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《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
[版面:军事天地][首篇作者:WCNMLGB] , 2018年07月12日22:55:14 ,1211次阅读,15次回复
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标  题: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Thu Jul 12 22:55:14 2018, 美东)

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Feature
Her Husband Was a Princeton Graduate Student. Then He Was Taken Prisoner in
Iran.
Xiyue Wang could easily never have gone to Iran. He was a graduate student
at Princeton, researching similarities across regional governments in 19th-
century inner Asia. His work touched on neither the United States’ Iran
policy nor any Iranian political reality less than a hundred years old. He
initially planned to use the archives in Turkmenistan, but Turkmenistan
denied him a visa.
He wasn’t looking for an adventure — he had a 2-year-old son and a wife
who had only just arrived in the United States from China. Compared with
Turkmenistan, Iran was an open book, and compared with Afghanistan, which he
also considered, it was safe. Moreover, Iran’s archives had a wealth of
material useful to his research. He would need to learn Persian and at least
survey the literature on Iran. But this sort of thing came easily to him:
He was a voracious reader with a gift for languages.
He left for Tehran in late January 2016, the same month that the Joint
Comprehensive Plan of Action (J.C.P.O.A.), better known as the Iran nuclear
deal, took full effect. Wang, a Chinese-born, naturalized American citizen,
set out for Iran without a worry. The Dehkhoda language institute in Tehran
sponsored his visa, and an Iranian consular authority stamped its approval
on Princeton’s letter of introduction, which indicated that the purpose of
Wang’s travel was archival research. He would be using two collections: the
diplomatic archive housed at the country’s foreign ministry and the
National Archives of Iran.
He rented a room in a Chinese couple’s apartment near Vanak Square, in a
lively middle-class neighborhood in the north of Tehran. He got up at 6 each
morning for a video chat with his wife and son, had cookies and milk for
breakfast and then took a taxi to the diplomatic archives, just south of the
city’s center, arriving by 8 a.m. and staying until closing time. Because
many of the documents he needed were handwritten in an antiquated Persian
script, Wang engaged a local scholar to help him decode them. He waxed “
exuberant” about his research, his Princeton adviser, the historian Stephen
Kotkin, recalls. Four days a week, he studied Persian at the Dehkhoda
institute.
The days were long and often frustrating. First there was Nowruz, the
Persian new year, which shut down the archives for weeks. Then there was the
traffic. In Tehran, taxis are cheap, air is poisonous and you can get
exactly nowhere inside of an hour. Before he knew it, in June, came Ramadan,
when, in deference to local regulation and custom, he would pass 14-hour
days without food or drink, only gulping down porridge and instant noodles
in his apartment after 9 at night. To one close friend, Wang sounded peevish
. He just needed to access the National Archives before he could come home.
But unlike the diplomatic archive, the National Archives were holding him at
bay.
The National Archives of Iran are indexed in a database. Scholars sit at
terminals to pore through the index, then submit lists of documents they
wish to see. Only if you have an archive “membership” can the archivists
then burn a selection of these documents to a disk for you, at a fee of six
cents a page. This step is crucial: When historians work in archives far
from home, they routinely collect thousands of pages of documents for later
study. Wang had applied for his membership early on, and every week, he
stopped by the sprawling, tiered brick complex to check on the status of his
request. He never got an answer.
The local scholar working with Wang proposed that they peruse the index
together, and then the scholar, a former employee of the National Archives,
would submit the request for the documents under his own name. Wang was
eager to get home. Having the scholar take the copies was a workaround, and
as Wang understood it, not an uncommon one. The archivists gave the scholar
half the documents. But when he went back for the second half, they objected
, and the next day, the scholar was interrogated by the police.
Wang wrote to Kotkin and explained what he had gathered and what was still
outstanding. Kotkin gave him his blessing to leave Iran and return for the
remaining documents another time. Wang told his wife he was coming home.
That was when the calls started coming — strangers with unknown numbers,
summoning Wang to a police station for questioning. Interrogators took his
passport and his laptop. There was a problem with his visa, they told him.
He couldn’t do this kind of research with that visa. Anyway, why had the
local scholar requested his documents? He called his adviser. He called the
Swiss Embassy, which represents American interests in Iran. Everyone told
him not to worry. This sort of thing happened often enough: Iranian
authorities harassed or intimidated scholars, particularly those from the
United States or Britain, telling them their visas were out of order and
eventually sending them on their way. But until they gave back Wang’s
passport, he was stuck. Days passed, and his panic mounted.
On Aug. 7, an unknown caller told him to report to a hotel. He phoned his
wife, Hua Qu, back in New Jersey: If she didn’t hear from him after this
meeting, she should notify Princeton right away. A few hours later, he
called back with good news. He was at his apartment, packing and paying his
rent. The Iranians were sending him home. A man waiting downstairs would
take him to the airport. She should have someone from the Swiss Embassy meet
him there with a plane ticket.
For five hours, the Swiss diplomat waited for Wang at the airport. The
ticketed flight came and went. The next time Qu heard from her husband, she
was at Princeton’s Firestone Library, and August was at an end. She got a
call from an unknown number. It was Wang, in Tehran’s Evin Prison, crying
so hard he couldn’t speak.
For 40 years, whether Iran and the United States have had fraught relations
or no relations, hurled epithets or dangled promises, one consistent thread
has run beneath it all — a sort of secret history — and that has been the
back and forth over American citizens held captive in Iran. The problem of
“Amcit” detainees, as the State Department calls them, has bedeviled six
presidents and called on a wide array of resources and tactics, from arms
deals to claims courts to prisoner swaps, all of them controversial, and
none affording a lasting solution.
For Washington, the hostage crisis that unfolded in November 1979, when
revolutionary students stormed the American Embassy in Tehran and held 52
diplomats and staff members captive for 444 days, would become a primal
scene in U.S.-Iran relations. Jimmy Carter’s presidency foundered as his
administration lurched from diplomacy with a changing cast of disempowered
actors to a rescue mission that literally ran aground in a desert sandstorm.
In its wake, the hostage crisis left billions of dollars in Iranian assets
frozen in the United States. It also left an entrenched rhetoric of mutual
demonization, and a diplomatic rupture that would become a logic unto itself.
The loss of its embassy did not stop the United States from doing business
with Iran in the 1980s, so long as the subject was hostages: Iranian-backed
militias in Lebanon held 25 Americans captive. Violating a weapons embargo,
Ronald Reagan’s White House secretly shipped Tehran missiles in exchange
for assurances that some hostages would be released. President George H.W.
Bush came into office promising Iran “good will” gestures related to the
captives — one of which involved expediting the release of $567 million in
Iranian frozen assets just before the last hostages came home in the early
1990s. Bush was criticized as having offered a kind of ransom.
Today, extrapolating from survey data, 100,000 to 400,000 Americans travel
to Iran every year. A vast majority pass through unmolested. Most are
