Why is a prisoner searched when going to meet a lawyer? — Ulviyya Ali writes from the Baku Pre‑Trial Detention Center

Ulviyya Ali (Guliyeva)

Journalist Ulviyya Ali (Guliyeva), arrested in the “Meydan TV case,” writes from the Baku Pre‑Trial Detention Center where she is being held.

We continue her account exactly as written:

“On October 23, one of my lawyers came to meet with me. I heard beforehand that prisoners were now being searched even in the investigation room where meetings with lawyers take place. Before going to the meeting with my lawyer, I prepared a note, put it in my pocket, and went to the investigation room. While a female guard was checking my pocket, she ‘found’ my note, put it into her own pocket, and left the room. I then stepped out of the room where the search was being carried out, called my lawyer, and asked for an official record (an act) to be drawn up regarding the note. The head of the investigation room, a person named Ruslan, went out and called someone; a few seconds later he summoned me and handed me the receiver. On the phone was Ahad Abdiyev, deputy head of the Baku Pre‑Trial Detention Center. He asked whom I had written the note to. I replied, ‘Mr. Ruslan can read it to you,’ and handed him the receiver. I took my note from his hand and opened the adhesive seal. In the note I had written: ‘Baku Pre‑Trial Detention Center, stop your illegal actions!’ I gave the note to the head of the investigation room and proceeded to meet my lawyer.

In the last week of October my lawyers did not come for a visit; if they had, I would have continued this protest. Still, I allowed myself a hope that perhaps the Baku Pre‑Trial Detention Center would understand the message I had sent and would not continue its unlawful practice.

Finally, on November 3 my lawyer came again. When I arrived at the investigation room, I saw that the head of the investigation room had been replaced. I was told that I could meet my lawyer only after I was searched. I objected, stating that meetings with a lawyer are confidential and that they were breaking the law. In prison there is a phrase that officials—people with whom my interaction is usually limited to ‘hello and goodbye’—love to use: ‘Don’t spoil relations, don’t create problems.’ Even though those people know we are political prisoners, they act as if, whenever we object to some illegal act, we are doing it out of personal hostility.

Another important point is that the new head of the investigation room, Shahriyar Abbasov, is also the head of the visiting/meeting room. To be fair, I have never personally seen him commit any illegality there. In any case, it should be understood that my problem is not with individuals, but with the illegal system that has been created. It is not right for the person responsible for both the investigation room and the meeting room to be the same person. As he might put it, if there is a ‘problem,’ it could be reflected on the other side as well.

When I told Shahriyar Abbasov that I objected to the search, he reported it to someone and said that if I did not allow the search, I would not be able to meet my lawyer. I did not learn who was making the decision on the other end of the phone, but I was unlawfully prevented from meeting my lawyer and returned to my cell. I should also note that I am not the only one subjected to this unlawful search; it is applied to everyone in the detention center who meets with a lawyer. While I was insisting that the search was unlawful, prisoners who did not know their rights were being sent into the search room as if put into an incubator. I knew that I was carrying out this protest not only for myself, but also trying to protect the rights of hundreds of detainees held in the detention center. Even if I looked like a ‘white crow’ among those unaware of their rights, I remained persistent against illegality.

About an hour later, an operative officer named Elmeddin came and said that the head of the Baku Pre‑Trial Detention Center, Elnur Ismayilov, had sent him to take my explanation about why I could not meet my lawyer. The head wanted the issue investigated. I wrote the incident in detail and explained, with legal reasoning, why the search was unlawful.

Elmeddin took my written explanation and left. Near the end of working hours, the operative officer came again and cited Article 36.2 of the Cabinet of Ministers’ decision approving the Internal Disciplinary Rules for places of detention, claiming that the search was not unlawful. The rules state that searches of detained persons, and inspections of buildings, cells, residential areas, and production facilities within the detention center, are carried out both planned and unexpectedly. However, the operative officer named Elmeddin ignored Article 36.1 of that same decision. It states that search‑and‑inspection measures are carried out to confiscate prohibited items from detainees, to detect hidden caches (secret stashes) and places prepared for escape, and to find detainees who are hiding; and that technical means are used during search‑and‑inspection measures.

**36.5.** A search of detained persons is mandatory in the following cases:

**36.5.1** when entering the pre‑trial detention center and when leaving it;

**36.5.2** when being transferred to a punishment cell or a single‑occupancy cell and when being released from it;

**36.5.3** before and after a visit;

**36.5.4** when violating the regime or committing a crime.

None of these clauses says anything about being searched during a meeting with a lawyer.

