Prisoner of The Iranian Régime

SHEYKH MOHAMMAD CYROUS
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PRISONER OF THE REGIME
Prisoner of the Regime
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Sentier Islam Copyright 2013 under the Berne Convention
www.cyrous.blogspot.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-62209-254-3
Printed in United Kingdom - Second Edition Revised March 2013
DEDICATION
May God bless the Sayyed Shirazi family, including Sayyed Mujtaba Shirazi (HA), my marja Sayyed Sadiq Shirazi (HA), the greatest scholars of Shia Islam, and Vahid Khorassani (HA) who authorized me to wear the clerical vestments. I owe a special respect to Sheykh Yassir al-Habib (HA). A special dedication to my parents and my family, who always supported me, and Daniel Peyser, who helped me to complete this book.
CONTENTS
Preface 1 France 2 The Identity Puzzle 3 Iran 4 From St. Louis to Montreal 5 A Student in Qum i 1 7 13 24 35
6 Montreal: the Smear Campaign Begins 50 7 Welcome to the Islamic Republic 8 Dubai and Morocco 9 The Dictators Grandson 10 The Iranian Guantanamo 11 You Will Tell Us Everything 12 Forced Confession 13 The Trial 14 Home Leave 15 The Langarood Clergy Ward 16 Freedom 57 66 76 80 92 114 130 146 152 167
PREFACE
In the name of God, the Most Merciful, the Most Gracious, This book is not intended as just a political denunciation of the Iranian regime, or as simply a personal matter. Rather, I see it as a religious duty and an attempt to prevent further harm to other potential victims, who would otherwise believe in the supposed holiness of a system that relies on irreligious methods to maintain power and control. Because of this system, many have lost their faith, their health, and their lives. It would be an insult to other victims who have incurred such losses to consider my case as merely my own personal affair. What about the scholars who were assassinated by the regime, like Sayyed Reza Shirazi (RA)? What about the other victims who dieddont their families deserve to be remembered, too? Today, I am back to a normal life, thank God! I can find no reason to base my life today on seeking vengeance for an event in my personal life that turned out fine in the end. Actually, I gained a lot from this hardship, like better knowledge of the reality of life, Islam, and the Iranian regime. It even strengthened my beliefs and character. Now, my educational
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research and spiritual meditation has brought me to a purer religious path, removed from any political agenda. If a professor or a close friend had only explained to me the reality of the Iranian Regime before I moved to Qum, I would have never put such a deep trust in a system that uses torture and other inhumane methods to remain in power. I probably would have pursued my Seminary studies either in Najaf or somewhere in the West instead. In Iran, many people have problems with the Intelligence Service. It is normal there, since, by their logic, the Regime sees itself as being at war with the whole world, and must control the population with fear, intimidation, and repression. The majority of seminary students who have had problems with the Regime stay silent for several reasons, mainly to: remain accepted in their Shia communities; because if one starts to criticize the Iranian Regime, the majority of that community will reject, label, or even threaten them; avoid placing their life in danger, especially if they decide to travel in Iraq or any area where Iranian Intelligence Service is active; protect family or friends who live in Iran or Iraq; have better opportunities inside Shia institutions,
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organizations and offices, which is especially important because often Shia organizations offer job opportunities with a reasonable salary or donations. The non-Iranian citizens who study there, or who follow Iranian political leadership, base their love for Iran on an opportunity to study, a political ideology, or because it is a ziyarat holiday destination. That is why often the non-Iranians who experienced such torment dont have such deep feelings for Iran as a nation, country, culture or motherland, and therefore they are not committed to live, integrate and love this country as an Iranian would. Ultimately, I had to choose between following the majority of clergymen by remaining silent, or losing my reputation and opportunities by staying genuine, sincere, and honest. Some people from the Shia and non-Shia communities suggested that I follow the majority of seminary students and remain silent, in order to be more respected in the community, to get invited to all the centres without being labeled, and to avoid having any threats made against me. I thought of this Quranic verse: Say: Shall I inform you of the greatest losers in their actions? People whose efforts in the life of this world are misguided while they suppose that they are doing good (18:103-104). Since my first days in the seminary, Ive always been taught that anyone who remains silent towards oppression, and especially
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towards crimes committed under the name of Islam, is not a believer. Several traditions from our infallible Imams teach us this lesson: anyone who remains silent about the oppression of another Muslim is not a Muslim anymore. Indeed, there is a price for speaking out. The Intelligence Service of Iran has undercover agents inside Shi'a communities worldwide, and they pay a reasonable salary to lecturers in order to thwart anyone who would hamper their propaganda efforts. I do not align myself with any political agenda, and personally it makes no difference to me who is in power, just as long as the people, and in particular the Shia, are not oppressed. If I really wanted to reply properly to the tortures and mistreatment I suffered, I would undoubtedly: sue the Iranian Regime, including some specific personalities and diplomats, in international court. press charges against a few known people living in Canada and the UK, who were directly involved with my torture and detention, in a court of justice, where I would request financial and moral compensation. become actively involved with a political Iranian opposition group, like many other Iranian citizens. concentrate on political activities rather than seminary
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studies, and the practice of an apolitical, quietist religion. follow a strong political opposition marajaiat, like Anjoman Hujjatiyeh, Ayatollah Yussef Sanei, or the team of Ayatollah Montazeri, who I know, since I shared my time in Langarood prison with them. My experiences left me deeply convinced of the belief of the Islam of the Ahl ul Bayt (PBUT). I now follow only the scholars who will guide me with the doctrines of our Imams (PBUT), rather than a fallible, political Iranian Islam, or any other worldly political agenda. I am grateful that God showed me the right Marja, Sayyed Sadiq Shirazi, through his dear brother Sayyed Mujtaba Shirazi, my spiritual professor and a pathway, and Sheikh Yassir al-Habib, who is an inspiration to me. And besides Allah you have neither any protector nor any helper. (The Holy Quran 9:116) We must rely on God, and Him alone. Mohammad Cyrous Muharram 1434 / November 2012
1 FRANCE
Since the establishment of the Islamic Republic of Iran in 1979 serious human rights violations have continued; victims include a broad range of political opposition from members of left-wing groups to monarchists, as well as ethnic and religious minorities. There has also been a pattern of restrictions placed on Shia Muslim religious leaders opposed to fundamental tenets of the Iranian political system such as velayat-e faqih or governmental policies, and the arrest and detention of their followers. This pattern has continued throughout the 1990s. For years, little was known outside Iranian religious circles about human rights violations against members of these groups. In recent years, however, divisions between certain
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Shia religious leaders and the state appear to have deepened, and information about human rights violations against them and their followers has reached a wider public. [SOURCE: Amnesty International Iran: Human
rights violations against Shi'a religious leaders and their followers]
Behold! The Curse of God is on the oppressors! (Holy Quran 11:18) Three hundred and fifty days. Or, eight thousand, four hundred hours, in the prisons of the so-called Islamic regime of Iran. Whenever I heard the metal door of my 30 square foot solitary confinement cell slam shut, followed by the sound of the dead bolt and shielded padlock, my physical pain would be replaced by worries of what would happen to me next. Anytime I was transferred from my cell to the interrogation room, I was escorted by two big guards. We passed through the long dark corridors, where agonizing screams, howls of pain, and other cries were heard. Constantly anxious, whenever I remember the smell of my interrogator's strong cologne, I pray to God to release me from this most evil nightmare. It all started at the age of thirteen, when I grew a deep desire to discover more about my identity, my religion and Iranian culture. This is where my story begins.
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The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) said, The people who have the greatest portion of Islam are the people of Persia. (Kanz al-Ummal, no. 34126) AUGUST 1978 I was born in the south of France to a mixed French and Persian family who were Shia Muslim and, despite their religiosity, also secular. My father comes from a middle class Iranian background, born in Tehran, raised in an educated family. He is a descendant of Abu Dharr Ghaffari, a great companion of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH&HF); and a descendant from Mozzafar-e-Din Shah of the Qajar Dynasty. His familys seventh child, his life was imbued with Persian and Shia culture. Growing up, he would spend his summer vacations in the Holy City of Qum, where his mothers family owned a ranch. He still remembers well his visits inside the home of Ayatollah Sayyed Hussain Boroujerdi, the highest Shia religious authority in Iran at the time. He was impressed by the Ayatollahs humility and kindness. Even now, my father remembers how Sayyed Hussain would stoop down to organize the shoes of his guests by the front door.
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After Qum, Kashan was the other town that my father loved. It was the place of the three wise men recounted in the Bible, and Abu Lulu Nahavandi (PBUH), a companion of Ali ibn Abi Talib (PBUH), the first Shia Imam. After completing his Masters degree in Tehran, my grandfather offered his son the opportunity to pursue his doctorate in France, where he enrolled the University of Dijon in Burgundy. My mother was born in Tehran to a Kurdish Iranian father and a French mother. Her father was from a Kurdish khan, a landlord of Persian Kurdistan and descendant of an aristocratic Kurdish family, whilst her mother is from a Burgundy family of artisans. When my mother was around eight years old, she, along with her parents and brothers, moved to Dijon. Ten years later she met my father at the University. They married and moved to the south of France. Nice, the city in which I grew up, is a Mediterranean town between Cannes and Italy. At home, despite the fact we spoke in French, Iranian culture was more prominent: eating Persian food, following Persian ceremoniesespecially Nawrouz, the Iranian New Yearand intermingling with other Iranian families. Whenever my family came from Iran to visit us, I always enjoyed the presents from them because they were like small puzzle pieces of my roots. My name, my culture, and my background gave me a strong curiosity
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to visit Iran someday. I knew that I was Shia and Persian, however I didnt believe that I could fully understand this side of myself until I was among Iranians. In French society, I struggled to feel accepted by my classmates, who were neither Iranian nor Shia. Most of my them were Jewish, Catholic, or from the North African Sunni community. Still, I felt an inner love of religion regardless the faith or denomination. I remember one of my closest classmates, a religiously observant Jew. He would make Talmudic references during his religious events, and the way he spoke about his religion and its culture, I found similar to my own feelings about Iran. I never quite understood why Muslims and Jews disliked each other; especially because they are identical in many aspects, such as some religious stances, similar cultural points of view and history. Additionally, the two nations share a point of convergence in history through Cyrus the Great, King of Persia, who saved the Jews from Egypt. Through my search for spirituality, I made more North African Arab friends at school. Since the age of 10, I had I learned many things from those classmates about Islam and Arab culture, and I developed a love of Arab language and culture. I used to participate in North African Arab gatherings among my classmates during the Ramadan celebrations. One of my Arab classmates gave me a small Quran which I
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dearly cherished. I tried to learn Arabic in order to be able to read it. After few months, I began trying to recite some short verses from it to him, and he would encourage me. However, despite the childhood friends I made from many different backgrounds, I still felt as if I would not know my own origins until I could to travel to Iran. FALL 1991-1993 LIVING WITH MY GREAT GRANDMOTHER My great grandmother, who came from Iran, lived with us for two years. During her stay, our home atmosphere became even more Persian than before, because we had to speak only in Farsi, eat exclusively Persian food, and carry out our prayers on time. She had taught me some zekr (Muslim supplications), and I used to interact with her often, asking questions about Iran and our religion.
2 THE IDENTITY PUZZLE

SUMMER 1994 MOVING FROM FRANCE TO LOS ANGELES At roughly 15 years of age, my brother and I followed my father to California, the place where most of my paternal family had chosen to reside since 1979, when the Iranian revolution took place. It was in the United States that I would discover another missing part of my culture, in the presence of my fathers large family and the even wider community of Iranian expatriates more than one million people, who left the country to take refuge in America after the revolution and the establishment of theocracy. I was fascinated by the multicultural environment in America and in particular by the freedom of the Iranian community
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which allows foreigners to be a part of society without forcing them to become religiously and culturally invisible. Ironically, for me the United States was more Middle Eastern than where I grew up. The people seemed to be more openminded and less judgmental towards my beliefs and origins. From that time on, the idea of visiting Iran pursued and captivated me even more than before. I yearned to know and further unravel the last missing piece of my identity puzzle. In Los Angeles, there were quite a few Iranians in my classroom, and I started to practice my Farsi with them. There were also many Persian restaurants, shops, schools, centres, and superstores, and I was neither ashamed of freely practicing my Shia religion, nor of having an Iranian background. I had become rapidly integrated into L.A., a part of a multicultural society in which I felt welcomed. People were much more enthusiastic and open in their faith, without any restriction, as opposed to life in Nice. One day, I saw a group of Christian college students. They held hands in a circle and prayed loudly to Jesus Christ right there in the street. I had never imagined witnessing such a powerful public display of spirituality, because back in France religion was looked upon as a negative and shameful thing. In the USA, societys mosaic is deeply rooted in Anglo-Saxon culture. As the American historian, Carl Neumann Degler, would
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say, The metaphor of the melting pot is unfortunate and misleading. A more accurate analogy would be a salad bowl. There was no imposing culture on others in the USA, and all foreigners lived peacefully in their own areas. I felt at peace inside of myself as well, and I was amazed with the respect for the beliefs of others. Anytime I was invited to an American celebration, because they knew I was a Muslim, they always offered me an extra halal portion. Here, they tried to accommodate minorities (in Canada, this is known as Reasonable Accommodation). Unlike France, this was part of the culture, not only a written law. It was a new thing for me, coming from a country in which it is looked upon with shame to speak a language other than the native French. The local children back in France used to make fun of the Arabic and Portuguese languages at school, and they ridiculed others for their lack of French fluency. For example, one event in France profoundly affected me. One day I was at Lenval Hospital and my parents were speaking in Farsi. The doctor, listening to our foreign language, stopped us to say, We are in France, and we are supposed to speak only French hereokay? We all fell silent. I always felt that because we werent completely assimilating into the French culture, we werent integrated. It is important to note that I do not mean to be misleading with
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this example, for France is a land of hospitality to people from other countries, especially Persia. I do not mean to insinuate that France is any way an ethno-centric nation; rather, I only wish to express my own experience in search of my roots. Indeed, the approaches of Latin versus Anglo-Saxon cultures are different and therefore incomparable. While studying in High School, my intention to go to Iran grew ever more intense, to the degree that I finally decided to move to Qum to enter the religious seminary. My family didnt support or agree with my decision: as they explained, life in Iran wasnt proper and easy to integrate into. Nonetheless, they referred me to my relatives living in Tehran and near Qum to take care of me.
The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) said: Seeking knowledge is an obligation on every Muslim. Indeed, God loves those who strive in their quest for knowledge. (Al-Kafi, vol.1, p. 30, no. 1) SUMMER 1997 I graduated from high school in Los Angeles, and during my graduation ceremony I announced to my extended family that I would be moving to Qum, via France, to pursue my theological
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studies. I traveled to Nice, France, where I began to plan out my trip to Qum. One day, I went to an Islamic bookstore to purchase some books. I explained to the owner about my plans to study in Qum, and he suggested that I register in an Islamic seminary near Paris, where I could learn Quran, Arabic and some Islamic lessons. Therefore, after conferring with my family, I decided to study at IESH (Institute of Muslim Studies in Chteau-Chinon). The seminary held a five-year intensive program, leading to an undergraduate degree. Upon my arrival in the seminary, I suddenly found myself in a reconstituted Muslim village surrounded by a forest, a few miles from Paris. It was indeed similar to any American university campus, except that the students wore traditional Islamic clothes: hijab for the sisters and thawba long Arabic robefor the brothers. The other difference was the loud call to prayer (azan), which could be heard all over the campus, including the dormitories. My Shia identity became more colorful, especially as a result of debating with a few Salafists and mainstream Bakri students. In the institute, the handful of Salafists present were attempting to impose a black-and-white version of Islam without allowing for other interpretations, or the willingness to even hear them. Many major misconceptions came from the opponents of
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Shiism, which were related to Khomeini and the Iranian regime. I wasnt aware of many issues regarding Iran, and was confused by the other students ways of analyzing Shiism. In addition, Arab culture was very strong among the Muslims in the seminary. As a result, even non-Arab converts to the religion would usually adopt it as their own. My Arabic instructor was originally from Syria, and knew the Shia and Iranian culture of Damascus very well, due to the presence of Holy Shrines of the daughters (Zainab, Umm Kulthum) and granddaughters (Ruqqayya, Sakinah) of the first Muslim Imam, Ali ibn Abi Talib. The more I studied, the more I realized the complexity of the theological sciences, which couldnt be reduced by a simplistic view of the world. The divergence between the two sects, Bakri and Shia, appeared deeper in the scriptural exegesis, sources of traditions and analyses of history. Once on campus, I met Dr. Tariq Ramadan, the grandson of Hassan al-Bana, the founder of the Muslim Brotherhood. I expressed my views about the positive way he defended the rights of Muslims in France, but I suggested that he include Shia references in his lectures to Muslim communities in the French world. He didnt say a word, but nodded approvingly. At end of the year, it was time. I decided to depart from the seminary in France and move to Qum.
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3 IRAN
SUMMER 1998 FIRST TRIP TO IRAN AND SEMINARY REGISTRATION In July, 1998, I took an Al Italia Airline flight from Nice, via Milan (Italy), to Tehran, the capital of Iran. Through the window, I saw the landing runway. The wheels of the plane had just hit the ground of Mehrabad Airport in Tehran, and my heart began to throb. We would be off the plane in just a few minutes... The women inside aircraft listened while the flight attendants instructed them to follow Iranian law and cover their hair before disembarking the plane, due to the restrictions of the Regime. The atmosphere changed a lot; through the window, all seemed
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to be grey and dusty. The lack of color shocked me. An old bus crossed the runway and stopped in front of the plane, waiting to fill up, to transport us to the door of the airport. I was surprised by the dusty airport. Its appearance was both depressing and frightening in a way that would cause any rational person to think that a war had just ended. Guards, militiamen (sepah) armed to the teeth, badly shaven, looking stern and aggressive, carefully scrutinized the passengerstheir own peopleas if they were guilty of some crime by coming from the abroad, from... the West. A huge, disorganized crowd waited in front of three booths for passport control, without any respect for the concept of the queue. From behind their computer screens, Passport Control Officers in military clothes, with their wrinkled and stained shirts, and serious, emotionless faces, checked each passenger for minutes on end. After over three hours of waiting, my turn finally came. The Passport Control Officer took my passport and asked me if this was my first trip to Iran. Yes, I answered, it is my first time, proudly adding, I came to study in Qum to become a sheikh (chaplain). He looked at me, smiled slightly, and wished me a good stay. I followed the signs pointing to the exit. There, a disorderly crowd awaited the return of their luggage. Some were smoking, while others complained about the Iranian regime as they waited. I
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had to push and jump between passengers to get my bags. Almost four hours after landing, I finally headed to the exit, where I saw some of my relatives who had been waiting for hours. Inside the car, on the way to their home, I observed the old, poorly maintained roads of the city of Tehran, and noisy, battered cars from the 1960s along the way. The city smelled like the smog of car exhaust. It was difficult to breathe, but for some reason it brought back vague memories of the Barbs (North African) area of Paris. The first days after my arrival, I felt at home. People were friendly, but for some strange reason, they seemed much more nervous than the average westerner. It was quite a contradiction to see women in the street wearing the veil, as many of them were quite secular. Most were complaining of be obliged to wear it by law; while in the West, Women who wear the hijab choose to do so by their own will and belief. Because I couldnt speak Farsi properly, taxi drivers, shopkeepers, and restaurant waiters understood that I was from the West. Right away, they would tell me that I was lucky to have been away from this dictatorship. They were envious, only wishing they could be in the West themselves. I was accompanied by my relatives at all times. They asked me
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not to speak, as we didnt ever really know with whom we were dealing. Iranian society is very politically oriented, and a slip of the tongue, or any wrong word, could potentially lead to big problems. The yellow taxis were plentiful, and generally shared with several passengers at a time. It even happened that up to three people could be seated in the front of the cab, and another four in back. I wanted so much to visit the holy city of Qum, the capital of the Shia world, and the centre of the religious seminary, to register. My cousin, Kourosh, who grew up on the family ranch situated near Qum, where my father used to spend his vacations, drove me from Tehran to Qum. I was so excited that Saturday morning, the first day of the week in Iran, to visit Qum. The drive there from the North of Tehran took us almost three hours on the highway. As usual, the traffic was heavy in Tehran, and the cars honked a lot. The city was polluted by noise and smog, but my deep desire to see Qum was so intense that I didnt mind spending the whole day in that traffic, just so long as we arrived at our destination.
MY FIRST VISIT TO THE HAWZAH ELMIYYAH (SEMINARY) IN QUM
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It was like I had always imagined in my childhood dreams: mosques everywhere, the golden Shrine of Hazrat Fatimah Masoomah, hundreds of clergymen wearing black or white turbans, and women dressed only in their black chadors. However, the town looked even poorer and darker than Tehran. Many buildings were made of mud, and not all streets were paved. I asked Kourosh to accompany me up to the main entrance of the religious seminary centre in order to speak with the admissions officer. I can still remember our conversation as if it had occurred only yesterday. You really want to become a clergyman? asked Kourosh. Well, I always dreamed of studying in Qum and becoming a sheikh, I replied. What? he exclaimed. I hope you wont support the Regime! Do you know how bad the oppression is in this country, all in the name of religion? Nobody in Iran likes clergymen because of all the human rights abuses and the mismanagement of the country. He explained to me that in the time of the Shah, clergymen used to be highly respected there. However, after the Revolution many problems came; and because it was under the banner of Islam, clergymen bore the brunt of the blame. Since then, they had been hated by many people. I was never fully convinced by all the pep-talks given to me by my cousin in this regard, since they directly contradicted the
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impression I had received from books and the media of Iran as a modern Shia nation, following the great and noble Islamic principles of divine governance for the first time since the occultation of the 12th Imam. We entered the admissions office, and I tired to converse and engage with others using my limited Farsi to request further information about the requirements for acceptance into seminary. The secretary gave me an application form, printed entirely in Farsi and Arabic, and notified me that I would have to pass an entrance exam at the end of the week. Kourosh drove me to a local bookstore so I could buy some English books to prepare for my examination, which was to be on the following subjects: the biography (sirah) of the Prophet Muhammad, the life of the Twelve Imams, and the Farsi language. I stayed at our family ranch near Qum, where Kourosh and my aunt lived with their family. There, I started to read the books to warm up for the examination, while discovering the Iranian side of the family. They were very warm and friendly, even though I had never met them before. They all knew me quite well, and would ask how my father and mother were doing. They shared their family photo album with me, showing my father when he used to play as a child on the farm during the summer holidays. My family explained to me that my grandfather used to be very pious, and how that may explain why my inner love of spirituality
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pushed me towards religious studies. However, they warned me that in Iran, after the Revolution in 1979, religion became a political tool. It was, they explained, a weapon to defend a particular agenda; one that did not necessarily follow Islamic teachings, and was far removed from any sort of sincere spirituality. Thursday morning came very fast; it was D-Day for me. Kourosh drove me to the admissions office. We were greeted by an elderly gentleman, who introduced himself as a professor and instructor in the seminary. Kourosh had to wait in the corridor, while the elderly clergyman asked me to follow him. We went to a classroom, where he asked me about myself, the religion, Arabic grammar, history, jurisprudence, and so on. After an hour, he smiled at me and said that I could begin that September, 1998. I could not believe what I heard, and was very excited to start my studies. He gave me a paper to hand to the Admission Office. On my way there, I met Kourosh and gave him the news that I had been accepted at the seminary. He face turned pale; he looked worried. He asked me to follow him, and approached the old clergyman. Kourosh explained that my parents lived outside of Iran, and that they were not happy with the idea of me staying in Qum. My cousin requested that they offer me the option of distance
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learning. Suddenly, the old clergyman stared at me and said, Mohammad! You havent told me that your parents are unhappy with you staying in Qum! After another long discussion, I was given the option of following the seminary schedule on my own (distance learning), and visiting the sheikh once a year to follow up with my studies, conducted back in the USA. He suggested that I apply to universities in the US for regular studies, because God doesnt like children separating from their parents for no proper reason, and you have a great opportunity to live in the USA. You should be grateful for Gods gift. However, I will write down a list of subjects for you study and, after few years, you can come back and complete your seminary education. By the end of our meeting, I felt disappointed and a little deceived, but I did like the sincerity and the open-mindedness of the old sheikh. On the way back to Tehran, I purchased some more books, seminary outfits, and souvenirs from Qum.
SEPTEMBER 1998 STUDENT PROTESTS IN THE STREETS OF TEHRAN One morning, I went with another cousin to Revolution Square (Meydan Enghelab) in the city centre. The streets were
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filled with state security agents (Etelaati), riot police, and Bassiji and Hezbollahi militiamen, under the leadership of Supreme Leader, Khamenei. Some held batons, while others were armed with heavy guns. Buses, taxis, and cars could not move forward. I was in the midst of a student protest. I wanted to escape the scene, as I wasnt used to witnessing such turbulent events. The gates of Tehran University were locked, and the people were loudly chanting: Death to the Taliban of Tehran! Down with dictatorship! I had never seen such a riot in my entire life. Thousands of students in the streets around the University of Tehran and within the campus were chanting slogans. Buses full of soldiers were arriving two by two to bring reinforcements. As my cousin and I tried to leave this incredible scene, the security forces began to fire rounds of teargas. Students pulled their shirts and clothes over their faces to protect them from the fumes. As she tried to run away, an elderly pedestrian was screaming, O oppressors! You are not Muslims to mistreat your own people this way! We moved towards the place of Ferdowsi to escape the crowd. An officer was beating all the pedestrians. I was hit in the arm. On the way back, I asked many questions about the reason behind these riots and protests. However, at the time I was nave,
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still living through the image supplied by state propaganda, of an Iran full of spirituality, science, and culture. It was a small student protest before a bigger one in July, 1999. My cousin explained to me that it was the consequence of the electoral victory of Mr. Khatami, who gave people some measure of freedom to express their opinions. But, he added, the Regime had many serious flaws, and freedom of speech was not part of their ideology. This, despite the fact that our religion allows the expression of any opinion. Since the reformists came to power on August 2nd, 1997, more unrest, protests, repression, and violence appeared in Iran. The image the presidency pushed, as well as the view from outside of the country, were very different from the reality of the countrys power. The country is led by sepah, the Revolutionary Guard corps, of which the Iranian leader is both a part and the one in charge. In addition to this powerful corps, there is the majles khobregan, the Assembly of Experts, which is a body of 86 Iranian Islamic scholars reserved for Iranian citizens to control the Supreme Leader. Moreover, there is the intelligence and national security service of the Islamic Republic (MISIRI), which itself includes many different departments, such as the MOIS, who preserve the image of the regime abroad, the department of disinformation, who control and manipulate political opposition groups, and so
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on. Therefore, despite the cautious reforms by the 2nd khordad team (the Khatami reformist party), the other bodies of the Regime hadnt changed or reformed whatsoever, but had actually become more repressive, in an open bid to thwart reforms.
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4 FROM ST. LOUIS TO MONTREAL

