Here is the Women’s Prison in Golestan Province

Taraneh Baniyaghoub

Baniyaghoub@yahoo.com

They are sitting in their colourful flower-patterned veils in a circle in the small room. They are looking at me. Their glances do not remain fixed at a point, not even for a moment. Here is the Women’s Prison in Golestan Province in north of Iran

The prison is located within a courtyard full of trees and flowers in the city of Gorgan. The courtyard does not resemble that of a prison at all and reminds you of the beautiful virgin nature in northern Iran.

The “Women’s Section” is on the northern flank of the huge courtyard. There is a men’s section or, to be more precise, young male adults section. The female prisoners are not allowed to go to the vast courtyard, because the men are nearby. The women have a small area by their section to benefit from fresh air. It is a small area with a tiled floor, void of any flowers and plants.

The Women’s Prison official goes out of her way to guide me and our group through the various parts of the prison. Everywhere is clean, but the deadly silence, the cold blue walls and the insipid narrow corridors keep reminding me that here is a prison: “Women’s Prison.”

A jurist who is with us, whispers in my ear: “You should never believe it as the real face of the prison, if the officials are notified in advance of a group’s visit. On such occasions, they wash and clean everywhere. The female prisoners are told to be well mannered and not to make complaints. This is the common state of prisons during visits. However, the truth is otherwise.

That is perhaps the reason why most women speak well of the prison conditions, with empty looks and artificial smiles.

This reminds me of my sociology theory classes in the university. Foucault describes the new society as the “carceral archipelago”. He regards the new prisons and jailers as elements who destroy the human being’s spirit…

I try to shed these thoughts and a question asked by one of our group members helps me: “Are all prisoners tested for Hepatitis and AIDS?”

The jailer smiles assuredly and points at the triangular clinics of the prison facing us by the entrance, saying: The prisoners are offered hygienic and consultation services. Any prisoner applying for blood test will certainly be tested for Hepatitis and AIDS.

This surprises me and I ask: “What if nobody applies?”

With a smile that does not seem to leave her lips, the jailer replies: If a prisoner does not consent to a test, they will not be tested. There is no specific law in this respect.

I reply: But if one suffers from AIDS, they will not apply to be tested. Thus the prison officials will never know of the disease and other prisoners could easily be contaminated.

This time the jailer responds with a serious tone: “The jailing and coercion system has been eliminated. We test only the highly suspected persons before they are taken in. There is no regulation and every prisoner would be tested if they are willing.”

Having inspected the triangular clinics which are littered with educational posters on prevention of AIDS and Hepatitis, we visit the prison store. It is a very small room where they sell some of the necessities. The prison officials run the store, unlike some of the other prisons where the prisoners do the work.

The jurist says: This is one of the principal problems of the Iranian prisons. There is not a cooperative system to enable the prisoners to meet some of their financial requirements through their work. Many prisoners, who do not have relatives and friends, have to come to terms with the limitations here. Because there is no way to earn some money here or, if there is, it is not a proper one.

She reminisces about a visit to a prison holding runaway girls: “Many of these girls were deprived of any basic facilities because they lacked minder out of the prison. Many were compelled to use the same clothes and in particular the same underwear that they had been wearing when they ran away from home. They did not even have access to sufficient number of tampons.

“I know a woman who receives 7,000 rials a month for work in the prison store. That amount is in no way acceptable for such hard work.”

In the prison, there are 110 women most of whom are imprisoned for distributing drugs.

One prison official says there is a higher frequency among the women than the men in this regard.

The women are segregated in separate cells according to their offences. There are small narrow cells along one narrow corridor: the same well-known image I have normally seen in films.

I enter the first cell where the women are imprisoned for drugs distribution.

Gol-Nessa with her suffered and innocent face is the first woman to draw my attention. She only cries and unlike other prisoners does not insist that she is innocent. She keeps repeating a few sentences: “I saw my 4-year-old daughter yesterday. She appeared thinner than last time. Her body was covered with wounds and bruises. Ever since I saw her yesterday, a pain in my leg has pinned me down and I do not have the strength to walk.”

Gol-Nessa, 25, has been arrested six months ago. At the age of only 16, her father forced her to marry a 50-year-old man, a street salt vendor, as his second wife. Hence she has a 4-year-old daughter for whose sake she is probably in prison on charge of drugs distribution.

“My husband would not give even one rial to me and my daughter. We were hungry all the time. His first wife did not let him feed us. She had four children and was envious of my child. At the beginning I would do knitting and sell them. However, she played tricks to stop it. I was frightened of committing crimes. I was very frightened. But you tell me what one can do with hunger. A 4-year-old child is not capable of bearing hunger.”

She sighs and wipes away her tears: “I was forced to do it through the encouragement of my sister Kolssum.” She points at a women a few steps away: “Kolssum, my sister, was taken in two months ago.”

The tawny woman, Kolssum, looks at me and nods to confirm her sister’s remarks: “My father only wanted to get rid of us. He had no choice. He did not want extra mouths to feed. Thus he made me marry a delinquent addicted man, who demanded me to sell drugs to finance his addiction.

“When I noted my sister’s condition, I encouraged her to sell and distribute drugs. I did not know of any other way. But she was nabbed too quickly.”

Kolssum moves her veil to show the scars and stains that her husband had caused on her hands. “That was the man who forced me to sell drugs.”

Gol-Nessa, oblivious of her sister’s remarks, says: “I don’t care about my own fate now. I think of my poor child.” Sobbing interrupts her: “I suffer for her, because she visits me with a new wound everyday. That man and that woman have no mercy.”

Gol-Nessa knits in the prison and other prisoners occasionally buy her products. “I give all the income to my husband to spend for my child. It is not too much. But I don’t know if that man spends it on my child or not.”

There are many women in the Women’s Section, both in the drug distributors subsection as well as the other subsections, who claim they are innocent and have been imprisoned though trick and deception of other people. They make that claim so firmly that one is almost assured of its truth.

Ashraf Geramizadegan, the jurist in our group, however subscribes to a different opinion: “There is no doubt that these women are victims of the society and its cruelties. It is not however true that they are all innocent here. Their cases in the most part have been examined through meticulous expert work.”

Kobra, 34, is also in prison for drug distribution. “My husband was an Afghan. He left me and my 15-year-old daughter last year and returned to Afghanistan. We had no other way to make ends meet and opted for drug distribution. I don’t know what my daughter, Hadisseh, is now doing alone in this city. She would probably end up here a few days later. I have not heard of her for four months.”

Neda, 14, has been arrested for illicit relations: “I live in Mashhad. I came here with my friend. He promised to marry me. Believe me, I hate this place. Do you know when I will leave?” She repeats the question so much that her voice rings in my ears for days afterwards.

They are sitting round the room with their flower-patterned veils. They are looking at us with expecting eyes. Their looks are filled with sadness when they watch us go.

Translated from Persian to English by Siavash Roshangar