Captive in Iran (18 page)

A few days after our interrogations, Maryam and I were taken again to Security Bureau 2 of the Revolutionary Court. We were handcuffed together, warned not to talk, and driven through Tehran in a black, unmarked car. We hadn’t seen the city since arriving at Evin two months before. The sight of so many people, so many shops, so much light and space was astonishing. I had the impulse to shout, “Hey, all you people! Look at us! Look at how your corrupt government has locked us up on phony charges! Look at how the regime imprisons young mothers and tortures teenage girls in order to stay in power!”

At the same time, there was something genuine about the pain and suffering and the fight for truth inside Evin that was entirely absent from the scene on the street. The outside world seemed so superficial and lifeless by comparison. We passed the street that led to our apartment. That life and that world seemed like twenty years ago.

We arrived at the court and went into Mr. Sobhani’s office. He was reading and barely looked up when we entered. After a moment, he sat straight in his chair. “You have been making a lot of noise,” he began. “The satellite channels are talking about you around the clock. You are receiving hundreds of letters and postcards every day. Everyone’s accusing us of interrogating you about your beliefs. What do they mean, ‘interrogating you about your beliefs’?” He got more agitated as he spoke, his voice rising. “We have nothing to do with people’s beliefs!”

This statement by Judge Sobhani of the Revolutionary Court of Iran is our nominee for Lie of the Century.

Mr. Sobhani glared at us across his desk. “You thought all this publicity would stop us from doing our jobs and carrying out our religious duty. They can broadcast all they want. I don’t care. You are criminals, and I will perform my religious duty.”

“Then why don’t you allow our case to be broadcast on Iranian TV, so people will understand that doing what we do is a crime?” I asked.

Mr. Sobhani changed the subject. “Do you have any complaints about prison conditions?”

“We object to our conditions, and also to being kept in a state of suspense about the charges against us,” Maryam said. “We object to the fact that we’ve never seen an official complaint against us in writing.”

“You are accused of apostasy and insulting sacred beliefs of Islam. Do you accept these charges?”

“No.”

“You are regarded as apostates and your sentence is death. Do you still have a complaint to make?”

“Do you really believe what you’re saying?” I interjected.

“Of course I do.”

“Then do us a favor and execute us as soon as you can.” I might be in prison, but I would not be intimidated. Far from frightening me, Mr. Sobhani’s threats inspired and energized my resistance.

“Of course I will.”

Judge Sobhani angrily ordered us to write down our final defense statements. We still had no legal assistance. We had answered the charges against us so many times, both orally and in writing, that we had lost count.

“I have not changed my religion, because I did not have a religion before,” Maryam said. “I found my path in Jesus Christ and will share my experience about Him with anyone who asks about it.”

I ended my written statement with a prediction: “If the court and the judge ignore the principles of justice and truth and deliver an unjust sentence, they will face the wrath of God, which will one day engulf them in its flames.”

Another man came in while we were talking to Mr. Sobhani. He was younger than the judge, and well dressed. His name was Mr. Heydarifar, and he had been assigned to our case by the regime because the publicity was starting to worry them. Too many eyes were watching our case now for us to simply disappear or be the victims of a “tragic accident.” We were not recanting our statements. The regime was faced with justifying its charges against us to the world, and they were beginning to realize that it was an impossible task.

MARYAM

Throughout our time in prison, the presence of the Holy Spirit had been our rock, the one assurance we always had that the Lord loved us, would never forsake us, and was using us for some great purpose. There were times, though, when I was so weary and exhausted that I allowed that assurance to slip.

For several days during that period, I couldn’t feel the Lord’s presence. The loneliness that crept into my heart was frightening. I reached a point where I couldn’t eat and felt an emptiness I’d never known before as a Christian. I prayed, walking around my tiny cell, asking the Lord to make Himself known in a special way. When Fereshteh woke up, I started singing hymns, and my voice filled the entire corridor. Fereshteh was afraid the sound would attract the guards. I expected the guards, too, but kept singing. I sang nonstop for hours. No more silence! No more following oppressive, inhuman rules! I sang at the top of my lungs until it was nearly dark.

