Faride Shafa’i
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Faride Shafa’i
June 28th, 1987 – an ordinary summer day in the northwestern Iranian town of Sardasht. The Iran-Iraq War – started seven years earlier – was still raging along Iran’s border. But for residents, the summer was here. Schools were out. It was holiday time. Despite the war, things were ok – good, even.
That was until 4:30 pm when Iraqi fighter jets flew overhead and dropped chemical bombs. Life, for the town and its people, was never the same again.
The world has heard of the Iraqi town of Halabja – just over 100 km away – which was bombed by Saddam Hussein in March 1988. Few have heard of the same horrors, which befell the Iranian citizens of Sardasht, all victims of the same weapons.
On the 27th anniversary of the gas attacks at Sardasht, Faride Shafa’i, a survivor, shares her experiences from a woman’s perspective.
Faride had lived in Sardasht all her life. A mother of three girls, she was a schoolteacher in her home town. She was 27. On that day the sun was starting to set in the western sky.
With her daughters Shabnam (7 years), Shahla (3) and Nahid (2), Faride was celebrating the end of term over tea at her sister’s house. Her husband, Mohammad Rasoul, also a teacher, had gone off for a walk in the hills with his friends. Life couldn’t have been better.
The people of Sardasht had been accustomed to the sounds of conventional warfare. The sound of artillery and shelling from the war front, fewer than 10 kilometres away, was a constant reminder of the long-imposed war with Iraq.
“There were rumours that Saddam was planning to use chemical weapons,” said Faride, “but no one took them seriously. Why would he want to gas innocent people? It didn’t make any sense.”
Then the bombs fell. And the memories have never left her.
“There was so much panic when the bombs fell,” Faride said. Accustomed to conventional bombing, the residents of Sardasht were not expecting a chemical weapons attack. Instinct drove people to take cover and hide in their usual safe places, including basements.
“Government pamphlets had told us to seek high ground in a gas attack,” said Faride, “but we were paralyzed with fear. We ran to what we thought was safety in the basement.”
It was exactly the wrong thing to do. Mustard gas clings to the ground. And it followed them into the basement. Enveloped by a wall of garlic-smelling mustard gas, Faride and her children began to cough, their skin started to burn, their eyes became blurry. Faride’s maternal instinct kicked in, and the survival of her children was her priority. Struggling to find water, she wiped her daughters’ faces but it was too late, the damage had already been done.
Mohammad Rasoul rushed back to take his wife and children to the safety of their own home but their conditions grew worse by the minute. The effects of the mustard gas usually take around two hours to develop when serious symptoms start to appear and gradually worsen.
“I couldn’t open my eyes,” remembered Faride, “it was as if they were burning from the inside. The girls were in such pain and crying. Little Nahid was the worst. She was too little to understand what was going on. She just kept crying and crying. It broke my heart to hear them.”
They felt as if their skin was on fire. Soon suppurating, painful blisters appeared on their bodies. Breathing was difficult and then the uncontrollable vomiting started.
After an initial visit to a local doctor provided no relief, Faride’s husband took her and the children to Tabriz, where their condition was considered too severe for the facilities there.
On that afternoon, Sardasht – a city of 12,000 people – experienced the trauma of chemical attacks in two bombing runs. Four chemical bombs, each containing 250 kg of sulfur mustard, hit the densely populated town centre. Three more bombs detonated in gardens around the town.
More than 8,000 people were immediately exposed to mustard gas. Within the first hours of the attack, 20 people died. In the coming days over a hundred more fatalities were recorded. Of the 4,500 victims requiring medical attention, 600 were evacuated by air to Tehran. Faride and her children were amongst them.
Not expecting civilians to be attacked by chemical weapons, the Iranian hospitals were simply not prepared for the onslaught of casualties with such horrific injuries. On 
arrival in Tehran, the Shafa’i family was taken to the airport’s triage post where their injuries were assessed and hospitals were assigned according to the needs of each victim. Faride and her two older daughters were taken to the city’s Baghiatallah Hospital. However, Nahid’s condition was considered to be the most critical. And so, accompanied by her father, she went to the Imam Khomeini Hospital.
In constant, searing pain, Faride and her two older daughters underwent skin treatment for the burns and blisters.
