‘Errors of Scale’: The Story of Tehran’s Abbasabad Lands

Aerial photo of Abbasabad hills in 1975, showing the development of a dense residential fabric around the site. Source: Llewelyn-Davies International, 1976, Farshid Emami (2014).

‘Errors of Scale’: The Story of Tehran’s Abbasabad Lands
Ahmadreza Hakiminejad

Published on Konesh Space

From cosmos to atom, what is going to be the reference to scaling cities? This is in fact a very old query. Aristotle in his Politics, argues that many people think that a city “in order to be happy ought to be large; but even if they are right, they have no idea what is a large and what a small” city1. Referring to the city’s size of population in ancient Greece, the philosopher was not so fond of a city made up of what he called “too few persons”. For him, creating a “too populous” one did not seem to be a good idea either: “it is difficult – perhaps impossible – for a city that is too populous to be well managed”1. The fact is that the word scale is obscure. The linguistics of the word is arbitrary. “It is simultaneously finite and infinite”2. It is far too abstract. It needs to be defined and tamed. Referring to the book Powers of Ten: A Book About the Relative Size of Things in the Universe (1982) by Philip and Philys Morison and the Office of Charles and Ray Eames3, Timothy Makower2 suggests that normative dimensions of the human body like “average height, arm’s length, span and pace”, can be realized as a kind of gauge with which we can relate to the world around us, as, according to Morrisons, “the world at arm’s length – roughly one meter in scale, is the world of most artefacts.”3 

Misjudgement of scale is a commonplace practice when it comes to city design. In his book Touching the City: Thoughts on Urban Scale (2014) Makower uses the phrase ‘errors of scale’ where he writes about Le Corbusier’s Plan Voisin of 1925; a ‘demented’ plan – as Alain de Botton puts it, aimed to plough one of the most important historic fabrics of central Paris; Le Marais, and replace it with, what the architect himself called it, “huge” cruciform “blocks of offices” served by vast thoroughfares – mainly a 120 metre-wide central highway, gigantic parks and low-rise apartment blocks.4 Its figure-ground plan says it all: the genius architect yet disastrous planner, did not have a clue about what he was doing to the city. It was a crude geometry of rationality engendered by the powerful machine of the Modern against the organic wills of the old city; it was literally an act of sweeping the problem (of a squalid neighbourhood) under the carpet, rather than actually resolving it. It was a “car-focused vision” in which the architect “simply misjudged distances and the proportions of spaces needed to create a comfortable urban environment.”In the following lines, through a sociohistorical narrative, I would argue that why this wisely-put phrase of Makower: ‘errors of scale’ fits well with the ongoing colossal urban planning project that has been shaping some 600 hectares of piece of land in northern Tehran, Iran’s capital city.  

Plan Viosin, Paris, 1925. Source: Foundation Le Corbusier (2018)

In the eleventh century, Tehran appeared as a small village in north of the ancient city of Ray which was at the time, the capital of Seljuk Empire.5 Through centuries, the tiny village witnessed the ruin of the flourishing neighbouring city. Ray shrank and Tehran began to grow. It was in 1553 that the village started to realize cityness5; home to 1,000 inhabitants6, built herself a bazaar and a defensive “square-shaped” city wall with four gates.It took the town more than some 200 years to, eventually, be declared as the capital of Persia in 1786 under the reign of Qajar dynasty (reg. 1779–1925).

In the nineteenth century Tehran, outside the city walls to the north, there was an arid village surrounded by gardens of Shemiran and oases of DawoodiehQasr-e Qajar and Yousefabad.8 The village lands belonged to Abbas-qoli Khan who was close to the royal court of Qajar. In the 1840s, Mollah Abbas Iravini (aka. Haj Mirza Aqasi); a close relative of Abbas-qoli Khan and also Sadr-e Azam (Prime Minister) of Mohammad Shah Qajar (r. 1834–1848), built in there a garden compounded with a mansion. It was known later, after his forename, as Abbasabad. In the late Qajar era, these lands were yet in possession of the elite and aristocrats, namely Mostowfi ol-Mamalek – the prime minister of Qajar’s last king; Ahmad Shah (r. 1909–1925) – and, Muhammad Hassan Amin al-Zarb who was a well-known entrepreneur and one of the richest men9 in the late nineteenth century Persia.8 In the nineteenth century, the West wind began to blow in the Iranian plateau. Then, the Modern came along. The ‘foreign’ became even more familiar. The kings of Qajar hallucinated by the wind, did let the country turn into a playground, or say, battleground of the rival colonial powers of Russia and Britain. In 1868, when the city’s population was only a little less than 150,000, Tehran exercised a major transformation.10 The old walls were brought down and a brand new octagonal fortification encompassing twelve gates was introduced. With itself, the wind brought the capital not only “new streets, a bank, an institute of technology, a hospital, a telegraph house, hotels and European-style shops”11, but also a socio-political unrest which led to the Constitutional Revolution in the early twentieth century (1906–1911).

