Читать книгу The Tragedy of Islam - Imam Mohammad Tawhidi - Страница 15

My de-radicalization process began in a very unusual way and in two stages. First, I distanced myself from the Iranian regime and Hezbollah’s affiliates, but I was still a fundamentalist Islamist. The second stage was liberating my mind from fundamentalist ideas. The first stage happened in early 2010 and continued until 2012, and was similar to switching support for political parties, but the second stage was extremely difficult as it was a period of gradual, slow, and quiet change; a process that I had to undergo alone over a period of two years.

When I was a fundamentalist among members of the Iranian regime, I did not engage in any research to verify whether the information I was being taught was true or not, simply because I believed it to all be true as it was presented to us with a religious and divine coating.

My drift away from the Iranian regime began with an unforeseen meeting that was about to change my entire life. In an ancient market called Guzar Khan, in Qum, Iran, I heard the sound of a eulogy that was very attractive to my ears. I walked towards the sound to discover that it was a cassette being played in one of the stores that sold CDs and cassettes. I inquired about the reciter of the eulogy. The shop owner told me that the reciter was his friend, and that he was going to meet him for dinner that day. After I had told him that I had come from Australia, he invited me to join them for dinner and to meet the reciter of the eulogy. The reciter was and still is a very prominent reciter, but I shall conceal his name for his own protection.

I attended their dinner gathering in an Islamic center. I met the reciter, and found him to be very humble, welcoming, and charismatic. He was in his mid-20s at the time, and very mature for his age. As we began to speak, he inquired about my presence in Iran. After I informed him that I was a student at Al-Mahdi Institute and that I was a follower of the Supreme Leader of Iran, Ali Khamenei, his eyes and cheeks turned red. The entire room went silent, and it remained silent for at least another two minutes while we all continued eating dinner.

I did not understand exactly what had happened at the time, but I knew that it had something to do with what I had said. A man named Haider, who now resides in Sydney, broke the silence by saying, “You follow Khamenei? I will rip Khamenei’s mother in half!” I was shocked, stunned, baffled and knew that I had come to the wrong place. I didn’t know these people and never imagined an opposition to the Iranian regime even existed. But I knew they were the bad guys, and I quickly finished my dinner and left the building. I walked back to my dormitory very slowly, pondering and reflecting on what had just happened. The reciter, a highly respected eulogist amongst scholars, had just remained silent as Ali Khamenei, the highest Islamic authority within both the country and the faith, was rudely insulted. This raised a question within me: Why did they hate Iran’s Supreme Leader so much?

The next day, and out of curiosity, I returned to the center. I acted as though the day before had never happened. This time I was not here to make friends; I was here to analyze this strange community of highly religious individuals, some even descendants of Prophet Mohammad himself. I noticed that most of the people attending this massive Islamic event had family members who were imprisoned and/or had been executed. I became curious to find out exactly why. I asked the reciter whom I had gotten to know the night before about a portrait of a man on the wall. He told me that the portrait was of “Grand Ayatollah Sadiq Shirazi,” and it was the first time I had heard this name. I said, “May he rest in peace.” The eulogist responded, “No, he’s alive. Have you not met him yet!?”

I thought to myself, a “grand ayatollah” would rank like the pope in the Catholic Church, so how does this eulogist expect me to have met him? I responded, “No, I haven’t.” He said, “Would you like to meet him tomorrow?” I said, “Yes, sure.” We set a place and time, and he took my mobile number. He called me the next morning and asked where I was. I said, “I am at Al-Mahdi school.” He said, “Come to such and such a location carefully, and make sure the sons of b*****s don’t follow you here, because they will f***k you if they find out you came here.”

I got dressed quickly, and although I felt deeply that I should not be going, I trusted that my Australian citizenship would protect me if anything should happen. After all, I was just visiting a Muslim scholar in an Islamic country with an Islamic government. I was taken to the office of the Grand Ayatollah Sadiq Shirazi, where it was difficult to move around because of the large number of people who flooded his office. Hundreds upon hundreds were lined up to kiss the hand of one man, Sadiq Shirazi. I asked myself, who is this man that attracts so many people each day? And why does his office have no sign on it? And why is everyone here against the regime?

