day 6

Thursday, 9 Feb 2017

متنTEXT

Session 3

Session 2

Session 1 (will start at 11 EDT/8 PDT/16 GMT)


دیروز نوشته شد

۲۲ سالگی

در ماههای اول سال ۵۹ هوادار یک حزب سیاسی شدم و تو پاییز وارد دانشگاه شدم. دوسال بعد حزب منحله اعلام شد و من چون خودم رو معرفی نکرده بودم دستگیر شدم. بعد از انقلاب فرهنگی هم به این دلیل از دانشگاه اخراج شدم.

مجموعا ۳۳ روز در زندان و بازداشتگاه بودم. شب اول ازحزب ما ۸ نفردیگر رو هم آوردن. تا آخر هفته ۱۱ نفر شدیم. دو شبانه روز تقریبا به طور ممتد گریه میکردم. نگران مادرم بودم که تنها بود. میترسیدم سکته کنه. کم کم با بچه ها ی بند آشنا شدم وآروم شدم.

تابستون گرمی بود و پشه ها آماده خدمت. تو بند زنونه باید روسری میپوشیدیم و لباسهای آستین بلند. حد اکثر جای ۳۰-۴۰ نفرتو بند بود اما ۱۰۴ نفر بودیم. وقتی میخوابیدیم دستها و پا و سرمون با کناریهامون برخورد داشت مگر اینکه روی پهلو و کاملا صاف باشیم. یا روپشت با زانوی خم و دستها روی شکم. خوابیدن خسته کننده بود.

۱۷-۱۸ روز اول بازجویی نشدم. چند تا دختر باحال از گروهمون اونجا بودن. اون روزا یکی از شادترین دوره های زندگیم بود. بدون مسئولیت، بدون نگرانی از سرک کشیدنهای مامان. مثل بچه ها بیخبرازغم. از بازجویی نگران بودم اما تصوراونجا موندن با همون شرایط آرامشی بهم میداد که سالها بود حس نکرده بودم. جوک میگفتم و از هر موضوعی وسیله ی خنده میساختم. اونجا فهمیدم ذوق طنزم بدک نیست. دیگران بهم تذکر میدادن اینقدر بلند نخند که برات بد میشه. نمیدونم چرا بد میشد، اما این رو میگفتن. لابد تحریک دیگران به شاد بودن به حساب میومد.

امروز از اینجا شروع میشود

جاسوس و آدم فروش زیاد بود وخودسانسوری خیلی شدیدتر از چیزی بود که از بیرون تحمیل میشد. نمیتونستم تصور کنم که زندانیها همدیگه رو بفروشن اما بچه های قدیمی تر هشدار میدادن که اگر کسی بهت نزدیک شد و سوالی کرد جواب نده چون اینجا کسایی که ریگی به کفششون نیست سوال نمیکنن. کسانی که سوال میکنن برای اینه که با جاسوسی موقعیت خودشونو بهتر کنن. علامت جاسوسها این بود که خیلی مهربون بودن.

بعد بازجویی شروع شد. خیلی چیزی از روز اول یادم نمیاد چون برام شوک بود. یادمه سیل عبارتهای رکیک جاری بود. دبیرستان دانشگاه میرفتی بعدشم دانشگاه، همونجا که دختر و پسرها تو هم میلولن. مینی ژوپ هم میپوشیدی. برای همین بود که رفتی توده ای شدی؟ با چند نفرشون بودی؟ مسئولت هم باهات خوابید؟ هیچکدومتون که باکره نیستید، بچه هم سقط کردی؟ تواصلا به خاطر با پسرها بودن وارد گروه شدی. این کاملا غلط بود، چون پسری که از دبیرستان باهام قرار ازدواج گذاشته بود دقیقا به همین دلیل ترکم کرد. سکوت کرده بودم.

بعد بردنم در اتاقی که یکی از دوستام رو شلاق میزدن. فریاد میزد و جون بچه شو قسم میخورد که هرچی میدونسته گفته.پسری که منو برده بود اونجا و گفته بود همینجا باش اطرافم حرکت میکرد. گفتم دستشویی دارم. رفت و یک دختر اومد. بهم گفت : خجالت نکشیدی؟ گفتم مگر دستشویی رفتن خجالت داره؟ منو برگردوند توی بند. بازجوها رو ما نمیدیدیم چون چشمهامون بسته بود. گاردها لباس معمول تنشون بود: مانتو، شلوار، مقنعه، چادر. ما هم بیرون از بند همینطورمیپوشیدیم.

