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Watching what has happened to Roxanna Saberi convinced me that I have to share my story, even if it endangers me further. Some of the names, dates and places in this brief article may be blurred, but the story itself is true. It’s about how I was detained by the Iranian authorities, survived five days in Evin and then managed to buy my freedom back – at least temporarily.
I am not a frequent visitor to Iran. Like most Iranian-Americans, I have few other reasons to visit than to see my ailing parents and the remnants of a once large family that is still left in Iran. In the 1990s, I only made two visits. Both were brief, and both were relatively uncomplicated. After my father’s heart attack in 2002, however, I have visited the “homeland” three times. Though my parents are still alive and cannot travel, I will visit Iran no more.
Here’s why.
Early one spring morning, two civilian clothed men knocked on my mother’s apartment in Yousefabad, Tehran. The time was probably no later than 7am, though my memory may fail me on this detail. They said they wanted to have a word with me. They didn’t identify themselves clearly, but it was obvious they were with the authorities. We had just woken up and were preparing ourselves for a several hour drive to a village outside of Tehran.
We invited them in and offered them tea and fruit. They asked me a few questions about my work in the United States. They also asked me why my wife didn’t travel to me to Iran. I explained our work situation. They responded by asking if I trusted my wife being alone in the US. I was both insulted and baffled by the question. My mother noticed my irritation and jumped into the conversation with a lame joke. The two men – who looked as if they were brothers – shifted gears and asked me instead of what I thought of Iran. They asked meaningless questions, I gave them meaningless answers. The conversation lasted no more than 15 minutes. They thanked us for our time and left.
We were obviously disturbed by the visit and cancelled our trip out of the city. For the next few days, there was an anxiety in my stomach that I simply couldn’t shake. After about a week, things started to turn back to normal. There were no signs of the two men, and we began thinking that the entire episode may have been a case of mistaken identity.
But then, only a few days before was scheduled to return to the States, we received a phone call around midnight. I picked up the phone and a voice said he wanted to speak to me. There was no hello, no “how are you doing.” He identified himself as a representative of “ettela’at” and that I had to appear at the gates of the ministry tomorrow morning at 8am. He gave me the address and told me not to be late. I protested and said that I have plans and could make it tomorrow. He paused for about 30 seconds. If it wasn’t for his breathing, I would have thought that the line had been cut. In a very angry and stern voice, he told me that this was not a request. This was an order by the nation’s security personnel. His tone made it very clear that I was in trouble and that arguing would not help my case. But I still managed to ask him why I was “ordered.” We ask the questions here, not you, he responded. Then he hung up.
I was terrified, but I didn’t tell my parents about the conversation, fearing that my father’s heart wouldn’t be able to handle the anxiety and fear. I was up all night, thinking about my wife and two kids.
The next day, I left early and arrived at the address I had been provided. It was not the ministry, but a private resident. I stood by the gates and exactly at 800am a white car stopped next to me. A man jumped out of the back seat, opened the back door and ordered me to take a seat. I complied, he sat down next to me and then we drove off. Four people were in the car besides me. The driver, a person in the front seat whose face I never really saw, and two men to my left and right in the back row. No one said a word. After 10 minutes of driving, I asked quietly where we were going. No answer. After another 10 minutes or so, I tried to stretch out my left arm to get a glimpse of my watch, but the man to my right quickly grabbed me arm and stopped me. He didn’t say a word, but he kept holding my arm for the duration of the drive.
After another hour or so, we began approaching my parent’s apartment in Yousefabad. The driver stopped at the corner, the man to my right jumped out, dragging me out with his left arm, and then jumped back into the car. Without saying a word, and without giving me a chance to ask a question or take a peek at their faces, the car drove away. I had parked my car near the address they had provided, so bringing me back home was most unhelpful.
After an initial period of anger and fear, I started suspecting that their aim was solely to play games with my mind and that my best defense was not to permit them to “get to me.”
But I was proven wrong. That same evening, they called again. This time, they were rude and aggressive, accusing me of wasting their time and not cooperating with them. He ordered me to appear at the same address the next day at 900am. Bring your Iranian and American passports and “shenasname” in a yellow envelope, he ordered me.
I felt extremely uneasy about this, but complied with his demand. This time, I left my parent’s car at home. At the gate, a person appeared quickly, took the envelope (it was white, we didn’t have any yellow envelopes) and disappeared. I stayed around, not knowing what to do. They had my passport and my Iranian ID, so I didn’t want to leave, particularly since I was supposed to fly back to the US only days later. But no one showed up, and after 2 hours of waiting, returned home.
By now, I had to explain the situation to my parents since I suspected that I wouldn’t be able to make my flight back to DC. My frustration was overwhelming, I had no way of contacting these people, and they had all my travel documents. I was stuck, and did not even know who to contact to demand my rights.
I called my wife to explain the situation and prepare her that I might not make it back to the States according to our original plans. I also called and informed my employer.
That night, I sat with the phone in my lap, waiting for a call. But no one called. In fact, it took an entire week before they called again. By that time, I had not only missed my flight, I had also lost my ticket (that’s another story though).
Now the caller was suddenly very polite. He asked me why I hadn’t been in touch and that they had waited for me. I blew up in anger screaming at him that they are toying with people’s lives. He listened calmly and only responded after my outburst that I should come in tomorrow so that the situation could be resolved.