A massive chapter within the current situation of Shia Islam and my faith was missing for me, and I was just about to discover it. It was almost my turn to enter the room in which Grand Ayatollah Sadiq Shirazi was sitting. I entered the room and saw a man in his 60s, white bearded and calm. He smiled peacefully at whoever entered the room and raised his right hand to greet them from where he sat. I approached him and kissed his hand – because that is what everyone else was doing, and I didn’t want to stand out as being disrespectful in any manner. I had never met a grand ayatollah before. I was not going to make independent decisions either at that time, so I was happy to be guided. The grand ayatollah pointed at me and invited me to sit beside him. I didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because I was dressed somewhat differently so he wanted to hear from me, or perhaps he thought I had travelled a long way just to see him and wanted to give me the opportunity to meet him. He welcomed me and said, “Thank you for visiting me. What’s your name?” I replied, “Mohammad.” He asked, “Where are you from?” I replied, “Australia, but I was born in Iran.” He continued, “When are you going back to Australia?” I said I had no plans yet because I was still studying here. He enquired, “Oh, you’re a student here?” I answered, “Yes, I study at Al-Mahdi and will soon be transferred to study in an Islamic university here.” He responded by saying, “May God bless you. My prayers are with you.” He then gestured to his assistant and whispered in his ear. He bid me goodbye, and as I walked out, his assistant gave me an envelope with a gift – money, around $10, as a form of support to foreign students because many students were struggling financially. I took the gift, thanked his assistant and walked outside. The reciter saw me exiting the room and said, “How was the meeting?” I said, “It was very moving and special, but I have to get back to the school as they will become suspicious of me.” He said, “It’s prayer time now, so they will assume you have gone to pray your noon prayers outside at the sacred shrines. Why don’t we offer our prayers in the mosque nearby and I will introduce you to the grand ayatollah’s son, Hussain?” I agreed. After prayers, his son Hussain welcomed me, and asked me what my name was. I answered, “Mohammad.” He said, “Mohammad what?” I replied, “Tawhidi.” He said, “That is a beautiful name.” After informing him that I was an international student, he praised my efforts to migrate to a Third World country in order to acquire religious knowledge.

Back at the dormitory, I innocently informed my teacher and roommates that I had visited Grand Ayatollah Shirazi. Their reaction can never be put into words, but the closest thing to describe their reaction would be that it was a shock that turned them into my vicious enemies. From that day onwards, life in Iran was never the same. The entire school was warned about me, and my friends stopped talking to me. I returned the next day to my dorm to find my cupboard broken into and my laptop stolen. Although I reported it to the dean of students and the principal, I discovered later that the school had planned to break into my cupboard to search for books, CDs, or photos of Shirazi. I didn’t know what to do, so I contacted my father for advice. My father scoffed and said, “Mohammad, by visiting Sadiq Shirazi you have just visited their number one enemy.”

I tried really hard to prove my loyalty to the Iranian regime. I began to wear shirts with the image of Ali Khamenei printed on them. I did everything I could think of, but that was it for me. They treated me as though I had a relationship with Satan himself. I was completely outcast. But the matter didn’t end there; it escalated to bullying. They tried to make me flee the country by bullying me. The dean of students, Mr. Sanjary, would instruct senior students to pressure me to return to Australia voluntarily. The senior students would follow me wherever I went, and if I stopped they would bully me by pushing and shoving me with all their strength, causing me to fall. They would light cigarettes and throw them down the back of my shirt, and would drive beside me with their motorbikes and pull my shirt, slamming me to the ground in public. They stole my money, laptop, and phone and left me with basically nothing.

The school also began to pressure me. So, I went to the office of the supreme leader Ali Khamenei and complained to his representative. I began to cry in his presence and requested that he put an end to all of this. He understood the “mistake” I had made by visiting Sadiq Shirazi, and informed me that he would order them to put an end to the bullying, which he did in fact do and I continued with my studies normally. However, although the school’s administration had stopped bullying me, the students didn’t. They beat me up in the streets and accused me of being a traitor.