Iranian-American dual nationals, many with family in the old country.
Because of reciprocal visa restrictions, very few travelers are like Wang:
American sole-passport bearers traveling as researchers, journalists or even
tourists. For decades the conventional wisdom has held that such travelers,
if they are lucky enough to get in, are unlikely to be detained. Since Wang
’s imprisonment, a State Department travel advisory has warned otherwise.
But travel advisories rarely succeed in deterring dual nationals from seeing
their families.
Iranian-Americans who visit Iran have been distinctly at risk at least since
2007, when they became targets of hard-liners who were consolidating power
in Tehran. The ruling faction viewed links to the United States with
particular suspicion because of the Western-supported color revolutions in
the former Soviet bloc and the George W. Bush administration’s rhetoric
about democracy promotion and regime change. From prison in 2007, two
Iranian-American scholars were forced to appear on state television,
apparently confessing to fomenting “velvet revolution” against the Islamic
Republic on behalf of the United States. They were freed within nine months
, without any known concession from the American government. Other dual-
national arrests would follow, apparently to the beat of Iranian domestic
politics.
When Barack Obama took office in 2009 — determined both to open a serious
diplomatic channel to Iran over its nuclear program and to impose draconian
sanctions that would significantly increase American bargaining power — the
detention of American citizens was drawn into the dance of approach and
retreat that defined the new bilateral relationship. Whether Iranian hard-
liners meant for the arrests to build their country’s leverage or to
undermine diplomacy was a matter for speculation. But by the end of 2015,
Iran held at least seven American prisoners, and the Obama administration’s
effort to free them would follow a diplomatic track of its own, involving
first-ever direct talks with Iran’s secretive security establishment.
The United States has long negotiated with Iran for hostages and has long
argued over the unwinnable dilemmas such negotiations entail. Is it ransom
to hold back frozen Iranian assets pending a prisoner release? What about
trading convicted arms smugglers for American prisoners whom the U.S.
government believes to be innocent? No American administration, Republican
or Democratic, has found a compromise that doesn’t risk rewarding bad
behavior or endangering Americans traveling to Iran. But no past or present
American official I talked to could countenance, for even a minute, drawing
a line and refusing to help the next prisoner get out of Iran.
When Donald Trump was running for president, he described the problem with
characteristic bravado, like nothing he couldn’t scare straight: “Well,
Iran has done it again,” he tweeted, regarding the arrest of the retired
Unicef official Baquer Namazi in February 2016. “Taken two of our people
and asking for a fortune for their release. This doesn’t happen if I’m
president!”
But sometimes the U.S.-Iran relationship feels like a Chinese finger trap:
The harder either side pulls away, the more fiercely both are joined. Under
Trump’s administration, Washington has whiplashed from cautious détente to
ferocious retrenchment on Iran, doing away with the nuclear deal and
showing Iran the back of its hand with renewed sanctions and an immigration
ban that disproportionately punishes Iranians. Still, Trump has not escaped
the hostage conundrum. At least five citizens and two permanent residents of
the United States remain in Iranian prisons, years of their lives
unspooling into a cruel stasis. One way or another, getting them out is
going to mean making a deal.
Wang had to confess to being a spy, his interrogators insisted. Otherwise
how could they possibly solve his problem? After 18 days in solitary
confinement, he was transferred to Evin’s Ward 209, run by the country’s
Ministry of Intelligence and Security. The ward was very crowded, with
inmates sleeping and eating next to one another on the floor. Wang
understood himself to be the only non-Muslim. Some prisoners considered him
unclean and asked him if Chinese people ate cats and cockroaches. There was
one inmate whom he physically feared.
The horizon of his incarceration stretched indefinitely into the future, his
life in Princeton a place he visited only in dreams, from which he woke
disoriented. There was no furniture in his cell, and prisoners sat cross-
legged on the floor. Wang had stocky thighs that pressed his knees until
arthritis hobbled him. The boredom was excruciating, the separation from his
son unspeakable. He was allowed to talk to Qu weekly, and he told her he
had eyed a drinking glass and thought about using it to end his life. The
prison put him on antidepressants. He had pains, mainly headaches, for which
the prison doctor once administered eight shots of painkiller in a single
day.
“For me this case is actually in two parts,” Qu told me when I met her
last fall. “One is to bring him back. The other is to make sure that he
survives.”
When she and Wang first met in late 2009, they were each passing through
jobs at a Hong Kong law firm, hers as a lawyer working inhuman hours, his as
a research assistant. He was on his way to Afghanistan to work as a
translator for the International Committee of the Red Cross and perfect his
Pashto. Before he left for Kandahar, they had a date in Beijing, where they
strolled the old lanes of the Forbidden City for hours, talking with a
comfort Qu had never known.
She was reserved and serious. He was outgoing, with a vast, unquenchable
curiosity about the world. Because his grandfather was a political
cartoonist and editor of the French edition of a state-run magazine, Wang
grew up in a Beijing compound where diplomats and official translators lived
. That was how he discovered his yen for languages. Now Wang spoke Russian,
Uzbek, Manchu, Pashto, Hindi and Urdu. His dream was to study at Princeton
with Kotkin, one of the world’s pre-eminent scholars of modern Eurasian
politics.
He applied around the time they married in 2012, and in March 2013, three
months after he was accepted, Qu gave birth to their son, Shaofan. Wang was
already an American citizen: His mother married an American when he was a
teenager, and Wang lived in the United States as an undergraduate at the
University of Washington and a master’s student at Harvard. Arrangements
for Qu’s visa and employment would take time, so Wang went ahead of her,
returning to see her and the baby in China as often as he could.
He built a community in her absence: study partners, colleagues, fellow
speakers of little-known languages. Later, some of Wang’s Princeton friends
would marvel at all they hadn’t yet known about him. There was always one
more language he knew than you expected, one more place he had lived. He was
the kind of friend who made you a Chinese feast if he saw you lonely on
your birthday and bought you an espresso maker if he caught you drinking
unworthy swill. He was the student who emailed the professor questions after
class and requested outside reading no matter how heavy the required load.
He was also a foodie who attacked a recipe the way he did a foreign grammar,
spending whole days in the painstaking production of a lavish meal from one
of his regions of study.
When Wang’s family arrived in the fall of 2014, remembers Janet Chen, his
Chinese history professor, “He just walked differently. There was light to
him.” Qu worked long days, commuting to the Manhattan office of her Chinese
law firm, so for a while, Wang was the primary parent. Fatherhood delighted
him. Chen remembers his showing up to class dripping wet and beaming after
carrying Shaofan a mile to day care in the pouring rain.
After Wang disappeared, Qu and Shaofan remained in graduate-student housing,
their tidy apartment papered with the delicate watercolors Qu painted in
her spare time. She had become a one-woman lobbying operation: lawyer, wife,
investigator, advocate. Driven and fiercely intelligent, she spoke a
clipped, Chinese-accented English with a seemingly limitless vocabulary.
