Shirin In Defense of Your Smile - in Honor of Shirin Alam Houli

BARABARI site


Shirin Alam Houli was born in 1981 in a small village on the outskirts of the city of Makou in Kurdistan Province, Iran. After spending tow years in Evin prison she was sentenced to death on the charge of "moharebeh" or enmity with god. She was executed on Sunday May 9, 2010, without prior notice and while the Supreme Court was still in the process of ruling on her sentence. Neither, Shirin, her family or her lawyers were informed about the planned execution.

While the world may have not known her, Shirin was known and loved by those who spent time in Evin prison during the past two years. Shirin, who was executed along with four others as a terrorist, was known among her prison mates as a symbol of love and resistance—a young woman who faced the worst types of discrimination from birth, but who never succumbed to her circumstances and fought throughout her life for freedom and equality.

We write these notes to honor the memory of Shirin and the days we spent with her and in defense of the smile of which she was robbed.

My Guardian Angel

Silva Hartounian (cellmate and ward-mate of Shirin Alam-houli)

Today my heart is as stormy as it was 11 years ago, when I held my
father’s lifeless head in my arms and kissed his cold, bruised cheeks. However,
today a dear one of mine is in a place where I can’t hold her broken neck, or
kiss her eyes, which were once filled to the brim with hope.

She who was
dear to me is gone, and with her departure I lost hope in divine justice once
more. Who would allow someone so full of kindness, love, life and hope for
future to be forever silent!

Today I mourn. My guardian angel during all
these years of suffering and silence has opened her wings and flown away. This
world and the dark hearts of cruel people, who belong to it, were not a suitable
place for this angel.

Those who belong to this brutal world must await
the wrath of these angels’ God.

Wake up Shirin! - Delaram Ali (ward-mate
of Shirin Alam-houli)

Wake up Shirin! You’re having a nightmare. Like
that time, early in the morning, when I was dreaming that something keeps
squeezing around my neck. Wake up Shirin! Touch your neck, breathe, and see that
you’re alive. Then just like me that day, early in the morning, when I laid my
head back on the pillow, rest your head back on the pillow and sleep.

Wake up! Aboulou is crying outside the room and won’t smile until she
sees you. Wake up! You know that if she keeps crying people will complain. Wake
up Shirin! Shaghayegh has tied her hair in a ponytail and is searching for your
big footsteps in the little courtyard of the women’s ward. She is calling out
with a childish voice: My darling! (That rascal knows that when she does this
you smile and give her a hug, that’s why she keeps repeating it).

Wake
up Shirin! It’s springtime and today’s sun is perfect for lounging around and
taking walks in the tiny prison courtyard, which for now it is the whole world.
Wake up Shirin! The rope was a nightmare, your arms and legs kept moving in your
sleep for no reason and now you won’t wake up. Wake up Shirin! There is always
time for sleeping later.

Do you remember asking about how Farzad was
doing before you ever met him? When I told you his sentence was reduced, and
your eyes welled up with joy? Now I keep calling Farzad and he won’t wake up
either.

This night seems to last forever, this damned Sunday is filled
with nightmares.

Shirin, wake up! This cursed Sunday needs to end and if
you don’t wake up, Sunday will stretch forever; the memory of the rope will stay
forever; and the nightmare will last forever. If you don’t wake up, the world
will keep ending somewhere near Aras* forever, and the earth will stop moving.

*Aras is a river that flows in and along Iran, Turkey, Azerbaijan,
and Armenia, and passes near Makou, an area where Shirin grew up.




You must have been astonished when they called your name in
that odd time -
A poem by Esha Momeni (cellmate of Shirin Alam-houli)

You must have been astonished when they called your name in that
odd time Door bell, slipper’s slipping “Alam Hola, get ready” You must have been
surprised And then your heart started pounding faster I can imagine, you put
your scarf on and you wear that ugly loose clothing Then you cover yourself in
Chador Had you eaten breakfast? Why have they called you? You must have thought
they are setting you free And then you stopped thinking about that sweet dream
of freedom since you were afraid Thinking about it might stop it from happening
Always these false hopes make everything more difficult. False hope, like when
you saw the rope and thought “Maybe they just want to scare me” False hope, like
when we read the news and thought “Maybe it is not true”

I sing a song
which someone has engraved on the metal heater in the cell Maybe your cell was
right next to mine I wish I could sing in Kurdish Mr. Teacher, I wish you had
thought me Kurdish That could make a difference and we may not have to die like
this You died in seconds, we die little by little. It wasn’t Wednesday,
Execution day It was Sunday the Mother’s day When you stood on the stool with
rope around your neck When they kicked off the stool from under your feet What
were your last words? Perhaps you are not astonished anymore and they have
blocked that wonder in your eyes But we are astonished with open eyes, watching.

