“Ants Became My Best Friends”
Interview with Homayoun Sabetara after his release from prison in Trikala – 06.01.2025, Thessaloniki
In August 2021, Homayoun Sabetara wanted to travel from Iran to live with his children in Berlin, but was arrested after having driven a car with seven other people across the Turkish-Greek border. One year later and in an unfair trial, he was sentenced to 18 years in prison for ‘people smuggling’. Despite a lack of evidence and a lengthy legal battle, his sentence was only reduced to 7 years and 4 months three years later on appeal. However, he was not acquitted. In Thessaloniki in early January 2025, he talks to Kiana Ghaffarizad, part of the #FreeHomayoun campaign team, for the first time after his release from prison about his experiences and wishes for the future.
Homayoun Joon, when you finally sat on the bus to Thessaloniki on December 16th: What was going through your mind during that ride?
First, it’s a pleasure to be able to speak with you today. Finally, after three years I have been released from prison. First and foremost, I want to express my deepest gratitude to the people involved in the campaign and to all those who tirelessly fight for others’ rights.
On that day [December 16th], first, the private police took me to Trikala to the police station. They questioned me again: “Where will you live? Who do you know there? Do you speak the language?” After answering all these questions, I had to sign a few papers, and then they took me to the bus stop and said, “You must go to Thessaloniki.”
So, I bought a ticket, got on the bus, and honestly, I was just completely overwhelmed. I had only been released from prison a few hours earlier, after more than three years behind bars. I don’t know how I felt. I didn’t feel like I was really out of prison. Even now, sitting here with you, I don’t feel like I’m really free. The pressure from prison was just so intense. The shock was so overwhelming.
At the beginning, when they arrested me, I was just scared. I panicked when they put me in pre-trial detention. That was my first experience with something like this—I had never experienced anything like it before; it just wasn’t a part of my life. I never thought something like this could happen to me. But well, now it did… And for a long time, I was just confused. I mean, I just didn’t know what had happened. And then the conditions in Greek prisons—worse in their pre-trial detention facilities than in the prisons themselves.
And to your question [what came to my mind] — I don’t know. A very unclear, undefined feeling. I’m also very happy, you know. I’m really happy! But it’s a happiness that feels hard to grasp. It’s so vague. It’s as if my head is very heavy. As if my body is still in deep sleep. That’s how it feels.
How does it feel to be free after such a long time in prison?
I don’t have any special feelings. But I’m somehow bewildered by this world. I’m just speechless at the things I’ve seen in my life. The injustices I experienced in prison. I just can’t believe that I’m now in Europe, where there’s always talk of human rights, and at the same time so much injustice, so much oppression, and violence exists. I just can’t reconcile it—this puzzle doesn’t make sense to me. I sit down and try to understand it, but it doesn’t work.
How did you cope with life behind bars? Was there something that gave you strength to survive?
At first, I was taken to Korydallos in Athens, one of Greece’s largest prisons. I was in quarantine there for about ten days, and after that, I was placed in a cell. It was a basement room, without windows, about 24 to 26 square meters. There were seven or eight bunk beds, and it was supposed to house normally 14 people. In reality, we were often 25, 26, sometimes even 30 people. The number fluctuated constantly. It was a very damp room. Because of these conditions, I developed health problems. Now I suffer from breathing problems, constantly coughing, and I can’t take deep breaths anymore. It all started in that tract. I was in this basement room for about a year and a half. This time severely impacted my physical health and greatly affected me mentally.
I didn’t tell much to my children during this time. I thought if I called them, they would just worry. I was also sure I would be released once my trial was over. But in Greece, it works differently—you come to prison first, and then 14 to 18 months later, you have your trial, where it is decided if you are guilty or not. So, you have to spend this time in prison.
In the basement room, I would tell myself over and over again: I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just sitting in the driver’s seat. And that was only because the smuggler forced me to do it. The smuggler had told me to drive, and they would follow; everything would be fine. I did what he said and drove with a Kurdish-Iraqi family to Thessaloniki. There, at around 11:30 p.m., I was arrested by the police…
The first year and a half in prison was incredibly hard. I hardly saw a doctor. In prison, it’s not like you can just go to a doctor—you have to insist, you have to be near death before they take you to a doctor. I eventually couldn’t breathe well anymore, and then I was finally taken to the hospital. The doctor confirmed my poor health and ordered that I be transferred.
