Memories of former political prisoner from dungeons in Iran-Part4

By P. Abdi

The secret of “resistance” and “perseverance”

“Resistance” is the only tool for survival for any political prisoner under a religious despot such as the regime in Iran.
A prisoner is ‘alive” only due to her/his resistance against forced impulsions and torture inflicted on him/her. Mastering this “Art” is the main objective of any “Political Prisoner” for this is the only guarantee that would separate him/her from the opposite side: the torturer.
Prisons under Khomein were so different from any other even that of the Shah. It was Shah’s torturers mandate to neutralize the prisoner or pacify him against all odds under torture.
Under Khomeini, torture is a luxury forfeited by any prisoner who wishes to stay alive. So long as you are the subject of being tortured, there is a guarantee that you are kept alive.
In the world of the mullahs, torture is a blessing to any prisoner a chance to repent – of course satisfying personal egos under the banner of religion have become a 30 year old habit of the mediaeval mullahs of Iran.
The torturers all from the Revolutionary Guards, and today members of the present Majilis and the hierarchy of Tehran elites, had invented 74 kinds of tortured only to serve Mojahedin prisoners.
Resisting such mediaeval tortures is for it self an ideal for prisoners who wish to safeguard their spiritual, moral and political independence. The slightest infringement of this ideal is like going back on one’s self.


Feelings and meanings in prison
In mullah’s dungeons every single meaning and “thing” around you and every development and change to do with you or around you has its meaning and also repercussions.
A smile can mean satisfaction and pride for self honor , it also can be an outside mask for insecurity or submission to force. Your’ daily motions which once never meant so much or were done unconsciously such as your glance at things and people, the way you eat, your daily exercises or even the first instance you may have as you wake up all are pieces of a big puzzle which depict your independence of the torturers or your submission to the butchers and their wishes. It may sound complicated but, it seems like as if each and every move should be calculated with precision bearing in mind that at every corner of this corridor there is a vicious enemy waiting for a chance to penetrate deep with in.
It is a place where there is constant challenge between the GOOD and the BAD. The Evil and the innocent… The butcher and the victim… …At first instance one enters the corridor with the sound of alarming cries of agonizing pain of people under torture, one knows that either one stays firm on principles which have been preserved by hundreds before you or dissolve away into what the butchers wish and not leave any trace of your self , your believes or political identity behind. All of us called this distinction of sides (between good and bad, victim and butcher) as “Sharp red lines” which one should not tress pass.
Most of the times prisoners preserved these “sharp red lines” under agonizing hours and days of torture or solitude. At the end those who conquered the limits of Man’s will and determination “Not to give in” were those who gained self preservation and respect with a deep ins feeling that a new world of duty and responsibility has opened its doors with fresh sets of rules to go by. In simple terms: “to resist” was the secret of existence in those dark dungeons.
This one objective seemed to unite us all in one direction. If all of us had been of a variety of social spectrum and political backgrounds, under such circumstances and under torture by torturers, we had one goal, one objective and one love.
Before being arrested, I always had this syndrome of; “What will happen if I am arrested “and “will I be able to resist pressure and torture?”. Outside prison talking about this seems to be presumptuous; a mere chat or imagination of situation. In prison every word had its relative reality following it. I was not only imagining fear but experiencing it in practice.
For example the feeling of “fear” was more than a just a feeling when one is under torture. It is a reflection of my feeling of anxiety of a mis-happening that I might under pressure compromise or endangering a person I sincerely love or appreciate. So the consequence of caving into ones fear does not on oneself but more likely on those you love. This is the soft point which might bend you and make you kneel before the butcher. There would be an endless battle between you and the butcher over this and that who manages to preserve and consolidate what is so sacred to withhold from the butcher will win this battle. This is when the torturer begs you to give in and whilst it is him who holds the keys and the lashes, it is you who is the worrier and the triumphant.
During these determining moments of struggle under torture, there is “handle” which plays as the source of inspiration and strength to with hold from caving in; the strive to protect the one you love, the one millions appreciate and the goal millions have died for from the butchers.
At that time we had all learned of a new democratic world, in which all are truly equal, where the Universal declaration of Human Rights is truly practiced and where Human dignity is preserved and cherished, where religion is not misplaced and misused for power, where women and men are valued as their Human values rather than their sexes… This world was introduced to us by a 30 year old political activist “Massoud Rajavi”. He had from the start of the 1979 revolution arranged for social political debates and classes in the University inviting everyone to take part with the goal to raise social political level of understanding in the intellectual and middle class sectors of society. He had put forth for all of us all the existing philosophical point of views followed by all contemporary political point of views, leaving us with a wide perspective of choice. He also had singled out the threat of an Islamic state at which time hardly any one could understand.
His classes were welcomed by thousands of youth at the time and became a serious threat for the newly rising Islamic fundamentalist state ruled by Khomeini.
In these classes we learned that we have a long road a head to reach real Democracy .
At that time and as the young revolution was being usurped by “Khomeinists” and his Party of God, a new generation of resistance was being formed with the landmark of “total independence of though and intellect” from the past religious generation. We all loved Massoud because he was the point that pierced fundamentalist ideas and practices being introduced into the country’s constitution by Khomeini.
Millions of the older and less educated sectors of the society believed in Khomeini as the Soul of God! And for this reason, Massouds’ revelations and distinctions in these classes drawing a line between real Islam and an opportunist one used by Khomeini was certainly no good news for the ruling Hierarchy.
Khomini was trying to deceive millions, using hollow democratized speeches, in order to establish a mediaeval Islamic tyranny, and Massoud Rajavi and his friends were standing in his way. The solution for Khomeini was to isolate him from those he loved. This is where Khomeini’s famous fatwa against Mojahedin came to work. From then onwards, thousands were tracked down by thugs, agents and Pasdaran. They were killed, tortured to death and imprisoned. By 1990 it was estimated that 500 000 supporters of Mojahedin and their relatives had been arrested, or disappeared.
This is how the name “Massoud Rajavi” became a symbol used by prisoners to shout out resistance under torture. Most of the times only the name prisoners shouted ‘long live freedom long live Rajavi’ before the nose strangled them only to piece through the fear created by the torturers amongst those watching the hangings. This was their gesture of a last minute devotion to Freedom. This gesture was used by hundreds hanged, tortured or executed to death, because it was a solid display of a movement of a crowd and not an individual. The name “Rajavi” corresponded with “Organized resistance against opportunist fundamentalist khomisnism”, which in it self was a new phenomena yet to be experienced by the world.

