Sexual Attention in Iran, Don’t Even Mention It!
The following essay is the continuation of the story above.
I had to arrange to bribe Komiteh
I was so grateful for the family that took me in. I had no idea who they were and what they did. I thought the mom may have been thinking about her own daughter when she decided to help me. What if her daughter was in the same situation? Wouldn’t she be grateful if somebody did the same for her daughter? In fact, many Iranian families helped each other against Komiteh since they viewed its activities as illegal and dictatorial.
I was still shaking and didn’t know what to do. I knew I was safe there. I knew Komiteh wouldn’t come over to their place. On the other hand, I was sickeningly worried for Fereshteh.
I couldn’t believe that we couldn’t enjoy the simplest freedom. Why has the government attacked our private life? Under what name and protection?
I really wanted to call Fereshteh’s family, but it was a complicated issue. Fereshteh’s mom had a heart problem. She couldn’t handle any bad or sudden news. Her dad was ultra-conservative asshole. If he knew Feresheteh was at a party where alcohol was served, he might whip Fereshteh himself. Her two brothers were jerks. And her sister lived in Mashhad. I wished I could call Baba. He would gladly pay the bribe money to rescue Fereshteh. But he was in Germany with Maman.
The only person I thought I could trust was my best friend’s dad. Mr. Amiri was a lawyer. He taught law at Tehran University and while had an office at Mirdamad, another wealthy neighborhood in Tehran. He was a trial lawyer. He could help me if he wanted. I had my friend’s house number. I called.
“Hello,” after a few ringtones that felt like a lifetime, I heard an alarming heavy male voice on the other side.
“Mr. Amiri, is that you? I am so terribly terribly sorry to call you so late at night. Mr. Amiri, I need your help,” I said.
“Sara, do you know what time it is?” he asked.
“Mr. Amiri, I know, but I really need your help,” I said.
Iis everything alright? Your dad, your mom, sister, brother … everyone is fine?” he asked.
“Oh, yes sir, everyone is in good health except me,” I said.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
In Iran, men showed their support through tucking and untucking their shirts. If they tucked, They were less supportive of government and more Western. If they were untucked, they were pro-Islamic rules.
“I was at a party with one of my friends. Her name is Fereshteh. We didn’t know they were going to serve alcohol. We were dancing when Komiteh came. They took Fereshteh,” I said. By then, I was crying. I couldn’t properly breath.
“Oh, God damn it Sara. Where are you now,” he asked.
“I am at an apartment in the same building with a kind family who took me in. But I am worried about Fereshteh. They may whip her,” I said.
“Has she drank?” he asked.
“I think so,” I said. My cries were much louder.
“Sweet,” he said.
The angry man
As I was speaking on my mobile, I saw a shadow of a large man coming out of the dark hallway. “Who is this?” he asked. I couldn’t hear the mom’s reply. But, I had a strange feeling about the man just showed up.
“Mr. Amiri, I am in the Yousef Abad neighborhood. Can I call you in five minutes? Would you answer” I asked. “Yes, call me as soon as you can. I’m getting dressed,” he said.
The man was coming closer. “I am so sorry sir. I really apologize for disturbing your sleep. I’ll take my leave right now. I have been so much of a bother,” I said.
“What is happening? What is this?” he asked.
“There was a party at Mr. Yaghoubi’s apartment,” the mom replied. “It seems they were loud, and probably drinking. Someone reported them to Komiteh, and now Komiteh has come and arrested some of the kids,” the mom finished.
“Maybe they deserve it,” he said. “Did you escape? Were you drinking? Maybe I should call Komiteh to come over and take you” he said.
I didn’t wait too long for him to finish his sentences. I left the apartment immediately.
The final escape
I fled one floor down to get myself out off that floor and see what I needed to do. Just then, it seemed God sent me an answer. I saw a young man holding the shoulder of a pregnant woman around his neck. The woman was leaping. She was mowing loudly.
“Do you need help,” I asked.
“Thanks God,” he looked at my hand holding my large mobile. “Can you please call 123?” he asked.
“Of course.” I called the number and gave my phone to him. He burbled something in a rush and finally said, “I am bringing her to the emergency room.” He hung up and gave me back mobile phone.
“I can help you to get her to a car,” I said, and without waiting a single moment, I gently grabbed her waist and helped her into the elevator. He hit the “P” bottom for parking.
“Can I come with you to the hospital, and there, I take a taxi to my house?” I asked. “You were at the party?” the man said, “Weren’t you?” I nodded. “That’s fine. hop in. I’ll give you a ride.”
Inside the car, as we were leaving the building, a man with a heavy beard, angry look and dark green shirt, untucked, stopped our car. Another man with a tall gun parked himself in front of our car. His shirt was also untucked.
Back then, men showed their support of the government through their shirts. If they tucked their shirt into their pants, they were less supportive of government and more Western. If they were untucked, they were pro-Islamic rules.
I was very nervous. I was gently robbing the pregnant woman’s shoulder, massaging her for sympathy. “Sir, I’m taking my wife to the hospital,” the driver said.
“Who is she?” he hinted at me with his head. “She is my friend,” the woman said, “She’s been staying with me for a night like this,” she said while releasing a loud and painful moan. The man motioned to the other man who was standing in front of our car holding a long gun in his hand. “Let them go,” he said.
As we were leaving, I heard the man with a heavy beard saying, “Ey, I told you a few times bro, we are taking them to Yousef Abad komiteh.”
As we were heading out, my phone ranged. I was nervously happy that the phone didn’t ring a few seconds earlier. “Thank God,” I said and I let us gain further distance before answering.
“Mr. Amiri, I was able to leave the scene.” I said. “I’ll explain to you later how. They are taking Fereshteh to Yousef Abad komiteh” I said. “I’ll see you there.”
“No Sara. You do not see me there. You go home. I’ll call you when we are done.” he said authoritavely and hung up
I helped the woman get out of the car while her husband fetched her a wheelchair.
“I hope you can save your friend,” she said while helping herself into the chair. “My brother got more than 80 lashes two years ago. He is still traumatized. I think they raped him there. He never talks about his time in Komiteh,” she said.
My tears started falling as they took off.
Mr. Amiri released Fereshteh
Fereshteh called me around 4 a.m. on my phone. She said that Mr. Amiri was able to release her from Komiteh without any bail money.
“Since it was my first time, they had me sign letters promising never to show up at such parties,” she said.
“How about the alcohol test,” I asked.
“Thanks God, I didn’t have any,” she said. “But, Maryam and Nazzie were in trouble. I think all the boys who brought alcohol were in trouble. I feel so so sorry for them,” she said. After a long pause, “Thank you very much for helping me. It could have been much worse,” she said.
I was still daunted with the experience. I couldn’t believe that we couldn’t enjoy the simplest freedom. Why has the government attacked our private life? Under what name and protection? Why should we bribe the authority to gain our basic human rights? Why don’t we have any leader, organization, party to confront these bastards.
If only for the sake of changing those bad laws, I was more determined than ever to become Iran’s next president.
Previous readings of the same series:
#1: To change hijab law, I had to become president
#2: Mr. Mousavian and my next step toward Iran’s presidency
#3: Sexual Attention in Iran, Don’t Even Mention It!
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