Ruzbeh Saadati – 2 August 2013
On the recent hunger strike of Azerbaijani activists
The Shah said: “By refusing food and water, he has chosen death—this may disgrace me, for it is a custom—an old and foolish one—that if a man is wronged, or believes he has been wronged, and starves himself to death at the threshold of the oppressor’s house, the people will cry out in rage at that threshold for eternity—even if that threshold belongs to a king.”
— From the play “At the Hawk’s Well” by W.B. Yeats
"Maybe it’s in the prison library. We rarely see it during the prison system exams.”
This was the response I heard from the well-known guard of the ward, Mr. […], one night at Tabriz Prison during an inspection, when I asked him for a copy of the prison regulations—which by law, must be given to every inmate. I had read the regulations before. It wasn’t voluminous and didn’t need rereading. What mattered to me was to spark awareness in the minds of the inmates held in that ward: that the treatment they were receiving was illegal and that, according to the regulations, they had the right to protest it.
More surprising than the guard’s answer was the judgment of some inmates the next day in their bunks, who considered my request for the regulations as a sign of my inexperience. Prisoners unaware of their most basic rights. And more surprising than all of them was a (semi-political) prisoner in isolation—someone who sought every opportunity to publicize the shortcomings of the prison—who, regarding the regulations, was as indifferent as the rest!
Sometimes we are merely passive reporters—reporters unaware of the essence of our own reports—and an audience overwhelmed in a sea of media and shifting narratives. Our audience is faced daily with news of arrests, protests, hunger strikes, etc., but rarely learns about their causes. In the best-case scenario, they might know the prisoner’s name and arrest date.
They don’t know they have the right to education in their mother tongue, and that no one can be punished merely for holding an opinion. They’re unaware of gender discrimination, and they don’t know that every accused person has the right to a fair trial. They don't know there’s a third option—and that "choosing between the lesser of two evils is immoral."**
And so on...
Without demands, nothing will change. And without education, no demands will be formed.
Sometimes we are merely reporters—education is the only missing piece in this puzzle.
Some time ago, Fardin Moradpour went on a hunger strike to protest the authorities’ refusal to count several months he had already served in prison. I was familiar with the details of his case. There was no other way—he had to strike. When he called me, after the usual greetings, I told him perhaps the hardest sentence one could ever say:
“Do not, under any circumstances, end your hunger strike. Otherwise, the treatment you receive will be even worse than before.”
Eighteen days of hunger strike in exchange for ten uncounted months.
Perhaps if I had spoken to him before the strike, I would’ve dissuaded him!
And today, for over twenty days, five Azerbaijani activists have been on hunger strike to protest a nine-year prison sentence and the process of their trial.
They are demanding their fundamental rights.
Some organizations have echoed the hunger strike—and perhaps it is we, inadvertently, who are learning through this process.
Learning that it is possible to stand up and demand.
Other institutions have remained silent—perhaps thinking they’ve merely “boycotted the ethnic issue.”
This silence, whether intentional or not, is not just about the national demands of Azerbaijanis—it is a mockery of citizens’ rights, the right to a fair trial, and a barrier to educating people about their rights.
Today, for over twenty days, five Azerbaijani activists have been on hunger strike to protest a nine-year prison sentence and the trial process.
A hunger strike that says: these verdicts and their issuing bodies are untrustworthy.
Twenty days of hunger strike is not a small matter.
And in my imagination, I await a phone call from Rajaei Shahr prison and the sentence I will say to them:
"Continue your hunger strike."
And the response I will hear from them may well be as weighty as a poem by Shamlu:
Never have I feared death,
Though its hands were more fragile than banality itself.
My only fear—indeed—has been to die in a land
Where the gravedigger’s wage
Exceeds the worth of a man’s freedom.
* The title is borrowed from the book "The Last Bastion of Freedom," a collection of articles by Mir Jafar Pishevari
** This line is borrowed from the title of a piece by Hannah Arendt
آخرین سنگر آزادی*
Original Persian Article:
https://web.archive.org/web/20140731044739/http://ruzbeh-s.blogfa.com/post-23.aspx