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For a summary of Augustine’s story, you can read our feature article here.

Introduction

1. My name is Soheil Zargarzadeh Sani, but I am known as Augustine. I am an only child and I was born in Orumiyeh [northwest Iran] in 1990 into a Muslim family that was relatively well-off. My family was religiously liberal but still marked Islamic holidays and ceremonies. But I don’t have any bad memories of my parents forcing me to follow the rules of Islam. Also, because I attended a private school, there was no religious coercion from the school. My mother introduced me to Rumi’s poems and Sufi beliefs since childhood and I was always eager to know God, but I can’t say what my concept of God was at that time.

2. The family environment in which I grew up was full of tension. My parents had disagreements and I found myself confronted by questions about the meaning of life and why I came to be.

3. One of the unjust laws of the Islamic Republic regarding child custody is to entrust the guardianship of children older than seven years to the father of the family. My mother always faced this threat from my father that he’d take her child from her. Finally, when I was 16 years old, she consulted a lawyer, and, at the peak of her anger and sadness, we left my father’s house and went to my grandmother’s. In response, my father denied us financial support.

Conversion to Christianity

4. One day the following year, while watching satellite TV my mother happened upon a Persian-speaking Christian channel. She had heard many times in Arabic, “Bismillah al-Rahman al-Rahim“, which means, “In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful”, but hearing the phrase “God is love” from the pastor who spoke was new to her and she became curious to research what this meant.

5. My mother has two close friends with whom she grew up, and these friends had become Christians, though my mother didn’t know. And around that time one of them invited us to participate in a Christmas party, and also gave us a Bible and a biographical film of Jesus, which I enjoyed watching. My mother’s friends talked about Christ and God’s love, and asked her to forgive my father.

6. But my mother didn’t want to forgive and instead hired a lawyer to divorce my father and obtain her dowry [money paid by a husband’s family to his wife’s in an Islamic marriage]. As a result, all my father’s bank accounts were frozen. But in my father’s family the concept of divorce was not looked upon favourably, and for this reason he sent a mediator to dissuade my mother from going through with it. She considered the matter and felt pity for my father, and although I was against it, we returned to my father’s house. My father was still the same – he hadn’t changed at all – but my mother had changed. She was confused, but thirsty to discover the truth, and considered the words of different people with different beliefs.

7. She didn’t show any desire to become a Christian, but my mother was very interested in poetry and mysticism. And one day, in the same state of confusion, she called her Christian friend and asked her to bring her a poetic Christian prayer, and her friend instructed her to look in the Bible and read from the Book of Psalms. Then, by studying the Bible, my mother witnessed some miraculous things that finally led her to become a Christian in August 2008.

8. I wasn’t happy when I found out about my mother’s conversion to Christianity. I wasn’t someone who constantly prayed Islamic prayers or fasted, but I was still a believer in Islam. But my mother continued to watch Christian TV and to take notes from the sermons, and I secretly read her Christian pamphlets. A year passed like this, until I came to the conclusion that “I’ll also try this way of Christianity”. I didn’t experience any miracle; I just came to this conclusion by studying the Bible.

9. At that time, an Assyrian Pentecostal Church, known as Bahar [Spring] Church, was active in Orumiyeh. The church was under the supervision of Reverend Victor Bet-Tamraz and was led by Reverend Robert Savora. But the pressure on churches was intensifying at that time and we [converts] were not allowed to enter. For this reason, we met at Pastor Robert’s house instead and I became a Christian on 22 June 2009.

10. Just five months later, the Bahar Church was forcibly closed, and six months after that Pastor Robert left Iran and emigrated to America. Despite this, after the forced closure of the church, we continued our Christian fellowship in our homes.

11. In 2010, my mother travelled to Tehran with my grandmother, who needed heart surgery, and while they were there my mother went to the Jannat Abad Assemblies of God [AoG] Church with a lady who had been a member of the Assyrian church in Orumiyeh and with whom she had become friends. The services of the Jannat Abad church were held in the Persian language and my mother, who was participating in such a church service for the first time, enjoyed meeting other Christians, participating in the church service and worship, and was impressed.

12. On the day of my grandmother’s heart surgery, I went to Tehran to support my mother, and she talked to me about the church and we set a date to go there together. In the church, we met the leader, Reverend Robert Gogtapeh. Meanwhile, I was looking for more Christian books to read, and the Assyrian lady who had taken my mother to the church gave me the address of the Central AoG Church bookstore, and in that church we got to know a third reverend named Robert: Robert Asseriyan.

13. I told Rev Asseriyan about my interest in studying Christian theology, and he suggested many books for me to read, which I purchased from the church bookstore. Then, with great excitement and enthusiasm, I began to study Christianity seriously and my mother and I became members of the Central AoG Church. For the next three years, from our home in Orumiyeh, I enrolled in a series of theology courses, which I studied at a distance. From 2010 to 2013, I went to Tehran once a month to participate in the Eucharist, and on the same day I took exams in the lessons I had studied.

