“He teaches us that if we’re slapped, we should turn the other cheek. He tells us to be kind to our enemies. These words strike a chord with me much more closely than the Islamic cry for revenge. I would rather follow Christ, even if His religion were incomplete.”
The professor shook his head. “I prefer Allah’s choice of forgiveness or demanding revenge. Why should I be kind to my enemies? I much prefer the Koran. In fact, if I were your family, I wouldn’t wait for a court verdict before giving you what you deserve.”
“I’m sure you’d kill me yourself,” I said. “You would be rewarded for jihad.”
“You’re right!” The professor turned to Mr. Mosavat. “Do you remember when Ayatollah Khomeini returned to Iran? Remember our enthusiasm and happiness at the idea he had come to save us from the assaults of foreigners? Did you ever imagine the children of this very revolution would one day turn their back on Islam?” His eyes filled with angry tears. “I am prepared to give my life for the imam and his ideals!”
He turned back to face me. “Jesus was a prophet from God, not His son. Imam Husein was also a savior. Why don’t you believe in him?”
“Jesus is different from every other figure in the Koran,” I explained. “He was born of the Virgin Mary and the Holy Spirit. He was without sin. He rose from the dead. There is no one else in history like Christ. No one did what He did. All the other prophets were sinful, mortal humans, and therefore could not be the savior of anybody.”
“It’s one thing to believe this privately,” the professor said, “but why do you have to evangelize?”
“Jesus said that if you know a good deed and don’t do it, you have committed a sin. His greatest commandment was that we talk about Him. I believe everyone should know about Christ and have the freedom to accept or reject Him according to their own hearts.”
The professor countered, “The Koran says anyone can become a Muslim, but Muslims cannot turn their backs on their faith. A Muslim who abandons Islam is an infidel.”
“But the Koran also says religion is not compulsory,” I replied. “I see you didn’t mention that verse. Christ came to free the world from the condemnation of religious law. Because humankind is imperfect, we will always fail to follow these laws exactly. Jesus took the blame for all of our sins and shortcomings in order to free us from the consequences of failing to follow the law. And now Islam is trying to bring those laws back in a different form. Don’t you think that’s senseless?
“Jesus said that if we don’t open ourselves to God’s Kingdom, the way a child would, we will never understand it. The truth of the Lord is revealed only to those who trust Him like children and have a receptive heart.
“Yes, we have paid a price for our faith,” I concluded. “We have paid it gladly. Jesus Himself said, ‘If you wish to be My followers, you must pick up your own cross and follow Me.’7 He paid the price for being true to His Father, and He expects no less from us. Prison conditions are very difficult, but it’s nothing compared to Jesus’ sacrifice. It’s the least we can do to show our love and faith in Him.”
Mr. Mosavat spoke up. “I’ve made inquiries and also watched the two of you. You don’t behave in any sort of overtly religious way—no special diet, no special dress, no special language. Your faith is on the inside and you stand firm for your beliefs. I respect your faith because I’ve never seen people like you. You must have discovered something powerful to defend it like this. But I want to ask you not to discuss it with others. And don’t hand out Bibles, because it’s against the law.”
“We won’t be handing out Bibles, because you’ve taken them all away,” I reminded him. “But God brings His truth to the world in a variety of ways. He doesn’t depend only on two girls giving away New Testaments in secret. If someone is eager, God will show him the truth. He doesn’t need books, and He doesn’t need Marziyeh and me.”
“Miss Rostampour,” Mr. Mosavat said, “we hope by next week your case will be closed and you will be back home. We don’t wish to persecute you. We’re just waiting for the election to be over and for the appointments of court officials to be reconfirmed. If Mr. Mousavi wins, it will have a positive effect on your case. Only please, if you’re summoned to court again, keep silent and don’t even smile. If they think you’re happy, they will come down harshly on you.”
“I wish you success,” the professor said. “I’ve thought a lot about why God has chosen the two of you. There are hundreds of people who distribute Bibles and promote Christianity in Tehran, but none has received the publicity you have. Everybody talks about you. They’ve made heroines out of you. Your pictures are on TV every day. Why hasn’t this happened before?”
“I know the answer to that,” I replied. “Think about it.”
“I will,” the professor said. “Good luck.”
“And to you,” I said as the professor left the room.
Marziyeh
After these sessions, Mr. Mosavat told us that these were our last interrogations. Separately, Maryam and I had the same reaction: If that’s the case, then there’s no reason to keep us separated any longer. At our request, I was allowed to move out of the cell with Munis and Mahtab—leaving with hugs and tears of farewell—and in with Maryam and Fereshteh. In the four years Maryam and I had been friends, this was the longest we’d ever gone without seeing each other. At the doorway to Maryam’s cell, we fell into each other’s arms, sobbing with happiness. “Come on, come on,” the guard said curtly, “get on with it and get inside the cell.” We also asked for a Bible and a television in our room. We got the TV, but not the Bible.
We had stopped trying to hide the flowers and crosses we’d been making for each other. When I entered the cell, the first things I saw, decorating the whole space, were the crosses and other tokens I’d left for Maryam. Along with Fereshteh, we kept up our handicraft once we were back together, and taught ourselves to make flowers out of disposable teacups to add to our collection.
