Conscious Coma: Ten Years in an Iranian Prison

By David Rabhan and President Jimmy Carter

In 1975, Mr. Rabhan traveled to Iran as a businessman, where he successfully farmed, produced infant formula, and manufactured children’s clothing. One day in 1980, when he was driving to one of his factories in Damgitam, he was arrested, accused of being a spy, and imprisoned without formal charges. His first year was spent largely in solitary confinement. After seven and half years, the Iranian officials finally filed charges against Mr. Rabhan in 1988, and he was given a specific sentence of two years for being a spy. In August 1990, the court said the charge was a mistake, and the American David Rabhan walked away from Evin Prison in Tehran, Iran, with an incredible story in his head and with two suitcases stuffed with more than three hundred sketches of prisoners, who, like himself, were incarcerated for alleged political crimes against the Khomeini regime. Together, the incredible stories and the unbelievable illustrations appearing in this book express the triumph of human dignity and spirit.

“David Rabhan is one of the most interesting people I know. The examples of prison art give an insight into his extraordinary character ” (Former President Jimmy Carter).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984529398

David Rabhan

David Rabhan, is a native of Savannah, Georgia and a graduate of the University of Georgia. He served as a major in the U.S. Army's 13th Special Forces and he retains a pilots license to date. Rabhan, now 91, enjoys an active life in the beautiful Smoky mountains of Western North Carolina.

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Copyright © 2018 by David Rabhan.

Library of Congress Control Number:    2018906080

ISBN:                Hardcover                          978-1-9845-2937-4

                          Softcover                            978-1-9845-2938-1

                          eBook                                 978-1-9845-2939-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of non-fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are factual with the exception of a few person’s names that are changed to protect them and their families who remain in Iran.

Any people depicted in drawings provided by the author, David Rabhan, were drawn by him while in prison and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only with the author’s permission.

Rev. date: 09/20/2018

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The original Conscious Coma was dedicated to Nobel Prize Laureate Jimmy Carter because he tried… and to my children, Joseph, Linda, and Tzippi and to my dear friend and former wife Amy, for their forbearance.

This revision is 

dedicated to the same people as was the first edition and to those who suffer the prisons of tyrannical governments…. This book is also dedicated to all the kind people who have asked me to print the book again.

Contents

Foreword by President Jimmy Carter

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Chapter 1   Arrival

Chapter 2   Arrest

Chapter 3   The Beginning

Chapter 4   Life in Prison with All the Joys and

Pleasures Thereof

Chapter 5   Unpleasant Treatment

Chapter 6   Verdicts

Chapter 7   Friends and Cellmates

Chapter 8   Occupational Therapy

Chapter 9   Food

Chapter 10   Wine Making and Cooking

Chapter 11   Thirteen Jails

Chapter 12   The Beginning of the End

Glossary of Farsi Terms

List Of Illustrations

Bibliography

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Foreword by President Jimmy Carter

David Rabhan is one of the most interesting people I know, and this book about his ten years in the most infamous prison in the Middle East gives insight into his extraordinary character. In Conscious Coma, David vividly describes how he dealt with the brutality and mundane day-to-day life in Iran’s Evin Prison. With uncanny mental insight and a deep love of the art, he created beauty in food, wine, carvings, and drawings to keep his mind sharp and survive the insanity. Through seemingly unending days of alternating madness, laughter, pain and joy, he was not only able to beat the system," but also fins some inner peace in the horror all around him.

Acknowledgements

The original book would not have been in this form nor at the time, without the help, cajoling, editing, advising, criticizing and most of all typing my more than 80,000 words of handwritten manuscript, if it had not been for Joanne Strange, who did yeoman service.

Also, to Richard McNeely who started on the day that I arrived back in Swainsboro, Georgia, to pester me about writing about my experience, to my good friend and editor, the poet Dr. Robert Overstreet, to Amy Hanan (the immediate past wife) whose sometimes harsh and unkind advice I have sought for more than thirty years, and to Jerry Cadle for his patience, support, interest, and tolerance as I used and abused his facilities. Thanks to my publisher, Dwan, for her encouragement and assistance in getting the first edition into print.

