Regime Continues to Confiscate Properties of Critics and Opponents

“I was the Sharia judge; I sewed it, and I tore it myself. I confiscated, and I executed myself.” These words were spoken by Sadeq Khalkhali, the man responsible for thousands of post-1979 executions, who died without ever standing trial after he was disqualified from the fourth parliamentary elections.

Decades have passed, and now Gholam-Hossein Mohseni-Ejei, the Chief Justice, daily orders the seizure of dissidents’ property under the guise of “fighting the enemy” and “for the benefit of the nation.” This occurs as the Islamic Republic’s record of killings and executions mirrors the Khalkhali era once again.

The legalization of asset forfeiture was initiated by Ruhollah Khomeini less than a month after his return to Iran, targeting the Pahlavi dynasty and their “agents,” supposedly for the “downtrodden,” but ultimately lining the pockets of those consolidating power.

Now, after two wars and a massacre that brought public discontent to a boiling point and led the world to brand the Islamic Republic a “criminal,” they have enacted new laws. Ejei, one of the few remaining mouthpieces of the regime’s leadership, calls for confiscations every few days, urging officials “not to falter.” And they do not falter; they plunder the people’s wealth.

In this report, I reached out to individuals whose families are under intense security pressure and whose property was seized during this current ceasefire period. They suffer in silence due to ongoing threats against their loved ones, yet they have transformed that suffering into anger and political activity. The identities of the narrators are withheld by IranWire for security reasons.

“I will not be silenced.”

“During the entire 40 days of the war, I had no contact with my family. It was during these so-called ‘ceasefire’ days that my phone suddenly rang. Instead of my sister, I heard a man’s voice saying: ‘It seems you don’t care about your family and can’t turn down the volume. Your sister will lose her seized property.’”

The narrator, who later discovered the caller was an IRGC Intelligence agent, did not answer. “My sister earned everything she has through hard work. I feel crushing guilt that she might lose it all because of me.”

Now, when a family name appears on the phone screen, joy is replaced by terror. “I’m afraid they’ll carry out their threats or go even further. My sister says, ‘No matter what happens, it’s a sacrifice for you,’ but I know how much she’s suffered. Her face is covered in sores; she’s developed an autoimmune disease.”

Hours after our conversation, this person appeared on a Persian-language broadcast to speak about the suffocation the regime has imposed post-war. “I’ve given up on the hope of a normal relationship with my family years ago,” they wrote to me, “but I will not stay silent.”

“Compared to what people pay, a house is nothing.”

I spoke with a woman who left Iran with her husband shortly before the “Woman, Life, Freedom” movement. The regime has now confiscated the home they had pinned their hopes on.

“It was the house where our first memories of marriage and love were made. I loved it so much I still dream about it.” She felt grief, which quickly turned to rage. “But then I realized the primary culprit is the Islamic Republic. After the killing of protesters this past January, I had ‘survivor’s guilt’ for being far away while others paid with their lives for freedom. When they took my house, I felt like I was finally standing beside the people. Compared to the lives lost, this confiscation is trivial. My home is a sacrifice for a single strand of hair of the ‘January children.’ “The fact that they declare enmity toward me means I’m standing in the right place.”

The next person I speak with regarding the confiscation of their property is a member of the media. In just the past few weeks, the Islamic Republic has also seized their home. They say their initial reaction to the news was “deep and intense rage.”

“I always told myself that on the day of Iran’s liberation, I’d return to Tehran, put a fridge and a washing machine in that same apartment I worked for years for, which has been locked for a few years now, and just live. Then I feel sad that my safety net is gone. But more prominent than all of this is the feeling that I know I’m standing on the right side of history. When these unscrupulous terrorists have so easily killed so many people throughout their years of rule and silenced anyone who speaks out, this declaration of enmity toward me means I’m on the right side. That makes me happy.”

Yet, amidst the anger, sadness, and satisfaction, concern for their family suddenly sets in, a family that is likely now under the Islamic Republic’s microscope following the seizure. As they mention their family, they seem to recall the victims of the Islamic Republic’s half-century of rule and continue:

“The financial matter is the smallest part of this. One thinks of all those young people who lost their lives for their beliefs. This is just a small apartment; it’s nothing. But ultimately, it brings a certain rage. Sometimes I wish for an opportunity to vent my anger on them. On the day after the fall of the Islamic Republic, all of those who played a role not just in this matter, but in a half-century of oppression, should be put on trial.”

Though many of those who played a role in this half-century of crime have now been killed in Israeli military strikes, leaving no chance for a trial, in a repressive system, only the pawns change; the repression remains.

They continue: “They killed all these young people; these actions are a desperate attempt. In Persian, the word mazbouhaneh (desperation/futility) is used for animals condemned to slaughter and on the verge of it. The Islamic Republic is in exactly this position. It is flailing and kicking. You can’t put a timeline on its fall, but I am very hopeful that I will see the dawn of freedom.”

Legal Counsel: “Report every seizure for the future.”

Many victims hesitate to report these seizures, either out of fear or a sense of shame when comparing their financial loss to the ultimate sacrifices of others. However, legal expert Moussa Barzin Khalifehloo argues that reporting is essential.

Barzin explains that internationally, asset forfeiture is only legal when assets are derived from crime, such as drug trafficking. The Islamic Republic’s laws, however, are broad enough to allow the state to snatch anyone’s property.

He advises victims to hire lawyers to file formal objections and seek the annulment of these operations. While the current outcome is uncertain, reporting to international bodies creates a record for a future free Iran. “It’s not just about now. When the regime is gone, it must be clear what was stolen. Furthermore, under certain conditions, documented claims could potentially be used against Iranian state assets abroad.”

The regime began by seizing the property of Pahlavi-era officials, moved to the Baha’is, and continues today with political prisoners, lawyers, and journalists. As one journalist whose family has been harassed for years put it: “It doesn’t matter if you are an activist or not; no one is safe from the harm of the Islamic Republic. Everyone pays the price for resistance in their own way.”