My dad co-owned a bookstore, as one of his vocations, with two of his friends. My sister and I were guaranteed to receive boxes of books once or twice a month.
I was reading The Divine Comedy, the Second Sex, Sovashoon, Shohar Ahoo Khanoom, Keleidar (book by famous Iranian writers) by age 14. Reading those books, some of which were banned, gave me a unique understanding of the power structure in the Iran’s political and social hierarchy. I felt disgusted by the Islamic regime and patriarchy.
Through my readings, I learned that a few top clerics were CIA assets in Iran. And when I compared what I learned in books, written by independent writers, with what I was taught at school, I understood that the Iranian authorities rewrote some historical facts to suit their political agenda.
By reading and learning, I lost my faith in Iran’s school system. Therefore, I never performed well in social sciences, history, or religious studies. I scored well in my geography, math, literature, and science courses. In most of my classes, I was one of the bright students who knew “too much” about “stuff.”
Before killing the girl, the prison authorities married her off to one of the prison guards in order to take her virginity.
My rebellion against the school and what was taught there let to a full-fledged conflict when my essay teacher gave me an “F” for the final exam in the ninth grade. Students rarely got an “F” for their essays. We may have gotten a “D” or “D-“, but not “F,” because grading essays was subjective. Students are graded according to grammar, content, and the structure of an essay. In the end, what mattered was the teachers’ ideas and opinions about an essay. Grading an essay was not white and black, as it was with math or science.
The consequence of my receiving an “F” in essay-writing was that I would take the essay exam once more before the beginning of the school year. If I failed, I had to repeat the whole ninth grade once more for the new academic year.
My mom was in shock when she saw my report card. My essays were always A+. She had to know what was going on.
She called the school the next day asking to speak with Mrs. Mahmoudi, my essay teacher, who was also our religious studies instructor.
I was standing by Maman when she was talking to Mrs. Mahmoudi. I heard her saying, “Oh my God, Daftar Imam. Oh, Mrs. Mahmoudi, you would never report Sara to Daftar Imam. Please, I’m coming over to meet with you.” Maman didn’t wait a few extra seconds. She summoned us to follow her. Then, she grabbed her manteau from the hanger in the hallway, wearing it while checking for the car keys in her handbag. Feeling scared, nervous, shame, and guilt for putting our family in danger, my sister, and I put on our manteau and followed Maman.
In my family, Daftar Imam meant “death sentence.”
Daftar Imam, Iran Supreme Leader’s office
The Daftar Imam, or “The Supreme Leader’s Office,” was a correction office with enormous political and social power. The office was established to promote the government’s ideological and Islamic agenda within local forces. People who were reported to the office could face some serious challenges. There were two unforgiven sins in the eyes of the people who ran the office: to insult Mr. Khomeini, Iran’s Islamic Republic founder, and Supreme Leader, and to belong to Toudeh Party, Iran’s communist party branch.
The Toudeh Party followed a communist agenda of social justice for all while ignoring religion and the existence of God. Many independent writers and artists claimed to be “Toude-ee” meaning to support Toudeh and Communist agenda.
I heard her saying, “Oh my God, Daftar Imam. Oh, Mrs. Mahmoudi, you would never report Sara to Daftar Imam.
Due to the revolution, and the war between Iran and Iraq, the Iranian government was unstable during those years. Still is due to its totalitarian approach to governing people and the country. The authorities were worried about the spread of communism and any challenges that the new regime may face. Therefore, they founded Daftar Imam to put people under Iran’s Intelligent Services surveillance, to gather documents, and to place dissidents in prison.
Not too long ago, my mom’s cousin’s daughter was arrested on the streets of Tehran for ‘bad hijabi,’ the authorities found a book famous within Toodeh Party in her handbag. The girl was taken to Daftar Imam. Then, she was transferred to Evin prison and got killed there.
Through my readings, I learned that a few top clerics were CIA assets in Iran.
Before killing the girl, the prison authorities married her off to one of the prison guards in order to take her virginity. She was a bride for one day, and endured a rape. There was a belief that if a virgin dies, she goes to heaven. The authorities didn’t want her to go to heaven!