Following the rise of Reza Shah Pahlavi to power (r. 1925–1941) and in the wake of his ambitious plans for modernization and secularization, the capital went through yet another major intervention in the 1930s.10 The Qajar city walls were torn down. The automobile was no longer a strange thing. The word traffic became a reality as new avenues and motorways were blatantly tearing the historic fabric of the city apart.10 The capital was soon introduced to parks and cinemas, secular schools and universities, new administrative buildings, public landmarks and statues.12 It was indeed, as Talinn Grigor puts it, “a period of rapid and radical reform” which resulted in rural-urban migration on massive scale, and therefore, a substantial population growth: 310,000 inhabitants were recorded residing in the capital in 1932. 

Amid these rapid scenes of change in the early Pahlavi era, Bank-e Falahat (Agriculture Bank of Iran) acquired ownership of Abbasabad. In 1952, parts of the lands was devolved to the army. During the 1950s and 60s, some parts were also distributed between the Plan and Budget Organization (PBO), Bank-e Rahni-ye Iran (Iran Mortgage Bank, now known as Bank-e Maskan), and Agriculture Bank’s employees with a share of 200 to 900 sqm plots of lands. In 1969, due to its now, peculiar location in the city, the Economic Council of the PBO approved the acquisition of Abbasabad lands by facilitating bonds to be paid to private landowners.8 This was when the city – now with more than 3 million inhabitants, stretched towards the north to surround the hills of Abbasabad creating a giant void within a dense urban fabric. 

Tehran expansion from 1850s to 1970s, Source: Ali Madanipour (2010)19

Eventually, in June 1971, Abbasabad Lands Development Plan Act passed by both Houses of the National Assembly and the Senate. Despite its actual existence for almost three years, Abbasabad Development Corporation was officially established by Tehran Municipality in December 1974, to implement and oversee the development of the site.8 It was around that time – only a few years before his reign comes to an end –– that Mohammad Reza Pahlavithe last king of Iran (r. 1941-1979), dreamed of a new urban centre for his capital to be superciliously named Shahestan Pahlavi (literally means the City of Shah Pahlavi). Abbasabad Lands was perfectly suited. As a result, in January 1976, the Abbasabad Development Corporation was turned into Shahestan Pahlavi Development Corporation to fulfil the aspirations of the ambitious king.  

Ignoring what the 1969 master plan of the capital – drawn up jointly by Victor Gruen Associates and Abdol-Aziz Farmanfarmaian Planners and Architects – had aimed for the Abbasabad district, the Shah even rejected the Tehran Municipality’s plan of 1971 for his dreamland. In October 1973, renowned architects of the time, Kenzo Tange and Luis I. Kahn were commissioned by Farah Pahlavi (the then Queen of Iran), to prepare a proposal for Abbasabad.13 They cooked up two ‘drastically different’ dishes to serve the royal court. While Tange’s plan, from the top, recalls a giant spaceship in a sci-fi movie just landed on Mars, Kahn’s proposal remains calm and classic. Kahn dies in March 1974 and Tange carries on incorporating the two schemes. Shah rejects the outcome. At last, in late 1974, the Shah favours the preliminary concept proposed by the British planning firm, Llewelyn-Davies International (LDI).13 Upon its approval, a team of 50 architects and planners gathered under the directory of Jaquelin T. Robertson, the New York architect, to produce the master plan of Shahestan Pahlavi; “the largest planned city centre in the world” made up of five million square metres of floor space on a 554 hectares of open land.13

Left: Tehran Municipality’s proposal for Abbasabad. Middle: Louis Kahn’s proposal.  Right: Kenzo Tange’s proposal. Sourse: Farshid Emami (2014)

