Samad Behrangi (1939–1968) was an Iranian teacher, short-story writer, folklorist, translator, and social critic of Azerbaijani origin . He is most famous for his children’s stories, particularly the allegorical tale The Little Black Fish (1968) . A committed Marxist-Leninist, Behrangi foregrounded the lives of poor children and advocated self-reliance in his narratives . His works explicitly tackled injustice and censorship; as one observer notes, “Behrangi’s words and ideas are cited by political prisoners and Iranian activists who continue to fight censorship, poverty, and injustice in their homeland” . Though his career lasted barely a decade, Behrangi’s blend of folklore and revolutionary ideals left a lasting imprint on Iranian literature and education.
Behrangi was born on June 24, 1939, in the Cherandab district of Tabriz . He grew up in poverty: his father was a seasonal laborer who eventually left Iran for work in the Caucasus . Samad completed only elementary education and three years of secondary school before entering a rural teacher training college (Daneshsarayea-ye Keshavarzi) . He graduated from that program in 1957 and immediately became a village schoolteacher at 18, a position he held for eleven years . Notably, during this period he also earned a B.A. degree in English from the University of Tabriz, even as he taught in remote schools . These formative years in Azerbaijan deeply shaped his perspective on education and society.
In the early 1960s, Behrangi taught Persian in one-room village schools under exceedingly harsh conditions . One account recalls that “the terrible conditions in these schools … not only radicalized Behrangi, but also provided him with a source of passion” . He often had no heat or supplies, and his pupils suffered from hunger and illiteracy. Determined to make schooling relevant, Behrangi began writing his own Azeri-language stories and primers reflecting rural life. The Pahlavi regime soon took notice: Behrangi was rebuked and transferred for “insubordination,” and his innovative materials were censored or banned . He was suspended and reinstated multiple times for his outspoken pedagogy. This experience only strengthened his resolve. He joined student demonstrations and spoke out publicly about the failings of state education.
At the same time, Behrangi’s literary career began in earnest. In 1960 he published his first short story (Adat, or “Habit”), though it attracted little attention . In 1964 his story Talkhūn appeared in a literary journal, marking him as a serious writer . The following year, working with folklorist Behrooz Dehghani, he produced the first volume of Afsānehā-ye Āz̄arbāyjān (“Tales of Azerbaijan”), collecting Azeri folk tales in Persian translation . Also in 1965 Behrangi boldly wrote Kand-o Kav dar Masāʾel-e Tarbīyat-e Īrān (“Probe into Iran’s Educational Problems”), a scathing critique of the official curriculum and textbooks. This pamphlet established him as a social critic: it caught the attention of the prominent writer Jalāl Āl-e Aḥmad, who unsuccessfully lobbied the Education Ministry to publish Behrangi’s proposed Azeri alphabet book for schoolchildren . By his mid-twenties, Behrangi was already well-known among intellectuals for challenging traditional pedagogy and championing Azeri cultural rights.
Starting in 1966, Behrangi began writing explicitly for children. His first published children’s story was “Ūldūz and the Crows,” which appeared in the popular weekly Ferdowsī . The fable tells of a resourceful orphan girl (Ūldūz) who stands up to a corrupt king, using cunning and courage rather than violence. This story brought Behrangi to national attention as a talented new voice. In the next two years he produced dozens of tales—often printed as small booklets or broadcast on state radio—that feature humble protagonists outwitting bullies or learning lessons about justice. These fables blend traditional folklore style with sharp social commentary. As one scholar notes, even at this stage Behrangi had developed “a reputation as a dissident writer” whose stories were read as encouraging individuals to change their circumstances by their own initiative.
The peak of Behrangi’s storytelling is Māhī-e Sīāh-e Kūchūlū (The Little Black Fish), published in 1968 just months before his death . In this tale, a curious young fish living in a small stream is determined to see the vast ocean and learn why a mysterious waterfall leads out of her world. The fish’s grandmother recounts the journey as a cautionary tale to the other young fish, yet the narrative clearly values the heroine’s boldness. As the Little Fish travels downstream, she meets characters who expose her to land use conflicts, gender norms, and inequality. Readers at the time recognized in her quest an allegory of individual enlightenment and political freedom. The Pahlavi censors agreed: they banned the book before it could reach many readers, fearing that the Little Fish’s refusal to stay “in her place” preached rebellion against authority.