LATE FALL 1998 RETURN TO LOS ANGELES I returned to L.A. with many books, and filled with enthusiasm to follow the advice of the old clergyman. Upon my arrival in L.A., I immediately went to a junior college and started my general studies. After a semester, my father had to move in St. Louis, Missouri, for a year-long work project; and so, once I completed the academic semester, I was ready to follow my family.
Say: Travel through the earth (Holy Quran 6:11) ROUTE 66 FROM LOS ANGELES TO ST. LOUIS
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Over the course of two days and one night, we made the trip east from Los Angeles to St. Louis, driving mainly on I-40 (Interstate 40). We drove through Arizona, traversing the Navajo reservation where Red Rocks could be observed, a good representation of the states symbol and of the Native Americans natural habitat of the far west. In New Mexico, we stopped a night in Albuquerque, a city with green- and blue-colored buildings, and mainly white Americans. The following morning we continued our trip, passing through Amarillo in Texas State, and Oklahoma where the 1999 Oklahoma tornado outbreakthe biggest in all of American historyhad struck with 320mph wind a few months later. After Tulsa, we entered Kansas, and finally Missouri in the Midwest. St. Louis is a green city, famous for its French and Roman Catholic origins in the 19th centuries, and known for the French heritage of the Cathedral of Saint Louis, King of France, which houses the largest mosaic installation in the world. As soon as the Gateway Arch was seen, we had arrived at the destination of our long journey. After we settled, I applied at Meramec St. Louis Community College and took more credits and Arabic courses to complete my associates degree. It was in the Arabic class that I met Sean, a classmate of Irish25
American descent. He was a teacher at a junior high school, who commuted a lot between Saint Louis and Chicago for work, and was a typical, average American. Even though he was still a Christian, he was impressed with Arabic culture, especially that of the Iraqi Shia. He had researched a great deal about Arabic language and culture; and often spoke with me about his potential future conversion to the Shia Islamic faith, and his research about the logical aspect of the Abrahamic concept of the infallibility of Prophets and Saints, which preserved Holy Scriptures from alternation. We had great conversations about his points of view on mortification rituals and original sin; as well as comparative theological views between Islam and Christianity, which was challenging with Sean due to his high level of knowledge in these areas. Some forms of Protestantism in America shares similarities with Islamic traditions, even in some aspects of their theological opinions. One may even find the Mormon theological approach too conservative when compared to the more pragmatic Shia one. The antithesis of Samuel Huntingtons idea of the clash of the civilizations, the introduction of a dialogue by Mohammad Khatami was a major step forward for a Shia presence in the United Nations through the Alliance of Civilizations. This
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provided a more intellectual approach than Khomeinis or Khameneis warrior- or communist-type revolutionary debates, under the Quranic verse: And do not argue with the followers of the Book except by what is best. There were a few Shia in St. Louis, led mostly by Shahryari. I participated in the weekly evening prayers and asked questions related to my studies to the Sayyed Indian preacher. One day Sean proposed that I accompany him to Chicago, where I would have the opportunity to visit Shia centres in the northern part of the city. Early one Thursday morning, on a day when Sean needed to be in Chicago, I rode along with him. There, I met an Iraqi store manager and owner of a Husseiniyyah (a type of Shia Islamic centre), named Jafar al-Najafi. Sean was supposed to pick me up after his teaching job, around 5:00 PM. Jafars hospitality reminded me of its Iranian counterpart, and with great enthusiasm he contacted two clergymen to meet me, one from Iran and another from Bahrain. I explained to them about my intention to move in Qum, and how I was conducting independent seminary studies while continuing my secular education. After our first meeting, they were keen to help me out by supervising my studies whenever I was in Chicago. Jafar also introduced me to a Shia scholar named Jalali, who
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ran a seminary out of his South Chicago home, called the Open School, in case I decided to live there.
JANUARY 1999 FROM ST. LOUIS TO CHICAGO For the first time in my life I wanted to live independently, and now I had an opportunity to move to Chicago, which was an appealing prospect because of the helpful scholars and clergymen there. I had long discussion, attempting to convince my parents that it would be appropriate for me to live on my own in Chicago while they remained in St. Louis. In the meantime, I began commuting to Chicago on the weekends to search for an apartment to rent, and studying with the Bahraini cleric. When I found an apartment, my family came to visit me in the Windy City. Straight away, we went to my nice apartment in North Chicago, located near the metro station, called the L (Loop), which I used to conveniently get around in town and visit the clergymen for my studies. We visited the whole city: the Sears Tower, Lake Shore Drive, the Persian Rezas Restaurant. Chicago was a crowded city; compared to Los Angeles and Saint Louis, it was more similar to a European street.
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I soon found a job. I managed well with my secular and seminary studies, and at work, where I was promoted. I was offered a better position in the linguistic interpretation field, which required traveling to different cities across America approximately twice a month. Every evening I had private lessons and a review of my seminary books with three clergymen, including Sayyed Jalali on the weekend. I had to prepare for the Qum seminary exams in 2002, so I studied the Sath-level subjects nonstop.
DEARBORN, MICHIGAN In my work as a freelance interpreter, I had the opportunity to travel to other states and cities across the country. The company covered the trips, car rentals, and hotels fees, which allowed me to discover and explore many American cities. A few months after the tragedy of September 11th, 2001, I traveled to New York City for few days, where I visited the alKhoei Centre in Jamaica, Queens. There, I purchased many books and met a few of the staff responsible for it. That year, the clergymen in Chicago wanted me to accompany them to Dearborn, Michigan, to participate in the annual Muharram lectures about the martyrdom of Hussein, the 3rd Shia
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Imam. The city was across the border from Ontario, Canada, so I could listen to its French-language radio, and reminisce. I missed hearing French. Dearborn is a suburb of Detroit, where over one third of the population is Shia Muslim. It is famous in the United States as the Arab town of America. Because of this, it is also jokingly known as Dearbornistan. Fordson High School, Warren Avenue, Schaefer Road, and Michigan Avenue are all areas similar to any normal Arab town. There are over 10 mosques there, and whenever I spent my day in Dearborn, it reminded me of the seminary because of the prestigious Shia Islamic centres around me. It was there that I met Dr. Muhammad Tijani, the famous Tunisian author who converted from Bakrism to Shia. He spoke French very well, and we maintained a friendship afterward. Many of the clergymen in Dearborn impressed me, having had huge modern churches converted into Islamic centres, or prestigious centres with a few floors and a conference hall. One day I crossed the Ambassador Bridge from Detroit into Windsor, Ontario, and discovered the famous Canadian Tim Hortons coffee shop. I saw some French signs, which were no longer in miles but kilometers, and the portrait of the Queen Elizabeth II on the Canadian dollar bills instead of Washington.
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JUNE 2000 MY TRIP TO MONTREAL I had four days off from work, and I rented a brand new car for my vacation. I drove for 12 hours on Highway 94 from Chicago towards Detroit, then took the Canadian 401 Highway through Toronto, Canadas largest city, and finally arrived in Montreal. I was exhausted after driving for a half-day straight. It reminded me of driving with my family from Los Angeles to Saint Louis. My first impression of Montreal was that it was similar of some parts of France: street signs all in French, the cobblestone pavement of the Old town, Catholic Churches, the fleurs-de-lis of the blue and white Qubec flags... During that trip, I thought of the possibility of requesting a transfer so that I could work as an interpreter in Montreal instead of Chicago. I visited the al-Khoei Centre in Montreal and some other Shia centres of smaller scalesmaller, at least, than the centres of Dearborn. Back at work in Chicago, I spoke with the Human Resources Manager, to ask if I could apply for a job transfer to Montreal. They replied that would be possible after a year, at which point I
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would need to apply from the internal recruitment list. For the next year of work, I kept in mind my probable move to Montreal. Then, in December, 2001, the Human Resources manager called me to the office. Mohammad, I heard that an employee left his position at the Montreal branch, and if you like, you can join the French team and replace him! But you will earn according to the Canadian standard, so you may not have the same salary as our office pays you. I immediately accepted, and filled out the necessary documents to apply for the position.
FEBRUARY 2002 - SPRING 2002 MOVING TO MONTREAL While the snow slowly melted away, I finished moving all my belongings to Montreal. Once my bags were ready, I called the Chicago Taxi Cab company. I was en route to Chicago OHare International Airport. The boarding would start in two hours for my American Airlines flight to Montreal. OHare was a crowded airport, with high security controls and a long queue, which added even more stress to the hour-long flight. Through the window of the airplane, I saw the whole city covered
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with fog. Thanks to my travel by car a few months earlier from Chicago, I had planned everything in advance. I had rented an apartment and completed my work transfer, settling there gradually. After each piece of furniture was moved in, I registered for the winter session at the University of Montreal for a second Masters degree in Educational Science. I immersed myself in the French-speaking environment, but needed to adapt to the Canadian Qubcois accent and expressions. There were several Shia religious centres in the city, and I started to visit all of them to introduce myself. At the al-Khoei Centere, I started to teach Quran to teenagers. I also delivered lectures to Shia university student associations all over Montreal, and spent a lot of energy on the youth through the summer camp, Quran studies, and language teaching. There was another speaker, Agha Ahmad, who grew up in the Gulf, and was very pro-Khomeini. Ahmad was a mentor for the Iranian youth, and taught them Quran and Khomeinist ideas. He was a very influential speaker, and the youth were easily influenced by his dynamic and charismatic personality. Every year the Iranians in Montreal, along with Agha Ahmad, encouraged us to participate in the 22nd Bahman Commemorations, for the Iranian Revolution on February 12th. That was when I met Larijani, the cultural attach of the Iranian
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Embassy, who contacted me to help with translation work for his monthly magazine. At the time, I didnt really realize the background of this particular person, but I could see he was respected by most of the Shia in Montreal. Before moving to Iran, Larijani assisted in purchasing my sarbazi (exemption from military service) so that I could have peace of mind during my studies. The winter of 2002 arrived, and I traveled back to Qum to follow up with my seminary studies and complete my exams. I met the same old sheikh along with other professor-clergymen, for whom I summarized all the reading and studies I had successfully conducted since 1998. I spoke about potentially moving to Qum, with the intention of studying full time instead of my current part time schedule, and they proposed that I continue in either a regular seminary, or the international one. After thinking over the decision and consulting many scholars, I finally decided to register in the international seminary. I met some maraja (top-ranking religious jurisprudents) to explain my situation and inquire about moving to Qum. They all praised me and advised me to study certain books prior to finally coming to settle down after a couple of years. After my return to Montreal, I completed my graduates degree while preparing for the move in August, 2004.
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5 A STUDENT IN QUM
WINTER 2004 FROM MONTREAL TO QUM From Montreal, I flew to Tehran, via London. Once in Tehran, I took a taxi directly to the city of Qum with my two large suitcases. I arrived at the hotel in front of the international seminary at Sumayyeh Boulevard in Qum while searching for housing accommodations. A few days later, a seminary professor who had graduated from McGill University, in Montreal, invited me to his home, and helped me to find me an apartment in the area around the seminary. After a few phone calls and some research by his friends, I found a brand new apartment in a purpose-built building
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equipped with an elevator. Immediately, I furnished the apartment and installed a satellite dish to get European and Middle Eastern channels. The Iranian channels were too political and dogmatic. From the roof, I saw all my neighbors had satellite dishes as well. Even Qum, the most religious city of the country, was surrounded with such dishes, since local Iranians liked to watch the Farsi-language programs and soap opera channels broadcast from Los Angeles. On the day of the placement examination, I was stressed out at the thought of having to recapitulate everything Id learned since 1997. I had to spend several hours completing the oral and the written exams. They even administered an I.Q. test, and I had to read and sign a long Code of Ethics and regulations for the clergy. This included things like respecting the concept of velayat e faghih (Guardianship of the Jurist, the regimes ruling ideology), avoiding any reprehensible acts, and even not chewing gum in public. After a few days, I finally received study transfers approval for my registration. Following my acceptance, a professor of the seminary gave me a list of books on Ayatollah Khomeinis ideology on Guardianship of the Jurist, and the divine miracle of the Islamic Revolution in Iran. For them, these subjects were even more important than the
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sciences of religion and spirituality. As far as I know, religious studies ought to be conducted away from spatiotemporal factors, and should emphasize various trends and methods of exegesis to analyze holy scriptures, rather than following temporary political positions.
The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH&HF) said: There are two kinds of people from my community who, if they are sound, my community will be sound, and if they are corrupt, my community will become corrupt. The Prophet was asked, And who are they, O Messenger of Allah? He replied, The jurists (religious scholars) and the rulers. (Al-Khisal, p. 37, no. 12) SUMMER 2005 THE FIGHT IN COURT TO RETRIEVE THE FAMILY INHERITANCE LANDS The summer arrived in June, 2005, and we had three full months of vacation in Qum, which allowed me to return to Tehran to visit my family. During this period, since most of them are not originally from Qum, seminary students either return to their respective towns or travel around the country to preach and earn some money.
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At the time of the Shah, my family used to own one third of an Iranian province. After the anti-monarchy revolution, the Khomeini government decided to confiscate properties and lands of those who were insufficiently supportive of the new Regime. Nonetheless, recently the Iranian Regime had slowly opened the doors to give back confiscated properties, and I was eligible to get back some that had belonged to my family. I hired an attorney clergyman who I had met in Montreal, and he was very optimistic that under the new legislation, we could almost certainly retrieve some of the land. I spent the three-month-long summer holiday following up with the attorney to visit the lands, and going to the land registry to find the heirs of the property in the Land Book of the province. The attorneys assistant brought me to the land registry to request land ownership duplicates. There, he explained to me that a bribe must be paid to hasten the follow-up of the files; otherwise it would take years just to track. After coming and going to the land registry, and giving gifts (bribes), I obtained two of the several ownership duplicates. However, the attorney said that the court needed to certify, verify, and actually release the ownership itself. After weeks of back and forth, the attorneys assistant took me to the court to meet directly with the judge. He, in turn, explained the length of the waiting period before being able to confirm and
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release the ownership duplicate. The attorneys assistant bribed the judge to speed up his work. We were given a written follow-up for the land registry, and it was requested that we return in three months time. The attorneys assistant explained to me that in Iran, corruption is something normal, and it helps to secure our rights. Iran is one of the most corrupt countries in the world. Despite the fact that it is as rich in natural resources as China, the Persian Gulf states, or Scandinavian countries, it is one of the poorest due to mismanagement, corruption, embezzlement, and the funding of the Regimes religious foundations (bonyad), which are used to spread their ideological and pseudo-religious propaganda both inside the country and around the world. After three months, the attorney's assistant and I went to meet the judge. The courtroom was empty, apart from the portraits of Khomeini, Khamenei, and Shahroudi (Minister of Justice). The judge sat surrounded by files. He asked, How long have you been looking to get these land ownerships? Five years, said the attorneys assistant, lowering his head as a gesture of respect toward the judge. He added, We were waiting for your confirmation. Have you brought the receipt and verdict document? The attorneys assistant gave another cheque for $1500, informing him, Well have the rest of it ready for you after one of
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the lands is sold. Good, said the judge. The signature will be ready by next week. The assistant attorney asked me to make a withdrawal from my small savings for bribery, but they had been emptied. The bureaucracy I encountered in my inheritance fight gave me an idea of how deep corruption runs in the Iranian system. Even a mere security guard in front of the court would take some a bribe just to prioritize the long queue. My summer holiday was spent in the villages of the inheritance lands, waiting for the courts signature. I spent my time living as a farmer, where the villagers were proud to have a Westerner among them. Most knew me by the name of my mothers family. They took pictures with me and were very kind. Every morning I had some pungent, fresh cows milk. For some reason I found it difficult to drink. The smell of each food was natural. I had never experienced 100% fresh, natural farm produce before. The only difficulty was in bearing the mosquitoes that flew around the food. It taught me that nothing is granted in this life. Human relationships in the countryside were very strong and genuine compared to those of modern industrial life. During my stay there, I saw what real life was, and met courageous, humble, and sincere people, who lived apart from the artificial life of power
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and vanity. I can say that in the time I spent in the village, I learned more than I could have from hundreds of books on the philosophy of life and any religious teachings. It was also a great time to concentrate on reading, without having to worry about paying bills.
JANUARY 2005 FIRST DAYS OF CLASS AT THE SEMINARY OF QUM The time arrived to continue my courses at the seminary. The registrar phoned and asked me to go to the office. There, the secretary gave me an envelope with the results of the transfer confirmation of my Year Four (payeh four, a seminary term), and my course schedule with the Farsi Language Program at the school of al-Mahdi along with the main lessons. On my first day, the class was filled with students from the Indian subcontinent, Azerbaijan, Africa, as well as GCC Arabs and some Muslims of European origin. During the course, some teachers were introducing the ideological talking points of the Islamic Republic into our lessons. One morning, Sheikh Zahrai, who taught Arabic, began to lecture students on the legitimate right of Iran to possess nuclear energy,
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and even the need to be prepared for the use of nuclear weapons in case of an enemy attack by Westerners. I tried to interrupt to ask a question: Is it the teaching of the Prophet of Islam, that he wants us to promote an atmosphere of war and hatred? Isnt religion about peace, culture, and knowledge? He looked at me with an air of seriousness. The long silence scared me. Finally, he replied, You Europeans! You repeat many slogans about peace and love, but you are the ones who promote war and hate. Amazingly, South Asian (originally British) students were fully supportive of Sheikh Zahrai, as were the Azerbaijanis. I didnt want to argue with anyone, because I didnt want any trouble. That day, the professor finished the class early. A few days later, the principals office invited me to have a meeting with the director, Mr. Kaviani. I knocked on the door, and found him sitting behind a desk cluttered with files and papers, in search of his black turban. He began, Did you had a problem with the school staff recently? No, why? I received a statement from the Registrar that you do not agree with the ideas of Imam Khomeini. No, I respect him; I never disrespected Imam Khomeini.
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Suddenly, I remembered Mr. Zahrais discussion about the nuclear issue, and decided to inform him of the broader context of the discussion. Kaviani, I remember a discussion a few days ago, but I simply asked a question during the class when the teacher, Zahrai, spoke about the legitimacy of Iran having nuclear weapons, I insisted. Uhum he said. This type of discussion is not appropriate for class. We shouldnt be talking about the legitimacy of anything like this. Our only concern is for Quran, hadiths (sayings of the Prophet and the 12 Imams), and dear rahbar (the Leader, Khamenei). A few months went by, and I still felt uncomfortable in the classroom. I asked the principle for the option of studying some subjects at home. My proposal was approved by the registrar after two months of requests.
The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) said: Turbans are the crowns of the angels. (Al-Kafi, vol. 6, p. 461, no. 4) 16 APRIL 2006 PERMISSION TO WEAR THE CLERGY CLOTHES
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In April 2006, after completing the 6th year examinations and signing a series of legal documents to get approval to wear the vestments of the clergy, I received written permission to participate in the clergymen outfit graduation at Ayatollah Vahid Khorassanis office, which coincided with the birthday ceremony of the Prophet Mohammad (17 Rabi al-Awwal 1427). With some of my classmates, I went to the bazaar to buy fabrics for the clerical uniform: four meters for the dress, three meters for the cloak, and seven meters for the turban. The garments were sewn by the tailor of Mr. Khatami, a prestigious but expensive tailor named Arabpour. My turban was wrapped by one of my friends. I later learned that it took almost an hour to finish it. Then it came: the birthday of Prophet Mohammad, 11:00 AM, at the office of Ayatollah Vahid Khorassani on Safayyeh Street, in the city centre of Qum. My turban rested on a silver tray, and I sat waiting for my turn to have it put on my head. Ayatollah Khorassani approached, stared at me, and said some supplications in my right ear. He blew into my turban and, finally, placed it on my head. He stared at me for a few more seconds, smiling. Then his son, Mohsen, came to congratulate me, and placed me at the Ayatollahs side. It was a special moment, and very emotional.
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The following month, the news of a modern Frenchy sheikh in Qum spread throughout town. Without my realizing it, important personalities in this holy city had heard about me, such as Ayatollah Sanei, who used to call me his haj agha faransavi (Frenchy sheikh), Makarem Shirazi, Gerami, and some others. I was offered a teaching position at the Baqer al-Uloom University in Qum, as well as employment as a religious specialist at SAHAR radio and television satellite channel after class. At the satellite station, I broadcasted a live show, along with recordings in French and English about religious issues. Later, I became the special host of a television program in English. I interviewed scholars in London and Qum, including professors of the Islamic College in London (the seminary linked to the Jamaat al-Mustafa, an Iranian seminary for international and Englishspeaking students), and other English-speaking clerics around the world. The channel director, Mr. Ghafariwho is now the director of most of the satellite Shia channelsoffered me daily programs after watching my speeches and observing my seminary skills. I accepted the offer, but for only three days a week, after the seminary class, in order to concentrate on my studies. In my teaching position at Baqer al-Uloom University, I provided foreign language instruction for the seminarys clergy, including many professors of the seminary and other religious
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scholars. There was another professor who taught French, the son-in-law of Khamenei, by the name of Mohammad Javad Golpayegani. I didnt know of their relationship, however, until one of my students told me. Golpayegani spoke French fluently, and explained to me that he had studied for a law degree in Paris. He proposed that I meet his father-in-law, the countrys Supreme Leader. At first I thought it may be better to avoid it, because I was unsure about the consequences meeting Khamenei. However, I finally decided to accept his offer, and informed him of my decision after class. He suggested that we meet in Pastor Square, near one of Khameneis offices.
The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) said: Beware on going near the rulers gates and the retinue guarding them, for verily the nearest of you to the gates and retinue of the ruler is the farthest away from God, Mighty and Exalted. God will strip away his piety and will render him bewildered. (Bihar al-Anwar, vol. 75, p. 372, no.19) 7 AUGUST 2006 I MEET KHAMENEI
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It was one day before the commemoration of Imam Ali (PBUH)s birthday, on 12 Rajab 1427. I met Mohammad Javad outside, along with his wife BushraKhameneis daughterand we entered through two security doors. The guards searched my pockets and bag before allowing me to follow them. We sat in the corridor, where there were some old French-style chairs, and waited. Suddenly, Khamenei appeared, and came toward me with a smile. He was escorted by a small entourage of security guards. He was very tall and thin, with a white face, excellent teeth, neatly pressed clothes, and a discreet musk rose perfume. I was surprised at how thin he was, almost a skeleton. An old man took my turban and put it on a tray. Then Khamenei, in his deep voice, ironically asked, Where is your turban? I respond in one gulp, The old man took it from me; its on the tray. Then Khamenei, with his left hand, took the turban and placed it on my head. He briefly advised me to deliver speeches for French speakers around the world, because there are not enough French-speaking preachers. After our brief exchange, one of his security guards whispered something in his ear, and Khamenei left towards a blinded elevator behind him.
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During this short meeting, I got the impression that Khamenei was a sharp and serious person. I didnt sense any spirituality about him; rather, he struck me as merely a military leader in a seminarians outfit. I was worried about what might happen after our meeting, because of the Iranian Regimes immaturity, and its paranoia stemming from the tepid war between the West and the East. I had been expecting to meet a spiritual person, as many from the religious Shia community used to describe him. Some had even described Khamenei has a companion of the 12th Imam (AJ), but he is more like any dictator found in your average Muslim or Communist country. I was disappointed by this meeting. It lacked any actual religious quality, in part because of the look of the guardsthe bearded men surrounding Khamenei who are actually just polished thugsand because of Khameneis narcissism, his love for his own position, and the manipulative story that he is the representative of God on Earth.
SEPTEMBER 2006 TRIP TO MASHHAD, VISITING THE OFFICE OF SAYYED SADIQ SHIRAZI (HA)
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Every three months I went to visit to the Holy Shrine of Imam Reza (PBUH) in Mashhad. From my hotel there, I would remove my shoes and walk barefoot to the sanctuary. On one such visit, before going to Montreal for tabligh (Islamic outreach), I was invited by my seminary colleague, Sheikh Ibrahim al-Khaliq, to participate in the death commemoration of his father, at the office of Sayyed Sadiq Shirazi (HA). Although I did not get to meet the Ayatollah, who was at his office in Qum, this visit was meaningful to me because I had always respected the scholars who defended the true identity of Shia, such as the Shirazi family, as well as Sayyed Rohani, Sheykh Tabrizi, and Vahid Khorassani.
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6 MONTREAL: THE SMEAR CAMPAIGN BEGINS