I should note that I have been searched in all of the situations listed here and I did not object. I told Elmeddin that they were violating the Criminal Procedure Code, the Criminal Code, and the Constitution, and he replied: ‘I didn’t come to prove you wrong,’ and left.

On November 4 I asked for a phone to call my lawyer, but I was not allowed to call my lawyer and my right to defense was violated again. It should also be noted that when political prisoners want to make a call outside the lawful phone day, permission is sought from someone and only then are they allowed to call; for ordinary prisoners it is not like that.

On November 5 the head of the Baku Pre‑Trial Detention Center, Elnur Ismayilov, came to the Medical‑Sanitary Unit where we are held. I was taken out of the cell for the reception, explained the problem, and he said the search was not unlawful. He even noted that he has two legal degrees; I replied that if he has legal education, he should know better than anyone that the search is unlawful.

The head of the detention center had previously, on multiple occasions, used the fact that a close relative of mine was being held in the detention center to summon that person for a meeting and reprimand them because of me. That relative was arrested long before me on non‑political grounds and has nothing to do with my case. Whenever my writing, or interviews I obtained from other political prisoners, were published, he complained to that relative about me, apparently to influence me somehow. After hearing this, in one of my phone conversations I told my mother: ‘If someone says a single word to me about my writings, I will delete it.’

The last straw for me came after I publicized the issue of not being able to meet my family on my birthday. Again, using that same relative, he demanded that the news be deleted. After hearing that, I cut off contact with that relative once and for all. Finally, in late October they transferred that relative to a penal institution. Elnur Ismayilov said that nothing like that had happened and cursed whoever had done it. Hearing curses from the mouth of a detention center head and official state employees is one of the strange things I have encountered.

In conclusion from my conversation with the head, I became even more convinced that the search is unlawful and that they know it. The head said it was done according to instructions, and that he does not decide those instructions. I said: ‘If those instructions said to break a prisoner’s finger, would you do it?!’ He answered: ‘No.’ I said: ‘Because that would be unlawful—and this search is unlawful too, so there should not be such an instruction.’

Elnur Ismayilov manipulatively noted: ‘If you’re clinging to words, then before you go to your lawyer you’ll be searched in my office and then taken to your lawyer.’ I replied: ‘If I am being taken from my cell to my lawyer, the cause and effect do not change; besides, when I am brought to your reception, a search is never carried out.’ The head of the detention center said: ‘The search is done for security purposes; only your person is searched; what you write to defend yourself is not examined.’ When I said I would challenge this in the legal sphere, I saw that he became irritated; he said goodbye to me quickly and left the reception room, and I returned to my cell.

Five minutes later, Elnur Ismayilov entered our room and said: ‘You don’t write about those who arrested you—you’ve latched onto me.’ I replied: ‘I write about all violations of the law from the top down; you probably just read what is about yourself.’ Again he reproached me: ‘There’s no doing good for people.’ I said: ‘Doing good is done without expecting something in return; if something is expected in return, it isn’t doing good.’ Then he left the cell.

What I did not understand was why my complaint about a violation of my rights was being treated as if it were doing someone harm.

On November 7 my lawyer was to come again. That day a guard handed me the prison phone and said my lawyer was calling me. I took the receiver; my lawyer said that they had arrived and that we needed to meet today. I already understood that they were trying to put me and my lawyer face‑to‑face (set us against each other). I do not blame my lawyer either, because we know what kinds of pressure lawyers who take on political cases face in Azerbaijan.

I was taken out of my cell and brought to meet my lawyer. In the investigation room I was subjected to another search. Moreover, whereas previously only my pockets had been checked, now they lifted my trouser legs and checked the tops of my socks, my underarms, and the elastic parts of my underwear. I objected to the checking of the folder containing my documents and left the ‘search’ room, moving to the room where I would meet my lawyer. I had barely sat down when Shahriyar Abbasov—the head of both the investigation and meeting rooms—entered and, right in front of my lawyer, continued the unlawful practice: he leafed through my documents and then suddenly said: ‘Let me call the girls; they’ll check them.’ A guard named Aysu Mutallimova came and looked through my documents one by one, checked between the pages of my notebooks, and left. The head’s words from two days earlier—‘your documents will not be checked’—turned out to be a lie.

