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How corruption and cruelty define life inside Azerbaijan’s prisons [1]
['Arzu Geybullayeva']
Date: 2025-07-27
This article by Sevinc Vagifgizi, Nargiz Absalamova, and Elnara Gasimova first appeared in Abzas Media on July 17, 2025. An edited version is being republished on Global Voices under a content partnership agreement.
When investigative journalist Sevinc Vagifgizi asked her family to bring her a simple fan to help her cope with the suffocating heat of her prison cell, she likely did not expect that her right to breathe freely would become a form of leverage for prison authorities.
Sentenced to nine years behind bars in connection with the Abzas Media case, Vagifgizi told her family that the head of the Baku Pretrial Detention Center, Elnur Ismayilov, offered to allow the fan inside — on the condition that she delete her published reports about prison conditions. “The warden said if letting the fan in would make him look like the ‘good guy,’ and if the articles were deleted, then he’d allow it,” Vagifgizi told her family, adding, “but I’m not bargaining. I have a right to that fan. It’s not on any prohibited list and should be allowed in, just as it is for other inmates. We must not be subjected to discrimination.”
Vagifgizi's story is a window into Azerbaijan’s prison system, rife with neglect and systemic corruption, where basic human rights are weaponized or denied altogether. These conclusions were at the center of the most recent piece written by Vagifgizi, Nargiz Absalamova, and Elnara Gasimova, two of her imprisoned colleagues.
Where does the money go?
In 2025, the Azerbaijani government allocated AZN 196million (approximately USD 115 million) to the penitentiary service. The journalists’ exposé, in documenting the daily reality for the 153 women held at the facility, questioned where that money goes.
Inmates depend on weekly visits from family members for food, which is supposed to be stored in communal fridges. Of the nine refrigerators at the prison, one is completely broken, four are from the Soviet era, and one was purchased by the inmates themselves, while the remaining few are so overstuffed that the doors barely shut. Spoiled food is common. Arguments between inmates and prison wards erupt daily over where to store perishables. The facility is legally obligated to meet prisoners’ basic needs — including the provision of proper equipment — but no one can remember when last a new fridge was brought in. Everyone agrees: “This has always been a problem.”
When complaints reached the prison administration, Deputy Warden Ahad Abdiyev “solved” the issue by ordering freon to be pumped into the fridges — a fix that’s unlikely to make a difference, especially since the doors keep falling off.
Heat levels in the prison are another concern. Inmates count on fans for relief from the oppressive temperatures, but even these are in short supply — and typically, only available to those who can buy them. In Cell 41, there are only three fans — all personally purchased — to cool 11 inmates. Cell 46, which also houses 11, is only slightly better off, with four fans — three provided by the facility and one bought by inmates. In Cell 33, 10 inmates share two fans — one bought from the prison store for AZN 40 (about USD 24), and the other provided by the state; one of the inmates in that cell is pregnant. Cell 71, meant for 10 people, now holds 12, two of whom sleep on the floor; they share three fans, all inmate-purchased. Cell 53, meanwhile, has 11 prisoners and three fans, left there by former inmates. Other cells, like 48, 54, and 38, show a similar pattern: fans are either old, broken, or entirely prisoner-funded.
The prison has no working central ventilation or cooling system, an issue that consecutive administrations have failed to address. Prison cells rely on two small ventilation holes and barred windows that open to tightly enclosed exercise yards surrounded by barbed wire. Between 11:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m., the cells become unbearably hot. Those with health conditions — hypertension, diabetes, heart issues — suffer the most. There are no qualified doctors on site, and medical treatment is often inadequate.
The water at the prison is chlorine-heavy and therefore undrinkable. No one knows when the tanks were last cleaned. Hot water is available just five hours per week, forcing women to shower in pairs. In some cells that lack basic bathroom infrastructure, there are no showers at all; women must either kneel under a tap or fill a bucket and wash by hand. Added to this, the water temperature is unstable — either scalding hot or freezing cold — and when inmates plead through the air vents for adjustments, they are ignored until the water is cut off.
In response, inmates have been known to use electric kettles as makeshift water heaters, but these frequently break down — and when they do, must be replaced at their own expense. Some have considered leaving 20-liter jugs in the prison yard to warm under the scorching sun, but lugging such heavy containers back and forth causes back pain, and cleaning materials are not provided. Inmates therefore rely entirely on their families.
“This is a prison, not a resort”
When prisoners ask for more water, working fans, or basic hygiene supplies, the answer is often the same:“This is a prison, not a resort.” Yet, over the past five years, some AZN 837 million (nearly USD 500 million) has been allocated to the country's prison system.
These state budget allocations are in addition to European Union (EU) funding the country has received. In 2017, the Azerbaijani penitentiary service was granted over a million euros as part of a reform package designed and funded by the EU and the Council of Europe. This, according to reporting by Forbidden Stories as well as publicly available documents, on top of the 23 million euros (about USD 27 million) provided since 2014 to finance development programs meant to generate “capacity building of the judicial system,” “training for staff,” “increased oversight of prison conditions,” and “action to improve transparency and prevent corruption,” among others.
In addition to poor prison conditions, ill-treatment and torture are common. Instances of mistreatment have been repeatedly documented by local journalists as well as by the Council of Europe’s Committee for the Prevention of Torture and Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment (CPT), which issued a statement in July 2024, citing the outright refusal of the Azerbaijani authorities to cooperate with the CPT, the lack of action taken by Azerbaijan's Ministry of Internal Affairs to end ill-treatment, and even instances of torture by police officers. The CPT also published a report in response to this failure to act.
As recently as July 20, Abzas Media director Ulvi Hasanli informed his family during a prison visit that he had begun an indefinite hunger strike. His protest was triggered by the penitentiary service’s refusal to comply with a court ruling ordering his transfer back to the Baku Pretrial Detention Center.
The following day, other imprisoned members of the Abzas Media team — including Vagifgizi, Absalamova, and Gasimova — announced they would join him in the strike beginning July 22, in an effort to demand that the court order be enforced. In solidarity, journalists from Meydan TV who are currently on trial — Aynur Elgunes, Aytac Tapdig, Khayala Aghayeva, Aysel Umudova, and Fatima Movlamli — also declared they would join the strike.
Instead of addressing the journalists’ demands, however, prison authorities retaliated. The same day the other Abzas journalists were to join the hunger strike, they found themselves being forcibly transferred to unsanitary, unventilated cells with no access to showers. Absalamova, who refused to leave her cell voluntarily, was physically assaulted and left with visible bruises on her arms. Meanwhile, Hasanli was placed in solitary confinement in response to his peaceful protest.
Other inmates are feeling the ripple effects. In the section where Vagifgizi, Absalamova and Gasimova are now being held, prison management has reduced the water supply to just 15 minutes a day, cutting the hot water altogether. The journalists put out, a statement: “Since our hunger strike, 153 women inmates cannot shower, wash their dirty dishes or fill in the empty water tanks. [Inmates store buckets of water in their cells for times they are unable to access water at all.] They are complaining that these restrictions are due to our hunger strike. We know that [the] aim is to incite the prisoners against us, and to provoke them to harm us.”
The fact that Azerbaijani prisons now have more journalists behind bars than ever before, however, has been helping to expose the stark realities of prison life to the wider public. For this, they continue to pay a personal price — but whether their reporting will change the environment of impunity, graft and rights violations remains to be seen.
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