Impunity

"The blindfold is firmly tied."

Capturing. Embracing. Amazed, but predictable. After all, the book's title is My Life as a Traitor. The reader is expected to expect someone in prison, someone blindfolded, someone being captured by the authorities in times of turmoil in a nation. A territory at conflict, war.

I continue reading and realize that this is not just the ordinary story of "how I was captured as a traitor and how I was a rebel and how they tortured me and how terrible the world is."

She's misunderstood, she's resignated, and knows the man that's judging her doesn't understand where she's coming from. Why she's protesting. How she wasn't the bad person, how there's murderers, rapists, true rebels that fire guns, and throw stones, and she was the one in the blindfold.

I can't help but feel that same feeling that caused me so much trouble. That same feeling that made me so damaged.

The guy that's judging her reads her ID. He sees what's written in it. Her name, her university, her major, her birth date, and her birth place. Things that label you as people wish to see you and think they do.

The interrogator slams his hand against the table he's interrogating her in.

He says: "When you wanted to change the future of the country at the university, were you speaking so softly?"

Already assuming he knows everything. Already assuming he's been in her place, walked in her shoes. It's like people have never felt like this. Like people never really cared if they were the ones getting labeled as other people wished.

She prays to God he will save her. But I know that isn't going to help. Sinners will still sin, they'll go to hell afterwards.

He asks, "What is your name?"
She responds, "Zarah Ghahramani"
He shouts, "Full details!"

Here comes the part where I wonder how does one describe yourself to someone who already believes you're guilty, and that was his first impression of you? I've never been able to do that. Those exercises at the beginning of the school teacher, where you're supposed to say your name, and "tell a little something about yourself." It doesn't work that way. If you haven't walked in my shoes, if you haven't heard my story, you don't know me. You have no right to judge me. Period.

I have trust issues.

"I am going to speak to him as if he cares about my situation, even though he doesn't."

She knows. She knows people will not change their image of you no matter how hard you try and how elaborately you describe yourself to them. They will never understand, and they will never care.

"'Do you know why you are here?' he says.
I don't answer.
'No,' he replies, answering his own question, 'you don't know, do you? You have to remain here because the country does not need rubbish like you.'
I shake my head as a sign of disagreement. I merely wish to say that I am not rubbish, or anything like rubbish. Even more foolishly I say, 'But why?'
He comes abruptly from behind his desk and shoves his face so close to mine that it is almost touching me. 'Didn't I tell you, I am the only one who asks questions!'"

Self-imposed impunity. A mere sentence explains how the person to be interrogated is inferior.

I ask the questions. I have impunity.

Rage.