Imprisoned in Evin
The car speeded north toward the Alborz Mountains. After about half an hour, in the pale moonlight, I saw the snake-like walls of Evin zigzagging across the hills. A dull pain filled my stomach and spread into my bones. We entered a narrow, winding street, and the tall, red-brick walls of the prison appeared in our right. Every few yards, from lookout towers, floodlights poured their intense brightness into the night. We neared a large metal gate and came to a stop in front of it. There were bearded, armed guards everywhere. The barbed wire covering the top of the wall cast a tangled shadow on the pavement. The driver stepped out, and the guard sitting in the front passenger seat gave me a thick strip of cloth and told me to blindfold myself. "Make sure it's on properly, or you'll get in trouble!" he barked. With my blindfold in place, the car passed through the gates and continued for two or three minutes before again coming to a stop. The doors were opened, and I was instructed to step out. Someone tied my wrists with rope and dragged me along. I stumbled over an obstacle and fell.
"Are you blind?" a voice asked, and laughter followed.
Such is an excerpt from 'Prisoner of Tehran' by Marina Nemat. Arrested during the Iranian Revolution, the 16-year old student activist was jailed in Tehran's infamous Evin prison, tortured and sentenced to death. She was kept alive through the intervention of one of her interrogators only moments before her execution. Forced to convert to Islam, forced to marry that same interrogator, and subjugated until he is assassinated, she faces terrifying physical and psychological pain behind the prison walls.
Soon, it felt warmer, and I knew we had entered a building. A narrow strip of light appeared below my blindfold, and I saw that we were walking along a corridor. The air smelled of sweat and vomit. I was instructed to sit on the floor and wait. I could feel other people sitting close to me , but I couldn't see them. Everyone was silent, but vague, angry voices came from behind closed doors. Every once in a while, I filtered out a word or two: Liar! Tell me! Names! Write it! And, sometimes, I heard people scream in pain. My heart began to beat so fast it pushed against my chest and made it ache, so I put my hands on it and pressed down. After a while, a harsh voice told someone to sit next to me. It was a girl, and she was crying.
Marina Nemat's book is riveting – absolutely. Her story is a tale of spiritual triumph – love over hate, freedom over oppression. Her beautiful spirit instils hope despite immeasurable suffering.
The book has a special relevance to current affairs as the seven Baha'i arrested in March and May still await their trial in that same prison of Evin.
The Baha'is are being held in Evin's Section 209, run by various security services, most of which are loyal to the clergy and thus this section is beyond the jurisdiction of Iranian Prison Authorities. The section is known to keep 'political prisoners', usually students, journalists, human-rights activists, and of course Baha'is. I'm assuming these days that section is overflowing with young people who were incarcerated during recent protests.
Former prisoners have complained of human rights abuses, such as solitary confinement, harsh interrogation tactics, and even torture. One form of solitary confinement is 'white torture' where the lights of a windowless 2 by 3 meter cell are constantly left on, often for months at a time. The lack of human contact may lead to certain mental illnesses such as depression or an existential crisis. Furthermore, prisoners are denied permission to contact their families for many weeks, sometimes even threatened that their families too will be maltreated.
We now stand close to the trial of the seven Baha'is, due to happen on July 11th. At times i feel prayer is the only thing that will save them.
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