OCTOBER 2006 THREE MONTHS ON BREAK IN MONTREAL In August 2006, I planned to travel to Montreal to update some administrative paperwork, such as the renewal of my driving license. I had planned to work and save some money for my studies; and also to deliver some speeches for 15 Shaban (the lunar calendar birth date of the twelfth Shia Imam, Imam al-Mahdi) and the whole month of Ramadan. Since the seminary is closed during Ramadan, it is the best opportunity to work and save some money. Out of my salary, I bought a plane ticket, and was ready to travel to Montreal that September. Shortly after my arrival, with the help of a friend, I found a nice one bedroom apartment near the al-Khoei Centre. It was a purpose-built building of seven floors, with an indoor swimming
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pool and Jacuzzi for the residents. It was convenient to be able to swim in a clean, quiet pool, while outside the cold weather was coming. However, that year the months of September and October were still relatively warm what is known there as an Indian Summer. While there, I looked around on the internet to find employment, and very soon I had lined up an interview at a telecommunications company for a job as a trainer. I was offered a full-time position, and I enjoyed it. My duty was to train around 15 new customer service employees over two weeks, and to have follow-up meetings with all employees between the training courses. During the weekends, I delivered speeches to different Islamic centres in Montreal, except the pro-Iranian one. In one case, I delivered a lecture about hijab to a conference room full of students at a college south of Montreal. The lecture lasted about 20 minutes, emphasizing respect for Islamic values, and the meaning of hijab in our time. I came across few questions about forcing people to wear hijab in Iran. I tried to find a way to get out of answering potentially sensitive questions like this so that I wouldnt get into trouble back in Qum. At the end of my speech there was a question-and-answer session. The students wanted me to come back for another program. They all applauded and sent me positive feedback.
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A few days later, an imam contacted me and visited my apartment. He introduced himself. I am Sheikh Hussein, from Lebanon. I have heard you speak, and I would be very happy to invite you to my religious centre. I accepted his invitation, and he explained that his centre was more family-oriented, mixing women and men, as opposed to a stricter centre. Tens of his friends and family members introduced themselves, and prepared some Lebanese dishes and pizza for the iftar, the meal at the end of the day to break the fast during the Ramadan. He asked me to come more often to his centre than others did, and I agreed to deliver speeches in French for any religious ceremonies, albeit only once in a while. One Saturday afternoon, Sheikh Hussein came by my apartment. I am here to invite you to my centre. Tonight, there will be some young people in my congregation. Could you give a speech on a subject of your choosing?" Why not? I replied. I will talk about Resurrection Day." That night, twenty teenagers listened to my lecture about spirits and resurrection. After my speech, the teenagers were incredibly glad to meet, for the first time, a total Francophone, open-minded preacher.
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A few days later, the imam of the Iraqi centre, Shaykh Taybi, called me to go to his centre in the evening. My critiques of the entire Iranian system were present in my speeches, but I tried not to speak too openly about it, or in a blatant manner. I displayed respect for Mohammad Khatami more than any other Iranian politician whenever I was asked about my opinions on the Regime.
Imam al-Sadiq (PBUH) said: Slandering is heavier than lofty mountains. (Bihar al-Anwar, vol. 75, p. 194, no. 3) DECEMBER 2007 SMEAR CAMPAIGN The pro-Regime community in Montreal began to spread gossip behind my back, starting a smear campaign. Some young members from the Lebanese and Iranian Shia centres reported that I was believed to be a Canadian spy. At the time, I didn't take any of it too seriously, thinking it might simply be a matter of jealousy. Then, one clergyman in his mid-fifties was invited from Iran to move to Montreal. He strongly advised me not to stay in Montreal any longer, but rather to return to Qum.
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I was surprised by the progressive change of behavior towards me, which became increasingly strange. For some reason, there were people in the community gossiping and making me feel very unwelcome. As the centres began to pressure me, I started asking people in the community for some explanations. Only one person fully admitted to the rumors: they were claiming that I was against Iran, and moreover that the Regime didnt like me at all. One evening after that, I went to a Shia centre, and some Iranians were clearly unhappy at the very sight of me. Still, I continued to try and not to take the behavior of some community memberslike the hostile looks I had been receivingtoo seriously. Instead, I assumed it was just something that happens when someone becomes a public figure. I recall that back in early 2000, when I delivered speech in Toronto, at an Iranian Islamic Centre, someone was present who I later discovered was the son of Murteza Mutahari. He had resided there almost 10 years to complete his PhD. In 2007, he went back to Iran, and has now a high position in the Regime. In Montreal there were over 10 students of philosopher Mesbah Yazdi, the most conservative clergyman in the Iranian Regime, and the most influential person in Iran. They studied mainly at McGill University. A few of the Yazdi's students were
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sent to the USA as well. One of them became the personal mentor of Ahmadinejad and Khamenei. The Mesbah Yazdi team tried their hardest to recruit foreigners and dual nationals to be part of their clique, and send them to North America, Europe, Argentina, and Africa. They were very aggressive in their aim of spreading of the Khomeini ideology, and well-supported by Khamenei himself. Yazdi has an office in Qum and a huge institute, called Imam Khomeini Institute, for which tries to recruit foreigners to represent the his ideas, in order to oppose the power of Rafsanjani and reformist clergy. Once, back in Iran, Mesbah Yazdi's son, Ali, called me. He had been among the Iranian community to complete his PhD at McGill University in Montreal. He wanted to offer me a position translating his fathers works into French and English. I declined, giving the excuse that I didnt have enough time available. Really, I was only trying to keep my distance from them without showing any open disdain. While living in Canada, I attended a conference on Peace and Art in Islam at the Canadian Parliament in Ottawa. I was invited by Larijani, who wanted me to be part of the conference. It was an opportunity to meet several Canadian personalities, and over 400 scholars and university researchers, ambassadors from Muslim
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countries, imams, RCMP, Canadian police, and members of the Canadian Parliament. It was a special evening for me, and a meeting in a political environment. One Member of Parliament, Mr. Temeslovski, accompanied me throughout my presentations. During the lunch break, many Canadians congratulated me, and I was able to have a few words with some of the other MPs. I took a few pictures with some of the important personalities there as souvenirs, and kept them on my digital camera. These pictures would later get me in trouble.
DECEMBER 2007 RETURNING TO QUM Before I left Montreal to go back to the Seminary in Qum, I had to sublease my apartment; so I posted an advertisement to the internet, and ended up renting to a lady from the UK, who filled out the application and gave a cheque covering one months rent and the deposit.
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7 WELCOME TO THE ISLAMIC REPUBLIC

I returned back in Qum and moved to another apartment in front of the Kuh Khezr Mountain. There, I resumed my routine of studies and work at the television station.
FEBRUARY 2007 KIDNEY STONE At 1:45 AM, I awoke to a sudden pain in my right kidney. It was my first time experiencing pain of such intensity. At first, I thought it was simply a muscle cramp, but soon I began to think it might be something more serious. I called for an ambulance, and was told that none was available at the moment. The operator asked me to call a taxi instead. I tried
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to call for a taxi, and the half-asleep dispatcher told me that no car was available, though he would try to send one as soon as possible. Finally, feeling hopeless, I called Bou Adeel, my French friend. He came on his motorcycle, and with some difficulty, helped to carry me out and drive me to the public hospital of Qum. When we arrived, no one came to assist me. I managed to find an empty bed myself, and laid down while Bou Adeel searched for a male nurse or a doctor. The sheets of my bed had yellow and red dried stains; although in that moment I was more concerned about finding someone to help relieve my overwhelming pain than about picking up some other disease while I was there. All around me were other ill people, terribly injured or in bad condition. It was scary, like something right out of a horror film. Finally, Bou Adeel found a doctor, who approached me while sipping a cup of tea. He immediately asked the nurse to inject me with morphine to stop the pain, and informed me that I had kidney stone. My pain almost receded after the huge dose of morphine, and Bou Adeel drove me back home. After an hour on the road, he stopped at the all-night pharmacy to get me some painkillers the doctor had prescribed.
SURVEILLANCE
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At work and the seminary, many people asked me about my opinions on the Iranian Revolution and politics. I always tried to find a way out of responding, but my point of view was clear, regardless: my respect was reserved for the more liberal Khatami side of Iranian politics, who promoted a more open view of Shia Islam. Slowly, I felt that I was under increasingly severe scrutiny and surveillance by the Iranian Regime. Cars followed me. Even whenever I was using public transportation, I was monitored. All my neighbors moved, only to give the places they once occupied to agents from the Regime. Technicians were sent onto my roof in order to repair my air conditioning system, which is linked to the ceiling. They conveniently took three days to repair itmost probably to install microphones and cameras. Even the employees at the my local supermarket started acting differently with me, suddenly asking me more questions about my position on contemporary world politics. My teachers liked me well enough, but some were starting to ask me questions about my idea of democracy after class. I always attempted to be brief, but my biggest mistake was being too sincere. Sincerity is a good quality, but it is not among the values of the Islamic Republic. There, to be sincere is a serious mistake. In our
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Western values, lies are considered as a crime, but in Iran they are vital, sometimes even for survival. In much of the Islamic Republic, religion is only a superficial guise, a shallow mask, a hollow shell, a charade: Pious men in Iran should wear several rings on the same hand, carry prayer beads, maintain a three-day beard, wear darkcolored long-sleeve shirtspreferably one size too large, in order to hide the forms under the beltand a perfume smelling strongly of musk and rose. Pious women, of course, wear the famous black chador, reveal only their nose and eyes, and have a slightly snobbish attitude and a country accent. To the Iranian regime, this is religion. During the many holidays, I took advantage of studying extra to catch up with time lost at work.
MAY 2007 MIR HOSSEIN MUSAVI'S OFFICE During the 20th Annual International Book Fair in Tehran, I stopped by the French section of the exhibition. While I conversed
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in French with the staff members at the stand, I met Dr. Bahman Namvar-Motlaq, who was the vice-president of the SABA Cultural Institute, the president of which was Mir Hossein Mousavi. Dr. Namvar-Motlaq spoke French very well, and when we met at the French section, he interrupted my conversation and gave me his business card. He explained that he was involved in several works about Albert Camus and Massignon, and needed to find a translator and proof-reader. I contacted him the following week, and he invited me to his office in Tehran. As a usual, when I arrived, I would visit one of my aunts. From there, I went to Mousavis institute. Dr. Namvar-Motlaq greeted me, and we talked about the translation assistance that was needed, as well as his previous works. He also severely criticized the current situation in Iran, including the false interpretation of Islam prevalent in Iranian society. He wanted to introduce me Mr. Khatami, a member of this institute, and Mr. Mousavi himself, one day soon. I didnt know Mir Hossein Mousavi at all, but I knew Mr. Khatami well. In the end, I didnt meet any of them. I did see Mr. Khatami on Wednesday, during another meeting I had with Dr. NamvarMotlaq, but didnt have the occasion to speak with him. I started to help with the French translation work on Louis Massignon, including analysis and proof-reading.
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The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) said, Whoever yields to a tyrannical ruler in any matter will be his companion in the Fire. (Bihar al-Anwar, vol. 76, p. 360, no. 30) AUGUST 2007 FIRST VISIT BY IRANIAN SECURITY AGENTS One Monday morning, I received a call from an old man with a hoarse voice. He addressed me by my first name, and told me to go to the office of foreign citizens, on Safayyeh Street in Qum, to meet a Sgt. Kazemi the next day at 8:00AM. The next day, I went to meet this sergeant. It was in a simple two-floor building behind the main street of Qum. I waited for more than 45 minutes in an empty room, surrounded by a low barrier. On the wall I could see the posters of Khomeini and Khamenei. The doorman called for me dryly, and accompanied me into another office. An old man opened the door and led me to another waiting room to meet Sgt. Kazemi. There, two men sat behind a table, empty except for the flag of the Islamic Republic. After another 45 minutes of waiting, they called me into
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another room, where a man in his forties sat beside a desk, along with a young, bearded man in his twenties, who remained silent. MK, a plain clothes officer with a file on his desk, announced, Welcome to the Islamic Republic of Iran! Then, Did you receive your ownership duplicate back from the assistant attorney? I did not understand how he knew about that, but I replied that it should be ready soon. His serious manner and aggressive appearance scared me. He then informed me, Your attorney is no longer interested in continuing to help you out with your family inheritance, and he will let you know. You should take care your inheritance by yourself. Alright, the reason I called you here, first of all, it is to tell you that you have a dual nationality. As you should know, in the Islamic Republic of Iran you cannot keep both, and you have to choose between the two. I understood that these people were secret agents, but I recalled the words of my aunts husband, a lawyer for many years in Tehran. He had told me that according to Iranian law, I had the right to keep both of my citizenships, although the law wouldnt recognize the foreign one. I was confused about why they were trying to pressure me to choose between the two. Id like to keep both of them, if thats okay.
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No. If you have to select one of them, which one will you get rid of? I will probably keep the French one... Why? he asked sharply. I was born and raised in France, my native language is French, my culture is European. I share the same religion as most Iranians, including my parents, without feeling very Iranian. He remained silent for a moment, then went on. Also, I should inform you that all foreigners staying over a period of six months in the country, no matter their origins, should have a follow-up with our office. That especially means foreigners in the international seminary, who will have to share with us their activities, who they met abroad, and their sense of how those people feel about our dear holy imam (Khomeini). And they must be aware who to respect abroad or not. Here in the Islamic Republic, we execute spies. Under our case law, we have the right to act. If we dont, then Islam will cease to exist, because the USA and Israel will invade our country, just like during the time of the accursed Shah. Anyway, from now on, anytime we have a question for you, well call. It was terrifying to feel so carefully monitored by the Iranian intelligence services. My mind was already quite busy with planning
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the early completion of my studies. And while I had nothing to hide or to be scared of, I did not trust the system. Because of their level of skill at political manipulation, they could make up all kinds of stories to suit their purpose. Still, I didnt think I needed to worry too much about it, since I had seen many foreigners in Qum studying in the seminary without any problems. I visited my French classmate Bou Adeel, and shared my concerns. He explained to me that it was standard procedure in Iran, not to mention most Third World countries. Bou Adeel had lived in Lebanon for a few months, prior to his coming to Qum to study. However, since that incident with state security, no one called me anymore. Even more worrying, suddenly many of my classmates distanced themselves from me. It all fit into a pattern that had crystalized earlier that year in Montreal, where I had felt the Regimes supporters beginning to isolate me.
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8 DUBAI AND MOROCCO

