“Lala, look at this circus!” Nasser al-Din said, slamming his hand on the table.
“There are more than a dozen different silver and gold coin designs floating around our local markets.” “How are we supposed to kickstart an economic recovery with a disaster like this?” Naser al-Din pointed to the messy pile of coins scattered across his desk, completely blown away by the Qajar dynasty’s currency disaster.
In Tabriz alone, merchants traded with over ten varieties of silver coins and five types of gold coins.
To make matters worse, weights and measures shifted from one town to the next, leaving the entire monetary system in utter shambles.
No wonder local commerce was completely dying under such a chaotic mess.
“It gets even worse, Your Highness,” Amir Kabir replied, shaking his head.
“I finished my investigation around Tabriz, and while we addressed the merchants’ main complaints, foreign dumping is only half the problem.” “Crooked tax officials are lining their pockets with the rest.” Amir laid out his findings without holding anything back.
Even with his knowledge of modern economics, the sheer level of corruption inside the Qajar administration left him speechless.
Nearly 40 million rubles worth of foreign merchandise flooded into Persia through Azerbaijan every single year.
Even with a modest 5% import tariff, the state treasury should collect at least 2 million rubles.
Yet corrupt customs agents handed over a paltry 1 million rubles to the treasury, quietly pocketing the rest for themselves.
Meanwhile, centrally appointed finance ministers wielded massive unchecked authority across the provinces.
Together with their corrupt assistants, they set provincial tax quotas based on whatever regional estimates suited them.
Local leaders routinely bribed these central officials to slap artificially low tax quotas on their districts.
That way, local elites kept the surplus for themselves while buying official central backing to crush any local business rivals.
They extorted money under endless fake pretexts, deploying brute force against commoners, all while claiming they acted on orders from Tehran.
“Damn those parasites,” Nasser al-Din swore, his blood boiling.
“If this were any functional empire, every single one of them would be swinging from a gallows by now!” He was disgusted by these crooked officials who bled the state dry, knowing they were the main bottleneck dragging Iran into the mud.
“So, Your Highness, how do you plan to handle these people?” Amir asked, watching the prince closely.
Nasser al-Din gritted his teeth, his eyes cold.
“They deserve to die!” If these corrupt elites weren’t eliminated root and stem, none of Naser al-Din’s new policies would ever work.
Worst of all, their greed left the nation wide open for foreign powers to slice up at will.
Just as Nasser al-Din was fuming, the messenger he sent to summon the local Maragheh tribal chief for tax collection staggered back into the residence.
The man looked horrific.
Nasser al-Din rushed downstairs to meet him, only to stop dead in his tracks.
The messenger’s face was covered in dried blood, and both of his ears had been cleanly sliced off.
Naser al-Din stepped closer, his jaw tight as he stared at his mutilated officer.
Seeing his own soldier brutalized like a dog was a slap in the face he couldn’t ignore.
“Damn those bastards…” Nasser al-Din hissed through clenched teeth.
“Lala, if I march our new army to Maragheh right now, do you think we can wipe them off the map?” Amir knew this mutilation was a direct, violent challenge to the governor’s royal authority.
Still, military operations required cool heads and professional evaluation.
“Your Highness, we must let the general evaluate our battle readiness first.” Even in 1845, Azerbaijan remained crawling with semi-independent vassal tribes who ruled their fiefdoms like rogue warlords.
They squeezed local peasants dry and openly defied provincial laws.
If Naser al-Din wanted total control over Azerbaijan, these tribal chieftains had to be removed.
“Since we can’t risk an all-out military gamble just yet, let’s try a different trick,” Naser al-Din said, a dark smirk forming on his face.
“Let’s invite all those tribal chiefs to Tabriz for a diplomatic feast.” “We’ll have a very thorough chat to get them to stop opposing us.” Amir didn’t know the exact details of the prince’s scheme, but he could tell something huge was about to go down.
Without asking further, he dispatched formal invitations to the regional chieftains, informing them that the Governor-General cordially invited them to a royal banquet in Tabriz.
Just as Amir finished sending the messengers, a guard stepped into the hall.
“My Lord, a group of young men has arrived at the gates, claiming they urgently need to see the Governor.” Amir assumed they were just like the bazaar merchants from a few days ago, coming to voice another protest.