Reading the master plan of Shahestan, it depicts two boulevards stretching from south to north, erecting blocks of banks, hotels, shopping malls, museums, government ministries and state departments, and luxurious apartment buildings.13 The main three-lined King Boulevard; “a ceremonial parade route”, lined with mostly residential towers, leads to a vast ‘ceremonial’ plaza, to be called ‘Shah and Nation Square’. It was to accommodate museums and galleries, the City Theatre, Pahlavi National Library, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the so-called Pahlavi Monument which – according to the 1976 “propagandist” consultancy report of LDI, was “a monument to his Imperial Majesty the Shahanshah, and to the Pahlavi dynasty, in the form of a 30 metre high freestanding portal” […] “His Majesty the Shahanshah will be able to review major ceremonial events, such as national parades” […] “At this monument, visiting dignitaries and VIPs will be able to pay their respects to Iran’s past”.13

Although the aerial view of the model does not suggest anything extraordinary and it symbolizes yet another corporate machine of mass planning, one cannot call it an entirely bad plan; considering its relatively successful geometrical adaptation to the existing urban fabric (specifically from the south) and the way it tames the growingly juvenile freeways within and around the site. However a critic argued that it is nothing but only a “more proportionate, regularized version of the mediocre plan” proposed by the Tehran Municipality in 1971.13 

The 30-metre monument and the grand ‘ceremonial’ plaza were, not only architecturally, but also socially and politically scaled. The Shah was dreaming of building a grand façade to expose a modern, secular and progressive society while simultaneously, his oppressive SAVAK (Shah’s secret police founded in 1957) was in full swing. This was also when the actual centre of the city; the old core, was deteriorating. Ghettos were mushrooming, predominantly across the southern parts of the town. Many neighbourhoods were suffering from the poor living conditions. Shahestan Pahlavi was no solution to this convoluted situation as its agenda, according to the LDI report, was to address the needs of the residents of northern Tehran who were “much more affluent than the average Tehrani”.13

Left: Plan view of Shahestan Pahlavi. Right: View towards the north overseeing The King Boulevard. Source: Emami (2014)

Shah and Nation Square. Source: Llewelyn-Davies International, 1976, Emami (2014)

The dream of the Shahestan never became a reality. The late 1970s socio-political unrest led to the fall of the Shah. After the Islamic Revolution of 1979, the LDI plan was halted and, according to Abbasabad Development Company, “only a 30-hectare parkland” (today known as Taleghani Park) remained intact on the peak of the hills which is now used by the public.8 In 1983, the then president of Iran, Sayyid Ali Khamenei, and Ali Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani (the then head of the parliament) suggested that part of Abbasabad Lands to be allocated for the Grand Musalla of Tehran (now known as Imam Khomeni Musalla).8 As a result, a 63-hectare piece of land in the southern side of the site was designated for the never-ending construction of Musalla. In addition to this, 141 hectares of lands were dedicated to the Byte Rahbari (Office of the Supreme Leader), and also 34 organizations and government ministries enjoyed a share of nearly two hectares.8 In a letter dated April 26, 1986, addressed the Mayor of Tehran, the then president writes that he should be informed about “any sort of interference in the lands of the [Abbasabad] region” and he suggests that the lands “should be allocated for the long-term cultural, political and also green space developments.”The revolutionary government’s desire for this relatively untouched piece of land, was no less than that of the late king.

Location of the Abbasabad Lands in Today’s Tehran. The octagonal highlight depicts the 19th century city walls of Qajar.

Boundaries of Abbasabad Lands, as it stands today within the city fabric. Source: Goggle Map (2018)

By the end of the gory and grisly decade of 1980s, the country tried to pull herself together. The capital was no exception. Abbasabad Lands went through four phases of planning getting seven consultancies involved in the process. Its first post-revolutionary master plan was drawn and passed in 1998, revised in 2001 and 2004, and ultimately, the Comprehensive Plan of Abbasabad Lands drawn up by Naqsh-e Jahan Pars was approved in 2005, under the High Council of Architecture and Urban Planning.8 Allocating the promised 63 hectares of lands for the Musalla, the master plan gives the authority of ‘559 hectares’ (nearly double the size of the City of London) to the Abbasabad Development Company.14 But the hills of Abbasabad did not remain totally untouched while they have been busy drawing its master plan. During the years, the site was invaded by four freeways; cut through and around the hills, ‘leaving deep scars’, tearing it apart from both within and outside. This created seven fragmentary islands surrounded by a sea of asphalts. As noted, a grand mosque was already decided to be built in southern part. To the west of the Musalla, a 13.5-hectare piece of land became a bus terminal (Bayhaqi Bus Terminal established in 1992). Towards the north of the Musalla, a huge chunk have become home to what is now known as the Imam Khomeini Complex, containing parastatal propagandistic apparatuses such as Sadra Islamic Philosophy Research Institute, the Supreme Council of the Quran, Hosseinieh al-Zahra, , Islamic Culture and Relations Organization and so on. As the official website of the latter declares, it aims at: “creating and expanding knowledge, interest and belief in ‘pure’ Islam, the Islamic Revolution, […] and the Islamic-Iranian culture and civilization in other societies, so as to spread the light of Islam and strengthen the Islamic, religious and spiritual ties.”15 Abbasabad that once was to become an entity for a political manifestation in the context of the built form, now became, to some extent, an actual locus of an ideological power.