14. Although I had problems in my relationship with my father, which led to our estrangement – my parents finally divorced in 2013 – I formed a close relationship with one of the pastors at the church, Reverend Sourik Sarkisian, and he became like a father to me. I learned paternal love from him, and I learned how to seriously study theology from Rev Robert [Asseriyan]. I owe the growth of my faith to the leaders of the AoG church. Each of them had a significant impact on my faith development.

Central AoG Church closure and acquaintance with Catholicism

15. One day, Rev Asseriyan told us that the Ministry of Intelligence had demanded that the official members of the church provide their names and national ID cards to be registered, and that if anyone wasn’t willing to show their ID card, they wouldn’t be allowed to enter the building or attend the worship services of the church. Rev Asseriyan left the decision to us, warning us that if we chose to give our information, it would be possible for the Ministry of Intelligence to identify and monitor us.

16. In those days, I watched the movie “A Cry from Iran” – about the Iranian Christian heroes and reverends who were martyred – 30 times, and I felt proud. Considering their valuable service and courage, my mother and I decided to submit our ID cards, even though we knew the potential hardships and dangers that awaited us on the path we had chosen.

17. Finally, in 2013, the Ministry of Intelligence closed the church, and after some time we learned that Rev Asseriyan had been arrested. So after these incidents, we were no longer able to go to our church.

18. That same year, I decided to change majors. I had been studying petroleum engineering at Shiraz University, but because I was interested in the field of humanities, and especially psychology, I wanted to serve through this field and study psychology, and I transferred from Shiraz University to Orumiyeh Azad University and returned to Orumiyeh. In addition to psychology, I started reading up on sociology, political science and philosophy, and tried to strengthen my broader understanding of the social sciences. I was constantly studying and, with every topic I read, I felt the need to study more in another field.

19. One day in 2013 I was watching the programme “Hamrah ba Shoma” [Together with You] on the SAT-7 PARS channel, on which a Persian-speaking Catholic priest was discussing the topic of “Tradition, Culture and Christianity”. When I heard about the history and tradition of the Church, I decided to research the Catholic Church, and bought a series of books on the subject and read them carefully. The books that I read had been written and published by the Islamic Republic and were therefore oppositional, but, nevertheless, over time my knowledge about Catholics deepened.

20. I even travelled to Vank Church in Isfahan because, as an Orthodox church, it seemed closer to the Catholic tradition, which I greatly desired to research. There, I asked for answers to my questions and, at first, they told me: “You should go to the AoG church.” But after I explained to them that the AoG church had been closed, finally I was able to meet with the priest of the church and he answered my questions patiently, and took me to his house and prayed for me. He also told me: “You’re very hot-headed and need to be careful!” Sometimes I also called the SAT-7 PARS channel and asked my questions to the Catholic priest who sometimes had a programme on the channel.

21. Since 2015 I have been active in posting about the Catholic tradition online, my goal being to correct the misunderstandings and misconceptions that Christians and non-Christians have about Catholic beliefs.

22. The city of Orumiyeh is small and I was also not so knowledgeable at that time, so I thought I was the first convert in Iran to become Catholic, but I was wrong, as I soon discovered after increasing my activity on Instagram in introducing Catholic beliefs. Many people were eager to listen, and for this reason I set up a Telegram channel and made them members of the group. Then, through this channel, I met a Catholic priest who had been born in a Muslim family and had lived in Turkey for many years. His name was Father John, and I asked him my questions and gradually found the spirituality I longed for in Catholic Christianity.

23. In one of the programmes of SAT-7 PARS, I met the late Pastor Arman Roshdi [another renowned Iranian Christian teacher] and communicated with him via WhatsApp. I was planning to be baptised, but in Iran churches had been closed by the Ministry of Intelligence and the church in Orumiyeh also didn’t let me in. Pastor Roshdi talked about me to Father Amlo, the founder of the John the Apostle Centre [in Tehran], and arrangements were made with Father John in Istanbul, and finally permission was granted for my baptism. My mother and I were finally baptised at St Esprit Cathedral [in Istanbul] on 5 August 2016. The ceremony was conducted in Persian, and since we intended to return to Iran and weren’t thinking of emigrating, it was held privately.

Arrest

24. Six months after our baptism and return to Iran, on 19 February 2017, at 7.30am, our doorbell rang. I thought it was the guard for our apartment block, so when I opened the door I was surprised to see about five men dressed in black. They were IRGC [Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps] intelligence agents, wearing helmets with cameras fixed onto them, and masks on their faces, and they stormed into our home. They weren’t armed, but they had walkie-talkies, and one of them held a camera in his hand and was filming everything. Meanwhile, they had posted agents everywhere – in the caretaker’s quarters, the lift, and even the emergency staircase – to make sure we couldn’t escape. I was very scared.

25. I asked them to show me the court order allowing them to enter our apartment, and one of them quickly waved a piece of paper in front of my face, such that I couldn’t read it. My mother was also at home, and they asked her to put on her hijab. Then they told us that they were going to arrest us, but they didn’t mention any charges, so we didn’t realise that they were arresting us because of our Christian beliefs and activities.