These diversions helped pass the endless hours. The television was a help as well, though we had no satellite channels, only government-controlled stations that spewed propaganda and regime-approved Islamic programming. Of course, we didn’t have access to any of the coverage of our case that our sisters and the professor had spoken about. We would have liked to see what the TV was reporting.
Because the only people we saw regularly were the guards, their attitude toward us had a big effect on how we felt. Some of the guards were friendly. They confided in us that they didn’t like what they had to do but were desperate for a job to support their families. Some asked about Christianity and asked us to pray for them, which we were always happy to do. Others, though, were mean. There were times when the rudeness and petty cruelty wore us down and made us angry in spite of ourselves.
One afternoon, the guard we’d nicknamed Grumpy said she was taking us to make phone calls. After we put on our blindfolds and followed her to the telephone, she handed Maryam a number and said it was the only one she was allowed to call. The number was for my sister, Elena. When Maryam tried to explain the mix-up, the guard shouted at her, though eventually she let her call the right number.
When my turn came, the guard played the same game, handing me the number from our apartment and saying it was the only number I could call. “That’s our apartment,” I said. “There’s nobody there.”
“You’re lying to me!” the guard scolded.
“I’m not a liar,” I answered back. “I’m in prison for telling the truth.”
The argument escalated into a shouting match, though finally the guard realized her mistake and let me call my sister. But the argument triggered a physical reaction in me and I started to feel very uncomfortable. After speaking to Elena for only a moment, I had to cut short the call and go back to the cell. There, I tried to rest, but my head was pounding, my back was on fire, and I started shaking and gasping for breath. Maryam and Fereshteh called for the guard, who was suddenly afraid she would get in trouble for causing
this attack. They took me to the clinic, where the doctor gave me a shot and put me on oxygen. The shot stopped my shaking, but the oxygen was only partly effective because the flow was restricted in order to conserve the oxygen supply.
A few days later, just before lunch, Maryam went to the toilet room to wash her hands. Usually, the windows in the corridor were closed, but this time one was open and it protruded into the hallway. Blindfolded, Maryam slammed into the window full tilt, the corner of the frame striking less than half an inch from her eye. The force knocked her flat on the ground. Her guard, the woman we had nicknamed Ghost, rushed over to see what was wrong. “You should be more careful in the corridor!” she snapped. “You should have looked through a gap in the blindfold.”
That remark infuriated me. “That’s ridiculous!” I said. “The corridor is so narrow that two people can barely pass with the windows closed. Then you open the windows and blindfold us!”
The Ghost was so upset and distracted that she didn’t realize that Fereshteh and I had come running at the sound and were in the corridor for the first time ever without our blindfolds.
The three of us helped Maryam back to our cell. Her eye and lip were already swelling and discolored. In a few minutes, the side of her face and head were one massive bruise. When the Ghost offered to take her to the clinic, she declined. The Ghost was one of the better guards, and Maryam didn’t want to get her in trouble. Besides, based on past experience, the clinic wasn’t likely to do her much good. Fereshteh and I put ice on the injury instead.
We wrote to the head of the prison, asking to be returned to Ward 2 in the public section. We said there was no reason to keep us in 209 if our interrogations were finished. We complained about Grumpy and about Iron Woman, who was also hateful.
The prison warden soon had bigger concerns than our letters. On June 12, 2009, the Iranian presidential election took place, with Mr. Mousavi favored by many to win. Yet as the day went on, Iranian TV reported that Mr. Ahmadinejad had taken the lead and held it, reminding viewers all the while that the regime was dedicated to truth and accuracy in the election. Hours later, the ministry of the interior announced that Mr. Ahmadinejad had been reelected. Even the filtered and distorted news we were allowed to see made it clear that the people would challenge the results and there would be protests. Both Mr. Mousavi and Mr. Karroubi denounced the election process, accused the Ahmadinejad government of massive election fraud, and vowed to contest the results. Angry citizens flooded the streets and their peaceful protests soon turned into fiery demonstrations.
A couple of days later, we were told we were leaving Ward 209. Whether the immediate reason was our letters, outside pressure, or something else, we never knew. It was probably due to the fact that, within hours, hundreds of people arrested in the election protests overran the cells of Ward 209. We knew that the Lord was ordering events according to His will.
We weren’t sure whether we were being released or simply going back to our old cell in Ward 2. Fereshteh was happy for us that we were leaving, but sorry to lose our company, as we were sad to lose hers.
When the time came, a guard walked us across the yard to the public section and back into Ward 2. It was the first time in two months we’d walked outside without blindfolds. As we were being processed back into the ward, an elderly guard asked if we were political prisoners.
“We came from 209, but we’re not political prisoners,” Maryam told her. “We’re accused of being Christians.”
“Really? I didn’t know that was a crime.”
“We converted.”
The guard’s face puckered in disapproval, like she’d just bitten a lemon. “Shame on you! Couldn’t you commit a better crime?”