Plan view of the model for the 2005 Abbasabad Master Plan designed by Naqsh-e Jahan Pars. Source: Naqsh-e Jahan Pars (2005)

In the meantime, five gargantuan governmental towers – including The Ministry of Road and Urban Developments, The Railways of the Islamic Republic of Iran, Bank Sepah, Tehran Provincial Government, and Ports and Maritime Organization of Iran – were mushroomed throughout the west parts. Not to mention the construction of the office blocks belonged to the Islamic Revolution Mostazafan Foundation which interestingly, still owns 130 hectares of the lands.16 This was literally the situation: the powerful state agencies and government organisations grabbed pieces of lands and built in there, whatever they desired. 

As the south of the site became the location of power, the north parts likely to be used by members of the public. Towards the northeastone of the seven islands, covering a total area of 100 hectares – which is nearly a third the size of the City of London – accommodates six gigantic buildings with nearly 830,000 square metres of floor space; all served with a poorly-accessible metro station. The premises include the National Library of Iran (97,000 sqm), the Academies of the Islamic Republic of Iran (68,000 sqm), The Islamic Revolution and ‘Holy Defence’ Museum (42,000 sqm), Tehran Book Garden (65,000 sqm), Garden-Museum of the Central Bank of Iran (106,000 sqm), and the Atlas Plaza (450,000 sqm17). These buildings dispersed on a vast land on the top of the hills of Abbasabad surrounded by freeways from east, north and south, are yet to become the “cultural heart of the capital”. One could say that the antiquated notion of zoning cities is yet to be practised in full swing in here. Each and every building project seems like a remote island. The buildings themselves; a bunch of free-standing, isolated structures disintegrated by the vast boulevards, barely be able to make a dialogue with each other. Filling a 100-hectare piece of land with a mere six buildings and trying to knit them together tirelessly and indeed idly, with the overly-designed so-called “conceptual gardens” has made nothing but a ludicrous mishmash of the masses and spaces. One of those “conceptual gardens” (which is now under construction) is Bagh-e Honar (Garden of Art); a jumble of nine small buildings – ‘small’ according to the Abbasabad Lands dictionary of course – spreading throughout a 47,000 sqm piece of land including House of Poetry, House of Music, House of Architecture, Artists’ Club, Art Workshops, the Central Mansion (Kooshk-e Markazi) and so on. Walking between these buildings is profoundly uncomfortable. One feels lost and weary. It feels like walking through a temporary Expo site, or perhaps an Olympic Park which should be large enough to host hundreds of thousands of people within a short period of time. I do not tend to object to the indispensability of making places of culture and spaces of gathering; a lack of which, in fact, is what Iran’s capital suffers from. The fact is that the flâneur, never, ever comes across these public buildings. And this is actually true for the whole site of the Abbasabad Lands. Not to mention the destructive role of the existing highways which practically makes a tranquil accessibility to the site almost impossible. These buildings are apparently within the city but outside of it. The spatial organisation of these projects and the way their masses have been mounted to the site, have produced an out-of-scale environment which has lost its taste of integrity and connectivity. It utterly neglected the urban fabric surrounding it. It reminds one the Makower’s words when describing the Plan Voisin: they “simply misjudged distances and the proportions of spaces needed to create a comfortable urban environment.” The very topographical nature of the Lands with the vipers of asphalt lashing around it, suggests no more than two scenarios: either leave it as it is and plant something on it, or if you will to intervene, then intervene properly!

An Expo look-alike site! A view of Tehran Book Garden, looking north. Photograph: Mohammad Shah Hosseini, ArchDaily, 2017

Banal architecture! Computer Aided Design, aerial view of the Garden of Art. Source: abbasabad.tehran.ir (2018).