26. For about an hour, they searched the whole apartment and completely ransacked our home. I had several Bibles with different translations, which I had used in my theological research, and they took every one. I also had some 3,000 books in my library, and one of the agents called out to a colleague: “Haji, this guy has a massive library in his room! We can’t take everything; we’d need a pickup truck!” Haji told him just to take some of the books and not all of them.

27. My mother had several copies of Luke’s Gospel at home, which she gave as gifts to those who were interested, and the agents found them and took them. They confiscated and took away all our Bibles, Christian and non-Christian books in fields such as psychology, sociology, history, etc., as well as our mobile phones, tablet, laptop, and flash drives. They also found our baptism certificates and in that way discovered that we had been baptised.

28. Then the agents asked my mother and me to get ready to go with them, and we prepared ourselves calmly. I put on my ring, bracelet, and glasses, and thought we would just have to sign a commitment [regarding having no further Christian contacts] and then be released by the end of the day or the next morning, then allowed to return home, because I had heard from some Christians before that when the Ministry of Intelligence arrests someone for the first time, they don’t do anything special with them; just demand a commitment and release them. They put us in a [Citroën] Xantia, and when we reached Daneshkadeh Street, they blindfolded us inside the car and drove us to an unknown location around 30-60 minutes away.

IRGC detention centre

29. At the detention centre, they wrote a list of the items they had confiscated, and asked us to sign it and inform our families that we were being detained. We signed the document but refused to contact our families because my grandmother was sick and I didn’t want my father to know. When we had been arrested, only the apartment security guard had witnessed the incident. That same night, my friends had come and asked him about me, and he had told them about the arrest.

30. We were given prison clothes to wear, and then they gave us numbered plates to hold as they took our mugshots. A doctor examined me and asked me whether I suffered from any illnesses or took medication, and I told him about my migraines and stomach problems from the stress of my final semester at university. Then, blindfolded, I was taken to a cell, in which there was a young man who had been imprisoned for his membership in ISIS. Later, another detainee who was accused of smuggling bananas through customs was brought to the cell, and so there were three of us in that one cell.

31. The cell was very small and windowless. The walls had been plastered in white and a light was always on, 24 hours a day. There was a toilet, but no shower, detergent or mirror. We only had a jug that we could fill up from the tap to wash ourselves. The toilet was separated from the rest of the cell by a short wall, but it had no door, so when one of us went, the others turned their backs so we wouldn’t feel embarrassed. If we wanted to wash fruit or soften stale bread, we used the same tap. The conditions of the cell were in themselves a form of psychological torture. No sounds from the outside world could be heard in that place, and prisoners who had problems or needed help would have to knock on their cell door for an hour or two until a guard would finally come to answer them. We could only tell that the time was passing by the sound of the call to prayer and the meals we were given. But the quality of the food was very poor, so I barely ate; only the breakfast and boiled potatoes were palatable.

32. We had 10 to 15 minutes of fresh-air time a day, when they would take us, blindfolded, to a “fresh-air room”, then take off our blindfolds. The room had a mesh ceiling, and this was our “fresh-air” space.

Interrogations

33. When they took me to a room for an interrogation, they made me sit on a chair in front of a wall, with my back to a table. During the interrogations I was blindfolded and had two interrogators who were behind me, so I couldn’t see them. I was allowed to lift the blindfold a little to write, but I wasn’t allowed to turn my head to the left or to the right, or to turn around.

34. First, they wanted me to write down the passwords for all my electronic devices; I had to write them all down. Then they asked me to write down my alias and religion. I didn’t have an alias, but I wrote down the name I had chosen for myself at my baptism, “Augustine”, and in the religion section I wrote “Catholic”. One of the interrogators was taken aback. Most of the people they had arrested were Protestants, and they thought they had arrested another one and a member of the Assemblies of God church. “Catholic!” the interrogator said. “Is there even such a thing as a person who was Muslim becoming Catholic!” I replied: “Yes.” The interrogator responded: “We arrested you based on a complaint that was filed against you.”

35. Then, after checking the contents of my phone for about an hour, they started interrogating me. They used the good-cop, bad-cop technique: one of the interrogators was harsh and the other was kind. The bad interrogator insulted and threatened me loudly, and the good interrogator kept asking me if I was OK or needed anything, and saying things like: “You shouldn’t worry; we don’t have anything like torture here.”

36. I later found out that my mother had told her interrogator: “Please don’t torture my son”, and that the interrogator had replied: “Don’t worry, we won’t torture him.” But they put a lot of psychological pressure on me, torturing me mentally, and this type of torture is much worse than physical torture because, after a while, the pain of physical torture stops, but not the pain of psychological torture.

37. They said they had a lot of information about me, but I discovered later that the only information they had was what they had found out by interrogating my mother. They were constantly asking me when and how I had become a Christian, so they could compare it with my mother’s answers.

