Letter from Tehran’s Evin prison: ISIS decapitates, Islamic Republic hangs our heads
Arrested on 31 July 2023 in Sine (Sanandaj) by the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence, Kurdish political activist Warisha Moradi has sent a new letter from Tehran's Evin Prison, decrying torture and severe mistreatment wielded by government agents. Objecting to the inequitable judicial process she declined to attend her second court session.
Following the announcement of death sentences for socio-political activists Sharifeh Mohammadi and Pakhshan Azizi in Iran, Warisha Moradi, a member of KJAR (Free Women’s Society of Rojhilat Kurdistan), recently penned a letter from behind bars at Evin Prison, voicing support for her fellow political prisoners. Moradi contends that women in the Middle East share common wounds, so their path to liberation can be unified and collective. She believes the 21st century is pivotal for achieving fundamental changes in the structure and mentality of the nation-state, attainable through democratisation and revolution.
Warisha Moradi
Issuing unjust execution warrants for female activists Sharifah Mohammadi and Pakhshan Azizi within a single month starkly reveals the Islamic Republic of Iran’s political inefficiency and desperation. The façade of a powerful new government, alongside efforts to instil terror and impose repression on the eve of the Jin, Jiyan, Azadî (Women, Life, Freedom) revolution, is merely an illusion. In this context, I am accused of ‘Baghi’ [traitor, or rebellion against God] for the crime of being a woman, a Kurd, and desiring a free life. After a year of temporary detention, I am now awaiting the second court hearing at Branch 15 of the Islamic Revolution Court, presided over by Judge Salawati, on 4 August. However, in protest against the death sentences handed down to my comrades Sharifeh Mohammadi and Pakhshan Azizi, I will not attend the court. I refuse to legitimise a court incapable of delivering a fair verdict. I have defended myself numerous times under the most arduous conditions of interrogation and investigation. This time, however, I write this letter of defence to the people and to a society that remains vigilant, aware, and freedom-loving. I ask them to judge me and my actions according to the principles of social justice.
Living in the 21st-century Middle East, where global hegemonic forces and regional dictator nation-states strive to usurp values and cultures to reassert their dominance, means residing in a land reduced to soil and blood, witnessing daily acts of genocide. Assimilation and integration are compulsory. Living in Kurdistan means enduring a life devoid of legal, economic, political, and educational guarantees. In other words, it means facing unemployment, poverty, discrimination, detention, torture, execution, and the killing of kolbars [border traders].
The identity of human beings and the conditions in which they live are pivotal in motivating and guiding them to uncover the sources of oppression and connect with other oppressed individuals. Together, they can work towards changing their situation and finding solutions to their issues. As a Kurdish woman, I have always drawn strength from my history, culture, and identity, despite continuous pressures aimed at alienating us from our roots. My story is one of a people subjected to exploitation and discrimination under nationalist, sexist, and religious systems, facing imprisonment, torture, and execution.
This reality affects me and many others who endure unequal social, economic, political, and educational conditions. Despite these adversities, we strive to transform from being mere objects to asserting our identities, both as individuals and as a society. It is important to clarify that my statements are not driven by blind prejudice towards identity issues rooted in nationalism. Instead, they stem from an awareness of identity’s complexities. I recognize that extreme nationalism can lead to fascism. This bitter reality is one we face daily; we are treated as objects unable to express our existence, and when we do assert our social identity, we face exclusion.
Throughout my life, I have refused to be indifferent to social norms. I chose to remain in the foothills of the Zagros Mountains, where I grew up, rather than seeking a more glamorous life in the West. I have endured many wounds and have also healed many. Faced with two choices—to accept objectification and endure oppression or to seek the truth of my existence—I chose the latter. Instead of “cursing the darkness, I lit a candle”.
