Self-Sacrifice (31 page)

Upon hearing that I was still alive, my other grandma and relatives had started looking for me and after a month found me in one of the hospitals. My stay in hospital has a story of its own. When they were done with the surgeries, the Guards wanted to transfer me to Evin Prison. This was their usual practice whenever they attacked one of the Mojahedin’s homes, and if they found any children alive they would transfer them to Evin Prison Women’s Ward and have the female prisoners raise the child. On the day that our house was attacked, the news had spread all over Tehran. The neighbours used to tell me that when they heard the sound of the bullets they were filled with sadness, because they could not bear to see the martyrdom
of people who had risen up for their freedom. The doctors and the nurses at the hospital felt the same way, and they had not permitted the Guards to transfer me to Evin Prison. They had told them that my situation was not stable and I had to be under constant medical supervision. My grandma found me at the hospital, and with the help of the doctors and nurses I was given to her care.

As a child, whenever I looked in the mirror and saw the scars on my face, I would remember the ordeal I had endured. The first question my friends used to ask me was, when did I find out that my Mum and Dad had been martyred, and what was it all about? I used to tell them that ever since I remember I knew about it. In the beginning my relatives tried to hide the facts from me and tried to introduce my Aunt as my Mum to me, but it was not possible. Whenever I would meet the prisoners who had been set free or the families of those who were martyred, they couldn’t control their emotions and they would cry and hug me. They used to tell me, you are a remembrance from Fereshteh and Hamid! They used to show me the pictures they had of them in their homes. My other relatives would share the memories they had of my Dad whenever they saw me. Our neighbours used to point me out to one another and say, this is Khademi’s son.

I remember when I was two years old, for my birthday they had made a cake with the number two written on it and designed with swans on the cake. There was a picture of my Mum and Dad in a picture frame next to the cake. I couldn’t make out what was going on. I knew everyone has a Mum and Dad, but I really didn’t know who mine were. Now I had my Aunt as a Mum and the person in the picture frame! All I can say is it was a confusing time for me. The martyrdom of my Mum and Dad was so important that all our friends, acquaintances and the neighbours knew about it and paid their respects on a regular basis. My Dad had two engineering degrees and was a political prisoner under the Shah. My Mum was studying Health at the university and was also a political prisoner under the Shah; they wanted to overthrow Khomeini’s dictatorship and sacrificed their lives in the process.

My father was a parliamentary candidate after the 1979 revolution in his hometown of Golpaiegan, but he was prevented from standing due to vote rigging by the authorities. Wherever I went in
Golpaiegan people used to approach me and reminisce about my father. Even the supporters of the clerical regime used to talk about my father with respect. Having experienced thousands of encounters with people about the Mojahedin, even if I had not seen and felt the oppression by Khomeini’s regime, I could easily tell that the Mojahedin are in the hearts and minds of the people. It was obvious that all the emotions expressed weren’t for a young child, but it was towards the deeds of the Mojahedin who had sacrificed their lives for their people. This is how I came to know the Mojahedin. The Mojahedin fought against Khomeini and for their people.

The extent of oppression and injustice was very apparent to me as a child. I could see first hand the rise of addiction and prostitution among the people I knew. I had seen the rise in public hangings, poverty and widening income gaps. I watched poor children who were forced to sell flowers on the streets. I always pondered the solution to this mess and thought what could be done? Why should the clerics live in luxury when there are so many hungry children? Why should the clerics get away with stealing millions of dollars, while a man who steals to feed his hungry child has his fingers cut off? Why can’t the young people wear the clothes they like and listen to music of their choice? Why should a young man be thrown off of a high-rise building in Tehran for participating in a party? How long should we live like this?

I felt like someone had their foot on my throat and was pushing harder every day making it more and more difficult for me to breathe. I had just enrolled at the university, and the older I got the more aware I became of the social facts and situation and the more I felt the pressure. It became unbearable. My brain could not handle all the questions and pressures. Even though we were relatively well-off financially, I still couldn’t deal with all the shortcomings I was exposed to. I couldn’t get any pleasure from going on trips or having fun; even getting ‘A’s from my maths teacher didn’t satisfy me any longer. The world had become black and white. Even listening to my favourite music didn’t feel like it used to. I felt that I had to take action and take part in the change.

I had reached a point that I had to make a decision. I either had to continue my education with the hope of becoming an inventor or
something like that, or change the course of my life. The difference that I felt with the rest of my friends was that besides being a witness to the injustices, I knew the solution.

Finding a way to get there was not so easy. The oppression by the clerical regime had made it very difficult. A single mistake could lead to imprisonment and even execution. I tried a few different ways to contact the PMOI to no avail. Those days the Internet was not as widespread as it is today and the regime had complete control over it. It took a few months to prepare for the trip and then I set off for Syria and eventually Ashraf.’

39

Kurdistan

I believe that the task of every parliamentarian is to work for the respect of human rights and for the veneration and dignity of human life; these are core European values. This task is even more important in areas of the world in which, for one reason or another, tensions prevail over conciliation, misunderstandings over dialogue, fighting over peace.