‘Mourning Mothers Iran’ Stand with Activist Mothers Worldwide

Elahe Amani with Lys Anzia – Women News Network – WNN



This subtitled (English) video shows the depth of funeral grief of Parvin Fahimi, the mother of slain 19 year old Iranian protester, Sohrab Arabi, as she speaks out against the murder of her son.

A mother protecting her child isn’t anything unique. But in Iran, humanitarian activist mothers are now becoming global icons for human rights causes worldwide. In silent public protest, the ‘Mourning Mothers of Iran,’ known locally in Tehran as the ‘Mothers of Laleh,’ stand together each week, on Saturday evening vigils in Tehran’s Laleh Park.

“I urge all women around the world to show their solidarity with the Committee of Iranian Mothers in Mourning by assembling in parks, in their respective countries, every Saturday between the hours of 7 to 8 p.m., wearing black,” said Nobel Peace Prize Laureate, Shirin Ebadi, in a plea made to women and activists worldwide at a July 25 Iran pro-democracy rally in Amsterdam. Like the infamous “Women in Black,” and the ‘Madres de Plaza de Mayo,’ the Committee of Iranian Mothers use methods of ethics in non-violence to bring attention to the atrocity of their dead children.

Beginning in Jerusalem, in 1988, a group of almost 40 Israeli-Jewish women of conscience formed ‘The Women in Black.’ To make their point, they wore black clothing and stood silent in public protests. They protested against Israeli expansion into the West Bank and Gaza on the heels of the beginning of the 1987 Palestinian intifada. Soon Arab women from the northern region of Israel also joined the Women in Black. The message was asked for “Peace!” Opposing war, injustice, and militarism, Women in Black groups and their affiliates can also be found in Iran, Australia, the UK, Serbia, Japan, South Africa, Italy, Spain, the Netherlands, Belgium, Canada, US, India, Nepal, Uruguay, Argentina and the Philippines, to name a few.

Outside of Jerusalem, 1988 was also a very dark period for Iranian history. In a few summer months, an enormity of crimes against humanity occurred as an overwhelming number of Iranian political prisoners were massacred. This left thousands of Iranian mothers devastated.

According to reports from Amnesty International, 4,500-10,000 Iranian political prisoners were declared killed or missing inside the country that year, over a period that lasted barely two months. After finding out about the death of their loved ones, the families of the victims were not allowed to receive the bodies of their dead. They were also not allowed to hold any funerals. Instead, the held bodies were dumped together in places like Khavaran or what the regime referred to as La’nat-Abad, ‘The Damned Place,’ a cemetery used for burying non-Muslims.

