Atefeh Nabavi, a 28 year old young woman was sentenced to four years in prison for attending the peaceful demonstrations along with millions of other people. She is being held at the famous Ward 209 in Evin prison. A blog: 'I am Atefeh' is currently launched to free Atefeh and hundreds of others who are in prison in similar conditions.
The blog was quiuckly filled with messages of solidarity and hope. One reads: Our crime is the fact that we will not become like them and will not act like them. Our cime is the fact that we write to the prisoner and not the prison guard. We are bound to win this battle. The house is on fire. We are bound to win in oreder to save Zeinab, Habib, Rostam, Arash and many others from the wrath of fire that has balzed our home.
Don't worry. Nothing happens here.
Atefeh has written a note from her prison cell which was published on her blog. The first days of rain brought the smell of soil.Sometimes the raindrops creep into the cell from among the netwires on the top. These are the rebelious drops which have found their way into Ward 209 and soothe my face. Here, days are not seperated from each other, only an excuse to write. The 30th day is the same as the 57th day. Days and nights are an intertwined and are only identified by an event. Nothing happens here, except: 'A crime which is not explained', 'A lawyer who never comes', 'A court which is never in session'. We are standing outside the timezone.
The blog was quiuckly filled with messages of solidarity and hope. One reads: Our crime is the fact that we will not become like them and will not act like them. Our cime is the fact that we write to the prisoner and not the prison guard. We are bound to win this battle. The house is on fire. We are bound to win in oreder to save Zeinab, Habib, Rostam, Arash and many others from the wrath of fire that has balzed our home.
Don't worry. Nothing happens here.
Atefeh has written a note from her prison cell which was published on her blog. The first days of rain brought the smell of soil.Sometimes the raindrops creep into the cell from among the netwires on the top. These are the rebelious drops which have found their way into Ward 209 and soothe my face. Here, days are not seperated from each other, only an excuse to write. The 30th day is the same as the 57th day. Days and nights are an intertwined and are only identified by an event. Nothing happens here, except: 'A crime which is not explained', 'A lawyer who never comes', 'A court which is never in session'. We are standing outside the timezone.
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