SEPTEMBER 2007 The following month, I traveled to Dubai to inquire about purchasing a one bedroom apartment through a payment plan program in a new building development, which was still under construction. Here, my savings from the TV work, translation, and teaching came in handy. I was still constantly anxious from the meeting with the intelligence service agents, and this fear only continued to grow inside of me. At that point, I was just waiting to receive the land ownership certificates and complete the semester in summer, 2008. I had planned to leave Iran that June, at the end of the seminary academic year, with enough time to prepare a move back to Montreal or the Emirates.
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I took an Air Arabia flight from Tehran to Sharjah to prepare for the move from Qum. I stayed there a couple of weeks just before the seminary academic year started up again at the end of September. There, in that free country, I could breathe better. It had an Islamic atmosphere, but without the pressure of dirty looks from militiamen, and life under permanent surveillance. The first thing I did, as soon I arrived in Sharjah, was to go to Dunkin Donuts and Starbucks. I sorely missed my days in Los Angeles. Here, I could find my American comfort and my Muslim culture, all in one place. The call to prayer at sunset started from the mosque built on the Persian Gulf shore, which I was visiting. The song of the seas waves hit the windows of the Mosque, and melted with the scent of Arabian perfume, and the fresh central air conditioning from the ceilings. The light from outside the window made me forget my presence on earth for few long minutes. In all those years spent in Qum, I had never experienced such a degree of spirituality and serenity until that moment, at that mosque. The Real Estate agent in Dubai gave me the necessary documents to fill out, to prepare the purchase of a one-bedroom
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apartment. Construction on the apartment would not be complete until the end of the year, as many real estate projects there offered the opportunity to drop the initial value by selling the property early. I signed the contract for the one-bedroom freehold property with 20% off. At the end of the trip, upon returning to Qum, my mind was concerned solely with enduring the last academic year of seminary, and receiving a reply from the court to get a part of my familys lands back. My mother came to visit me in Qum. I explained to her that I would resume my studies within a few months of leaving, because I felt unwelcome there or any other places linked with the Iranian Regime abroad.
OCTOBER 2007 THE TRAVEL AGENCY The Ashrafians were three brothers who managed a large travel agency in Qum. I went to one of their three branches to purchase a ticket to go to Montreal after receiving a letter from the Immigration and Citizenship Ministry about my residency. I wanted to book the ticket via Dubai, where I would stay along
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with my mother for three days to follow up on the purchase of my apartment. We went to the airport to travel, but at the ticket counter, the al-Emirates Airline agent told me that my booking had a problem and I wouldnt be able to go. I would have to contact the travel agent during normal business hours. The following day, I went to the travel agency to meet Mr. Ashrafian. There, to my surprise, was someone from I recognized from Montreal. Even more surprising was that as soon as he saw me, he hurried out of the travel office, refusing to greet me or even make eye contact. It suddenly occurred to me that the ticketing problem and his presence at the travel agency were likely not a coincidence, but part of a plot from the pro-Regime community in Montreal to keep me from traveling back to Canadawhich they knew I was planning, since I had informed a friend there in an email. I asked Mr. Ashrafian why I had not been able to travel. He responded that there had been a problem with the original booking. He could rebook it, just not for any time soon. The next available flight, he said, would be in a further three weeks. I wrote a letter to Immigration and Citizenship in Canada to reschedule the booking. Until I received another, I wanted a refund.
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11 DECEMBER 2007 MOROCCO CONFERENCE WITH JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERISTY The University of Mofid in Qum contacted me. Mr. Youssefi, from schools Department of Human Rights, said that the producer from the TV station where I worked gave him my phone number. He asked me if could accompany some university professors to participate in a conference in Morocco about the modawana, the family code. I met Mr. Youssefi, who asked, Could you come to the University? Sure, I replied, and went there after class to meet him. He was a short man with an Azeri accent and a smiling face. There is going to be a panel on womens rights according to the Jafari (Twelver Shia) school of thought, he informed me. We have been invited by Dr. Mattar, a chairman at Johns Hopkins University in Washington, who will pay our expenses. We will gather in Fez Colloquium and share ideas on the code of the Moroccan family, the modawana. The Iranian delegation, he said, would be made up of professors from Mofid University. He handed me the airline ticket, along with a seven-day brochure for the program.
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On the day of departure, I was met in front of Mofid University. We took four taxis to the Imam Khomeini Airport, and flew on al-Emirates from Tehran to Casablanca, via Dubai. We arrived in Casablanca, greeted by a Mediterranean atmosphere, palm trees, sun, and a few youngsters begging for money. I was surprised to see children begging money, because in Iran and Dubai, no one did that. Our Moroccan drivers were waiting for us by the airports exit, holding up white paper signs with our names on them. We stopped by the great Hassan II Mosque, which was built on the ocean. Then we saw the nice town of Rabat, the fortress city of the kingdom. Inside the car, the Iranian professors asked a series of questions about the culture and living standards of Morocco. Some were even shocked at the cleanliness and pleasant architecture of the country. After a two hour drive, we arrived in Fez. We were staying at Volubilis Resort, designed for Club Med. The organizer, Dr. Mattar, was a professor at Johns Hopkins. Of Egyptian origin, he was surrounded by his students: young women, fashion-modelsized from Russia, living in the States. The director of the foundation that invited Mr. Mattar and the Iranian delegation was Mrs. Sedighi, a 50-year-old woman, educated and helpful.
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The Iranians did not feel very comfortable in this environment, away from the atmosphere of Qum with its white and black turbans, and women in black chadors all over the street; while in Morocco, there was a mixture of European dress and some modern religious styles. Without knowing it, I had made a big mistake by agreeing to participate in that conference; one which would cost me dearly later on. Everyone took turns at the podium delivering lectures on the theme of Womens Rights in Islam. The speakers came primarily from various Arab countries. Ghorbani, one of the speakers from Iran, was carefully reading from the manuscript of his speech. He started to point out flaws in the Iranian constitution, and the lack of the application of the law in Iran. The audience loudly applauded, and requested a questionand-answer session. The master of ceremonies said it would be possible to do so at the end of the program. The next speaker was a woman, Mrs. Mousavi-Lari, the daughter of the ex-Minister of the Interior under Rafsanjani. She started to read her text, explaining the difference between the puberty age and the maturity age of a girl, which is crucial for determining the legal age of marriage. The implication is that the puberty age may be 9-10-11 years
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old for a girl, but the maturity age could be 16-17-18 or even older. Therefore, the legal marriage age should be at least 16. At the question-and-answer session, the people started to make noise, and it grew tense when Mr. Ghorbani was asked, Dont you think that Iran is violating womens rights with the legal obligation of wearing hijab, even for non-Muslims coming into the country? Indeed, he said, it is not only against human rights, but the Muslim religion. At what age can women marry, and is there a law to stop forced marriage? The legal marriage age is 13, however we are pushing for a law to make it 16 or 18. I havent heard about forced marriage in Iran, because the government gave women many rights in the divorce process. What about temporary marriage? Is that widespread in Iranian society? No, Ghorbani replied emphatically. Actually, it is hidden. Families dont like the idea of lending their daughters out for a night! It exists, but it becomes problematic when it is abused. What about the rights of child laborers? Iran has 118 flaws in it constitution, and we need to reform it as soon as possible. During the time of Mr. Khatami, we had the opportunity to at least comment and speak out, but now we need to get moving and take action. At the end of the program, Moroccan journalists interviewed
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me along with some others. I explained that while womens rights in Iran are not at the same standard as other countries, we have to look at the history and the culture of Iran. I believe that we have work to do there, I added, however, as of today, women have an active role in Iranian society, with over 60% in universities. They have rights in many areas, compared to a lot of so-called democratic or secular countries. When the journalists posed questions to others from the Iranian group, I realized that they seemed to be scared, as they tried to answer with obfuscation. Our lectures at the conference were based on Irans needs for a modern, secular government with a religious presence, but without religious control, and highlighted the necessity for reforms and opening borders to other nations without prejudice. Only one of the groups had a conservative pro-Regime scholar, named Mr. Ibrahimi. His lecture was based on the words of the Iranian leader, Khamenei. He could not bear to hear any criticism against the system in Iran, and said that one who criticizes the Islamic Republic is equal to one who criticizes the religion of God. On the final evening, the organizers invited us to participate in a group event, an evening of the traditional religious Andalusian chants of Morocco. Mr. Ibrahimi was the only one to openly refuse to participate in, as he put it, a night of debauchery and immorality, of women and
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men mingling and meeting inside the same room! I thought to myself: how come it is forbidden to for men and women to mix in a room for a concert of traditional Nasheed, but it is alright for them to mix in the conference room?
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9 THE DICTATORS GRANDSON

24 DECEMBER 2007 SAYYED HASSAN KHOMENEIS DINNER INVITATION In Iran one day, a classmate from the seminary said, Hassan Khomeini has heard about you, and wants to meet you in his home in Qum. And so, I found myself waiting to meet Hassan Khomeini, the grandson of Rohallah Khomeini, the Indian descent founder and deceased dictator of the Islamic Republic. I had heard that Sayyed Hassan was more in the reformist camp, and supported Mohammad Khatami. When I arrived in his place, Mr. Tabatabai opened the door and we headed to the main room, which was devoid of furniture.
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Only empty cushions on the ground and a rug were present. A servant, bent, unshaven, and half-asleep, served us tea. After a few minutes of waiting, Hassan Khomeini, ginger-haired, whitefaced, and blue-eyed, came from a rear door. Smiling and wearing a black turban, he went directly to me. We shook hands and he hugged me tightly. Speaking quite rapidly, he called me by my first name and spoke a little English. He was very irreligiously oriented, speaking about some Western pop star and movies: Sean Paul, Harry Potter, etc. As the conversation progressed, we spoke about my lands, and the need to speed the process of the ownership duplicate certificates. I explained to him everything about my follow up with the court. He gave me the name of another attorney, who he asked me to contact for further assistance in the matter. The discussion quickly turned towards my point of view on Islam and Iran. Unfortunately my only sin, again, was being too straight forward and sincere. I informed him of my views: that we should follow the Prophet Muhammad, who was an extremely patient and tolerant person, and who did use any kind of violence on people. Sayyed Hassan replied that he respected other cultures and all nations, even the USAjust not Umar ibn al-Khattab (the second Bakri Regime caliph). At the mention of his name, I cursed him, and for some reason Sayyed Hassan laughed loudly.
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Afterward, he invited me to stay for lunch, and to pray together with him. He then proposed that I join him and his friends over the weekend at Khomeinis shrine, in south Tehran. Two classmates drove me there. When we arrived at the Khomeinis tomb, a man accompanied me to an apartment-like room behind the shrine. Upon entering the room, I could see Sayyed Hassan Khomeini, Majid Ansari, Dowlati, Ayatollah Borjnordi, and some other ex-Members of Parliament from the Khatami cabinet. It was an evening of jokes and discussion about Khatamis achievements, and the preparations for the next presidential election in 2009. The Iranians of this Regime are very different from the people during the Shahs time. Then, all the personalities were educated, with diplomas from prestigious universities in the UK or France. They were fluent in at least one European language, usually French, and strong in Farsi literature and language. They were well-mannered, and had good relationships with other nations. If the Shah were still in power, it is likely that the seminary clergymen would be much more respected and developed than now. Sayyed Hassan then took my hand, and led all the guests towards his grandfathers grave inside the main hall of the shrine. Crowds surrounded us, and bodyguards came to protect the group. One young lady was sobbing, begging to speak to Sayyed
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Hassan. Ayatollah Borjnordi asked to the bodyguards to let her speak. The young woman was in tears, begging Sayyed Hassan. She explained that her father had been killed during the Iran-Iraq war, and that now she lives by herself with her mother and younger brother. She wanted him to review a courts ruling on a problem. Sayyed Hassan asked the bodyguard to write down her information, and told her that he would help. As I sat in front of that dictators grave, inside the metal cage surrounding it, I wished that he was alive to answer for all of the oppression he committed, and all that for which he had laid the foundation. After visiting the grave, we went to another room, where dinner was on the floor, waiting for us. Ayatollah Borjnordi recited an English poem for me, and praised the US, and the beauty of its land. He then told me in English that I should leave this country and go back where I came from.
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10 THE IRANIAN GUANTANAMO

Imam Reza said: The right to rule an Islamic government is appointed by God, and He chooses certain persons. (Bihar al-Anwar, vol. 49, p. 129; Uyoon Akhbar al-Reza, vol. 2) ISLAMIC REPUBLIC: A FAUX IDEOLOGY
The official state religion in Iran is Twelver Jafari Shia Islam. Its adherents believe that following there the 12 death Imams of the who Prophet were the Muhammad, rightful were
spiritual and political leaders of the community of Muslims. The twelfth Imam is believed to have grown up in hiding and to have gone into occultation some 300 years after the death of the Prophet Muhammad, but is expected to return one day to resume his leadership.
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In the absence of the Twelfth Imam, political and religious authority became separated in practice. In Iran, there were a number of royal dynasties which wielded political power, while religious authority remained with the ulema (clergy) and in particular in the concept of the marja-ye taqlid, or source of emulation. A marja must be a very learned and holy man who has attained the level of mojtahed in Islamic law. Following the death of a marja, a new one is elected from among his followers. Other Shia Muslims then begin to seek to emulate the new marja, and treat his fatwas (Islamic legal edicts) as binding upon themselves. At any one time, there are usually a number of maraji-ye taqlid world. Ruhollah Mousavi Hindi known as Khomeini, the based in Shia communities around the
founder of the Islamic Republic of Iran, himself a marja-ye taqlid, developed in his writings the political concept of the absolute authority of velayat-e faqih, or the absolute leadership based on an Iranian citizenship, lies with whereby the overall who political authority Leader,
must be a holy and pious man, as well as an

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expert in Islamic law and a marja. The concept of velayat-e faqih of was the enshrined Islamic as part of of the Iran Constitution Republic
adopted in 1979, and Khomeini became the first vali-ye faqih or Leader of the Islamic Republic of Iran, thereby uniting absolute religious and political authority in Iran in one person for the first time for centuries. Shortly before his death in 1989, Khomeini issued a directive to amend the Constitution to separate these two functions on the grounds that there was no-one suitable to succeed him who possessed the political qualities necessary to be the Leader as well as being a marja. Although this amendment had not been passed at the time of Khomeinis death, the then President, Sayyed Ali Khamenei, who was only a Hojjat al-Islam at the time, but who by was the swiftly 80-strong which elevated Assembly also to of the rank of The Ayatollah, was elected to the position of Leader Experts. amendment was ratified later in July 1989 in a referendum confirmed Khameneis appointment as Leader. In this amendment, while the requirement of being a marja was dropped, the political enhanced. powers They of the Leader defining were the greatly general include:
policies of the state; supervision of the proper

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execution between problems through Exigencies regulation
of of
policies; three their
resolving of the and
differences state and resolving means of
the
branches by for
relations;
unresolvable the of Assembly the
conventional (Majma-ye
Determination
State
Tashkhis-e
Maslahat-e Nezam). Not all other senior religious figures
necessarily agreed with the concept of velayat-e faqih or in the way it was implemented. Other government policies, including the eight-year war with Iraq and human rights violations by the authorities, have also met with opposition. This has led to divisions between certain sectors of the religious hierarchy in Iran. The appointment of Sayyed Ali Khamenei as Khomeinis successor did nothing to heal these divisions. Although now the current Leader with did supreme not meet political with the authority, Khamenei
approval of several more senior figures in the religious hierarchy who regarded him as lacking religious occasions credentials Since the sought at the he time on of of all his other appointment. then has several
endorsement
senior Iranian religious figures (and at times of Shia leaders outside Iran) as being the most senior religious figure
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in
Iran
or
in
Shia
Islam,
whose
rulings
would
be
binding
on
all
others, including other marjas. Such support has not been forthcoming from all quarters. It is within this context that the human rights violations against religious leaders and their followers described below have occurred. [SOURCE: Amnesty International Iran: Human
rights violations against Shi'a religious leaders and their followers]
What is the view of Shia Islam on the establishment of an Islamic government during the occultation? An Islamic government must be ruled by infallible imams appointed by God. However, during the occultation of the 12th Imam, it can have a different form of government chosen by the people. It is without the direct involvement of any religion, in order to avoid any deviation of the core of the religion itself for the sake of the politics.
Imam Ali (PBUH) said: Wronging the weak is the most atrocious type of injustice. (Nahj al-Balagha, Letter 31; Ghurar al-Hikam, no. 6054) NEW YEARS THE ARREST
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It began on the eve of the New Year... ...my heart was beating quickly. I felt extremely anxious and distressed, despite the fact everything appeared fine. I called my family to wish them the best for the great holiday season, Christmas and New Years, in the States and France. My gut feeling was that something bad was about to happen. It was like the Saint Mary revelation, to warn me about what would happen to me the next day. A revelation or divinely inspired premonition... Unconscious of the reason, I rummaged through my luggage, searching for some of my jewelry and gold. I was divinely pushed to sell them at the gold store in the city centre for $1200, the very evening before my arrest. It was a deep and inexplicable feeling, like the world had stopped, and my mind was filling with an echoing sound and memories of my childhood. I had never had such emotional experience before, nor had I any clue as to what prompted it, for I had not consciously anticipated anything that was yet to come. That New Years Eve, I prepared a nice meal with king prawn, French salad, saffron rice, Burgundy-style stewed meat, soda, and a nice Belgium cream cake dessert, remembering my grandmothers rveillon du nouvel an (New Years Eve meal). I fell asleep around 1:00 AM, after calling my family in the USA
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and France one last time.
1 JANUARY 2008 It was 8:25