My problematic “F” score
We met with Mrs. Mahmoudi in the school’s hallway. “Your daughter is Toodeh-ee. We are going to report her to Daftar Imam,” she said.
“Why, what has she done,” Maman asked.
“She has insulted Ayatollah Khomeini in her essay,” she said. Then, she left us and returned with a piece of paper in her hand. She read from the essay I had written. It was so obvious that I meant Khomeini in my essay, the same way Dante mocked the Pope in her Divine Comedy.
“She has insulted Ayatollah Khomeini in her essay,” she said.
“Oh, sister,” Maman said. It was the first time I heard Maman call anyone sister. After the revolution, the revolutionaries started calling each other ‘sisters’ and ‘brothers,’ to oppose ‘madam’ and ‘sir,’ which they perceived as ‘western’ terms. Maman never called anyone sister after the revolution. She opposed religious terms for anything. To hear Maman call my religion/essay teacher ‘sister,’ I knew I was in very serious trouble.
“Oh sister, you can never be serious about the garbage this stupid 14-year-old has written,” she said pointing at me. “She is just a kid. She doesn’t know her left and right hands. She had no idea she was insulting the great Ayatollah. Oh sister, you cannot be serious. Please do not send her essay to Daftar Imam.”
Maman started crying hysterically. Then, she did something I never believed she would ever do. She sat on the floor, grabbed the teacher’s legs, hold the legs tight, and started crying even harder. My sister and I were both crying as hard as Maman. I felt so much shame for putting Maman in such a situation.
“Oh, sister …, please, please. What you are doing, please get up,” the teacher said reaching out to Maman and trying to get her up. But, Maman clutched her legs.
Less than three months ago, I barely escaped flogging when the morality police arrested me at Tehran National Park for wearing Western-style sunglasses that my parents brought from Germany. I talked back to the guards. They wanted to punish me. And now, this asshole’s ugly religious teacher wants to kill me.
I opened my mouth to say something. But, my sister threw herself in my direction, and put one of her hands on my mouth, and the other one behind my head. She was squeezing my mouth tight. I looked into her eyes. “If you open your fucking mouth, I am going to hang you right here myself motherfucker,” I read in her gaze.
More tears started streaming down my eyes. I returned her gaze, “I do not open my fucking mouth. Just let me go.” I think she got the message. She slowly let go of me. I was crying quietly. My cry was different from my mom’s. Maman was crying for my life. I was crying for shame and free-less Iran.
The teacher finally got Maman up. “Ok, I will not send the essay to Daftar Imam,” she finally said. “But she needs to take the essay exam again.”
“But Ms. Mahmoudi,” my sister said. “Sara is the top student in your essay class. Can you get her medium score for this course?” she asked calmly and kindly. “No,” replied Mahmouci. And she disappeared into the main office.
The banned books banned in our house
My dad didn’t stop me from reading banned books that summer. But, he stopped buying or bringing them home. I got into the habit of saving my allowance to buy the expensive forbidden books myself.
For essay exams, we usually had four or five topics to choose from. One topic was always about nature. “Just write about nature,” my dad kept telling me throughout the summer.
On the day of the exam, I automatically chose the “nature” topic. My dad successfully brainwashed me. It paid off. I got a D- (minus), the bear-minimum to pass the test and continue on to high school.
More readings:
The Power of Reading Transformed My Life
I Had to Read Those Forbidden Books in Tehran, Part 1
Reading Forbidden Books in Tehran, Part 2
My Story of Finding and Reading Forbidden Books in Tehran, Part 3
Please Pledge to Our Peace Journalism.
Goltune is editorially independent. We set our agenda. No one edits our editors. No one steers our opinion. This is important as it enables us to stay true to our values.
Every contribution we receive from readers like you, big or small, goes directly into funding our journalism. Please support Goltune, large or small.
Send your contributions to our PayPal account: [email protected]
Or, Click the link to pledge your support.
Thank you,
Goltune Editorial Team