Today, I woke up and opened WhatsApp to find a dear friend had sent me some photos we took four years ago with Mr. Nourizad at our home, along with a note saying, “On this day, 8th of Aban.” I thought it would be a shame not to share the memory of 8th Aban 1396 [October 30, 2017] with you.
In Khordad 1396 [May-June 2017], after the presidential elections, I was arrested for the third time and sent to prison. Initially, I spent 19 days in the general ward, but due to writing and publishing my 28th letter to the leadership from within the prison, I was transferred from the general ward to a punitive cell. Later, my wife was also arrested because of this letter. (Search “28th Letter of Mohammad Mahdavifar to the Leadership” on Google.)
In the cell, all my connections with my family and the rest of the world were severed. I remember when I first entered the cell, the first question I asked myself was whether a person could endure in such a cell for even an hour. I survived hour by hour for 138 days. Prior to that, I had spent 19 days in the general ward. Thus, today was the 157th day of my imprisonment.
On Monday, 8th of Aban 1396 [October 30, 2017], the prison was in a state of hustle because the prison warden had been changed. That day, the previous warden was introducing the new warden to all the wards, essentially handing over the prison to him.
At around 11 in the morning, the cell door opened. Four people entered: the new warden, the previous warden, the inspection officer, and the internal manager of the prison. I had 3 or 4 cellmates. When the prison officials entered, they stood up. I found an old newspaper beside me, opened it, and pretended to be absorbed in reading it while sitting.
The new warden, standing right over me, told me to stand up. I continued reading the newspaper, pretending not to hear. He repeated, “I was talking to you, stand up.” Sitting down, I looked up at him and said, “Let this be the last time you ask a prisoner to stand in your presence.”
The new warden was taken aback. On his first day, he didn’t expect such a reaction from a prisoner, especially in front of other prisoners and the prison staff. He needed to demonstrate his decisiveness, management skills, and confidence. He took a piece of paper from his pocket but didn’t have a pen. He borrowed a pen from the internal manager, turned to me, and asked, “What’s your name?” I said, “Check the computer.”
The previous warden, who had been momentarily occupied with his phone or another prisoner, realized something was happening in the corner of the cell and asked, “Mr. Mahdavifar, what’s going on?” The new warden noted down “Mahdavifar” on his paper and asked the previous warden for my first name. The previous warden asked me, and I said, “Check the computer, it should show up.”
The previous warden asked what had happened. I pointed at the new warden and said, “This gentleman asked me to stand up in his presence. Remember to follow up on this matter.” Their visit to my cell was overshadowed by this unexpected conversation. They completed their visit and left the cell.
The prison inspection officer was the last to leave. I called out to him, “Can I tell you something for you to whisper confidentially to the new warden?” He said, “Yes, I’ll tell him.” I said, “Go and tell him Mahdavifar said you have 24 hours to apologize to me.” He replied, “I’ll tell him.” He left, and the cell door closed.
It was just me and my cellmates. They said, “Wow, you dealt with him well.” My cellmates were curious to know which state officials I was in contact with that enabled me to threaten the prison warden. They couldn’t comprehend that if I had any such connections, I wouldn’t have stayed in that cell for such a long duration.
I told them, “Do you know what I’ll do if the warden doesn’t apologize within the 24-hour deadline I’ve given him?” They asked, “What will you do to him?” I replied, “I will give him another 24 hours, but if he doesn’t apologize, I’ll just leave him be.”
Meanwhile, outside the cell, the new warden interrupted his visit to other wards and went to his office. There, he contacted the prison security officer and said, “We have a prisoner for whom you should write a report so I can transfer him to Isfahan Prison.” The security officer asked for the name, and he replied, “Mohammad Mahdavifar.” The security officer informed him that this effort was futile as the release order had just arrived at the prison.
Inside the cell, I had no phone and was unaware of everything happening outside. Behzad Homayouni and some friends were following up on my case, and it seems they had put their house deed as collateral, and the prosecutor had agreed.
On Mondays, lunch at the prison was Gheymeh-Sabzi. As I took my first bite, the prison loudspeaker announced, “Mohammad Mahdavifar, you are released.”
That night, I hosted the beloved Nourizad and my other friends at home.