From the time of Wang’s first call from Evin, Qu says, she was in frequent
contact with an Iran-desk officer at the State Department. The Obama
administration was in its final year, and the Joint Comprehensive Plan of
Action in its first one. The detainee issue, Qu’s contact assured her,
would be raised at the quarterly J.C.P.O.A. meetings in Vienna. Other than
that, the State Department promised only to send diplomatic notes urging
Wang’s release.
And so in 2016, Qu, a Chinese national, focused her efforts on her own
embassy. She thought she had made progress when Wang’s interrogator had him
sign a document stating that he wished to be released to China. (Neither
the Chinese nor the Iranian diplomatic representatives in the United States
responded to requests for comment.) The Chinese had agreed to accept him,
she recalls, even though he had relinquished his Chinese passport by
becoming an American citizen. But then, Qu says, the Iranians reneged: They
told the Chinese they wanted nothing short of an exchange of interest with
the U.S. government.
The Iranians had hinted at such exchanges at least since 2009, when they
picked up three young Americans who happened to be hiking along an unmarked
stretch of Iran-Iraq border near Sulaimaniya. Detained for supposedly
crossing illegally into Iran, the hikers were transferred to Evin, charged
as spies and held until the Sultanate of Oman put up bail that totaled $1.5
million. Iran also suggested a prisoner swap, and it reportedly gave the
Omanis a wish list of Iranian detainees held on American sanctions charges.
The United States demurred, officials say. But the Obama administration had
not heard the last of such demands.
As Washington pursued a landmark nuclear deal with Iran in 2014 and 2015,
negotiators understood that the discussions had to include some prospect of
repatriating American detainees. At the time these included the Christian
pastor Saeed Abedini; the former United States Marine Amir Hekmati; and The
Washington Post’s Tehran bureau chief, Jason Rezaian, and his wife, Yeganeh
Salehi (Salehi would be released on bail). “It was clear from Obama on
down, every policy decision had to think about how we get our people back,”
recalls James O’Brien, Obama’s special envoy for hostage affairs. And yet
as Richard Nephew, a sanctions expert on the American negotiating team,
puts it, “We did not want to create the impression we were trading
centrifuges for Americans.”
Starting in late 2014, American negotiators met regularly with
representatives of the Iranian security establishment, hashing out the terms
of a prisoner exchange. They kept the talks separate from the simultaneous
nuclear negotiation and another frozen-assets arbitration. To address
misgivings within the administration — particularly from the Department of
Justice — the negotiators determined that the United States would not
release terrorists, violent criminals or anyone who posed a threat to
national security. The swap’s timing would also make it a “one-off,”
rather than a dangerous precedent, because the nuclear deal presented a
unique opportunity for a breakthrough on all fronts.
There would still be painful trade-offs. The first involved Robert Levinson,
a former F.B.I. agent and private investigator who occasionally did work
for the C.I.A. Levinson disappeared in 2007 when he went to the island of
Kish, an Iranian free-trade zone, hoping to recruit an intelligence source.
No matter what the Americans offered, the Iranians stonewalled, claiming to
know nothing about Levinson’s whereabouts or suggesting he was spirited to
Pakistan by nonstate actors. The swap went forward without Levinson, but the
Americans stipulated that movement on his case would be the threshold
condition for any future prisoner deal. This, too, was a safeguard against
precedent-setting, they reasoned: His case was singular, and his U.S.
government connection conferred a certain plausibility, as well as a moral
imperative, to trading for him.
The Iranians seized three more Americans in the fall of 2015, even as they
negotiated. One of these, in mid-October, was an Iranian-American
businessman named Siamak Namazi. The American team put Namazi’s name on the
table in November. But by then, according to one negotiator, the deal was
“cooked”: The two sides had hammered out their lists, twisted the arms of
their own judiciaries and secured each other’s grudging approval. The
Iranians insisted that if Namazi was to be included in the prisoner swap, so
should some of the prisoners the Americans nixed at the outset. It would be
back to the drawing board.
“I think we then made the assessment, right or wrong, but we didn’t have
much time, that it could’ve queered the whole thing, and perhaps delayed,
and then who knows what would’ve happened,” an Obama administration
official involved in the negotiations told me. “We would’ve been faced
with the other families saying, ‘What just happened to our people?’ ”
On implementation day, a Swiss plane left Iran with Hekmati, Abedini and
Rezaian. A fourth American, Nosratollah Khosravi, followed. And two other
American detainees, Kian Tajbakhsh and Matthew Trevithick, quietly left on
commercial flights, in an arrangement officially classed as separate from
the larger package.
In return, the United States released seven Iranians who had been convicted
or were awaiting trial, mainly on charges related to the transfer to Iran of
technology with military applications. None of them elected to go back to
Iran. The United States also dropped charges and Interpol arrest warrants
against 14 Iranians it deemed unlikely to be extradited. And it cleared for
takeoff a plane carrying a portion of a $1.7 billion claims settlement,
which had been held back as collateral pending the prisoner release.
There was a heady symbolism to the return of American prisoners as the page
turned on U.S.-Iran relations. But not for everyone. Siamak Namazi’s
brother, Babak, recalls feeling unthinkably betrayed when he learned from
the television news that his brother wasn’t on the plane: “It’s like
being in a war zone, and a soldier’s running toward a helicopter, and the
helicopter is still down, but you say, ‘You know what? We were really
committed to taking off, so we’re going to go ahead and take off.’ ”
Babak should be patient, his State Department contacts told him. Foreign
Minister Javad Zarif of Iran had given Secretary of State John Kerry his
personal assurance that Siamak would be out within weeks. But that didn’t
happen. Worse, Babak’s 81-year-old father, Baquer, was arrested at the
Tehran airport on Feb. 22 and taken to Evin as a prisoner.
One provision of the swap agreement was a channel for the continuing
discussion of the Levinson case — and, as it turned out, others. By the end
of February, there were Levinson and the two Namazis. Then, over the summer
, the Iranians picked up at least four others, including Xiyue Wang.
Qu took some comfort from the knowledge that she had, in Princeton, a
venerable American institution on her side. Robert Durkee, Princeton’s vice
president and secretary, told me that the university pulled every lever in
its reach, from Washington to foreign capitals, and that not a day went by
without someone pressing Wang’s case. But the university’s public strategy
was silence. Experts, whose names Princeton declined to disclose, advised
keeping Wang’s detention out of the media, in part because then the
Iranians could declare the arrest a mistake and release him without fanfare.
The advice ran counter to that of many experts with whom I spoke: Iranian
human rights specialists, a former Iranian official and at least one State
Department official. But as Durkee explained to me, Princeton had determined
that publicity and pressure would neither change the Iranians’ minds nor
do more than distract the people in Washington who were already on the case.
For a year, Qu kept her husband’s arrest a secret. When friends and
colleagues asked about Wang, she told them his research abroad was taking
longer than expected. Much of his graduate-student cohort was gone anyway,
having dispersed to conduct fieldwork.
Qu didn’t know about the prisoner channel built into the 2016 swap, and she
