I was a political prisoner in Iran — Tehran will use this moment to execute dissidents

In November 1982, Nasrin Parvaz planned to meet a friend and fellow activist in the Iranian capital, Tehran. She was shocked when her friend showed up at the meeting with an interrogator.

“I didn’t know he’d been arrested the day before,” Ms Parvaz, now 67 and based in Britain, told The i Paper. “He couldn’t take the torture, and named me. I was arrested.”

Ms Parvaz had been involved in demonstrations against the Iranian regime that had come to power following the revolution in 1979, bringing with it a fundamentalist and repressive interpretation of Shia Islam.

“The regime introduced misogynistic laws,” she said. “They said women had to cover their heads. Women did not have the right to divorce. Women had to have their husband’s permission to leave the country. Custody of children was the husband’s right. The law permitted men to kill their daughters and wives, and they went free.”

Ms Parvaz was taken to an interrogation centre for six months. “I was tortured because they wanted my contacts, and I wouldn’t give it to them,” she said. “My feet were lashed, so much so that I was paralysed for three weeks. The guards had to take me to the loo, and I couldn’t shower.”

She was transferred to Evin prison in Tehran, a notorious site holding thousands of prisoners, including hundreds of political dissidents, human rights activists, journalists and dual nationals. The prison, sitting on a hilltop surrounded by electrified barbed-wire fences, would become her home for most of the next seven years.

“Evin has a reputation of being a site of torture and oppression,” Nader Hashemi, director of the Alwaleed Centre for Muslim-Christian Understanding at the Edmund A Walsh School of Foreign Service, Georgetown University, told The i Paper. “Every major political dissident that has been arrested by the Islamic Republic of Iran has found themselves at Evin.”

Ms Parvaz was shown to a room meant to sleep five prisoners – instead, it housed 80 women and two children.

A prisoner walks in the Evin prison yard in Tehran, Iran October 17, 2022. Majid Asgaripour/WANA (West Asia News Agency) via REUTERS ATTENTION EDITORS - THIS PICTURE WAS PROVIDED BY A THIRD PARTY
An inmate in the Evin prison yard in Tehran in 2022 (Photo: Majid Asgaripour/Wana)

“I was beaten, but not like when I was at the interrogation centre,” she said. “I was put in solitary confinement, sometimes for months.”

She remembers becoming very ill in Evin with an unbearable pain in her stomach.

“I was at the point of dying,” she said. “I couldn’t eat anything and lost a dramatic amount of weight. They didn’t want to give me any treatment or medication, and said they would take me to hospital if I wrote my first confession – that I had made a mistake to struggle against the regime. I said I would not.”

Read more on The iPaper

Inside Stories: Stories of Resilience During the Pandemic

Inside Stories: stories of resilience during the pandemic is a series of conversations with people who have been displaced by war, conflict or persecution about their lives, thoughts and hopes for others.

As a young woman in post revolutionary Iran, Nasrin Parvaz was arrested for her political activism and spent the next eight years in Iran’s prisons.  The brutality of the prison regime, her friendship with her fellow women prisoners and their children, and the unexpected glimmers of joy and humour are captured in her book, One Woman’s Struggle in Iran: a prison memoir. Nasrin was granted protection in the UK in 1993 and is an author and artist.  She continues to campaign for justice and is an active members of Survivors Speak Out at Freedom from Torture.

A few weeks into the lockdown, we asked Nasrin what has happening in her life, what was on her mind and what message she might have for others.

“My life hasn’t changed much. Due to epilepsy, which I developed as a result of having my head bashed against walls in prison, my social life had become limited the last few years even before the pandemic; that means I couldn’t do the activities I would have liked. So my life was mostly dedicated to writing and recently to art. Now with the lockdown, that little social life that I had is gone and I’ve missed it, but I’m in touch with friends by phone. I’m very grateful that my editor has finished editing my most recent novel during the lockdown and with that aside, I now have other unfinished books to work on, and I continue my art classes on Zoom to improve my painting.

However I’m aware that this situation is very hard for people who have lost their loved ones, or for those who lost their jobs and don’t have a secure future. At the same time there is money available, it’s just not given to those who need it, and this hurts me. Especially when everyone had to stay at home and look after themselves and the construction workers still had to work. A friend of mine who had done many different jobs and who is a construction worker, worked until he dropped to the floor with the coronavirus and was under ventilation for 12 days. When he came out of the ICU the nurses clapped for him, saying he fought for his life. He had no energy to tell them that they had saved his life.

Once more this situation has reminded me that my struggle for justice was right and that I have to continue. Last year there were multiple floods in Iran that made so many people homeless. Flooding also happened in numerous other countries and it only makes the poor poorer, whilst the rich, whose companies heat up the earth producing useless goods, get richer.

The situation reminds me of prison, but not solitary confinement where I was deprived of being able to see anyone for days and nights for months. It reminds me of times that we prisoners were together or in different rooms, but had no right to talk to each other. We would be tortured if we did. Yet the guards could not read our eyes and a glance at my cellmate meant I had written a letter for her. We had secret places where we used to hide our letters. When another friend of mine hung her blue shirt on the washing line, I knew she was telling me that she had hidden a letter for me. An ordinary book would be a cover for our little letters to read under the guard’s nose. Just as we found new ways to communicate in prison, we are now using social media to be in touch with each other.

I hope this situation opens our eyes and people try to change the world for a better future. I’m worried that big pharma may attempt to capitalise on the importance of the virus and extort people by profiting on the price of the vaccine.

Nasrin Parvaz, June 2020

One thing that kept me going in prison was the belief that the situation will pass. I believed nothing was permanent and it’s the same with this situation we’re living in now. One day this virus will disappear. But I hope this situation opens our eyes and people try to change the world for a better future. It makes me sad that all the production is for profit rather than for people’s benefit – and everywhere people become poorer and a select few get all the wealth with the help of the system and army that they have made to protect themselves. I’m worried that big pharma may attempt to capitalise on the importance of the virus and extort people by profiting on the price of the vaccine if it is successfully developed.

I also hope all those polluting cars won’t come back to the streets, and that there is a solution. If transport is public and free, not for profit, then people would not bring their cars to the street and the air wouldn’t get polluted: the earth would breathe rather than burn as it does now.

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© Milan Svanderlik for www.LondonersAtHome.org