Finally, exhausted, I lay down in the middle of the floor and closed my eyes. And there it was. The Spirit of God flowing over me, embracing me, reassuring me. I knew that He had never left my side. I was now free from sadness and pressure, completely happy.

“I’m amazed no guards came all day!” Fereshteh said. “You know your voice had to reach the men’s corridor, and the guards there would complain to the guards in the women’s section.” She could feel the presence of God too.

At dinnertime, the guard we called the Ghost came with our food and said, “You did whatever you wanted today, and your voice carried all the way to the other side of the building.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” I said. “I just sang.” Though the Ghost was never very expressive, I thought she looked sad.

“What’s happened?” I asked. “Why are you upset?”

“I’m tired of working here,” the Ghost admitted. “I don’t think I’m cut out for it. Would you pray for me?”

“I will be happy to.” And so I prayed for my captor, secure in the presence of the Lord that washed over me in waves, in the deepest recesses of the most feared ward of the most notorious prison in one of the most oppressed nations of the world. Surely I had never felt more blessed.

Marziyeh

Maryam and I heard more news of the growing interest in our case during the next fifteen-minute visit with our sisters. They said that our story was becoming bigger every day on satellite TV and the Internet. Churches, Christians, and members of organizations around the world were praying for us. We were lifted up as part of a spiritual family that circled the globe. Some of the stories also highlighted other religions, such as Baha’i, whose believers are also severely persecuted in Iran. We had met a Baha’i woman in prison, a kind, gentle, open-minded person who very quickly became a friend.

Our sisters also talked about the upcoming presidential elections. The media were full of background stories and predictions. The incumbent, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, was very unpopular with the people. Many citizens thought he would lose the election to Mehdi Karroubi, Mohsen Reza’i, or especially Mir-Hossein Mousavi. Our sisters had written letters to Mr. Mousavi and Mr. Karroubi, petitioning on our behalf. Mr. Mousavi, a reform-minded leader who had been Iran’s last prime minister before the office was abolished in 1989, seemed the clear favorite, according to media reports. If he won, we had high hopes we would be released.

A few days later, we had another long round of interrogations. Though we went on separate days, we again had similar experiences. Mr. Mosavat explained that our defiant attitude toward Mr. Sobhani during our last court appearance had made the judge angry and complicated the resolution of our case. Also present at these sessions was a university lecturer in Islamic theology who had come to coach us on how to express ourselves in order to have our case resolved. The court seemed less worried now about what we believed than about how we described it. The regime was evidently desperate for some face-saving way to turn us loose.

The theology professor asked all the familiar questions about when I had become a Christian, why I would “abandon” Islam, details about my activities, friends, travels, and so forth.

I described for him the experience that had brought me to Christ. “One day, as I was praying for wisdom and clarity in my faith,” I said, “the Holy Spirit came to me, and I began to pray in words I didn’t know, but I could still understand what I was saying to God. I had a vision of Jesus so close I could touch Him. The middle of my forehead burned as if someone had stamped it with a branding iron. I prayed until four in the morning. I had met with God through the Lord Jesus Christ. I will never deny Him, because by doing that I would deny my very existence.”

Tears welled up in Mr. Mosavat’s eyes as I spoke. As soon as he noticed them, he quickly wiped them away.

The professor spoke for an hour about the evils perpetrated by Christians during the Crusades. “What kind of Christianity is this that would commit such atrocities?”

“Professor,” I replied, “I can’t match your knowledge of history. But there’s no need to dig into history books to find as many examples of Islamic atrocities as you care to hear about. They’re here, right now, in this prison. In my cell at this moment is a teenage girl, named Mahtab, who has been here for three months for the ‘crime’ of being born among the
mujahideen
. I have come across countless girls who have been tortured and beaten by your collaborators. What can you call these except atrocities?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the professor replied. “I have come here only to deal with you, and I know nothing about the other prisoners in 209.”