didn’t know that it was failing. The Iranians weren’t serious about
negotiating. They hemmed and hawed about meeting, pushing it off for months
and then showing up unprepared. It was like dealing with Columbo, an
official who worked the channel told me: An Iranian interlocutor pulled
crumpled papers from his pockets and struggled to read from them names of
more than 40 people whose cases were supposedly of deep concern. The Obama
administration understood that the Iranians were stalling. They were waiting
out the American election. And then they were waiting for Trump.
In January 2017, the Trump administration came in without an Iran policy,
other than the eventual ambition to dismantle the Joint Comprehensive Plan
of Action. Crucial positions at the National Security Council and the State
Department remained vacant into the fall, and high-level foreign policy
officials cycled through a revolving door. The office of special
presidential envoy for hostage affairs sat conspicuously empty until about
two months ago. One detainee’s family was bounced to seven different
officials in search of someone in charge.
About six months into the Trump presidency, the Iranians requested direct
talks on the prisoner issue. They received no response.
That was when the Iranians went public with Wang’s case. On July 16, 2017,
Mizan, the news agency associated with the Iranian judiciary, reported that
Xiyue Wang had been sentenced to 10 years in prison for espionage. He had
stolen thousands of pages of sensitive documents, the article claimed, at
the behest of the State Department, in order to infiltrate and overthrow the
Islamic Republic. The article did not mention that the documents in
question dated from the Qajar dynasty, long before the Islamic Republic was
even a gleam in Ayatollah Khomeini’s eye. If Wang was a spy, Janet Chen
wryly observed, “he was spying on the dead.”
The American press picked up the story, and a day later, on July 17, Zarif
was asked about Wang’s case when he spoke in New York at the Council on
Foreign Relations. Zarif reminded listeners that he had no authority over
judicial matters. But the United States and allied countries did have
Iranians in detention on sanctions-related charges, he noted: “I’m not
saying that it’s tit for tat. ...” On July 24, a news agency associated
with the Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps followed up with a list of 12
Iranians facing what Iran’s deputy foreign minister, Abbas Araghchi, called
“baseless” American sanctions charges.
Qu saw something more than a change of subject in these remarks. “The
signal is very clear,” she told me. “They want to do a swap. So what I
want is, I want Xiyue back. So can you do a swap with the Iranians? Or if
not a swap, can you talk to them, at least?”
Only in late November did Washington signal its openness to the dialogue on
prisoners that the Iranians requested months earlier. Now the Iranian
interlocutors hedged: The invitation had expired, they replied, and they had
to await new instructions from Tehran.
Just after Thanksgiving, the very week the Trump administration communicated
its readiness to discuss the prisoner issue, Iranian state television aired
a sinister video about Xiyue Wang. It opened with footage of Alan Eyre,
Persian-language spokesman for the State Department under President Obama,
speaking over a crescendo of horror-movie music about plans to expedite
American student visas for Iranian applicants.
Academic exchange, the video explained, was a Trojan horse for regime change
. The film spliced together footage of Wang during the interrogations that
preceded his arrest, and then in prison pajamas, flanked by blurred-out men
in suits. There was a clip of Wang detailing which archives he had used, one
of him stating that better American understanding of Iran would surely lead
to better policy and one of him sitting at a desk with his head in his
hands, as though miserable or in pain. A voice-over explained that Princeton
and Harvard were suborganizations of the C.I.A. and the National Security
Council. They assigned their students’ thesis topics in accordance with the
information the United States government wished to collect.
The video seemed designed to make a case for Wang’s value as a prisoner.
Its release coincided with his being shuffled around: One day, he was taken
to court and told he would have another trial, which could mean anything,
but he doubted it was good. He waited all day and was returned to his cell.
Then, in December, again without being told why, he was transferred to a
different ward, where he met Nizar Zakka, a Lebanese citizen and permanent
resident of the United States arrested in September 2015 and also sentenced
to 10 years for espionage. At least he had someone to talk to in English. He
had a kitchenette, now, too. And in profusion, he had bedbugs.
What Wang did not have, to his grief, were books. Qu tried every means she
could think of to get them to him. So did his friends. He would teach
himself Albanian, classical Mongolian and ancient Tibetan, if he could only
receive the care packages he was sent. He certainly had the time. But books
took months to get through, and the ones he requested were sometimes
replaced by others his captors preferred.
Wang was now allowed frequent phone calls, which he mostly made to Qu. Once
he called Janet Chen, who chitchatted with him about his research ideas but
found the experience “just shattering,” she told me hours afterward. “
Literally, if they said, ‘We want your arm,’ I’d give it. I really would.”
When Wang’s case went public, the parents at Shaofan’s preschool had
spontaneously organized around Qu. Whatever she needed done, they were ready
to do, whether it was picking Shaofan up from school, circulating petitions
, organizing rallies on campus or acting as her publicists and advocates
with everyone from Fox News to Amnesty International. They held increasingly
formal meetings after their children went to bed, brainstorming campaigns
and mulling over the details of the latest news from Evin, Washington and
Princeton’s Nassau Hall. The day care parents had no previous experience
with any of this. They were admittedly inept at social media and at building
websites a search engine could locate. But they had no higher commitment
than Qu’s family’s well-being, and they were indefatigable.
Qu had become an Iran expert in her own right by the end of 2017. She was
also depleted, having been charged with the impossible task of sustaining
both Wang’s spirits and her own. Shaofan spoke less and less often about
his father and grew impatient with the distant, echoey voice on speaker
phone that asked him to speak up and repeat himself, and then took his
mother away to a world of dark and endless grown-up talk he couldn’t follow
. Qu took Shaofan to China at the end of November for what would be a three-
month reprieve from the scene of a life gone horribly awry.
If you are Hua Qu, or Babak Namazi, or a member of the Levinson family, you
want one thing, and that is to bring your loved one home. You know, in
theory, that only his captors can release him. But they are not listening to
your entreaties. They talk about swaps, and so you talk about swaps.
Whether such deals reward further hostage-taking can hardly be your
immediate concern.
For policymakers, however, the problem of perverse incentives is an
agonizing one, and it runs in both directions. Iranian officials have made
no secret of their suspicion that the United States has started taking
Iranian prisoners for the purpose of trading them. American foreign-policy
officials with whom I spoke were skeptical that any such systemic effort
existed. But prisoner-swapping raises the question for an Iranian-American
population that feels itself exposed to legal jeopardy by the complexity of
the sanctions regime. If prisoners convicted of crimes by American courts
could be released for essentially political reasons — as part of a
diplomatic bargain — why shouldn’t Iranian-Americans fear that they could
be imprisoned for political reasons as well?
Zarif and other Iranian spokesmen had a troubling avatar for this concern in
Ahmad Sheikhzadeh, a consultant for the Iranian mission to the United
Nations in New York. On March 3, 2016, federal agents arrested Sheikhzadeh