Even after the intercession of the representative of Iran’s Supreme Leader, the dean of students, Mr. Sanjary, was still uncomfortable with my presence for no apparent reason. Knowing he was a member of the Iranian intelligence services, I had to take calculated measures to protect myself. Therefore, I followed a student he was close to, Amir, and whom he had appointed as a student captain. I personally filmed Amir engaging in indecent behaviour in public, and kept the video recording to myself. I then heard rumors from other students that Chinese students were engaging in homosexual activities in the showers. So, I hung a pair of my jeans in one of the shower rooms, and placed a recorder in its pocket. I managed to obtain an audio file of their entire session. Less than a week later, Mr. Sanjary called me to his office and accused me of a very serious crime. He gave me two options, to leave Iran or to face prison in the morning. He had organized students to falsely testify against me. I knew I was innocent, and I had already envisaged that something like this would occur.

I returned to him with the audio file of the Chinese students and the video of Amir. I said to him, “If you don’t leave me alone, copies of this will be distributed to the Greens Party [the Iranian opposition]. I am almost finished with my Farsi language course, and if you try to harm me in any way, you will regret it.” Mr. Sanjary understood that I was ten steps ahead of him, and I made him suspect that I had more cards up my sleeve. If news was to surface that there were homosexual activities in Iran’s Islamic institutes or that its head students were engaging in indecent practices in public, it would be on the front pages of every opposition newspaper and magazine. I was forced to do this for my own protection, as I wasn’t prepared to be imprisoned or expelled over false accusations.

Mr. Sanjary then sent an Afghan-Australian student from Sydney, Australia, to corner me and make me promise that I would never visit Sadiq Shirazi again. I did so out of fear. However, he still physically abused me whenever he could, and would keep an eye on my movements. One day in winter, he saw me going into the showers, and decided to bring the hose (which the cleaners used to wash the floor of the showers) and pour cold water on me from over the shower door.

I continued to remain patient and successfully completed the entire Farsi language course at Al-Mahdi Institute, and thus received my certificate.

To speed my transition from the school, the dean of students invited me to his office. He said, “You speak Arabic well, there is no need for you to continue on to the ‘Basics of Islam’ course. You can go straight to an Arabic university that will accept you.” I applied to Aalul-Bayt University, and was accepted immediately. I finally felt free. This was going to be a new beginning for me at an actual university with a professional study atmosphere. I moved to the dormitory of the university, and I felt much more comfortable there. There was more freedom in this university, and therefore I began to visit Ayatollah Shirazi more frequently, but discretely. Interestingly, I began to notice other students from my university at his office as well. But I was skeptical as they might have been spies for the university’s administration, which was in fact the case. I was called into the university’s office within the first month and questioned about my visits to Sadiq Shirazi’s office. I informed them that I visited all of the grand ayatollahs out of interest. They were much more lenient than Al-Mahdi’s officials, but they requested that I no longer visit this particular ayatollah as “he is a deviant man.”

My research into Sadiq Shirazi showed that he is a descendent of Prophet Mohammad, and comes from a lineage of Islamic leaders dating back at least 100 years. His brother, Mohammad Shirazi, was a staunch opponent of Khomeini and rebelled against him after he executed nearly 5000 people without trial. That was the day that the Shirazi family began to rebel against the Iranian government, because they do not believe in mixing politics with religion. Therefore, they do not recognize the religious authority of Ali Khamenei who is considered to be a politician rather than a scholar, which was and still is the case. However, it bewildered me that an ideological disagreement could lead to such waves of hatred between individuals of the same denomination and school of thought, particularly because they had once been good friends. I later discovered that Sadiq Shirazi was actually under house arrest, and not allowed to leave his house. Despite this, he visits sacred shrines that are close to his home.

I developed friendships with members of the Shirazi Institute and engaged in advanced theological lessons there during the evenings. When I mentioned Shirazi at the university, everyone around me cursed him, but when I mentioned Ali Khamenei at the Shirazi office, they all wished him guidance. This said a lot about the two sides.

