The Price of the Words “I’m Independent”: One Woman’s Fight for Freedom

Aynur Elgunesh

She was the first girl in her family to be imprisoned — not for a crime, but for daring to live freely.

Truths I Didn’t Learn in 28 Years

The first time I got a passport and came home, I saw my father drinking and eating with his friends. I proudly walked up to him and handed over my passport, saying, “From today, I’m independent too.” His friends congratulated me, but my father frowned, his face darkened with anger. He handed the passport back to me and said, “Alright, go to the other room.” As I left the room, feeling embarrassed, I ran into my grandmother’s scolding. She reproached me, explaining that I had done something shameful—girls shouldn’t say they’re “independent.” Independence, she said, was tantamount to disobedience, and disobedient girls ended up on the wrong path...

My grandmother talked at length, but I could never understand what being independent had to do with ending up “on the wrong path.” Later, that single word I uttered—independent—became a mark of disgrace in the family. If anyone got angry with their daughter, they’d say, “The only thing left is for her to turn out like Aynur and say she’s independent.”

It’s been over 30 years since then. Every time I hear Mirshahin—the mouthpiece of the authorities—defaming civic and political activists, I remember my grandmother. She was an uneducated woman with a provincial mindset. It seems that education and worldliness aren’t always enough to change a person. Or maybe money and comfort are simply more valuable than anything else. As for me… This fight for freedom, which I began at the age of 17, has continued throughout my life. I became the first girl in the family to wear pants, to have male friends, to drive a car—and finally, to be imprisoned. Speaking of prison, this place is far from frightening. On the contrary, it is a true school of life for a journalist to mature and understand the society she lives in more deeply.

For instance, in my 28 years of professional experience, I never knew how utterly broken Azerbaijan’s judicial system is. As Alasgar Mammadli once said, in this country, “Justice” is just a name—and understanding that can only come through imprisonment. Until now, I had a weak impression of the justice system.

It was only after my arrest that I realized a “good lawyer” is someone skilled in brokerage, someone who knows how to negotiate with judges. As a journalist covering court cases, I used to be inspired by lawyers’ thunderous speeches, transcribing them word for word...

Now I’ve learned that every article of law, every judge has a price. I was shocked when I heard that a female judge from the Sumgayit Serious Crimes Court called my cellmate’s lawyer, invited him to a meeting, and asked for a bribe for herself and the state prosecutor who wouldn’t object to the chairperson’s protest. Outside, I had a very different perception—I thought at the very least one had to go through a great deal just to get a bribe offer in front of a judge. Yes, I was that naïve in relative freedom. Turns out, the bribery system in this country is like a labyrinth—it’s hard to know whose hand is in whose pocket.

The most common charge in prison is fraud. The sums embezzled aren’t small either—most often, they’re in the hundreds of thousands. True, this charge is also used against political activists, but among women, it’s the most widespread. Many of those who admit guilt don’t even seem concerned. They believe that after serving part of their sentence, they’ll be released by paying 5,000 per year for the remainder.

There’s one truth I’ve learned from inmates: If you have money, you’re not really the convict in prison.

To me, the worst punishment in prison is being forced to watch local TV channels. Especially if a cellmate is addicted to daily shows... Every time I watch them, I wonder: is anyone from the State Committee for Family, Women, and Children’s Affairs monitoring this? Do they know how women are humiliated in these programs—forced to return to their abusive partners? The show “Təsir Dairəsi” (“Sphere of Influence”) in particular is torture for anyone with a shred of intelligence. Then there’s the series “Xəyanət” (“Betrayal”) aired every evening on Khazar TV. I suspect the screenwriter was dragged out of a teahouse. For two months, the father has been trying to marry his daughter off to the man who raped her, even turning the entire family into hostages of the abusers.

I’ve decided to endure the suffering and monitor these shows myself—to provide concrete evidence of why independent media is essential. Then it will become even clearer how, under the guise of moral values and tradition, people are being encouraged into submission, dependency, and servitude.

Azerbaijan is gradually turning into a swamp, swallowing people whole. I’m not writing this just because I’m in prison. This place is a small but real reflection of Azerbaijan. The only difference between the people in here and those outside is that the people here have no fear of being arrested.

I remember meeting Azer Hasret—who, after losing the first Media Council elections, left in frustration only to return later and speak on behalf of the press under Ali Hasanov’s command—near the “Elmler Akademiyasi” metro station. He justified his stance, saying independence is a relative matter and one must keep up with the times. Then he likened me to someone going against a cannon with an old rifle. I laughed then, and I’m still laughing now.

A person’s conviction is their identity. It doesn’t matter if you’re in the minority or the majority—a journalist, a thinker, is not destroyed by imprisonment or the shutdown of the outlet they work for. They are destroyed if they don’t write the truth, if they hide it, if they deny it. At this point, it’s fair to say the entire Azerbaijani journalism sector has collapsed. Are they okay with that? I’d say no. It’s just fear—fear of trouble, fear of speaking up, fear of losing comfort—that prevents them from behaving differently. But they forget one thing: it won’t be long before the government realizes that funding identical media outlets is a pointless waste. Then they won’t even have a place left to complain.

In short, I have absolutely no regrets about ending up in prison. Otherwise, I would have remained unaware of these bitter truths. I’m someone who believes in life’s boomerang effect. And I strongly hope that one day, those who have brought this country to its current state will also end up here—and drown in the swamp they’ve created.

A.E.