AM,
and I was half asleep... On that morning,
everything in my life would change forever. It was to be an unforgettable day! I remember that it was so quiet that even the sounds of the birds outside had vanished... At 8:29 AM, someone began banging insistently on the door. I thought that maybe the new neighbors needed some help, or a person from the telephone company had come. I was puzzled. I got up to open the door... To my surprise, I saw three bearded men in black suits, all looking quite serious. They wanted to come in, but I asked for them to wait, so that my mother could prepare herself. I closed the door and went to inform her about the arrival of the men who looked like agents of the secret police. They continued to ring and pound on the door impatiently. It was then that I realized this was definitely no joke: they were indeed state security agents. Quickly, I opened the door again. One of them was very tall and had a dark face. He was the only one who spoke with me. His name was Ali. The second agent,
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Abdolfazl, was very fat, with a scarred face, and a more aggressive appearance than the rest. The third agent, Hassan, spoke only with my mother, not me. He was responsible for collecting objects from the apartment. Ali asked me to sit down on the couch while he sat on the floor. He said: See, Mohammad, I am on the floor while you are on the couch. Then he said, Now, follow me to the master bedroom. While Hassan spoke with my mother in the living room, Abolfazl collected my personal belongings. I sat with Ali in the bedroom. He asked me if my mother had enough money for few days, because it may take some time before I would be able to see her again. The whole experience was terrifying, like the sky was falling down on me. I felt as if I wanted to die; I didnt know what was going to happen to me. If I at least knew, for a moment, the reasons for what was going on, I would have certainly been more relaxed. I begged Ali to explain to me what was happening, what the reason was for all of this. He showed me a paper from the Special Court of the Clergy in Qum, asking for my temporary arrest for interrogation. This is a temporary arrest warrant from the Special Court of the Clergy, he said. It was hand written on Special Court of Clergy letterhead, with
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seals stamped on it. I turned pale. You will need to be honest with us, he told me. You should answer all the questions asked. I bid farewell to my mother, and left home without telling her if I would be back that night. I was crying inside. I had no idea where they were taking me. Outside, I saw a black car with tinted windows. Abolfazl took my belongingsmy laptop, papers, passport, photos, cellphone, and various personal notes from conferences that I had prepared. Two vehicles were waiting for us outside the building. Hassan took the items and climbed into the car. I found myself inside an armored Peugeot 405 with tinted windows. As we drove away, the car moved at a high speed. Out of nowhere, Ali handed me a blindfold and asked me to wear it, to prevent me from seeing where we were going: a secret, highsecurity area of Qum, underneath Zanbil Abad Boulevard. The car began to move even faster, making noisy U-turns. What happened? I asked, afraid. Where we are going? Ali said, If you respond well to all the questions, we wont hurt you at all. You need to be a good boy, okay? He spoke in a tone that was simultaneously patronizing and threatening. We are going to the Iranian Guantanamo, said Abdolfazl, the
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driver, while laughing at me. We are in the Islamic Republic of Iran, not the USA or Israel. We follow Imam Khomeinis standard human rights. My mind was so engulfed in stress that I couldnt comprehend anything they said. It prevented any concentration or mental clarity. I could hear them, but their words were like a blur, fading away. The intelligence agents proceeded to whisper among themselves, cryptically and in incomplete sentences. After 20 minutes, I felt as if we were moving down, then up. The car stopped. They opened the door, and held my arm as they lifted me out of the car. I was still blindfolded, as Ali led me by the arm. They opened a metallic door, and then a young person took up the task. He grabbed my arm more aggressively, and led me down a long, dark corridor, before making me sit on the ground. He proceeded to ask a series of questions about my health. Tell me the names of any medications you are taking. I informed him that I was asthmatic. He told me to lift up my blindfold enough to show me a piece of paper, to see where I should sign. He asked me to remove my clothes. In exchange, he handed me an inmates uniform. It was a grey, with dark stripes. Then the young man pulled my arm, and we walked for few
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minutes. It was a dark, scary placea long corridor, like a labyrinth. The prison guards called it the Corridor of Purgatory. After a few minutes of walking, I became so short of breath from the enormous stress of it all that I was near fainting. We stopped. The young guard told me not to move. I thought he was going to hit me, but he opened a solid metal door. He ordered me inside, then shut it behind me. I was left in a tiny cell, with no window, and a small shower with a hole on the floor beneath it for a toilet. I still had no clue why I was there. Behind the door, another guard opened the window slotan old man with a Kashan accent. This is a high security prison, he told me. You will be constantly monitored. You have the shower, and we will bring you food. You may only remove your blindfold when you are alone. He left. After that, there was no noise, only total silence. I took off my blindfold, and looked carefully around the cell. I only saw three blankets on the floor, a Quran, and a copy of Mafatih alJinan, a book of prayers and supplications. Above me, on the ceiling, were two neon lamps, which were left constantly on. This silence was heavy for me. My mind was full of thoughts and worries. I wondered what would happen to me next. I still could not believe that I was really in prison. For a moment, I even
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thought that maybe it was a dream, imagining I was in Guantanamo, like in the movies. I felt sleepy. I was so tired after having to wait for hours; I didnt even know if it was day or the night. I couldnt even hear the call to prayer. During my slumber, the old Kashani man suddenly opened the door, screaming at me to put the blindfold over my eyes. Then he gave me thermos filled with water and a plastic glass, and closed the door. I was so thirsty that I began to drink immediately. A few minutes passed, and I felt heavy and dizzy. I fell asleep. With no clock, and no other sign to indicate the time, I lost all sense of day and night. When I woke up again after some hours, that was when it really hit me: I was actually in a prison, and the situation was dire. I had not eaten for two or three days; instead I was given only water. Nobody could hear me as I screamed and cried. I wanted to know that someone could hear me, so I knocked at the door to make noise, and called for a guard. But there was no one. Finally, after a few hours, the old Kashani man came back and said angrily, Shut up! What do you want?! How long must I stay here? I asked. Can I go back home? Is there anyone who can explain to me what is going on? Shut up! Here, you dont ask the questions, you answer them. You will see someone soon. Dont worry.
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11 YOU WILL TELL US EVERYTHING