We are alive without a why; they are aware of the why of their death * -
Jelveh Javaheri (Ward-mate of Shirin Alam-houli)

How late I got to know
you! And how soon you vanished! Or maybe we are the ones who vanished and your
truth became visible; the truth of the inequality and injustice of a world that
deprives the earth of its good people.

I can’t believe that I will not
hear your voice any more; a voice asking me with a delightful Kurdish accent:
“Hi! What is happening outside?” and your concerns about those whom you had
never met but had heard of: “How is Kaveh’s situation? Have they transferred him
to Tehran yet? What is he being charged with?” and then adding, “he is Kurdish,
his crime is being Kurdish.” Or asking about those who you knew and who used to
be in your ward and were also worried about you: “Has Mahboubeh been released
yet?” or telling me about those who were not doing well in prison, “Shabnam
keeps getting her period every ten days here. Bahareh was in court today,…”

How similar were you and Farzad in all of your likable characteristics!
You got worried if you called and our phones were off: “I was worried you might
be here [in Evin]!” And Farzad, who called anxiously after they arrested Kaveh
and apologized: “I’m sorry, I will try to give you some news of him as soon as I
can,” and I was in awe because you were the ones with the death sentence, so
what was this concern you had for us?

You’d joke with those detainees
who were sent to your ward: “you are going to be our guest for a while. Consider
our home as your own.” They would stand with you next to a window that faced the
hills behind Evin, and you’d tell them one day you’ll meet on those hills and
frown at Evin from far away.

So much life was flowing through you! Your
death resembles the most beautiful life, whereas our lives are the horror of
being left behind in a land that responded to Farzad’s and your righteousness
with the rope; while both of you sowed nothing but love and your harvest was the
love that grew in our hearts. Once again, our hands are so powerless and our
minds are so tired, and our nerves ache from this atrocity. Once again, it is
Evin that’s scowling at us. Once again we saw that this land, which you loved,
rose to genocidal killing of your people, just like you had said, and once again
through our silence we became part of this slaughter.

The last time you
called, you were angry. You told me how they wanted you to go in front of
cameras and confess to things you hadn’t done and to speak against Kurdish
groups. You had shouted at the interrogator and said “hang me if you can.” You
said that the worst they could do is to hang you, so why should you speak
against the Kurds. You said that they had brought Zeynab’s mother to Tehran to
speak to Zeynab for three hours and try to convince her to speak against herself
and her friends, but they hadn’t succeeded. That moment made me feel anxious; I
was always envious of you and your people’s courage but I was anxious about what
sort of game they were playing this time. Did they want to sacrifice the Kurdish
people again? How rightly you wrote that you are a hostage; that “if something
happens outside they will execute one of us hostages” and execute they did!

The person, who smiles in the face of the last command, can only be a
smile in the face of ‘fire!’ *

They wanted to put on a show for the
public to reduce the consequences of this act of genocide. Just like the cases
of Zamani and Rahmanipour** people would hear what you say against yourselves
and believe that your deaths were just, even though no one believes anything
they say any more. However, they couldn’t force you to take part in this show.

Did they not know that the result of such discrimination against your
people will be your increased perseverance and determination? They still don’t
understand that when they execute you, Farzad, Ali, Farhad and Mehdi, the next
day there will be thousands of Shirins and Farzads.

These executioners,
the same people who crushed you under their heavy boots for 22 days, have buried
themselves in a grave; a dark and silent grave that bears no life.

You
described what had happened to you in those 22 days and my panging nerves could
not grasp your strength in those lonely moments. But you were not lonely; you
had your unwavering faith in creating a better world. You recounted how they had
brought a torturer who spoke to you in Kurdish. They wanted to break you by
showing you that despite what they had done to your people; there were still
Kurdish people who would join them. But you responded in Turkish when they asked
you questions in Kurdish. You wrote that when they were tying you down to the
bed to lash you, one of the torturers told you that this was the same bed where
they had tied Farzad, and that they would torture you like they had tortured
him.

How much you believed in Farzad and his work! You said he was one
of the best people of this land. You spoke about what he had done for children
in the villages. You said he was a teacher to all of you and you learned from
him how to work with patience. Yet, you didn’t know that you became a teacher to
us; that you drew the best analyses of women’s situation, the election, and of
Iran. You said that we should participate in the elections because it’s the only
remaining tool of democracy in Iran. You didn’t know that your own behavior was
so inspiring for us when we were drowning in our daily lives.