Farshid Mesghali’s illustrations for The Little Black Fish became as famous as the text. His striking high-contrast artwork (mainly black, green, and white) captured both the innocence and the drama of Behrangi’s narrative. Internationally, Mesghali was honored with the Hans Christian Andersen Award (often called the “Nobel Prize” of children’s illustration) in 1974 for this work . The award drew global attention to the story and brought translations of The Little Black Fish into Europe and beyond. In Iran, however, the book’s message was forbidden under the Shah; even so, underground copies circulated and word of the story’s subversive critique spread among students and intellectuals.
Behrangi’s own words reflect his commitment to combining storytelling with social truths. He bluntly argued that children should not be sheltered from reality:
“It is no longer the time for limiting children’s literature to the arid and authoritarian advice and instructions, such as ‘Wash your hands and feet… Obey Mum and Dad and the elders’… Shouldn’t we tell the child that in your country there are boys and girls who have never seen a piece of meat on their plates? …[Shouldn’t we tell the child] why [they] are hungry, and how hunger could be diminished?” .
This 1960s interview statement (often attributed to Behrangi himself) makes clear his philosophy: tales should enlighten children about injustice and inspire empathy. In his view, literature is a “bridge” between fantasy and reality. As he wrote, “Children’s literature must build a bridge between the colorful dream world full of fantasy and illusion, and a tougher real world” . The child who crosses this bridge, armed “with the torch of knowledge, awareness and guidance,” can better understand social ills and learn how to challenge them.
Throughout his career, Behrangi was deeply engaged with leftist politics. Encyclopædia Iranica notes that he explicitly identified as an advocate of “radical reforms,” campaigning against both feudal and Westernized injustices . Panah (GlobalVoices) describes him as “a Marxist, a passionate instructor, a social critic” who grappled with what he saw as a corrupt modernization under the Shah . Behrangi criticized the clerical establishment’s role in suppressing critical thought (“anticlerical encouragement of the youth”), and he urged Azerbaijani minorities to achieve full equality with Persian-speaking Iranians . In interviews and schoolroom lectures, he encouraged students to think critically rather than obey blindly. By the late 1960s his influence had grown among other dissident educators and even some radical activists. He translated radical Persian poetry and literature into Azeri (bringing Shamlou, Farrokhzad, Akhavan into the children’s vernacular) . Meanwhile, he translated Azeri folk tales into Persian, helping rural children preserve their cultural heritage even as they navigated Iran’s national schools .
Behrangi was part of a network of progressive thinkers. He worked closely with Behrooz Dehghani, who assisted in collecting Azerbaijani folklore and later edited posthumous anthologies of Behrangi’s work . Writer Ali Shariati and poet Ahmad Shamlu were among contemporaries who respected Behrangi’s ideals. But his alliances also made him a target: SAVAK (the Shah’s secret police) kept him under surveillance. In 1968 Behrangi was briefly suspended from teaching on vague charges of insubordination, and he was reportedly summoned for questioning about his communist sympathies (though direct records are scarce) .
Despite—or perhaps because of—such pressure, Behrangi remained fearless. He spoke to newspapers and magazines whenever he could, explaining his educational vision. For example, in a 1968 interview (published posthumously) he reiterated that a teacher’s true mission is not merely to teach grammar but to expand students’ horizons. He famously paraphrased lines from The Little Black Fish to express his own outlook: “If someday I should face death—as I surely will—it is not what matters. What does matter is what influence my life or death will have on the lives of others” . In context, this quote (spoken by the fish in the story) shows how Behrangi equated his personal fate with the fate of his cause. He told audiences that his purpose was to empower children and the poor, so that even if he died young, his ideas would live on.
Tragically, Behrangi’s life ended when he was still only 29. On August 31, 1968, he was on a field trip gathering folk tales in the Khoda-Afarin region near the Soviet border . According to Iranica, he waded into the Aras River to cool off and drowned, even though he could not swim . The oddness of the accident immediately fueled rumors. Was it simply misfortune, or was there foul play? Many young activists (who saw in Behrangi a martyr) believed SAVAK had intervened. Hamzeh Farahati, an army lieutenant known to be with him that day, denied any involvement, but suspicions lingered . In any case, his body was recovered on the Iranian side and returned to Tabriz. The Association of Writers of Iran reacted swiftly: within months they produced a special commemorative issue of their journal Ārāsh in his honor .
