An Iranian Activist’s Journey Through Fear, Loss, and Exile

"Shaho’s eyes burned from the tear gas. I lit a cigarette [to blow in his eyes], and we changed our spots. Suddenly, gunshots rang out. I turned my head, and there he was - Shaho lying on the ground. I was supposed to get killed instead of him."

These words are from Hasan (Iman) Abdi, a 26-year-old activist who began his journey by assisting victims of the 2017 Kermanshah earthquake. He eventually became a citizen journalist, documenting the 2022 nationwide protests, aiding the injured, and witnessing the death of fellow activist Shaho Khezri. Facing repeated summons and pressure, Abdi left Iran on the advice of friends and is now seeking asylum.

"Everything changed in an instant. We were surrounded on three sides. We were trying to assess the area and guide the protesters to safety. Tear gas was fired, and Shaho’s eyes began to burn. I wanted to light a cigarette [to blow in his eyes], so we changed our spots. Then, a shot echoed through the air, and a bullet whizzed past my ear. I turned to see Shaho on the ground."

He recounts the events of October 27, 2022, when was killed around one o’clock in the afternoon at Serah Hafez in Mahabad. Abdi was in shock as Shaho’s body was hastily loaded into a white Peugeot and driven away, leaving him paralyzed by the horror of what had just happened.

When Abdi finally snapped out of his shock, he returned to the streets, wearing a long-sleeved shirt to minimize the impact of shotgun pellets, as he had throughout the protests. The shock of Shaho’s death was so overwhelming that he didn’t even notice the pellet that grazed his fingers, leaving his hands bloody. At home, his mother, Toba, pleaded with him to stop, saying, "I can’t take it anymore." But Abdi, still in shock, replied, "Today, someone else died in my place. I can’t stop. I have to go and avenge."

Abdi continues, "I felt like my mother didn’t understand me. I couldn’t allow myself to soften. I was so deeply shaken. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t moved. Maybe if they had hit me instead, Shaho would have survived. Maybe that would have been better."

Security forces had targeted Shaho Khezri's head. After Shaho was taken away, all Iman could do was write about him. He opened Instagram and posted, “I wrote about Shaho’s resistance and courage so that his family and loved ones would know he died for freedom. His bravery and defiance against heavily armed agents cannot be put into words.”

Iman’s real name is Hasan, but he adopted the nickname “Iman” when he began his activism, which later became his identity in Mahabad. At 26, he first engaged in civic activism in 2017, when an earthquake devastated Kermanshah. At that time, Iman was serving as a soldier in Mahabad and could return home at night. In those first days of relief efforts, while he was gathering supplies and delivering them to the earthquake victims, he was summoned by higher authorities at the army barracks.

It was then that Iman first experienced the sting of discrimination. “The military intelligence questioned why I was doing this and insisted I must have other motives. In Mahabad, everyone is aware of discrimination, but to witness it when trying to help during a disaster, with so many people dead, was shocking.”

As a result of his aid efforts, Iman was punished and confined to the barracks for a month. During this time, Iman spent his days reading and jotting down notes. During this time, he spent his days reading and taking notes. His Kurdish books, learned from a woman author, were confiscated as “forbidden,” and he was given motivational literature by the authorities instead.

These experiences were enough to push Iman to start teaching the Kurdish language and launch the campaign "I Have Read, [You] Read" as part of his involvement with the Green Thinking Association. The campaign, which gained considerable traction, aimed to promote literacy in various cities, establish libraries in villages, and distribute books in urban areas. Because of these activities, Iman was honored at a local ceremony.

The Islamic Republic could not tolerate Kurdish language classes, leading to Iman’s arrest and the revocation of the association’s license. At the time, Iman was working at a mobile phone shop, having completed his military service in 2020. One day while he was at work, security forces entered the shop and arrested him. It was clear he had been under surveillance; they even knew the exact number of phones he had in the shop.