“All it takes is a look around.”

“In any case, I’ve come here to tell you that your insistence on your faith is going to cause you a lot of problems. Those whose friends and loved ones have martyred themselves for the glory of Islam will not allow you to misguide our young people. If we allowed everybody to promote their own personal beliefs and opinions, we would face anarchy and a collapse of the system.

“I think you had better go and think about this again. We’ve done our best to assist you and close your case, but your defiance in court has created more problems. If you keep this up, there’s nothing we can do to help you.”

“All the others we’ve arrested,” Mr. Mosavat chimed in, “have eventually cooperated, and by changing their opinions and their language, they bought their freedom. Stop being so stubborn. We want to let you go, but you’re making it difficult for us to do so.”

MARYAM

When my turn came to be interrogated, the professor tried to suggest that maybe I didn’t fully understand Christianity. Because I had converted at a young age, he suggested, I might not have understood what I was doing.

“Research and study will only give you information,” I replied. “To learn about the Lord, you need more than that. I experienced Jesus Christ. I lived with Him. Touched Him. If I deny Him, I would be denying myself. This is what you don’t understand. And you’ll never get it from your research.”

“We have books that help us interpret the Koran,” the professor said. “A wise person can recognize that he should not abandon a complete religion.”

“And what particular quality of Islam highlights this completeness?” I asked. “Wars? Power mongering? One-hour marriages?”

“All these were necessary,” the professor interrupted. “God sent them in line with the needs of mankind at the time to prevent chaos and corruption. What is it about Christianity that is more complete and forces you to leave Islam?”

“First of all,” I replied, “Christ said, ‘I am the first and the last.’
[6]
There
is no one before Him, no one after Him. Christ’s completeness is evident in His love. Even the most sinful people on earth can feel God’s love through Jesus. He was the perfect man, who sacrificed His life on the cross for our sins. By paying the price we could never pay, He gave us the priceless, holy gift of freedom—freedom from sin and freedom from religious laws we could never perfectly follow as imperfect mortals.

“Religious law brings condemnation and death, not forgiveness and freedom. I know a precious young woman named Zeynab who was executed in retribution for defending her life against a brutal husband she was forced by religious law to marry and prevented by religious law from escaping. Compare that with the story of Jesus hearing about a woman accused of adultery and condemned to death by stoning. He said, ‘Whoever is without sin may throw the first stone.’ Not a single stone was thrown. I prefer to follow Jesus.

“He teaches us that if we’re slapped, we should turn the other cheek. He tells us to be kind to our enemies. These words strike a chord with me much more closely than the Islamic cry for revenge. I would rather follow Christ, even if His religion were incomplete.”

The professor shook his head. “I prefer Allah’s choice of forgiveness or demanding revenge. Why should I be kind to my enemies? I much prefer the Koran. In fact, if I were your family, I wouldn’t wait for a court verdict before giving you what you deserve.”

“I’m sure you’d kill me yourself,” I said. “You would be rewarded for
jihad
.”

“You’re right!” The professor turned to Mr. Mosavat. “Do you remember when Ayatollah Khomeini returned to Iran? Remember our enthusiasm and happiness at the idea he had come to save us from the assaults of foreigners? Did you ever imagine the children of this very revolution would one day turn their back on Islam?” His eyes filled with angry tears. “I am prepared to give my life for the imam and his ideals!”

He turned back to face me. “Jesus was a prophet from God, not His son. Imam Husein was also a savior. Why don’t you believe in him?”

“Jesus is different from every other figure in the Koran,” I explained. “He was born of the Virgin Mary and the Holy Spirit. He was without sin. He rose from the dead. There is no one else in history like Christ. No one
did what He did. All the other prophets were sinful, mortal humans, and therefore could not be the savior of anybody.”

