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Prison life was drastically worse under the Islamic Republic than under the Pahlavis. One who survived both writes that four months under Ladjevardi took the toll of four years under SAVAK.[86] _{Another writes that one day under the former equaled ten years under the latter.}[87]

Prisoners were incessantly bombarded with propaganda from all sides—from the Hosseiniyeh recantations; from similar programs aired on radio and shown on closed-circuit television (television sets had been installed in October 1981 in most rooms); from loudspeakers blaring into all cells, even into solitary cells and the "coffins"; from sermons broadcast over radio and television; from ideological sessions led by repenters and visiting seminary students; from "educational television" shown every morning; from compulsory Friday prayers, Ramadan fasts, and Moharram flagellations; from pressure to vote in national elections (those refusing to participate were required to give written explanations); and from government newspapers and officially sanctioned publications such as the collected works of Ayatollahs Khomeini, Mottahari, and Dastgheib.

Secular works, including those by Shariati, not to mention Western novelists, were strictly forbidden. Secular celebrations, such as May Day and Constitutional Day, were also strictly forbidden. Ladjevardi even banned Nowruz as "a pagan Zoroastrian festival."[88] _{Prisoners had}

to observe najes rules and

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avoid physical contact with leftists as well as Bahais on the grounds that they were all unclean unbelievers. Women had the additional burden of having to observe the increasingly onerous dress code. They first had to wear "modest headgear"—the scarf, then the full chador,

eventually the full black chador. In short, prisons became indoctrination centers; Gohar Dasht had the most sinister reputation because it was officially designated a "reformatory."

What is more, prisoners were closely watched by repenters ever eager to win privileges and their freedom. Not surprisingly, prisoners detested these kapos and antenns (antennas) on the lookout for incriminating information. Raha writes that in prison one found the worst as well as the best of humanity—those willing to betray friends and relatives, and those prepared to die for their beliefs and comrades.[89] _{The wardens set up a Repenters' Society, a newspaper}

called Payam-e Tawabin (Repenters' Message), and special wards named Bandeh Jehad (Crusaders' Wards). They offered them incentives—more generous rations, lighter sentences, even amnesty, and access to the prison workshops, where women could earn pocket money as garment workers and men could earn pocket money as metal workers. They also encouraged women repenters to marry eligible guards. This fueled the rumor—mostly unfounded—that they condoned sex between guards and prisoners.

To intensify the ideological pressures, prisoners were given little access to the outside world. Only official publications were permitted. Visits were restricted to ten minutes every two weeks for family members only. The conversation had to avoid prison conditions and had to be in Persian so that the listening guards could understand. Local dialects, as well as Azeri, Kurdish, and Baluchi, were strictly forbidden. Some were deprived of even these family visits. For example, Raha spent six months in Qezel Hesar away from Evin without her relatives knowing. They presumed the worst.

Other factors worsened the situation. The Iraqi war caused shortages of food and medicine. Wardens dismissed food complaints with the retort that a nation on short rations could not

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afford "sumptuous meals" for its internal enemies. Similarly, prison doctors withheld medicine on the grounds that the frontline troops were more deserving.

The mass arrests of 1981 turned the wards into "sardine cans."[90] _{In Evin, rooms initially built}

for fifteen contained thirty-five by early 1981 and seventy-five by late 1981. In Qezel Hesar, those built for eighteen housed forty-eight. In Gohar Dasht, those built for twelve housed ninety. At the height of the panic, thousands were jammed in the corridors, and to prevent breakouts were kept totally blindfolded around the clock. In winter, the cells were freezing. In summer, they were sweltering. Overcrowding also placed a sharp limit on time allowed in the courtyards; Evin prisoners were given no more than ten minutes per day. By early 1982, many suffered from vitamin D deficiencies. Ironically, overcrowding made solitary confinement a punishment the wardens could ill afford. Only the very important were kept in total solitary. The "coffins" were probably designed to ease this housing problem. Parsipour calculates that the twelve "solitary cells" in her wing of Qezel Hesar contained as many as 180 inmates.[91]