As the original Conscious Coma is no longer in print and now that my children are grown, and, yes, grandchildren and even great grandchildren have arrived, my current editor, my wife Mandy, insisted that I revise the book with additional stories as told to her as they came to me in reviewing the original book. Mandy worked for me many years ago and has known me over 50 years. She has spent countless hours typing and editing. Pat Griffin devotedly worked for me many years ago and has worked with Mandy as co- editor. Robert Stilz of Computer Crusaders has been invaluable as our technical guru and marketing advisor. David Vowel, Director of Cherokee Arts Council, Murphy, North Carolina, has been invaluable in marketing not only my book but my art through art exhibits, lectures, and media referrals. For spelling corrections of Farsi words throughout the text, credit goes to a long-time friend whose family befriended me in Iran. She has since moved to the US and I have kept my special friendship with her. Another Iranian living in the US was invaluable in evaluating the spelling and ensuring the proper translation of my use of the Farsi words. Their names will not be mentioned here out of caution for the safety of their families still in Iran.

Not least of all my devoted children who deserve much credit not only for all they have done for me, but for preserving my many drawings and papers over these many years.

TO ALL I AM GRATEFUL.

Introduction

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In the Islamic faith, to photograph or depict the face is not done as it is believed it captures the soul. Pictures that I drew of cellmates were permitted as they were done for the family on the eve of their death by execution. Other drawings were either non-Muslim or hidden and smuggled out of the prison.

This is being written to give information, and if possible, to entertain. This is not intended to be a literary masterpiece, nor a work of literary art, and as you will see from the very beginning, I am already succeeding. The pictures in this book were drawn and painted by me in prison. How did I get them out of the prison? I’ll tell you later. The names of the Iranians in this book have been changed for reasons I’m sure you understand or you’ll come to understand if you do not already.

The accounts I am about to relate are all true … this has given me a real problem. The problem is not about the truthfulness but about the things that happened to me. I do not want to be guilty of self-aggrandizement. I don’t even want to sound bragging or boastful. I am accused of having a very vivid imagination but nowhere along the way could I have imagined the things I saw and heard that happened to others and to me.

The episodes I will describe will not be in chronological order because first, I do not remember the dates and, second, time is not really important to the events. None of the experiences I had impressed me as a lesson. This in spite of what Ayatollah Khomeini, not only said, but wrote on the walls of buildings and all of the inside walls of the jails, that Jail is a University. I do not think I learned anything useful there that would or did help me on the outside. Skills that I acquired prior to my imprisonment that served me well through those difficult times came through my experiences, my education and my training in farming, business, entrepreneurship, military special forces and my creative skills in the arts.

Although the first edition of my book Conscious Coma was published 14 years after the fact and for sure some things were forgotten, I felt inclined to follow-up with this revised edition in 2018 based on my notes, letters and the current news regarding Iran. I felt that it was timely to describe what it is like to experience what can happen when you travel for business or any other reason to Iran.

My feelings now concerning Iran and Iranians are the same as they were while in jail, upon release and since returning home to the United States. Iran is a microcosm of our land. It has mountains, deserts, seas, and lush green areas. It is truly a beautiful country and the diversity of the landscape is compressed relative to our land. The Iranians, culturally, are a kind and polite people. They have a long history of hospitality.

When I arrived in Iran, it was 50 years behind us here in the west due to the curse of xenophobia (intense, irrational fear or dislike of anyone different in custom or dress; or foreigners). Most communities experience xenophobia (my zip code included … possibly yours). There were things in the country that sorely needed to change to bring the country through the deficits of the 50 years. Cultural and social conditions will change as those customs and traditions no longer have a need or place, as customs and traditions do. These two things are always evolving. The revolution has added to the deficit in some ways and in some ways decreased it. Iranians’ attitude toward females is a step backwards, as westerners see it. Their advance in education for all is two-steps forward, as anyone would see it.

The business community became very nervous starting in 1978 and those who could afford it cashed in their funds and sent them out of the country, a real foreign exchange drain on the Central Bank of Iran. I’m not talking millions, but billions. As Khomeini’s arrival from France came closer, the Central Bank published money transfers by names and foreign exchange balances every day in the newspapers. The value of the rial (the Iranian money) against the dollar changed by the day. On February 2017 the rial to the dollar was 310,000 =1 USD. The rial becomes less valuable each day. At the time of this writing, prices of consumer goods and all imports are, of course, rising with the devaluing of the rial.