“I can’t describe the sounds of Shahla’s screaming as the doctors treated her burns,” said Faride, “I lay in the bed next to her, unable to see, and listened to her scream in pain. I felt useless. I couldn’t do anything to help. Can you imagine what that is like for a mother?”
The following days were to bring more suffering to this small, humble woman. Four days after they arrived in Tehran, Mohammad Rasoul arrived at the Baghiatallah Hospital to help his wife and daughters. Faride was surprised to see her husband at the hospital and repeatedly asked him what had happened to Nahid. Mohammad Rasoul evaded all his wife’s questions.
Stress levels increased even more for Faride when she was told that Shahla needed to be moved immediately to another hospital with more appropriate equipment for her needs. Faride initially refused to have another daughter taken from her and strongly objected to Shahla’s transfer from Baghiatallah. Mohammad Rasoul stepped in and persuaded Faride that moving Shahla was the best thing and she must cooperate to save her daughter’s life. Faride relented and Shahla was taken to the city’s Mofid Hospital.
After Saddam Hussein’s attacks at Sardasht, many of Iran’s friends rallied to help them in their hour of need. Doctors from a number of countries offered help and many victims were evacuated to European countries including Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium and Spain. Faride was told that she and her daughters were to be evacuated to Spain for medical treatment.
“I told the doctors I was not getting on any plane to go anywhere without all my daughters,” said Faride. Although reassured by medical staff that Shahla would meet Faride and Shabnam at Mehrabad Airport, Faride was still suspicious and upset.
“I was very adamant,” she said, “if Shahla was not there at the airport to meet us, then I was not boarding that plane.” Fortunately, Shahla did meet her mother and sister and together they left for Spain.
With still no word about Nahid, Faride asked if she was coming to Spain too.
“My husband told me that Nahid was in a very bad condition and the doctors could not take her off the life-support machines,” said Faride. “I was very suspicious. I had had some disturbing dreams about Nahid, but I was still hopeful for her recovery.”
Now in a different country, Faride says she remembers the looks of shock and horror when she and her family arrived at Spain’s military hospital, Gomez Ulla. The medical staff was expecting wounded soldiers from the front, not women and children. Overcoming their horror, the Spanish doctors and nurses got to work and began a remarkable recovery process, treating their patients with respect and kindness.
“It was so much easier for us women and children in Spain,” said Faride, “the nurses were so caring and affectionate to the children. They would play with them, sing to them and some would even buy toys with their own money to make them feel happy. I cannot thank them enough.”
After two months of intense but effective treatment, Faride and her daughters returned to Iran to finish their recovery in Tehran.
Arriving at Iran’s Mehrabad Airport, Faride and her daughters were met by her aunt and uncle, who took them to their home to rest. That same night, Faride’s uncle asked to have a word with her in private.
“He told me that I should be grateful and thank God that Shabnam, Shahla and myself were fine,” remembered Faride. “I asked my uncle about Nahid and he told me that she was dead and it would be better for me now to forget her.”
Revealing her broken spirit, Faride lowered her head and wept silent tears. She took a long time to suppress the emotional pain. She then wiped her eyes and continued with her heartbreaking story.
Four months after the attack Faride had her first cornea transplant on her left eye. Several months later, a second transplant on her right eye was less successful, causing permanent impaired vision. It was three years after this second cornea transplant, when Faride was scheduled to undergo another eye operation, that she discovered that she was pregnant.
“The doctors were very worried about my pregnancy,” said Faride, “they tried to persuade me to abort the baby. They said that all the medication and the anesthesia would not be good for the baby. I refused to lose another child and said no.”
After months of close medical supervision, Faride gave birth to a daughter, Parisa. The cornea transplant operation was more successful and everyone seemed happy.
Two years after the gas attacks, German lung specialist, Professor Lutz Freitag, carried out a laser surgery operation to remove a blockage in Faride’s lungs, a consequence of the gas attack.
“When I was told that this famous professor was coming to do this operation on a number of chemical weapons victims, “ smiled Faride, “I thought he must have been a really old man. But he was so young! However, the operation did help.”
The procedure succeeded in easing her breathing difficulties, but Faride has had to grow accustomed to a life of constant coughing and dependence on nebulizers and oxygen machines.
