The experience of a girl being raped by the police forces in Iran
“In my point of view, Iran’s situation is sectional and temporary; attempt the impossible, everything will be normal sooner or later!” Alex drank some of his coffee. Lobby was dead silent and Jenna was checking Facebook through her laptop.
“Use your loaf Alex! How such public murders could be sectional? They are killing people in the streets! I saw it with my own eyes today. They attacked people, arrested and injured them, just because they gathered in silence in objection to the government’s political prisoners!” she said.
“I see. However, I think everything in Iran follows a kinda fashion routine. You know! It’s not only the way youngster wears, but in the way of their ideas, beliefs and reactions, you could see fashion, and you know that something like “fashion” is sectional, it doesn’t belong to all ages.” He said.
She closed her laptop and crossed her arms across her chest,” I don’t understand, what do you mean by fashion?” she asked.
“Well, I mean, people just follow groups. I’m sorry to say this, but they are like sheep in a herd. Where the group goes, everybody follows; they don’t think about where they are going it’s just like fashion. People wear clothes, style their hair and do makeup, the way actors and singers do; the way fashion designers show and the way so many people are act! It’s precisely like a joke! They never use their brains in their protests, they just follow the others, right or wrong!” he explained.
“Tonight’s Alex philosophical night, right? One of those rare nights ever!” she giggled.
Alex laughed and said,” Well, yes, the Middle East makes everybody a philosopher or at least a psychologist!”
“Yeah, somewhat I agree! If we compare Iran’s Islamic revolution with what we see these days in the streets of Tehran, or probably other cities of Iran, we can say there is a kind of fashionism in so many aspects of their lives, but it’s not general. Iran has so many thinkers, artists, writers, people who honored their nation by their abilities.” She countered.
“Aha! I see.” He said.
“I think it is the calm before the storm. As much as they suppress people, I believe the storm will be bigger. It’s the way all the dictators go. They finally will fall down by their own hands” She said.
Alex yawned and said, “It’s mid-night, and I’m tired. Better chat tomorrow, ok?”
“Alright! Let’s go” she said. Alex followed her at her room; she said goodnight, and Alex waited until she entered.
“Do you like to come in?” she asked. Alex entered the room, it was almost dark, has lit by the moonlight. He desired her with whole of his body, need to rest his head on her warm chest and touch all her body that trembled beneath his fingers. She took off her Manteo and let her hair fall on her shoulders and turned the light on. She knew Alex was burning in devotion, wanted to catch his act, but he saw a big swollen mark on her shoulder.
“Holy shit! What the hell is this?” he focused on her shoulder.
“Ah! This? One of the police hit me with a baton in the park!” she replied and gazed at the bruise.
“Really?” he amazed and forgot his manly needs.
“Ouch! Don’t touch. It hurts.” She said.
“That’s ok! I –“he stepped back “I think you’d better rest, looked so tired”
“Yeah! Thanks Alex. Goodnight!” she said and opened the room door. He went out and waved her until she closed the door. He waited there, listened, the sound of water; she was taking a shower; the imagination of her wet body could make him to knock the door, hold and kiss her deeply, but he abstained to do that. Turned on his heel, “back to my own room!” he walked in a dancing way and whispered “pretty woman” song.
The darkness, like tar covered everywhere. It was in the middle of the winter and there was a snow storm outside her apartment. She woke up and felt extremely thirsty, went downstairs to get some water. It was dark at the kitchen and drank up some water, turned around and was about on her way to the bed. Suddenly, she felt a cold feeling behind her neck. She turned around; on the kitchen table, there was a black shape. It was like a man, but it was not; eyeless and faceless slowly rising up from the table, started to walk towards her. She started to run; was running and running, she could see the door in front of her, but she had never got to it. Then she woke up in a hospital tied up and being observed by lots of doctors, psychologist and a priest. On the front wall, there was a screen showed her a video of herself locked and tied up in a room equipped with a surveillance camera. They left her in the room, turned the light off, and again the darkness covered everywhere. Abruptly, she felt she is falling, an endless feeling of falling down to nowhere. She even could not scream; she looked like she was screaming, but no voice has come out of her mouth.
She woke up again, was breathing like she has asthma, hard like she was breathing under water. Two tall strong blacked clothes men were following her, the sound of their footsteps echoed along the corridor. She tried to control her noisy breathing by putting her hands on her mouth, but the sound became louder and louder like she was screaming. Men stood, followed the voice, and she tried to close her eyes but she had no eyelids. The men who wore black plastic masks grabbed her arms and pulled her on the ground. Her feet skin was tearing up while they scratched on a ground full of scattered mirrors. Her meat parts stuck on the sharp edges of mirrors, and rats ate them. It was raining cats and dogs; some people under black umbrellas, watching the coffin go through the hole into the ground of the graveyard, yellow withered roses like the waterfall, spread on the coffin, and then the brown wet soil that fills the hole. She was a dead body, with heavy makeup, wide-open eyes. She saw the people all around the grave; everybody in black clothes and everyone was faceless. They bend to see her go down to the darkness. She felt the oxygen is finishing, scratched the coffin door with her long nails and blood spilled from her fingers over her eyes. She screamed, but her voice smothered in that small wooden box. She just could hear people laughing, their voices echoed several time, and she could hear that they were spatter the soil on her coffin. She barely could breathe. Her eyes were full of blood. She was trembling of cold. She tried to breath, but the coffin filled with red hot blood.