When I showed up the day after the gate was open. A voice on the intercom ordered me to enter and go to room 312.
I am not a frequent visitor to Iran. Like most Iranian-Americans, I have few other reasons to visit than to see my ailing parents and the remnants of a once large family that is still left in Iran. In the 1990s, I only made two visits. Both were brief, and both were relatively uncomplicated. After my father’s heart attack in 2002, however, I have visited the “homeland” three times. Though my parents are still alive and cannot travel, I will visit Iran no more.
Here’s why.
Early one spring morning, two civilian clothed men knocked on my mother’s apartment in Yousefabad, Tehran. The time was probably no later than 7am, though my memory may fail me on this detail. They said they wanted to have a word with me. They didn’t identify themselves clearly, but it was obvious they were with the authorities. We had just woken up and were preparing ourselves for a several hour drive to a village outside of Tehran.
We invited them in and offered them tea and fruit. They asked me a few questions about my work in the United States. They also asked me why my wife didn’t travel to me to Iran. I explained our work situation. They responded by asking if I trusted my wife being alone in the US. I was both insulted and baffled by the question. My mother noticed my irritation and jumped into the conversation with a lame joke. The two men – who looked as if they were brothers – shifted gears and asked me instead of what I thought of Iran. They asked meaningless questions, I gave them meaningless answers. The conversation lasted no more than 15 minutes. They thanked us for our time and left.
We were obviously disturbed by the visit and cancelled our trip out of the city. For the next few days, there was an anxiety in my stomach that I simply couldn’t shake. After about a week, things started to turn back to normal. There were no signs of the two men, and we began thinking that the entire episode may have been a case of mistaken identity.
But then, only a few days before was scheduled to return to the States, we received a phone call around midnight. I picked up the phone and a voice said he wanted to speak to me. There was no hello, no “how are you doing.” He identified himself as a representative of “ettela’at” and that I had to appear at the gates of the ministry tomorrow morning at 8am. He gave me the address and told me not to be late. I protested and said that I have plans and could make it tomorrow. He paused for about 30 seconds. If it wasn’t for his breathing, I would have thought that the line had been cut. In a very angry and stern voice, he told me that this was not a request. This was an order by the nation’s security personnel. His tone made it very clear that I was in trouble and that arguing would not help my case. But I still managed to ask him why I was “ordered.” We ask the questions here, not you, he responded. Then he hung up.
I was terrified, but I didn’t tell my parents about the conversation, fearing that my father’s heart wouldn’t be able to handle the anxiety and fear. I was up all night, thinking about my wife and two kids.
The next day, I left early and arrived at the address I had been provided. It was not the ministry, but a private resident. I stood by the gates and exactly at 800am a white car stopped next to me. A man jumped out of the back seat, opened the back door and ordered me to take a seat. I complied, he sat down next to me and then we drove off. Four people were in the car besides me. The driver, a person in the front seat whose face I never really saw, and two men to my left and right in the back row. No one said a word. After 10 minutes of driving, I asked quietly where we were going. No answer. After another 10 minutes or so, I tried to stretch out my left arm to get a glimpse of my watch, but the man to my right quickly grabbed me arm and stopped me. He didn’t say a word, but he kept holding my arm for the duration of the drive.
After another hour or so, we began approaching my parent’s apartment in Yousefabad. The driver stopped at the corner, the man to my right jumped out, dragging me out with his left arm, and then jumped back into the car. Without saying a word, and without giving me a chance to ask a question or take a peek at their faces, the car drove away. I had parked my car near the address they had provided, so bringing me back home was most unhelpful.
After an initial period of anger and fear, I started suspecting that their aim was solely to play games with my mind and that my best defense was not to permit them to “get to me.”
But I was proven wrong. That same evening, they called again. This time, they were rude and aggressive, accusing me of wasting their time and not cooperating with them. He ordered me to appear at the same address the next day at 900am. Bring your Iranian and American passports and “shenasname” in a yellow envelope, he ordered me.
I felt extremely uneasy about this, but complied with his demand. This time, I left my parent’s car at home. At the gate, a person appeared quickly, took the envelope (it was white, we didn’t have any yellow envelopes) and disappeared. I stayed around, not knowing what to do. They had my passport and my Iranian ID, so I didn’t want to leave, particularly since I was supposed to fly back to the US only days later. But no one showed up, and after 2 hours of waiting, returned home.
By now, I had to explain the situation to my parents since I suspected that I wouldn’t be able to make my flight back to DC. My frustration was overwhelming, I had no way of contacting these people, and they had all my travel documents. I was stuck, and did not even know who to contact to demand my rights.
I called my wife to explain the situation and prepare her that I might not make it back to the States according to our original plans. I also called and informed my employer.
That night, I sat with the phone in my lap, waiting for a call. But no one called. In fact, it took an entire week before they called again. By that time, I had not only missed my flight, I had also lost my ticket (that’s another story though).
Now the caller was suddenly very polite. He asked me why I hadn’t been in touch and that they had waited for me. I blew up in anger screaming at him that they are toying with people’s lives. He listened calmly and only responded after my outburst that I should come in tomorrow so that the situation could be resolved.
When I showed up the day after the gate was open. A voice on the intercom ordered me to enter and go to room 312.
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