41 Days: Matthew Trevithick in Tehran
SNATCHED OFF A TEHRAN STREET, MATT TREVITHICK WAS ARRESTED, BLINDFOLDED, AND LOCKED IN A SOLITARY CELL IN IRAN’S MOST BRUTAL PRISON
The last time we met Matthew Trevithick, he was helping launch a successful national rowing program in war-ravaged Afghanistan in 2013. Since then, the former BU oarsman has ghostwritten a memoir for the first post-Taliban minister of higher education in Afghanistan, reported from one of the deadliest patches of Taliban country for the Daily Beast, survived a terrorist attack on his hotel while traveling in Mali, settled in Turkey, and cofounded SREO, an independent humanitarian outfit devoted to the
Syrian refugee crisis. Trevithick’s US passport,
a kaleidoscopic narrative of exotic stamps and visas, is so worn that the cover emblem has rubbed off. Still, it was a shock to friends and acquaintances when the media last January named him as one of five American prisoners (including Washington Post reporter Jason Rezaian) released from Iran’s Evin Prison, a notorious facility with a brutal reputation.
Only a handful of people even knew Trevithick (CGS’06, CAS’08) had been detained.
The 30-year-old Massachusetts native had been studying Farsi at Tehran University in fall 2015. After five years of applying, he’d finally received a government invitation. “I was ecstatic,” Trevithick recalls. “I’d get to spend three months in this country that’s such a mystery and an anathema. I wasn’t supernervous about my safety. I pegged the chances of something happening, some kind of odd behavior from the authorities, at 10 percent.”
As October slipped into November, the political atmosphere in Tehran prompted Trevithick to reevaluate his calculus. The United States and Iran had reached a landmark nuclear agreement a few months earlier, but as February elections loomed, hard-line Iranian politicians, including Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, began airing their displeasure, denouncing America at increasingly hostile volumes. The surveillance of Westerners became more blatant. Trevithick had even been summoned for questioning. After consulting with his family back home, he decided it was time to pack things up.
The next morning, he left his dorm to purchase an airline ticket.
MATT TREVITHICK took this photo from his dormitory window 20 minutes before being snatched off the street below. Photo courtesy of Matt Trevithick.
DAY 1
MONDAY, DECEMBER 7, 2015 • 9:01 AM
Daneshjou Boulevard, Tehran, Iran
It’s cloudy, but in a beautiful way. It’s the first snow of the year. I make a snowball and throw it into the road and head for the taxi stand. As I walk by a white Hyundai Sonata, three guys jump out and ask, “Are you Matthew?” When I answer, I’m pushed into the backseat.
This religious music is playing in the car, a rhythmic chant: “Hussein! Hussein! Hussein! Hussein!” I’m trying to remain calm. We’re driving down this snaking hill. I don’t know that we are heading to Evin Prison. It just becomes clear as the other possibilities dwindle. I’m doing simple comparison checks from previous experiences: I’m alive, not being shot at, nobody’s cutting off my hands. I’m going to take each moment in very small doses. There’s clearly been a mistake. You have to hope that the Iranians realize it’s not in their self-interest to start an international incident. They can go through all my things. I have nothing to hide. I was vetted a thousand times for my visa.
“They take away my clothes, except my underwear and undershirt. That’s when I realize this isn’t just a misunderstanding.”
We drive through the gate of the prison and into a metal hangar. One of the men says, “Put your forehead against the headrest.” Then they blindfold me with a big gray cloth. One guy, very casually, asks in Farsi, “Are you scared?” I say, “Yeah, I’m a little nervous. What’s going on?” He doesn’t say anything.
Then they take me into a small, cold room. They take away my clothes, except my underwear and undershirt. That’s when I realize this isn’t just a misunderstanding. I’m being processed into prison. I sit down in a chair, sign my name, get fingerprinted and photographed. I’m given light blue pants with an elastic band, a long-sleeve button-down, and sandals. The sandals are dirty, worn down. The blindfold goes back on.
From there, I’m steered upstairs to a cell on the second floor. I’m in solitary. I can touch three walls at any given time. The ceiling is about 12 feet high. I’m given a wool blanket, a towel, a toothbrush, and toothpaste. The interrogations start right away. I’m led to a room where I’m made to sit in a chair facing the wall. They don’t want me to see their faces. I’m talking to the wall, and they’re listening behind me. I hear prayer beads clicking in their hands and smell their cologne. The first question is, “Do you know who Jason Rezaian is?” I say, “Of course, the whole world knows that name.” “Well, he’s never getting out of here and neither are you.” I’m accused of personally trying to overthrow the government. Of having access to bank accounts with millions of dollars and weapons caches.
There is no bed in my cell, just a thin fabric covering the cement floor. I use my towel for a pillow. The door has a rectangle opening with two bars, just big enough for someone’s face. You can’t see much through it, just cold fluorescent lights going down the hallway. Breakfast is a packet of honey, a frozen pat of butter you have to crumble with a spoon, or bread.
DAY 3
They take me to the open-air room at the end of the cellblock. They force me to call my mom and say I’m going to the mountains, that I’ll be out of cell service. They don’t want this getting out. It’s cold, it’s nighttime. I can see the sky through a plastic sheet. It’s the only place they can get reception. My mom and I had a system of texting every day, just to say hi. It has been three days, so when I tell her I’m going on vacation, she knows right away.
Author, Caleb Daniloff is a Boston-area writer and coauthor of November Project, The Book: Inside The Free Grassroots Fitness Movement That’s Taking Over The World (Rodale, 2016) and author of Running Ransom Road: Confronting the Past One Marathon at a Time (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012). Daniloff can be reached at cdanilof@bu.edu.