The 359th Night of Memory – 1
Compiled by: Leila Rostami
Translated by: Fazel Shirzad
2024-11-12
Note: The 359th Night of Memory program was held on July 25 of 2024 in the Surah Hall of the Islamic Revolution Art Center with the narration of the freedmen of the Islamic Republic of Iran Army under the title of "Closed Door Period". In this program, Amirs Mahmoud Najafi, Hossein Yasini and Amir Brigadier Ahmed Dadbin shared their memories. Dawood Salehi was in charge of performing this night of memory.
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The narrator of the first night of memory captive and veteran Mahmoud Najafi was born on August 19, 1960 in Borujerd. The host of the program introduced him as follows: his childhood was playful, but studious. One day, his teacher hits himself and says: "I don't know what to do with you!" You are both mischievous and playful and a student!" When he gets married, he says to his wife: "Remember, you are marrying a man who may be martyred, soldier, or captured at any moment." The same thing happens. He was captured in one of Iraq's attacks on Iran and spent 27 months in the Tikrit camp.
The narrator told his memories in two parts; bitter and sweet. At the beginning, he said: When I was captured, I was 1st lieutenant, a 26-year-old youth and the head of a mechanized infantry battalion. The organizational statistics of the mechanized infantry battalion is 1200 people. When I was captured, I had 112 Iraqi prisoners.
In general, the comrades of our camp were independent, patriotic and faithful, who did not obey any force. However, Iraq had gone among the captives and found weak-minded people to be its henchmen. Iraqis no longer beat comrades themselves. If they were to put someone in his place, they would use the same person. I only say his first name! That Mr. Cyrus, despite his arms, thick neck and athletic body, was very weak-minded. He reported regularly.
Once he was assigned to hit some comrades with a broken glass bottle. Mohammad Muchani, Isa Mirzaei, Mohammad Faghani and I had taken food and were coming. Cyrus suddenly started beating the comrades. He attacked Isa. Even though Isa gave sidestep, he hit Isa's face. He beat Mohammad Muchani and Akbar Salimi. He came towards me to hit me. They used to call our food dishes Qsweh. I hit him with Qsweh. He ran away and went to the Iraqis. The Iraqis took him to them. Some of the comrades started a artificial fight to go to Cyrus's solitary confinement and make him feel better.
Because all the comrades were young, the atmosphere of the camp was heavy. Almost the majority of us were from 20 to 26 years old, who were senior officers. Mr. Alamdari and many dear ones present in the crowd were our senior officers. Since 1983, Iraq had captured the personnel of the air force, sea force, land force and gendarmerie and kept them in different corners. He brought some of them to al-Rashid prison, which is the Dezhban center in Iraq where political prisoners were also kept. We were all gathered together. For example, they brought me from Basra. Some of them were gathered from Baquba, that is, all the prisoners of the north, middle and south fronts for a while in Al-Rashid barracks. After that, they took us to Tikrit camp. Hasan Brushak was sitting next to me and was jokingly reciting poetry:
Karbala, Karbala, they are taking us
We don't want to come, they are taking us by force
Our comrades cleaned the toilets, they did the electricity of the camp, but Iraq made the barbed wire rings of the camp wider day by day. So that gradually the other side of the barbed wire could not be seen. Because they knew that it was enough for the Iranian officer to leave the camp and reach Iran by any means possible. Because they were officers who had touched the front and war with their flesh and blood and were excellent in reading maps. They knew that this would happen if they put their foot out.
The narrator continued his words and said: It was a difficult time. Sometimes we liked it. Hajji Heydari who recited the Qur'an is reading the Qur'an for us. We would lighten up when he read sinfully. There was a person named "Ahmad Mohammadreza Javad" who was among the guards of the camp. He was originally from Iran, but he did not dare to show it. One day, I was sitting at the end of Nursing Home 6 and humming the call to prayer when Ahmed Mohammadreza Javad came and said: "Mahmoud Sotak, You call the call to prayer very sad!" I said: "Syed Ahmed, I don't know if you fully understand my words or not!" But we are in the throes of youth, we are far from our wife and comrades, in a country where it is never known whether we will survive or not!"
The narrator added: Dr. Shahab Vahidian used to treat many comrades with basic tools. For example, my stomach was having problems, I said: "Shahab, I am very upset." Mr. Dr. Vahidian pounded some coal and poured it into a glass with water and said: "Eat it and you will be fine." It reduces gas and acid in your stomach." In captivity, he and two other dear ones taught us human physiology.
