A letter to Hassan Asadi Zeidabadi from his wife Atefeh

Persian2English - About Hassan Asadi Zeidabadi: He is a political and human rights activist. He was born on April 27, 1984. He graduated from Allameh Tabatabai University, and is a member of the central committee of Tahkim-e Vahdat Alumni Student Association as well as the founder and the secretary of the Human Rights Committee of the Tahkim-e Vahdat alumni group.
A letter to Hassan Asadi Zeidabadi from his wife Atefeh for the occasion of his 28th birthday

Translation by Siavosh Jalili | I don’t know what led you to ask me to sing for you. I leaned my head against the dirty two-layer glass window of the prison’s visitation room and whispered with fear: “Oh *morning bird, sing again! Revive my heart’s burning pain!” The lump in my throat stopped me from continuing. I was silent trying to hold back tears. You looked at me with kindness, and my heart sank. I said, “It seems our love is taller than the glass and bars that separate us.” You nodded, and we let out a bitter laughter.

***
Last night your mother told me the story of how your name was chosen. You were born on the anniversary of the day when Prophet Mohammad was selected by God. They were planning to name you Mohammad, but that day the body of a fallen soldier in the Iraq-Iran war was brought home. His name was Hassan, and his mother, while crying and wailing on the torn body of his son, asked your mother to name you Hassan so you may bear the name of her fallen son…

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The child of spring

I remember in 2009 when I saw you after you were in solitary confinement for two weeks. Your mother was unable to come [with me because of her illness]. You told me, “Tell my mother that I am motivated to step in the path of truth and freedom, just like Hassan.” I delivered the message to your mother. Tears overwhelmed her, but I could hear her whispering, “May God protect you and be your guardian.” A few nights later, she dreamed about martyr Hassan’s mother…
My love

Our fate is such that the judicial and security systems have concentrated all their efforts [on an act that is not part of their duty:] to test the limits of our patience and tolerance. They say, “Eve though [Hassan Asadi Zeidabadi] was issued a five-year prison sentence, we will not release him or grant him furlough. He will also not be allowed in-person prison visits or to make phone calls.” Why? For what reason? Based on which written domestic law, and based on which unwritten law of humanity and conscience [is he deprived of his rights]? They have no reply. They just want to test our patience.

But, it does not matter. The harder their tests become, the higher our scores will be. There will be the day of Judgment, when God shall judge all. We are looking forward to that inevitable day.
Dear Hassan,

For nearly two years I have been visiting you for 20 minutes, and sometimes five minutes more, every week. I think the prison’s weekly visitation hall is the most vulnerable place in the world for our meetings. Yet, every week, you, I, and dozens like us impatiently look forward to be present in this vulnerable place. We touch the glass, we talk and chat into the handset. The last scene is the falling curtain that cuts off our contact, and we are left cursing it! The end of the story is that we watch on as our loved ones are returned to their prison cells. We bear a thousand unsaid words in our hearts. This is our weekly story. It does not get old, it does not become regular, and we do not get used to it. It is the story of lives locked up in a time and space.
My husband,

I wish you were here so I could hold your hand and give you a flower as a token of appreciation for all your goodness and companionship. However, this is the second consecutive year that you are in a small room in ward 350 of Evin prison, and I am in a house that awaits your presence impatiently. I turn to the sky and pray to God that you remain **Green and on the blessed course of freedom that you have chosen. I am proud of you from here, far from you, close to your home and family.

Happy Birthday!

Your wife, Atefeh
April 27, 2012

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*Morgh-e Sahar, or “morning bird” or the “bird of dawn”, is the title of a song by Bahar, an Iranian poet. The theme of the song is struggling for freedom, struggling against tyranny.

**Refers to the Green Movement.