Jenna jumped, put her hand on her mouth and ran to the toilet. She has been bended on the basin and vomited. The yellow liquid of her stomach hardly came up through her esophagus tube. She was shaking of fear and felt a fire in her stomach. She rambled to her bed; the morning light splashed via the thick curtains. She could hear the sound of police alarms and people screaming. The smell of tearing gas, burned tire and gun powder made her to puke again.
Jenna looked like someone who was listening carefully, but in fact, she was not in a good mood; still stressful and miserable about the nightmare she had last night. She hoped that her interview finish soon, then she could go somewhere and distract her mind from concentrating on the nightmare. She recorded the interviewer voice on her MP4 recorder, and tried to show interest to her speech; sometimes with a smile, sometimes shaking head and sometimes by saying” right.” The scenes flashed back automatically; faceless men, darkness, lack of oxygen. She felt she cannot breathe well, drank the whole the water of the glass and focused on the interviewer explanation.
“As you know, under Iran’s Islamic Sharia law, imposed after the 1979 revolution, women are obligated to cover their hair and wear long, loose-fitting clothes to disguise their figures. Violators can receive lashes, fines and imprisonment” she declared, “The shops are supposed to be a secret – the government doesn’t want the West to know about this area” she continued,” When the Shah was toppled thirty 30 years ago, and we found ourselves living in an Islamic Republic; every slogan was about “evil” Western interferences; especially concerning cultural issues. From infant school upwards the government tried to brainwash youths into hating Western culture. Even so today, when you look at modern Iranian cities, it’s plain to see that many of these official programmers have failed. One of the best examples is demonstrated in clothing and style. Despite the government supposed crackdown on non-traditional clothing five years ago, people simply didn’t pay attention” she added.
“It’s an uncomplicated matter; I mean clothing; one of the fundamental need humankind has and should choose it himself, so, the simple matter of clothing is an issue – social and political – in Iran?” Jenna asked.
“Well, absolutely. Think about it that citizens use the internet to follow what’s going on in the fashion world. Plus, there are underground fashion designers that hold private parties and catwalks in their homes. Obviously, they are very careful about whom they invite, and then there’s the fashion centre of Tehran, in the north of the capital, where there are around 100 designer shops. Of course, they’re supposed to be a secret – the government doesn’t want outsiders - the West - to know or talk about this area. However, neither has it ever got rid of it. No doubt they’re yearning to close the shops down, but when they think of the financial gains in tax, can’t bear to actually do it,” she answered.
“So they have their own fashion brands? Then why we have seen resistance to these famous brand boutiques in the past – both Basij officers and police often trying to bother them in some way?” Jenna asked.
“Well, remember when the Benetton chain opened in 2006 it came under fire immediately. The Islamists called it a Zionist shop and attacked it during Operation Cast Lead on Dec. 31 2008! It means that they limit people in public, but they do the same in private for financial matters. Some kind of dichotomy! People really don’t know which way to follow? They even fine and arrest people who shopped from themselves!” she said.
“And now, after Ahmadinejad made his speech about the chador and women’s dress on Jan. 11, the boutiques are being targeted for their being western, right? These shops are going to be under immense pressure from this point on!” Jenna said.
“Yeah, that’s right. Of course, it’s not Iran’s problem only. I can’t say, it’s Islam’s fault, but I can say that there are the same matters against women in Islamic countries such as Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, Iraq and so many other countries. Anyway, the issue of cover is the simplest matter you could face with in Iran. Meantime, you can see what’s going on in the streets, prisons and so on and of course, USA closed its eyes on such matters,” she assumed,” you see Obama’s administration sought a seat on the Human Rights Council, reversing the Bush administration’s policy to boycott the body to protest the influence of repressive states. US Ambassador to the UN, Susan Rice, didn’t comment on Iran’s selection to the women’s commission. Rep. Dana Rohrabacher, R-Calif, the ranking member on the House Foreign Affairs Subcommittee on International Organizations, Human Right and Oversight, blasted the silence of the U.S. to Iran’s selection, saying it is the U.S official position: to be pleasant with a gangster” she shook her head of pity.
“Yeah, that’s a shame! If you look anarchic to such matters, you almost can say one thing; every problem humankind face with in modern societies is just because of the governments!” Jenna said.
The secretary of Mrs. Foroughi ran into the room, with a pale face,” there – some police –“she could not continue her speech, and three men in dark-green police clothes, black beard and caps rush in.
“What are you doing here? Which one is Foroughi?” One of the men yelled.
“Please calm down sir. What’s the problem? She’s not in Iran now; she had to travel to London for some research. Have a seat please!” the interviewer asked.
“Shut up! Soldier, arrest everybody and sealed off the office!” he barked.