A view towards the Garden of Art depicting the under-construction Khaneye Naqsh in the north-west. Source: abbasabad.tehran.ir (2018)

When the 2005 master plan was born, most of the projects had either been planned or were under construction. Even a few had been inaugurated. One can say that it arrived too late. The master plan consists of a grand south-north visual axis of pedestrianized space that leaves the rest of the site largely for the public gardens and parks, suggesting that no more than 6.8% of the lands to be built. To integrate and unify the already fragmented site, it comes up with an absurd solution; it introduces two gigantic rectangular platforms which are pedestrian overpasses (one roughly four hectares and the other about one hectare), connecting the Musalla on the south to the Haghani metro station on the farthest north. Between these two overpasses it defines a colossal plaza to which the consultancy report refers as The City Grand Square which has an area of roughly 12 hectares. Its geometrical effort to be merged into the Musalla recalls the Naqsh-e Jahan Square of Isfahan – however in a rather disproportionate manner – where the rectangular maydān meets the angled Shah Mosque. It seems that Abbasabad desires grandiose. For the site is too large to be easily tamed. The Grand Square; an extremely enormous open air public space to be lain within an open land, conveys a manifestation of taking revenge on a city which is an oasis of cars and a paradise of highways; a city with a serious lack of public space. The Grand Square, ironically seats on a large piece of land which is highly significant to the core of Iranian power (where the Imam Khomeini Complex stands today). It asks – perhaps desperately – for the demolition and relocation. The point is that the Abbasabad Development Company has never been powerful enough to be able to fully implement the approved plan. For instance, two new projects erected in recent years to the north violated the plan with consideration to their heights, built-up area and their uses. One is the abovementioned Atlas Plaza; a colossal mixed-use development with its twin towers and a massive shopping mall. The other is the Garden-Museum of the Central Bank of Iran which has indeed transformed the semantical history of the word ‘garden’ and put the architectural vocabulary in such pain to describe its style. It was initially planned to be a place to display the national jewellery treasury of Iran sitting on a Persian Garden, instead appeared as a huge building erecting a tall, bulky glass box of offices. In fact what we see here is only the tip of the iceberg. In recent years, the pseudo-private companies with strong links to the unquestionable labyrinths of power have become the key role players in the process of development of the capital. They are literally beyond the government and the law.

A view of the so-called Garden-Museum of the Central Bank of Iran towards the Musalla. Source: www.jalkeh.com

A view from the Book Garden towards the National Library, Photo by Amir Hakiminejad, 2018

A car-focused vision! View looking north along the boulevard passing through the Garden-Museum of the Central Bank on the left and the Academies Complex on the right. Photo by Amir Hakiminejad, 2018

The architecture of the Big became the characteristics of the Abbasabad Lands architectural language. One of the Bigs is Pole Tabiat (the Nature Bridge); an imposing, ostentatious, monstrous pedestrian bridge spanning over a highway, which connects two public parks of Abo Atash and Taleghani on the northwest of the site. The roughly 7,700 sqm footbridge, with a length of 270 metres and a width of 6 to 13 metres, was the result of a 2008 vaguely-processed design competition which asked for a symbolic form of architecture that is not a mere overpass, but instead, a place to stop, sit and stroll. One can contend that the controversial statement made by the Dutch architect, Rem Koolhaas – who is himself a maestro of Bigness – seems to be a factual statement when it meets the Nature Bridge: “the ‘art’ of architecture is useless in Bigness.”18 Tabiat Bridge is literally an urban public space floating over a highway. It is indeed, an ironic metaphor of Tehran; a heaven of cars condemned to hang its most symbolic public space over a freeway.

The monster. A view of the Nature Bridge from the Abo Atash Park. Photograph: Mahsa Alami Fariman, 2017

Massive inaccessible greenery! A view from the Nature Bridge looking south, putting Modarres Highway and the Musalla into perspective. Photograph: Mahsa Alami Fariman, 2017

Speaking of Bigness, among many, there is Tehran Book Garden which is possibly one of the largest of its kind in the world. Disregarding the interior design of its main hall which has an air of an airport passenger terminal, one may argue over the socio-political facets of a project like Tehran Book Garden. Opening a grand book centre in a city that the written words are relentlessly censored and the books’ circulation has been abridged to 500, is distracting. In a city in which lamenting over the “lack of the budget” is a commonplace scene of its local authorities, instead of creating this extravagant mimicry called Tehran Book Garden – there is a mania for calling everything a ‘garden’ in this site – the money could have been spent, for instance, on the regeneration of the Enghelab Street which has been, for many years, the heart of Iran’s publishing industry.

The main lobby of Tehran Book Garden with an air of an airport terminal! Photograph: Ali Daghigh, 2017. 