Mass executions turned prisons into morgues. Whereas less than 100 political prisoners had been executed between 1971 and 1979, more than 7,900 were executed between 1981 and 1985. At night inmates would count the gunshots, and the next morning compare their count with the list published in the official newspapers. Often hooded repenters stalked the wards looking for former colleagues to send to the scaffold. In Raha's words, the danger of

execution constantly hovered over their heads like Damocles' sword.[92] _{In the prison literature}

of the Pahlavi era, the recurring words had been "boredom" and "monotony." In that of the Islamic Republic, they were "fear," "death," "terror," "horror," and, most frequent of all, "nightmare" (kabos ). To further impress the prisoners, the wardens often took them to survey dead bodies. For example, when Musa Khiabani, the second in command of the Mojahedin, and Ashraf Rabii, the spouse of the first in command, were killed in a shoot-out, prisoners were bused in to Evin from Gohar

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Dasht and Qezel Hesar to view their bullet-ridden bodies. National television broadcast the macabre scene together with Ladjevardi cuddling Rabii's infant son.

The harsh conditions were further compounded by the social gap between inmates and the authorities. Whereas most prisoners, particularly leftists, were children of the modern middle class, the religious magistrates came from clerical families, the wardens from the lower levels of the bazaar, and the guards from rural backgrounds—especially from the Persian-speaking Shi'i regions of central Iran. This drastically reduced social empathy. Not surprisingly, prisoners often bore the brunt of class hostility. One Fedayi writes that his warden fancied himself to be a seminary "philosopher" and harbored a "visceral hatred" for the university educated.[93] _{Another writes that the guards "willingly obeyed orders to mistreat them since}

they were rural, illiterate, and semi-educated."[94] _{For their part, the prisoners mocked the}

wardens behind their backs—especially after Ladjevardi gave a sermon denouncing that "notorious Marxist named Mr. Anti-Duhring." Ideological intensity added to the problem as many revolutionary guards—in contrast to the policemen of the bygone era—were too committed to be malleable and bribable. Modernity had worsened prison conditions in more ways than one.

Harsh conditions took their toll. Some committed suicide. In fact, those forced to recant on national television were invariably put on around-the-clock suicide watch. The chador made suicide much easier for women. Some lost their sanity. Each ward had inmates who were either clinically depressed or had lost all sense of reality. The guards—like their counterparts in nineteenth-century Europe—often brutalized them, claiming they were feigning and a sound thrashing would bring them back to reality. Prisoners often pleaded with the wardens to

hospitalize the hopelessly insane—especially those who had lost control of bodily functions. One inmate who had been forced to watch the hanging of a close relative compulsively smeared feces along the cell walls. Another incessantly bleated like a sheep. Another barked like a dog. Yet another—a former

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teacher—constantly taught an imaginary class. One woman wore a heavy coat and full Islamic dress at all times—in the summer and even in the shower. Another—who had to be placed in solitary—refused to wear a stitch of clothing even in midwinter.

The prisoners developed various strategies to keep intact their bodies and minds. When possible, they exercised by pacing around the wards, cells, and courtyards. A few practiced yoga. They lent moral and practical support to comrades. They expanded their social networks, retaining old friendships and establishing new ones—but invariably within their own political circles. They treated all forms of sex as taboo. Parsipour writes that during the many years she spent in prison she heard of only one case of inmates having sexual relations —this despite the long sentences, the physical proximity, and the youth of most prisoners.[95]

Similarly, a leftist who had spent five years in Evin told me that he had heard of only one incident of sexual misconduct. These political prisoners, like their predecessors, stressed the importance of sexual abstinence. Victorians did not have a monopoly over "Puritanism." The prisoners made full use of the available books, newspapers, and television hours. In addition to the obligatory programs, they watched soaps, Hollywood movies, and sports— especially soccer matches. Women, however, were not allowed to watch the latter because the players wore short pants. They also improved their Arabic and English by reading the Koran and the government-published U.S. Embassy documents. On the whole, the presence of television and the absence of serious literature made these prisoners far less book-oriented than their predecessors.

