indignation, a feeling of torment, a moment of grace with the public.

To break the silence. Then to fall silent once more and set off on the road again. That is my vision of the documentary utopia: an insatiable quest for truth—the only struggle, in the end, that is worth it.

Jean-Daniel Lafond

75 / 52 min. 2006. Documentary by Jean-Daniel Lafond
From Washington DC in 1980 to Tehran today, the story of an unrepentant assassin: American Fugitive explores a troubled web of international intrigue and state-sponsored violence and provides rare insight into the soul of an articulate accuser with no place to go.
To be broadcast by Télé-Québec and Radio-Canada

To read the detailed synopsis, click here.