38. On the second day of my detention, they came to the cell and said to me: “Get ready, you have to go.” I thought to myself that they were probably taking me with them and releasing me somewhere. They put me in a car, still in my prison clothes, blindfolded and handcuffed. Then, about halfway through the journey, which lasted around half an hour, when the car was on the main street, they took off my blindfold. When I saw the street we were on, I realised that we were close to Orumiyeh Central Prison. I thought they were going to take me to court, but instead the car drove into the prison yard. I was scared, because I had never been to such a place before and it was only then that I overheard that my initial place of detention had belonged to the intelligence branch of the IRGC.

39. Because the IRGC intelligence detention centre didn’t have a section for women, my mother had been interrogated there during the day and taken to the quarantine section [where prisoners are held before being transferred or released] of the women’s ward of Orumiyeh Central Prison at night. She told me later that she was very scared on the first night of her detention. On her first day, they had allowed her to call and talk to her mother, and during her interrogations a female officer was also present in the room. When she wasn’t being interrogated, during the day she was kept in a small cell in the same detention centre as me.

40. They put my mother in the car, and she hugged me. Then they took us to the prosecutor’s office of the Orumiyeh Islamic Revolutionary Court – if I remember correctly, it was Branch 10. We were both scared. The prosecutor was a Mr Khodayari, and he asked us if we were Christians. My mother and I both answered: “Yes, we are Christians.” The prosecutor then said to me, with a sense of astonishment: “The IRGC has reported that they took a lot of Bibles from you. Who are you and what have you done!”

41. After we left the prosecutor’s office, we were made to wait for hours until, finally, a 30-day temporary detention order was issued, with the possibility of an extension. I was very shocked because I thought we would be released after signing a commitment, but instead they returned us to the IRGC detention centre and, with the 30-day temporary detention order now issued, I was worried about my academic status at the university. I was also worried about my father, and what would happen if he found out about my detention. Of course, my father had called my phone and, since it had been off, he had realised that something had happened to me. For this reason, he had gone to the Ministry of Intelligence office and asked about me, but they had told him it had nothing to do with them, and referred him to IRGC intelligence.

42. The interrogations began again – sometimes in the morning, and sometimes at night. Sometimes the interrogations were gruelling and I was interrogated for about seven to eight hours, from morning to night, and sometimes they left me alone without any interrogation for two days. Usually, one interrogator would stay with me the whole time, while two others came and went.

43. During the interrogations I had to write down the answers to their questions, and at the top of the interrogation sheets it was written, “Al-Sadiq fi al-naja’ah” [Truthfulness will lead to your salvation]. The good interrogator said: “You must tell the truth and, if you do, everything will be easier.” He also told me to write in small letters so that the number of answer sheets wouldn’t increase and my file wouldn’t become too thick [and look so serious when brought before a judge].

44. Every day that my mother was brought in for interrogation she begged her interrogator to let us see each other, and we were allowed to, but only for two minutes and still separated by the bars of a prison door. My mother and I were interrogated in parallel, and this caused me problems because I would write one thing and my mother another, and our answers didn’t match. The interrogator asked: “Where did you get all these books?” and I said I had bought them from Enghelab Street [in Tehran], but my mother said she had acquired some of the books from a particular person. The contradictory answers we gave caused us problems, as it became more difficult to deny things. Meanwhile, the false information that one of the interrogators gave me about a Christian friend made me think that this friend had caused me to be in this situation, and this false information caused me to suffer from paranoia for a while even after my release.

45. The interrogator asked what connection I had with the church in Orumiyeh, and although I had been there, I denied my connection and just said that I used to go to the Central AoG church once a month, but that since my conversion to Catholicism in 2013 I had no church. However, everything that I denied, my mother would confess. When the interrogator realised during his interrogation of my mother that she went from Orumiyeh to Tehran to attend the Eucharist once a month, he was surprised and said: “People don’t go to their local mosque to pray, and this lady goes to Tehran for the Eucharist once a month!”

46. The interrogator asked a lot of doctrinal questions about Islam and Christianity, and asked: “How did you become a Christian?” I explained that I had done some research and that “Christianity made sense to me historically and theologically, so I accepted Christianity”. Then the interrogator asked: “Why did you leave Islam?” He kept asking questions that were doctrinal in nature.

47. He asked: “Which house-church do you go to?” and I said that we didn’t have any house-church. Then he gave me the names of some Christians in Orumiyeh and asked about each one. I said something about each person – about one that he was no longer a Christian and had turned away from Christianity, and about another that he had never been a Christian. I tried to protect them, so the interrogators wouldn’t also go after them. They asked for their addresses and phone numbers, but I replied: “Believe me that I don’t have them.”

48. The harsh interrogator would enter the room from time to time to instill fear in me. One of these times, he threatened me, saying: “You can’t get married. If you ever do, your wife will be our guest on the first night. We will be happy to oblige!”

49. They had become aware of my sensitivities and especially my interest in continuing my education, and said: “Don’t think about continuing your studies in Iran anymore. You can’t study in this country anymore. You have to kiss university goodbye; you can’t work; you have no future in Iran anymore.” These threats hurt my soul, and broke me from the inside.