I began to analyze what I was being taught by both schools of thought, the Shirazi Institute and the regime’s university, and to figure out what their motives were. It became clear to me that the universities were nothing more than institutes to groom missionaries to spread the ideology of the Iranian regime, while the Shirazi office was spreading true Islam without any politics or agendas involved. I ideologically switched sides and became a follower of Sadiq Shirazi. The majority of Iranian Muslims who oppose the tyrannical dictatorship are followers of Shirazi. The Shirazi school of thought within Shia Islam can be described as a non-political school that is open to other religions and nations. They have a large presence in the West and do not have an agenda to spread violent Sharia Law or take over countries. They also believe in Islamic laws, such as polygamy and child brides for instance, but they are not uniquely Shirazi beliefs; they are basic Islamic beliefs. Nevertheless, it is also a reality that a conservative Islamic authority cannot possibly be an Islamic authority without believing in the permissibility of these matters.

While studying for my Bachelor’s degree, I began to introduce more western students to Shirazi as an alternative option, and in a short time I created a group of students who opposed the ideology of the Islamic government of Iran. One night, I led a delegation of thirty students to Shirazi’s office and, because we returned late to the dorms, the security guard became suspicious of us, and me in particular. Therefore, the school appointed a Nigerian student to monitor me within the dorms. His name was Harun, and his room was next to mine. He would follow my movements and even record my conversations. I obviously knew this was happening, but it didn’t matter to me as by now I was convinced that the Iranian regime was a tyrannical regime. I became a well-known opponent of the Iranian regime and disagreed on political matters with my teachers in the classrooms. I had a group of students, around fifty, who supported my ideas. The university administration was now alarmed that I was de-radicalizing students, or what they considered to be reversing their brainwashing of the students. Because I am an Australian citizen, it was extremely difficult for them to treat me like they would treat a regular Iraqi or Iranian student, even though I was born in Iran.

One morning, I received a call to attend the principal’s office. As soon as I walked in, he said, “Mr. Tawhidi, pack your bags and go back to your country!” I replied, “Sure,” and walked away to do exactly that. The principal expected me to beg him not to send me back to Australia, but I knew deep inside that he knew making me return to Australia would be a foolish decision on his behalf. The principal then sought advice from a Lebanese-Australian student who had come from Sydney to study in the same university, and who was loyal to the regime. His name was Hamza, and he told the principal, “The university should not expel Mohammad Tawhidi. His father is a senior cleric in Australia and it could tarnish the image of the Islamic seminary and anger other scholars who will no longer send you students from abroad.” Until today, I have no idea why Hamza did me such a favor, but it was kind of him. The university then took measures to intimidate me into silence. In the span of one week, they expelled seven of my close associates who were from Canada, the United States, and the United Kingdom.

One of my Danish friends, out of frustration, pulled down and stepped on the portrait of Imam Khomeini, the founder and leader of the Iranian regime. He then went into hiding in Iran, as other students from America, the UK, and Australia began to search for him, promising to break the leg he used to insult the portrait. He contacted me seeking assistance, and I managed to smuggle him out of Qum to Mashhad, where he took a car and left the country for Iraq. He now lives in New York, allegedly as an ex-Muslim.

The university contacted me one Saturday morning and requested a meeting with me in the evening. I knew this was going to be a set up, so I contacted my family in Perth, Western Australia and told them that if they didn’t hear from me by the end of the following week, they should report to the Australian authorities that I had been detained by the Iranian regime. However, I did not go to the meeting on Saturday, and waited until Monday arrived because the Australian Embassy was closed. I took a taxi to the Australian Embassy in Tehran and met with Australian Ambassador Marc Innes-Brown. I informed him and his first secretary, Mark Betts, of my current situation. He responded to me saying, “We can’t help you, really. You need to not get yourself into trouble.” I didn’t expect much from the ambassador, but I had to try to notify Australia.

