Friday, November 7, 2014

The cavemen country of Iran recognizes no human rights, especially where women are concerned

Below are a few paragraphs from Reyhaneh Jabbari's voice recording that she made to her mother on April 1, 2014. The 26-yr old was hanged on October 25, 2014 after 7 years imprisonment for defending herself from being raped by Morteza Abdolali Sarbandi, by killing him with a pocket knife. 

Morteza Abdolali Sarbandi was a former intelligence officer so the cards were stacked against Reyhaneh from day one. Reyhaneh maintained that she stabbed him in the back only once before running out and that there was another man in the house who could have been the actual murderer but a thorough investigation was never done. Was the other man Reyhaneh's imagination or was he also an intelligence officer who got away with murder because he's a member of the "club".  

The victim's family could have saved her from her death sentence by agreeing to forgive her but have we ever known Muslims to be forgiving unless money is involved?  Maybe enough money was not offered to the family or they are rich cavemen themselves and their thirst for revenge was more satisfying.

Reyhaneh addresses her mother as "Sholeh" which is probably the mother's given name.  I found that strange because I have never known of anybody in the Muslim society addressing their mothers by their given names.  

Wouldn't it be fitting if someone from the rapist's immediate family is on an organ receptor list and one of Reyhaneh's organs is transplanted in that person .... especially the eyes, and somehow someone tells the family the name of the person the organ belonged to?

From National Council of Resistance of Iran
Dear Sholeh, today I learned that it is now my turn to face Qisas (the Iranian regime's law of retribution). I am hurt as to why you did not let me know yourself that I have reached the last page in the book of my life. Don’t you think that I should know? You know how ashamed I am that you are sad. Why did you not take the chance for me to kiss your hand and that of dad?

The world allowed me to live for 19 years. That ominous night I should have been killed. My body would have been dumped in some corner of the city, and after a few days, the police would have taken you to the coroner’s office to identify my body and there you would also learn that I had been raped as well. The murderer would have never been found since we don’t have their wealth and their power. Then you would have continued your life suffering and ashamed, and a few years later you would have died of this suffering and that would have been that.

However, with that cursed blow the story changed. My body was not thrown aside, but rather into the grave of Evin Prison and its solitary wards, and now the grave-like prison of Shahr-e Ray. But give in to the fate and don’t complain. You know better that death is not the end of life.....

.......You taught me that one comes to this world to gain an experience and to learn a lesson and with each birth a responsibility is put on one’s shoulder. I learned that sometimes one has to fight. I remember when you told me a story from Nietzsche, the philosopher, about when he protested to a carriage man who was flogging his horse, but the flogger hit the lash on his head and face … (not audible) and he taught us that for creating a value one should persevere even if one dies.

You taught us that as we go to school one should be a lady when faced with quarrels and complaints. Do you remember how much you emphasized the way we behave? Your experience was incorrect. When this incident happened, my teachings did not help me. Being calm in court made me look like a cold-blooded murderer and a ruthless criminal. I shed no tears. I did not beg. I did not cry my eyes out since I trusted the law........

......Dear Sholeh, don’t cry for what you are hearing. On the first day in the police office when an old unmarried agent hurt me for my nails I understood that beauty is not looked for in this era. The beauty of looks, beauty of thoughts and wishes, a beautiful handwriting, beauty of the eyes and vision, and even beauty of a nice voice.

My dear mother, my ideology has changed and you are not responsible for it. My words are unending and I gave it all to someone so that when I am executed without your presence and knowledge, it would be given to you. I left you much handwritten material as my heritage........

.......My kind mother, dear Sholeh, the one more dear to me than my life, I don’t want to rot under the soil. I don’t want my eye or my young heart to turn into dust. Beg so that it is arranged that as soon as I am hanged my heart, kidney, eye, bones and anything that can be transplanted be taken away from my body and given to someone who needs them as a gift. I don’t want the recipient know my name. Buy me a bouquet, or even pray for me. I am telling you from the bottom of my heart that I don’t want to have a grave for you to come and mourn there and suffer. I don’t want you to wear black clothing for me. Do your best to forget my difficult days. Give me to the wind to take away.......

.......The world did not love us. It did not want my fate. And now I am giving in to it and embracing death. Because in the court of God I will charge the inspectors, I will charge inspector Shamlou, I will charge the judge, and the judges of the country’s Supreme Court that beat me when I was awake and who did not refrain from harassing me. In the court of the creator I will charge Dr. Farvandi, I will charge Qassem Shabani and all those who, out of ignorance or with their lies, wronged me and trampled....

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