50. The 27th of February was my father’s birthday, and he had somehow learned about my detention and came that day to the IRGC. I heard him talking with the interrogator, blaming everything on my mother and trying to make her appear guilty. Then they allowed my father to meet with me, and he told me that someone from Turkey had informed him that I was being detained. I didn’t know that the news of my detention had been reported in the media, and my father said: “Don’t worry, I’ll get you a lawyer.” I told my mother about the lawyer, and she was happy for me but said, with deep sadness: “I don’t have anyone to get me a lawyer.”

Orumiyeh Central Prison

51. On 8 March, after 18 days’ detention by the IRGC, I was taken to Ward 1 of Orumiyeh Central Prison. They took me, barefoot, for an examination, and touched my entire body with their hands to “examine” me, as they called it. But their goal was more to harass and humiliate me.

52. Wards 1 and 2 are on the ground floor, each in a separate corridor. Wards 3 and 4 are on the first floor and house about 400 to 500 prisoners. The total population of Wards 1 to 4 was about 800 prisoners. In Wards 1 and 2, the crime of 80 per cent of the prisoners was murder, so in that prison I saw criminals who had committed grave crimes and I felt insecure in every way. All the prisoners gave new prisoners a nasty look and wanted to know what their crime was. All the specific charges against me [related to Christianity] had been recorded on their computer, but the prison officers only wrote “acting against national security” on the prison sheet.

53. There were 10 or 11 rooms in my ward, and each room could accommodate 12 or 13 prisoners. But on top of this, around three or four prisoners in every room had to sleep on the floor, next to the toilet, and it was the custom that the new prisoners started by sleeping there. If a prisoner was released, or their death sentence was carried out, their bed would be freed up for another prisoner.

54. I was told that I wouldn’t be given my prisoner paper [showing the official charges] and that I had to go to room number 7 to see the prisoner in charge of the ward. He asked me: “How are you financially? Can you pay 30,000 to 40,000 tomans [$8-10]  a week?” I replied: “Yes, I can, and I really can’t sleep next to the toilet!” He poured me tea and allowed me to stay in room 7, away from the toilet, but I still had to sleep on the floor the entire time I was in prison.

55. The sanitary conditions in the prison were appalling and the quality of the food very poor, so the rooms in which there were more well-off prisoners had what was known as a “mayor”, who would buy ingredients and either cook or add ingredients to the prison food using the money belonging to the prisoners in that room.

56. All the other prisoners in room 7 had been convicted of murder, while another prisoner in the room next to us had dismembered and burned his victim after he and his friend had raped her, and he even boasted about it. I had studied social psychology and the psychology behind addictions at university, but in prison I saw with my own eyes the things I had read. There were many addicts in prison who had easy access to drugs, and there was also heavy gambling.

57. During my first few nights in the prison I slept in the foetal position and felt unsafe. For the first few weeks, I was even afraid to go to the bathroom alone and would ask another prisoner to come with me. But because of my fear, I became constipated. The prison conditions were very terrible for me – especially as someone who had never even been to a police station before, let alone a prison. However, God helped me to endure what I experienced.

Publication of arrest

58. As well as the publication of my arrest online, the satellite channel Manoto had talked about my arrest in its news-summary section. Many people in Orumiyeh have satellite TV at home and learned about the news of my arrest through this channel. For this reason, the first in-person meeting with my father was not pleasant. He was very upset and blamed me, saying: “The spreading of the news of your conversion to Christianity and of your arrest ruined my reputation in Orumiyeh.” When this news was broadcast, friends and professors at the university also learned about the matter, and it was mentioned in the university’s Telegram group.

59. I didn’t think the media coverage would benefit me, and thought it might be used against me in court and that I would be labelled as having collaborated with other countries. When the prisoners asked me about my crime, I had been told only to say that it related to “security”, but some prisoners who were more curious found out that my full charge was “acting against the security of the country by propagating Christianity”, and they began to harass and threaten me, so my life in Ward 1 became more difficult.

60. One night, a prisoner whose crime was murder and had been sentenced to death attacked me. He put a knife to my throat and said: “Look, I can easily kill you; you’re a Christian and shedding your blood is permissible.” His goal was to scare me. My roommates had generally been kind to me, but after they found out I was a Christian, one night some of them insulted Mary, the mother of Jesus, in an attempt to anger me.

61. When the prison authorities discovered that the other prisoners knew why I had been arrested, they accused me of talking to them about Christianity. The head of the prison department shouted: “You have no right to do such things in this ward! I’ll show you! How could you do such a thing! Go to Western countries and do it there! This is an Islamic country!” I explained: “I didn’t talk about Christianity, and I am willing to sign a commitment pledging that I didn’t talk about it and that I won’t do so. I don’t even leave my room, let alone talk about Christianity with other prisoners.” Despite all this, I was summoned to the prison intelligence office for questioning. They told me they had heard I had talked about Christianity with other prisoners and had evangelised. Of course, their main intention was to hear me confirm or deny that this had taken place.

62. On another occasion, I was taken to a cleric to pressure me to revert to Islam. Every question he asked about Islam, I answered by citing Islamic texts and scholars, and he asked in surprise: “What did you arrest him for! He is more Muslim than me!”