as he was leaving work. They took him to a Manhattan hotel room and kept him
there for questioning all night long. He had broken the law, the agents
told him. He had underreported his income to the I.R.S. in the amount of $
171,355 over a period of five years. And he had violated U.S. sanctions by
moving approximately $187,200 to recipients in Iran over roughly the same
period. According to Sheikhzadeh, the agents told him he was facing 40 years
in prison but suggested he could improve his situation by becoming an
informant for the F.B.I. He learned that he was practically an unwitting
informant already: For about 10 years, law enforcement had monitored his
every phone call and collected his every email, sweeping up the
communications of journalists and scholars, among others, in the process.
The wiretap must have kept somebody very busy, because Sheikhzadeh, who
lived alone in a West Village apartment furnished mainly with books, was the
sort of person who liked to talk on the phone. His friends puzzled over his
Spartan existence and his acceptance of a part-time job aggregating news
reports for the Iranian mission. He had a Ph.D. in political science from
Columbia University. He grew up wealthy, the son of an industrial magnate in
Iran, and many of his childhood acquaintances went on to become famous
politicians and intellectuals. But Sheikhzadeh preferred a simple life, and
his friends benefited from his availability. He was funny, irreverent,
erudite and kind, the sort of person who called your elderly mother,
visiting from Iran, to entertain her in her native language while you were
at work. He had a receding hairline, an aquiline nose and an air of good
health from practicing yoga and swimming.
Sheikhzadeh refused the F.B.I.’s offer. The suggestion that he spy on his
colleagues was an affront, he felt, to his honor and integrity. Instead he
appeared before a federal judge in the Eastern District of New York. Even
after his brother put up $3 million in bail, the prosecutor argued that
Sheikhzadeh was a flight risk. He was fitted with an ankle bracelet that
essentially confined him to a swath of Manhattan below 34th Street and west
of Fifth Avenue, and which mortified him no end. He couldn’t swim, and he
felt himself a marked, degraded man. Friends stopped calling, maybe because
they feared the wiretaps, or maybe because they saw the headlines from his
case and couldn’t be sure he wasn’t a dangerous criminal. He developed
bags under his eyes and an edge in his voice.
He didn’t contest that he had cut some corners. When his roommate moved out
and his rent jumped to $1,700 a month from $600, Sheikhzadeh stopped
reporting his income, which amounted to something like $28,000 in a typical
year. He had inherited money that was sitting in a bank account in Iran.
Accessing it was a puzzle under the sanctions regime, and so he did what he
understood a lot of Iranians did. A friend or relative in the United States
would ask for help getting money to a loved one in Iran for, say, a down
payment or a medical treatment. The friend would give Sheikhzadeh the cash,
and then Sheikhzadeh would have an equivalent amount disbursed from his
Iranian account to the recipient in Iran. He did it only for people he was
close to — he wasn’t running a business — but legally he should have had
a license from the Office of Foreign Assets Control (OFAC). Not that OFAC
licenses were all that useful. Even when you had one, American banks would
often decline Iranian transactions as too risky, or worse, close your
account.
Sanctions cases like Sheikhzadeh’s, involving neither banned goods nor
profits, are often resolved without going to court. But for some reason,
Sheikhzadeh faced criminal charges, and the government seemed determined to
put him away. On Nov. 21, 2016, he entered a guilty plea, thinking that
would be the end of it. But seven months later, the government declassified
some of its wiretaps and insinuated that Sheikhzadeh just might be an
undeclared foreign agent who recruited people to do the bidding of the
Iranian government and had introduced Zarif to an Iranian nuclear scientist
living in the United States. There was no corresponding charge, just a
request for an above-guidelines sentence of more than five years for the
crimes to which he had pleaded guilty.
When Sheikhzadeh testified at his own sentencing hearing in February 2018,
the Brooklyn courtroom buzzed with federal agents, a phalanx of dark suits
and ties occupying at least one full row of the gallery. He answered
questions about his work for the United Nations mission, which involved
culling public material about Iran into reports that he presented at weekly
meetings. True, he rubbed shoulders with Iranian intelligence operatives at
the mission. He never asked these people what they did, he protested. That
was their business. And it was also true that he knew some Iranian
dignitaries from his high school. The nuclear scientist, he explained, was
an acquaintance who helped him make sense of the technical reporting around
the negotiations. “And do you think that people in Iran who work on this
issue — that I helped them to advance how to develop a nuclear enrichment
capability?” he asked incredulously. “Really makes me laugh.”
The prosecution had described “a defendant whose life appears to have been
devoted to furthering the interests of the government of Iran,” someone who
pursued these goals “while operating in the shadows and failing to report
the true nature and scope of his work to U.S. authorities.” And yet, even
with all their intercepts, the government came up with no evidence to
suggest that Sheikhzadeh had done anything illegal beyond the charges under
plea. The defense retorted that Sheikhzadeh was not only the target of F.B.I
. retaliation but possible “trade bait,” calling him “a pawn to be used
in a theoretical prisoner exchange between Iran and the United States.”
If this were true, perhaps the judge would have sentenced Sheikhzadeh to
more than the three months she gave him on the sanctions charge. Still,
Sheikhzadeh’s life was a shambles. He had already paid in fines and
forfeiture, to say nothing of nearly two years with the ankle bracelet. He
was 62, and he was to serve starting April 10 at a federal facility called
Metropolitan Detention Center, Brooklyn, which is being sued by former
inmates for the abuse and mistreatment of Muslim detainees.
Over coffee in the West Village in February, Sheikhzadeh told me about his
time at the mission and his experiences with the American legal system. The
Iranians paid him, he told me, roughly what they paid the mission’s driver.
They didn’t particularly value his expertise as a political scientist or
his diligence in compiling his exhaustive reports. He might have become a
diplomat, like his peers who passed through the mission in the stratosphere
above him. But he could not have borne answering for Iran’s human rights
record. Those who did it got used to it. But it wasn’t good for the soul.
The F.B.I. had many reasons to pursue him as an informant, he surmised.
Surely it wanted, as his lawyer had said in court, “eyes and ears” inside
the mission. Sheikhzadeh also imagined that having lost so many targets with
the prisoner swap, the feds wanted swiftly to attract new informants. Once
he was in the criminal-justice system, Sheikhzadeh felt, the prosecution had
come under heavy pressure from Washington, particularly after the change in
presidential administration, to incarcerate him. Whether this made him “
trade bait” he couldn’t say.
I asked him if he had considered moving back to Iran. Freedom of expression
was too hard a thing to give up, said the man who had been wiretapped for a
decade: “I know I would have a much better life there. But as a friend of
mine said, you appreciate your freedom more than anything else.”
Hostage-taking, Bijan Khajepour, an economist and political analyst related
to the Namazis, told me, is fundamental to the way Iran conducts its foreign
and even its domestic policy and has been since 1979. “It’s that kind of
a mentality where, if you can’t resolve something in your relationship, you
can take a hostage and demand that the other side resolves the issue,” he