Behrangi was buried in the Imamieh (Imamiyyeh) Cemetery of Tabriz . The modest gravestone (inscribed in Persian calligraphy) lies near many other writers and martyrs. To this day, his grave is marked with flowers or books left by admirers. It has also faced neglect and vandalism at times, reflecting the fraught politics of memory in Iran. Local caretakers periodically restore the site, ensuring that Samad Behrangi’s name remains visible on the valley of poets and revolutionaries in Tabriz.
In the years immediately following his death, Behrangi’s stories were collected and published. In Spring 1969, a book Qeṣṣahā-ye Behrang (“Behrang’s Stories”) gathered twelve of his children’s tales . Later that same year, Behrooz Dehghani compiled dozens of Behrangi’s articles and essays into a volume called Majmūʿahā-ye Maqālāt . In 1970 another anthology Talkhūn va Qeṣṣahā-ye Dīgar (“Talkhun and Other Stories”) appeared, containing his first story (Talkhun) and additional material . Finally, in 1978 Behrangi’s brother Asad Behrangi collected letters and unfinished writings into Nāmahā-ye Samad Behrangi . These publications, though partly censored by the regime, helped keep his voice alive.
By the 1970s, Samad Behrangi had become a powerful symbol in Iran. Scholars note that “during the 1970s, Behrangi became a hero and martyr figure for anti-Pahlavi groups” . He was portrayed as a model teacher and people’s intellectual, an advocate of social justice. Even before the 1979 Revolution, unofficial commemorations of his birthday or death date took place in villages and universities. After the Revolution, his legend only grew. The new Islamic Republic (despite occasional bureaucratic discomfort with leftist ideas) permitted the publication and teaching of his works as examples of self-sacrifice for the poor. IranChamber observes that into the 1980s and 1990s Behrangi’s stories were reprinted regularly in Iran, often with new illustrations, and even translated into Azeri for use in North-Western provinces . His recipes for children’s folk tales and his name became staples of school libraries.
Internationally, Behrangi’s literary renown spread through translations. The Little Black Fish in particular has been translated into English, Turkish, Russian, French, and many other languages. Critics outside Iran have often called it a classic of modern children’s literature. In a translation introduction, one writer reflects that encountering The Little Black Fish at a young age was “life-changing” . Teachers of comparative literature emphasize how Behrangi’s combination of simple fable and political message echoes that of global allegory-writers. In 2022, literary editor Shara Atashi called him “maybe the most influential children’s author of Iran” , observing that even in exile his stories “accompany” Iranian reformers. Others have dubbed him Iran’s “children’s laureate” – an educator who “inspire[s] and empower[s] the young” to better their world.
Today Samad Behrangi’s influence endures in Iran and beyond. Nearly every generation of Iranian readers grows up hearing about The Little Black Fish or Oldooz and the Crows, and quoting lines from them. In schools and literary circles, his model of fusing education with ethics is often cited as a standard. Cultural activists commemorate August 31 (the anniversary of his death) with readings of his stories. In Tabriz and in smaller Azeri towns, statues, murals, and community centers bear his name and image. As Encyclopædia Iranica notes, his crusading spirit – his “antipatriarchal and anticlerical encouragement” of youth and willingness to challenge power – has assured “Behrangi a place in Iranian intellectual and social history” . The mystery around his early death only amplified people’s devotion; as one commentator put it, “the mystery shrouding his death added to the fierce love people felt for him” .
At the end of this article, I speak as someone who, as a little child, was crazy about his stories., Samad Behrangi’s life exemplifies the power of storytelling as social protest. He transformed folk tale into a vehicle for critique, and his brief career shows how a teacher-writer could galvanize a generation. His direct, colloquial style and his courage in confronting injustice won him lasting admiration. Today his legacy lives on in the works of Iranian authors and in the memories of activists: he remains an icon of resistance and a pioneer of Iranian children’s literature.