Two days later, on Wednesday morning, I approached the university principal, Shaikh Bakshi, and apologized for not being able to make it on Saturday. The university principal told me that I would receive a call soon. My phone rang at around 1 pm and an Iranian intelligence officer requested that I attend a certain location with my Australian passport. The location was Setad-e Khabari, Rah Ahan, in Qum. It was a building beside the city’s railway station with a long, white sliding door made out of metal. I didn’t know that the call was from the Iranian intelligence services, but I discovered this when I approached the building. I honestly thought it was an external university department. I knocked on the glass window, and a receptionist opened the window. I informed him that I had been asked to come here. He looked through the names then looked back at me and said, “You were supposed to come on Saturday. Why didn’t you come?” I apologized and said that I couldn’t make it. He responded saying, “Listen, you donkey skull, when we tell you to attend, you attend on the day we tell you to. You don’t attend on the day you wish to.” He then opened the door and I entered. I had to hand over my cell phone and passport, and enter an interrogation room. The room had plenty of bright sunlight and two doors. The first door led to the reception area, while the second door was where the interrogators entered. The receptionist followed me into the room and told me to sit down on the couch. It was yellow, and very comfortable. He turned the heating on and locked the door as he walked out. I remained seated for around 45 minutes. I began to sweat excessively and realized that this was one of their tactics to intimidate and pressure me. But I remained calm and didn’t show any sign of worry. I looked at the ground and showed no sign of fear or discomfort, although inside I was eager to know what their plans were. Suddenly, I heard a voice I was familiar with, and I turned my head towards the window to see that a famous lecturer, also a follower of Shirazi, had just finished being interrogated and was being released. This made me burst out with laughter because this very lecturer used to warn me about the intelligence services, so seeing him being released seemed hilarious at the time. Before I had finished laughing, the second door opened and an intelligence officer walked in. He was bald, short, and had dark bags under his eyes. He wore a suit with no tie, and his very yellow teeth stood out to me. He sat in front of me with my passport in his hand and without greeting me he began to say, “Your name is Mohammad Tawhidi, and you’re an Australian citizen studying here, correct?” I said, “Yes, that is correct.” He said, “What is your nationality?” I said, “Australian.” He said, “No, I mean your country of origin.” I said, “Australia.” He said, “You’re speaking to me in Farsi with an accent. Then what is your background?” I said to him, “The passport you are holding is an Australian passport and it states that my nationality is Australian. Therefore, I am to be treated as an Australian, not as an Iranian-born person.” He asked, “Where were you on Monday?” I now knew that I had been followed to the embassy, or that the Iranian guard standing outside the embassy had snapped images of me and reported my visit to the ambassador. I said, “I was in Tehran.” He said, “And where did you go within Tehran?” I said, “I visited the Australian Ambassador.” While tapping his pen on his other hand, he said, “And what did you and the ambassador discuss?” I said, “We discussed the beauty of Iran and its amazing government.” He said, “Do I look like an idiot? I am also a cleric. You went to the Australian Embassy to do what?” I said, “To drink Australian coffee.”

During this time, the receptionist brought tea for both of us. The interrogator demanded that I drank my tea before it got cold. I said that I was fasting, although I really wasn’t. I said this simply because I was worried they might poison me. He said, “Well you’re going to be here for a while so I suggest you break your fast.” I said, “I am a lecturer and I can speak for long hours without drinking fluids. I will manage.”

He then asked, “Why do you attack the Iranian regime on Facebook?” I said, “My Facebook page was hacked. They weren’t my words.” He said, “Why do you visit Shirazi? He is an opponent of the holy and sacred Islamic regime!” I said, “I am sorry, I never knew this.” He then said, “You will need to sign this paper.” I read the paper; it said, “I, Mohammad Tawhidi, will never enter the house of Sadiq Shirazi ever again.”

I took his pen and wrote beneath it, “I, Mohammad Tawhidi, will go wherever I like and visit whomever I like.” And I signed it. After reading what I wrote, he said, “For our department, clashing with you is as simple as drinking tea.” When he directed this threat at me, I responded saying, “Sometimes tea can burn your throat on the way down.” The interrogator then reminded me of the financial gift I had received from Iran’s supreme leader, and questioned whether my opposition to his regime was a form of thank you.

Even though I was worried about their plans for me on that day, I wasn’t going to show them that I was afraid. He threw the paper at me and said, “Sign it now.” So, I eventually did. He got up and said, “Wait here.” He went inside and returned after approximately 30 minutes. He said, “Here’s your passport. You may leave through the front door.” He made copies of my passport, and I was banned from leaving the country until 2013. After this incident, I decided to put an end to my preaching against the regime, and to focus solely on my studies.

