Simultaneous with the unveiling of the Charter of Citizens’ Rights by the President, at the insistence of my friends and comrades, I decided to briefly document the account of my recent arrest.
On the morning of Monday, the 29th of Shahrivar 1395 [September 19, 2016], the doorbell rang. I opened the door. Six men, seemingly men, were ready to enter the house. One of them showed me the warrant for entering and searching the house.
They had come from the Ministry of Intelligence of Rouhani’s government with an SUV and a Peugeot Pars car from Isfahan to Aran and Bidgol.
A collection of security charges was listed in the warrant, with the top of the list being an insult to the leadership.
I said, let me go tell my wife to put on her veil. I went inside and informed my wife of the situation.
The uninvited guests didn’t wait for me to say “come in.” They were all poised behind the room door.
The children were initially asleep but gradually woke up. Abu’l-Fazl, who was younger, had gone under the blanket and pulled it over his head. One agent said to another, “There’s someone asleep here; don’t kick him.”
The operation to search the house began. They inspected every corner of the house, even the wardrobes and kitchen cabinets and anywhere else you could think of. I don’t know what they were looking for in the kitchen cabinets. Apart from pots and spatulas and spoons, there was nothing. Whatever there was could be found in the letters I had written to the leadership.
They took the children’s computer case, my tablet and phone, the other family members’ phones, several books, handwritten notes, and the satellite receiver to take away. They bent the satellite dish.
Their officer informed my children that they had to take their father with them for betraying the ideals of the martyrs and the late Imam and insulting the hijab, among other charges (he was saying this under the photo of Martyr Seyyed Mehdi Khatami, the children’s uncle).
My wife tried to respond, but I asked her to remain silent. I was worried she’d say something, and they’d record it as a testimony and arrest her too.
Mohsen asked when they’d release his father. They said they didn’t know. It depends on him. Maybe three days, maybe three months, or maybe even three years.
I grabbed a change of clothes and my respiratory medications and packed them in a carry-on bag. When saying goodbye, I gave the necessary instructions to the children regarding their studies, especially Abu’l-Fazl’s Quran memorization classes, Ali’s Olympiad classes, and Mohsen’s university, and then I left with the officers.
First, the intelligence interrogated me at the Aran and Bidgol judiciary. The questions were all about content I had published on my Telegram channel and information they had obtained by hacking my Telegram and email accounts.
They asked why I went to Sattar Beheshti’s house? Why did I write that if this revolution falls, a cleric will be hung from every power pole? Why did I write about the executions of 1367 [1988]? From which foreign country do you receive money? Why have you become the mouthpiece of the hypocrites? Why, why, why?
The intelligence officer assigned to my case told me, “I’ve told you many times, Mr. Mahdavifar, don’t become a thorn in our side or we’ll break your thorn.” My interpretation of his words was that some thorn had lodged somewhere and caused severe pain. Even in those last days, I sensed something foul in the air. Two or three nights ago, I dreamed almost exactly as I witnessed in waking, being arrested and taken away by agents in the same car and with the same individuals.
After this, they took me to the prosecutor of Aran and Bidgol. The young prosecutor, Mohammad Javadi, felt exhilarated to have several young intelligence officers, like himself, seated across from his desk.
The young prosecutor thought for a moment. He opened the book of law and added two more charges to my previous ones: insulting the infallible Imams and having connections with hostile governments.
The prosecutor said, “I only recognize the Supreme Leader for the performance of my duty. Only the Leader.” By “Leader,” he meant Mr. Khamenei.
The Ministry of Intelligence agents then took me to Isfahan for further interrogations.
In central prison of Isfahan, in a tight, dark, damp, and filthy solitary cell, I was placed among cockroaches and lice.
My cell was in the basement of a four-story building. A small hatch, half a span by a span in size, was fitted on the cell door for the entry of food. For air circulation, small holes had been made on the opposite side. I could barely discern the passing of day and night through these holes. I was deprived of any books or magazines. The use of the Quran and the Mafatih was permitted.
On Thursdays, they would briefly empty the yard for 15 minutes for our fresh air break. We were not allowed any interaction with other prisoners because we were prohibited from having contact or visitation.
After 45 days, I was released on bail.
Mohammad Mahdavifar
Demolitionist and Diver of the Sacred Defense