63. I decided to request a transfer to the political prisoners’ ward, but another prisoner advised me not to, saying: “By going to the political ward you are practically admitting that you have committed a political act and an act against the security of the country. It is better to go to the ‘psychiatric’ ward.” At first, I didn’t want to be transferred there, and I resisted, but the threat against me felt so great that not even the ward liaison [the prisoner responsible for maintaining order] could protect me.

‘Psychiatric’ ward

64. Contrary to its name, the “psychiatric ward” isn’t for prisoners with mental problems, but for those who aren’t addicts, don’t smoke, and are those who have committed crimes such as embezzlement or other financial crimes. In this ward, prisoners receive lessons about life, which is why it became known as the “psychiatric ward”. It was actually one of the best wards in the prison and, as I didn’t smoke, I requested to be transferred there.

65. When I got there I found out that one of my university professors was the head of the ward. As a psychologist, he had suggested the creation of this ward and had been employed by the government. My request to be transferred to the psychiatric ward was approved with the support of my professor. But of course, when I went to that ward and saw him, he didn’t recognise me because I had grown a beard during my detention.

66. When I greeted him, he asked why I was in prison, and thought I had become involved in politics, Pan-Turkism, or the campaigns that took place before the presidential election that year. When I explained to him the real reason for my arrest, he told me that he couldn’t support me publicly but that he could bring my university books to the prison for me. I was very happy about this and, in this way, with the help of some of my friends who collected my books for me, I was able to start studying and preparing for my exams.

67. I wrote a letter to the court, saying that I wanted to continue my studies and requesting that I be sent to the university for my exams, even if it was in shackles, and the court issued an order for my temporary release to allow me to go to the university for the exams. I showed the letter to the professors there, and some of them were happy about it, while others disagreed with it. Some of the professors didn’t change their views about me and continued to support my studies, but I had to sign up for extra classes during the summer to catch up.

68. I remained in touch with my father, who wanted to hire a lawyer and separate my mother’s case from mine, so that I would be acquitted and my mother would be convicted. But I told him: “If you want me to come out of prison and do something that makes sure I get a 10-year sentence, go ahead and separate my mother’s case from mine! Don’t worry about my mother’s lawyer’s fees, because her family will pay for them, but the lawyer has to defend us both!” In the end, I met with four lawyers and rejected all except the last, whom I felt able to trust.

69. Finally, I called my grandmother from the prison phone and she started crying when she heard my voice, so I assured her that I was fine. I asked her to comfort my mother on the phone and to say on my behalf that if a lawyer was going to be hired, he should be hired for both of us and that otherwise I would prefer we both stayed in prison. After that I used to call my grandmother in the mornings and let her know how I was, and in the evenings I would call her to ask how my mother was.

Release on bail

70. At the end of my 30th day in detention, they called me in, and I was happy as I thought I was going to be released. But instead I was taken to Prosecutor Khodayari’s room, and he wrote the same question as before: “Are you a Christian?” And I wrote that I was, and the extension of my detention order was signed. Then, when the second 30 days were over, the order was extended again. Finally, about three days later, they chained my feet, handcuffed me and took me from the prison to the courthouse for the second time in my white and blue prison uniform. They paraded me around inside the courthouse, and others who saw me with the chains on my feet and cuffs on my hands must have thought I was a dangerous criminal. The way they treated me was very humiliating. When I saw my mother also in shackles and chains, with a chador over her head, I was very upset and later suffered from the mental trauma of this for a long time. My dreams were also disturbed.

71. But 10 days later, bail was set for my mother and me of 500 million tomans each [equivalent to around $135,000 at the time].

72. I called my father to post bail for me. He had said that he would do so as long as I agreed not to see my mother after my release. I had agreed, and after he paid my bail, I was temporarily released from prison on 3 May 2017. My mother was released four days later, after my aunt posted her bail, and after our release I continued to see my mother twice a week.

After release

73. A couple of weeks after our temporary release, and just one day after the presidential elections that resulted in Hassan Rouhani’s victory, my mother and I were summoned to the courthouse for the third time. This time, Khodayari didn’t ask any questions and just asked us to write our final defence. We did so, and our lawyer said: “Write next to your defence that you participated in the elections, you voted, and that you are committed to the sacred system of the Islamic Republic.”

74. Later, they called us to go and collect our belongings. At first, we ignored the request and I told my mother that I would never set foot there again. But they called us twice more and threatened us, so eventually we went, with fear and trembling, and they returned our electronic devices, such as our laptop and phones.

75. They hadn’t erased the data on my phone, tablet, or laptop, but they had made back-up copies of the contents of the laptop and copied them onto several CDs, which they included in our case-file as evidence of our “crime”. Among the contents of my computer were some recorded episodes of Christian TV programmes that featured me because I had called in to the shows and asked questions. This led them to accuse me of contacting “Christian Zionist channels”, which they used as evidence against me in court.