“It’s one thing to believe this privately,” the professor said, “but why do you have to evangelize?”

“Jesus said that if you know a good deed and don’t do it, you have committed a sin. His greatest commandment was that we talk about Him. I believe everyone should know about Christ and have the freedom to accept or reject Him according to their own hearts.”

The professor countered, “The Koran says anyone can become a Muslim, but Muslims cannot turn their backs on their faith. A Muslim who abandons Islam is an infidel.”

“But the Koran also says religion is not compulsory,” I replied. “I see you didn’t mention that verse. Christ came to free the world from the condemnation of religious law. Because humankind is imperfect, we will always fail to follow these laws exactly. Jesus took the blame for all of our sins and shortcomings in order to free us from the consequences of failing to follow the law. And now Islam is trying to bring those laws back in a different form. Don’t you think that’s senseless?

“Jesus said that if we don’t open ourselves to God’s Kingdom, the way a child would, we will never understand it. The truth of the Lord is revealed only to those who trust Him like children and have a receptive heart.

“Yes, we have paid a price for our faith,” I concluded. “We have paid it gladly. Jesus Himself said, ‘If you wish to be My followers, you must pick up your own cross and follow Me.’
[7]
He paid the price for being true to His Father, and He expects no less from us. Prison conditions are very difficult, but it’s nothing compared to Jesus’ sacrifice. It’s the least we can do to show our love and faith in Him.”

Mr. Mosavat spoke up. “I’ve made inquiries and also watched the two of you. You don’t behave in any sort of overtly religious way—no special diet, no special dress, no special language. Your faith is on the inside and you stand firm for your beliefs. I respect your faith because I’ve never seen people like you. You must have discovered something powerful to defend it like this. But I want to ask you not to discuss it with others. And don’t hand out Bibles, because it’s against the law.”

“We won’t be handing out Bibles, because you’ve taken them all away,”
I reminded him. “But God brings His truth to the world in a variety of ways. He doesn’t depend only on two girls giving away New Testaments in secret. If someone is eager, God will show him the truth. He doesn’t need books, and He doesn’t need Marziyeh and me.”

“Miss Rostampour,” Mr. Mosavat said, “we hope by next week your case will be closed and you will be back home. We don’t wish to persecute you. We’re just waiting for the election to be over and for the appointments of court officials to be reconfirmed. If Mr. Mousavi wins, it will have a positive effect on your case. Only please, if you’re summoned to court again, keep silent and don’t even smile. If they think you’re happy, they will come down harshly on you.”

“I wish you success,” the professor said. “I’ve thought a lot about why God has chosen the two of you. There are hundreds of people who distribute Bibles and promote Christianity in Tehran, but none has received the publicity you have. Everybody talks about you. They’ve made heroines out of you. Your pictures are on TV every day. Why hasn’t this happened before?”

“I know the answer to that,” I replied. “Think about it.”

“I will,” the professor said. “Good luck.”

“And to you,” I said as the professor left the room.

Marziyeh

After these sessions, Mr. Mosavat told us that these were our last interrogations. Separately, Maryam and I had the same reaction: If that’s the case, then there’s no reason to keep us separated any longer. At our request, I was allowed to move out of the cell with Munis and Mahtab—leaving with hugs and tears of farewell—and in with Maryam and Fereshteh. In the four years Maryam and I had been friends, this was the longest we’d ever gone without seeing each other. At the doorway to Maryam’s cell, we fell into each other’s arms, sobbing with happiness. “Come on, come on,” the guard said curtly, “get on with it and get inside the cell.” We also asked for a Bible and a television in our room. We got the TV, but not the Bible.

We had stopped trying to hide the flowers and crosses we’d been making
for each other. When I entered the cell, the first things I saw, decorating the whole space, were the crosses and other tokens I’d left for Maryam. Along with Fereshteh, we kept up our handicraft once we were back together, and taught ourselves to make flowers out of disposable teacups to add to our collection.