But Faride’s medical problems never seemed to end. Recently, diagnosed with breast cancer, Faride had a mastectomy on her left breast a year ago and has just completed chemotherapy.
“Strong women like me don’t like to be sick,” said Faride, “we would give anything to be well again. However, the hardest thing for women like me to bear is not just the injuries, but the stigma.”
Constant coughing and skin discoloration from the burns have brought about soul destroying social stigma. Unable to attend social gatherings because of the persistent coughing, Faride slumped in her chair as she described how she, formerly a very socially active woman, was forced to become a near recluse.
“The worst thing for me,” she said, “was the lack of support from my own family. They would look at me sometimes as if I were contagious. They didn’t want me to come to their parties because the coughing up of phlegm disgusted them. I understand it made them feel uncomfortable but it made life so depressing for me and for my own family. We couldn’t go out anywhere. I was always very lonely.”
Faride sat pensively for a few moments, then continued, “It is not easy for women gas victims here. For men, it is different. They chose to go to war, so they knew the risks. We didn’t ask for this.”
The cultural expectations for married women in Iran made recovery even more difficult for female survivors. Faride says that the network for male victims and war veterans is vast and supportive, but very few support outlets exist for women. Tradition expects women in Iran to have the important role of keeping the family together, educating the children, cooking, shopping and cleaning. As a gas attack victim, these were things she often did not have the strength to do.
“When I am at home,” said Faride, “it seems that I have to do everything a healthy wife does. But I believe if a man is injured, the family don’t expect of him the same responsibilities they expect of a healthy man.”
But the social expectations were there. As a result there was little sympathy for women – they were simply expected to get on with their duties and not complain.
“Even my husband,” Faride said quietly, “had very little sympathy for my illness and hospitalization. It has been very difficult.”
After the long process of treatment and recovery, Faride and her family chose not to return to Sardasht to live, but to the nearby city of Orumieh. She tried to resume her teaching career, but was given very little consideration or sympathy for her injuries.
“The district authority wanted to send me to some very remote city in Anzal,” she said bitterly. “I had to ask them if they cared about my problems or not.” After months of negotiation, the district authorities accepted her doctor’s recommendation to stay in Urumieh.
“It was so difficult, but my teaching colleagues at least were supportive,” she said. “They would help me with the paperwork and allow me to work as a substitute teacher.” With the support of her colleagues she continued teaching until the statutory retirement age.
Faride’s voice speaks for the many silent women, who suffer from the consequences of chemical attacks and who feel ignored by society.
“Women need more support than men,” she said, “especially psychological support.” Explaining that women are vulnerable to oppression and strict social expectations, Faride suggested that authorities need to find a way for such women to live comfortable and independent lives.
“Maybe the government can made some centres or facilities so that these women can live together in peace,” Faride explained. “I’m not talking about a fancy, equipped centre. Just somewhere safe. Somewhere that is happy.”
Despite suffering from depression, Faride speaks out on her experiences in the hope that future generations will learn from the suffering of war and chemical weapons.
“I want to tell the people in government and politics to think about the consequences of their actions,” she said, “we need to live in a peaceful world.”
Today Faride continues to raise awareness about the atrocities of chemical weapons attacks. And the strength of this diminutive woman – and the power of her voice – speaks out to us from her heart for a world free from chemical weapons.
Oral reflection by: Faride Shafa’i
Farsi to English translation by Elaheh Pooyandeh
Written by Elizabeth Lewis
All Rights Reserved
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Alireza Yazdanpanah
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ALI REZA
Ali Reza Yazdanpanah was 15 years old when he volunteered to join the front. The year was 1987 and Iraq was at war with Iran. But that single act of patriotism would change his life forever.
Ali Reza would serve at the front for only a few months and would witness bitter fighting at Khoramshahr and at Shalamcheh. In Shalamcheh he would be gassed in a chemical weapons attack. The effects of the mustard gas would forever shape his life.
Now a volunteer at the Tehran Peace Museum, aged 42, Ali Reza invites visitors to look back on his war experiences.
Many young men throughout history have answered the call to serve their country during times of conflict. And like many others, Ali Reza was under-age when he served towards the end of the Iran-Iraq War, which lasted a full eight years. It was through sheer grit and determination that he succeeded in joining up to defend his country.