Jenna shockingly said,” what are you doing? You don’t have a right to do these! For what? Huh?”
“Arrest her soldier! If you don’t like me to shut your mouth, you keep quit! Everything will be clear in the police station!” he yelled. His eyes were red, the vein on his forehead swollen in a scary way. Jenna tried to avoid the soldier to hand cuff her,” you don’t have the right – “the police interrupted.
“Who are you? What’s your name to talk such rudely with a governmental officer?” he shouted. The interviewer said,” she’s right! At least tell us what’s our crime? Why you are arresting us?” she pleaded.
“You don’t know? You’ve built a spying office here, working for CIA and think we are dumb?” he smirked. Jenna looked at the interviewer and shook her head.
“What the hell! Spying office?” Jenna said and turned to him,” do you understand what are you talking about? It’s a Human Rights office, how can it be a – “she was stopped by his yelling.
“I said shut up! Take them to the car!” he said to the soldiers.
The street was in a real riot; people were escaping like it is doomsday; no one see anyone. Alex was taking pictures, tried to move through the running crowd avoided being seen by the policemen who attacked people with batons. People were bleeding, crying, trying to help injured girls and boys. He took a shot of a police who was hitting a girl sat on the ground of fear and pain when two police officers saw him. Alex started to run, and they followed him. While he was running put his camera in his pack, put the pack on his shoulder to run more easily, but the policemen running very fast and shouting like crazy apes. People could be seen everywhere, in the lanes, under cars “freeze!” the police yelled. The policeman had a pistol in his hand and was running like a horse. Alex continued his way; he knew if they arrest him, they would not let him go. He had many evidence in his camera, and should keep them. Alex turned lane to lane, passed a wide street, jumped on the cars and slid on the hot bonnets of them. Some people tried to help him to escape and some tried to stop him, but he was an expert in runaway conditions, like a Hollywood super hero. Nevertheless, the officers were fast too, like eagle followed his trace; however, he was so far from them.
He turned to another lane; some people were escaping there too. Alex turned his head to see the policemen, and they were still following him. Alex changed his way to a narrow alley where a woman was opening her apartment door. He was panting like a newborn puppy, could hear the police men shouting. The woman wide opened the door and points him to enter. He had no choice and entered the apartment corridor, and woman closed the door. She put her pointing a finger on her round, plumped lips.
“Shhh, they are here!” she said in Farsi.
Alex just understood her gesture and sat on the stairs. The policemen stood in front of the building.
“I saw him, sir. He went inside this building,” the soldier told to his boss in Farsi.
“Knock the door. Come on!” the boss yelled.
Their green shaped bodies were shown behind the blurry glassy door. The woman grabbed Alex’s arm and pull. Alex followed her to the second floor and they both entered to her apartment. She locked the door and put her ear on the wooden door. Alex’s heart was beating too fast, stare at her face to understand something. Her eyes were black, beautiful Arabic eyes under long eye lashes.
“They are inside. Go … go to my bedroom!” the woman said, but Alex did not understand looked at her in wonder. The women repeated and finally push him to the bedroom and closed the door. Policemen knocked the door harshly.
“Open the door. Police.” The boss said.
She took off her scarf and Manteo, threw them to the toilet, messed her hair and opened the door, “what’s the matter?” she said.
“A volatile escaped to this building Miss. Didn’t you see him?” he asked.
“No, I have no idea. I just wake up!” she sputtered.
“I’m sorry, but can we check your house?” he asked.
“Well, do you have any official commandment?” she said.
“No! “He replied.
“So, I can’t let you check my home.” She said and closed the door. The policemen whispered something and left the building. She ran to the window and look via the curtain; the policemen waited outside. She went to the bedroom; Alex was waited.
“They are outside!” she said with a worry reflection on her face. Alex lifted his shoulders.
“You don’t understand what I’m saying? Are you a foreigner?” she asked. Alex just was staring at her face. She left him alone and went to the hall to watch the police. They still were waiting and chatting. Alex came out of the room. Look around and saw a big framed photo of her in bride dress next to a man on the wall.
“He’s passed away last year, had a car accident.” She pointed to the picture. Alex smiled, “what is she saying God?” he thought. She smiled, and her pearl white teeth have shown via her beautiful lips. “Damn! She’s pretty!” he thought. She went to the kitchen; the sound of china dished could be heard and came back with two cups of coffee and some biscuits.
“Have a seat please!” she showed the coach. Alex sat uncertainly. She passed him a cup and some biscuits, and both started to eat in silence. Alex’s phone rang.
“Alex, some idiots arrested me, please come and bring my ID cards from my room.”Jenna said with a trembling voice. Alex put the cup on the table and stood in shock.
“What? Why? Where are you?” he asked so fast.
“I can’t explain now, they came into the Human Rights office and arrest all of us. I don’t know why. They just need my ID card and passport. Please bring them fast. Call me when you get them, and I tell you the address.” She said and cut the phone. He scratched his head, “what am I supposed to do?” he whispered. He took his bag pack and ran to the door. The woman was calling him, but he did not hear anything.