After that, I was moved to a cell one floor up. That was at least a small improvement. The room had a small window overlooking the prison yard. That was before my children could visit me. During that time, I had nothing to occupy myself. No books, no notebooks to write in, nothing—not even music. Cell phones were, of course, strictly forbidden. During that time, I mostly occupied myself with the ants. The ants became my best friends during that time. For hours, I sat in the yard, watched them, talked to them, played with them, held out my fingers, let them crawl on my hands… That’s how I tried to keep myself going.
I couldn’t really connect with the other prisoners because many of them lived in a completely different reality. Most of them engaged in drugs or theft, or even murder. Their conversations constantly revolved around these topics—the one would tell what he had done, and the other would tell what he had done. There was no room for other conversations.
In Greek prisons—I don’t know how it is elsewhere—there are drugs in abundance. All kinds of drugs, everything you can imagine, and they are smuggled directly into the prison by the guards themselves. And most people used their drugs. Because of that, the air in the room was very poor. The room, this basement room where I was, was very enclosed, and the air was constantly filled with smoke from the drugs. There was only a small opening in the window, and I often stood there just to at least breathe a little. It was really incredibly hard.
But you know, no matter how much I try to describe that time in prison to you, you will probably never fully understand it. Such an experience can only be understood if you’ve lived it yourself. What did I do in prison to occupy myself? Eventually, Mahtab managed to bring me puzzle books, books, a diary—everything. She also gave me an MP3 player. All of that helped distract me and helped me survive that time.
After your conviction, your daughter Mahtab started the #FreeHomayoun campaign. What did this campaign mean to you personally?
I don’t remember exactly when Mahtab managed to contact me. When she told me about the campaign, I didn’t believe it. I simply wasn’t convinced that such a campaign could really make a difference or help me. I thought it was very unlikely that anything important would come out of it. But then, after a while, when Mahtab sent me some pictures, I started to gain hope.
In prison, there was a smuggled phone, which belonged to one of the prisoners – he was kind of like a “boss” or a mafioso there. With that phone, I could be in contact with Mahtab, and she sent me messages and told me what the campaign was doing. Slowly, my doubts began to fade. Mahtab spoke to me as often as she could, telling me about what she had achieved and the progress the campaign was making.
In the end, the campaign became my only lifeline, because I had no confidence that the Greek courts would, without external pressure, reduce my sentence or release me. In Greece, the courts are mostly racist – maybe that’s not the right word, but most judges treat migrants with prejudice and generally have a poor relationship with them. Especially migrant prisoners face harsh treatment. At the time of my arrest, as far as I remember, Syriza was in power, or maybe it had been briefly out of government. The other prisoners said it was slightly better for migrants and prisoners under Syriza – the sentences were less severe. But still, the situation for migrant prisoners was very difficult.
Could you describe to us your experience with how the Greek authorities treated you?
After my arrest in August 2021, the police initially took me to some kind of detention facility – it wasn’t even a police station. It was a private place, a small room – or more like a dungeon. The room was half-dark, with a small lamp that only faintly lit. There was – excuse my words – only one bowl in the middle of the room that we all had to use instead of a toilet. We were about 20 people. The prisoners had set up a plastic wall to create some privacy. The conditions were horrible. It was a nightmare.
They held me there at the beginning. After about an hour in this place – better to call it a dungeon – they took me for interrogation. But I didn’t understand their language, and they couldn’t speak English. My English wasn’t good back then, but now it’s better because I learned some English in prison. One of the prisoners in that dungeon, was, I believe, a Pakistani. He could speak broken Farsi, but very poorly. And he was kind of used as an interpreter. But I couldn’t tell if what he translated was really what I said. I also couldn’t understand his Farsi well. So, I had no translator, because someone who can say a few words doesn’t really count as an interpreter.