My suspicions were correct: the ‘security’ search was being abused directly to obstruct my journalistic work. Yet, under Article 8.1.14 of the Cabinet of Ministers’ decision approving the Internal Disciplinary Rules for places of detention, I have the right to keep with me documents related to the exercise of my rights and lawful interests, as well as writings that are the result of my intellectual activity or their copies, including copies of replies to my proposals, applications, and complaints.

As a result, I am now sure that if you want to complain about an unlawful act by the Baku Pre‑Trial Detention Center, they will commit yet another unlawful act to prevent it. As examples from the not‑so‑distant past: when AbzasMedia staff wrote about the detention center, and when Ali Zeynal—arrested in the “Toplum TV case”—complained here about conditions, their family visits, phone calls, and meetings with lawyers were obstructed. In other words, when the detention center leadership commits an unlawful act, it does not hesitate to commit another unlawful act to prevent it from becoming public.

Considering the current situation, I told my lawyer: ‘So that you are not put at risk and so that there is no trouble at the Bar Association, I will write the complaints about the violations committed against me myself.’ In this way, by making us feel guilty, the detention center leadership also intends to leave us without defense. It is clear to all of us that a complaint to the Bar Association can result in the lawyer being removed. The situation in Azerbaijan has reached the point where the client is forced to protect their lawyer. These behaviors instill fear, because the number of lawyers who defend political prisoners is already small; and since no one wants problems, people will avoid that person, which automatically leaves the defendant without defense.

During the six months I have been held in the detention center, I did not pay attention to the veiled threats and warnings directed at me, because I somehow managed to handle things myself. In general, I am against publicizing every minor matter and taking over the agenda. Before writing this piece, I would have quietly filed a complaint with the court, already knowing the outcome in advance. But I thought that everyone should know that not only my rights but also the rights of other prisoners are being violated in the Baku Pre‑Trial Detention Center.

Under the name of ‘security,’ prisoners’ right to confidential meetings with their defense counsel is being violated.

This action, first of all, damages everyone’s right to receive qualified legal assistance, as enshrined in Article 61 of the Constitution. Without ensuring the confidentiality of legal assistance, it is impossible to speak of its quality. Checking documents, contrary to the requirements of Article 15.2 of the Law “On Lawyers and Advocacy,” violates the right to meet and speak privately, without interference, with the person being defended or represented, in the manner established by law. The fact that the head of the investigation room enters the room and leafs through documents while the lawyer and client are building a defense strategy clearly falls within the scope of the “interference” prohibited by the relevant clause. The same is recorded in Article 81.9 of the Code on the Execution of Punishments, which states that if the parties so wish, the meeting with the lawyer must be private. The detention center decides the parties’ will regarding confidentiality without even asking the lawyer and client. A prisoner’s meeting with a lawyer must take place in confidential conditions—that is, in a manner that guards may see but cannot hear. Looking at the content of documents effectively eliminates this “not hearing” (not obtaining information) barrier.

In the sphere of international law, leafing through documents is direct interference with the right to respect for private life and correspondence protected by Article 8 of the European Convention on Human Rights. According to the European Court of Human Rights’ case‑law (Campbell v. the United Kingdom), correspondence and documentation between a lawyer and a prisoner are considered “privileged,” and reading their content is impermissible. A security check must be limited to a technical inspection aimed only at detecting prohibited items (for example, cutting tools) and must not open the way to reading the text. Because the Court in that case regarded lawyer–client confidentiality as one of the core elements of the right to a fair trial, the issue also expands into the scope of Article 6.

The philosophy of the detention center leadership is this: if you object to illegality, then you are a ‘problem prisoner.’ This philosophy is almost close to the ‘thief‑in‑law’ mentality: when you break their unwritten rules, they see you as an enemy, identify your actions as harming them, take revenge, and display passive aggression. Yet all you want is for the laws not to be broken and for fair treatment.

For example, a person named Rovshan who listens to phone conversations decides at what time you may make a call. If recently you have not behaved ‘smartly,’ and if you said something on the phone that he did not like, he shows passive aggression. Even if you ask the guard to let you call around 11, that same Rovshan says: ‘Call at 12; don’t be so fussy.’ At 12, you try to call again because the guard told you 12, and that person delays the call even more. Or if you previously got permission for something, but now you have not ‘behaved smartly,’ it suddenly ‘isn’t possible.’ Every privilege given in prison creates something you can lose, and sometimes a person needs to free themselves from the things they could lose so that those things cannot be used against them.