Before the revolution and after, the economy was a seller’s market. The revolution just made sure that it would stay that way for a very long time to come, as shortages in every commodity and necessity appeared (even more so today). Government controlled products - bread, gasoline and kerosene - did not change early. After Khomeini arrived, all prices increased, or as with bread, the size of the product became smaller. At the three meal times, there was always a small line at the Non Vou Bakery. The Iranians, like the French, buy their bread before each meal. After Khomeini arrived, the lines became very long. The flour was imported. Eggs all but disappeared from the market. Iran was never self-sufficient in egg production and now the grain to feed the locally produced egg had to be imported which compounded inflation. The port at Bandar Abbas was jammed and ships were waiting three weeks to unload. The sea at Bandar Abbas looked like a very large crowded ship parking lot. Nothing was being produced there and everything was being imported.

Khomeini made many promises at the beginning of the revolution and few were kept. The population lived not only in fear of the religious zealots, and rightly so, but lived with the discomfort of 30 percent unemployment and an industrial infrastructure with productivity at a 30 percent rate. It was a society that lived with a shortage in every commodity, except the spewing forth of religious fervor and as of today, nothing has changed.

The street dress code was set by the zealots, in their interpretation of the religious (Sharia) laws as they saw them reflected from a thousand plus years before. Women who violated these codes were punished by having acid thrown on their legs as they walked on the streets, or by arrest and jail, or with harsh lashes. They lived in constant fear that their homes could be invaded at any time and of being arrested because of some infraction of the codes, such as listening to music, watching movies, or dancing at wedding parties. The list is long.

Xenophobia in all of its strangling forms took over the country as official doctrine. The government even advertised in the US newspapers for Iranians with skills, especially doctors who had left the country, to return to help the revolution succeed. Those who dared to return were taken from the airport to the jail; no rumor that, I was there to bear witness.

The number of people killed as antirevolutionaries in the jails by the government will never be known. I know of 360 young men who lived on the floor above me and were killed over a three-day period. A 13 years-old boy was taken from that group and put in our group. He cried for two days to be taken upstairs and on the third day he was moved there with them. I tried hard to convince this boy to remain with us so did my fellow friends as he had a whole life ahead of him. To no avail. It was heart-rending when they took him away and he was killed. Their cell was on the second floor and over-looked the outdoor exercise area where I walked. They would come to the window when they saw me outside and beg me to tell their story to the outside world about what goes on inside the prison. It is also noteworthy that they were all buried together in an unmarked mass grave dug by a bulldozer without notification to their families.

I was asked by Angel, wife of my friend and fellow prisoner, Maurice LaRue, How long do you think this revolution will last, five or six years? I said, No, the minimum time before things will change will be at least 25 years.

The political system in Iran today is based on the Quran, which in spite of all that is said, is not a democratic system. Before I go any further, let me say that the English-speaking people do a great disservice to themselves and to Islam by misunderstanding and not recognizing the word Allah, when translated, means God. When a Muslim translates the Bible into Arabic, the word God is translated as Allah. When we translate, or use the word Allah, we are saying God. So, when we speak about Islam and the Quran, we should use the word God instead of Allah. Using Allah makes Islam, not only different, but gives one or either us or them, another God. Their battle Islam cry is, There is no God but God, and so is ours, There is only one God. The Quran recognizes by name the prophets and the stories of the Bible and mentions the Christians and the Jews as, The peoples of the Book.

Extremist Islam today is no different than Christianity was during the Inquisitions. (So that you don’t think I’m letting the Jews off the hook, just read the Old Testament; now I guess I have offended all.) Time will water down the extremism as it has in all of our religions. Education and socioeconomic conditions will pressure it to do so as it has done to other religions in the past as they evolve to meet the needs of the people of the day and time.

The problem for the country now is that the people who were born five years before and during the revolution have no feeling for those who led the revolution or, in fact, died for it, such as the Sar Allah (Warriors of God). These were young volunteers, age nine to seventeen, who died walking across mine fields in Iraq to clear the way for the Iranian soldiers. There are thousands of citizens in Iran today who are missing limbs because of the mine field clearing. It’s the same here today with the young blacks who have very little feeling for the work of the Rev. Martin Luther King or what the civil rights movement gave them.