The interrogation lasted maybe five or ten or fifteen minutes – I can’t remember. Eventually, they put a paper in front of me and told me to sign it. I didn’t understand what it said. They just said, “Sign it.” I said, “I can’t sign something I don’t know what it is.” Then one of the police officers – they were all in civilian clothes – stood up and ordered me to do the same. I stood up, and then the officer kicked me forcefully in my left leg, and I fell to the ground. He helped me up, pointed to the document, and said, “Sign, sign!” Then I understood, I had no choice, I had to sign it, even though I wasn’t clear about what I was signing. Later, I found out that the Greek courts made their judgments exactly based on those police reports that the police initially collected and which I unknowingly signed.
© YORGOS/imagistan
After that, the police took my fingerprints, and during that process, they also took my medication. I have prostate cancer and need medicine. I asked them to give me my medication back, but they refused. After the interrogation, I spent another week there, in that filthy room that smelled of decay. The conditions worsened my health drastically. I had heart problems. Eventually, a doctor came and examined me, and I was moved elsewhere, this time to an official police station. There, the situation was slightly better at least. Sorry if I didn’t fully answer your question. My memory is a bit spotty after all of this. I often lose track, forget what I wanted to say…
You are innocent. There is no doubt about that, and we all know it. Yet the verdict from the appeal court on September 27, 2024, wasn’t a full acquittal. It merely reduced your sentence. What does this verdict mean for your future?
I think the judges had no choice but to reduce the sentence. My lawyer, Mr. Ladis, had pointed out in the first appeal on April 22, 2024, that there were no witnesses against me. But the court decided to postpone the process to find a witness, and I was kept in prison for another five or six months. However, the court couldn’t find a single witness to incriminate me. During the second appeal on September 24, 2024, the judges claimed they had a witness statement. But even that statement was unclear, whether it actually came from him; it was far from credible. In my view, the court processes in Greece are more like a game, you know what I mean? It’s about formalities and reading out a verdict.
My suspicion is that the Greek government has a business with migrants. You might wonder how. Actually, the government gets money from the European Union for each prisoner. I don’t know how much it is today, but back then, several prisoners told me it was €73 per day. But this money isn’t spent on the prisoners. I once calculated it: with all the costs – for the terrible food, the accommodation, police transport, etc. – it comes to a maximum of €27 or €28. The prisoners get nothing else. You get a blanket at first, and after that, no pillow, no sheet, nothing. So, you have to buy everything yourself. If you have money, you can get a few things in prison, and if you don’t, you have to make do somehow. So, what happens to the rest of the EU money? Probably, the authorities pocket it.
I think the court, through the efforts of Mr. Ladis and the campaign, had no choice but to mitigate the sentence. They couldn’t find witnesses, and all the other passengers testified that I had been with them in the forest before I was forced to drive the car. There was only this one person who claimed they didn’t see me in the forest. That statement and the document I had to sign initially formed the basis of my conviction.
Technically, the court should have completely overturned the verdict. The sentence for someone steering a vehicle, as I heard, is usually between six months and a year. And even though we proved in court that I wasn’t a smuggler, the judges didn’t overturn the verdict; they only reduced the sentence – from 18 years to seven years and some months.
Basically, I’m still a prisoner. I’m on probation and must report to the police station every month for three years. I’m not allowed to leave the city of Thessaloniki. So, I’m still sitting in prison, just in a slightly bigger one – a prison the size of a city. With my mind, I can’t understand why I still have these restrictions. I can’t find a single logical explanation.
© YORGOS/imagistan
I think the court, through the efforts of Mr. Ladis and the campaign, had no choice but to mitigate the sentence. They couldn’t find witnesses, and all the other passengers testified that I had been with them in the forest before I was forced to drive the car. There was only this one person who claimed they didn’t see me in the forest. That statement and the document I had to sign initially formed the basis of my conviction.
Technically, the court should have completely overturned the verdict. The sentence for someone steering a vehicle, as I heard, is usually between six months and a year. And even though we proved in court that I wasn’t a smuggler, the judges didn’t overturn the verdict; they only reduced the sentence – from 18 years to seven years and some months.
Basically, I’m still a prisoner. I’m on probation and must report to the police station every month for three years. I’m not allowed to leave the city of Thessaloniki. So, I’m still sitting in prison, just in a slightly bigger one – a prison the size of a city. With my mind, I can’t understand why I still have these restrictions. I can’t find a single logical explanation.