Throughout the entire period of 2009–2012, I attended Islamic lessons both at the Iranian regime’s university and privately at the Shirazi Institute. I was exploring the differences between the Iranian regime and its opposition. My study schedule, other than the month of Ramadhan, would reach 16 hours a day, and I achieved the status of a Muslim scholar in three years. When I sat my final exam at the Shirazi Institute, I passed it with a grade of 100%. In June 2010, Grand Ayatollah Sadiq Shirazi ordained me as a scholar and crowned me as an imam in a public event held at his home. I continued my studies within the regime-run university as an ordained scholar, despite being advised not to.

Now that I was dressed as a Muslim scholar with my white Islamic turban, the students that were bullying me during my days at the Al-Mahdi Institute began to spread rumors that I was a “fake shaikh.” This was not because I had not completed my studies, but because they considered the grand ayatollah who crowned and ordained me as an Islamic scholar an apostate. I also knew that my annual educational visa was about to expire, which meant that I would be forced to leave Iran. I kept a very low profile during this time, hoping that all of the political and religious tensions would calm down. Al-Mahdi Institute had issued my first student visa at the beginning of my studies there, and issued the second visa before I graduated and transferred to Aalul-Bayt University. The university renewed my student visa once again, and in order to guarantee myself another annual visa from Iran’s Education Department and Immigration Ministry, I began to work for one of the regime’s most notorious grand ayatollahs: Grand Ayatollah Makarem.

Despite all the tension between myself and the Islamic seminaries, I wasn’t a noticeable figure. This meant that most high-ranking officials had not heard of me or my situation. I approached a well-known scholar who knew Makarem’s son, Masoud, and asked him to endorse me in Makarem’s office. I despised Makarem, but working for him meant that I had a strong backing in Iran and that I would be protected.

Grand Ayatollah Makarem’s office assigned me as the Head of the English Department in 2011-2012. I was responsible for the translation, editing, and publication of Makarem’s books and lessons, along with what was published on his website and social media accounts. I worked with two other colleagues, both named Mohammad, which made us three Mohammads. One day a caller to the department requested to speak with Mohammad, and all three of us went to the telephone at the same time.

Grand Ayatollah Makarem saw that I wasn’t only a translator who translated from Arabic to English, but also a scholar who eloquently crafted the context of his works in English, as I understood the subject matter. Other translators would translate word for word without giving too much importance to the fluency or context of the subject. He was very impressed with the feedback he received from his English-speaking followers on my work. However, I never placed my name on any of the works published because my critics would surely pressure Makarem to fire me.

My position in the office of Grand Ayatollah Makarem led me to becoming a regular guest on national television, preaching Sharia Law and presenting a series interpreting and explaining jurisprudential teachings in English, targeting Muslims in the West. Although many students knew that I was an opponent of the Iranian regime, the Iranian public didn’t, and neither did Ayatollah Makarem’s office. My previous preaching of Sharia Law on television presented me as a reasonable scholar, a fundamentalist fanatic, just as they desired.

The Iranian intelligence service does not generally pressure nor interrogate employees of ayatollahs affiliated with the regime, so I gathered that, because I worked for Makarem, the Iranian authorities assumed that I had changed my political views and preaching.

Makarem placed me on an extremely high salary compared to all of his other employees. I was possibly the second highest paid individual throughout his entire jurisdiction. I was receiving approximately $500 a fortnight, with gifts of $1000 on celebration days. Even though $500 a fortnight doesn’t sound like a lot of money to those living in the West, it is a very large amount compared to the student allowance granted by the university, which equated to less than $30 a month. The following are a few electronic payment receipts sent to my email from the headquarters of Grand Ayatollah Makarem Shirazi.

Ayatollah Makarem wanted to buy me as a person, and he saw me as a potential asset for his empire. I also used my salary to support other students within the university. This was one of the reasons why many began to accuse me of being funded by Israel, the UK, or the USA, because they saw me sponsoring other students without knowing where my income came from – and neither could I disclose it.