From the prison memoir by Hengameh Haj Hassan – Part 23
In the previous installment of the Face to Face with the Beast, we read about Shekar Mohammadzadeh recovering gradually after the horrors of the residential unit, regaining some emotional balance through Hengameh’s support, while recounting the extreme methods of torture they endured.
Content advisory: This section contains descriptions of severe psychological and physical torture.
“You Turned Me into a Child’s Plaything”
Meanwhile, Mullah Ansari came to Ward 8 several times, seeking to whitewash and cleanse the past. One day he said that Ward 8 had a bad image in people’s minds, while it was just like any other ward! He said they wanted to normalize it, to erase that perception. They even opened a door from our ward to the yard of Ward 7.
It seemed as if the locked cells and the atrocities Haji and his guards had committed here, the suffering they inflicted on the prisoners, could be forgotten and cleansed by these actions.
During this time, Haji Davood and his guards disappeared, replaced by new torturers, and Lajevardi’s responsibilities were shifted. In this brief period, a few prisoners were able to gain freedom, and the few who survived the prison alive came out during this time.
Shekar slowly started to feel better, returning somewhat to a normal state, though her depression and grief remained. When she spoke about the residential unit, she said the “cage” we were in was actually the rest they gave us, to sit facing the wall and let day turn into night, and night into day. She spoke with hysterical anger about the traitors, saying it was they who had “crushed” Fatemeh; otherwise, she was unbreakable.
It seemed the torturers sexually assaulted Fatemeh in front of others, and I couldn’t understand whether Shekar meant “crushed” physically or metaphorically, or if she meant the betrayal of the traitors. Whenever she reached that point, she would tremble, become unbalanced, and couldn’t continue. She said, “They [the guards] lived with us; can you imagine what I mean when I say these beasts lived among us?”
Shekar said, “We were in Gohardasht, and one day they separated 40 of us and brought us here. They mocked us, saying they wanted to conduct a scientific experiment, and we were the lab rats. We knew they were going to do something to us, but we didn’t know what. They kept us standing for days without food or water. I remember being able to stay standing for six days, but after that, I lost track of what happened.
After hours of standing, we would faint and fall to the ground, but they would beat us awake and make us stand again. Sometimes, no matter how much they beat, we wouldn’t regain consciousness; then they would leave us until we woke on our own, and again… again…”
We had no idea what they wanted to do until they took us to the residential unit. We were blindfolded the entire time. That’s where the torture began. They told us we were dogs or donkeys and forced us to say it ourselves. When we said, “I am a donkey,” they would tell us to bray, then make us “carry” them, and later force us to write, “I am a donkey” a thousand times, then two thousand times, and so on…”
At this point, Shekar, like someone whose entire being had been crushed, lost everything, and her tears flowed as she sank into thought. I remembered Roxana in quarantine, repeating like dehumanized beings: “I am a dog! I am a dog!” while crying, and I searched for the source of these words.
Sometimes, when Shekar talked about the residential unit, I couldn’t continue listening without losing my balance. My God, what do they do to a person? Who would believe this? Who could? And inside, I cried out: God, where are You? Where are You? In these moments, it feels as though only our strength reaches You; You alone can endure these moments for Your servants, otherwise any human’s heart and mind would explode.
I remembered that occasionally, when Shekar was in her own thoughts, she would hum a poem. She had never been very poetic, but this verse she repeated constantly was:
“I was dignified and poised, and you turned me into a child’s plaything!”
In everyday life, Shekar had always been composed, serious, and modest; neat, orderly, and polite. I had never seen her behave indecently in any matter, whether dressing, eating, or otherwise…
Yet the inhuman oppressors of Khomeini forced her, crushed her dignity, and tried to break the rest of us too.
I had been with Shekar for two weeks. Her state had fundamentally changed; there was no sign of her previous instability. She was once again a spirited, resilient fighter. We were planning how to coordinate our visit times: on the last visit, we had told our parents to come simultaneously so I could meet her parents and she could meet mine.
I told Shekar to get ready for my father, who would call her by the funny nicknames he had given her in front of everyone. She laughed. She said she missed my mother dearly and longed to see her.
The truth was that our deep friendship had brought our families close together, almost like a single family. Because of this, during each visit, before anyone else, my mother would ask about her, and her mother would ask about me.
To be continued….