بازجویی دوم پر از ادب بود و احترام و محبت و دلسوزی. گفتم چرا به من حرف زشت زدید؟ اینطوری از ابروی جمهوری اسلامی دفاع میکنید؟ من واقعا چیزی بیش از آنچه اونا میدونستند، نمیدونستم.همینو گفتم. برگردوندنم تو بند.

۲۲ روز تو بازداشتگاه بودم. بعد از بازجوییها یه روز منو بیرون بردن. به اتاقی رفتیم که مادرم و همسایه مون اونجا بودن. سند خونه آورده بودن منو آزاد کنن. مسول یه متن جلوم گذاشت که امضا کنم. متن من رو به اقدام علیه رژیم و همکاری با گروههای محارب متهم میکرد و من باید متعهد میشدم که دیگه با رژیم محاربه نکنم. امضا نکردم . گفتم من با حزب توده همکاری کردم و ما قصد براندازی و محاربه نداشتیم. مادرم گریه میکرد و میگفت امضا کن تا آزادت کنن. اما نکردم و منو دوباره برگردوندن داخل. دیدن گریه هاش کشنده بود.

بعد از اون با چندتا از بچه های بند که بچه های حزب هم توش بودن به زندان منتقل شدیم. بعد از بازرسیهای اولیه وارد بند شدیم. جلوی همه دخترعموم رو جزء گروه استقبال که توابی بودن دیدم. از دیدنش خوشحال شدم ولی اون سرد بود.

ما رو تقسیم کردن تو اتاقهای مختلف. دو نفر در هر اناق بودیم. بچه ها خیلی تلاش میکردن که محیط رو بهداشتی نگه دارن. ترس از قارچ در حد ترس از اعدام نفس گیر بود. هر روز دو نفر مسئول تمیز کردن راهروها و دستشویی و حمام بودن. زندان خیلی قدیمی تر از بازداشتگاه بود و حمام و دستشویی وضعیت خوبی نداشت. تعداد نسبی هم خیلی بیشتر بود. شبها گرم بود و پشه ها رو وقتی میکشتیم یه لکه ی خون بزرگ روی دیوار به جا میموند. شبها دو نفر گشت میزدن. حق نداشتیم بیدار بمونیم. حق نداشتیم روسری و لباس آستین بلندمون رو در بیاریم..

یک بار که با دختر عموم و یکی از دوستا ش سر درس و مدرسه حرف میزدیم. گفتم میتونم ریاضیات و فیزیک بهتون درس بدم. روزاول منطق درس دادم . روز بعد گفتن نمیشه، ممنوعه. کم کم فهمیدم که دختر عموم چرا اینطور شکسته و غمگینه. احساس هرزگی میکرد. خردش کرده بودن، بهش قبولونده بودن که فقط هوسبازی باعث شده بره توی گروه و همه ی کارهاش ناپاک بوده.

خیلی از بچه های مذهبی تو بازجویی میشکستن. اونقدر بهشون تلقین میشد که هرزگی کردن و به خاطر باپسرها بودن به گروه وارد شدن و اهدافشون فقط به همین خلاصه میشده که واقعا حس فاحشه بودن بهشون دست میداد. احساس گناه چنان کلافه شون میکرد که برای رهایی از این احساس هر کاری میکردن. باور میکردن که اون محیط برای پاک کردنشون مفیده. تواب و جاسوس میشدن.

دختر زیبایی در بندمون بود که راحت حرف میزد وسوالی هم نمیپرسید. ۱۸ سالش بود و نامزد داشت. گریه میکرد که نامزدم دیگه منو نمیگیره. خیلی ها از وحشت اینکه هیچوقت نتونن شوهر کنن تن به همکاری میدادن. خیلیها افسرده بودن چون فکر میکردن حتی اگربرن بیرون کسی پذیراشون نخواهد بود. فضا خیلی نا امیدتراز بازداشتگاه بود. اکثرشون حکمشون رو گرفته بودن. بعضی ها ابد بودن و بعضیها اعدامی. بعضیها فکر میکردن که شاید بر اثر خوشرفتاری و جلب اعتماد زندانبانها زودتر آزاد بشن.

پنجشنبه شبها در زندان دعای کمیل بود. ما رو میبردن توی یک حیاط خیلی بزرگ و دعا شروع میشد. فریادها و شیونها و ناله ها دیوانه کننده بود. اعدامیها از ترس، توابها از ترس و پشیمانی، یک گروه هم از ترس اینکه اگر ساکت باشن براشون بد میشه همراه با هم شیون میکردن. خیلیها هم از زندان و دلتنگی و ترس از آینده ای نامعلوم.

