Mr. Interrogator! Please read it! by Parisa Kakaee

Parisa Kakaee is a women’s and human rights activist and a member the Committee of Human Rights Reporters. She was arrested on November 3, 2009 and detained for a month and a half.
The following is an article written by Parisa Kakaee
Mr. Interrogator! Please read it!
A week has elapsed since the day when the gentleman who would refer to himself as Seyed was sitting behind his desk, and you, who had introduced yourself as Ebrahimi, were on the chair to my right. With his far-off and nonchalant look, Seyed apparently wished to constantly remind us of the distance between the two sides of the desk. You, however, were courteously trying to convey the message that we are of the same homeland earth. Do you recall? You said we were compatriots to which I replied “Unless we find ourselves against one another.”
I and you have both passed courses on psychology; for me, it was the field of my education at the university; for you, a necessity of the profession. We both know why you did not sit on the other side of the table. Seyed was not as experienced as you were, and that’s why you took charge; that’s why you skillfully tried to break the ice first.
The conversation began with the subject of “Equality” and your questioning that why it is that when the best people who were the frontline warriors (during the Iran-Iraq war) are being atrociously assassinated in Sistan and Baluchistan1, why is it that we – the social activists – who are bragging about human rights, have not even made a single statement in support of the martyrs; why it is that we do not protest against the bombing that happened in Shiraz. You then named people like Arash2, about whom “You know things that we do not”. You talked about the bombings and other charges that they’ve had. You said that the execution sentence is based upon such charges and also you are certain that this court decision (Arash’s execution) will be revised and changed.
Then I told you about Hamed3 and his disease; about execution, torture, and human rights; about equality and that there is no difference for me that whose human rights with what social status are violated. What is significant is that a right from a human being is violated. What is significant is the pain that a human being suffers.
A week passed from those interrogations, answers and writings. From friendly gestures, indirect threats and the last words of Seyed which depict me as somebody who is wiser than others, which gave me a strange feeling, reminding me of those damned high school principles.
Aida and Zohreh were waiting in the next room. Khadijeh and Maryam were also waiting outside, while I passed them with my inked finger.
Yes, Mr. Ebrahimi! One week passed that very day. It was about the time when Ehsan Fattahi4 wrote “the last ray of light in the night, shows the way I am about to write about; the rustle of autumn leaves under my steps, telling me: let yourself fall, you will find the way to freedom then.”
He was hung one early morning. You might say he was a Komala5, or he was a separatist. You might say he was a Kurd and a separatist. But I say, once and for all: he was a Kurd, Komala, and a human. I never managed to see him, but as one wise man said “it would be a gift in a thousand years that a mother can give birth to such a person.”
And this is the point upon which I cry. I shout loudly against a history whose values were those of blinding eyes, mocking, scalding, flogging, and castrating men. A history that now celebrates executions and shooting of its arrows in our chests.
This is where I stop shedding tears. I gaze into a space and ask you, Mr. Ebrahimi, a question: When you talk about your friends being killed in Sistan and Baluchestan, I do feel pain, but have you ever, just for a second, tried to imagine the pain Ehsan’s mom has been suffering?
Have you ever wondered how easy you make the killing when you kill someone’s beloved ones so easily and without giving them a chance to defend? Mr. Ebrahimi! Violence has a strangely vast domain. There is always someone with a reason to kill and the one who is killed is the next reason. The enemy is not far away as you say.
The enemy is right here, sitting in our heart, flying like a hyena over the minds of those who kill your people, and over the minds of you who kill theirs.
You see Mr. Ebrahimi! Even when we are sitting next to each other on a same table there is a distance between us. What keeps you there is your power, and what keeps me here are the victims of your power.

This translation is a courtesy of the individuals listed below:

Call for Solidarity: Freedom and Gender Equality in Iran
We, thirty members of the Iranian green movement, have translated these three narratives of Iranian women in order to:
1- To celebrate March 8th, the International Women’s Day, calling for gender equality and freedom for Iran.
2- Show our solidarity with all Iranian imprisoned women and those women whose husbands and family members are still in jail.
3- Show our great respect for Iranian women, their courage and constant efforts for democracy and human rights.
We are:
Mehrnoosh J., Golnaz B., Amir Hossein K., Amir Hossein I., Pantea E., Mahshid K., Hossein S., Hossein A., Sahar G., Peyman M., Mahshid K., Roja B., Alireza G., Mahsa T., Bahareh, Marzye A., Mojtaba S., Khashayar X., Azadeh A., Sepideh S., Atefeh Y., Yeganeh I., Leila T., Sulmaz F., Ramin R., Nahal Sh., Yasaman S., Mohsen M., Ali A, Sohaela S.