said.
But the benefits aren’t all, or even primarily, transactional. Back in 1979
, holding the American Embassy hostages served a threefold purpose that
seemed to justify the adventure’s extraordinary price: It expiated the real
paranoia of Iran’s revolutionary state, cemented a particular faction’s
hold on power and gave the Iranians leverage over the United States. A
similar logic is discernible today.
As Gary Sick, Jimmy Carter’s principal aide on Iran, pointed out to me, at
least some Iranian hard-liners most likely really do believe the detainees
pose a danger to Iran’s national security. They just happen to perceive as
dangerous any activity that connects Iranian citizens to the outside world,
particularly the United States. Others may see the prisoners as useful
instruments in Iran’s factional competition. The Islamic Revolutionary
Guards Corps, which was behind the detentions of most of the prisoners in
2015, opposed the nuclear deal and saw the administration of President
Hassan Rouhani as its rival. Taking American prisoners could have been one
way to embarrass Rouhani and sour the diplomacy that was the president’s
signature project.
“This is not about us,” says John Limbert, who was himself a hostage in
the American Embassy in 1979 and who worked on Iran policy at the State
Department during Obama’s first term. “It’s about Iran’s internal
politics, and it’s about undermining any chance of having any normal
relationship.”
In the long run, former Obama administration officials told me, the only way
to stop the cycle is to improve relations between the United States and
Iran. How else can we mitigate the paranoia that surrounds American
travelers, or persuade the Iranians that they don’t need this sort of
brutal leverage? But like so much in U.S.-Iran relations, the hostage
problem and the bilateral relationship are tied in a Gordian knot: Mutual
hostility serves the interests of Iran’s hard-liners, who are the ones
holding the prisoners. But to mitigate that hostility is to inflame those
hard-liners, who then take prisoners in order to perpetuate it.
Moderates like Rouhani and Zarif may not have a lot of power over Iran’s
judiciary, but they have a political investment in improving the country’s
human rights record and its relations with the outside world. A backward
turn in U.S.-Iran relations undermines this faction’s leverage most of all.
As Richard Nephew told me, “It gives people in a position to help fewer
cards to play.”
Unsurprisingly, the Trump administration does not see long-term resolution
to the hostage standoff coming from improved relations with Iran. In May
2018, Washington unilaterally withdrew from the Joint Comprehensive Plan of
Action, over the objections of its European allies, and announced renewed
sanctions on Iran, including third-party sanctions that aim to make it
impossible for Iran to export oil, on which its economy depends.
The Trump administration does not believe that its withdrawal from the J.C.P
.O.A. and its quarrels with Europe necessitate a change of strategy on the
detainee issue. A State Department official I spoke with, who requested
anonymity because of the extreme sensitivity of the issue, said that the
United States retains a “robust” ability to communicate with the Iranians
about the detainees, and that it continually does so through the Swiss and
third parties. He was oddly sanguine that in spite of everything, the
Europeans would cooperate in crucial efforts to internationalize the
detainee problem and remove it from the twisted matrix of U.S.-Iran
relations.
The proffered dialogue on prisoners is still not on the calendar, despite
repeated American requests. If it gets there, the Trump administration will
face a conundrum. The Iranians habitually insist on dozens of prisoners in
exchange for the handful of ours they hold. To talk them down, Washington
will need to come up with sweeteners. Given how strenuously Republican
politicians and pundits objected to the Obama administration’s use of
frozen assets in the 2016 swap, the $2 billion we still hold is most likely
off the table. The State Department declined to answer questions about its
negotiating strategy.
When Qu returned to Princeton in February, friends and colleagues noticed
that she was depressed, and she worried that her despondency was making
Shaofan insecure. He was acting out — maybe because he was 5, or maybe
because his father had disappeared into a dungeon on the other side of the
world — and she sometimes felt she couldn’t manage him. Some mornings when
Wang called her, she would sit in the parking lot of her workplace and cry.
She didn’t like for Wang to hear her this way. He would feel helpless to
do anything for her, and she thought maybe it was best he didn’t call so
often.
North Korea released three American prisoners on May 9, and Qu wept with
happiness for the prisoners’ families. She told Wang, and he wept, too. For
the first time in months, she felt hopeful. The Trump administration had
shown that it could retrieve American citizens from arbitrary detention
abroad. Never mind that the United States was at that very moment sitting
down to negotiate with North Korea while turning its back on Iran.
In fact, when President Trump withdrew from the nuclear deal the previous
day, Qu felt little more than relief — not because of the outcome, but
because at least the uncertainty around the issue had come to an end. Wang’
s case was in no way tied to the “political chaos” around the deal, she
insisted when we spoke the week of the American withdrawal. His was a
humanitarian issue. But a month later, when we spoke again, she’d been
ruminating over her husband’s case and its links to Iran’s internal
politics. “The J.C.P.O.A. is at the core of everything in this,” she
concluded.
Qu’s mind churned endlessly through everything she knew and didn’t know.
In both categories the load was considerable. Princeton’s faculty links to
Iran had not helped her husband. Could they have counted against him somehow
? Into what web had he flown?
She studied the trail of foreign prisoners. According to Reuters, Iran has
seized at least 30 dual nationals since 2015, two-thirds of them Europeans.
Today Iran holds 14 known foreign nationals apart from Levinson, among whom
her husband was one of only two without Iranian dual citizenship. Why, Qu
wondered, were so many prisoners released, while her husband was not?
“So you’re thinking —” I began.
“My thinking,” she replied, “is just a burden to me.”
One warm evening as the semester drew to a close, Qu and the day care
parents held a rally on the lawn behind Princeton’s Frist Campus Center. A
pack of 5-year-olds lolled in the grass, played tag or stood transfixed in
front of the lectern, listening to Wang’s friends, Mayor Liz Lempert of
Princeton, New Jersey Representative Chris Smith and an aide to Senator
Robert Menendez as the sun sank behind the brick complex.
“Please, Mr. President,” Qu said in closing remarks addressed to the White
House. “You are our hope, and we are counting on you.”
Wang’s friends encircled her as she gathered up Shaofan and her belongings.
Another academic year was coming to an end, the second in this limbo.
Princeton had been Wang’s dream, not Qu’s, but here she stood in his
aperture, holding fast to all he could no longer touch. She would bring him
home this summer, she resolved. Was that too much to hope?
A long time ago, Wang shared with her a Sanskrit poem in which the hero
sends his distant beloved a cloud as his messenger. Look up, Wang told her
once, from Kandahar, and again later, from Evin. See that cloud? It’s from
me.
Laura Secor is a freelance journalist who has written about Iran for this
magazine and The New Yorker, among other publications. She has traveled to
Iran five times. Her book, “Children of Paradise: The Struggle for the Soul
of Iran,” was a finalist for the PEN/John Kenneth Galbraith Award.
Get the full New York Times experience
                                                            .
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huaniu3
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发信人: huaniu3 (OK), 信区: Military
标  题: Re: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Thu Jul 12 23:18:22 2018, 美东)

