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Born again
Story of an MKO member: Part six

By Sepideh
May 12, 2004

Interrogator Jalal turned to me and said, "Why didn't your Brother, Ali, who was a MKO member and was executed, kill your other Brother, Mohammad who was a Pasdar? He could easily do that. It wasn't a big deal. Why didn't he do it?"

I said, "Maybe he should have been instructed by the Organization, or perhaps the Organization didn't give him such a mandate at all."

But Jalal responded, "No, not at all. He didn't need a mandate to do that. If he were alive, we would make him stand trial for not killing his Brother."

His remark intensified my revulsion of him. I was so angry with him that I would have smacked him in the face if I hadn't been afraid of the Iraqi secret police.

The interrogation went on blatantly. "You claim that you're an Organization supporter. If it's true, why didn't you kill your Pasdar Brother and came to Iraq empty handed?"

I responded that my Brother was abroad and I couldn't get hold of him. Jalal thought I was being sarcastic with him.

He got angry and said, "You trash, stop playing the fool. Do you think we have nothing to do but argue with jerks like you."

I said, "You asked me why I didn't kill my Brother. First of all, my liaison officer in Turkey knows all this and my commander, Fariba, never gave me such an order. Secondly, we had too many family problems and I didn't want to add anything to them."

Jalal, who didn't expect such a response from me lashed at me and said, "You animal, you were thinking about your family problems? If you were an honest supporter of the Organization, why did you use to associate with renegade members like Hossein N and Omid S (they were MKO member in Ghazvin and were in prison in Iran for many years)?"

I said, "I associated with them because commander Fariba had ordered me to. She wanted me to recruit them."

Jalal, who was growing wild, banged his fist hard angrily on the table and said, "Shut your mouth, you trash. I have seen a lot of shameless people like you. All of those who come here from Iran are packs of animals and we make them human here. Now get lost and go to your room."

Jalal didn't know any limit in insulting other people. His demeanor and the way he talked made me hold him with abhorrence. He really had no bounds in treating people indecently and inhumanly.

Next morning, my team commander, Arman J, who had come to Baghdad on business, paid me a visit. When he saw my terrible and pitiable condition, he thought I may break of, so he got me a book, published by the Organization, on renegade members.

Fereidoon Gillani wrote the book, The Hatchets and the Roots; (he worked with MKO to ca 1994 and MKO call him perfidious now. He is living in Germany). It was funny and absurd of him to bring me book under those conditions, I was almost dying from all the mental torture, and he brought me books to read.

I thought to myself, if Arman were me, in that condition, he would have deserted the Organization a thousand times, let alone Gilani, the author of the book. Tiresome and lifeless days in Az-hadi base were passing despite all their adversities, and I was unaware of even worse days, which were awaiting me.

One morning, they summoned me again to the Operation Room. I wondered what they wanted form me this time. When I entered the room, I was loathed to look at Jalal's disgusting face.

As soon as I entered the room, Jalal told me, "Open up your ears and listen to me carefully. We're sending you to the Reception Unit again, not as an ordinary Pasdar, but as a filthy Pasdar. You can rectify an ordinary Pasdar, but people like you are not easy to correct. Tonight, Brother Nabi will come and tell you things that you must write for us. Got the picture, Pasdar? Now you can back to your room."

I left the room and sighed with relief that eventually I got rid of that unbearable, obnoxious being. But it was mere wishful thinking and bitter things were waiting to come down on me.

At night, Brother Nabi came to me and said, "You know Hassan, we are almost through with you, I mean, we are already through with you completely. Only one thing remains; you should write what I dictate to you. "

I inquired, "What should I write?"

He said softly, "Nothing important at all. We only want you to write that you were a Pasdar before coming here, and you came here to spy. That's all we want you to do. It's no big deal. You shouldn't fear anything, nobody will learn about what you write."

He wanted to delude me to write something, which was absolutely untrue. I felt deeply incensed at his blatant request, and got infuriated at the vile game the Organization was playing with me. I turned to him and responded angrily, "You're driving me mad. What are you talking about, what spy? What Pasdar? I really don't know how to make you understand that I'm not a spy, with what language should I explain all this so that you may understand?"

When he saw my anger, Brother Nabi adopted a soothing and conciliatory tone and said, "I told you it's no big deal at all. You don't have to write that you are a spy. It's enough if you write that you are a Pasdar, and that you are begging sister Maryam's pardon. Don't worry, it's not important you write that you are a Pasdar."

I wondered how a fake confession would help them. I was determined not to write what they wanted me to because I feared that they would use it as an alibi to hand me over to Iraq's secret police in order to liquidate me.

I was wrapped up in my own thoughts when I heard Brother Nabi saying, "Write."

I recollected my senses and noticed that he had put a piece of paper and a pen in front of me and was asking me to write the confession.

I told him angrily, "Why do you insist I confess to an absolute lie? I won't do it."

Nabi, who, despite his attempts, couldn't get a confession form me, frustratingly said, "You don't understand any language except the language of force. I tried to be non-aggressive, but it's not working. I will leave it to Brother Jalal. He will speak the language you understand."

He then left hastily, but shortly afterwards came back. Brother Jalal accompanied him.

Jalal shouted in the loudest voice he could muster and said, "Taking advantage of our laxity, you dirty trash? I am serious when I tell you to write what we want you to write. Now, I'll go but will come back soon, and when I get back you must write that."

I retorted, "I won't write it. Why should I write it when it's all lies? I won't do such a thing."

Jalal, who was extremely angry. He yelled at me and said, "How dare you speak back to me? Zip your lips and shut up, you dirty Pasdar. You have to write it when I want you to write it."

Then he referred to Brother Nabi and told him, "Give him an hour to write the confession, and if he doesn't write it, don't let him sleep even a wink." Then he turned to me and said, "If you don't write it, we won't give you an instant to sleep."

I told myself, that even if they don't let me sleep for ten years, I won't give in. But it didn't take me a long time to break down. The first two days, I could overcome the lack of sleep, but as time went on, I couldn't handle it anymore. I had lost my power to hold it back. I fell on the ground sporadically and then repeatedly.

Nabi kept vigil and would come in and pour ice water on me to force me up. He always warned me not to be obstinate and to succumb to what they wanted. "Come off it, it won't be the end of the world if you write the confession. Believe me, nothing is going to change and nothing will harm you. Nobody will know it at all. As soon as you confess, we'll send you back to the Reception to join the others. Come on, write it, the guys are waiting for you." >>> Part 7

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The Iranian Mojahedin
By Ervand Abrahamian

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