Memoirs of Mehri Hajinejad from “The Last Laughter of Leila” – Part Seven
In the previous parts, we followed the story of PMOI women who stood firm under torture, most powerfully the unforgettable courage of Simin Hojabr, the teenage girl who defied her interrogators with a smile, returning from each torture session singing Luri songs as if nothing had happened. That chapter ended with her execution, a moment remembered for both her defiance and her bright, unshakeable spirit.
In this new section of the memoirs of Mehri Hajinejad, published in The Last Laughter of Leila, the author returns to those early prison years to expose further abuses committed by the clerical state’s interrogators, and to honor the PMOI women who, even in captivity, showed extraordinary courage and loyalty.
Execution by Mistake
Back in 1981, with the huge number of arrests, strange and horrifying things happened inside the prisons—things I don’t think anyone anywhere has witnessed before. One of the most tragic was the sheer number of executions carried out with no due process, no record, and sometimes even by mistake.
Inside the prison, transfers were done in the most careless way. They lined people up, one behind another, each person holding onto the corner of the clothing of the one in front. Sometimes they gave the prisoners a rope to hold and pulled them along. One of my cellmates told me what had happened to her:
“It was near sunset, one winter day in 1982. We were coming out of the prosecutor’s office building, heading back to our ward. We didn’t know that at that same moment another line of prisoners, those scheduled for execution, was also being taken out. We were blindfolded, and halfway through the hallway, our line got separated and mixed into theirs. Holding onto the rope, we ended up walking behind the wrong group.
“As we moved, I felt something was off. It wasn’t the path they normally took us through. I told the guard, ‘Aren’t you taking us back to the ward?’ He snapped, ‘No! Didn’t you hear? You’re being taken for execution!’
“No matter what I said, he wouldn’t listen. So, I yelled, ‘Why are you taking me to be executed? My interrogator told me to go back to the ward!’ I kept shouting until he finally, reluctantly, pulled me out of the line to check.
“At that same moment another girl, her name was Nasrin, also cried out, ‘Me too! You brought me by mistake! I was arrested today. It was even a mistaken arrest. I have nothing to do with anything! Where are you taking me?’
“The guard screamed, ‘Shut up, you Hypocrite![1] You’re lying!’ then shoved her back into the line and marched them toward the execution yard.
“We never saw Nasrin again. She never came back to any ward. We later learned she had been executed that same day, without anyone even checking her identity.”
We heard that similar incidents happened to others but sometimes the prisoners reacted immediately, stopped the line, demanded their names be checked, and managed to prevent being dragged to the gallows by mistake.
A Face-to-Face Fight
One morning, the girls returning from night interrogations were buzzing about a story, a scene they’d witnessed the night before. It was the interrogation of a young woman named Azam, who had fought back with unimaginable strength. Under the lash, all she shouted was: “Long live Rajavi! Death to Khomeini!”—roaring like a lioness.
I knew Azam from outside. She was from the student section in south Tehran, the Khazaneh district. She had warm brown eyes, dressed simply like most south Tehran girls, and was incredibly warm-hearted and friendly. In 1980, she and I worked closely together, and we were both thrilled and proud to be connected with the Mojahedin.
I heard about her arrest during the winter of 1982 from prisoners going to the prosecutor’s building. Stories of her resistance spread through every ward. She was being interrogated in Branch 7 of Evin, infamous for its brutality.
That night, they had beaten her with 400 lashes in a row. Under every strike she shouted: “Long live Rajavi! Death to Khomeini!” The interrogator, enraged by her defiance, beat her harder and harder. Those who were in the hallway that night, including a few girls from our own room, were so overwhelmed by her courage that they could barely speak when they returned. They told us everything.
We had always heard that no one stays conscious past 100 lashes. But Azam, they said, had endured four times that number while still roaring defiance.
Months later, I saw her by chance. The soles of her feet had grown lumps of flesh the size of an egg. She was already under an execution sentence. I never saw her again. Later we heard that she was executed during the 1988 massacre.
A Love That Never Dies…
In Ward 240, I shared a room for a long time with Jalileh Foroutan, an activist teacher who also worked at a clinic. She was arrested in June 1982 at the age of 27. When she was taken, she had a one-year-old daughter named Hamideh. Her husband, Hamid-Reza Mortezaii-Nia, had been a member of the PMOI from Mashhad. He had a degree in civil engineering and was killed on January 17, 1982, at age 30.
Jalileh Foroutan was interrogated in Branch 4. The interrogators tortured her repeatedly and brutally, but she never abandoned her principles. She was patient, steady, and always helping others.
After four years in the medieval torture chambers of the clerical state, she was released. In September 1987, she joined the National Liberation Army, and in 1988 she laid down her life in Operation Eternal Light.
During the time we shared a room in Ward 240, we witnessed many things together. One of the most shocking stories she told me was one she had seen with her own eyes, the story of Nayereh, a woman whose resistance left a deep mark on everyone.
Jalileh Foroutan said: “In early 1982, Reza Keyvanzad, who worked in the social section of the (PMOI) in Tehran, was arrested by the prosecutor’s office. Under torture, he broke and ended up betraying others. His wife, Nayereh, was still underground. The state forced Reza to set a trap for her so they could arrest her.
“When Nayereh was caught, the interrogator, knowing how much she loved Reza, thought he could break her emotionally. He arranged a meeting between them right in the interrogation room. Reza started ‘advising’ her—telling her resistance was pointless, that she should give up, and so on.
“But Nayereh already knew he had betrayed her. She stood up, spat in his face, and shouted: ‘Get away from me, you traitor! You’re a disgrace, and from now on nothing connects us.’
“The interrogator then told Reza, ‘Fine, then YOU must make your wife speak.’ He even ordered him to whip her with the cable. And Nayereh, under the lashes of her own husband, sang motivational songs. She roared with defiance, as if passing this test only made her stronger.
The jailer thought he could use love to break her. He had no idea that inside her was a deeper love, one that makes all others fade. Nayereh eventually continued her path all the way to the end, until she was killed.
Reza, thinking that betraying his wife would earn him protection, believed the state would spare him. But after using him, they executed him too.
[1] Monafegh — Literally “hypocrite.” This is the derogatory term the Iranian state uses for members and supporters of the PMOI (People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran). It’s intentionally dehumanizing and meant to frame them as deceitful or traitorous.