When out of sight of the repenters, the prisoners practiced various forms of "passive

resistance." They recited poetry; drew pictures; narrated the plots of old films and novels; and taught each other languages, especially Azeri, Kurdish, English, and French. They made fun of the religiously sanctioned books—especially Khomeini's and Dasgheib's discussions of sex. They quietly commemorated birthdays, secular holidays such as

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Nowruz and May Day, and special anniversaries—especially the martyrdom of loved ones. They also secretly learned songs and tribal dances and played chess with homemade sets. Music was deemed un-Islamic. Chess was banned on the grounds that it had pagan associations and sexual connotations.

Most important of all, like-minded prisoners lived together and jealously guarded their territory. The Mojaheds, the Bahais, the royalists, the Tudeh and the Majority Fedayi, and the other leftists, especially the Minority Tudeh, Peykar, and Rah-e Kargar, lived in the same wards or sections of large wards. They ate together, shared chores, nursed their tortured and sick colleagues, and pooled their money, cigarettes, and even clothes. Only the royalists refused to pool their resources. In fact, these groups formed their own komuns even though the authorities had explicitly banned that leftist term.

Ironically, the najes rules helped demarcate the lines between Marxists and non-Marxists, repenters and nonrepenters, Muslims and non-Muslims. Prisoners entering Gohar Dasht were sorted out after being asked, "Do you pray or do you not pray—like the Jews?"[96] _{Those with}

positive answers were sent to the northern wards; those with negative answers, to the southern wards. By 1987, blocks 2 and 12 were reserved for Mojaheds with short sentences; 3 and 4, for Mojaheds with more than ten-year sentences; 5, for Marxists with short sentences; 6, for Marxists with longer sentences; 7 and 8, for Marxists with sentences up to ten years; 8, for Bahais; 9, for repenters; 11, for prisoners transferred from Kermanshah; 20, for the Tudeh; and 13, for the mellikesh—those who had completed their sentences but had not been released because of their refusal to give the obligatory recantations.

In most prisons, the wards administered themselves. They elected "leaders" as well as "officials" to portion out meals, pour tea, distribute reading materials, administer pocket money, procure goods from the prison shop, allocate shower time, choose the day's workers (kargars ), and assign them cleaning chores. They used the term "kargar" even though it, along with the term "komun," had been forbidden. The elected officials

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also allocated sleeping space for the night, and, to ward off lethargy and depression, prevented inmates from taking naps during the day. Moreover, the prisoners channeled all

communications with the guards through their elected leaders. Violators of this code were mercilessly ostracized. E.A. explains that the code was designed to hide internal differences from the authorities.[97] _{Furthermore, the wards held lengthy discussions and arrived at}

majority decisions whenever particularly divisive issues arose—issues such as whether to allow smoking or buy foods with few vitamins, such as watermelons, what television

programs to watch, how much to open the windows during winter nights, and, in the women's wards, whether to risk lice infestations by permitting long hair.

Parsipour notes that leftists and the Mojahedin—despite their ideological differences— managed to live together amicably when thrown into the same wards. E.A. describes the wards as "egalitarian and democratic." He equates the ward leader to a democratically elected president; the officials, to similarly chosen ministers, governors, and mayors. He relates how at one point the largest ward in Evin had so many issues to resolve that it convened a two-day

kongereh (congress). The issues reflected differences between Mojaheds and Marxists,

between intellectuals and nonintellectuals, between political and nonpolitical prisoners, and between poor and better-off inmates reluctant to pool their resources. Such activities helped to create a sense of solidarity within the nightmarish context.