In my role as President of the Delegation for Relations with Iraq in the European Parliament, I felt it was my duty to find the truth about what was happening in that country. This search for the truth was never intended to hamper dialogue with Iraq. On the contrary, it was meant to improve the quality of EU-Iraqi relations, especially following the ratification of the EU’s Partnership and Cooperation Agreement, which was supposed to be the catalyst to promote the birth of an inclusive, pluralistic and anti-sectarian political force in Iraq, efficiently contributing to the abolition of the system of
‘muhasasa’
, which saw the distribution of the country’s wealth and powerful governmental positions to clans, tribes, sects, faiths and other closed circles, generating jealousy, inefficiency and corruption. I had long advocated that there should be no financial assistance to Iraq until we saw signs of good governance.

I had become a strong critic of Nouri al-Maliki and his sectarian approach to government. He had turned into a dictator, even waging genocidal campaigns against the Sunni population in many Iraqi provinces. It was imperative that I investigated this deteriorating situation on the ground. With this in mind I set out once again to Iraq on 22 November 2013. The European Parliament’s security people had prohibited any visit to Baghdad, as it was deemed too dangerous. I therefore flew to Erbil in northern Iraq. Delavar Ajgeiy, the Head of the KRG Mission to the EU, met me at the new international airport. He had organised four hefty security guards and a fleet of armoured, black Toyota Landcruisers to stay with me throughout my visit. The
security guards all had ominous bulges under their jackets, where they were certainly packing pistols.

I had let it be widely known that I was coming to Iraq and had invited key political and religious leaders to travel to Erbil in Kurdistan to meet me. I met with the Kurdistan Regional Government’s President Massoud Barzani, and the Prime Minister of Kurdistan, Nechirvan Barzani. I also met leading Christian bishops, the Grand Mufti of Iraq and some members of the Iraqi Parliament, including the Chairman of the Human Rights Committee as well as leaders of the recent popular uprisings in six Sunni provinces.

I was invited to address a major conference in Erbil organised by the Chaldean Syriac Assyrian Christians. The conference debated the gradual erosion of Iraq’s ancient Christian community. The ‘Friends of Bartalla’ conference took place in Erbil on 23 November 2013. Over 850 people, including the First Lady of Iraq, Hêro Ahmed Ibrahim Talabani, attended. I was called to the main stage in the auditorium and said:

For a moment or two after I finished speaking, there was stunned silence in the room. No one in Iraq had ever heard a speech so openly critical of the Prime Minister and his government. Suddenly the auditorium erupted in applause. They liked what I had to say. They were happy at my frankness. Many people came up to me at the end of the conference, slapping me on the back and saying, ‘That was a courageous speech. It needed to be heard in Iraq.’

Later I organised meetings in my hotel suite with Sunni representatives of recent popular uprisings in Iraqi cities, some of whom had travelled great distances to meet with me. They told me that there were frequent attacks, by forces loyal to the government, on mosques in Fallujah and Mosul and parts of Baghdad and Diyala Province. There was constant harassment of the Sunnis and other groups by the Shiites. 90% of arrested people are Sunni. Mass executions are predominantly of Sunnis. Four out of ten Sunni women were raped in prison.

Fears about the inclusiveness of the upcoming 30 April elections were expressed, because apparently there was a big operation under way aimed at marginalising and discriminating against the Sunni electorate, using, among other means, incorrect police charges and files with false accusations against Sunni candidates. The underlying problem was that in all evidence al-Maliki’s government considered the participants in recent Sunni popular uprisings in Samarra, Mosul, Anbar, Fallujah, Ramadi, Diyala and Kirkuk to be al-Qaeda terrorists, which was not true. Those uprisings took place following the highly discriminatory government approach towards Sunnis and are in their essence and means radically different from the Salafist al-Qaeda, which is totally extraneous to Iraqi Sunni culture, as had been widely demonstrated by the Sunni Awakening movements during the US-led ‘surge’ in the years 2007-2008. Among other things, I was told that all Sunni mosques in Baghdad had been closed and three imams were killed on average every Friday in bomb attacks; in the previous year 400 imams were killed; six leaders of the Sunni population were killed in Mosul and also many supportive journalists were killed in the current year.

The crackdown on leading Sunni politicians by the overtly Shiia al-Maliki seemed to follow a clear pattern. Each time Maliki visited Tehran he received instructions from his puppet-masters, the Islamic Shiia Mullahs. This always involved ordering the arrest of another Sunni political leader when he returned to Baghdad. He also almost invariably initiated a brutal military assault on the 3,000 PMOI refugees held in Camp Liberty. Ominously, and clearly acting on instructions from Tehran, Maliki had also allowed the free flow of Iranian and Hezbollah military personnel and equipment through Iraq to bolster the dictatorship of Bashar al-Assad in neighbouring Syria.

I was determined to see for myself what was being done to counter Maliki’s malign influence in Iraq. I received a phone call from Sheik Dr Rafie Alrafaee, the Sunni Grand Mufti of Iraq. He said that he was driving to Erbil from Dohuk and that he would send a driver and a car to take me to a secret location on his arrival in around 90 minutes’ time. He said the location had to remain secret for his own safety. When I explained this to my Kurdish security team they were aghast. How could I go to an undisclosed address in a car with an
unknown driver? They said this breached every tenet of their security code. Nevertheless, it was important that I should meet the Grand Mufti, so I told them that I was prepared to take the risk.