This Iranian generation understands computers and the internet, watches television and wants to be a part of the democratic world. In a few years, they will flex their growing muscle. (They are beginning to do so now.) More than 50 percent of the population is under 30, and that will be the end of the political system that exists there today. Unfortunately, if those who are in power now do not address themselves to the changes that must be made, the day that the muscle is flexed, the jouy-e aabs (ditches), will run red with the mullahs’ (religious clerics) blood.

From the beginning of recorded history, there have been regime changes — people overpowering other people — be it for religion, land, tribe, or country. It’s chronicled in all of the religious books, Torah, New Testament, Quran and through modern history. These wars are with us today for just about the same reasons.

The first night I met my second wife, Amy, I gave her a riddle to solve and the night I returned from my Iranian experience I gave President Carter the same riddle. The riddle: What two scourges of humankind have caused more death and destruction than any other known to humankind and what will solve it all, one word? Both, by my judgment got one cause right (though not the same), neither got the one-word solution right. I feel nationalism and religion (not necessarily in that order) are the two causes while the one-word solution is education.

The over-powering of people by groups is mentioned in literature as an event, usually with the names of both sides and the dates and then goes on to the commentary of the effect. These dates, 1616 or in the third century BC or a time period in the good books are just that, a date.

But to actually live through a regime change by watching it happen, really becomes more than a dash between two dates. To watch the planned and unplanned destruction that occurs and the death and misery that comes with the violent changes, gives one the understanding what these dashes mean. History will not record the destruction, deaths, names and misery that I saw, only the dates and the dashes. Those were and are real people.

When one sees, as I did, the many young people killed in the name of God, one wonders why with all the wonderful and sometimes not so wonderful things that God has done and can do, why do people need to help God kill people? Of course, I feel that God needs no help in the killing department but could use some help in other more constructive departments (if this is not blasphemy, I have a list of those that need to go.)

Given today’s global society, those groups (nations) that are ruled by kings, dictators and self-designated presidents are empowered by the rule of the gun and the uneducated masses they rule. This is the situation in Iran today. The revolution or change of the regime in Iran was from a monarchy to a religious dictator. Neither of these two are acceptable in today’s world. I need not say any one person should govern through the right of heredity, nor should one representing the minority govern by the right of the gun, proclaiming it is God’s will.

During the reign of Mahamad Reza Shah Pahlavi, most Iranians were afraid to speak against the government. The Shah (King) was trying to move the population into the twentieth century too rapidly without a firm foundation of an educated population; illiteracy was widespread. On the other hand, the Khomeini regime set the country back almost to the 50-year mark. Before many years passed they had to relent somewhat and reinstall some of the advances the Shah had made, and now I would say they are only 30 or so years behind, except for the religious attitude.

In the first edition written in 2004, I wrote that the hope for the country is in the generation that is entering their teens. They will change the country if it isn’t done sooner, but for sure it will drastically change within the next 15 years. There is light at the end of the tunnel. Now that that generation has had children, this generation will make even more changes than the preceding generation made. The light that I saw at the end of the tunnel was the train. I feel that if I could predict that the light at the end of the tunnel was the train, I am not willing to put a time certain, but Iran will eventually join the civilized world. Although xenophobia has been around as long as people have, with enlightenment it will become less and less.

Although I was deprived of ten years of my life and at times treated more harshly than at others, there is no animosity on my part towards Iran, the Iranians, or the Muslims who have it in control. This is to say that even though I have no animosity, I don’t like what they did to me. They did what they thought was right. Time and the very people they are educating will change all of this. Even so, it will seem a long, slow process.

Chapter One

Arrival

My project here is moving as I like it now. I think we will be in production with the small plant in four months—then I will be happy—everything is go here now!

Journal Note 10 Aug 75

My Iranian experience began in the bar at the El Presidente Hotel in Mexico City in 1974. I was there with my administrative assistant, Jim Horne, for a series of meetings with the Mexican government’s minister of finance to establish a factory off the coast of Mexico to reduce anchoveta (small-fish kin to the anchovy) to fish protein concentrate, using my floating fish factory (the ship Cape Flattery docked in California). Fish and labor were less expensive and the schools of fish were closer to land than in California.