Days or perhaps weeks passedI dont how long, but a long time. My mind was full of thoughts. I thought about my mother, and wondered what had happened to her. Was she arrested as well? Was she sent back to France? Suddenly, I heard the chains behind my door announce the arrival of the guards. Put on your blindfold, fast, they shouted. Fast, you idiot! You puppet of Bush and Ariel Sharon! Two guards pulled me by my arms, and led me down a series of long corridors, first turning right, then left. A tall guard told me that I would meet Sarkozy, so I should behave now. I could feel them mocking me. We arrived in a room, where they sat me in front of a wall, my eyes still blindfolded. Behind me, there seemed to be four or five people behind a desk.
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One of them asked, Do you know why youre here? "No, I answered, what did I do? Please, I want to know! What do you want from me? What? he asked, incredulous. Are you playing with me? Dont play this game! We know exactly who sent you here. Our colleague in Montreal followed you. He tells us youve been recruited by the Canadian Intelligence Service through US agents in Chicago. And now you are crying, asking us, why am I here?! Surprised, I told him, I dont know what you mean; I dont understand. Shut up! replied the interrogator. In a few days, you will be in such a state that youll tell us everything. The only thing we need to know is the name of your boss and your exact mission. All of a sudden I received a hard slap on my head. Then the agent grabbed my hair and shoved my head downward until it reached my knees. You will tell us everything in few days; were not worried about that. All were worried about now is how to explain your cause of death to Sarkozywe dont want to have another problem, like when your filthy colleague, Zahra Kazemi, died while she was in your position. The agent slapped me very hard on both of my ears at the same time. For a moment I couldnt hear anything. I felt drunk and dizzy; my left arm became so numb that I couldnt even move a
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finger. Sarkozy and Bush will not be able to pay your salary anymore, he said, before punching me in the nose. It started to bleed, and I was sent back to my cell. The guard screamed in my ears, while pulling me toward the dark corridor, That small amount of blood from your shit nose is nothing! You need to talk and explain the whole story! Mohammad, youre gonna talk! Youll be wise enough to stop your silence. Stop crying, idiot! For days and days I was kept in fear, in that tiny cell. I was unable to hear even the slightest noise, and the constant white lights from the ceiling blinded me. Every time I drank water, I would fall asleep. Sleep: thats all I had. They brought me some food. Hungry, I ate like an ogre with my hands, but I had pain while eating. My clothes began to seem larger on me than before. I had lost weight. My beard gave me rashes, and I stank of sweat. I hadnt prayed in days. I didnt have the right to call my mother, the right to a lawyer, or the right to call the French Embassy. I wanted to scream help! at the top of my lungs. In order to avoid falling asleep, I would drink water from the shower, which was salty and bitter. Thirty years after the Revolution, the city of Qum has still not
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developed. In this so-called Islamic City, there is over 36% unemployment, an excessively high rate of people infected with HIV, AIDS sufferers, drugs, prostitution, suicide, homosexuality, pedophilia, and murder. Everything is disguised, and what is not is justified under the pretext of saving the Islamic Republics interests. Are these the Islamic values that the Regime is constantly talking about? Mistreating people, depriving themmeof a fair trial? For a second time, I heard the sound of chains. Immediately I put on my blindfold to keep from being beaten. The two guards led me to the same place, with the same interrogators, yelling repeatedly, hitting me everywhere, forcing me to answer with only a yes or no. I was told by my interrogators that if I said anything but those two words, I would be slapped with a chain. I began to shake all over; my jaw trembled. The first interrogator asked me, Have you been sent by CIA? "No, I saidthen, suddenly, a violent slap on my mouth. My lips bled. I cried and begged them to stop to hitting me. I am not a spy! I cried insistently. The second interrogator said, I want to give you some good news. Your moms uncle died. They laughed, then added: At least the first one is left, now well see whos next! I thought they were lying. I didnt want to believe them, but I
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was under extreme stress. Then the interrogator continued, We told you to answer only yes or no. What is your name? Yes! I exclaimed. Three people tackled me to the ground, beating me on my back and calling me names. They took an electrical cable, and whipped me across the back. Did the Mossad (Israeli intelligence services) give you lot of money? one interrogator asked. Then the other one said, Are you trying to play smart with us? We will kill you, I swear; just like your moms uncle. No, I said. Are you Jewish? No. So youre Bahai? No. Spit on you, he shouted. Youre not even Jewish or Bahai, and you didnt get paid lot of money, but you still worked for the Mossad anyway! They laughed at me, then struck me on the head with a plastic TV cable. I felt a lump appear; it was throbbing. We listened to your telephone conversations and recorded some parts of them. We realized that in one of the conversations, you said to your aunt, and I quote, I hate the medieval government of Iran, which couldnt even build one standard
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hospital for their population. Medieval? Is that how you talk about Islam? Imam Ali? Medieval? He slapped me again, and said, One of your phone calls was made to a number with a +420 country code. Thats the Czech Republic. According to our database, its a number belonging to the temporary office of the Mossad in Prague. The agent struck me in the left ear. Why were you calling Prague? Are you Czech? No, I explained, I never called Prague; I dont know anyone over there. While beating me and pulling on my hair, the agent took a bucket of water that was on the floor. He grabbed me by the hair and shoved my head down into the bucket. The water inside it was scalding hot, and I thought that I was going to drown. He pulled me out of the bucket, and I gasped for air just before he plunged my head in again. I was suffocating as the water burned my face. Shut up, he snarled, I dont want to hear your fing Zionist voice. The other agent grabbed me by the hair and made me sit down again. My blindfold had fallen off, so they tied it even tighter around my head. It was painful. He slapped me again. Were gonna give you such a hard time that Sarkozy will piss
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his boxers when he sees your scars. I swear, I never called Prague, I pleaded. I dont know anyone there! Maybe the number is from one of those cheap international calling cards that uses a third country line; I dont know! Dont try to fool us, because youre only fooling yourself, you little turd. You will have a hard time very soon. You will urinate blood. Why would I call Prague? I dont know anyone there. Shut up, he said, I am tired of your lies. You know, if you want to go through hell, thats easy for us. Answer like a human being, otherwise Ill be forced to give you a tough life. Weve met many people like you here; were the anti-spy department. Most of them either died or left in very bad shape. Did you have a dog when you were a child? Yes, I replied. So you know that to train a dog, you have a beat him with a stick to domesticate him. Israelis are stubborn dogs. If you keep on being stubborn, youll be trained like those stubborn dogs. So, before we experiment with a higher level of interrogation techniques, you had better tell us about your boss in the US, the one who recruited you in Chicago and sent you to Montreal. Then you need to write about your second boss in Montreal. The guards put me back in my cell along with some blank paper
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and blue Bic pen. They warned me that if I didnt write anything, I would be transferred somewhere else. I didnt know what to do. I cried. I hit myself against the wall. Then I closed my eyes and tried to think of a solution. I decided to write the truth and only the truth.
MY REAL CONFESSION In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful, I, the undersigned, Mohammad Cyrous, born in France, declare that I have not been recruited to any agency and have never spied on anyone, or for any organization or person. I am not linked to any spy network of any country or any person. I never collected any information to transmit it to anyone. I believe in a religion of peace and love, and never hurting any living being. I believe in justice, compassion, mercy, respect, and freedom. I left my comfortable life and work opportunities in North America and Europe only to learn more about my religion, in my motherland, and to recover my inheritance. I love Iran, and my love of Islam pushed me to come to Qum, without involving myself in any political trends or ideology. This is a misunderstanding, or a plot by jealous people who want to eliminate me. I authorize you to kill me if I have lied, or if I was a spy. I am sorry for my poor Farsi.
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Signed, Mohammed Cyrous I left the letter on the floor and I fell asleep. When I woke up, I found my statement in exactly the same place. Some time later, the guards came to pick me up. They brought me to the interrogation room, as usual. This time, one of the interrogators was behind me and ordered me to look straight forward and not to turn my head. When he removed my blindfold, I saw a large man with a three-day-beard, and a green scarf signifying that he was a sayyeda descendant of the Prophet Mohammad. He introduced himself as the chief interrogator. This place is the counter-espionage centre of the Islamic Republic of Iran, section 23. We received a report from our colleague in Montreal, Canada, claiming that you are a spy. They monitored you in Montreal, in Dubai and here in Iran. We have agents everywhere, even occupied Palestine. Our colleague said that he twice saw you speaking with the RCMP and the FBI. You have been employed by them. The only thing we need to know the exact mission they gave you, and the names of all their representatives. As you know, the establishment of the Islamic Republic was a
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miracle from God. Imam Khomeini was asked by God to prepare the coming of the messiah, Imam Mahdi. This means that anyone who betrays the Islamic Republic is an enemy of God. And do you know the consequence of being enemy of God? You become muharib (at war with God), which results in being executed, and cursed forever. What a shame! Then all the interrogators joined in at the same time, booing and hissing. The chief continued, The Islamic Republic of Iran does not torture, and we are in compliance with the sharia (Islamic law). However, since were now in a war with the unbelievers, the Supreme Leader allows us to use all means to fight our enemies in particular those enemies linked with the Mossad. You will stay as our guest as long as necessary, until you talk like a human being and tell us everything to do with your mission. And by the way, your mother told us she is glad you are in prison, and wants to leave Iran to go back to France... Dirty bastard! We hate you. God hates you. The world hates you! If we released you to walk down the street, people would throw stones at you like a Jew. You are filth, garbage, a dog of the Israelis, a puppet of Bush and Sarkozy. We need to get your brother here in the interrogation room; he showed your real face over the phone. He called your mother
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and claimed that your plans are over, and your boss cancelled your mission. It was at that point when it became totally obvious they were lying, playing games, and applying methods of psychological torture. We need your brother in Iran, he said. Well wait for him to come, and he will have many things to tell us. We hate you. You are a dirty Zionist. You wrote in your stupid confession that you love Iran, but Bush also said he loves Iran! That doesnt show us any proof that you love Khomeini. They showed me a black-and-white photograph of my grandparents, and of the families of both of my parents. Pointing to a face in the picture, the interrogator said: You know this guy? No, I replied. Its your grand-uncle, and he was executed after a ruling by Khomeini. But I have nothing to do with that! I said. Its just to show you that you belong to a cursed bloodline. And we have even more proof that you are cursed. Your grandmother is Catholic, is that correct? Yes. So, since according to Imam Khomeini, interfaith marriage is illegitimate. It means that their children are illegitimate, and their
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grandchildren as well. You are a dirty bastard; it is more proof that your blood is impure, and that you infiltrated the seminary system. You hate Islam; you hate Iran. You love Jews and Israel. You will never say publicly that you hate Jews only because you love them, isnt that it? Answer me, little dog! Yes. Yes to what, asked my interrogator. Yes to anything you say, I told him. Please, just release me. Then they kicked me.
MY FIRST TELEPHONE CONVERSATION WITH MY MOTHER The chief interrogator went on to say, Because we are Muslim, we still have pity on our enemy; so we will allow you to call your mother. However, you will repeat exactly what we dictate to you. Not one extra word. First of all, you will tell her that you will return in three days, and that we have no problem. You are only visiting an office due to the land problems. Also, tell her not to contact anyone, especially not the French Embassy in Tehran. He laughed. Even if you could ask for help, theyd only let you die. Youre just a piece of shit to them.
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Speak in Farsi only, he went on, and dont play smart with me: no code or hidden messages, otherwise well cut the line and make you will bleed like a slaughtered lamb. Okay?! The phone rang... Hello! Yes, came my mothers voice, in tears. Its you! Finally! Where are you? How are you? What happened? I will arrive in a few days, I told her. Im not far, dont worry; everything is okay. She pressed, asking, What is going on? Everything is fine. Dont worry about anything; I am just here about the ownership of my inheritance lands. You dont need to contact anyone. I felt like erupting into tears and begging for help in French. Then I heard my mother shouting out, calling my name: Mohammad! Please, let him come home Suddenly the line was disconnected. I was beaten like a garbage bag. I fell down on the ground, with pain radiating throughout my stomach and head. Immediately, I was brought back to my cell. Through the small window, the guard threw me blank sheets of paper, with a heading across the top that read, In the Name of God. The Prophet said: Tell the truth if you want to be saved. It appeared to be an official blank form from the Ministry of Intelligence of the Islamic Republic of Iran.
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I didnt know what to write on it, but I was scared of being beaten again if it stayed blank. I was extremely hungry, and as I thought about what I should write on it, I fell asleep. How many days had passed? I was exhausted mentally and physically, but I recited supplications from Mafatih Jinan and duA Yunessyah and I felt a sense of peace and calm. My face was streaked with tears, sweat, and blood, and my beard itched. Another day, and the guards brought me to the interrogation room. Six or seven other people were already waiting there. I couldnt imagine what was going to happen to me. They made me strip down to only my pajamas, and then brought me out to the yard. It was dark, and snowing out. The weather in Qum was very cold in February, 2008. At night, the temperature dropped below freezing. They punched me in the stomach, then they went back inside. I was left outdoors the whole night. I was freezing. I couldnt feel my feet or hands. I trembled with cold. I screamed, begging them to let me in. I screamed until I lost my voice asking God to kill me to end these tortures. I dont remembered what happened after that, but I woke up in my cell.
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I could see bruises on my arm and my lower back. I hurt everywhere. I couldnt move without pain. My voice was husky, my throat sore. I had fever, tremors, asthma, nightmares, and anxiety attacks. Then, after a day or two, I was brought back to the interrogation room. They gave me a cup of tea and some kebab. The interrogator was alone with me, and spoke gently. From then on, that particular interrogator would always speak gently with me. I know youre not a spy, he said to me, youre just a simple person who loved your religion and culture. Just one question, though: what bothered you about some of your friends in Montreal? What do you mean by bothered me about some of my friends in Montreal? You threatened legal action against them. I then remembered that I had squabbled with the Shia center in Montreal, and called them mentally retarded. In a friendly voice, he said, I want to help you, listen to me. Write us a story. Explain how you traveled from France to the USA, then Canada, then Qum. Thats itnothing elseand we will let you go. And I will even let you to talk to your mother after your write it all down. I began to write what he had asked of me, and it went as
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follows: I certify that at the age of thirteen, I had the dream of becoming an university professor, and teaching religion, and I was hungry to know my culture. I followed my family to the USA. Then, after completing my graduate degree, I moved to Montreal and worked in an international college. After obtaining my postgraduate degree, I went to Qum to study in the seminary, while I followed up with my family inheritance. I am neither politically involved, nor employed by any intelligence service. If I have lied, I allow you to kill me. I signed it. He gave me the phone, and I was able to speak to my mother for a few seconds. I told her that it was almost finished; I just needed to complete some more paperwork before I could come home. They brought back to my cell again, only this time, after a few minutes, two interrogators came to get me. Even though I was still blindfolded, they pulled a cloth bag over my head. They were extremely rough and hostile. Again, more yelling in my ears, swearing. I was trembling like a leaf. I heard other agents asked to bring the TV cable and stun gun.
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I understood that this would be the tougher stage in a series of tortures. I was overwhelmed by stress. My vision became blurry, and sounds echoed in my head. They beat me, pulled my hair, slapped me, and whipped me with TV cable on my lower back. They screamed at me, although I was only half-conscious. I was dying, I didnt even have the strength to scream. I saw a light like Fatimah, the daughter of the Prophet Muhammad. Please help me! I called out. This is just the beginning, said the interrogator. You tell me the name of your boss, or we will begin step two. By the time we finish with step three, no one will recognize you; you will be disfigured. Then will come the final stage: you will join your colleague, Zahra Kazemi. They said the name of this journalist several times; so much that I began to wonder why. I didnt even know her. I had never met her. I had just heard about her in the news. It was then that they tackled me to the floor and administered the first electrical shock. There was a surge of pain. The interrogators screamed over and over again, The name of your boss! His name, his name! This light I had seen smiling at me gave me a sense of divine protection, a peaceful feeling of being watched by a spiritual aura. The light inspired me to say the word Sean. I screamed, Sean! Sean! Please stopit was Sean!
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And then, everything just stopped. No more beating, no more whipping my back. I was left in my cell, where I slept after receiving some medication. After one month of interrogation, I suddenly had a nervous breakdown. I started to scream, hitting the walls and myself. I couldnt believe that I was an inmate; I couldnt accept that I was being tortured by a regime I had always thought to be holy and humane. My mind was totally shaken, and I remembered all the criticisms and comments I had heard about the Iranian Regime throughout my entire life. I remembered my family, friends, and people on TV saying that Iran was guilty of human rights violations, that its regime kills opponents and tortures people And I got scared. Very scared. If what they had said was true all along, I didnt know what would happen to me! I no longer trusted the words of the Regime. My mind changed completely, from respecting the Iranian religious authorities to a deep hatred of the Supreme Leader and the Regime. It was then that the politics of the West, of protecting democracy by condemning Iran, seemed justified. It was then that I legitimately understood the Iranians who struggled to change the Regime at any price.
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I doubted my own religion. I didnt know if I should stay a Muslim after what I had experienced under the name of Islam and God. Islam became a frightening thing to me. I felt disgusted, too, by my Iranian origins. I wanted to go home, to France or the US, at any price.
THE SECOND STAGE For many long hours, taking turns one at a time, three interrogators endlessly repeated the same shouting and verbal abuses. Every time I failed to answer, I received a dry slap. My ears echoed with the sound of air, like I was in a cave full of wind. Blood ran from my nose onto the floor After a few days, I woke up in a hospital bed, surrounded by two of the same guys who had picked me up in my home on New Years Day. As soon as I saw them, I cried like a baby and begged them to let me go home. Ali smiled and said, Dont worry, you will go home one day. Now you have to behave. You are in the Hospital. The doctor will need to inject some medication to relax you. A man in white from the hospital smiled and said warmly, Do
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you know where you are? In Iran, I replied. The doctor chuckled. No, I mean nowthe place you lay as we speak. In the hospital, I said, but why? I was afraid that the doctor would remove something from my body, or torture me in some other way. Yes, you are in a hospital inside in the interrogation section. I need to give you some morphine to relax you. Your heartbeat is too fast, and you have been talking too loudly in your sleep. The doctor gave me another injection of an orange-colored liquid. I was strapped to the bed, so I couldnt move at all. Maybe, I thought, they are injecting something to kill me over a long period. I dont know. After the injection, I felt relaxed, like I didnt have any stress at all. I had the impression that I was very well; then I slept. When I awoke, I was back in my cell. From that day forward, I was served good meals at fixed hours after each prayer time. I was given a new inmate uniform to change into, soap, and toothpaste. I took a shower, and the guard even gave me some cakes. I didnt know why everyone seemed to be more relaxed toward me. The guard picked me up to bring me in another room. I was told that I could remove my blindfold. I saw four people, three
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hooded like in a movie. I could just see their eyes. The chief interrogators was the only visible face. So, he said, are you tired of being here? Or do you want more? No! Well, why did you infiltrate the pro-Regime community in Montreal? I didnt infiltrate anyone, I insisted. Are you a Christian with some Jewish origins? No, I said, I am Shia. So you are a Muslim with some Jewish origins! Here are the reports of our agents in Montreal. Listen to what they say: Mohammad, a so-called Shia, infiltrated the Shia community in Montreal and met some RCMP members, giving them monthly reports. He added, One American and one Canadian living in Qum also confirm the allegations against you. But I dont even know anything special about the community in Montreal, I countered. Well make a deal, said the chief. I will call someone you know from Montreal and Dubai, and lets see what they say about you! Sure, I relented. A hooded interrogator dialed a number in Canada. The chief
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spoke into the phone: Salam aleikum. I am calling about Mohammad, the Canadian spy. Do you know him? Yes, replied the voice on the other end of the line, he is the one who is famous among the Khamenei supporters in Montreal for reporting our activities to RCMP. By the way, he gave us a fake bank cheque, and stole $4000 dollars from us. He is a thief and a spy. Then the boss hung up. I received a hard slap on the side of my head. I could feel a bump, and I felt swollen. My ears were red and burning. Would you like us to mutilate you, asked the chief, or would you prefer we shoot you with a colt, put your corpse in the desert, and tell your mother and the French Embassy that you disappeared? I remained silent. I had no idea what to say. The chief interrogator gave me a frightening look, and I was brought back to the solitary confinement of my cell. I slept after having a full meal.
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12 FORCED CONFESSION
The next day, I woke up and the guards brought me down a long corridor. I asked if I was going home. The guard laughed ironically. A Mossad spy who wants to go home! Shut the f up. Youre going to court, and you will answer the judges questions correctly.
FIRST HEARING AT THE COURT I was put in the same car, the Peugeot 405, with the same two security agents I had met at my home and again at the hospital. Half way there, they told me to remove my blindfold. Outside, I saw the city from behind the darkly tinted windows. There was snow everywhere in the street. I felt strange.
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The weather was sunny and it seemed to be morning. There were traffic jams, but the sirens of our vehicle opened the way for us to accelerate. In the rear view mirror, I saw myself for the first time in a while. I was shocked by how much I had changed. I had a long beard, and I had become so pale, so skinny. I looked like a person who had been living it rough on the streets for months. The car parked at the Special Court of the Clergy on Sumayyeh Street in Qum. The guards escorted me like I was a dangerous criminal, to Office #3. Nobody from the public was present at the court; the whole staff appeared to be there for only me. I thought maybe it was after-hours. The judge, Jazayyeri, sat behind the velvet flag of the Islamic Republic of Iran. He stared at me with a dirty look, and said, Write your answers on this sheet. There were five questions: 1. Since when have you been working for foreign secret services? 2. What is your true mission in Iran? 3. What information did you deliver to your foreign handlers in Dubai and Montreal? 4. Why did you meet with famous professors from the holy government of the Islamic Republic? 5. How do you live with yourself after your betrayal?
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While I wrote my answers, the judge looked at me mischievously, trying to impress me. 1. Ive never been hired by any agency. 2. I came to Iran to recover the inheritance of my parents and study religion for a spiritual aim. 3. I didnt give any information to anyone, and I didnt receive any information from anyone. 4. They contacted me themselves to ask for my help in translating their books, and I met them during my religious television shows. 5. I am ready to give any amount of my family inheritance if you to let me go back to France. Signed and dated, 10 February 2008. When I saw the date at the bottom of the document, I understood that I had been in solitary confinement for over five weeks. Right after signing, I was transported back to my cell. A few hours later, an interrogator asked, How was your interview with the judge? Good, I said. Well! he exclaimed. The judge considered you a danger to the national security of the Islamic Republic, and charged you with spying for Canada and the United States. I am not what you say. We will now proceed to step three of the interrogation
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process, he said, and its going to hurt like hell. "Why? What did I do? Please, at least let me call the French Embassy!" No. The time will come to contact the stupid French Embassyonly to report your death. How much do you think the French are willing to give in exchange for your release? Not even shit, Im sure. And then: Zionist Sarkozy will do anything to bring back a Zionist like this idiot!" Then he changed the tone of his voice. Agha Sayyed! Come in. He made frightening noises with the chains. I was handcuffed and shackled. The chief interrogator entered, and immediately began screaming at me. I felt weak, totally exhausted. I couldnt understand his words; I only heard sounds coming from his mouth. I have to be clear with you, said the chief. If you write a nice story for us, explaining that Sean was your boss, and he sent you to Montreal with the purpose of coming to Qum, then the Ministry of Intelligence will release you. However, if you continue to play hide-and-seek with us, and not writing down a plausible story, then the judge will assume you are guilty of these severe charges, that you are linked with the Mossad, and you will be consider to be muharib (at war against God, which can carry the death penalty).
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So, it is in your interest to write something for us, even if you have to make something up. But we need a story. Also, after writing this story, of at least 12 pages, you will meet your mother in one of our offices, and we will release you soon. Okay? I relented. Yes, I will. I was brought back to my cell with some fruits and chips. I had another warm meal with some yoghurt. After taking a shower, I closed my eyes and I opened the Qur'an, which was on the floor. I didnt know what to write, so I thought maybe I could get some inspiration from it. When took the Quran in my hands, it fell open to the chapter Victory. It was surrounded with a white light. When Allahs help comes with victory My heart was certain that I would gain victory against these oppressors. I was innocent, but I had to make up a fake story to be released from this hypocritical regime, which claimed to be holy and from God. At the same time, my heart was broken, and I was disgusted to see how this filthy system played with peoples beliefs simply to further their own political agenda. So, with my weak Farsi, I started to make up a story, mixing in some real facts, and adding Sean in as some kind of 007 Secret Agent. It took me 10 pages, writing in big characters, with one sentence per two lines. I explained that when I moved in Saint Louis, I had met Sean,
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who told me that he was a secret agent from the USA. He explained to me that for the sake of democracy in the Shia Muslim World, I needed to infiltrate the community in Chicago, where there is a high concentration Shia. Sean found me a place to live, and I met many Muslims. Then Sean said that because my native language is French, he was transferring me to Montreal. He asked me to meet his Canadian colleague, Jack. Jack had converted to Islam, and prepared me to go to Qum to be a clergyman. He showed me all the Islamic centres in Montreal, and introduced me to other clergymen who were pro-American. They, in turn, helped me organize my trip to Qum. Jack bought me a plane ticket to Qum, and I started to study. I was almost done with my studies, but the holy government of the Islamic Republic saved me, by stopping me from completing this malicious plan. I asked for the pardon of our Dear Leader, requested my release, and promised not to harm the Islamic Republic anymore. At the end, I placed my signature. I knocked on the door to give it back to the guards, who came hours later and took it from me through the small window. Then they gave a tea with Persian cookies (koloocheh). The next day, I was brought to the interrogation room again. I thought it was all almost over with, but I soon discovered that it
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was only the beginning. Again, the interrogators tackled me to the floor and beat me in the stomach and on my head. I screamed and begged them to stop. They called me a dirty Zionist, and other names. I told them that I had done what they asked of me, but they wouldnt stop beating me. They only told me to shut up. The interrogators then sat me on a chair in front of the wall. There were two of themone with a soft, friendly voice, and another who was hostile, always asking negative questions. They started to ask me more specific questions regarding what I wrote about the physical appearance of Sean, about what he likes, about my father, my brother, the type of car I had, details about every sentence I wrote. Then they asked how I knew Sean was a secret agent. I replied by reminding them that they had asked me to make up a story. Immediately, the interrogators threatened to kill me if I repeated that claim again. One of them said, What you wrote is a true story, and we didnt tell you to make up anything. If you deny this, your mother will see your dead body on the day she comes to meet you in our office. After that, the interrogations were maybe 12 or 15 hours-perday for a week, asking me same questions in different ways, and with different interrogators.
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One morning, the chief interrogator asked me to go take a shower and dress in my regular clothes. When I asked him why, he only said, That is a surprise for you. My reaction was ambivalent: I was simultaneously overjoyed and extremely anxious. The guard brought me to my cell, where I found the clothes I had been wearing the day I was arrested. My clothes were so much bigger that I had to hold my pants up just so they wouldnt fall to the floor. It was then that I understood just how skinny I had become. They brought me to the interrogation room, and was told I could remove my blindfold. I saw a video camera and a microphone on the table. The boss explained to me that I had to repeat the story I wrote for the camera. He added that if I played smart and changed my story, I would have a big problem. The cameraman was shaved and looked like a normal person, not an Islamist. He was smiling at me, and while the boss was talking to others behind me, he said, Dont worry, buddy. When it gets to the point where they make a video recording of you, that means youre almost done. If it was a serious matter, you would have to speak on national TV, so dont be stressed out. They recorded me, and asked me to cry at the end, while begging the Leader to give me pardon and clemency. The chief interrogator knew some Iraqi Arabic, and after the
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recording he explained to me that he frequently traveled to Iraq to meet his colleague there, which was why he had learned it. He was nicer to me after making the recording, and the general atmosphere was less tense.
THE JUDGE ALI ABDOLLAHI VISITS MY CELL TO FORCE A CONFESSION I had been left inside my cell for two or three days, when the guards woke me up the same way by kicking the metallic door, making a huge noise in my cell. They screamed at me and said that I had to fold my blankets and put water on my face before my meeting with the judge. I didnt have to time to finish moving my blankets before some army-style bodyguards entered and tackled me to the floor, screaming at me to behave and to remove your blindfold whenever we tell you. The judge entered my cell, smelling strongly of musk perfume. I was sitting on the floor while his two bodyguards were behind me. They removed my blindfold and grabbed my arm as though I was trying to escape. They only wanted to humiliate me even more, and to discredit me in front of the judge. The judge, Ali Abdollahi, had a folder containing documents printed on Special Clergy Court letterhead. He didnt even greet
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me, looking at me like I was nothing. Straight away, he asked me, Arent you ashamed to have betrayed the Islamic Republic? I didnt betray the Islamic Republic, I responded. You know, if you were in America and did a similar thing over there, the judge wouldnt be using clemency like me. In America, spies are sent to Guantanamo or a prison in a desert, and they would cut you into pieces. I know what I'm talking about; one of my relatives experienced this from the Americans in Iraq. I didnt spy, I said, and no one told me to come to Iran. The bodyguards pressed my arms so hard I thought they would break my bones. I stopped what I was saying, and begged them to stop hurting me. The judge frowned at my reaction. Do you mean that were torturing you?.. Answer my question, now. He raised his voice. Now! Now! Did we harm you? No, you were nice to me, I replied. Sorry; I didnt mean to suggest you are doing anything illegal to me. So, began the judge, according to the extraordinary report of the Ministry of Information of the Islamic Republic, we caught you while performing a mission given to you by the FBI through the RCMP. The Ministry of Information of the Islamic Republic also received pictures of you in the presence of some Canadian RCMP agents.
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Judge Ali Abdollahi looked up at me and asked: We missed the full name of FBI agent. Sean. His full name. At that moment, for some reason I remembered Sayyed Hassan Khomeinis words while speaking about the West, and I said the only name that came to mind: Sean Paul. Fine. Now, what did you do, concretely, against the Islamic Republic? I just studied, I said, and I created a profile before returning to Montreal. We will use clemency with you; you should be thankful. We had a Mauritanian citizen last year and he was crying like you. How stupid are the Americans to select weak people to play with the tail of a lion! Then he added: Will you tell to the French and American governments that we are using clemency and rafat (Islamic pity) on their agents? At that, Judge Abdollahi left the cell, taking his bodyguards with him. The door closed, and I was left examining the bruises on my arms. They hurt. A few days later, the guards told me that I would meet my mother for 45 minutes in one of their offices.
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I took a shower and prepared myself to meet her. They put me inside the car, and in the middle of the way there, they asked me to remove my blindfold. I was crying tears of both joy and sorrow to be in this situation. The driver and the agent were different people; they acted nicer. I felt more comfortable conversing with them. What they will do to me? I asked. The agent said they would wait for the judgment from the Special Court of the Clergy, and then release me. I didnt do anything much, he told me, and I was lucky to be caught before carrying out the plans of the enemies of Islam, so I would benefit from clemency. I was in tears listening to him. His words struck me in a positive way: finally, I could have hope in my heart of leaving this hell. I was accompanied by the two agents to an office I had never seen, which had a sign that read: Ministry o f Information of the Islamic Republic of Iran. It was framed by portraits of Khomeini and Khamenei. Seeing these pictures, my heart was filled with hate and disgust. We went to the first floor, where I had to sit behind a desk. Over it, there was a large mirror, and behind that mirror were two of my interrogators. You are here to speak to your mother, they told me. You may speak in Farsi only. You must ask her the following questions:
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Did you contact any foreigners, secretly or over the phone? What are the names of the people who ask about me? When do you plan to leave Iran? If you say anything suspicious or ask her to contact the French Embassy, he added, we will shoot you with our colt tonight, without pity. So watch your mouth.
MEETING WITH MY MOTHER AFTER TWO MONTHS IN SOLITARY CONFINEMENT I was then seated in another room, and they gave me more instructions: not to go toward the door to greet my mother, that I should speak softly, and that I had to remember the questions, which I should ask in a natural manner, in middle of my conversation. They insisted that under no circumstances should I say anything about the conditions of my detention, but just say that I have been treated well and surrounded by nice people. Finally, I was told to ask her not to speak to anyone from the French Embassy. I sat there, in the chair, and as the minutes went by, I imagined her as I waited. Then, she opened the door. She was wearing the black chador, covering even her face with it.
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She jumped into my arms, crying, and I cried as well. I wanted to shout out, Help! Please go to the French Embassy to get help from our government! But I kept quiet. I started to ask about her health; she looked extremely tired and old. When she looked at me, I could that see she, too, was shocked by my physical appearance and overall condition. I looked into her eyes, and made some blinking motions with my own, to inform her that I was faking about what I was saying, like that everything is fine, and please dont go to the French Embassy. She understood, but broke into tears even more. When I asked her when she was going to leave Iran to go to France, she responded, Never without my son. Before I knew it, the 45 minutes were already up, and the agent asked my mother to follow him out of the room. Inside, I thanked God for showing me the real face of that Regime, how they treated innocent people this way, who loved Iran and Islam very much.
STAGE 3 ABANDONED IN SOLITARY CONFINEMENT After the visit, I was left alone in my solitary confinement cell, with no contact from anyone, for over 200 days. During this time,
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I developed a daily routine of reading Quran, and reciting zekr (religious supplications); talking to myself, my dead family members, the Prophet Muhammad, the Infallible Imams, and the Messiah (PBUT). I knew that since they now had what they wanted to legitimize their actions against me, I would be rotting in solitary confinement. I had expected my captivity to be at the centre of media attention outside of Iran, with requests being made for my release, but instead I felt abandoned, like a there was some sort of plot to eliminate me. I started to read the only two books left inside the cell, the Holy Quran and the book of Shia supplications, Mafatih al-Jinan, for over 12 hours per day. I walked in circles inside the cell. One morning, the elderly guard asked me to take my blankets, soap, towel, and toothbrush with me. I walked with some difficulty, eyes blindfolded, down the dark corridor for a few minutes. We arrived at another corridor. The guard opened a door and pushed me inside, closing it behind me. I soon discovered this was to be my new cell. It was a little bigger, five-by-six meters, and had a separate toilet and shower. It was heated from the floor. I could see a small window near the
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ceiling of the shower room, very high upabout five meters above mecovered by bars. From this, I gathered that I was five meters below ground. I was being held in a secret prison beneath the city centre of Qum. I was left by myself for a month. Some days I could hear the guards radio from outside my cell. I didnt have a clock, but the radio gave the time, and I could also get a sense of the it from the small window located by the shower ceiling. I had nothing to do. I thought of my childhood and my family around the world. I even thought of people in my life who never were particularly important, like a primary school classmate or the supermarket shopkeeper in Nice when I was six years old. It was like a video replaying every single event in my life. I missed my parents, my brother, my uncles, my family, France, Los Angeles. I began to regret ever stepping foot in Iran, but at the same time I thanked God for showing me its true face, and the danger of applying the religion in politics. In spite of what had happened, my love towards God increased deeply.
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13 THE TRIAL
One month later, the guard came and asked me to wear my civilian clothes again. I was going before the judge to receive my verdict. I got prepared, and we left. I was surprised to see that my mother was waiting for me at the court, accompanied by Mrs. Golzari, a neighbor who seemed to have been planted by the Iranian secret police to monitor my mother, and ask questions if necessary. We embraced and began to cry while the court guards and Bassijis tried to separate us. My mother, however, screamed and asked them to let us be together. The penalty judge, Mr. Najafi, saw us and said, Let them be together before Mohammad goes upstairs. I was not allowed to talk to my mother about my case, or anything else to do with my imprisonment. Instead, I had to just
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keep repeating, Everything is fine with me, and everybody treats me well; it was all just a misunderstanding about the inheritance. After one full hour, the penalty judge promised my mother that I would be released, and that everything was under investigation due to an incorrect report from Montreal. Although he had meant to be reassuring, my mother was taken aback, saying, What report? What has Montreal got to do with inheritance? Mr. Najafi, however, simply said, Stop asking questions; leave the court. We need to close the court, and your son will have to go upstairs to meet the other judge. Sorry.
THE SPECIAL CLERGY KANGAROO COURT

