Prison Memoirs of Azam Haj-Heydari from the book The Price of Being Human – Part Seventeen
In this installment of The Price of Being Human, Azam Haj-Heydari recounts her experiences in Unit 1 of Qezel Hesar Prison, a punishment block that became notorious as the Cage Ward.[1] She describes the inhumane conditions imposed there and the systematic campaign of psychological and physical torture carried out against female political prisoners under the command of Haji Davoud, one of the regime’s most notorious prison officials.
At the time, Azam was a young teacher in her early twenties who had joined the struggle against the Iranian regime. She spent five years imprisoned in the Judiciary’s Temporary Detention Center, Evin, Qezel Hesar, and Gohardasht prisons, where she was subjected to brutal torture by Khomeini’s guards.
Arrival at the Cage Ward
Fifteen of us were transferred to Ward 8, another solitary-confinement ward, though under slightly less restrictive conditions.
Then five of us, including me, were taken somewhere none of us had ever seen before.
The chief executioner of Qezel Hesar, Haji Davoud, addressed us.
“I’m taking you somewhere that’s just like Hell,” he said. “Today is Judgment Day. There, every one of you will answer for what you’ve done. You’ll stay there until you either die or come to your senses, choose life, and repent.”
By repentance, he meant publicly degrading ourselves.
“You’ll admit that you were immoral women,” he continued. “That you were looking for brothels, and that you found what you wanted in the Monafeqin[2] organization.”
With his grotesque laughter and his monstrous appearance—he looked more like a gorilla than a human being—Haji Davoud continued:
“I’ll keep you there until your hair turns as white as your teeth, and your teeth as black as your hair.”
Pointing to the walls of Qezel Hesar, which had been built and painted through forced labor by prisoners, he said:
“Look at these walls. Your work keeps making them new. But your youth is slipping away forever, and it will never come back.”
“Where is your Masoud? Where are your so-called heroic people? Why don’t they come rescue you?”
“Of course, we won’t even let you squeak in there. Even if your entire body becomes one great scream, no one will hear you. No one will come to your aid.”
“This is the end of the world. From here, you leave either for the cemetery—or as decent human beings.”
“That is your fate.”
By the time he finished speaking, we understood exactly why we had been brought there.
They believed this place would finally break us.
Only later did we learn that it was Unit 1 of Qezel Hesar Prison, later known among prisoners simply as the Cage Ward.
Seven and a Half Months Blindfolded
We stood in the reception area for nearly four hours.
To me, those four hours felt like forty.
I hurriedly reviewed everything in my mind.
Every friendship.
Every conversation.
Every connection I had made inside the prison.
I imagined the questions they might ask and rehearsed my answers.
Then I remembered an argument I had recently had with one of the collaborators.
A few days earlier, one of the women had drawn the emblem of the PMOI. A collaborator named Sharareh saw it and made a contemptuous remark.
I couldn’t tolerate it.
I jumped down from the bunk and confronted her.
I knew she had reported me.
I was so absorbed in my thoughts that when a guard suddenly called Hengameh’s name—the first woman standing in line—and dragged her away, I barely realized where I was.
From there, we were loaded into a minibus and taken to Unit 1.
When I finally saw what awaited us, fear gave way to reality.
Each of us was taken to a separate cubicle, blindfolded, and seated in a corner.
The ward consisted of three sections.
As far as I could estimate while blindfolded during trips to the toilets, each section held somewhere between forty-eight and fifty-five prisoners.
Everyday Haji Davoud walked through the rows.
Beginning at the entrance, he stopped over every prisoner in turn.
Depending on whatever complaints or reports his collaborators had submitted, he would “welcome” each prisoner with cables, punches, or kicks.
As he beat us, he repeated the same refrain:
“Today is Judgment Day. You’ll either become human—or you’ll go to Hell.”
Life Inside the Cages
Let me describe this place they called the Cage Ward.
There were no ordinary prison cells.
Instead, the unit consisted of wide corridors and a huge hall where what looked like two hundred ping-pong tables had once been stacked nearly to the ceiling.
A year earlier, when we had first been transferred from Evin to Qezel Hesar, they had briefly taken us into that hall.
We laughed and joked among ourselves.
“How nice,” we said sarcastically. “They’re building us a ping-pong hall!”
At the time we had no idea why those tables were there.
Only after arriving at the Cage Ward did, I understand Lajevardi‘s sinister purpose.
Unable to build enough solitary cells for his plan to break political prisoners, he had converted the ping-pong tables into makeshift isolation cages.
The tables were stood upright in long rows through the corridors, each no more than about seventy centimeters apart. Their legs were welded together with metal bars.
On the floor lay filthy military blankets crawling with lice, giving off a foul odor. Their coarse fibers felt like wire digging into your skin.
Each narrow space between two tables became a cage for a single prisoner.
Blindfolded prisoners were forced to sit there twenty-four hours a day.
The cages were arranged diagonally so that neighboring prisoners sat as far apart as possible, making conversation nearly impossible.
Collaborators patrolled the corridors day and night, constantly watching to ensure no one spoke.
The cages were so cramped that even someone as small as I was—barely fifty kilograms—could not sit cross-legged.
Once I cautiously tried to shift into a cross-legged position to see how much room there actually was. Slowly I lowered my leg. Immediately I realized one of the wooden partitions was beginning to tip.
I froze.
The collaborator watching over me laughed.
“Careful, Monafeq,” she said. “You’re about to crush your beloved friend’s head.”
“If you’re trying to eliminate her so you’ll have more room, just say so.”
The space was so narrow that even my small frame barely fit.
There was only one possible position:
You hugged your knees against your chest and rested your head on them.
Hour after hour.
Day after day.
A Request for a Qur’an
The first time they took us out to perform ablutions before prayers, Haji Davoud himself was present.
I already knew we were expected to remain blindfolded at all times, sitting silently without permission to do anything.
But I wanted to understand the rules of this new place.
So I asked,
“May I have a copy of the Qur’an—or perhaps the Nahj al-Balagha?”[3]
Suddenly Haji Davoud burst into one of his grotesque fits of laughter.
“A Qur’an?” he mocked.
“Nahj al-Balagha?“
“Come here!”
A blow like a sledgehammer crashed onto my head.
“What else do you want?” he sneered.
“Poor Monafeq.”
“Go sit down and think about your miserable life.”
“It’s obvious you have no idea where you’ve been brought.”
Inside, I laughed at him.
“You’re the fool,” I thought.
“I know exactly where I am.”
“I only asked because I wanted to get under your skin.”
To be continued…
[1] Cage Ward – The name prisoners gave to Unit 1 of Qezel Hesar Prison, where solitary confinement was replaced with tiny makeshift “cages” constructed from upright ping-pong tables. Prisoners remained blindfolded inside these narrow compartments for months under conditions of extreme physical discomfort, isolation, and constant surveillance. The Cage Ward became one of the most notorious instruments of psychological torture in Iran’s prison system during the early 1980s.
[2] Monafeqin / Monafeq– Literally “hypocrites.” The Iranian regime used these terms as derogatory labels for members and supporters of the People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran (MEK/PMOI). The original Persian terms have been retained throughout this memoir because of their historical and political significance.
[3] Nahj al-Balagha– A revered collection of sermons, letters, and sayings attributed to Imam Ali ibn Abi Talib, the first Imam in Shi’a Islam. It is considered one of the most important texts in Shi’a religious thought after the Qur’an.