Mass burials at Khavaran were later accidentally discovered by an Armenian priest who had become curious as to why stray dogs kept digging for bones at, what was later determined the location of the mass graves. French-Iranian woman filmmaker, Mehrnoushe Solouki, was held in Evin Prison for nine months as she, too, stumbled on the discovery in 2007.

“The deliberate and systematic manner in which these extrajudicial executions took place may constitute a crime against humanity under international law,” said Human Rights Watch, in 2005. Perhaps of all the crimes against humanity in the last 30 years, the 1988 Iranian mass executions continue to be the most revealing indication of the regime’s contempt and fear of political dissidents.

“In the recent events, the government in Iran has been fabricating reports depicting an incorrect image of what has been going on in the country,” said Ebadi at the July 25, 2009 rally. “They do not want the people to know the truth.”

We may think this kind of protest is new in Iran, but Iranian mothers have always spoken out against violence, disappearance and the torture of their sons and daughters. Prior to the 1979 revolution, only two mothers’ organizations existed in the country. Both were affiliated with underground groups involved in struggles for democracy. They worked in opposition to the monarchy of the Shah’s regime, who’s policies had turned, at the end, to the jailing and torture of intellectuals, feminists, students, and labour union advocates.

“I need to tell my story. No one can stop me. No one!” said Parvin Fahimi, an active member of Mothers for Peace and the mother of slain 19 year old Iranian protester, Sohrab Arabi, said recently in July. “My son had been killed, but they refused to tell me,” she continued.

On July 11, 2009, young Sohrab Arabi was identified as ‘Picture Number 12′ by his older brother at the Shapour Street Police Station in Tehran. He was dead and his family finally knew the truth. He had been missing for 26 days. On the realization, his mother was beside herself with grief.

“Please hear my painful story as a resident of Tehran. I lost my son on Monday 25 of Khordad (15 June) during a peaceful rally that was taking place to protest the election results. With the crowds estimated at a minimum of 3 million, many people were lost and I too lost my son. The mobiles were cut off and I couldn’t reach him – I searched everywhere for him and went back home and found he was not there either so I went back to Azadi Square to keep searching for him. The atmosphere was terrible, so much tear gas everywhere, it felt more like a battle ground and I have been sick ever since with chest problems. I couldn’t find my child and I returned home and together with the sons of my relatives. As we searched every hospital and police station we didn’t get a response. My son did not have his ID card with him; he just had a bit of money on him to go and buy test papers at Enghelab Sqaure to prepare for the university entrance exams coming up…

That night I still did not hear of my son. The next morning when I called 110 (the emergency police call number) they told me to refer to my local police station. I went to the local police station and filed a missing persons report and they started the search process. No one had the guts to tell me than that maybe my son was killed; some people said he was probably arrested and some said he may be injured. I found out that 7 people were killed that day (at the protests) of those, 5 had been identified and 2 had not. The 2 that had not been identified were apparently older. The sons of my family members went to see the 5 that were identified and they confirmed that none of them was Sohrab. I was relieved to hear that and thought that my son was therefore arrested. I knew that he wasn’t injured because I searched every single hospital. I am aware that some hospitals would not give me a clear answer, but others did.

So I headed out for the Revolutionary Court (Evin Prison) to follow up on his arrest. They told me to return home and I told them I couldn’t – I am a Mother – I couldn’t even eat. To this date I have a hard time eating. My throat just closes up. I have kept myself going through liquids only in the past few weeks. I can’t tell you how much time I spent at the Revolutionary Court… if I were to write the story it’d make a very thick book. . .

How can a 19 year old that has yet to sit at the University entrance exams, and has yet to fulfill any one of his dreams, be killed? By whom; and on whose orders; and for what? I ask the City Council, what did my son ask of you? What did he ever ask of the government? What did he ask of his country? …We wanted nothing but peace, tranquility and a freedom of thought – that’s what’s important to us, is that my son thought about whom he voted for and where his vote goes. He didn’t ask for anything else. Just because he was a supporter of Mr. Mousavi, he must be killed? For what crime? On the basis of what guilt? My son was in the prime of his youth, a 19 year old, who never fulfilled his dreams. As a mother, I ask God day and night to put an end to this injustice.”