As I write, the official website of the Abbasabad Lands, amazingly offers a cartoonish three-dimensional map in which it depicts the site of Abbasabad lying on a grassland on top a huge rock, floating in the sky. It is perhaps twisting around the planet earth looking for Tehran to land in. This extraordinary metaphoric visualization of the Abbasabad Lands is indeed, precise. It genuinely, although unintentionally, shows how disintegrated it is with the actual being of the city. This is perhaps too late but worth telling; the whole site could have simply been seen as the Central Park of the city, with almost twice the size of that of New York; a national landmark park with an air of a natural woodland – something analogous to the existing Taleghani Park – rather than being a jungle of banal architecture popping up in the middle of nowhere with overly-designed phony gardens and parks. Looking back at the 1975 aerial photograph of the Abbasabad Lands, it depicts an extraordinary canvas, revealing a carte blanche carved into the city fabric; a wannabe utopia; a giant vacant urban space destined to become an utter failure of city design. The urban language of the Abbasabad Lands conveys, not only how misjudgement or, say, misunderstanding of the scale may lead to a disaster, but also how the acts of a chaotic and weak urban management system can painfully be irretrievable for many years and decades. A city like Tehran with a myriad of convoluted challenges could have not borne yet another mistake in such huge scale. Trial and error should have not been on the table for that city. We need to question the authorities, planners, architects and all those who have been involved in shaping this essential part of Tehran. We need to ask why those who live in this city and they apparently are called citizens, have utterly no say whatsoever in the process. In a word, we need to turn the page and question the Iran’s orthodox urbanism. There should be a political will for a bold and dramatic change in the obsolete and inefficient urban managerial structure of this country. This is an absolute prerequisite for any further development.

Abbasabad floating in the sky! Source: abbasabad.tehran.ir (2018)


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2. Makower, T. (2014) Touching the City: Thought on Urban Scale. Sussex, UK: John Wiley & Sons.
3. Morrison, P., Morrison, P. and the Office of Charles and Ray Eames. (1982) Powers of Ten: a book about the relative size of things in the universe and the effect of adding another zero. Redding, Connecticut: Scientific American Library.
4. FLC: Foundation Le Corbusier (2018) Plan Viosin, Paris, France, 1925. [Online]. Available at: www.fondationlecorbusier.fr
5. Lockhart, L. (1960) Persian Cities. Luzac, London.
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7. Madanipour, A. (2011) Sustainable development, urban form and megacity governance and planning in Tehran. In: Sorensen, A. and Okata, J. (eds.), Megacities; Urban Form, Governance and Sustainability. New York: Springer, pp.67–91.
8. Abbasabad Development Company (2018) Tarikhche-ye Arazi-ye Abbasabad (History of Abbasabad Lands). [Online]. Available at: www.abasabad.tehran.ir.
9. Shireen Mahdavi, S. (2011) Haj Muhammad Hassan Amin al-Zarb: His World and His Philosophy of Life, Middle Eastern Studies 47(2), pp. 379–393.
10. Madanipour, A. (2006) Urban planning and development in Tehran. Cities 23(6), pp.433–438.
11. Curzon, G. (1892) Persia and the Persian Question. Longmans Green, London.
12.rigor, T. (2009) Building Iran. Modernism, Architecture, and National Heritage under the Pahlavi Monarchs, New York: Periscope.
13. Emami, F. (2014) ‘Urbanism of Grandiosity: Planning a New Urban Centre for Tehran (1973–76)’, International Journal of Islamic Architecture, 3(1), pp. 69–102, doi: 10.1386/ijia.3.1.69_1
14. Naghsh-e Jahan Pars (2005) Sanad-e Rahbordiye Tarhe Jame Araziye Abbasabad, 1384 (Abbasabad Lands Comprehensive Plan, 2005). Tehran: Naghsh-e Jahan pars Consulting Engineers.
15. Islamic Culture and Relations Organization (2018) Introduction to the Organization. [Online]. Available at: www.icro.ir
16. Donyaye Eghtesad newspaper (2018) Reclaiming 130 hectares of the Abbasabad LandsDonyaye Eghtesad.12 April 2018, [Online]. Available at:
17. The official website of the project’s developer: Iranian Atlas (2018) Atlas Plaza. [Online]. Available at: www.iranianatlas.ir
18. Koolhaas, R. (1995) Bigness or the problem of Large, Monacelli Press, New York, 1995.
19. Madanipour, A. (2010) The limits of scientific planning: Doxiadis and the Tehran Action Plan. Planning Perspectives. 25(4), pp. 485–504.

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