The Special Court for the Clergy (Dadgah-e vizheye Rouhaniyat) was established on the basis of a letter from Khomeini dated 25 Khordad 1366 (15 June 1987), which appointed Ali Razini as Judge (Hakem-e Shar) and Hojjatoleslam Ali Fallahian as the Prosecutor for the Special Court for the Clergy. The functions and scope of the new court were described by Hojjatoleslam Fallahian in a press interview published in several newspapers on 7 July 1987. He stated that the court would "investigate crimes such as counter-revolution,
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corruption, accusations
fornication, which are
unlawful with
acts, the
incompatible
status of the clergy, and all crimes committed by pseudo-clergy, both in terms of the ugly acts they commit and the effect they have on the reputation of the clergy." The courts were to be set up in Tehran, Mashhad, Tabriz and Shiraz, and later in other cities as necessary. Following the issuance of this letter, work began on drafting legislation relating to the new court. The Regulations governing the Prosecutors Offices and Special Courts for the Clergy were published in the Official Gazette of 7 October 1990, accompanied by a note dated 6 August 1990 from the Secretariat val-moslemin of the Leader to Hojjatoleslam Mohammadi-Reyshahri,
the then Prosecutor of the Special Court for the Clergy. The note stated: "...A copy of the Law concerning the organization of the Prosecutors Offices and Special Court for the Clergy, together with the scope of their jurisdiction and procedural regulations - which has been sanctioned by the eminent Leader - is sent to you to take the necessary action. The eminent Leader prescribed the following at the bottom of the text of the laws: In the name of the Almighty. The [procedures stipulated] for the Prosecutors
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Offices
and
Special Court for the Clergy are hereby approved. May the Almighty grant you success. 14 Mordad 1366 (5 August 1990)" When laws which are have been considered (Majles), in the in the Islamic Consultative Assembly Irans
parliament,
published
Official
Gazette, the date of approval in the Majles is stated. It is clear from the above, therefore, that this law was never considered by the Majles, an indication of the power the Leader has to pass legislation. This court also operated from June 1987 until October 1990 before becoming established in law, in violation of international standards for fair trial. Under Article 1 of the Regulations, the court is under the supreme supervision of the Leader, who also appoints the Chief Prosecutor (Article 3) and the Judge of the First Branch of the court (Hakem-e Shar) (Article 10). Other judges are appointed with the consent of the Leader (Article 11). The competence of the Court is defined in Article 13 as: a) all general offences committed by clerics b) all acts which are incompatible with the status of the clergy c) all local disputes which can undermine public security when one of the parties to the dispute is a cleric
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d)
all
affairs
which
the
eminent
Leader
has
assigned the special courts to deal with. The last clause means that, theoretically, the competence of the court is unlimited, as the Leader who has absolute authority, can choose to assign any case to the courts. Criminal and civil cases against clerics should usually be tried in criminal or civil courts, unless the Chief Prosecutor decides that the Special Court for the Clergy is more suitable (Article 14). Article 15 then states that other prosecutors offices are not allowed to investigate and prosecute cases relating to the clergy over which it has been decided they have no jurisdiction, without special permission. However, non-clergy may also be tried before the court, under Article 31 which allows the prosecution of partners, accomplices and associates of clerics also charged before the court. Under Article 26, the Prosecutors Offices of the Special Court for the Clergy have, among other things, the responsibility for: 1. 2. 3. 4. prosecuting those accused issuing search and arrest warrants issuing charge sheets carrying to out the rulings 21-23, (ahkam) the of the are
court. According Articles

134
police
required enforcement stipulates individuals
to in
undertake relation the carry
the to
necessary cases before Office
law the is and
Special Court for the Clergy. However, Article 25 that to Prosecutors out authorized to take independent action to employ investigation execute the verdicts and sentences of the court. This may explain reports that the Special Court for the Clergy has its own prisons, usually in the courthouse, and its own security forces who carry out arrests and interrogate prisoners, who are responsible directly to the Leader outside the ordinary law enforcement framework. Furthermore, Article 34 states that "[w]rits and warrants issued are final after receiving the approval of the prosecutor and shall be conveyed to the defendant immediately". This would appear may to be imply issued that in a detention warrant, which circumstances
defined in Article 35 (including broadly defined categories such as "counter-revolutionary crimes" and "instances where the freedom of the accused may cause corruption, such as violation of the honour and integrity of the [political] system and the clergy") could not be challenged by the defendant, or be subject to any kind of judicial review. This raises the prospect of possible long-term
135
pre-trial detention or detention without trial of prisoners of conscience and political prisoners, without allowing them recourse to safeguards such as habeas corpusor amparo, or similar mechanisms, in clear violation human of the most It basic also international rights standards.
appears to be borne out in practice, as Amnesty International has received reports of detention without trial by the Special Court for the Clergy of periods of over 18 months of people who may be prisoners of conscience. Offences which may be dealt with by the court are very broadly defined in Article 18 as "any act or failure to carry out an act which according to the law or the tenets of religious law is either punishable or otherwise necessitates corrective and reformative steps...". A note appended clarifies this further, stating that: "For the members of the clerical community, acts which by norm and convention cause damage to the integrity of the clergy and the Islamic Revolution shall be considered as a crime." The application of this article would appear to allow peaceful political opposition It may is be not to the government to what by clerics being and the considered as a crime. clear extent 44 verdicts that sentences from the Special Court for the Clergy appealed. Article
136
states
verdicts are definite and binding unless: 5. 6. the judge in the case realizes he committed the Chief is Prosecutor to determines "laws did that the and the an error verdict 7. the contrary (qavanin) not have
rulings (ahkam)" presiding judge competence to deal with the case. In at least the first and second instances, if a verdict is found to be wrong, the case may be sent to the First Branch of the court for a retrial by a different judge. In the second instance, if the dispute continues, the decision of the Chief Judge shall be final and binding (unless, presumably, this judge realises that he committed an error). In common with other courts in Iran, this could, in some cases, lead to a defendant being tried an unspecified number of times for the same offence until a verdict is reached which is not challenged on account of one of the three appeal possibilities against above. Although of in 1993 a new Law on Appeals was introduced, which allows sentences death, corporal punishment, or imprisonment for longer than six months issued by General, Revolutionary or Military Courts, this Law does not mention the Special Court for the Clergy, nor does it designate an Appeal Court for the Special Court
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for the Clergy. Therefore, there appears to be an extremely limited scope for review of verdicts by this court, and the defendant appears to have no right to appeal to a higher tribunal for a review of his or of her conviction and sentence, for in fair violation trial. All the indications are that this court operates as a separate institution outside the normal judicial framework. Article 45 of the Regulations stipulate that "[a]ll costs and expenditures of the Prosecutor for the Special Court for the Clergy shall be foreseen and provided for as an independent organization, by a special budget". Further illustration of the extraordinary nature of this court is given by a debate in the Majles on 1 January 1997 of a bill to regulate the employment of officials of the Special Court for the Clergy, so that they are covered by the State Employment Bill. The Deputy Minister of Justice in charge of legal and parliamentary affairs is quoted in the official minutes as saying: "The Prosecutors Offices and Special Court for the Clergy, which were established on the orders of the late Imam... are still continuing their work. However, in view of the ambiguity surrounding the employment conditions of some of their personnel, the government has submitted to
138
international
standards
the esteemed Majles a bill in this connection. The personnel working for this part of the organization, which of course is not affiliated to the judiciary but nonetheless constitutes an entity which has been established on the orders of the late Imam ... and still continues its work, do not enjoy a clear employment status..." The extraordinary nature of this court violates international provide ordinary Defendants from among the human right for using the rights people standards to be which by tried
courts before "a
established Special Court
judicial for the
procedures. Clergy are also limited to representation chosen number of competent clergymen" designated by the court. There also appears to be no requirement for the representative to be a legally qualified lawyer. Furthermore, there are persistent reports that, despite legislation and constitutional guarantees stipulating that all defendants should have the right to a lawyer, in practice people tried before the Special Court for the Clergy to a human are rarely, of if ever, The to granted further Special cruel access lawyer their choice,
violating courts in
rights
standards. people
Court for the Clergy can, in common with other Iran, sentence punishments such as flogging, or death.
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[SOURCE:
Amnesty
International
AI
Index:
MDE
13/18/97 Date: June 1997: IRAN - Human Rights Violations against Shia Religious Leaders and their Followers]
MY TRIAL The guards tried to show my mother the exit, along with Mrs. Golzari, but my mother begged to accompany me upstairs. We were waiting in the corridors by the office of the main judge, Mr. Bahrami. Then the judges secretary asked me to meet with the judge for few minutes. The courtroom was empty except for the two of us. I sat in the first rank, and he was in the high seat in front of me. Mr. Bahrami began by asking me, Do you acknowledge your testimony declaring you had been trained by Mr. Sean Paul as an FBI agent to infiltrate the Muslim community in Montreal? Yes, I replied. Do you have any request? I did: I ask you clemency and to be expelled from Iran. InshaAllah, we will see what happens, he said. Mr. Bahrami asked me to leave the courtroom, and I went to meet my mother in the corridor. Mrs. Golzari was still there,
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carefully listening to our conversation, and scrutinizing our every gesture and action. She was a family member of the old Kashani guard inside the secret prison, and had been requested to record our exchanges. We didnt have anything to hide, and I thought about how weak the system must be, to use such intensive methods on a person like me. To me, it showed the end of the Regime. The Umayyad dynasty, the Ottoman Empire, the Nazis, and Saddam Hussein used exactly the same methods on their populations. Eventually, however, they disappeared from the lives of their peoples, each remaining only a reminder of a bitter time in the history of humanity. History repeats itself in different appearances. The court secretary, Mr. Salehi, asked my mother to go home. My mother was trying to get an answer about when I could return home. Mr. Salehi replied, Tonight, dont worry. He will be released. We were ecstatic to receive such good news; I couldnt believe what I had heard. I saw the deep happiness of my mother in tears, embracing me for the last time before Mrs. Golzari pulled on her arms to leave.
MY VERDICT FROM THE COURT: CONDEMNATION
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After their departure, Mr. Salehi opened the file and started to read aloud the verdict. I barely understood what he was saying, but it was roughly this: Due to Mohammad Cyrous relations with non-muharib foreign agents, in order to infiltrate, in the Montreal region, the Muslim community, Mohammad unintentionally (gheir al-amdi) fell into an American conspiracy of promoting democracy inside the Shiite community in the West. Mohammad is accused of dangerous actions against the Islamic Republic. Based on his confession and reports from the Ministry of Information of the Islamic Republic, under the chapter of the criminal code, crimes against National Security, article 517, Having relations with non-warrior (non-muharib) foreign agents, he should be imprisoned from one to five years. Also having relation with non-muharib foreigners is considered as a conflict of interest for seminary studies. The Court has decided to sentence Mohammad Cyrous to two years of imprisonment. After his release, on the first of each month, he will need to sign for his presence at the Ministry of Information in Qum for a period of three years, and he wont have the right to preach or wear the clergys outfit. Mr. Salehi explained to me in a simpler vocabulary that I am sentenced to two years imprisonment for being friends with a foreigner, and I could not wear the turban anymore. Also, should I
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decide to stay in Iran following my release, I would have to sign in at the Information Ministry as a form of probation. I was shocked and outraged that they could convict and sentence me for a crime I didnt commit. Then, Mr. Salehi smiled, adding, Dont worry, if you sign here, the court will apply a one-quarter reduced imprisonment term, if you waive you right to appeal. Otherwise, you wont benefit from this reduction. Also, if you sign, the time you have spent in solitary confinement will count towards your sentence. Since it is now your third month in prison, it means you have nine more months to go; then you are free. Why? I asked. How come? I havent done anything; I didnt have any relations with foreigners. I dont know anything about that. But in addition to what Ive mentioned, we will grant you a transfer to the Clergy Ward of the Langarood Central Prison of Qum. Then the agents came to transport me back to the prison. In the car, I asked them, When I will go home? InshaAllah, if God wants; I dont know. I pressed him: But the Judge said to my mother that I will go home tonight. If he said so, then you will go home. Back in my cell, I waited to be called to ready myself to go home, but nothing happened. Night arrived, and still no one came.
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I knocked on the cell door and screamed, but no one came to speak to me. I started to panic again. I realized that they only been making fun of us, and that it had just been another trick to make us crazy. I was left inside solitary confinement for another four months. During that time, I was not seen by any interrogators, and no one asked me any questions. Only the elderly guard from Kashan allowed me to see him, but I had to wear the blindfold whenever I left my cell.
LISTENING TO INTERROGATION PROCESSES OF OTHER INMATES Every day, I had the same schedule: Just after the morning prayer, I was served breakfast. Then, after the noon prayer, I would have the lunch meal. During the afternoon, I had 30 minutes to walk in the prison yard. Sometimes, the old Kashani guard allowed me to stay out longer, and during religious celebrations I had some cakes and tea outside. Every two days I had the right to call my mother for 10
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minutes. The smell of the musk perfume, which was worn by some of the guards, disgusted me. I wanted to vomit, and curse Khomeini and Khamenei loudly. Sometimes, from my cell, I could hear other inmates yelling in pain and begging their interrogators to stop, but they sounded far away. I could barely hear them. Often, I would hear the guards running and hitting the metallic doors and shouting. It happened frequently, at least two-to-three days in a row or even more; then it stopped, and after a week or ten days, it would start all over again. But again, it was difficult to hear everything. Once, at night, I couldnt sleep because of one inmates cries and screams of pain. I was terrified that they might come to my cell and inflict the same abuses on me. All night long, he was in agony and heaving in pain. Finally, several guards came and took him away to a different place. No more noises.
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14 HOME LEAVE
MONDAY 2:30 PM, 31 MARCH 2008 MY FIRST HOME LEAVE / TEMPORARY RELEASE After lunch, the guards asked me to get ready and put on my regular clothes. They told me that I would be going home for 48 hours. My first temporary release was like a dream come true. The agents and driver dropped me off at the front of my apartment. An agent asked my mother to come out to meet me. She hurried to the door and we hugged. The agent explained to my mother that I need to be dropped off in front of the courthouse on Wednesday at 8:00 AM. My first visit at home was a revelation, a recovery from the nightmare. My mother prepared several meals for me, and bought candy and various French chocolates.
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I couldnt even say a word. At first, she acted like nothing out of the ordinary was happening, and I felt a courage and power from her that transmitted to me. I remained silent. She asked me to go and take a shower. I was like a child. I had to be told what to do, and I even had difficulty walking, as I was underweight and felt like a skeleton. After that, I spent time eating and smiling at my mother, and she started to explain what was happening around me. First, she said that I shouldnt worry, because the American authorities and the French Embassy in Los Angeles were fully aware of what was happening to me. She added that they would all do their best to get me released without making any noise in the media. Then, she gave me confidence that my family in Iran were also trying to apply pressure on the government. We had many family members in different positions, and they were secretly helping to quietly speed up my release. My aunts husband had been a lawyer for over 45 years in Tehran. My mother explained that she had gone to Tehran to see him; that he was the one who had made the request for temporary release, and that he was working with prosecutors in Tehran and other officials to hasten my permanent release. Your aunts husband was the one who allowed us to meet each other at the court, and now at home. He used his influential
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colleagues to follow up on your case. However, he insisted on being totally cooperative with them until your permanent release is secured, otherwise they will make it a longer process. Then she said, Your father is in active communication with French diplomats, and once even called the Iranian Embassy to speak with Larijani in Ottawa to request your release. You have been given this temporary release, so all the work of your father and your aunts husband did give us some results. She continued, I am negotiating with Mohammad Reza Salehi (a clergyman from the Ministry of Information) to give 14% of our inheritance to him personally, and the remainder to the court, to release you and send you back to France. I made a contract with him, and he is expecting you to be here for the signature. It should be before your release, but we dont know when. Suddenly I became tearful. I felt morally released from all the pain I had suffered. She asked me if I had been subject to corporal punishment or any other type or torture. I was too scared to speak about it, and didnt want to worry her, so I just hid it. No, they are okay. After that, she grabbed the telephone and to call my grandmother and let her know I had been temporarily released for 48 hours. The phone was ringing It was my grandmothers voice: Hello? My eyes became clogged with tears. I couldnt speak clearly, and
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I was shaking. My Mohammad, she said, you are free. I am sure that the Iranian government will use clemency and release you very soon. I am not a Canadian or French spy, I told her. The Iranians are nice, they are merciful. I need to go home, please. My little grandson, the Iranian government is nice and humane. They will release you. Then my mother took the phone and said goodbye. After sunset, my mother called L.A. to speak with my brother and father. My father took the line. Hello? He...llo... I stammered through my tears, its me they are nice to me I am fine... When? Uhum? Los Angeles is nice? I was mixing up all my sentences; I was so scared to say one more word than necessary over this tapped line, and have to go back to square one with all the beating. My father, speaking in Farsi, tried to comfort me. They will release you soon. How are you, I asked. How is everyone? Everyone are fine. We all thinking of you. We love you. You shouldnt worry at all, we are here. I am in solitary confinement, I told him, its good. They are nice with me, but I am little tired of being there. My mother interrupted me and spoke with my father for a
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moment, then my brother came to the phone. Hello, he said. Dont worry, we are speaking with different people to help you. Do they treat you okay, these people? I was worried when he said these people. I could ended up with more trouble. Me: Yes, they are good to me, please please, I am fine
TUESDAY, 1 APRIL 2008 As soon as woke, I thought I was inside my cell until I saw my mothers face. She looked tired, and I could see that she cried every single day. I felt extremely guilty for having come to Iran, and for my mother being indirectly tortured because of me. During the day, we stayed at home. We talked about Nice and the atmosphere of our grandmothers home, just to mentally escape from the situation. After lunch, we called my grandmother again, and I was able to speak with our French family as well. Then we called my father and brother once more. On Wednesday, we went to the Special Court for the Clergy, and arrived at 7:45
AM.
Half an hour later, the agents entered the
court corridor to pick me up. I hugged my mother one last time

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and smiled at her. Then, I got into the armored car with them and left. It was painful returning to the Ministry of Informations underground high security prison, the dark corridor and sad atmosphere, blindfolded. Alone inside my cell, I remembered every single action of my mother during that 48 hours. I couldnt handle the separation. At the same time, however, I felt relieved to know that at least the French government was aware of my situation, and that my family was working for my release. After that, my life was similar every day for another three months. In May 2008, the guards brought me to the interrogation room. They handed me a blank paper and ordered me to write my testimony in English. I wrote six pages about Sean Paul recruiting me and sending me to Qum. At the end, I asked for the French governments help to release me, and placed my signature. I expected to have a pardon from the Leader at any moment, although my mind was also confused, thinking that I could be killed at any moment. I couldnt trust anything or anyone.
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15 THE LANGAROOD CLERGY WARD