How could
they present you as terrorists when whoever that met you didn’t see anything but
life and love! Terrorists are those who persecute humanity in the name of law.

You’d tell me that one shouldn’t give up hope. You’d say, “one must walk
across the river, no matter how muddy the water” ***

You taught me to
say that we’re not sorrowful for our empty, powerless hands, because our eyes
are filled with freedom.
— -

This is Dim-Gheshlagh, where you come
from. You repeatedly spoke of the discrimination women face in this area; a
region that is a victim of inequality in Iran; an impoverished village, without
a school for its children.

On school days, you and other girls would
stay home. Makou, the closest town that had a school, was three hours away and
because of this distance, children could only go to night classes. But Makou
didn’t have a night school for girls so you, the girls of Dim-Gheshlagh, were
easily robbed of one of the most basic rights that were granted to you in the
constitution. Yet the thirst for knowledge made you learn some reading and
writing from your brother.

I’ve heard that in your beautiful village,
most of the residents are nomads and cattle farmers and only around 20% can read
and write. In that region, Turkish and Kurdish people live together; two ethnic
groups who have been discriminated against. In that area, women face tremendous
suffering. You had said that patriarchy is the rule and has taken root in all of
the homes, and its worst product is forced marriages of young girls. You had
said that some of these girls choose to burn themselves in order to flee these
marriages. But in this land where people were suffering, you taught how to be
free instead of choice of burning.

* Poems are by Ahmad Shamlou / ** Two
people who were forced to testify against themselves in show-trials after the
elections and hanged a few months ago / *** Poem by Shafiee Kadkani

In
Memory of Silva Hartounian and Shirin Alam-Houli - Negin Sheikhol-Eslami
(cellmate of Shirin Alam-houli)

During my prison time in the 209 section
of the Evin prison, I was moved to a 2-person cell after a while. A young girl
who has covered half of her gray hair welcomed me with a happy face and a smile
on her lips. It had been a while that I had not seen such a sincere face and
smile.



Hello.

Hello. My name is Silva. What is your name?

My
name is Negin.

Welcome to my cell. (She replied with smile.)

We
were so worried on the night that they brought you. We knocked on the wall so
you don’t get too afraid, but when you responded, we all laughed and said,
“She’s experienced.”

You were the one who knocked? But my cell is so far
from here! (I laughed and replied)

I was in the cell right beside you,
with Fariba and Mahvash.

Where are you from? (She asked after a pause)

I am a Kurd.



Oh, there were two Kurdish girls here before you. The name of one
of them was Shirin. Shirin and I were cellmates for a few months. She was a very
sweet girl; we became as close as sisters and we used to talk every night for
hours. We didn’t hear about her for months, we even did not know if she was
alive or dead. And we didn’t know her exact name.
Is Shirin the same Kurd
girl from Makou? Did you see her? (I asked with a childish excitement)

Yes, I am saying we were in the same cell for a few months.

Tell
me more about Shirin.

Oooh, I see you want to know everything right
after you arrive?!!! Come sit for now, I have got a lot to say, enough to fill
up 2 or 3 days. I am the most experienced here.

How long is it you are
here?

From July. It was only a month after my arrest that they brought
Shirin to my cell. She was all skin and bone. She didn’t have the strength to
talk because of too much torture. Her lungs were bleeding. She would frequently
get anxiety attack. She was very quiet. It seemed like she could not trust
anybody. I gave her a book; she didn’t accept it and said she was illiterate.
This was until Bahar joined us and then it was the three of us. One day we were
talking about women and their status that Shirin started to talk. Her talking
was interesting and beautiful. She knew a lot about the history and status of
women. Bahar and I asked her with laughter, “you are so clever! You said you are
illiterate, how come you know this stuff? Come on, tell us now! Which university
did you go to?” “You don’t know that university…” she replied with serenity and
grace.

All the prisoners who were cellmate with Shirin used to talk
about their sweet memories with her, her positive manner and uniqueness. There
was no person that would recall her without gentleness and beauty. In another
time that they brought her back to section 209, although Silva and I did not see
her, we could feel her presence. Silva begged the prison guards to see her just
for one second but they did not allow her.

But before her moving back to
the women section of the prison, Shirin left a cross she had made in between
Silva’s washed clothes in the prison’s yard as a memory. She showed Silva that
in a country that minorities were neglected and in a prison where guards
considered Silva, Mahvash, and Fariba unclean and insult their beliefs, Shirin
gave her a cross as a gift from in between the iron prison cells and gray walls.

To the angles of mountains, may your path have many followers.