“I was only seven when the Iranian Revolution occurred in 1979,” said Ali Reza. “The war started one year later in 1980 when Saddam’s army invaded Iran, and so, by 1987, we thought the war might be coming to an end. I was worried that I would never get a chance to serve my country.”
The war with Iraq had been raging for seven years, and Ali Reza had watched friends and family members leave home to defend Iran. It tore at the young man’s heart that he would miss the opportunity to fulfill what he considered his duty. So he set out to join the volunteer soldier unit – the Basij. But his father found out and – unexpectedly for Ali Reza – turned up at the training camp where Ali Reza had enrolled. The camp commander was informed that Ali Reza was far too young to fight and ought to be completing his school. Ali Reza was asked to return home. His first attempt to enlist was foiled.
Undeterred by this initial setback, Ali Reza then used more creative means of subterfuge to achieve his goal.
“Anyone can forge an ID card,” smiled Ali Reza. “Of course, the authorities can spot a fake easily, so I decided to present the correct papers. My dad was a Gendarme who patrolled outlying areas. I waited until he had gone off on duty, rushed up to my mum and breathlessly told her she had to sign some papers for school right away or I would get into serious trouble. She signed the papers and I faked my dad’s signature. It was as simple as that. I was 15 years old. I hadn’t even started to grow a beard!”
Coping with his family’s reaction proved much more difficult. Although Ali Reza’s family was proud of their son, the fear of losing him drove his mother, he said, “to inconsolable tears”. Ali Reza found it painful to watch the visible distress his mother felt at the possibility of losing her first-born son. But it was his father’s angry words about his deception that swirled in his mind. Refusing to say goodbye to his son as he marched off to war, Mr. Yazdanpanah said, “If anything happens to you, I won’t come for you.”
A
fter two months of basic training, the young Ali Reza found himself carrying wounded soldiers as a stretcher-bearer in the 90-man-strong 21st Corps of Imam Reza. At the beginning of April 1987, his unit was involved in Operation 8th Karbala at Shalamcheh, which turned out to be one of the bloodiest battles of the war. The intense fighting at Shallamcheh was exhausting and, around April 6th, the entire unit was sent to the port town of Khorramshahr to rest. By a twist of fate, the gas attacks came down – shortly after lunch on April 10th – exactly on top of Khorramshahr.
It was a day, said Ali Reza, which he will never forget.
“All of a sudden, we heard the unmistakable sound of jet engines. Some of us younger men ran outside and looked up to the sky. There were more than ten Iraqi fighter jets circling up above us,” Ali Reza remembered.
In the confusion that followed this reconnaissance flight, some of the older veterans chastised the “young pups” for exposing themselves and giving away their location.
Sure enough, within five minutes, five Iraqi jets returned and circled overhead. Two flew off, and the three remaining jets flew low over the encampment.
“There was a deafening roar,” said Ali Reza, “and the ground began to shake. The planes were flying so low over us that we could read all the markings on them. We were unprepared for any attack, let alone a gas attack. We were scared.”
Minutes later, the jets each dropped a bomb on what appeared to be random, non-strategic locations. The bombs all landed with a dull thud. There was none of the usual explosion with conventional bombs. Hindsight would reveal to Ali Reza that chemical weapons do not contain an ordinary explosive detonator. The gas simply leaks out and then comes a strange smell of garlic in the air. There did not seem to be any massive damage to their surroundings. This left the men of Imam Reza Corps confused and even more frightened.
“You know,” said Ali Reza, “we were all a little scared and shocked. We really didn’t know what had just happened. Some of us even made jokes about the pilots. I mean what kind of idiot drops bombs without choosing a proper target?”
Unaware of the extreme danger they were in, the men returned to work. The communication lines had been damaged and wires were cut. The repairs and the cleaning up process were a priority for the unit, and they went back to work completely unaware of how their lives were about to change – irreparably – and forever.
Within two hours, a medical team from Khorramshahr, aware of the chemical attack, arrived at the camp to evacuate the men to the nearest hospitals. “We had no idea we were injured,” said Ali Reza unaware that he had been exposed to mustard gas. “We were starting to feel strange. Our skin and our eyes started to itch and burn. We were coughing a little. We figured we would just go along with these guys to the hospital, get some pills and all would be fine.”
