
Field Report on “Patoq” Cardboard Beds in “Karaj Square” / Mahsa Ahmadi
Akram, Marzieh, and Mohammad are the ones who have chosen the street for their lives; cardboard beds that all introduce themselves with these names. Some of them don’t know how their home became the street and their life became nocturnal. They kicked Marzieh out of her home and she stayed on the street. Mohammad didn’t get along with his father and came out, and the people who each, for their own reasons, have taken to living on the street. The upcoming field report is an hour-long patrol in the gathering place of the cardboard beds. A corner of the big city of Karaj at night, which is not similar to other big cities in Iran.
As long as I had money, I spent it; I never stole.
At four o’clock in the afternoon, there is traffic on one of the main streets of Karaj. Everyone is waiting for the road to open and go. As we move forward, we come across a famous pastry shop and several cars, including a woman’s car, are standing in the second lane, blocking the street to buy pastries. A taxi passes by the woman’s car and with a short pause, warns her to move forward and find a parking spot so that the traffic can open up. The woman seems to not hear the man’s voice. She leans her body out of the window of her expensive car and curses at the taxi driver, shouting, “I want to close the street, what’s it to you?!”
At eleven o’clock at night, in one of the ruins in the middle of the city, where cardboard sleepers gather together at night, I am standing with Hamid, one of the former cardboard sleepers. He says, “I have never stolen. Even when I was a cardboard sleeper, I never stole from the belongings of the people who were hanging out next to me. I know how people make money with such misery. I never put my hand in someone’s pocket. I was a cardboard sleeper and an addict, I lived on the streets for ten years, but I never took anyone’s right even once.”
Arish Foroum, a sociologist and social psychologist, says in an interview: “The healthiest people are the sickest, and the sickest individuals are considered the healthiest. You may think this is a play on words, but it’s not. This is a very important and serious issue. Someone who is sick shows you that some human elements in them have not been suppressed, and therefore they are in conflict and struggle with rules and cultural norms, and as a result, the resistance shows symptoms of illness. Symptoms of illness, or symptoms, are not a sign that something is not working. Lucky is the one who has symptoms. Happy is the one who feels pain when they have a deficiency. If someone does not feel pain, they are in a dangerous situation, but most people, or normal humans, have become so adaptable, lost their true selves, and have become so alienated and robotic that they no longer even feel problems or pain. In other words, their
The two narratives presented at the beginning are consistent with the statements of the forum. The person who has been solved in structure and with material facilities of life, who does not pay attention to the basic rights of others and even shows bad behavior in the face of criticism, and the person who has lived on the streets for years without access to any facilities, is damaged and condemned as an addict, still has morality and is aware of the rights of others; therefore, we can understand that what we see from the face of the city at night and homeless people is beyond what we imagine. The darkness of the city during the day and its busy streets make everything seem normal, even violence; but at night, it is the time for unusual traffic. The city at night is the realm of humans who still struggle to keep their human dignity against society and predetermined structures.
“Unusual Hangouts”
“Ten o’clock has passed. We walk past a street that leads to “Patogh”, the gathering place for cardboard sleepers. Next to a spice shop, a woman in a modest dress sits with a cigarette in her mouth, talking to the owner of the shop. She takes something from the owner and gives him money. A few moments later, the shopkeeper goes inside. When he comes out, he has something in his hand that looks like a few capsules. He looks around and empties the capsules into the woman’s palm and speaks softly. Then he gets ready to close the shop. The city is not completely empty of ordinary people yet, but their numbers have decreased. The shops, mostly grocery stores or spice shops, are pulling down their shutters and Karaj’s main square gradually falls into silence.”
Next to a public toilet under dim light, we chat with Hamid. A few steps further, where darkness begins, groups of people sit together on cardboard beds and their laughter sometimes breaks the silence of the “hangout”. The main street near the “hangout” gradually becomes deserted and the number of cardboard sleepers increases. Hamid says, “Tonight it’s quiet here. Because they implemented a plan two or three nights ago. They came and took everyone, of course since the weather has gotten warmer, the warm houses kick the kids out onto the streets.” Someone passes by us and jokingly says, “Did you come to write an article about us? Come closer, let us help you better.”