- Parvin Fahimi, mother of slain protester, Sohrab Arabi
(Partial testimony given during a Tehran City Council
meeting July 23, 2009)

The exact circumstance surrounding the death of Sohrab Arabi continues to be unexplained. According to the International Campaign for Human Rights Iran, when the family received Arabi’s body, his death appeared to be from the result of a gunshot wound to the chest, but no one knows when or where this injury occurred. An official, but inconclusive, report was made by the Coroner on June 19.

The lives of the mothers of missing global activists, who are often called, ‘mothers of the disappeared,’ are often filled with moments of endurance and courage, in spite of the grief they carry. From the mothers of slain reporters working in Iraqi Kurdistan or the Ukraine; to the mothers of missing activist children in Iran or Argentina; the mothers of those who have who have ‘gone missing’ have the same experience over and over again. Mothers worldwide have the same fear, grief, anger and frustration about their dead and missing children.

“I begged the gunmen to kill me instead, and they pushed me away and told me that they wanted her not me,” said Kurdish mother of slain Iraqi journalist, Sara Abdul-Wahab, during a May 2008 Associated Press interview. In spite of her mother’s attempt to save her life, Sarwa was fatally shot twice in the head by kidnappers. Tragically, her mother felt she could do nothing to save her daughter. Sarwa was the only breadwinner for a widowed mother, a sister and brother. She was a strong defender of human rights, a Kurdish lawyer and activist in Iraq, who continued to work in spite of numerous threats against her life.

When Ukrainian Prosecutor, General Mykhaylo Potebenko, issued a statement saying that DNA tests were delayed due to the illness of Lesya Gongadze, the mother of the missing and presumed dead human rights reporter Georgy Gongadze, Leyla grew suspicious. “This is a complete lie and deception,” she told Ukrainska Pravda, the Web newspaper that her son founded. “I wasn’t that sick, not so much as to be unable to give my blood for analysis. I was even insisting on it because I wanted to know the truth,” she added.

For nine year Gongadze case has been rife with confusing facts and government shuffle. Georgy Gogandze’s mother, Lesya Gongadze has been struggling to expose the facts from the moment her son went missing. Faced with the dilemma of not trusting the validity of DNA tests made by the Ukrainian authorities for an unidentifiable body that was found in 2000, Lesya continues to ask questions and demand clarity on the true circumstances surrounding the murder of her son. To date, she has not been satisfied with the answers given her.

Part 3- My first interrogations

My first interrogations – The Smell

Since I arrived, I was blind folded and hand cuffed with a rope. They welcomed me by punches and punts.

I suddenly felt something tearing the air above me on to my back and I suddenly become hot and was burning. It was as if a flood of volcano larva was poured on my back. I was burning and could not breathe.

It was the first time my skin and flesh encountered lashes.

It only took seconds to decide that “No doubt I can bear it till the end”.

One, two, three… ten…twenty…I just lost count and lost track of time and next I was unconscious.

I could not lie down on my back for sometime…

My only crime was to resist illegal arrest because as they had said “they were suspicious of me” and really had nothing against me at the time.

During those days, arbitrary arrests were so customary and numerous that they did not even spend time to clarify the “reasons for arrest”, let alone “charges” concerning the accused.
Those arrested met two destinies: One group were those who were strictly accused on the spot or soon after arrest by their abductors of being members or supporters of Mojahedin Organization of Iran, and the second group were those who were only suspicious and had to be clarified.

The first were tortured and lead to execution squads …and he second group were sent to other prisons for being examined (interrogated and charged in due time- which meant years).

I was transferred to Afsaran club Prison after about a week. I remember this coincided with the start of scholastic year of schools in Iranian known as 1st of May *(Avale mehr).

We witnessed groups of 14to15 year old teenagers being arrested and hassled into prison cells and corridors of the prison. Many of them were not even political, some were merely friends with Mojahedin Scouts, but still were rounded up and brought to these dungeons.

When talking – in certain circumstances with them, it was obvious that the mullahs were fixed to eradicate all contacts of the Mojahedin with the society and wipe their effects off. There were hardly any obvious charges against these teenagers and some very trivial ie; having Mojahedin newspaper when arrested or , having been seen with Mojahedin country scout member (called Militia at the time) or member of family being sympathizer of PMO.

Prison cells were abundantly full, some that were only 3 to 4 meters roomed 25 prisoners. In that small club, I had estimated to be about 150 prisoners fitted in a couple of rooms.