The few who managed to survive with body and mind fully intact did so because of special circumstances. For example, Raha was deemed fairly harmless since she had been picked up because of her brother. She had a healthy and insatiable interest in others—even those from rival political groups. She—like most other women who have written prison memoirs—was determined to survive to bear witness and "to remember everything and forget nothing about the martyred." She also had family connections. Her father, a bazaar merchant, had been a devout Muslim; another relative had served in the first post-

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revolutionary cabinet. Her judge, who had studied theology with her father, treated her more as a wayward daughter in need of guidance than as a dangerous revolutionary. He was more

than eager to release her—of course, on condition she produced the obligatory recantation. Such factors help to explain the intriguing phenomenon of why women have produced much of the recent prison literature. There is also another factor: whereas the men—invariably full party members—could not publish their memoirs unless instructed to do so by their

organizations, the women, often only sympathizers, were free to record their personal experiences.

Prison conditions improved—albeit briefly—in mid-1984 when Montazeri, Khomeini's designated heir, supplanted Ladjevardi's cohorts with his own. Montazeri was rumored to have been outraged when shown photos of the "coffins." The new wardens received UN and Majles delegations. They stopped demanding religious observances and public recantations— instead they asked for short "letters of regret." They released many repenters and those who had completed their sentences. This immediately diminished the watchful eyes of the repenters, emptied Qezel Hesar of political prisoners, and alleviated the overcrowding problem in Evin and Gohar Dasht.

They were also more generous with family visits, food rations, soap, warm showers, courtyard time, and cigarettes—each prisoner, including women, was given three cigarettes a day. This was the first time women were permitted to smoke. They allowed language classes, writing materials, chess, Nowruz celebrations, and social calls to neighboring cells. They turned a blind eye to komun activities and quiet May Day celebrations. They permitted political discussions and group recreation, including volleyball, soccer, and early morning gymnastics. At first they insisted on appointing the gym leaders but relented when the prisoners demanded to elect them. They even allowed the reading of some nonreligious books, including Mowlavi, Sa'di, Pavlov, Freud, War and Peace , and Les Miserables . Somehow a work by Stalin—with his picture on the cover—circulated in the women's wards in Evin. Raha writes,

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"In those days we leftists did not yet consider Stalin to be a dictator."[98]

The prisoners settled down to a daily routine. They woke up at 6.30 A.M.; had breakfast at 7.30; and from 8:00 until lunchtime attended classes. Some prepared for high school and college exams; some studied languages, especially English. The "workers" aired beds and cleaned out the cells. A few wasted time watching television. In the women's wards, some tended to their children—indeed, mothers without suitable relatives were allowed to nurse infants and raise toddlers in their cells. After lunch and the accompanying siesta, the prisoners exercised, gardened, or played team sports. Those in need of pocket money spent time in the prison workshops. After dinner, they watched television, socialized, read, and held komun meetings. Lights out was at 11:00 P.M. Parsipour, allowed to write her novel on condition she did not mention incarceration, stresses that in this period "prison conditions improved 180 degrees."[99]

By mid–1986, prisoners were openly challenging the wardens. Political prisoners in the largest Evin ward organized a successful hunger strike to remove all repenters and common criminals from their midst. Others organized another hunger strike demanding that the

authorities deliver food to their doorsteps—not to the bottom of the stairs. They argued that if they picked up food at the bottom of the stairs, they would have to do endless chores

throughout the prison. These chores were usually done by either repenters or Afghan prisoners. Others confronted the Evin warden on the sensitive najes issue, wanting to know how he—a German-educated engineer—could have observed such rules while living for years

in Europe. They also wanted to know how dignitaries such as President Khamenei could travel throughout the world—including the communist countries—observing these "senseless rules." The warden was taken aback. Meanwhile, relatives held meetings in Luna Park

demanding better prison conditions and information on those who had disappeared. This mild period, however, ended as abruptly as it had begun. In mid–1986, most prisons were taken out of Montazeri's

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control and transferred back to Ladjevardi and his associates. Unbeknown to their victims, this laid the groundwork for the worst horrors yet to come—the mass executions of 1988. For the survivors, their worst "nightmares" came not in 1981–84 or in June 1981—but in the summer of 1988.

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