As You Read This Letter, I Am behind Bars

Source: http://iranwire.com/blogs/6272/6075/

Translation by Iran Press Watch

As you read this letter, I am behind bars

Sarang Etehadi

As you read this letter, I, Sarang Etehadi, have left my home, along with my small bag, for prison, for a period of a year.  House lights are turned off, and the kettle on the stove is empty of water and cold.  The windows are closed and the curtains drawn shut.  There is no aroma of home cooked food, and the pleasant humidity of the cooler in the hot  midday hours of summer has been replaced by the heavy and humid air of when the electricity is off.

As you read this letter, I am there, behind bars, charged with the crime of being a Baha’i, guilty of thinking differently, like so many others with various charges. I do not know how big the cell that I will occupy is, or how much light it has. I do not know who is there or what will become of me. But I do know that no one is waiting for me at home, because my wife, Nasim already went to Evin prison to serve her sentence before me. I think of her, who instead of sitting in our home, is sitting in one of the cells of the same prison, far from my cell, with the same charges, every bit as unjust and unfair.

As this letter is being read, perhaps with my eyes are closed as I sit at the bottom of a cell, thinking about our town, the town that both Nasim and I love, and our home with its lights off.  My heart is probably heavy in the darkness; longing for the sun, which is probably rare in the prison.

I don’t want to imagine my town as a place where the lights of the homes go off one by one, as the prison cells fill up with people who are now behind locked doors.  I would like to see a city filled with sunlight and freshly washed clean colorful clothes lined up to dry in the sun.   A city that belongs to all the people, where grandfathers are enjoying themselves in the parks, where classrooms are full of fragrant and colorful pens and notebooks, filled with kids and parents, where no one questions anyone’s beliefs.   There, at the bottom of a prison cell, I would like to imagine my town at some better time, a day when no one has been summoned to court for their beliefs no matter what the beliefs may be – and the sound of laughter pouring out from all the windows.

As this letter is read, it would be good if you too would close your eyes and imagine the same city. A city where no one is detained for the crime of thinking differently.  In this city, the lights of our house are on.  The curtains are open, and the aroma of freshly brewed tea has filled the air. Nasim is sitting on the couch reading a book. I will probably not be missing her anymore, since I am sitting next to her.  There, at the bottom of the cell, I imagine Nasim’s smile and I miss the sun.  My lovely town, the town that I never want  to leave, even if, in all its vastness, my share would only be a small cell.  A town where I will stay until it offers me a home with lit lights and a friendly smile.

I, Sarang Etehadi, will remain hopeful all my three hundred and sixty-five days in the prison, with the hope that it is a step toward reaching the day when tolerance, mutual understanding and friendship will replace violence, revenge, and bullying.   A day in which no one will ask about another’s beliefs, or imprison anyone because of their beliefs.  A day when everyone will have a bench where they can study, a room in which to work for a living, and a space to rest in peace after death.   A day when no forms will have a “religion” question, when people will not be fired from work or universities, and when no one demolishes anyone’s tombstone.  A day when all the people of the town have a share of the sun. That day will surely come, and the sky of this town will hear the sound of our laughter. I have no doubt about this.  When you read this letter, even from there, from the bottom of that cell I can imagine your hopeful smile.  I too will smile with you, with all my hope, anticipating the steps that you will take – all over the world – until that day, which is not far off, when we will all go home and turn on the darkened lights forever…