Even though I turned into Autumn I am more beautiful now/
A letter of suffering by Bahareh,
a squished corn-poppy of Iran (victim of rape)/
arrested in July 2009 at Ghoba Mosque
"My name is Bahar (Spring in Persian). It's Spring and I write to you of flowers--but flowers with scattered petals. I write to you of the green and of sprouts but squished sprouts, trampled on by hatred, the hatred towards beauty and whatever is beautiful--as displayed by ugly souls, the hatred towards those who seek justice--by a bunch of sell outs. I write to you of those who are not real men.
My name is Bahareh Maghami, 28 years old and there is nothing left of me and no reason to hide my name anymore. I have lost all who were important to me one day. I have lost relatives and friends, neighbors and companions, coworkers and colleagues. I have lost them all. Those who pretend to be men stole it all from me so unfairly. They stole my life.
Now that I have left the country, I want to share my pain with someone, even if only once. I also like to ask other friends who have experienced a similar painful fate to write. They must write what happened to them. Even if they fear their lives or dignity, they should use anonymous names but they must write. They must write so that history is aware of what happened to our generation; to this grief-stricken generation. They must write so that those who come after us and live in a free Iran know what price was paid for their freedom; how many lives were burnt and how hopes vanished; they must know about the broken backs and bent knees!
When my father found out, his back broke. He was shattered into pieces. My mom aged a hundred years overnight. My brother: I still haven't been able to look into my brother's eyes and he doesn't look at me either; he doesn't want me to suffer any more than I already have. When he found out, it was like they took away his manhood. When he found out that there are people who pretend to be men but the only thing left of it is their genitals, he began to hate his own manhood. For them dignity, nobility and chastity have no meaning. I was a first grade teacher. I was teaching the little flowers of our country how to read and write. I was teaching them "Dad brought water", "That man comes", "That man brings bread". For me the image of a man was the kind breadwinner. I was waiting for him to arrive. And now that image has changed. He is angry and blinded by his desires. I cannot rid myself of his infectious smell of sweat. I am always scared of him coming back. I jump out of bed in the middle of the night fearing his footsteps. My whole body shakes with the smallest sounds and my heart starts beating faster fearing his arrival. I am always ready to escape. I leave the lights on at nights and I pass the days with tears and grief!
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