LATEST: “Die, Mrs. Narges Mohammadi, but out of prison”: the woman that the Iranian regime failed to silence | International
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“Die, Mrs. Mohammadi, but out of prison.” That was what Narges Mohammadi heard from a so-called doctor in Evin prison a few years ago. “I don’t give a damn if you die, I don’t want it to cost the system more.” She was being held in solitary confinement at Evin Prison, her health rapidly deteriorating. He did not know what charges were against him; There was no judicial process. They injected him with something to prevent him from fainting again, but he didn’t know what it was either. She did know that she had left her two twin children, just over three years old, at home, without knowing how long it would take to return. It was the year 2010. Mohammadi describes this experience in the book White Torture (Alianza). Today, he has been in the Tehran Pars hospital for a week. His younger brother, Hamidreza Mohammadi, exiled in Oslo (Norway), says that he had never feared for his life as much as now. “I feared she was being subjected to a slow execution.” Those who visit her report that she looks weak, has lost 20 kilos and has difficulty communicating. There have been 140 more days in the Zanyán prison – intended for common prisoners – and another four in a hospital in the same city. The regime authorities refused to transfer her to a specialized hospital despite having symptoms of a heart attack. More informationFor Hamidreza, the regime is trying to get rid of her in a “discreet” way. Other opponents are publicly executed so that they serve as an example to others and fear reigns in Iranian society. With Mohammadi, the Nobel Peace Prize, which he received in 2023 after years of activism for human rights, equality and democracy, gives him some protection. Different governments and the UN intercede for her. An Iranian activist who shared a prison cell with Mohammadi for about nine months, and who prefers to speak on condition of anonymity, says prison guards did everything they could to pressure her. “She was much stronger than they imagined. There were times when some prisoners treated her badly, especially the supporters of the Pahlavi monarchy. Still, she did not stop helping them when they needed it.” He remembers the day Mohammadi confronted guards when they brought a woman who had been assaulted in the detention center to the cell block. And another in which he interceded so that a colleague did not commit suicide. “Narges was a very happy woman and full of life. For each new inmate who arrived at the ward, Narges was a refuge. She spent hours sitting listening to them or interviewing them,” she adds.Early activismMohammadi felt the controlling power of the regime from a very young age. At age 19, she was arrested for wearing an orange coat. Her family witnessed her determined personality: Hamidreza remembers that she was one of the youngest volunteers in the rescue teams after an earthquake, when she was a teenager in her first year of high school. They lived with their parents and two other older brothers in the mountainous province of Zanyan, northwest of Tehran. Narges Mohammadi in the center with a blue cap, in a photo provided by the Foundation that bears his name, without date and location. Narges Mohammadi FoundationHis mother, Ozra Bazargan, also learned of his stubbornness very early. Mohammadi tells it in a biography that will be published in September, an extract of which this newspaper has had access to. According to her, her mother had tried to terminate the pregnancy in several ways. “That unborn baby had a fierce desire to live. She stood her ground and fought for herself. And finally, after trying everything, my mother gave up. She told the fetus, ‘Okay, if you are so determined to fight, stay,'” Mohammadi writes. She came into the world on April 21, 1972. Ozra once again encountered the same stubbornness in her daughter when she decided to marry activist Taghi Rahmani, who had spent several years imprisoned for his opposition to the regime. Rahmani remembers the time when Ozra did not want to support the union for fear that he would be arrested again. “But we were in the era of reforms and we thought that they would no longer arrest us,” says Rahmani. The government of the reformist Mohamed Khatami began in 1997 and brought with it a wave of hope for changes in Iranian society. They married two years later, after a friendship that was born in the circles of debates for reforms. But Mohammadi’s mother’s fear was prophetic. Their marriage began marked by arrests. First his, who spent three years in prison. And then hers, who was fighting for her release along with relatives of other political prisoners. White torture It was the year 2001. Mohammadi worked as an inspection engineer in a company. Rahmani was imprisoned and she had given interviews to international