 ماه رمضان بود. پچ پچهایی میشنیدم مبنی بر اینکه ۱۹ و ۲۱ ماه رمضان، روزهای ضربت خوردن و شهادت حضرت علی، خیلیها حکمشون اجرا میشه. ۱۸ ماه رمضان چند از بچه ها رو بردن. یکیشون خیلی تپل بود. همه میگفتن که جاسوسه. شب ۱۹ رمضان وقتی سحری خوردیم و برگشتیم بخوابیم صدای ضجه ها بلند شد. نمیدونم محل اعدام چقدر با ما فاصله داشت. نمیدونم صداها از کی بود. با روشن شدن هوا صداها هم قطع شد. سه روز بعد اون دختررو برگردوندن. صورت سرخ وسفیدش حالا به کبودی میزد. خیلی وزن کم کرده بود. چیزی ازش نپرسیدم. دوسه نفردیگری رو که برده بودن دیگه برنگشتن.

خیلی سخته نوشتن.

۲۴ سالگی

یکی از همسایه ها پسری از آشناهاشون رو به خواستگاری من فرستاد. برای اولین بار یه خواستگار رو پذیرفتم. معلم ۲۸ ساله ای بود که هیچ شباهتی نداشت با تصوری که از معشوق و شوهر داشتم. اما وحشت بی شوهر ماندن باعث شد بپذیرم که یک دوره آشنایی رو بگذرونیم. ۴-۵ ماه یکی دو روز در هفته میرفتیم قدم زدن. تقریبا هرشب زنگ میزد و ۱-۲ ساعت حرف میزدیم. اما احساس محبت نسبت بهش نداشتم.

بعد از مدتی خبر آمد که قانونی تصویب شده که اجازه بدن اخراجیها برگردن دانشگاه. باید میرفتم تهران به محلی که ذکر شده بود. بعد از شنیدن کلی تحقیر و توهین تقاضای بررسی پرونده م رو دادم. یک ماه بعد دوباره با مادرم برای دریافت نتیجه رفتیم تهران. قبولم کردن. بعد از ۵ سال که از دانشگاه دور بودم واقعا خوشحال بودم و دلم خواس خبرخوب رو به خواستگارم بدم. احساس خوبی بینمون بوجود اومد. از اون روز بهش علاقه مند شدم. داشتیم جدی میشدیم. فکر کردم لازمه موضوع بکارت رو بهش بگم. به مادرم گفتم که موضوع رو با ج مطرح کردم. خونه در اضطراب عمیقی فرورفت.

رابطه با ج به سکس رسید. به بهانه ی قدم زدن و بیرون غذا خوردن به خونه ش میرفتیم . هنوز تجاوز رو فراموش نکرده بودم و احساس آزردگی باسیل هیجانات جنسی و لذت همراه میشد. برای اینکه خوشحال باشم نیاز داشتم بشنوم که خوب و زیبا و خواستنی هستم. ج اینها رو به من میگفت.

یه روز مادرم گفت دیگه باید تکلیفتونو روشن کنید. او از رابطه ما فقط گردش تو خیابونو میدونس. به ج گفتم مادرم جواب میخواد. قرار شد تا ده روز خبر بده که میخواد با من ازدواج کنه یا نه. شب نهم تلفن زد. به شدت گریه میکرد. نپذیرفت. من دوباره افتادم تو بستر افسردگی. خونه پر بود از گریه های من و سرزنشهای مادرم. روانپزشکم پیشنهاد کرد بکارتم رو ترمیم کنم. این برام خیلی دردناک و توهین آمیز بود. اما در نهایت انجام دادم.

یاد ندارم در زندگیم هیچ تحقیری برام به اون اندازه رنج آور و برآشوبنده بوده باشه.

۲۸ سالگی

  در دانشگاه عملکرد خوبی نداشتم اما با دوستام خیلی هم بد نمیگذشت. دکتر جدیدی داروی جدیدی برام نوشت که خیلی موثر بود. شاد و امیدوار شدم و آسونگیر.

با دوستم به یک عروسی رفتیم. تقریبا تمام مدت رقصیدم وستاره ی مجلس شدم. موقع شام پسر خیلی خوش قیافه و خوش اندامی با لبخند محجوبی برامون شام آورد و رفت. 

