Friday, 9 July 2010
Recently, I called the Tehran Prosecutor’s Office to follow up a letter I had written to the Prosecutor, asking for personal meetings with my husband. You may know that I need the Prosecutor’s permission to meet Bahman for twenty minutes, after such a long time.
Twice so far I have visited the Tehran Prosecutor’s Office, in downtown Tehran and very far away from our house, and have filled the application form for personal meeting. But I’ve heard nothing from them.
Here, I don’t want to discuss the point that my husband and I have the legal right to meet each other and the Prosecutor has repeatedly announced that face-to-face meetings are being held. All I’d like to do is to share with you the details of a phone conversation I had with an official at the Prosecutor’s Office, without any comments.
• Hello? Tehran Prosecutor’s Office?
• Wad d’you wan’?
• Excuse me, but have I dialed the right number? Is that the Prosecutor’s Office?
• I said wad d’you wan’?
• Excuse me, I’d like to find out the reply to my letter about having face-to-face meetings with my husband.
• Why did you ask if this was the Prosecutor’s Office, instead of asking your question?
• Well, how could I know if this was or was not the Prosecutor’s Office? I apologize. But what is the reply to my letter, anyway?
• It was rejected.
• How do you know it was rejected? You did not even ask me for the prisoner’s name.
• Well, tell me now. What’s his name?
• Bahman Ahmadi-Amlouee.
• It’s been rejected.
• Do you have a letter saying this?
• Hey, lady, I don’t have time for this.
• And he put the phone down.
Those were the days. Until a few months ago, there was lady called Bordbar (meaning ‘patient’ in Persian) at the Tehran Prosecutor’s Office who would take our phone calls. As she herself would put it, even if there was nothing she could do for us, at least she could answer the phone calls from the prisoners’ families in a good tone and with good humor. Those were the days!