media. That is why she was summoned before the Islamic Revolutionary Court. He didn’t return home. They blindfolded him until they reached a cell. It was tiny, barely enough to open your arms and stand. Without windows, only a small opening in the roof let in some light and allowed a view of the sky. It was the first time she was completely isolated. They call this white torture because it leaves no marks on the body, but it can drive a person to madness. Twenty-five years after that first experience of isolation, followed by many others, his body shows the consequences. “Every time they send her to the hospital, it is a reminder of how much they have let her body deteriorate before doing something about her health,” are the words of her son, Ali Rahmani, now 20 years old. Ali answers this newspaper’s questions through an intermediary. He and his twin, Kiana, have lived in exile in Paris with their father for almost eleven years. They grew up not only with the absence of their mother, but also with constant fear for their lives and pending what is happening in Iran. The separation from his children has been one of the highest costs Mohammadi paid for his activism. “I remember one night, while I was sleeping, I felt Kiana’s lips on my cheek,” he says of the night in solitary confinement in Evin prison in 2010. “I stretched out my arms to hug her and found a void.” She had been arrested at midnight at her home in front of her children. “Kiana cried in Taghi’s arms and asked me not to leave,” she describes in her book. “How was it possible to imagine and endure the loss of Ali and Kiana? I felt like I had lost everything.”Narges Mohammadi with his children, Kiana and Ali Rahmani, in an undated photo with location provided by the Foundation that bears his name.Narges Mohammadi FoundationHe had to learn to live with that separation. First it was her husband’s and then her children’s. He rejected Rahmani’s proposal that they leave the country together. He went so far as to turn to his mother, Ozra, to convince her, but she knew she could not change Mohammadi’s stubbornness. Her children joined him three years later, when Mohammadi was imprisoned in 2015. “She is a woman who, when she makes a decision, takes it to the end and is not afraid of difficulties or obstacles. Narges has that characteristic,” says Rahmani. Today, more than ever, he understands his decision to stay. Inside Iran, he manages to have more voice and do more for political prisoners and human rights. After 14 years away, he sees his departure as “a tragedy.” Narges Mohammadi in a photo provided by the foundation that bears his name, without date and location. Narges Mohammadi Foundation Gelareh Kakavand has a similar opinion about Mohammadi. Together with Vahid Zarezadeh they recorded a documentary while Mohammadi conducted interviews with twelve women for the book White Torture. She had been released from prison on provisional release at the end of 2020. “From the beginning, she knew that doing so could put her back in prison, but for her, raising her voice was more important than remaining silent,” says Kakavand. During the recordings, the entire team was under constant surveillance. Zarezadeh was interrogated twice; They had to hide hard drives in different places and delete material. But Kakavand reminds that Mohammadi is not the only one: “All of us who live in this context—all of us truly committed to resisting injustice—know that the risk of arrest, torture and imprisonment is always present. Narges was no exception. She was one of the thousands of people who accepted the price of speaking out.” Even so, his “constant courage” stands out. “She thinks about ways to continue civil resistance, whether alone or with others. Even during periods of illness, she devoted a significant amount of time and energy to this book, fully aware that she would have to return to prison.” And he actually returned to prison in November 2021, after the publication of the book and documentary. In total, there were 10 years of her life in prison, interspersed with brief periods of freedom in which she raised her voice again. “They will lock me up again, but I will not give up my fight until justice and human rights prevail in my country,” he wrote in the book. Ali shares his mother’s ideals, but also has other longings: “I imagine her simply sitting with us in a room, eating ice cream like we did when we were little and talking, like a normal mother and son.”
What Happens Next:
Experts suggest the long-term impact of these developments may become clearer as more information emerges.
Political and economic analysts are paying close attention to the potential consequences of these events.
Stay tuned for further updates on this developing international story.
Source: This article was originally published by Internacional en EL PAÍS and adapted for our international English-speaking audience.
Read the original article here.