Captive in Iran (17 page)

Marziyeh

When Elena saw me during the visiting time, she was shocked at my appearance. After two weeks in a windowless cell, I was as pale as a ghost. But at least I was clean and well fed, and had even managed to trim my eyebrows using strands of thread. Because we had so little time to visit, she and I talked at a furious pace. I told her only a little about the conditions in Ward 209, because I didn’t want her to worry. And then I shared an amazing story with her.

“One morning about five o’clock, I was awakened by someone shaking my legs,” I said. “I had a strange, vibrant feeling that it was the Holy Spirit. This had happened before and made me very happy. Because Mahtab and Munis were still asleep, I sat on my pallet singing songs of praise to the Lord for the peace He had given me. By the time they woke up, I had already arranged our breakfast of boiled eggs on the
softe
[a plastic tray about the size of a newspaper, which we used in place of a table in the cell]. They were surprised and asked why I was up so early. I said, ‘I don’t know. I just feel as if the Holy Spirit is with me.’”

As I told my story, Elena’s eyes lit up. “Do you know what day that was?” she said with excitement. “Pentecost!”

I was completely astonished. It made me very happy to know that the Lord hadn’t forgotten about me and that the Holy Spirit had filled me with a new sense of His presence on that special day.

Once I had given my brief report, Elena did most of the talking, bringing me important news.

First, our faithful and hardworking lawyer, Mr. Soltani, had not given up on us. He had continually tried to get inside Evin to visit us and to get our signatures, which would give him legal permission to represent us in court. For his dedication and commitment, he himself had been arrested and was now an inmate in Ward 209. How ridiculous! For defending the human rights of political prisoners in Iran, for standing up to the false arrest and widespread abuse of those prisoners, he had now joined their ranks! (He was sentenced to twenty years and forbidden to practice law. As of November 2012, he is still in prison.)

The second important news was that we were not the isolated, anonymous inmates we thought we were; thousands of people were praying for us and working for our release. The first indication we’d had of any of this was Mr. Mosavat’s remark at our interrogation that one of our sisters had been interviewed by Voice of America. In fact, through the efforts of our friends, along with people we didn’t even know, our case had been taken up by Amnesty International. A press release on April 8, 2009, identified us as prisoners of conscience, “detained solely on account of their religious beliefs.”

The press release mentioned our illnesses and the crowded conditions in Ward 2 of Evin Prison. It also quoted Article 23 of the Iranian constitution, which says, “The investigation of individuals’ beliefs is forbidden, and no one may be molested or taken to task simply for holding a certain belief,”
[3]
and Article 18.1 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (to which Iran is a party), which states, “Everyone shall have the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion. This right shall include freedom to have or to adopt a religion or belief of his choice, and freedom, either individually or in community with others and in public or private, to manifest his religion or belief in worship, observance, practice and teaching.”
[4]

The Amnesty International document noted that “evangelical Christians . . . often face harassment by the authorities. Converts from Islam can risk arrest, attack, or the death penalty. Conversion from Islam (apostasy) is considered as forbidden under Islamic Law, which requires apostates to be put to death if they refuse to reconvert to Islam. There is no specific provision in the Iranian Penal Code for apostasy, but judges are required to use
their knowledge of Islamic Law to rule on cases where no specific legislation exists in the Penal Code. A new version of the Iranian Penal Code is currently under consideration by the [Parliament] and prescribes the death penalty for those considered to be apostates.”
[5]

Amnesty International encouraged appeals to the Iranian authorities for our immediate and unconditional release, along with contact information for writing to the director of the Human Rights Headquarters of Iran, the head of the judiciary, and Ayatollah Sayed Ali Khamenei, the supreme leader of the Islamic Republic.

Elam Ministries, the London-based organization that sponsored the theology conference in Turkey where Maryam and I first met, was also publicizing our case. They had provided us with support and the New Testaments we had distributed before our arrest. Now they were trying to help us win our freedom.

Furthermore, friends and strangers by the hundreds had sent us cards and letters of encouragement in prison. Of course, we had not received a single one and knew nothing of their existence until this meeting with our sisters.

The world was watching how the Iranian government treated us, and it made the authorities very nervous. God had sent an army of Christians to help us, and we didn’t even know it!

Elena was convinced that our transfer to Ward 209 was a sign that our case was about to be closed and we would be released. As the visit ended, my spirits soared. So much encouraging news! So much to be thankful for! Nothing could ruin the joy of the moment; not even being blindfolded, separated again from my sister and Maryam, and returned to my tiny, sunless cell.

