M.Raha

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From: "Simple Truth"
Date: 14 Sep 1998
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"Simple Truth"

M.Raha is the author of “Simple Truth”. Arrested as a young woman she spent the best part of her life locked up in a notorious Islamic prison (hell). M.Raha is one of the few female political prison-ers, of late, to write an auto-biographical account of captivity, with such a high degree of clarity, compassion and raw honesty. Her memoirs make up three books the first of which has been translated into English, French and German. Due to financial difficulties they have not yet been published.

Nine years of imprisonment and torture have failed to break the spirit of M.Raha who is determined to expose the plight of Iranian female political prisoners. Since her release M.Raha was not able to feel a sense of liberation until writing “Simple Truth”. With regard to highlighting the experiences of female political prisoners, Simple Truth” is, without a doubt, one of the most creative, historical documents ever written. In 1989 the first “International Exhibition” took place in Tehran after several years of war with Iraq. A short distance from the fancy exhibition was one of the most horrific jails in Iran - the same jail which held M.Raha captive. Through her prison bars M.Raha could see the exhibition flags and brightly coloured balloons, several of which were released, disappearing into the sky. A children’s amusement park was also nearby and the wind carried wisps of joyful, innocent laughter. It was during these times as hundreds of prisoners were summoned for torture and execution that M.Raha longed to fly away, like one of the bright balloons, and scream her story to the world. Her anguish is highlighted in the following extract of “Simple Truth”. “Evin (Hell). The sounds of lashing and screaming echoed throughout the corridors as the guards escorted us to our interrogation. We were marched past a young, skinny, boy slumped on the floor. His face was ghostly white and his head was covered with a blood stained bandage. Below his bruised and swollen ankles his bandaged feet were also covered with fresh blood stains, but I knew he wasn’t dead because I heard him groan. Behind a closed door a woman’s voice screamed, ‘unchain my hands, I’m thirsty’! “After five days of waiting I was finally summoned for ques-tioning. On entering the room I was pushed to the table and ordered to answer questions concerning my iden-tity. Every time I began to answer I was whacked over the head with a baton. ‘I’m answering you! Why are you beating me’? This is just for you to understand why you are here’, came the reply. They flung me on a chair against the wall and held a piece of paper in front of me. On the paper in bad handwriting was written, ‘We know about your identity. Write about your activities’. I began to write and every few moments was hit over the head and back with the baton. “One day while going through another such experience an interrogator suddenly said, ‘would you like an interview’? ‘I’m nobody, I’m not important! Why do you want to interview me’? One of the guards lifted me off the chair and dropped me on the floor. Lying face down with my hands tied behind me, another guard sat on my back. What pain. I was gagged with a dirty piece of cloth and they began to beat the soles of my feet. With every lash I felt my body jerk uncontrollably. Eventually I managed to scream (the gag had become loose) and carried on until my head was wrapped in a blanket. The man on my back covered my nose and mouth with both hands and suffocated me until I lost consciousness. “Every morning a guard would call out a list of names, including mine, and we would prepare ourselves for our daily punishment. On one such morning we were frog-marched to a section of the prison known as unit 8, and ordered to stand in line facing the wall without making the slightest sound or movement. Hagee the jailer, was swearing that the reason for our punishment was a failure to obey the rules. ‘You were late arriving here! Sometimes you don’t go to sleep when the lights are turned off! You argue with the staff’! While he rambled on, the other guards were kicking and punching us. After he had finished his lecture Hagee began using the women as punch bags. He started at one end of the line and with every individual beating I could hear he was getting closer and closer. From behind I suddenly felt a heavy boot explode in between my legs and I rocketed into the air. When I landed Hagee began his punching combinations on me but I somehow managed to stay on my feet. By the time he moved on I was bleeding considerably. “After a few hours of standing my legs were led heavy and my back was aching. I would shift my weight from one foot to