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
As Ali Reza was moved from the military field hospital to the city hospital in Ahvaz, the effects of the mustard gas intensified. The sensation of severe burning, the inability to breathe properly, burning eyes and vomiting took over.
“It was when I was transferred to hospital, two hours after the attack that the effects of the chemical bomb started to show on my body,” recollected Ali Reza. “My whole body was burning. My face, my eyes all felt like they were on fire and even my voice had changed to a rough, rasping sound. My throat and mouth were burning. When I got to the hospital, the medics took off my clothes and burned them. My body was washed with soap and water and I was taken to a hospital ward.”
The Iranian military had not expected such large-scale gas attacks and found themselves in an impossible situation. Without the necessary medical support and infrastructure, the army and civilian doctors improvised to cope with this emergency.
Buses, with the seats removed, were used as large ambulances ferrying wounded soldiers to any available hospital. Men were packed into military cargo planes and taken to Tehran. In a mass humanitarian rallying of support for the gas victims, military personnel, civilian doctors, volunteers of the Iranian Red Crescent and ordinary people cooperated to help the sick and wounded.
“It was on the flight to Mehrabad in Tehran, “ said Ali Reza “that I just couldn’t stop vomiting. The vomit was green and smelled of the fish I had eaten for lunch. I was taken to a hospital in Tehran, but I don’t remember much. I got off the bus at the hospital and fell to the ground.”
Ali Reza was admitted to the Intensive Care Unit in the Loghmaniddoleh hospital. He was to spend three months in this hospital, where he was treated for skin burns, incapacitated lungs and loss of vision. During his stay here, Ali Reza was visited by a United Nations team of experts lead by Dr. Manuel Dominguez, involved in an investigation into Iraq’s then-alleged use of chemical weapons against Iran. Part of the UN team’s mandate was to interview victims in order to ultimately prove the use of chemical weapons in the conflict. Ali Reza is mentioned in the final report.
Before the attack, Ali Reza was an athletic young man, a keen football player and weighed a muscular 60 kilograms. Within days of being gassed, the young soldier was reduced to 43 kilograms, struggling with a voice that had changed completely as he gasped for breath. His skin, darkened by the gas, was covered in excruciatingly painful burns. His vision had gone.
Taking pity on the young man, one of the nurses spoke to him about his family. The nurse wanted his family to know what had happened to him and to come and see him.
Ali Reza remembered with a deep sense of gratitude this angel of mercy who helped reach out to his family. “Nurse Maryam was very kind to me,” he said, “she asked for my parents’ telephone number. I had to tell her that in my village there were no telephones. She used her own money to send a telegraph to one of my relatives to tell them I had been injured in a chemical weapons attack and to please come and see me.”
Two days later, Ali Reza’s father and his uncle arrived in Tehran. His father had no knowledge of chemical weapons and didn’t know what to expect. Nurse Maryam led him into the Intensive Care Unit, where Ali Reza was lying covered in an oxygen tent, a burnt shadow of his former self.
“This is your son,” said the nurse.
Mr. Yazdanpanah took one look at Ali Reza and said, “That’s impossible. This is not my son.”
“I heard my father’s voice,” Ali Reza said, “then I called his name. I heard him fall to the floor and start to cry.”
There followed months of hospitalization and treatment, which continues even to this day. Ali Reza has endured four cornea transplants and is on the waiting list for a lung transplant. Every day is a struggle with breathing. Between the time of the attack and today, Ali Reza has spent twelve years living near the Caspian Sea where the climate was considered better for his health. But this no longer helps him and he has to live somewhere with easier access to a well-equipped hospital in case of emergency. So he has returned full time to Tehran.
Life for Ali Reza is centred around daily medication intake and reliance on oxygen concentrator machines. He carries a portable oxygen maker and at night uses a BiPAP machine to prevent his lungs from collapsing while he sleeps. For Ali Reza, there is never such a thing as a good night’s sleep.
Although the scars from the burns have healed, Ali Reza has had to come to terms with deeper, emotional pain. “At first, I thought I would return to my old self,” he said. “But the days of being a strong young man disappeared the day of the gas attack. Those days will never return and I have accepted that now.”
