Then They Came for Me_ A Family's Story of Love, Captivity, and Survival - Maziar Bahari [27]
Apparently, an undercover agent at the station had called the police.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
From the single-striped badge on his dark green jacket, which he had awkwardly tucked into his trousers, I gathered that he was a second lieutenant in the Tehran police force. Unlike the Revolutionary Guards and the Basij, the police are less indoctrinated, and concerned mostly with matters of general security.
The second lieutenant’s thin mustache and stubble were covered with sweat, as if he had rushed to the station in a hurry. I showed him my press card and said I was a reporter and cameraman for Newsweek magazine and its website. He called his superior officer on his two-way radio receiver. “Sir, there’s a man who interviews people for New Zealand.”
“Newsweek,” I corrected him.
“Shut up!” he yelled, pushing me around and telling me to face the wall. “He is interviewing people!” He said the word “interviewing” as if it were a capital crime. “Should I arrest him?”
This was not the first time I had been stopped by a policeman. Usually when it happened, they would call someone from Ershad and I would be let go within minutes or, much more rarely, a few hours. As any journalist in Iran can attest to, 80 percent of your time is spent dealing with officials, and only 20 percent working. I had long ago accepted this reality, so I faced the wall obediently and waited for the verdict.
“I don’t know, sir,” I heard him say. “He looks Iranian, but he says from New Zealand.” He came closer to me. “Hey, you! Do you speak Farsi?”
“Yes, sir. I do,” I replied politely. “I’m an Iranian citizen. I just voted.”
“Come here, Mr. Colonel wants to talk to you,” he said curtly.
“Hello, sir. This is Maziar Bahari from Newsweek,” I began. “My accreditation was issued by Ershad. I came here to conduct interviews about the election, but I was asked to leave. I was doing exactly that when the officer stopped me.”
Mr. Colonel explained that because of security threats, police officers were being more vigilant that day. The colonel then apologized for the inconvenience and asked me to pass the walkie-talkie to the policeman.
“Yes, sir! Should I arrest him, sir?” the second lieutenant asked eagerly. He looked uncomfortable with his boss’s reply and turned his back to me. “Yes, sir!” He put the walkie-talkie on his belt, next to his gun, and asked me, “Do you know Mr. Colonel? He sounded angry with me.” Then he looked at me apologetically. “I just follow orders. They called and said that you were doing interviews. Sorry to bother you.”
“No problem, sir. You’re just doing your job,” I said. “At least it’s a nice cool day for the election. So who will you be voting for?”
He gave me a surprised look. “Now you’re interviewing me?!”
“No. I’m just asking. Have you voted already?”
“I think Ahmadinejad.”
“You think? You have to vote today. You must’ve made your mind up already.”
“Yeah, I’ve already voted for Ahmadinejad. They say the other guys are going to stop the subsidies and are going to fire a lot of policemen.”
“Who says that?”
“Aghidati-Siasi,” he said, referring to the ideological and political bureau. Every base of every branch of the Iranian armed forces, which includes the national army, navy, and air force, the Revolutionary Guards, and the police, has an Aghidati-Siasi office. The office is in charge of religious indoctrination of the armed forces personnel. The supreme leader chooses the director of Aghidati-Siasi, who is expected to act as the leader’s eyes and ears in the military. Aghidati-Siasi branch officers are usually junior clerics who give the armed forces officers religious training and make sure that everyone prays and fasts. Aghidati-Siasi also works closely with army intelligence units to spot “undesirable elements” in the military.
“We had a few sessions with Aghidati-Siasi—they talked about different candidates and they told us that Mr. Ahmadinejad is the best candidate.” He looked worriedly at my voice recorder and walked toward his motorcycle. “I hope you don’t get me into trouble,