Now that I’ve reached retirement, I sit and reflect—one by one—on all the miseries I tried to overcome during the thirty years I went to and from school. I inhaled chalk dust, developed trembling knees, suffered nervous disorders… yet those miseries never ended. I sit and think about which of life’s wounds I can possibly mend with this meager pension.

I sit and reflect on the many deceptions the Islamic Republic’s governments have played on us, the people—myself included, as a member of this society. One of the heaviest of these deceptions was the Teachers’ Reserve Fund. We teachers joined it with the promise that it would ease the hardships of retirement. Instead, it turned into a massive economic holding that only fills the pockets of the mafia that controls the fund. Twenty years ago, I became a member of this fund and, from that point on, I paid five percent of my salary to the government. I had hoped that, come retirement, the payout would be enough to start a small business for my post-teaching days. But now, with the one hundred million tomans they’ve thrown at me after twenty years of contributions—and at a time when the dollar is over 100,000 tomans—perhaps I can patch one of life’s smaller wounds at best.

You might ask: Weren’t you aware from the start? Didn’t you consciously agree to join such a fund, fully understanding its terms? No, not at all—and that’s why I say a grand deception was played on us teachers. Let me explain. I’m an educator—I have no background in finance. My duty was to be in the classroom and to teach. There were supposed to be experts who would take the money deducted from my payslip each month—with my consent—and invest it wisely. What was the goal? So that when I retired at fifty, the fund would support me until the end of my life—let’s say until seventy—ensuring I had no financial worries. That was supposed to mean twenty years of post-retirement security. But what has actually happened? Now that I’m retired, they’ve handed me one hundred million tomans and said: “This is your share. Go and enjoy!” Really, what financial knot can this amount untie for a retiree? What’s worse is that when we visit the fund, we see the average staff salary is around fifty million tomans, and some managers receive over 150 million tomans a month. In other words, I, who contributed for twenty years, receive one hundred million tomans in the end; meanwhile, they take home 150 million tomans every single month. And when we dig deeper, we find that high salaries are just the tip of the iceberg. No, the fund is riddled with various types of rent-seeking, financial, and administrative corruption. We ask, “Gentlemen, this massive economic holding—worth at least 500 trillion tomans—was built with our teachers’ money. So what is our share of all this wealth?” Not only do they fail to answer, but they also issue threats, warning that if we make too much noise, the matter will become a “security issue” and there will be consequences.

The truth is, the Teachers’ Reserve Fund has turned into just another one of those thousands of companies, institutions, and funds that are under the control of security and military entities. They’ve turned the fund into a site of plunder for teachers’ assets and hire favored insiders to assure them, “We’ve got your back—just make sure you’ve got ours.” For years, widespread corruption and clear conflicts of interest have plagued the Teachers’ Reserve Fund. But the question remains: Why has no institution stepped in to eliminate these corruptions? Really, why? Is it not because those very judicial and security bodies are themselves partners in this looting? That’s exactly why I say a grand deception has been played on teachers. A deception that will not be undone unless active teachers and retirees themselves take the initiative.

We need to act decisively. This injustice will not be resolved by anything short of widespread presence in the streets. We must rally to sever the hands of these thieves from the Teachers’ Reserve Fund, which is the rightful property of us teachers.