iran 2 485

It was a calm day in Tehran. The day before had seen another bloody round of protests. Fortunately I had an appointment with my therapist, and I was waiting for my cab to go home.

I went to Iran 10 days before the election day to vote. I was pleasantly surprised when confronted with a different face of Iran: one of hope and optimism, and unity in diversity. On every street corner and inside busy stores, in the midst of traffic-smog and uptown party-rooms, was talk of politics.

Although theories about the uselessness of voting were not uncommon, I encountered a majority who wanted change. Most of them didn’t even like Mousavi or Karoubi — the two leading reformist candidates, but they wanted to “say no to Ahmadinejad.” The Ahmadinejad fans liked his in-your-face attitude and modest background. They believed he would bring oil money back into their homes.

On the sunny afternoon of June 12, I stood in a very very long line to cast my vote. Numerous text messages circulated, warning everyone to use their own pens and such tactics to dismantle any attempts of fraud.

The next day thousands poured on the streets in utter bewilderment, and mostly with a green wristband — the symbol of Mousavi’s campaign. Against my family’s wishes and worries, I was one of them. A week later Tehran was in chaos and the Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Khamenei, endorsed Ahmadinejad’s landslide victory.

In a corner of the cold and bright waiting room, the television was on mute. Channel One, one of six state-run television channels, was showing a cooking program. Cooking programs, Tom & Jerry, re-runs of old series: these were broadcast on T.V while for three weeks people opposing election results were holding mass protests.

The three defeated candidates expressed their concern over fraudulent results. But Mousavi and Karoubi, the two opposition leaders, continued their accusations and invited people to peaceful demonstrations.

Two million people later, Iran’s jails were filled with political prisoners who were accused of spying, planning a “Velvet Revolution,” and attempting to overthrow the regime. And week after week people died on the street or were released from prison tortured and raped, scarred and broken.

“Your taxi will be here in a few moments,” said the receptionist. The only people waiting were me and a young man with short hair, a very slim figure and chapped lips. I smiled at him. “You see Dr. L. as well?” I asked. “Yes, actually. But I was gone for a few weeks. He’s a great doctor.” He gave me a weak but amiable smile. Something prompted me to ask, rather inappropriately, “Where were you?”

“In Evin,” he said.

The chilling name of the most famous prison in Iran echoed in the room. Located northwest of Tehran, Evin is notorious for holding political prisoners and for its allegedly brutal interrogators. It was created by the Shah of Iran a few years before the Islamic revolution to hold detainees waiting for trial. It gradually transformed into a horrifying place full of political prisoners, some of whom never left alive.

Notable Iranian and international figureheads have been captured and released from Evin throughout the intervening years, charged with accusations of espionage, threatening national security, etc. Zahra Kazemi, an Iranian-Canadian photographer, suspiciously died in Evin after she was arrested for taking pictures of the premises. An autopsy revealed that her skull and multiple body parts were broken. Iranian-Canadian relations went sour after repeated denials from Iranian officials that Kazemi died because of “unnatural” causes.

I turned around in my chair and faced the young man. “When? What happened? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“The very first day of protests. I was released three days ago.”

“What did they do?” I asked.

“The usual,” he said sarcastically. He didn’t have to say. We all knew the drill…

“At first there were 18 of us in one room. Then some people were taken to solitary, and some were coupled in other rooms.” His tone was relaxed, but his eyes were tired.

All I could think was, “What have they done to you?”

“They beat you a lot at first. Like, hanging you upside down, lashing, kicking, slapping you in the face, that kind of stuff. And there’s almost no food. But then it becomes more … degrading.”

The receptionist called him. I nervously expressed my sympathy to let him know that we are all with him. He wished me luck and went into the doctor’s office, extending his hand with a bright smile on his face.

“It’s horrible,” said the receptionist. She was a 30-something woman wearing full make-up and a concerned look. She continued, lowering her voice, “He’s so much better now.  He was there for more than three weeks.”

“Was there any … sexual assault?”

“Well, yeah. It’s his third time here. At first he wouldn’t say a word … He’s only 19.”

On July 31, Karoubi published a controversial letter addressed to an influential and critical cleric, Hashemi Rafsanjani:

“Some detainees have reported that certain individuals have so severely raped some of the girls in custody that the attacks have caused excruciating damage and injury to their reproductive organs … others have raped the young boys so violently … they have been lying in a corner of their homes since.”

He was heatedly attacked by conservative leaders who denied the accusations; he was called “mentally unstable.” They criticized him for tackling the regime’s image, while others applauded his courage for breaking the taboo of exposing what goes on behind bars.

Two days later the government closed his newspaper.

Since the uprising in June, more than 100 key political figures have been arrested. Unofficial sources say more than 2000 arrests have been made and approximately 300 people have been killed. It takes a single glance at the hundreds of families and friends of prisoners waiting outside Evin’s gate to imagine how crowded the other side must be.

Ramin Jahanbagloo, a renowned Canadian-Iranian intellectual known for his work on non-violent resistance, experienced Evin’s infamous Room 209, the “high security” section of the prison. Returning from an academic conference in India, Jahanbagloo was captured in 2006 and spent 125 days in solitary confinement.

“At the airport, several men came to me and asked me to follow them … they put down my head in the car, and covered my head.  After half an hour they stopped … ‘this is the last stop’ a man whispered to me. I understood that I was at Evin. And the next day my interrogation started.”

He was released on bail, but only after publishing a confession note — one that was entirely false. “They won’t let you go until you accept whatever they say. The psychological pressure alone makes you do anything to leave,” Jahanbagloo recalls.

In the past three weeks, a number of important reformists, journalists, and activists have been confessing and apologizing on broadcast trials.

These so-called “mock trials,” highly reminiscent of post-revolutionary trials in the 1980s and Moscow’s Stalin-era “show trials,” triggered a wide backlash within the general public. In all instances, the prisoners recanted their views and apologized.

The legitimacy of the elections, the Supreme Leader and, arguably, the Islamic regime itself are all in doubt. All opposition to the regime — from the young and restless street protesters to influential reformists critical of the government — is targeted with meticulous vigour. 

Kahrizak prison, another hotspot for youngsters captured in protests, was ordered shut by the Ayatollah. He claimed the closure of “the Guantanamo of Iran” was because of meningitis. “These young people were being dumped there in huge containers,” Jahanbagloo says.

Reports of violent rapes and the fatal infections and cists that followed circulated on alternative media. These reports were denied by the government.

A 22 year-old who was imprisoned for interviewing with foreign media told me that guards put make-up on his face before asking him and a few inmates to go on T.V. and blame foreign powers for organizing riots.

Karoubi’s provocative letter has helped strengthen the opposition’s front. When asked to provide “evidence” of his claims, he presented four cases on August 26, adding that many of the victims don’t feel safe publicizing their identity and experiences.

Meanwhile, for the ordinary citizens who have witnessed the brutality of post-election environment in Iran, the “evidence” they need is walking on the street, sitting in their room, or lying on a hospital bed, if not buried.

And, although the hardliners still try to cover up the disturbing news — literally, with studio make-up — the international community is gaining the tools (from withdrawing ambassadors to more economic sanctions), to look into the human rights abuses in Iran.

For now, Evin’s staff remains busy.

 

Tara Le Tout is a journalism student at Ryerson University.