On November 10, around 12 noon, they woke me up and said that I had to go to a reception. When I asked whose reception it was, I saw an operative officer and the head’s duty assistant. I asked what I had done. They said: ‘You know very well.’ I washed my face and was taken out of the cell. The operative officer said that I had called on people to go on a hunger strike and that I had to write an explanation about it. I should add that in the Medical‑Sanitary Unit there are six women arrested in the “Meydan TV case,” and three of six religious women arrested in August, held in separate cells here. Since November 9 those religious women have been holding a hunger strike over the extension of their pre‑trial detention by two months. I told the operative officer that I had not said such a thing. He replied: ‘We received such a signal; they said you made noise through the vent and told them not to stop the hunger strike.’

I replied: ‘Deputy head Ahad Abdiyev told them that if they do not stop the hunger strike, they will be put in solitary; and I told them that when political prisoners hold hunger strikes, such pressure is applied to make them stop.’ When the operative officer asked whether I had called on other people to go on a hunger strike, I said that those arrested in the “Meydan TV case” have nothing to do with the religious women and that it would be illogical for me to call on them. Besides, if a person’s capacity to endure hunger is three days, what would it matter if I told them to hold a 40‑day hunger strike? After I wrote the explanation, the operative officer and the head’s duty assistant left.

What I understood from this was that after my objection about the lawyer‑search issue, the prison leadership was testing how I would act and trying to portray me as a problem prisoner. The point is that even if I had used the phrases they claim, it would not be unlawful, but they could not make their hypothesis fit logic.

Since arriving in prison I have written so many explanations that I have lost count. You are never informed of the outcome of these explanations; they are simply added to your personal file.

Instead of correcting its mistake, the prison leadership acted chaotically and, in all of this, piled illegality upon illegality:

* unlawful search on the way to the lawyer;

* preventing me from seeing my lawyer;

* threatening my lawyer;

* trying to block my complaint;

* trying to leave me without a lawyer and violating my right to defense;

* indirectly discouraging me from being defended by other lawyers;

* portraying me as a problem prisoner.

If they had refrained from the first unlawful action, all of this illegality would not have continued. There is another phrase I often hear in prison: ‘Calm so‑and‑so down.’ When a prisoner objects to something, staff are instructed to calm them down, and the staff member tries to ‘take the edge off’ while speaking to the prisoner. The matter is very simple: if the prisoner’s lawful demand is met, they will calm down; but staff are only engaged in stalling, and the problem is not solved.

On November 14 my lawyer came again; this time they took me to the visiting room to search me. The detention center leadership did this to dress up illegality as legality: since searching a person on the way to meet a lawyer is unlawful under the law, they use the search provided for administrative buildings under internal rules.

This time, guard Aysu Mutallimova checked me with a special device, then asked me to pull my pocket linings out and to leaf through the documents in my bag myself. Everything was normal until the guard wanted to conduct a manual pat‑down with her hands. Again I objected: ‘If we are being searched by hand, why do we need devices? Or, if we are being searched with a device, why do we need hands?’

After my objection, the guard reported to someone and said that deputy head Javid Gulaliyev stated: ‘If she is not searched, she will not be allowed to see her lawyer.’

Because I did not want my lawyer to leave without meeting me for the second time, and so as not to show disrespect, I was forced to agree.

The Baku Pre‑Trial Detention Center had repeatedly violated my right to defense, and the head of the detention center, Elnur Ismayilov, had threatened one of my lawyers that if a complaint about the violations were filed, he would file a complaint against the lawyer with the Bar Association.

To protect my lawyer, I asked them to withdraw from my defense because I did not want harm to come to them because of me.

After this text, I assume the prison leadership may ban my family visits, forbid my phone calls, and may render my lawyers ‘harmless.’ In the Baku Pre‑Trial Detention Center we live in double isolation: only one prisoner is kept with us so we are not completely alone, while we ourselves are held in the detention center’s Medical‑Sanitary Unit. We are completely unaware of what is happening in the women’s корпус; even what happens there we learned from my colleagues, journalists from AbzasMedia. The only people who keep us connected to freedom are our families and our lawyers. Now they are depriving us of them as well.

It may be that for some people such treatment of political prisoners looks, in the eyes of the authorities, like career advancement and ‘a raised head.’ In any case, the country is in the hands of those who commit such illegal acts. You rely on courts that issue unlawful decisions and you know that your violations will go unpunished; confident in this, you move from post to post. Even if we are in your captivity and even if we look like ‘white crows,’ we will certainly tell you: ‘Stop!’

**Note:** About a month later, on November 30, my lone protest produced a result: I and all other prisoners are now searched with technical means, and our defense documents are not opened and read.”