گفتم چه نازه

دوستم گفت اگر بیاد خواستگاریت زنش میشی؟

گفتم آره چرا نمیشم. چند روز بعد دوستم زنگ زد که برات یک خواستگار پیدا شده. خوشحال شدم. هیچوقت فکر نکرده بودم که پسری خواستگارم بشه که از نظرم زیبا  باشه.

Written yesterday:

22 Years Old

In the spring and summer of 1979 I got attracted to a political party and in fall I started university. Two years later the party was declared illegal and I got arrested because I hadn’t turned myself in. After the Cultural Revolution (that closed the universities from summer 1980 to spring 1983), I was expelled from the university because of that.

I was in detention and then in prison for a total of 33 days. The first night they brought in 8 more people from our party. By the end of the week there were 11 of us. I cried continuously for two days. I was worried for my mother who was alone now. I feared she’d have a stroke or a heart attack. Gradually I calmed down and got to know other girls in the ward.

It was a hot summer and flies were ready to kill. Even in the women’s section we had to wear long sleeve dresses and head scarves all the time. There was space for at most 30-40 people but there were 104 of us in the detention cell. When we slept our bodies touched unless we slept on our sides and kept ourselves straight as arrows. Or we had to sleep on the back with our knees in our stomach. Sleeping was exhausting.

In the first 17-18 days I wasn’t taken for interrogation. There were a few fun girls from our party in the cell. Those days were among the happiest in my life. I had no responsibilities. No worries about my mother’s intrusion. I was happy like kids. I was concerned about impending interrogation but in spite of all the idea of staying there gave me a kind of peace I hadn’t felt before. I told jokes and found in everything a reason to laugh. There I discovered that I had a talent for humour. I don’t’ know why I laughed so much. Others would warn me don’t laugh so loudly, it’ll reflect badly on you. I don’t know why it would but that’s what others said. Perhaps it incited others to laugh and be happy and that would be held against me.

Writing will start from here today:

There were many who snitched. Self-censorship was harder than what was imposed on us from outside. I couldn’t imagine prisoners selling each other out, but those who’d been there longer warned me, Don’t answer anybody who tries to get friendly and ask questions because in here those who are straight don’t ask questions. Those who ask are trying to improve their own chances by selling out others. The snitches were distinguished by their kindness.

Then the interrogations started. I don’t remember much from the first time because I was in shock. I remember they flooded me with insults and accusations. “You went to a co-ed school and then to university, the places where boys and girls roll over one another like worms. You wore mini skirts. That’s why you became a communist. How many boys did you sleep with? Did you sleep with your group leader too? None of you are virgins. Did you have an abortion too? You became an activist only to sleep with boys.” That was completely wrong. My boyfriend in high school who wanted to marry me deserted me precisely because I became an activist. I stayed silent.

They took me into a room where a friend was being flogged. She was screaming and begging, swearing that she had already said everything she knew. The guy who took me there was hovering around me. I told him I had to go to the washroom. He left and a woman came. She said, Weren’t you ashamed? I said why should I be ashamed of needing to go to the washroom? She returned me to the cell. We couldn’t see the interrogators because we had blindfolds on. The guards dressed as usual: Pants, long dress over it, a head scarf, and a long veil over it. We had to dress the same way when we were taken for interrogation.

The second interrogation was very polite and respectful, kind and considerate. I said, Why did you insult me last time? Is this the way you want to represent and defend the Islamic Republic? I really did not know anything more than what they already knew. I told them that. They returned me to the detention cell.

I’d been in detention for 22 days. After the interrogations, one day they took me to a room where I saw my mother and our neighbor who had come with the deed to our house to bail me out. The official gave me a letter to sign. In that I was accused of having acted against the security of the regime and having cooperated with enemy groups and I had to promise not to fight against the government. I told them I had been active with the Tudeh Party and we had no plans against the government. My mother was crying and begging me to sign the letter to be released. I didn’t. They returned me to the detention again. It was very hard to see her crying.

After that I and some others including a few from the Party were transferred to prison. We passed the body searches and entered into the ward. There was a group of recanters (prisoners who had renounced their former groups and now collaborated with the guards) waiting for us. I saw my cousin in the first row. I was happy to see her, but she was cold and distant.

They divided us into different cells. There were two persons in each cell. Everybody tried really hard to keep the ward clean and hygienic. We feared infection as much as fearing execution. Every day two people would be responsible for cleaning the toilets, showers and the hallways. The prison building was much older than the detention centre and the facilities were poor. And there were many more prisoners here. The nights were hot. When we killed the flies they’d leave a big fat blood stain on the wall. At night two guards walked around. We weren’t allowed to stay up. We weren’t allowed to take off our long sleeve dresses and head scarves.