I remember Ahmad Gorgani, notorious torturer in the Afsaran Prison in Rasht , who was famous for being viciously brutal, used to howl excruciatingly “ don’t forget to tell in the future Popular Courts that Gorgani was the butcher here. But now that power is in our hands, we’ll do with you exactly as we please”

A “Prisoner” in mullahs prison is practically a “Captive” . “Captive.” Not as recognized under internationally defined ‘Captive’ whose right is well acknowledges by International covenants and TREATIES.
“Captive” Under definition of the mullahs is no more than a total ‘piece of nothing which is worth nothing and which is to be owned, used and deposed of as wished by its captor”.

In mullahs prisons, the objective of “torture “ is not only to get forced confessions of a single captive and rain his intelligence and knowledge of his co –workers, but to deform him/her of humanity. The extend of which one feels the emptiness and ‘Nothingness’ filling in his soul is the challenge one has to confront every minute in solitude.

The frontiers of veracity have been trespassed by mullahs’ tortures and butchers in the prison.

53rd day of Hunger Strike, women talk of 1000 heroes ...

This clip was taken on the 53rd day of Hunger strike by Ashraf Hostages.! We have to imagine the sort of pressure inflicted on these hostages who have already been tortured!

Les héros enchaînés-1

Recherches sur les prisons du régime des mollahs

Ces recherches ont été effectuée de 1996 à 2001 auprès des familles des exécutés politiques et sur la situation dans les prisons en Iran par l'organisation des Moudjahidine du peuple (OMPI).

Viol

Dans les prisons du régime iranien, il y a eu de nombreux cas de viol de jeunes filles et de femmes en particulier au cours des interrogatoires. Elaheh Daknama, une lycéenne sympathisante des Moudjahidine, arrêtée à Chiraz, a été violée durant sa détention. Après son exécution, quand sa famille a récupéré ses affaires, elle avait écrit sur ses vêtements qu’elle avait été violée à sept reprises.

En plus

Devestating condition of women in Iran under Mullahs!

See the clip

Part 2; My arrest!

It was the ceremony for recent martyrs that we had planned to read the press releases of the Organization and then chant “Down with Khomeini, Hail to Rajavi” and leave the scene immediately as to avoid arrest.

This was my first task and I must admit I was very much anxious as not to give away that I was to do something unprecedented till the day “break the Taboo of the big Supreme Leader who was supposed to be admired by all and whose image was supposed to have come from heaven".
It was exactly like a military operation – not that I was armed in anyway – only that the whole anxiety, the dangers surrounding it was immense and I remember my heart thumping as the thought of my capture and consequence torture occurred in my mind.
It took a few minutes for me to organize my self and resolve my will and take my next steps.
The objective was to break the taboo of fear and terror established by Khomeini only 6 months passing the 1979 uprising.

While I was reviewing my thoughts and my plans as I got close to Sussans house I realized the situation was far more than normal.
There were unusual traffic of cars and plain clothes men around the area.

It was not long that I realized I was in a trap.

I had already prepared myself for this and new what to say if stopped by a Guard.

When I reached the opening of the alley, just a few yards away from Susan’s house, suddenly a plain clothed Guard came out of no where:

“Give me your bag” he said.
I replied casually “Why?”.
He said “we
are suspicious of you”.
“Of course there you are” I replied calmly and
casually and gave him the bag.

While he was searching the bag I swallowed the statement I was carry.
It was a big lump and was not so easy to swallow and tears gathered in my eyes as I was pretending that I was only observing the guard.

In no time a swarm of Guards surrounded me and insisted that I should go with them to the Station.
I did not want to go with them since that would mean death, so I begun howling and screaming for help.

All my efforts finally attracted the neighbors and people were drawn to our spot.

One neighbor peeped out and shouted at the RGC saying that they had not right to take me away and another came up and kept explaining to the guards that she knew me from before and that I had done nothing wrong.

I used the space provided and asked her for a glass of water- to wash away the piece of paper stuck in my throat.

While he guards were explaining to the crowd a heavy built one grabbed my arms and tried to push me into a car that had driven next to us.

I shouted and pushed him away and this brought much reaction in the crowed.
People begun mediating and asking for my release.
Suddenly the guards’ opened fire and the next I knew I was pushed into the car and surrounded by heavy built Guards who were at the same time grabbing me to the seat.

The situation was extremely antagonizing, I started kicking to get some space or even try to open the car door to jump outside, but this was met with harsher reaction:

One guard stuck me in the face and pushed his elbow into my throat as to nearly suffocate me. In order to gasp for air, I bit his arm with all the strength left in me and this gave me some room. His outcry ande momentarily release of my throat gave me a few seconds to take a look at where we were going; I recognized Farhang square.

I thought to myself “ It may be the last time I am seeing these places and the people on the streets”…

To be Continued ...