76. They also handed back my non-Christian books and books published by the Islamic Republic Publishing House. But they said they wouldn’t return the Gospels or books published by the John the Apostle Publishing House. One of the things I had written in my defence was that all the books that had been confiscated had been purchased from bookstores in Iran. For example, when the Central AoG Church was open and the church library was still active, I used to buy the books there, and there had never been any issue.

77. Later on, after I left Iran, my mother received a message, saying that the books that had been seized from our home had been confiscated for the benefit of the state.

Court

78. A short while later, our lawyer sent a message that a court session would be held for my mother and me in August 2017. The night before the court hearing, I was scared and wanted to flee to Turkey. But the lawyer said: “Your presence in court is important. You must present yourself to stand behind what you have written in your defence. Trim your beard and don’t bother wearing an Islamic shirt in the vain hope they’ll change their mind about issuing a sentence when they see your Islamic appearance!”

79. The court session was held at Branch 2 of the Islamic Revolutionary Court in Orumiyeh. While we had been in prison, other prisoners had said: “Pray that the judge in your case isn’t [Judge] Sheikhloo, because he doesn’t sentence anyone to less than 10 years!” Well, our judge happened to be Mr Ali Sheikhloo.

80. Because I was the overseer of a number of Christians in a Telegram group, Mr Sheikhloo said: “You were a leader, and you were active! Did you have any contact with other Christians abroad?” Because of what I had heard about Sheikhloo, I didn’t talk about Christianity; I just explained that I wasn’t any leader and just minded my own business. I explained that my only student activity had been in support of reformists and that I had never done anything against the security of my country. I explained that the Telegram channel was about my Catholic faith, but that the content I posted on the channel was only from books published by the Islamic Republic of Iran.

81. I even explained that in 2014 I had contacted Velayat TV, affiliated with [Shia leader] Ayatollah Makarem Shirazi, as part of his “Unspoken things of Christianity” programmes, and that we had had a 20-minute debate, and during that programme I hadn’t insulted Islam at all. “You can’t find any anti-Islamic content on our Telegram channel,” I said. “And setting up a Telegram channel isn’t a crime.” My lawyer had explained that it wasn’t illegal just to post information on Telegram.

82. Judge Sheikhloo said: “It’s none of our business that you changed your faith and became a Christian, but when you evangelise, you are finished! Why did you write in your passport that you are Christian?” I said: “Well, I cannot deny my belief; you wouldn’t like to be lied to. I was asked what my religion was, and I simply wrote down my belief.”

83. The judge asked: “What is your connection with Zionism and America?” I replied that we had no connection with Zionists or America. He said: “If you have no connection, then how did the news of your arrest spread? Why should the news of your arrest be broadcast by the Manoto TV channel and by Mr Mansour Borji from Article18? How did they find out?” I said: “I neither know them, nor have I even spoken to them. If I have ever even seen them, it would only have been on television, but I have no connection with Article18 or Manoto! Maybe someone told them about my arrest.” He said: “What do you mean you don’t know! If you don’t know them, how did they hear about your arrest? It’s clear you have connections with the Zionists. You must have been receiving money from foreign countries and had connections with them!” He asked: “Why did you import Bibles into Iran?” I replied: “I haven’t imported any books into Iran. You can ask your colleagues who work at the border.”

84. He said to my mother: “Why were you helping the poor, and others? What was your purpose? Did you want to convert them to Christianity? And what was your purpose in researching about Christianity in the first place?” He couldn’t accept my mother’s explanation that she had helped others out of love and charity.

85. Finally, after a few days, our verdict was issued. The judge sentenced both of us to five years’ imprisonment under Article 498 of the Islamic Penal Code, on the charge of “acting against national security by forming a group to propagate and attract to Christianity”. We appealed, but the appeal-court date was postponed for a long time.

Living in the community after prison

86. Because Orumiyeh is a small city and the news of my imprisonment had been published in the media, I didn’t want to face my relatives and friends. For this reason, I didn’t feel able to move around Orumiyeh for a while. I locked myself in my room, as I couldn’t bear the reproachful looks of others. Some of them said things like: “Did you have to do it?”, “Why did you pursue these things?”, “What were you looking for?”, “What did you want?” I wasn’t ashamed of being a Christian, but I was tired of people’s heavy gazes and judgment. I felt like I was still in prison. But when it felt like enough time had passed, I slowly left home and re-entered the community and reconnected with others.

87. Although my father was against my conversion to Christian, he suggested I send my documents to the Canadian embassy and go to Canada as a refugee and obtain residency. But I told him that I didn’t go to prison to seek asylum and obtain residency in another country and that I wasn’t willing to do so; I never wanted to profit from the persecution that had been inflicted on me.

88. My lawyer worked hard and was able to get permission from the court for me to continue my studies, so I went back to university. On the first day, many of my classmates applauded me. One of the female students, who was wearing a chador, even hugged me for joy at my freedom. The mothers of many of my Muslim friends had also made vows to God about what they would do if I was released from prison.