We were just captured. They asked: "Who is the hairdresser?" We saw that no one raised his hand. I took a look and saw all these heads, I am also unemployed. I said: "I am a hairdresser." The Iraqi official said: "Did you do makeup?" I said: "Yes; how am I...!" No one was willing to sit on chair for making up, except Mr. Nasrallahi. Mr. Nasrallahi also has curly hair. Curling hair is not for everyone, it's up to the master. We hit the hair of this. He looked at himself in the mirror and said: "You made this look for me!" I said: "Sit down, Habibjan!" Sit down! I will fix it now." I resorted to a razor and cut Haj Habib's hair with it. Gradually, our customers increased and I became a hairdresser with a comb and a pair of scissors. Then Mr. Yazdani came to help us and we were brushing the children's hair.
He went on to say: Ahmed Sareq al-Hajr was one of the Iraqi security guards who came unscrupulous whenever he wanted to go on leave and said: "I want to search and inspect all the nursing homes today." Whatever the comrades had worked hard and made something with stones or needlework or any other work, he would take these to his family. One day, Mr. Nagarestani came and said to me in a Shirazi accent: "Mahmoud!" I said: "My dear!" He said: "This is Ahmad, the thief of al-Hajro!" I said: "Well," he said: "He wants to go to propose." He told this Mahmoud to stroke my hair. I said: "I will not, Colonel!" He said: "Why?!" I said: "Nothing! They are talking behind my back, they say Mahmoud has been appointed by the Iraqis, I will not be under pressure." I said: "Take Yazdani." He said: "Public! He will make it worse, they will destroy our father." I said, "I won't." In short, Izaar is from him, Abram is from me. Finally, I said on one condition. He said: "What condition?!" I said: "Come in front of the children and tell me to go cut his hair." The Iraqis wanted him to cut his hair on this leave." accepted when this happened, I said to Kambiz: "Kambiz! I will make it impossible to propose at all." I sat him down and took the mirror from his hand. I started hitting around his ear. Taking the mirror, he began cursing in Arabic. I said: "Ahmed! You have become beautiful." Sir, I took the razor! Cramp! Cramp! I threw a razor on his head. The children laughed a lot when they saw him. Ahmed would look at me and beat me, I would look at his head and laugh more. This made the children feel a little better.
At the end of the memoirs of the captivity, the narrator said: It was March 15, 1989. At night, a number of buses entered the camp. Ahmed Baqerpasand said: "Guys, a bus came, we were freed and..." We all went behind the window and saw how many buses had come. The Iraqis opened the doors of sanatoriums 1, 2, 3 and 4, but not our sanatorium! They said to the captives: "Be ready. Tomorrow you want to go to Karbala." A strange fallout fell between the children! It means it is possible! It means such a move! On March 25th, they took the children to visit the holy shrines. Now Ahmad Heydari was so scared to leave, he didn't see the rope, he went headfirst into the rope and his eyebrow was torn from above. We were waiting for the kids to come back to ask them what happened! They turned and talked. We were no longer in our mood until it was our turn on March 27th. All of us had hidden something under our clothes to bless it. I had learned a poem by Haj Ahmed Heydari:
If the enemy did not slap the Prophet's daughter,
No one would step on the rights of the Prophet's family
Think about it; broken hearted, wounded, lonely, I look at the shrine of Imam Ali (pbuh) and read this poem crying and say to Imam Ali: "O Ali! I named my son "Ali" because of your love. "I don't want there to be such a separation between me and my son, between me and my family or other children." The chief of our camp was a captain named "Moneem Jabar". His father served in the Iraqi consulate in Shiraz and grew up there. He spoke Persian like us, but he didn't bring it to himself. The Iraqis surrounded me. I turned back for a moment and saw that Maneem Jabar was in tears. He pointed to the guards not to have anything to do with me.
When we were discharged from the presence of Imam Ali we went to Karbala. Karbala and Bin al-Haramin that you see now was not like that. When we left, the walls were worn and dirty. I saw a little girl who had not gone to the bathroom for maybe a month. She had messy hair and casual clothes. We were very heartbroken. Those images were so heavy for us that we forgot our own captivity. After visiting Agha Aba Abdullah, we went to visit Shrine of Abolfazl Abbas, Qamar Bani Hashim. This courtyard of his shrine was so pleasant and attractive for us that we did not cry. Not even one of the comrades cried in Mr. Abolfazl's Shrine. Then they told us that you are a guest. Think about it, it had been a long time since we had been properly fed. When we went there, we saw that Khan Barkat is widespread. I told the kids: "Don't overdo it, guys. Our stomachs are packed, if you want to overdo it, we will get sick and we will become poor if there is no medicine. In your place, we made a pleasant pilgrimage and so to speak, we were able to strengthen our spirit for the rest of the captives.
The narrator also told a short memory of his release from captivity: I entered Iran and went to Borujerd. Many people came to welcome. When I was captured, my son Ali was very small. That day, my son, now grown up, his eyes full of sadness and a bouquet of flowers in his hands, came forward and said: "sir Mahmoud! Welcome."
To be continued...
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