He had them brought inside anyway, curious to hear what they wanted.
Sadeq and his group stepped into the governor’s mansion, holding their heads high as they tried to look confident.
Soleyman walked right beside him, ready to back up their wild pitch for European study grants.
“Are you young men here to stage a protest as well?” Amir asked, leaning forward on his chair.
“My Lord, our homeland is facing an unprecedented existential crisis,” Sadeq spoke up, bowing respectfully.
“We wish to travel to Europe to study modern sciences and statecraft, but none of us have the funds.” “We came to ask if His Highness the Governor might grant us financial backing for our education.” While the Qajar court had occasionally sent isolated students abroad in past decades, this was the first time young commoners had voluntarily marched up to request study grants.
Amir took the matter seriously and eyed the young men intently.
“Are you boys truly prepared for what it means to study in the West?” “My Lord, our country is standing on the edge of a cliff,” Sadeq answered without hesitation.
“Russia has seized northern Azerbaijan and Armenia.” “Oman has taken over our southern ports with British backing.” “Even the Ottomans are waiting like vultures, ready to invade and pillage our wealth at a moment’s notice.” “If we sit by and do nothing, Persia will cease to exist.” “Even the Ottoman Empire launched sweeping reforms to modernize,” Sadeq continued, his voice filled with passion.
“We refuse to watch our nation fall behind, and we want to do our part to save it!” The young men bubbled over with patriotic fire.
They were eager to embrace modern Western ideas, yet deeply terrified of watching their country collapse into a foreign colony.
They desperately craved something new to pull Persia out of the dark ages.
“Listen to me, young men,” Amir said, his voice softening with stern affection.
“Traveling to Europe is no casual holiday trip.” “You will be far away from your families, facing unfathomable hardships and prejudice in a foreign land.” “Can you truly handle that weight?” “You have no need to doubt us, My Lord!” Sadeq declared proudly.
“Every single one of us is ready.” “We are prepared to lay down our lives for Persia!” Listening to their fierce dedication, a wave of relief washed over Amir, making him feel that Persia still had a fighting chance after all.
He agreed to support their request on the spot.
He told them he needed to present the details to the governor first, promising that if the prince refused, he would pay for their European tuition out of his own private pocket.
Standing behind the privacy screen, Naser al-Din had overheard the entire exchange.
Young people were always like this—full of wild energy and eager to ignite real change.
Since these boys had the guts to ask for study grants, he saw no reason to turn them down.
“Lala, you heard everything, didn’t you?” Amir said as Naser al-Din stepped out from behind the screen.
“I did,” Naser al-Din smiled warmly, looking at his mentor.
“I honestly thought I was fighting this battle all by myself, but it turns out there are plenty of brave young men ready to stand in the trenches with us.” Naser al-Din felt a surge of pride.
If these young commoners were stepping up, then as the youngest governor in Persia, he had to work twice as hard to lead them.
“Go meet with Consul Stevens and figure out how much it’ll cost to send these boys to Europe,” Naser al-Din instructed.
“Send them to top universities in England and France to master modern science, engineering, and law.” “The moment they return, bring them straight into our provincial administration—we desperately need educated talent like them right now.” Nasser al-Din laid out his instructions as they walked down the corridor.
Sending bright young minds to study in Europe was about to become a cornerstone of his modernization drive.
Of course, grand reform plans required massive cash reserves, and without money, everything was just hot air.
Over at the newly established state carpet factory, Amir’s workers were weaving around the clock to fill incoming orders.
They had already secured £25,000 worth of purchase contracts directly from European buyers.
Thanks to the governor’s direct backing, this state factory didn’t get crushed under the weight of foreign imports like the old private workshops.
Even though the road ahead was long and treacherous, Naser al-Din’s Azerbaijan province was already transforming into the most progressive region in all of Iran.
Local peasant farmers enjoyed lighter tax burdens than anywhere else in the empire.
A new class of forward-thinking landowners was emerging, investing capital into state workshops and switching from crop-based rents to cash payments.
While traditional textile industries across other provinces collapsed under foreign competition, Tabriz’s textile and carpet manufacturing held the line, fighting through the economic storm to export native Persian goods to the world.