顶一下。草泥马的伊朗
--
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WCNMLGB
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发信人: WCNMLGB (CCC), 信区: Military
标  题: Re: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Thu Jul 12 23:57:07 2018, 美东)

太长了,读起来还是有点累。不过我还是看完了。他去研究卡加王朝的历史。在查阅国
史馆档案时候翻了个小错误,结果被人家抓住硬说成是间谍。
老婆还是中国公民,曾经一度通过中国使馆联络,伊朗同意放回中国去。但是后来伊朗
人变卦了。
好在现在关押条件还凑合,有个小厨房可以做饭。还能每星期打电话给家里聊天。

【在huaniu3(OK)的大作中提到:】
:顶一下。草泥马的伊朗
--
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cccpwx
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发信人: cccpwx (暱稱太短), 信区: Military
标  题: Re: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Fri Jul 13 00:11:02 2018, 美东)

傻逼文科生
--
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futurist
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发信人: futurist (展望未来), 信区: Military
标  题: Re: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Fri Jul 13 01:32:12 2018, 美东)

这都能看,佩服。

【 在 WCNMLGB (CCC) 的大作中提到: 】
: 太长了,读起来还是有点累。不过我还是看完了。他去研究卡加王朝的历史。在查阅国
: 史馆档案时候翻了个小错误,结果被人家抓住硬说成是间谍。
: 老婆还是中国公民,曾经一度通过中国使馆联络,伊朗同意放回中国去。但是后来伊朗
: 人变卦了。
: 好在现在关押条件还凑合,有个小厨房可以做饭。还能每星期打电话给家里聊天。
: :顶一下。草泥马的伊朗