16 JULY 2008 LEADER PARDON TRANSFER FROM HIGH SECURITY PRISON TO LANGAROOD CLERGY WARD On the morning of 16 July 2008, three people from Tehran came to meet me. The guards brought me to the interrogation room, removed my blindfold from behind, and left. The three officials before me had suits, short beards, and collarless white shirts. They seemed to be of high rank, from Mr. Mohsen Ijeis office. They didnt introduce themselves, but they appeared quite serious. One of them began, You received a pardon from the Leader. This means you will leave this high security prison to be transferred to the public prisons Clergy Ward. A second said, You will need to sign the inheritance transfer
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contract today in the presence of Mohammad Reza Salehi, Mrs. Golzari, and your mother, in order to shorten the term of your imprisonment. The first official said, Because you have a dual citizenship, once you leave the country, you are no longer allowed to return as an Iranian. You will need to come with a visa as a French citizen. However, if choose not to leave, but to stay inside the country, then you will need to give up your French citizenship and may not be allowed to leave Iran for at least three years or more. By the way, we had some discussion with the Minister and the Leaders office, and they prefer you leave the country due to the crime you committed. However, we will tell you which once you are released, not before. Although I had finally received my Pardon from the Leader, I thought that it was largely my parents work that had helped me to escape this nightmare. From there, the agents brought me to the Special Court of the Clergy. Most of my belongings were at Mr. Najafis office. He told me that I could go home with my belongings, and gave me 5000 tomans ($7) to cover my taxi fare. He gave my passports back as well. The behavior of the judge and the Regime had changed towards me, because they knew I was innocent. Except my fake forced confession, they didnt have anything against me. At once, I
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was sure the change in their behavior was the result of my parents efforts. I had ben given temporary release authorization for 10 days. I went directly home to surprise my mother. I rang the doorbell, but it seemed she was already waiting for me. She informed me that my aunts husband had sent a specialdelivery letter to the tribunal of the High Commission of the Islamic Republic of Iran, and that Mr. Salehi was coming that week to meet us in our apartment and discuss the donation of our inheritance, including the 14% my mother had promised him personally. I called my grandmother, who assured me that I was fine, since I was to be transferred from the high security prison, and they had returned my passports and personal effects. I received the same explanation when I called my father in L.A. Everyone was happy for me.
SIGNATURE TO NEGOTIATE INHERITANCE IN EXCHANGE FOR FREEDOM Two day later, Mohammad Reza Salehi along with his brother, sister-in-law, two other people, and Mrs. Golzari, came to our home to discuss the inheritance land we were ready to sell in
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exchange for my release. He prepared an official contract, and made me and my mother sign it. We had to sign several papers and contracts; of course we spent little time reading them. At the end, they told me, As with any foreign spy, we have to spend at least one full year for accusation clearance verification, as part of our normal procedure. However, the difference with your case is that we will let you go without any restrictions. My mother and I felt we had taken the one last step toward my release. After that, we spent most of our time at home, although sometimes we would leave to buy groceries and readjust to normal life. For my part, I had difficulties walking and in communicating with people. I called my aunt, who asked us to visit her in Tehran. It was a big trip of two hours for me. I had to get used to see so many thing after seven months in solitary confinement. I felt dizzy and lacked balance when I walked. On several occasions, I got nosebleeds if I walked for more than a few minutes. Also, after the constant silence of solitary confinement, all the noise outside was difficult for me. Arriving in Tehran, my aunt opened the door and, with the warmest greetings, hugged me tightly and gave me some congratulatory flowers. I was considered a hero. My aunts husband, the retired lawyer, came to greet me as well, and explain
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what had happened to land me in prison in the first place, and what the further steps were. First, he began, you went to an Islamic centre abroad where there were Iranian agents, and you probably criticized the Regime, or went there too often and they didnt like you. As a result, they wanted to get rid of you. It was that easy. With this regime, nothing is complicated because they dont have enough of an education or high I.Q. Second, after you arrived here, you probably never participated in a Friday Prayer, or didnt show any real love for the Regime. Instead, you showed your preference for the West, you had anti-wilayat-al-faqih seminary friends from Sayyed Sadiq Shirazis (HA) followers despite your Marja was Sayyed Sistani, and made contrarian speeches, which are very dangerous, especially for foreigners who are being monitored. Last time you told me that you criticized Mesbah Yazdi. You dont know how dangerous your action was. For that, they could kill you right away and claim it was an accident. Now it is done, he continued. We are in a totalitarian country, so you should be extremely careful whenever you speak your opinion. This is not France, Canada, or the USA, where you can say whatever you want to anyone. Here, they took your words very seriously and interpreted them differently, especially since you dont speak Farsi very well.
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The only reason you werent raped at all, or even tortured worse than you werelike pulling out nails, burning toes, or amputating parts of your bodyis because you are French, and your father contacted the French and American authorities. As a result, they couldnt do more than they did. I was monitoring from afar what happened to you. Did you notice how they suddenly changed their behavior? Yes, I replied, it was like a miracle; I thought it was divine light. It was for the reasons I told you, he said. They are weak, not fully aware of other cultures, and not sophisticated enough to comprehend your words or where you come from. He went on, Especially now, this behavior of the Regime ensures they could not befriend anyone around themnot even a single Muslim countrybecause they act contrary to the Prophets actions. The Prophet Mohammad used to have good relationships with all nations, even with Jews, Christians, and other religions. He never tortured anyone. Just compare this regime with what the Prophet did. Now they will have you transferred to the public prisons Clergy Ward. There, you should be extremely careful not to say one word against the Regime. Even though the majority of the inmates are considered to be its opponents, or political prisoners, one or two inside the ward may not really be prisoners at all, or
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may just want to obtain an early release by spying on others. Now that they gave me back my passports and belongings back, I asked him, couldnt we just leave the country? It would be risky, since you need the approval of the judge to do something like that. They are waiting for you to make one mistake or wrong move so they can issue another verdict against you. It could give an air of legitimacy their actions and prove your lack of sincerity. After that, some other family members came just to visit me. One of them gave me some money on behalf of my father to pay for my return ticket and prepare for my departure. My family members were traveling from Tehran to L.A., and told me that if I had anything to say, they could pass it on to my father. So, I explained the way they tortured me, and said that if anything happened to me, I wanted be buried in France and that my body needs to be given to the French authorities. I wouldnt want to die and be buried in this oppressive country.
TRANSFER TO CLERGY WARD LOW SECURITY PRISON The time came to go to the regular public prison. We took a
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taxi with my mother to Langarood Central Prison, near Jamkarans Mosque in a suburb of Qum. My mother was not allowed to come with me to the main door, so I said goodbye to her on the side of the highway in front of the main entrance, where the taxi cab could stop. At the entrance, the prison guard asked for my name, but couldnt find me in his computer system. It took three hours before he finally located my file. I was accompanied with a plain clothes officer to the Clergy Ward. The prisons corridor was dirty and a dark; it smelled o f garbage. Each door along the way was an entrance to a particular ward. There were seven wards in Langarood, including Ward 1 for those under 18, and Ward 7 for women. I was in Ward 6, the clergy section (band vijeh roohaniat). As soon as I arrived there, four or five of the clergymen greeted me. They showed me around the ward, which had a library with hundreds of texts on religious jurisprudence and other seminary books. There was even a 25-inch Iranian Pars-brand TV, and a CD player. The second room was the dormitory area. It contained 50 beds, which was sometimes not enough. Any additional inmates had to sleep on the floor, which could hold 30 more people. There was also a refrigerator. The third room was a small commissary, which looked like a huge locker room.
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The fourth and final room was a bathroom: three toilets, and two sinks for the prayer ablutions.
LIST OF CELLMATES I WAS CLOSE TO DURING MY TIME IN PRISON It is crucial to note that many of these charges are most likely false, but nonetheless are the official government narrative surrounding the incarceration of these inmates. In most cases, it is unlikely that such men were actually guilty of any of these crimes. Mr. Vafi was a mid-ranking clergyman, and brother of the imam of Jamkarans Mosque. He had been accused of sexual intercourse with a teenager, despite the fact that he had three spouses. He was 60 years old, with an athletic body, and explained to me that he used to be a member of the sepah, and had fought during the Iran-Iraq war in 1982 as an officer in the military. He had three spouses, as well as 16 children, all of whom were clergy living nearby in the same neighborhood, and all married. He even had several grandchildren. His sentence was to not wear the clergy outfit anymore, 80 lashes, and two years of imprisonment. Yet because he refused to request a pardon from the Leader, and it was his second
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imprisonment, there would be no reduction in the length of his term. He had been in prison since December, 2006. In our conversations, he told me about how, in his youth, he had loved the French artist Brigitte Bardot, and Nadia Comaneci, a Romanian professional gymnast. Mr. Hadi Ghabel was a mid-ranking political activist clergyman, 45 years old, and a close student of Ayatollah Montazeri. He was charged with endangering National Security and insulting the Supreme Leader. He was condemned to 30 months of imprisonment, banned from wearing the clergy outfit, and received a fine of 500,000 tomans ($700) for using inappropriate language during a sermon on the Supreme Leader. He lived in Tehran, but was jailed in Qum during his visit ro Ayatollah Montazeris home. His brother, Ahmad Ghabel, was jailed and killed in October, 2012, for a similar reason. Mr. Mohammad Taghi Abtahi, the brother of Khatamis counselor during his presidency, and the son of Sayyed Hassan Abtahi, was tortured and sentenced to six months imprisonment for his opposition to Khamenei. He was also charged of a fine of $1000 because he wore the clergy outfit despite the fact it had been forbidden after a previous conviction by the court. Ayatollah Rezvani-Shirazi, 75 years old, was a close friend of Khomeini who had been involved with the protest in Qum at the
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Hassan Mosque in the city centre in 1979. He was sentenced to two years of imprisonment, forbidden from wear the clergy outfit, and was banned from living in Shiraz for 10 years. Mr. Haddad-Husseini, the director of Ayatollah Rouhani, 33 years old, was charged with insult to the holiness of the Islamic Republic and the Supreme Leader. He was imprisoned for four years, including one-and-a-half years in solitary confinement in Evin Prison, and a fine of $200,000 (150 million tomans). Mr. Lakzaai, a 60-year-old preacher from a mosque in Qum, was given with the death penalty due to allegedly insulting to the Prophet after supposedly receiving sodomy from a young shopkeeper. The shopkeeper, however, wasnt charged and is still free. Mr. Payaam, from a border town of the Republic of Azerbaijan, was a simple seminary student, 40 years old. He was given the death penalty for allegedly claiming to be a prophet, a claim that he denied until the day he was executed. He was an Azeri separatist, against the ideas of the Islamic Republic of Iran and the Supreme Leader. He had two children and was a respectable person. One day, at 6:00 AM, Payaam was told to take a shower and to follow the guards to go to meet his family. I heard the cries and screams of the womenhis wife and daughtersfor a few long minutes in the yard, our public meeting place. On TV, we saw the
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announcement that he had been executed. Mr. Azimi-Moqabam from Azerbaijan, a 30-year-old low-rank clergyman, was charged for a third time with insult to the Supreme Leader, and believing in the separatist idea of the Great Azerbaijan (Turkestan Bozorg). He was charged for speaking against the Supreme Leader at a mosque in Tabriz, Azerbaijan, due to their diplomatic relationship with Armenia, despite the conflict of Karabakh and the illegitimacy of the vali-e-fagih ideology. The conflict of Karabakh is a dispute between Armenia and the Republic of Azerbaijan over a region called Karabakh. The region has a majority of Armenians, however Azerbaijan claims it as part of its own territory according to the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe, and British parliamentarians. Azimi-Moqabam believed that it was a conspiracy of the Regime to use its strong diplomatic relations with Armenia in order to both repress and eliminate the pro-separatist Azeri in Iran, and to help to remove Karabakh province, and others, from Azerbaijan so as to weaken the country and the Azeri people. Ward 6 was the most relaxed and respected ward of the central prison. We didnt have any curfew or close supervision from guards, and we were highly respected by the guards, staff, and other inmates. We could go out of the ward without any authorization,
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even to the yard. From time to time, the inmates would ask us questions about religion, the meaning of life, and spiritual advice. We could still wear the religious outfits, just not our turbans. In Ward 3, the general population ward, the youngest inmates would be raped and abused by other inmates, especially by the ones with long prison terms and less to lose. At least once a month, fights would break out, often deadly. The body would then be sent to the family. Ward 7 (Qesmat Nesswan) was only for women only, and was located far away from the other wards. At the central prison facility, there were gallows for hanging inmates who had been sentenced to death, which I had the misfortune of seeing. There prison also housed a mosque, workshops for inmates, training classes for mechanics, tailors, and farmers, as well as a fitness room. In my ward, the clergymen had specific times allotted to teach Islamic Jurisprudence (fiqh), and I participated actively in all the classes. Hadi Ghabel and Ayatollah Rezvani also instructed me in some seminary courses. It was then that I started, once again, to appreciate the religion of Islam. I didnt feel so lonely when I saw how many clergymen were against the Regime, or even shared the same views of any Western secular country. Most of them condemned Hamas,
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Hezbollah, and other Khamenei-supported groups who use violence to achieve political goals. They all wished for the end of the Regime in order to build a modern secular country, one with normal relationships with all the nations of the world. One morning, Ayatollah Rezvani-Shirazi spoke to me outside the ward. He explained that he was actually the one who started the protest against the Shah in Imam Hassans mosque. He was the adviser to Mr. Khomeini, and one of his closest friends. He said that I shouldnt leave my faith in Shia Islam, and warned me never to believe in political Islam or the Regime. He advised me to stay a clergyman, without getting into any political trends, and never to believe in the legitimacy of any decision from this illegal Special Court of the Clergy. During discussions inside the ward, the clergymen were mostly agreed that Islamic penal punishment could not be legitimately applied until the reappearance of the Infallible Imam (the 12th Imam). Although justice has to be applied, any fallible human being can never be completely just. Instead, they proposed a training and education system to reform criminal and public offenders. The death penalty is invalid in the absence of the Infallible Imam, and any other inhumane punishments are against Islamic principles. By seeing these clergymen with their analysis, it seemed obvious
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to me that Iran will become a democracy soon, and most probably even an ally of the USA. Iranians have much in common with Jews in regards to family values, culture, music, and social structure, and they have shared a long history for over 3000 years. Perhaps unlike some other Muslim ethnic groups, the Iranian people dont have any hatred towards Jews, Christian, and other religious sects. Inside the Ward 6, I learned even more about my religion and my views than all the years I had spent reading my books. There were exceptionally few pro-Regime prisoners inside the ward who, even after being tortured and receiving severe punishments, still considered the Regime as a blessing from God. Its remaining supporters merely believed that certain mistakes and flaws were present in the system, which was normal for any government in the world. They even believed that their imprisonment and physical punishments were gifts from God to cleanse and purify them inside! I was surprised to meet clergymen with such masochistic tendencies; or perhaps it would be more appropriate to view it as Stockholm syndrome. Every 20 days, I had 10 days temporary release, and on 24 December 2008, I was finally released permanently. The next day, I went with my mother to the court to file a request to leave the country. Mr. Najafi asked that we would wait
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until 9 January 2009 to get a response from the court.
16 FREEDOM
FINAL COURT DECISION On the 9th of January, we went to the Special Clergy Court and waited in the corridor to get the decision about leaving the country. After one hour, Mr. Najafi came and announced, in an unhappy way, that I was authorized to leave the country as of today. I hid my inner excitement, relief, and happiness, because I was afraid they might change their decision just to torment me. Mr. Najafi said that I need to come back in to the court to sign some paperwork after the religious festivities, in about 10 days, and I responded, Sure, no problem. After arriving back home, the neighbors rang at our door and
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claimed that we had damaged the buildings pipe by misusing our shower. Right away, I understood that it was a plot by the Ministry of Information to accuse me of something else, and pressure me to stay in the country. The neighbor added that he was charging me $4000 (3 million tomans). I told him that we would travel to Tehran right away, and that as soon as I returned, I would pay him. I had a hard time convincing him that we were not actually going abroad. Late in the afternoon, we went with my mother to the travel agency on Amin Boulevard. There, we booked two plane tickets to Dubai. However, the only available flight was in 3 hours, and we were too late. Instead, we had to book a flight for 7:00 January 2009. On the 11th, at 3:30 AM, we left everything inside the apartment and took our luggage to the taxi. When we arrived at the airport, my heart was beating fast and I was anxious. My mother kept telling me to not worry; they would let us go because the judge had authorized us to leave. At passport control, the agent stamped our passports. We were now on the other side of the airport. From planes window, as soon as I saw the land of the Emirates below us, and knew that we were ready to land, I cried with happiness. I hugged my mother. Some passengers stared at us when I shouted out loud, Long live freedom! Curse be upon
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AM
on 11
hypocrites! In Dubai Airport, we went to a hotel and called my father to explain my real situation, including the torture and abuse. He told me to go to France, so we booked two tickets from Dubai to Nice, where we arrived on 16 January 2009. My grandmother and some French family members were waiting there to welcome us. I breathed a breath of freedom and civilization; I couldnt believe that my nightmare was finally over. My family came to visit me, and were surprised about what I had gone through. There, in France, I tried to find a job despite my post-traumatic stress symptoms and physical weakness. I had lost a total of 45 pounds over the course of my ordeal. In March, 2009, I went to Brussels, Belgium, where I met Dr. Shirin Ebadi. I described my entire story to her, and she was unsurprised. In fact, she informed me, it is standard operating procedure of the Islamic Republic for any foreigners who do not accept their system. She suggested that I continue my studies at the University of London. I had relatives there, so in April, 2009, I moved to London. As soon as I was completely free of the Iranian Regime, I sent an email to hundreds of people I knew all over the world. I received many warm and supportive responses from family and
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friends, except from the Lebanese and Iranian community in Montreal, some of whom went as far as to send me messages calling me a spy, a Zionist, and a thief. The majority of the community in Montreal either had no empathy for me or remained silent, except for two people who made the minimum effort to wish me a good recovery. In June, 2009, I went on the BBC Newsnight program twice to give a summary of the abuse I had experienced inside the secret prison. The first of the programs was about Roxana Saberi, who was herself detained in Iran in January, 2009, for a few months; I was invited on as a guest. The day after my Newsnight appearance, an Iranian living in Canada contacted me, and asked me to revise my statements. He tried to pressure me into claiming that Iran would not torture anyone. In December, 2009, someone from the Montreal community came to London to visit his family. He emailed me before traveling, so we arranged to meet at a coffee shop with another friend from Quebec. While he never denied his support for the Regimes ideology, he was surprised by how much weight I had lost, and explained to me that the pro-Regime agents in Montreal were spreading malicious rumors both inside the community and across the world,
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saying that I was a Zionist spy, that I stole their money, and wrote fake bank cheques. They became tearful as I told them how I had been mistreated by the Regime. For me, this was all just more proof that Canada is a nest for foreign spies of the Regime. and it saddened me to hear that they are living freely in our democratic countries, considering the danger some of the Regimes supporters may pose toward these societies. Despite the fact that I will never get involved in any political or ideological movement, I do still believe in a democratic Iran, free of the exploitation of religion for political ends. I love my religion, and would love to teach in universities and at conferences. I need to describe what happened to me to the world. It is my hope that one day, no one will be tortured any longer, especially under the name of religion and Islam. I had waited until now to complete my book because it was an extremely painful process for me to remember these events. I try to forget, but the experience is burned into my heart forever. For me, everything changed, and I dont see life in the same way anymore. The first week of my arrest, it turned out that my mothers
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uncle had died mysteriously in his bed. Mr. Reza, his servant, found his body. Other servants reported that a few men had entered his home and injected him with poison, and had confiscated all his land ownership documents. My pictures were torn up, and some family albums were stolen. Mr. Reza himself was found dead just after my release, according to his wife. My aunts husband, the retired lawyer, passed away a few months after I was released, along with his servant. The supporters of the Regime in Montreal continue to threaten me and spread rumors, while still praising Khomeini and his Regime less publicly.
MY LIFE IN THE UNITED KINGDOM Ever since my release, I was still worried about receiving more threats from the Regime through their undercover agents (M.O.I.S. surveillance abroad department). I was warned to stay quiet, or else there would be consequences... During the first few months after my arrival, I would wake up in the middle of the night, still thinking I was in solitary confinement. I was too frightened to go to any religious centres. Even just seeing a bearded person would cause me to look twice to
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make sure he was not from Iran. After that summer, I did participate in the Shirazi centre a little bit, with some hesitation. I realized that a wave of rumors had spread from Iran into the community, calling me the usual: a Zionist, spy and anti-Islam.
ONGOING SMEAR CAMPAIGN AND PRESSURE It amazed me that after my release, when I started to live among the Shia community again, some people displayed hostile attitudes, and others repeated literally the same verbal abuses and slanders of my interrogators. I didnt even know them, but some Iranians had been aggressively pressuring Shia communities, portraying me as anti-Islam and anti-Iran. Several times I have even been verbally abused by Lebanese, Iranians, and their cohorts. One person residing in the West, who seems to have known me since I was young, appeared and pressured the centres and those around me to discourage them from spreading rumours through smear campaigns and mocking me. He claims to be an opponent of Iranian regime, while at the same time he frequently travels there and has many connections inside the system.
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One reason for the appearance of some Iranian religious thugs inside the Shia centres is that they are often hired by Iranian services to thwart any potential opponents, using the methods of verbal abuse, slander, and manipulating community opinion by creating a general atmosphere of hostility towards a particular person. These religious thugs may even appear as anti-Iranian regime (using taqiyyah, dissimulation), while they are in fact linked with Iranian intelligence services. Others are just blindly following the Iranian regimes propaganda, as well as the mainstream manipulated Shia community, due in large part to the financial and ideological support of the Regime itself. Indeed, a part of Iranian revenue is devoted to exporting the Khomeini revolution, so it is natural for its opponents to face such boycotts and abuse. After more threats and pressure, I began to decline or avoid many public appearances in Shia communities, instead appearing in only a limited fashion. Today, Iranian interest groups are still putting pressure on their followers to encourage other Shia to speak badly about me because, according to them, I am a spy, and against Khomeini. Although I do not follow any agenda or political motivation, I fear for any person who searches for their religion through Khomeinism and man-made religion designed solely to protect political interests.
174
Since 2010, I have slowly started to appear on the Shia religious satellite channel, Ahle Bait TV, on SKY 836. Recently I was also given an airtime for live and recorded programs on FADAK TV, where I focus on Shia creedal and religious issues in French. Currently, I am pursuing advanced seminary studies under several distinguished scholars, as well as my postgraduate studies. And they plotted and planned, and God too planned, and the best of planners is God (Holy Qur'an 3:54) O God! Send Your peace and blessings on Muhammad and his Purified Progeny, and hasten their return. O God! Curse their enemies with Your harshest chastisement, from the first to the last, until the Day of Judgment.
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Prisoner of The Iranian Régime

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Prisoner of The Iranian Régime

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SHEYKH MOHAMMAD CYROUS

PRISONER OF THE REGIME

Prisoner of the Regime

SHEYKH MOHAMMAD CYROUS

Price: UK 17.99 Euro 19.99 US/Canada/Australia $24.99

Sentier Islam Copyright 2013 under the Berne Convention

Printed in United Kingdom - Second Edition Revised March 2013

PRISONER OF THE REGIME

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rights violations against Shi'a religious leaders and their followers]

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2 THE IDENTITY PUZZLE

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MY FIRST VISIT TO THE HAWZAH ELMIYYAH (SEMINARY) IN QUM

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4 FROM ST. LOUIS TO MONTREAL

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6 MONTREAL: THE SMEAR CAMPAIGN BEGINS