Marziyeh

During our two weeks in Ward 209, we had not been interrogated a single time. That relatively peaceful period ended a day or two after our visit with our sisters when Maryam and I were called in separately for long, intense interrogations of six to eight hours each. Much of the time, the questioners, usually Mr. Mosavat and Mr. Sedaghat, asked us the same questions that they and others had been asking for months: “When did you convert to Christianity? Who do you talk to about it? Do you hold church services in your home? Where do you get your Bibles? Who are the people on this list? Who are the people in these photos? We’re so sorry to have to keep you here; are they treating you well? Do you have any complaints?”

When I entered the interrogation room, Mr. Mosavat offered to let me take off my blindfold. “No, thank you,” I said. “I am quite happy right now, and I prefer not to see your face.”

I voiced my anger at being separated from Maryam when we returned to Ward 2 after our first interrogation, but added, “I must thank you for
this kindness, because you have enabled me to talk about Jesus Christ with even more people.”

“I didn’t order you to be sent to separate floors, only separate cells,” Mr. Mosavat fumed. “There must have been a mistake. Those people are so stupid!”

I sat silently for a moment before clapping my hands loudly in applause. “That was a very good show. Thank you for that, too.”

“Miss Amirizadeh, it would be a complete waste of your young life and your beauty to remain in this prison. I advise you to stop insisting on your faith, recant your statements, get your freedom, and then go have fun and enjoy life.” Clearly, he was used to having the upper hand, which was essential for making prisoners afraid and for making them say or do whatever he wanted.

“Thank you very much,” I replied. “I was just waiting for you to order me to go have fun and enjoy life.” I was determined to let him know that I did not believe his lies and was not falling prey to his manipulations. Humor and sarcasm were the defenses I had at hand, and I wielded them with confidence.

A few days later, I was interrogated again—hours and hours of the same questions, plus a few surprises. This time, there was a third man in the room, but he was a stranger to me. The room smelled of expensive cologne.

“Do you have relationships with men?” Mr. Mosavat asked me.

“What do you mean by ‘relationships’? If you mean do I have a boyfriend, the answer is no.”

“Are you saying you have no contacts with any men? Have you never gone to a coffee shop with a man?”

“Excuse me. I am a woman who has lived on her own for ten years. Of course I’ve gone out with men and may have sat with them in coffee shops as part of my socializing with other people. That is a really stupid question.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“That has nothing to do with any of this.”

“You’re right, it’s irrelevant. I’m just curious.”

MARYAM

When my turn came to be interrogated, Mr. Mosavat offered to let me remove my blindfold. “I don’t mind it,” I said. “I’d rather not see your face.” I had no way of knowing that Marziyeh had said the same thing.

“You must take off your blindfold!” said another voice in the room. It was Mr. Sedaghat, the official in charge of Ward 209. I untied the blindfold and put it aside.

“Did you know you are now the subject of a website?” Mr. Mosavat asked. “Who are you using to write about your arrest?”

“No one. I know nothing about any website.” This was true. The news was a total surprise.

“It’s interesting you have never heard of this website,” Mr. Mosavat said. “It’s a Christian website. Ninety percent of its stories are lies. Now when someone logs onto it, the first thing they see is pictures of you and your friend.”

“What did you expect?” I shot back. “That Christian organizations would praise you for arresting us? It’s your own fault. Obviously, the church will react to this situation and publish news about it.”

“We have no problem with people reading the Bible.”

“Then why have you banned it from the bookshops?”

“Who is your pastor at the moment?” Mr. Mosavat demanded.

“Jesus Christ is my pastor.”

The questioners again went over my statements from the police station when Mr. Rasti had written both the questions and the answers. When I was shown some of this information, I objected strongly.

“This says that the police found eight hundred Bibles and thirty thousand CDs in my house, all gift wrapped, and that I drove around Iran distributing them. When Mr. Rasti said I didn’t need to read the answers he put down, he assured me, ‘I’m not going to lose my life in the hereafter by writing lies on your behalf.’ That man is a liar. I deny what he wrote.”

Mr. Sedaghat positioned his body inches from mine, his foot resting on the leg of my chair. His huge beak nose made his sinister face even more unattractive.

“Look at me!” he ordered. I looked into his threatening, hate-filled eyes.

“What do you think will happen if we’re forced to release you?”

I remained silent.

“I believe you know two people named Haik and Dibaj very well. You may have heard what happened to them.” These two men, who had been held for years by the regime, died violently under mysterious circumstances after their release.

“So you’re threatening me?”

“Not threatening you, just telling you what could happen later. Don’t think you can be freed and go home just like that. Your apartment may catch fire. You could be involved in a car accident. Do you think these interrogations are the only power at our disposal?”

“I understand what you’re saying,” I said, my voice steady. “But I believe the times of our birth and death are in the hands of God alone. It may be God’s will that we die in a fire or a car wreck. But it’s good that you said what you did. Now if we’re killed outside this prison, our friends will know you’re responsible.”