Hamid continues, “I wish you had come a couple of hours later. The kids are mostly tired and irritable now. When they have energy, they talk easily. They have interesting stories, but if we wait a little longer, they get in the mood and will say anything for twenty tomans. I don’t know how I became addicted, but I was the top student. I studied at Isfahan University. I didn’t like my major. Then I went to work in Korea. I lived in Korea for a few years. When I came back, I was detained at the airport for having contact with one of my relatives. The woman I had contact with was apparently a Mujahed and was living outside of Iran. That’s how they took us at the airport and sent us to Rajai Shahr prison in Karaj, although I hadn’t done anything. I used to talk about politics with that woman, but I didn’t do any activities. I had an
“We walk with Hamid and strike at the heart of darkness. Groups of several people, men and women, or individuals have gathered in the ruins. Some are dealing drugs, some are smoking or chatting. One or two people burst into laughter. A woman sits next to two or three men. We move forward. Hamid warns us: “Akram is very nervous. Her husband was in the military. He got her addicted and then kicked her out of the house. She hasn’t seen her children for years.” Hamid turns to Akram and says, “Akram! Are you talking to the kids? Do you want to tell your story?” One of the men next to Akram says, “Leave her alone, she’s drunk. She’s not in the mood.” Akram takes a puff from her pipe and a puppy comes closer from a distance. She looks at us anxiously and says calmly, “Leave me alone, guys! I’m not talking.” Another man
“Three Dood instead of heroin”
We pass by Akram and his friends and reach the next group sitting around the fire. Hamid is looking for a woman named Marzieh. Marzieh is one of the kids from “Patogh” in Sarasiab Marlik Karaj. Hamid says, “This “Patogh” is small. Every night, five hundred people gather in Marlik. The situation there is very different from here. The number is much higher. Before, there were fewer women, but now there are more, although still less compared to men.”
Marzi hears our voices from afar and comes forward, extending her hand. She is a woman around fifty years old. She turns to Hamid and says, “Give me one of those cheap cigarettes. When the weather gets warm, everyone spills out onto the streets. Marlik was crowded, so I came up here. Heroin has become so expensive that it’s almost impossible to find. I searched for two hours to find a dealer tonight. They caught us again. It’s always the government who starts it, and then gradually the reporters and photographers show up. ” She lights her cigarette and continues, “Well, what do you want to know? My story is repetitive. I started working at my father’s stand, and then when he died, my brothers kicked me out of the house when I was thirty. I don’t have a home and I don’t want one. I’ve been to rehab ten times, and they’ve forced me to go a hundred times, but as
As she talks to us, she also gets along well with the kids: “Mamali! The doctor was looking for you. He said the kids have caused trouble. Did you hear? If you don’t stop talking, I’ll take you to the Arab mill and make you dance.” Mamali walks away and says in a low voice: “Leave me alone! I haven’t slept in three days. I want to go and rest in a corner.” Marzi laughs and blows smoke into the air, saying: “Tonight, they didn’t bring any dinner from the cemetery. The moon is God’s guest, they’ve made the city safe, but we get nothing. We have to go begging. All the “hangouts” have a boss, except for here. Places with a boss, the kids don’t go hungry. Finally, a camp, a place that brings two plates of food. Here, there’s no owner, the boss here is money. I’ve seen
“We bid farewell to Marzi and continue on. A man with a head and appearance similar to the “ordinary” ones sits next to a group and consumes substances with their pipe, then gets up and bids them farewell and leaves the “hangout”. Another young man, who does not resemble the cardboard sleepers, sits next to another group and says, “Give me two puffs, I have to go home soon.” The population of cardboard sleepers here does not reach fifty people. Hamid says, “It’s time to go. The security forces are keeping track. Especially these days, they are cracking down hard. The kids say the Islamic Republic has raised the prices of substances to make a profit in the market. The substance is now stronger than before. They call it “three puffs”; meaning three puffs are enough and anything more is death. When they poured the substance into the market, many cardboard sleepers died. I was a cardboard sleeper at that time, and
We pass by women and men and reach the brightness of the street again. The city is quiet. Hamid says with a laugh, “We made it out alive! Finally, we’re outside. Of course, the kids don’t bother us, but many of them are addicted and can’t control themselves. Many also dislike ordinary people.”
The darkness of the day emerges in the heart of the night.
Every morning, each of us puts on our mask of happiness and runs after a better life, and finally, at night, without knowing why and for what we have been running all day, we come home and go to sleep. There are few people who live in the city and stay on the streets at midnight. The city is a territory of others at night, where they cannot be a part of during the day. The phrase “the night is unsafe” has become ingrained in human life today. There are certain places or cities that are active day and night. A place like Tehran, the capital, is a bustling place during special occasions and times until late at night; when night falls, its face changes. Those who have not had the opportunity to live during the day count the nights as their spoils, but the question is, why is insecurity promoted by the government at night? Why is there no thought for nighttime security? Why is it that if a woman leaves her house for
Note:
Translation: Translation of a section of the article “The Mask of Happiness and the Problem of Suppression in Modern Societies” by Erich Fromm, 1977, published on the website Open Culture.
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Cardboard bed Female addiction Field report Hangout Homelessness Karaj Street Mahsa Ahmadi Monthly Peace Line Magazine Paragraph peace line Peace Line 132 Women sleeping in a carton.