the other to relieve the pain and sometimes I would even dare to lean forward, and rest my head against the wall. We were relieved twice a day for lunch and dinner, during which time we could sit on the floor for a few minutes and re - charge our energies for the hours of standing that awaited us. The hardest part of the standing was during the evening when we had to fight off sleep. I tortured myself with fantasies of soft beds and deep slumber. We were forbidden to talk to each other but would manage to do so for a few seconds whenever there was a changing of the guard. Among us was Sahila’s mother who suffered from a severe back condition. Sometimes she was totally disabled by the pain of standing and you could hear her moaning quietly to herself. Come the second day she could no longer stand and she collapsed to the ground. Immediately the guards ran over and with physical abuse made her stand upright. After an hour she collapsed again but after some more beatings, was once more on her feet. The third time she collapsed the guards ignored her and we knew this was a bad sign for worse things to come. We whispered to each other. ‘What time is it’? Someone replied it must be morning time. Perhaps Hagee would send us to our cells for breakfast. Maybe an extra few minutes for the toilet too. That would be heaven. Someone entered and we heard Hagee’s voice. Bellowing furiously like a mad bull, he proceeded to kick Sahila’s mother despite her already near death state. Sahila’s mother kept on screaming, ‘What have I done! What have I done’! until Hagee grew bored of kicking her. He conjured up a wooden box, carefully placed it on her back and sat his fat are on it, while she wriggled in agony underneath. It was a disgusting scene. A few of the women began to object to his behaviour. ‘She is sick, you should know better’, but he took no notice. When he finally finished torturing Sahila’s mother he beat up the women who had voiced their compassion. Sahila’s mother was left twitching on the ground, like a dying fish out of water and several times tranquillisers were injected into her body. “After two nights of no sleep and nearly thirty hours of standing I felt I could no longer keep my balance and I was continually dropping off and waking up. Every few days Hagee would check up on us and find any excuse to beat us. By now he was using a whip. The days passed by so slowly and there was no way to break the agonising routine. Only the will to survive kept us alive. “They moved us to a different section of the prison with more space. This new section (unit 8) was nick - named the ‘stable’ due to its diabolically filthy state. There was one bath and sink, inside of which was a wriggling mass of overgrown worms and maggots. We set our blankets down in one corner of the room and as soon as we were left alone, began cleaning up. Within a few hours unit 8 was no longer a ‘stable’ and when Hagee arrived he couldn’t conceal his surprise. The situation seemed to be improving when they gave us some cleaning powder and handed out some toothbrushes and paste. However our food was still kicked into the room across the floor. They gave us food in a massive pot that was always virtually empty and once the meal was over we were prohibited from washing the pot as we were ‘dogs’. “One day we were blindfolded, made to wear the Chador (veil) and seated about one metre apart from each other. We had to remain in that position all day without moving or talking and sleep in the same spot come nightfall. All the while Zohrah (one of the fem-ale guards) stood guard behind us and I realised that this was the begin-ning of a new phase of torture. Every morning at 6.00 am Zohrah would scream ‘wake up’! and we’d sit bolt upright in our positions. A few seconds delay would result in more physical abuse. At 10.00 PM we’d receive the sleep-ing order. Hours, days, weeks, months; ten months of relentless, savage, de-humanising torture. Ten months of blindness, for even when we were eating we were not allowed to remove the blindfolds, and the only time the deathly silence was broken was when Zohrah, Hagee or another guard shouted orders. “One morning when Hagee was whipping a few of us, he made us realise that the situation would continue unless we became ‘human’. Between the lashes we could hear his devilish voice. ‘I will give a bed to each individual.....WHIP...where you can rest in peace and quiet...WHIP’ In the background we could hear the sounds of nails being hammered into wood. We were separated and in the midst of the noisy commotion I found myself flung into a wooden box. There was no space to move in my coffin and it was then that I understood the meaning of Hagee’s words. He was serious about beds but not ones for sleeping.

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