Life was, indeed, never the same. Chronic illness and repeated hospitalization have prevented Ali Reza from being able to hold down a permanent job. Because of the embarrassment of continuous coughing in classes, he was unable to take advantage of the educational opportunities offered to war veterans.
“I admit I was a bit of a lazy student,” he said, “but I really liked going to school. The problem was that I was always coughing in class. I couldn’t help it, and each coughing bout went on for a long time. It disturbed the other students and they didn’t like it. Once I was coughing so badly, I was sent away from school in an ambulance.”
Without a job, Ali Reza sank into depression and loneliness. His condition meant that he had to rely on family members to help him complete basic every day tasks. “The pressures of being an invalid in the family made life difficult and distressing for everyone,” he recalled.
“For a long time,” he said, “my mother had to wash me. I felt so ashamed.”
Now, Ali Reza is a new man, full of confidence, restored dignity and with a purpose to live. At the Tehran Peace Museum, he has found support for chemical weapons victims and made new friends. He has travelled to Japan and visited Hiroshima and shared his story with others who have had similar experiences.
“My medical condition is a part of me now,” he explained, “it has shaped me to become who I am. I am a poster for my country. I want to show myself to the world, to show the effects of these horrible weapons. It is my wish that this will stop people from fighting, stop people’s first instinct to reach for weapons. It is my mission, until my last breath, to share my story and hope people will understand it is important to live a life of peace.”
Ali Reza is a man on a mission. His mission is to contribute in some way to achieving peace in this world.
Oral reflection by: Alireza Yazdanpanah
Farsi to English translation by Elaheh Pooyandeh
Written by Elizabeth Lewis
All Rights Reserved
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The oral History of CW victims in Tehran Peace Museum website
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From now on, you can read the memories of the victims of CW here. These victims share their experiences as a victim of CW after being exposed to CW. But they also have message for people around the world, which is Peace and Friendship. They wish a world of in which, nobody suffers from the use of a prohibited weapon.
The oral history of these victims is not only a first-hand source of understanding the inhuman characteristic of CW, violence of war and its consequences, but they also can help the interested people, researches and students in their researches.
You can send us your feedback and ask your questions from these victims through our email address: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .
A Brief History of Chemical Weapons
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Although chemical weapons have been described in ancient historic texts, it was during the First World War from 1914-1918 that they were used deliberately in conflict. At Ypres, in 1915, gas attacks took place in the trenches leading to many painful deaths and to horrendous casualties. It was at the end of the Great War that politicians and international organizations collaborated to see an end to the use of such weapons in combat.
In 1925, the Geneva Protocol was signed under the auspices of the League of Nations. This Protocol was a significant step forward in prohibiting the use of asphyxiating, poisonous and other gases as well as other bacteriological forms of warfare. Over 130 countries, including Iran and Iraq, signed the Geneva Protocol. Unfortunately, the protocol had a limited effect, as it did not prohibit the stockpiling of either chemical or biological weapons.
In World War II, there is evidence that both the Allies and the Axis powers possessed chemical weapons. The war came to an end with the dropping of the nuclear bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945. In the post-war period, a number of countries have continued to stockpile chemical and biological weapons.
In Iran’ recent history, it was during the war with Iraq from 1980-1988, that military personnel and civilians alike were exposed to chemical weapons used by Iraqi forces. Although the first gas attack was recorded in 1983, most attacks occurred during the last two years of the Iran-Iraq War.
According to a report by UNMOVIC, Iraq deployed almost 1,800 tonnes of mustard gas, 140 tonnes of tabun, and 600 tonnes of sarin. Of the approximately one million people exposed to mustard gas, 100,000 required medical care and today 75,000 continue to be chronically ill.
In 1992, after 12 years of negotiations in the so-called “Disarming Conference”, participating states delegations finally agreed on the text for inclusion in the Convention of Chemical Weapons. In 1993, more than 130 countries signed the convention, which finally came into force on April 29th, 1997.
Sadly, chemical weapons continue to be used and stockpiled today. But, here at the Tehran Peace Museum, you will find committed peace activists campaigning for an end to chemical weapons.