In my student years, I was an athlete. Pursuing knowledge and awareness led me to prioritize the common good over individual gain. I worked with associations, Non-Governmental Organisations (NGOs), and student groups dedicated to women, children, teenagers, drug victims, sports enthusiasts in deprived areas, and those who had been denied education. As a coach and supporter, I learned resistance from my students. My involvement with various groups deepened my understanding of the types and dimensions of discrimination, and I realised that the root of all forms of slavery lies in the subjugation and social status of women. This awareness motivated me to enhance my understanding and that of others, to accurately analyse the problems within families and society, and to actively seek solutions.
After some time, I became acquainted with a philosophy developed by someone who has spent 25 years in complete isolation in a single-person prison on Imrali Island, paying the price for seeking “how to live”. This philosophy does not find solutions in nationalism, hatred, or borders, but in building a democratic society, protecting marginalised identities, and fostering peaceful coexistence. It emerged from the core truths of society, revealing layers of oppression and offering an alternative vision. I chose a model of life that rejects rigid political boundaries, monolingualism, monoethnicity, monoculturalism, mono-religiousness, and a singular interpretation of history. Rather, the model represents pluralistic communities that acknowledge and embrace all differences, beliefs, and peoples.
With the knowledge I gained from this philosophy—Apoyi’s thought and philosophy—I deepened my activities and research by becoming a member of the Free Women’s Society of East Kurdistan (KJAR). In this capacity, I explored the sociological issues facing women across the Middle East and realized that women share common wounds. Thus, their paths to liberation can be aligned, and they can engage in collective actions.
The ISIS attack on Rojava (North and East Syria) provided me, on the one hand, a stark lesson on the objectives of dark forces in the Middle East, and also gave me a clearer understanding of the geopolitical dynamics and the power relations among the active political forces in the region, on the other. As a female activist, I recognised the necessity of active and multilateral participation to establish stability, peace, and democracy in the region. This realisation led me to Kobani, where ISIS forces had declared their intention to celebrate Eid al-Fitr in the city’s mosque. Their chants of Takbeer [‘Allahu Akbar’ or ‘God is greatest’] symbolised the severed heads of women and children, while our cries represented “Jin, Jiyan, Azadî”. We were fighting the soldiers of earthly gods, this time named ISIS—a force tasked with implementing a hellish plan for the Middle East and destroying the only hope for change in this war-torn region.
This terrorist force, in its regressive medieval way, sought to impose its so-called Islamic caliphate, devastating lives to establish its rule. No government stood against ISIS; in fact, the Turkish government fully supported them, opening its borders for logistical and military supplies. The coalition forces, confident in ISIS’s victory until the last moment, watched as Kobani and Shingal (Sinjar) were taken, just as they had watched the genocide in Gaza. ISIS killed thousands of Yazidi women, captured thousands more, and sold them as spoils of war.
However, amid the silence of nation-states, we witnessed a global outcry from freedom-loving people who stood in solidarity with Kobani and Shingal, joining the fight against ISIS. Consequently, hegemonic forces were compelled to don a mask of humanitarianism, presenting themselves as Jesus and the saviours of the Middle East and its people. However, they were oblivious to the fact that this mask had been removed long ago, and people had served to soothe its own pain.
The 21st century has ushered in an era of heightened societal demands and the pursuit of fundamental changes in the structure and mentality of the nation-state, achievable through democratisation and revolutionary transformations. The age of agency of the state and societal subjugation has ended. Nationalist, religious, sexist, and positivist ideologies no longer captivate societies. The era of shepherding the state and being a herd of society has ended. Rojava stands as a testament to the vitality and determination of society. Nevertheless, this achievement resulted from years of effort to raise societal awareness, particularly among women.
An ‘aware woman’ represents a conscious society, and a conscious society challenges the entrenched sanctities of capitalism. Such an understanding involves embracing the people’s collective will to achieve peace and find solutions through active engagement in social, economic, educational, and political spheres. At this juncture, I gained a deeper understanding of women’s role in life and their connection to freedom. My involvement in the struggle against ISIS coincided with the intense efforts to capture Kobani. When a human shield was formed on the Turkish-Syrian border, I was among the thousands driven by my identity as a child of the Middle East. After sustaining injuries, I could no longer participate in the fighting and returned to (Rojhilat) East Kurdistan and KJAR to continue my efforts in education, research, and social activism field. This period of my struggle vis-a-vis ISIS led to my inclusion on the Turkish Intelligence Service (MIT) assassination list, making my presence in Rojava or the Kurdistan Region (KRI) a significant threat to the Turkish government.