“You’re not worth killing at the risk of our careers and reputations,” Mr. Sedaghat snapped. “But there are fanatics out there prepared to spill your blood for the cause of
jihad
, and we cannot stop them. From the Muslim point of view, you are an apostate. They are free to shed your blood, and the court will judge their actions as justified.”

“Then I’m happy I am not a Muslim. I believe in Jesus Christ, and one of His most important commands is to spread His message. The message of Christianity isn’t what causes distress and chaos in Iran. It’s your restrictions and bans. It’s your bad laws. If everyone had the freedom to study and believe and share whatever faith their hearts called them to believe, Iran would not be in the mess it’s in and I would not be sitting here being grilled by you.”

Mr. Mosavat put on a big, brave, plastic smile. “Miss Rostampour, I agree with you to some extent. Worshiping God is not compulsory. But we live in a country that at this moment in time has these particular laws. Even I may not agree with all of them, but I have to follow them or I’ll end up where you are. Why don’t you let the churches in this country do the preaching and teaching about Christianity? Anyone who’s interested can study them in depth there.”

“What churches?” I fired back. I could feel my face growing warm. “The Assemblies of God have been closed to new people. Only one or two Farsi-speaking churches remain in all of Tehran, and they’re under constant surveillance by your security forces. You threaten them and order them not to allow any Muslims or newcomers through the doors—yet you’re telling me I should let these churches take the gospel to the city? Even church members are harassed trying to get in, never mind prospective visitors.”

“Where were you baptized?” Mr. Mosavat interjected.

“Central Church, about five years ago.”

Marziyeh

Two long, intense interrogations so close together made me feel depressed. I was physically drained, and I hoped that Maryam was able to bear up under the load as well. The isolation of the tiny, windowless cells, the nearly silent ward, wearing blindfolds everywhere, and being surrounded by other prisoners I could never see were hard conditions to endure. I knew the Lord was with me, but I desperately needed reminders of His love and care. In my weakness, I sometimes felt that He was far away. From the interrogators, I learned that a friend of ours on the outside who had become a Christian was questioned about us and denied knowing us. This woman and her daughter attended our home church regularly and eagerly learned Christian hymns and prayers. Of course, the interrogators could have been lying, but they wouldn’t have known certain details about this person unless they’d talked to her. She had a heart condition, and her husband resented her for converting. I didn’t fault her for lying to save herself; even so, it added to my dark feelings.

On the positive side, when Mahtab was asked if “the two Christians” had ever caused her any trouble, she replied, “Not only have they not caused me any trouble, they’ve constantly helped me and made me hopeful. They’re far better than you Muslims who claim to be truthful and kind. I’d rather stay with them than with Muslims.” The prison officials had hoped that Mahtab could convince me that Christianity was a mistake and that I should embrace the true faith of Islam. Instead, in a turn of events that only
the Lord could have arranged, Mahtab was the one converted: eventually, she became a Christian.

The fact that we never left our cells without blindfolds compounded the oppressive atmosphere and sense of isolation in Ward 209. Another hard thing to endure was hearing the disembodied voices of other prisoners we had never seen, crying out in agony.

One night, I heard the voice of a young boy crying, begging for help, and screaming, “I can’t stand it in here anymore! Please! Please!” He had reached the breaking point. He started pounding on the metal walls of his cell.

After a few minutes, I heard several guards go down the hall and open the door to the boy’s cell. I heard the sound of blows from a club and the boy screaming in agony. Sometimes, the club would miss its target and boom against the wall like a cannon shot. They hit him again and again and again until his cries died down to pitiful, heartbreaking moans. Then silence. I never knew who he was or whether he stayed or left, lived or died.

Another woman in a nearby cell moaned and cried so much that I thought she must have been put near us just to keep us awake at night. She, unlike the boy, seemed to be completely ignored by the guards. This was strange, considering the rules demanding silence at all times in 209.

“I’m so afraid! I’m so afraid! Please help me!” she moaned day after day. She begged for sleeping pills, which they gave her; but as soon as she woke up, she started moaning and begging again. I put my hands on the wall nearest her cell and prayed for her peace of mind. Sometimes she would get quiet for a while, but then the yelling would resume.

One night, I dreamed that the guards let this woman out of her cell. She had the face of a ghost and went running up and down the corridor. In the dream, she came into my cell and put her head in my lap. When I started praying for her, all her sorrows and problems were transferred to my shoulders, so heavy and unbearable that they made me collapse. But the woman found peace. Then she cried and said that she wished she had known there were Christians next to her in prison.

I woke up shaking and told Mahtab and Munis about my dream. I saw it as a sign that the woman would be released. A couple of hours later, the guards came to the woman’s cell and we heard her say, “Thank you! Oh thank you!” From the conversation, it was clear she was getting her freedom.

“Behave yourself if you want to stay out of prison,” one of the guards said.

“Yes, yes, thank you!” the woman said over and over. It was wonderful to see how my prayers had been answered even for someone I’d never seen.