Narges Mohammadi Details Solitary Confinement Ordeal in Iranian Prisons

The cell had no ventilation. A window near the ceiling at the top of the door, covered by a perforated metal sheet, let thin strands of sunlight signal morning and fading rays mark night.

Time warped in solitary confinement. Without a clock, day and night blurred into beams of light through the metal holes. An afternoon nap risked total disorientation; minutes outside stretched to years inside, leaving uncertainty about today, yesterday or tomorrow.

The cell felt dense, time compressed and motionless. Staring at the holes yielded no change. Sitting, standing and pacing repeated endlessly, but time stood still.

Night brought the weight of a year packed into hours. Time alone could drive madness.

A bell sometimes pierced the silence, signaling interrogators' arrival. Men did not enter the women's corridor. A female warden fetched the prisoner, shuffling in plastic slippers to the cell.

My heart raced at the sound. She paused to speak with the interrogator, passed other cells and stopped at mine. 'Get up. Get ready,' a voice called.

A blindfold and chador landed inside. 'Put on your coat and pants,' the warden ordered. I donned loose dark blue plastic-like clothes, worn thin socks, a dark blue maghnae covering hair, neck and shoulders, then the white floral chador and blindfold. Plastic slippers completed the outfit. I followed her past a foul tarpaulin curtain separating women from men.

A man's voice thanked the warden and took charge. We walked the main corridor, solitary cells on one side, interrogation rooms on the other. More than ten branches held five cells each: two small at ends, three or four medium in middle.

Blindfolded, I entered the room and stood until ordered: 'Go forward. Take the seat and sit.' A plastic chair waited. The air reeked; I sat frozen.

Lifting the blindfold, I saw a man behind a small wooden desk. 'Well, Ms Mohammadi, you’ll be staying with us for a while,' he said harshly.

'For how long?'

'Don’t ask. No one knows. It depends on you. If you cooperate, you’ll go back to your children.'

'Cooperate?'

'Yes. The Defenders of Human Rights Center is an American espionage project.'

Afterward, he handed me the end of his prayer beads, scented with rosewater or sweat. I trailed him back, repulsed. Childhood memories tied beads to devotion on my grandparents' prayer rugs.

Solitary filled unknowns with terror. Before arrest, activists including a psychiatrist's wife described 'white torture': isolation, fear and sensory deprivation breaking the mind. One called the cell a grave; another, submersion in freezing water.

For me, it was a child in a monster's arms. No fresh air came those first days. Walking blindfolded to interrogation felt like an alien planet under heavy gravity.

Blindness bred fear that multiplied in repression. Agency vanished before raw power. The door, opened only by jailers, hardened beyond walls.

Medical checkups needed multi-agency clearance. Officials admitted extreme controls came from above. Years in prison showed neglect as strategy: regimes waited for bodies to fail, blocking care.

These writings by Narges Mohammadi were smuggled from Iran's Evin, Qarchak and Zanjan prisons by prisoners and visitors risking their lives. They form part of her autobiography A Woman Never Stops Fighting, due later this year.

Mohammadi faced 14 arrests for activism on women's rights and ending the death penalty. She received over 40 years in prison and 154 lashes across convictions, plus 18 more years pending. She won the 2023 Nobel Peace Prize in prison during Women, Life, Freedom protests.

In December 2024, she gained temporary release on health grounds but was re-arrested violently a year later amid a crackdown. Sentenced to more time in February this year, her health worsened in 2026, losing over 20kg. Found unconscious after a heart attack in March, she remains in critical condition at a Zanjan hospital, denied Tehran surgeons.