89. The university professors helped me and I was able to take all my exams except for two. But two professors helped me to catch up on the two subjects I still needed to take exams for, and I took them during the summer semester. Of course, I was afraid that the intelligence office at the university would cause problems, so I never felt very comfortable there. Additionally, I had to deal with some strange and unfriendly looks, sarcasm, and rumours, which were aggravating. But in the end, I was able to graduate successfully and receive my bachelor’s degree.

90. For work, and to check I hadn’t been banned from leaving Iran, I decided to travel to China. My father came with me to the airport to make sure I didn’t face any problems. But they stamped my passport, and we were relieved to see that I hadn’t been banned from leaving. During the month that I spent in China, I visited the Shanghai Adventist Church, listened to the pastor’s sermon, and really enjoyed it.

Court of Appeal

91. On 6 April 2018, our appeal court was held at Branch 1 of the Court of Appeal of West Azerbaijan Province. There were three judges and an advisor present, and they treated us kindly. One of the judges told my mother that there had been a mistake in our case and that “it should have been five months, but five years has been issued”. After that, we thought we would be acquitted.

92. When the appeal court’s decision came, our sentences were reduced to three months and one day of imprisonment. Our lawyer explained: “The reason for issuing the extra day is that you’ll definitely have to go to prison, because a three-month sentence can be transferred into a fine. Also, if a prisoner is sentenced to more than three months, they will have a criminal record.”

Execution of prison sentences

93. When we were summoned to the prison to serve our sentences – I think it was in June 2018 – we went, and with the signature of the execution of the prison-sentences department, our bails were released. They took me to the prison reception and my mother was taken to the quarantine section. After my arrest, I had spent 74 days in detention, and my sentence was 91 days in total, so I had to serve the remaining days.

94. The experience of some Christian prisoners is that they are able to talk to other prisoners about their Christian faith and are treated with special respect by their ward liaison. I didn’t have such an experience. When the prisoners found out that I was a Christian, they looked at me in a nasty way. I’ll never forget the harsh words that one of them said about me: “The one who changes his religion is not his father’s child, but his mother’s.” He meant that I was a bastard. Another prisoner said: “What happened? You became Armenian?” [The historic Christian communities in Iran are of Armenian and Assyrian descent.] Even though I explained to him several times that I hadn’t become Armenian, he kept repeating it and saying: “Bark like a dog!” [Some in Iran believe that Armenians, as Christians, are “unclean”, like dogs.] Some other prisoners threatened that they were going to kill me, and others knew that I was a Catholic and insulted the Virgin Mary, whom I respected very much and therefore this bothered me a lot.

After prison

95. My mother was released three days earlier than me, because after our arrest she had been held slightly longer than me. I was finally released after about 20 days in prison. The quality of my faith was better while I was in prison than it had been following my initial release. In prison, I prayed regularly and talked to God. I sang worship songs about persecution and meditated on the Bible verses I had memorised. The prayers of pastors and worship leaders were in my ears and strengthened my faith. And I believe it was God who helped ensure I did not have to serve a long sentence.

96. While I was in prison I didn’t know what would await me after my release, and after I was released I faced the mental and psychological consequences of my detention. I endured many contemptuous looks. Some would mock me and ask, with a grin, “Have you been in prison!” That’s why, when I got out, instead of feeling happy, I was angry with God for a while.

97. In fact, I was so angry that I told my mother: “I’ll no longer engage in any religious activities; I’ll get married and pursue further education and a doctorate. These [religious] activities aren’t for me any more. I want to live a normal life.” It was only after I left Iran that I resumed my religious activities.

Forced migration and life in exile

98. At that time I had no intention of emigrating or leaving the country. I had decided to continue my education and get a master’s degree in psychology. But, one day, an unknown person called me and said, threateningly: “You have six months to leave the country!” At the time, I didn’t tell my parents, as I didn’t want to worry them. I just told them: “I don’t think I have a future in Iran any longer. Now I have a criminal record, wherever I apply for a job, this issue comes up, so I have to leave Iran.” At my father’s suggestion, I left for Turkey on 7 December 2018.

99. I took a bus over the border, and I’ll never forget the painful moment I saw the Iranian flag at the border between Iran and Turkey. I stared at it with a lump in my throat and thought to myself that I might never be able to return to my country. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. In the summer of the following year I actually made the decision to return to Iran, but when I told my mother she anxiously begged me not to and said she couldn’t bear the thought of what might happen to me. She was worried my passport would be confiscated upon my return. The fact that I can’t go to Iran still bothers me. The pain of my forced exile is still fresh.

100. When I arrived in Turkey, I decided to change my major and study political science. After my prison experience, I really wanted my Christian ministry to focus on social justice. But my father didn’t agree, so I continued my studies in neuroscience at Üsküdar University in Istanbul. Meanwhile, I continued my own studies and research in the field of politics on my own.

101. Through the church I attended in Turkey, I began to gradually better understand my calling, and wrote a letter to a bishop in Istanbul, telling him of my intention to become a priest. At the same time, I became acquainted with the Jesuits and applied to study with them. The elders of this order, in Italy, decided that I should first take a course with them in Genoa, and after completing this course and getting to know each other, I was accepted to join them.