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chinabbsdad
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发信人: chinabbsdad (张果老他爹), 信区: Military
标  题: Re: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Fri Jul 13 01:43:57 2018, 美东)

我老记得小将一直为伊朗抓此人叫好。

而且说,有中国护照不必然是中国公民。
--
自从来了互联网,
竹幕后的人民见了太阳!
别看现在是黑夜,
不久就要大天亮!
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dullview
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发信人: dullview (dullview), 信区: Military
标  题: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Fri Jul 13 02:06:36 2018, 美东)

用pingxing的逻辑,每年进出伊朗那么多人都没有被认为间谍,就你被认为间谍了。

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laoafei
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发信人: laoafei (afei), 信区: Military
标  题: Re: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Fri Jul 13 02:14:40 2018, 美东)

这是纽约时报提供的一个说法。伊朗人的说法是什么?
--
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zlm
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发信人: zlm (We will prevail), 信区: Military
标  题: Re: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Fri Jul 13 02:20:48 2018, 美东)

伊朗人养的狗?有人生没人教?你太可怜鸟

【 在 cccpwx (暱稱太短) 的大作中提到: 】
: 傻逼文科生



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ne5234
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发信人: ne5234 (Nessun Dorma), 信区: Military
标  题: Re: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Fri Jul 13 02:30:45 2018, 美东)

除非是替美国人收集什么东西的,不然伊朗有什么好偷的?
--
十月,金兀术率军渡江,分兵两路,一路取江西,一路陷建康。高宗逃至越州。金人继
进,高宗又逃至明州。金人乃陷临安,并渡淅追之。高宗逃入海。四年,金人入海追击
,高宗逃至温州。二月,兀术军回师北上,为宋将韩世忠阻于长江之中。时金军逾十万
,韩部只八千。相持四十八日,金人以计破世忠船舰,兀术始得渡江而去。江西金兵,
曾一度攻入湖南,闻兀术归,也继之北去。

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zuihan
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发信人: zuihan (刚见过外婆的傻牛), 信区: Military
标  题: Re: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Fri Jul 13 02:41:02 2018, 美东)

这个fake news 报纸会有这种报道,基本坐实他是间谍的事实了。

去给北墨做间谍没有对错一说,人各有志,为了钱为了什么都可以,但是用我鳖护照去
做掩护就十分恶心了。
【 在 WCNMLGB (CCC) 的大作中提到: 】
: Get long reads on the ideas, issues and personalities that define our
world.
:  Sign up for the New York Times Magazine newsletter.
: Feature
: Her Husband Was a Princeton Graduate Student. Then He Was Taken Prisoner
in
: Iran.
: Xiyue Wang could easily never have gone to Iran. He was a graduate student
: at Princeton, researching similarities across regional governments in 19th-
: century inner Asia. His work touched on neither the United States’ Iran
: policy nor any Iranian political reality less than a hundred years old. He
: initially planned to use the archives in Turkmenistan, but Turkmenistan
: ...................



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futurist
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发信人: futurist (展望未来), 信区: Military
标  题: Re: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Fri Jul 13 02:46:05 2018, 美东)

他是归化的美国公民。开头提到他老婆和2岁儿子刚刚到美国,有点奇怪,回国搬运的?

【 在 zuihan (刚见过外婆的傻牛) 的大作中提到: 】
: 这个fake news 报纸会有这种报道,基本坐实他是间谍的事实了。
: 去给北墨做间谍没有对错一说,人各有志,为了钱为了什么都可以,但是用我鳖护照去
: 做掩护就十分恶心了。
: world.
: in



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zuihan
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发信人: zuihan (刚见过外婆的傻牛), 信区: Military
标  题: Re: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Fri Jul 13 03:29:31 2018, 美东)

之前看到有人说他入境/申请签证的时候,用的是中国护照,老夫刚才去搜了下,没搜
到,姑且认为不对的吧。

但是伊朗官方新闻通告说他是双国籍,为啥会这么说呢,想必是在他身上搜到了两国护
照。
【 在 futurist (展望未来) 的大作中提到: 】
: 他是归化的美国公民。开头提到他老婆和2岁儿子刚刚到美国,有点奇怪,回国搬运
的?



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zuihan
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发信人: zuihan (刚见过外婆的傻牛), 信区: Military
标  题: Re: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Fri Jul 13 03:37:21 2018, 美东)

多次去德黑兰的图书馆查东西被刁难,还依然去,所以被伊朗情报人员监控,然后发现
他在偷偷扫描东西传回去美国,人赃并获。
【 在 laoafei (afei) 的大作中提到: 】
: 这是纽约时报提供的一个说法。伊朗人的说法是什么?



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WCNMLGB
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发信人: WCNMLGB (CCC), 信区: Military
标  题: Re: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Fri Jul 13 15:31:48 2018, 美东)

这文章里还提到前FBI探员Levinson,伊朗人说不知道这人在哪里。以前美国方面一直
否认他是间谍。但是纽时这里主动承认了。目前伊朗仍然说不知此人下落。

【 在 zuihan (刚见过外婆的傻牛) 的大作中提到: 】
: 这个fake news 报纸会有这种报道,基本坐实他是间谍的事实了。
: 去给北墨做间谍没有对错一说,人各有志,为了钱为了什么都可以,但是用我鳖护照去
: 做掩护就十分恶心了。
: world.
: in




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WCNMLGB
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发信人: WCNMLGB (CCC), 信区: Military
标  题: Re: 《纽约时报》专文报道被伊朗以间谍罪判刑的小黄人 (图)
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Fri Jul 13 16:10:10 2018, 美东)

关键是他查阅的都是古代史的东西,那里头有什么情报?

【在zuihan(刚见过外婆的傻牛)的大作中提到:】
:多次去德黑兰的图书馆查东西被刁难,还依然去,所以被伊朗情报人员监控,然后发
现他在偷偷扫描东西传回去美国,人赃并获。
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