Greece is imprisoning over 2000 innocent migrants because they were convicted as smugglers due to the EU’s inhumane migration policies. If these people could hear you, what would you want to tell them?
I agreed to this interview mostly because I hope it might help those who are innocent. Sure, there are people who were actually smugglers, but the interesting part is that they are usually released very quickly. For example, I remember – when I was still in Korydallos – a person who was put into our cell. He was a professional smuggler from Istanbul. He was caught with two ships carrying 120 passengers. After seven months, he was released. Absolutely surprising. He told us he also paid a lot of money – 150,000 Euros – and paid his lawyer to be freed. I had to laugh. How can someone who smuggled so many passengers for money be released so quickly?
© YORGOS/imagistan
Here, the laws are turned upside down: those who commit serious crimes either receive light sentences or are immediately freed. But the people like me who are innocent – and there are so many like me – get very severe sentences. Absolutely absurd. Some verdicts were for 30 years, 40 years, 70 years, 100 years, 300 years, or even 1,500 years. It’s really the opposite. The more someone is involved in such activities – this applies to drug dealings as well – the lighter the sentence. For example, someone who carries a few grams of drugs might just be sentenced to seven or eight years. But someone who has two or three kilos of drugs gets only a light sentence. It’s completely illogical and strange. Everything is upside down.
I don’t know why it is this way. But from my perspective, the biggest criminal organization in Greece is the police itself. “I can’t prove it, but I’m sure they have connections to the leaders of criminal networks – whether it’s in drug dealing or other illegal activities.
It’s not easy for me to talk about these things. It’s incredibly hard for me to recall these memories. I’ve really suffered a lot. My hope is that by talking about these things, I might be able to contribute to change. Maybe I can help those who are now imprisoned. I just know that most of them are innocent. I’ve sat with them, talked with them, lived with them. That’s how you realize what kind of people they are. Because of drugs or smuggling, they end up in prison – maybe theft too, but I can’t speak much about that.
I remember a person in prison, he was a very kind man. He had four children; I think he was from Istanbul. His family was already in Greece. They wanted to move to Germany, and he wanted to join them. I don’t know exactly why, but he was driving a car on the way to Greece. Maybe he didn’t have money, or he was forced. In any case, they arrested him. His wife and children were also put into prison. In court, he was sentenced to 48 years. Although he was innocent. He just wanted to join his family to move to Germany. Why did he receive a sentence of 48 years? I don’t know. Unfortunately, I have no contact with him anymore.
In this global situation, a lot is simply wrong from the root. Maybe my words have a small impact and can help these innocent people.
Is there something you wish for in the future?
Wishes? ((Laughs)). Well – I’m 60 years old now. Maybe I will have another 30 or 40 years to live. Life can really be beautiful – as long as you understand it and don’t just imagine it. Life can then be very sweet and wonderful. Right now, it’s not.
My life is gray at the moment. Sure, I have many hopes, but whether I can realize them given my current situation, I don’t know: with a prison past, with the obligation to report to the police every month for three years and sign, with all the problems they’ve created for me.
I've really been through a lot. I've suffered a lot of damage. Things that I never thought could happen to me in my life have happened. Hopes and dreams I had were taken away from me. They threw me in prison. They wasted four years of my life. During this time, I became ill, my health deteriorated fundamentally and I experienced many other things. What other wishes could I have now? Your question about wishes is not really difficult, but it's as if it simply has no meaning for me at the moment.
Maybe I don’t have big wishes for myself, because I can’t really understand everything that has happened to me. Maybe I'll develop wishes at some point. But at the moment, too much is still in the dark and my situation is still far too unclear.
Maybe my only wish is that campaigns like these and similar actions – and maybe I’ll become active in this area – can bring freedom to people like me. People who are imprisoned now, who are innocent, and are still held. People who might have children, a partner, a family.
Thank you for the conversation, Homayoun Joon. What do you have planned for the rest of the day after our interview?
Today is maybe one of the best days of my life. My two children visited me in Thessaloniki. I want to spend as much time as possible with them today.
We continue to campaign for the acquittal of Homayoun Sabetara and all migrants who are criminalized for “smuggling”. Support our work with a contribution to the legal costs.
