This is a letter posted on Kurdmedia.com about two days ago. It was written by Farzad Kamangar, a 33 year old Kurd from Iran. He is a teacher, journalist, human rights activist…and currently a political prisoner. He was sentenced to death by the Iranian Revolutionary Court on 25 February 2008 after a trial which took place in secret, lasted only minutes, and failed to meet any standards of fairness.
The following is Farzad’s latest letter to Mohseni Ejeie, the head of Iranian intelligence. It was translated from the original by Kamal Soleimani.
Mr. Mohseni Ejeie,
I’ve been imprisoned for months now, in a prison that is supposed to tear down my will, my love, my humanity and to make me as obedient and docile as “an obedient lamb.” For months I’ve been confined in a prison with walls as high as history itself.
Those walls are supposed to become a distance between me and the nation I love; and to become an eternal distance between the children of my homeland and me. Nevertheless, every day I’ve gone out through the small crack in my cell and traveled to farmlands. I’ve found myself among people and have felt what they have felt as they have perceived their sufferings in my imprisonment. The prison has made our bonds much stronger than they were before.
The prison is supposed to take away from me the sense of light and the sun; however, in the prison I am observing the growth of a violet in the dark!
The prison is supposed to make me forget the meaning of time and its value; but I’ve lived outside of the prison for some moments and have brought myself back into the world to choose a new way.
I too have welcomed humiliations, insults, and assaults bit by bit and wholeheartedly, the way those before did it in here. I am hoping that I might be the last person from this afflicted generation who had turned the darkness of their cells into a life with their love for the dawn.
But, one day I was called muharib (the enemy of God) by those regime that thought I’ve fought their God; so they weaved their rope of justice to bring an end to my life one morning; and from that day on, I’ve unwillingly waited that morning. Now, since they are fervent in taking away my life with the love I hold for my fellow human beings, I have determined to donate my organs to those whom my death might grant them a life.
I want to donate my heart, which is full of mercy and love, to a child. It does not matter where the child lives: whether she is living on the shores of Kan or in the outskirt of Mount. Sabalan or on the edges of eastern desert or on the heights of Zagros where everyday she watches the sunrise. All I want is for my impatient and disobedient heart to keep beating in the chest of a child. A child who is more audacious than I am in talking of his childhood wishes at nights to the moon and the stars; and in asking them to watch her, to not betray her childhood wishes when she grows up. I want my heart to keep beating in someone’s chest who is concerned about those kids that lie down hungry at nights in their beds. I want it to go to a child who will remember Hamid, a 16 years old student, who wrote this before hanging himself, “The smallest wishes of mine did not come true.”
Let my heart keep beating in someone’s chest, whatever her language or her skin color. Let it be in a worker’s child, so that the roughness of her father’s calloused hands will revive the spark of rebellion against inequality in my heart.
Let my heart keep beating in the chest of a child who will soon become a teacher in a small village and every morning children come to him with beautiful smiles to share all their happiness with him. May the kids know nothing of poverty and hunger anymore; and have no grasp of words like “prison, torture, injustice, and inequality.
Let my heart keep beating in a corner of this big world. It is a heart of someone who has a lot of stories from his land and his people whose history is filled with pain and suffering.
Let my heart keep beating in the chest of a child, may she one morning sing this poem in my mother tongue:
Min demewi bibim be baye
Xoshewiti mrov berim
Bu gisht suchi em diniyaye
Meaning: I want to become a wind; to bring the message of “loving fellow human beings” to every corner of this world.
The section of infectious diseases; the prison of Karaj
29/ 12/ 2008
Written: 26/ 12/2008, security section 209 Evin.