Prison memoirs of Azam Haji-Heydari from the book The Price of Being Human – Part One
Beginning with this issue, we turn to the prison memoirs published in the book The Price of Being Human, written by Azam Haji-Heydari.
Azam Haji-Heydari was born into a traditional religious family in one of the impoverished neighborhoods of southern Tehran, near Shush Square. She was twenty years old at the time of the 1979 revolution. Because of the rigid and conservative views of her family, taking part in political and revolutionary activities was extremely difficult for her and filled with obstacles.
Azam worked as a teacher for underprivileged children. After becoming acquainted with the People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran (PMOI/MEK) through Tahereh Moharrer Khansari, a PMOI member killed by the regime, and after rebelling against the restrictions her family had imposed on her, she stepped onto the path of struggle for the freedom of her people.
Following her arrest by the Revolutionary Guards Corps (IRGC), she spent five years in prison—including the Temporary Judiciary Detention Center, Evin, Qezel Hesar, and Gohardasht prisons—where she was subjected to torture.
In the coming issues, we will publish excerpts from The Price of Being Human, describing her arrest and her resistance in prison against the reactionary rule of Khomeini, edited for publication on the website.
In this first installment, the author recounts the period before her arrest and her confrontation with the brutality of the regime’s Revolutionary Guards.
The Struggle Between Two Forces
In late 1980 and early 1981, the attacks and assaults by the IRGC and regime thugs against members and supporters of the Mojahedin had become openly savage and deadly.
There was hardly a day when we could go out into the streets without being attacked. And there was hardly a day when one or more supporters of the Mojahedin were not beaten, wounded, arrested, or dragged off to torture by club-wielding gangs. They struck us with fists, kicks, and all kinds of blunt and bladed weapons, intending to kill.
One day a friend and I were standing at the Jomhouri intersection in Tehran, selling copies of Mojahed newspaper. My friend held the newspaper and, as usual, was reading the headlines out loud. I kept watch.
Suddenly I saw three huge, heavily bearded men, each perhaps seventy centimeters taller than me, walking toward us. One of them had his hand inside his shirt. I realized he was planning something and was about to pull out a weapon to strike my friend. I kept my eyes fixed on them, trying to decide what to do.
I moved behind them. Just one step before they reached my friend, the giant pulled a nunchaku from inside his shirt and raised his arm to strike her with full force.
I still don’t know where I found the strength at that moment. I jumped up, grabbed the nunchaku from behind him, and ran.
Jomhouri Street was crowded. I ran as fast as I could while the two giants chased after me. I was exhausted and terrified, almost out of breath. Because the mentality of seeing myself as a “weak woman” still lingered in me, in those moments I found myself wishing that a strong man might appear and rescue me from them.
As I ran, I wondered what I should do. Then I saw a small bridge over a drainage canal—an opportunity. I threw the nunchaku underneath it and kept running.
A few moments later they caught up with me and began beating me with punches and kicks. My body felt completely crushed. But inside I felt victorious. I had saved my friend, and I had taken their weapon away from them, and that burned them deeply. What humiliated them most was that they had been defeated by a thin young girl.
Gradually people gathered around us and began protesting, asking why several men had attacked a defenseless girl.
Each of these incidents—which happened many times during our publicity and awareness-raising activities—pushed me one step further away from feelings of weakness and gave me greater confidence. At the same time, I believe people’s attitudes toward the regime and toward us were also changing.
People saw the brutality of the regime’s thugs against us and grew to hate them. At the same time, they witnessed our resistance and began to respect and support us—especially the women and girls who supported the Mojahedin. Many people themselves gained greater courage and determination to stand up against the regime’s repressive forces.
In that vast and widespread struggle taking place across society and throughout the cities, we could see with our own eyes how Khomeini was gradually losing the position he once held. People who had initially had illusions about him were turning away and moving toward the Mojahedin and other progressive forces.
At the same time, the regime’s Revolutionary Guards and club-wielding gangs became increasingly brutal toward us. Every day when we went out to sell publications or carry out political activities, we did not expect to return home that night.
When we returned, we often came back with broken arms or heads, our bodies bruised and bloodied. Yet our morale remained high because of the social transformation that was taking place. We could see the regime weakening in society while our own movement was gaining strength.
Mass Arrests – 31 May 1981
On 31 May 1981, Revolutionary Guards came to the school where I was teaching to arrest me.
One of the teachers, a friend of mine whose classroom window faced the street, warned me that several suspicious men were standing around the school. I looked out the window and guessed they had come for me.
I climbed out through the classroom window and quickly escaped from the school, managing to slip away from the Guards.
From that day on I was a fugitive, pursued by the Revolutionary Guards.
But I had not yet given my students their final exam, and I was worried about their studies. Through my colleagues I arranged a time for the exam. Although this was extremely risky and my friends strongly warned me against it, I decided to take the chance. I couldn’t bear to leave my students in uncertainty.
I returned to school and held the exam.
When the children saw me, they happily gathered around me, excited that they could see me again. After the exam, I told them that I might no longer be their teacher and that we might not see each other again for a long time.
The children were clearly upset. Some had tears in their eyes as they said they hoped I would still be their teacher the following year. It was very difficult for me to part from those kind and underprivileged little children. But I said goodbye, left quickly, and once again managed to escape from Khomeini’s Guards unharmed.
Even before that, several times in May and June 1981, during our political activities I had come close to being arrested by various revolutionary committees. Each time I had been beaten and insulted by the Guards before eventually being released.
For example, on 8 June 1981, during a peaceful demonstration in Tehran, I was attacked by Revolutionary Guards—many of them from our own neighborhood committee who recognized me—and I was injured.
They attacked the demonstrators with clubs, knives, machetes, and nunchaku, surrounding us in a tight circle and beating people with extreme cruelty and savagery. Most of the demonstrators were young women and girls who supported the Mojahedin.
During the assault, one of my friends, Tahereh Naqdi,[1] was severely wounded. She was later executed in Evin Prison.
In the end, with the help of people in the crowd, we managed to break through the circle of attackers and rescue Tahereh and the others from the thugs.
To be continued…
[1] Tahereh Naqdi was executed on 20 December 1981 in Evin Prison. She was a relative of Mohammad-Hossein Naqdi, the representative of the National Council of Resistance of Iran (NCRI) in Italy, who himself was assassinated in 1993 in Rome by agents of the Iranian regime.