In recent years in KJAR, my work in the sociology of women and my study of the unwritten history of women in Iran’s political geography have focused on uncovering traces of a matriarchal society. I sought answers to why, in a region once revered for its goddesses, the rates of female suicide and murder have reached alarming levels.
On 31 July 2023, I was detained by Iranian intelligence agents on the Sine-Kameran (Sanandaj-Kamiaran) road, in the road traffic police station. During the arrest, they fired shots, smashed car windows, and subjected me to physical assault and torture. This included psychological warfare, interrogation in solitary confinement (torture), and ensuring their actions went unrecorded by keeping me away from cameras. I endured humiliation in front of a camera intended to break my spirit. The 13 days I spent in Sine (Sanandaj) intelligence facilities were marked by intense pressure, including being called a barbarian and accused of having lost my femininity. They interrogated me about why I wasn’t crying, the last time I cried, and whether I had recently enjoyed simple pleasures like smelling a flower. Then I was transferred to Ward 209 of Evin Prison, where I was held for four and a half months under severe pressure during interrogations. This included white torture, contradictory and deceptive scenarios, threats of character assassination, forced confessions, and more. I suffered from severe headaches, constant bleeding from my nose, and worsening neck and back pains as a result of my time in solitary confinement. In other words, the Iranian Intelligence Ministries subjected me to the same treatment that Turkish intelligence forces might have imposed.
On 9 April 2024, I was moved to Evin Women’s Ward. Finally, on April 21, 2024, I faced charges of “membership in opposition groups” and “Baghi” in Branch 15 of the Tehran Islamic Revolution Court. The fundamental question remains: “Why is the fight against a terrorist group like ISIS equated with a war against the Islamic Republic of Iran?!” So, how does the Islamic Republic’s claim of fighting ISIS fit into history? ISIS decapitates us, and the Islamic Republic of Iran hangs our heads. No political or legal knowledge can resolve this paradox. Then, we must stay vigilant.
During a year of temporary detention, I was allowed to visit my family for only three and a half months. The rest of the time was spent either in solitary confinement or, as now, in the women’s ward under, albeit, in solitary conditions. After ten months of detention in Evin Prison, between the 14 and 16 May without considering my background, I was labeled a terrorist, equated to ISIS. I was told that I should have gone to Syria as a defender of the shrine by the [Iranian] government. According to these definitions, then, everyone who fought against ISIS out of humanitarian duty must be considered a terrorist.
In the last three months, they attempted to add new charges against me while subjecting me to absurd and illusory claims, inductive interrogations, humiliation, threats of execution, incitement, and pressure to force a confession. Now, nearly three months have passed since the most recent interrogations, and neither my lawyers nor I have had the right to review the case or meet with each other. I am still enduring a ban on contact and meetings.
Reflecting on my past choices, I stand resolute in my actions. I have never harmed anyone or their property; my sole ‘crime’ is my commitment to societal responsibility. I will persist in my fight against ISIS in Kobani and against all forms of oppression faced by women, from Kurdistan to Baluchistan and Iran to Afghanistan, until the ideals of Jin, Jiyan, Azadî are realised.
In conclusion, I affirm that over the past year, nothing has caused me to doubt my commitment to fulfilling my human duties to society, especially women, and nothing ever will. As a Kurdish woman living in the Middle East, I have lived not for myself but for the social freedom of the region’s residents. As a Kurdish woman in the Middle East, I have lived not for myself but for the social freedom of the region’s people. A life truly worth living must be rich in meaning and freedom; otherwise, it is not worth living at all.
Warishe Moradi
Evin Prison- Women’s ward
August, 2024