One day I was talking to my cousin and her friend about university. I said I could teach them mathematics and physics. The first day I started with logic. The next day they stopped the teaching. I slowly realized why my cousin was so depressed. She felt sinful. They’d broken her. They’d made her believe that the only reason she’d become an activist was because she was a harlot and all she did was to satisfy her desires.

Many religious activist broke down in interrogations. They were made to believe that they had been sinful and had become activists only to be with boys and that was all they cared about. The girls would come to believe that they’d been sluts. They felt so overcome with guilt that they would be willing to do anything to be free of the guilt. They believed that being in prison was necessary for their rehabilitation and cleansing. They became recanters and snitches.

There was a beautiful 18-year-old girl in our ward. She was friendly and never asked questions. She had a fiancé, and cried often saying that her fiancé would not want her any more. Many prisoners were so frightened of the possibility of never being able to marry that they became collaborators. Many were depressed because they thought even when released nobody would want them. It was a much sadder and more hopeless environment than the detention centre. Most people had their sentences. Some were sentenced to life and some to execution. Some thought that if they had good behavior and proved themselves trustworthy to the guards they would be released sooner.

On Thursday nights we had the special prayers. We’d be taken to the big yard to listen to and recite the prayers. The cries and wailings were unbearable. Those who were sentenced to execution cried from fear, the recanters from regret, and some cried because they thought it would be held against them if they didn’t. And some cried fearing an unknown future.

It was Ramadan. We’d heard rumors that on the 19th and 21st – the days when Imam Ali had been stabbed and then martyred – many would be executed. On the 18th some of the prisoners were taken out of the ward. One of them was a chubby girl that everybody thought was a snitch. On the early morning of the 19th when we had the meal before the fast we heard wailings. I don’t know how far the place of execution was from there, and I don’t know where the wailings came from. As it got lighter the cries stopped. A few days later the chubby girl was returned to the ward. Her rosy complexion had turned dark and lifeless and she had lost a lot of weight. Nobody asked her anything. The other prisoners that were taken out did not return.

It’s so hard writing about this.

24 Years Old

One of the neighbours sent a young man of their acquaintance to our house to propose marriage. For the first time I accepted a suitor. He was 28 and a teacher, and he was nothing like the image I had of a lover and a husband. But the fear of remaining unmarried made me accept to spend a period of courting. For a few months we went out for walks once or twice a week. And he telephoned almost every night and we’d talk for a hour or two. But I felt no love for him.

The news came that a law had been passed to allow those who’d been expelled from the universities during the Cultural Revolution to return to school. I had to go to Tehran to an office that had been indicated in the news. There, after receiving a lot of humiliations and insults, I got to submit an application for my case to be reviewed. A month later I went back to Tehran with my mother to get the result. I was accepted. After having been out of the university for 5 years, I was really happy and felt like giving the news to J, my suitor. A good vibe got established between us. From then I began to like him. We were getting serious. I thought it was important to tell him about not being a virgin. And I told my mother that I had told J. Our house got filled with anxiety.

My relation with J became sexual. We’d go out seemingly to stroll on the streets or to a restaurant, but we always went to his house. I hadn’t forgotten the rape yet. Feelings of fear and hurt would mix with sexual excitement and pleasure. In order to be happy I needed to hear that I was good, beautiful and desirable. And J told me all that.

One day my mother said, You have to make it final. She only knew about our outings but nothing about the sex. I told J that my mother is demanding an answer. He was going to declare in 10 days whether he was going to marry me or not. He called on the evening of the 9th day. He was crying hard and he turned me down. I fell into depression again. The house was filled with my crying and my mother’s scolding.

My psychiatrist suggested that I go for hymen reconstruction surgery. That was very painful and humiliating for me, but in the end I did it.

I can’t remember anything in my life having been so awful and upsetting.

28 years old

Because of anti-depression medications I was numb and slow. The smart girl of previous years was nowhere to be seen. A new psychiatrist put me on a new medication that was very effective. It made me happy and easygoing, relaxed and upbeat.

Around the new year I went to a wedding with my friend. There I danced almost all night and became the center of attention. Many men were hovering around me. Then came time for dinner. A young man with a handsome face and attractive body served us. I said to my friend, “He’s so cute.” My friend asked, “Would you marry him if he to come ask for your hand?” I said, “Of course, why not.”

A few days later my friend called me and said that there was someone who wanted to be my suitor. It made me happy. I had never thought that a man that I found attractive would become my suitor.