We went through the security search and changed back into our own clothes, leaving behind the baggy men’s prison uniforms that looked so hilarious. Then we ran up the stairs to Ward 2, eager to see the many dear friends who had been absent from our lives but held fast in our hearts and prayers. The thirty-eight days we’d been gone seemed like two lifetimes.
CHAPTER 16
A DIFFERENT FREEDOM
Marziyeh
It was a joyful homecoming. As soon as Maryam and I walked through the barred door into Ward 2, we met Vida in the corridor. She hugged us excitedly and announced our arrival to the rest of the ward. Our friends surged forward to welcome us: Shirin, Silva, Sepideh, Tahereh, and others crowded around with hugs and greetings. After the isolation of 209, returning to the public area of Evin Prison felt almost like being free. The noise and commotion were wonderful.
“How pale you look,” someone said. “How tired.”
“Your faces seem swollen,” said another. “Did they beat you?”
“No,” we assured them, “no one beat us. They only asked lots of questions.”
There had been changes in the ward during the five and a half weeks we’d been away. Mrs. Pari had been paroled. Our friend Arezoo had been freed. She told Rozita that her freedom was the answer to my prayers for her. Dear, mixed-up Mercedeh had been released as well. The plaintiff against her, who had seemed so unmovable, had come to the prison one day and waived her complaint. Mercedeh danced and screamed with joy at the news, and then ran around telling everybody it was a miracle that happened because of our prayers to Jesus. Her friend Setare and her former lover, Nazanin, were also free. We worried about them, wondering where they were and what they were doing, how they were coping with the wounds on their bodies and the even more painful scars on their hearts. Our comfort was in knowing that God was looking after them.
Mercedeh had been desperate to get out of prison. Some days she had screamed at God, demanding, “Why can’t I get out of this hellhole? Why can I see only a little square of sky in the courtyard? Will I ever see the whole thing again?” It is the universal lament of prisoners everywhere: seeing only a little square of sky reminds them of their isolation from the world and makes them long for more.
We had always told Mercedeh that getting out from behind the prison walls wasn’t enough. She also had to escape the inner prison of her meth addiction. Now that God had delivered her from the first prison, we kept praying she would also be released from the second one.
The leader in Ward 2, Mrs. Mahjoob, who had welcomed us on our first day at Evin, had been transferred to Ward 3, where the psychological prisoners lived. Her replacement was Mrs. Ghaderi, a quiet, capable woman whom most of our friends considered an improvement. Mrs. Imani, always arguing about the telephone, was in a different room. The guards had agreed to move her once a month because she was so disruptive. Our friend Rozita was now the telephone monitor, and she spent most of her day in a chair beside the phones, trying to keep other prisoners from arguing and fighting over who could talk and for how long.
We had our old bunks in Room 1. As we settled in, we learned about prisoners who’d arrived while we were away. Some had been arrested for associating with the opposition during the election—the aftermath was still stirring up lots of controversy. This “association” could be nothing more than receiving an e-mail from a person or organization who had supported Mousavi, the candidate many Iranians thought had rightfully won. Some prisoners took Ahmadinejad’s reelection very hard, because they had hoped a new leader would mean their freedom.
One of our new neighbors was Sousan, a quiet, older mujahideen woman with white hair and a dry sense of humor. Her offense was being a member of the mujahideen and proudly announcing that fact to anyone who would listen to her. “I talk about the mujahideen everywhere I go, and I’m not afraid of anyone!” she proudly told us. “They have no right to stop me.” The regime had falsely accused her of being a computer expert exchanging illegal information on the Internet. After forcing a false confession from her, they sentenced this mild-mannered, elderly lady to eight years in prison. She had been in solitary confinement for fifty days before coming to Ward 2.
Another recent arrival was a young, thin girl with a badly bruised face. She and her fourteen-y
ear-old brother had been at a political rally after the elections. When security forces waded into the crowd and started beating her brother, she had tried to defend him. They turned on her, kicking and punching her, and arrested them both. When their father complained to the police, the court dismissed his complaint and ordered the two children to apologize to the soldiers for filing charges against them. They had refused, and the judge sentenced the girl to prison.
“My father told the judge that on the day I’m released, he will personally take me to church and convert me to Christianity,” she said. “He told them, ‘We detest this Islam of yours, which is just an excuse for injustice and repression. There’s no point in allowing my daughter to remain Muslim for even one more day of her life.’”
The court ordered her to be held in custody until she apologized. This is a common demand; otherwise it would be clear that the government had been wrong to arrest her.
It reminded me of my discussions with Fereshteh in 209. When she insisted that the regime’s actions had nothing to do with genuine Islam, I had disagreed: “This regime’s Islam is the true Islam, written in the Koran. But most people never read it for themselves because the text is in Arabic and because they’re afraid of being fined or punished if they drop it accidentally or handle it with impure hands or question anything it says. Islam does its best to keep people away from God and a personal relationship with Him because that direct connection threatens the power and control of the religious leaders. They want to keep people in the dark, trusting in religion, so they will continue to depend on them. The criminals who run Iran are running it in accordance with Islamic statutes.”
Captive in Iran Page 19