Director Jafar Panahi’s wife and two children published a letter for him.
Jafar Panahi was arrested in early March at his house. He is currently detained in Evin prison.
The Kaleme website reports that each member of the family wrote their own personal text.
The following is the full text of the letter:
No, Jafar! the answer is no. You asked all of us as a joke and we all ignored the question, until the moment they came to our house and answered it. They were in our house and we were each in a corner. They searched everywhere in the house, but we were still standing in our corners with our hands bound. [Your] computer, camera, films, notes, and notebooks were all taken away, but it didn’t matter. I just wanted them to not be there so we can look at each other for a moment. I knew your eyes were looking for me and Solmaz.
When they were done, we finally found each other. All you could do was raise your bound hands and flash me a smile. God knows I did my best to make my smile bigger and to raise my hands higher. I thought of telling you, “It doesn’t matter, at least we are with each other: me, you, and Solmaz.” It is alright, we are always with each other. But God knows how hard I tried to put a smile on my face to hide my sadness. You always jokingly asked us, “Can one not be free in his house?”
==
Auntie died when I was little. I remember looking at you and thinking, Why is dad not sad that his sister has died? It took me a while to understand that you might be sad, but you never cried. You might be sad for a lot of things: for them [the regime] not letting your movies to be screened, for you staying home for four years, for enduring thousands of threats and bans, for them [the regime] not letting you travel abroad, for them interrogating you, and for them asking you not to think about and talk about what matters to you. Even your closest friends have asked you to be silent.
There may have been points when the smallest things in life made you sad, but you never cried. Whenever you had a reason to cry, you didn’t, until the day when you finally cried. I never thought I would be the reason for your sadness.
The night when they tried to take us away from our home, you wanted to talk. One of them was standing above us in the corridor. He was standing there for you to finish what you were saying. He made you nervous. You raised your hands to caress my face, but it wasn’t possible with bound hands. That is when you cried, “Solmaz, I am sorry that this happened because of me. Promise me you won’t be scared. Please don’t be scared.” I laughed. Me and fear? Hell no! For what? ”Daddy, promise you won’t smoke, ok? It would be a shame [to smoke] now that you have quit.” I tried my best to talk and laugh so I hid my sadness. You could have cried all these years, but you didn’t. And now, you stand in front of me with a wet face.
==
If you think that while you have been away I am feeling better, you are wrong. I am feeling maybe worse, but not better. Nobody bothers to ask me, “Panah, why are you so silent? You don’t don’t talk to anyone.” We didn’t talk much. I thought I knew better than anybody why you didn’t feel like talking; you, who loves cinema, were not working and had to stay home. I understood, but I was silent too and didn’t tell you any of this. That night I walked the streets late. I was thinking about you finally making movies [again]. I was happy that you made the decision [to not make films], because film making for you meant the return of energy and life and breaking the damn silence. I walked and thought that I will be with you in a few minutes.
I was happy when I was nearing the house. The alley was crowded. A crowd of people stood there with their wireless phones. There were also two black vans. I hid behind a tree at the entrance of the alley and looked on. Then some people began to emerge [from the house] with bound hands. All the film crew boarded the van, so did you, mom, and Solmaz. I was shocked. The vans reversed out of the alley and drove off. It was all like a movie. In the next scene, I was in a disrupted and empty house. I noticed film equipment and a movie they never let you finish remaining [in the house]. The [unfinished] movie was a narrative of a family. It was different than your other movies that took place in the heart of society. If the movie was made, it could have been the most personal movie you ever made. The final scene [of the movie I was in] was of silence that filled the house.
==
A lot of people came to our house. We each sat in a corner. I had my hands on my feet while I looked at them. I was thinking, what kind of a New Year is this? A few minutes before the New Year, my hands are bound and I feel more alone than ever sitting here without you. Solmaz and I were released a few days after [our arrest], but you remained detained. This is how we spent the last month of the year: a few hours a day in front of the prison waiting for you. The families of prisoners who were being released stood in front of the prison gates. We all clapped for them and they raised their hands and waved the sign of freedom.
We were waiting for you to come down the stairs with your free hands in the air. We came every day and the number of people in front of the prison decreased. On the afternoon of the last day of the year, your cell mate was released. We were alone standing by the closed prison gate. What kind of a new year is this that they didn’t even let us spend it with you, even in front of the prison gate? They sent us home with humilation and insults. We thought of you at that moment in the new year.
All our friends came to our house for the New Year, but this only hurt us more because you were not there. Even if the entire world came to see us, we would still feel your absence. Two minutes before the New Year, I went on the balcony and cried. You are not here and I have no energy to smile to hide my sadness. It is as if nobody is ever free. When the New Year comes, I will be walking with you in prison.
==
There is always a reason to cry. Dad, I am not like you to see the reasons and still keep intact. They hurt you and I cry. They take you to prison and I cry. You stay in prison and I cry. The New Year comes while you are imprisoned and I cry. I live in a place where my New Year gift is my dad imprisoned. This is the first year that I didn’t want the New Year to come. And now that it has, I wish for it to end soon.
Holidays are more bitter than work days. During work days, at least there is hope to go forward and be free. But holidays mean total hopelessness. Sometimes, one person can fill the feeling of solitude. When that person is not there, and even if thousands of others are, you still feel more alone. There are a lot of friends in our house, but my attention is on the empty place [where you would have sat]. Do you remember how much we used to fight over that space? When you weren’t around, I would sit there and use the Internet. And now the chair is empty, but I have no desire to sit in it. I told you that there is always a reason to cry. Just looking at the chair makes me cry. I am not like you dad, not at all.
==
Since you left, I have become worse. I don’t talk with people much. I walk the dead alleys on our street. I walk around the house. I feel everywhere I go is like a movie scene and I am always present when the film crew gets arrested and taken away. With every moment of silence without you, I grow and realize that you have always been imprisoned. You told me once, “When they let me work, it is like I am in prison.”
Now I wish to see you so I can talk to you and let you know that I understand that you have been imprisoned before your arrest and that is why you didn’t talk to people. I understand that for someone who regarded cinema as part of their life, not working is like a prison. Wherever you went could have been a great spot for filming, but they didn’t let you work.
Now you are actually in prison and sitting in your cell. I don’t know, maybe you are more free now.
Happy New Year
Tahereh Saeedi (Panahi’s wife), Solmaz Panahi (Panahi’s daughter), and Panah Panahi (Panahi’s son)
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