Jim had just returned from Pennsylvania. As we were drinking and talking, he said that while he was in Pennsylvania he had met a fellow from Iran. When Jim told him what we were doing, the fellow told Jim how much the product was needed in Iran and since Iran had a school lunch program like most countries and more importantly had the money to purchase the product, Iran sounded like a place that could use our protein concentrate.

I told Jim to contact his friend and make arrangements to go to Iran and check on this possibility. If it was like he was told, it would be a good market for our Mexican product. Soon after that, Jim left for Iran. He returned with positive results and we started to design the project. After two more trips and finding they had sardines aplenty there, we decided to move our ship, the Cape Flattery, to the Persian Gulf.

At that point, the Iranians would no longer deal with Jim. They wanted the head man there. So, gathering up my plans and papers, I was off to Iran.

It was in February 1975 that I arrived in Tehran. After being there a few months, the place seemed like a chapter out of Samuel Clemens’, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. The country needed everything. In general, it seemed that I stepped back 50 years, but Iran was on a fast track to catch up and that was causing trouble, trouble big time. The general population was not ready for all of the social changes that were taking place. And I was not prepared for what was ahead. I knew nothing about Iran and not knowing caused me a lot of trouble. While I was on the flight I was told the place was Persia. I asked the Pan AM flight attendant for a map and could not find Persia. I asked her where we were going and she said, Tehran, and I asked where Persia was. She had no idea. I looked at my ticket and it said THR. Shortly afterwards the attendant came over and said Persia was Iran.

My departure for Iran was delayed for three weeks because the roof of the terminal building collapsed due to a violent snowstorm. The plane arrived at Mehrabad Airport in Tehran at three o’clock in the morning, late because of a snowstorm. It was still snowing as I deplaned and my new partners met me. From the airport, we went on an hour’s drive to a famous lovely restaurant way up in the Alborz Mountains overlooking Tehran. There we were to have dinner/breakfast. As I was looking and talking, unbeknownst to me the meal was ordered by my hosts in Farsi (the Iranian language, although, my associates were educated in England and spoke excellent English). At that point, I had not a clue about the language. I was still not even sure what country I was in, Persia or Iran. After a long wait (something I would do a lot of in the coming years) the meal came. On my plate was a very large steak, a baked potato and a salad on the side. Everyone was excited by the steaks and after a few bites I was asked about the meal. I answered, I have just flown almost half way around the world over the North Pole, ridden one hour at 3:00 o’clock in the morning in a snowstorm to get a meal that I could have gotten on the first floor of my apartment. The steak is good, however, I thought I was going to get an Iranian meal. Try as I may I still haven’t learned not to insult my new friends when they are trying to be gracious and helpful. Of course, it’s open season on the old ones, to hear them talk about it!

And now that started it. All Americans love steaks, we bring all of our visitors here and they love it. Poor things, little did they know with whom they were dealing. The playing field was now level. They had the chef prepare an Iranian meal that I now cannot remember, but until it was fixed, served and eaten, I thought I would never get to sleep.

After the flight into Tehran and the late dinner or early breakfast it took three days for me to get a complete night’s sleep. Those three days were just a blur, although the new partners were oblivious to this fact. They scheduled meetings the first afternoon. At the first meeting, the three partners made it clear that they did not want me to talk to anyone about our project. They would establish all my contacts and all my conversations in the line of business would only be technical.

Most of my day was spent waiting for 1600 hrs. At that time, I would go to the office and meet with everyone and basically do nothing. Usually one hour after my arrival, tea and fruit would be served and we would sit and talk. Almost all of the conversation was in Farsi (the official Iranian language), of which I found very unsettling, especially since they spoke English as well. I did not want to speak up and make an issue at this early time in the negotiations.

Once or twice a week I would be taken, with one of the partners present, to speak at a ministry to show samples and answer questions. Except for what I had to say, all of the conversation was in Farsi. Later I was to find that most foreigners were treated this way by Iranian partners who were not business people.

During this period, I was living in the hotel owned by the King. It was supposed to be one of the best in Tehran, but it was the equivalent of a no-star as far as service was concerned. As far as cleanliness was concerned, clean it was not. I should not be too critical because the price was five-star. The hotel was the Tehran International Hotel on Old Shemiran Road. At