In addition to teaching Kurdish, Iman was active in environmental efforts, planting oak trees to combat floods and climate change. Many believe that “intentional and systematic” arson by “Basij and Jash” (local Kurdish forces allied with the Islamic Republic) is aimed at hindering the region's development.

After his arrest, Iman was detained and interrogated for 39 days at the "Sepah al-Mahdi Intelligence" center in Urmia. “They figured out that I was ‘Iman.’ Many activists were arrested at the same time. I resisted, but when I refused to answer, they beat me with cables. My hands were tied behind my back, one above and one below. They kept tightening the handcuffs until I could no longer hold my other thumb. They left me like that for hours.”

The moment when Iman was arrested

Seven days after Iman’s arrest, the news finally reached the media: “They beat me relentlessly for seven days. Among those arrested were artists, theatre people, and environmental activists - they even detained someone who was mentally disabled. They wanted me to confess to cooperating with Kurdish parties, which was a lie.”

After 39 days of solitary confinement, Iman was transferred to the infamous Darya prison in Urmia, a name given by the prisoners themselves. Blindfolded during the transfer, Iman only learned the prison’s name by peeking through his blindfold.

During his imprisonment, they brought in a young boy who had been learning Kurdish from Iman. The boy pointed at Iman and said, “Everything is organized by him.” This statement worsened Iman’s situation. According to Iman, everything that had happened, from Sardasht to Mahabad, was now being blamed on him.

He was kept in quarantine for 13 days and spent a week in prison with political detainees. Authorities planned to transfer him to the "Youth Prison," but Ahmad Tamouei, a well-known political prisoner, intervened. He threatened to go on a hunger strike if Iman wasn’t placed in the political prisoners' ward. The jailer changed his mind.

"Political prisoners are sent to the youth prison as punishment. It’s filled with delinquents and murderers, and like the mafia, anything can happen there."

At Tamouei’s request, Iman started teaching a Kurdish language class in prison. According to Iman, no one dared to defy Tamouei, not the guards, nor the other prisoners. One of Iman’s students was Firooz Mosaloo, a young man who was executed two years later.

Iman had a lawyer and was released from prison pending trial. In the initial court hearing, he was accused of collaborating with Kurdish parties opposed to the Islamic Republic and labeled a "traitor." After two more trials, thanks to the efforts of his lawyer, Kamran Fathullahi, Iman was ultimately fined six million tomans ($100) on the charge of "propaganda against the Islamic Republic."

Despite the case being officially closed, summonses, threats, and security calls continued to plague Iman until the end of 2021. During one such summons, which was ostensibly about raising funds to help a prisoner, the interrogator warned him, “We’ll make sure you can’t speak out anymore.”

A month after these threats, Iman’s mobile phone shop mysteriously caught fire. Despite the fire station being only 600 meters away, it took 45 minutes for firefighters to arrive. The shop was completely destroyed, and no local media reported the incident.

Iman managed to open a new shop with the help of friends. They needed money and vehicles to continue their activism. Iman recalls how they spread information discreetly, destroying telephones and printing machines when they suspected security forces might raid the shop to avoid accusations of distributing leaflets. They needed cars to gather information about prisoners or verify news. But even though this car was identified during the 2022 protests, it became a vehicle for transporting supplies and moving the injured.

A month into the protests, Iman, known locally for his activism and as a reliable news source, had become one of the leaders of the Mahabad local committee. That night, he carried several cans of petrol, prepared to light fires.

 

“We needed to protect the younger ones, especially the girls. They had no experience and shouldn't have been on the front lines. Once the oppressors got tired, we allowed the girls to step forward. I was always in the front row. The troops started their motorcycles and shined their searchlights to disorient us as we ran, making it hard to see who was captured or gauge distances. I took a petrol can and went near the motorcycles.”

Iman poured two cans of petrol on the ground, lit a match, and started to run. The shotguns roared: "I was running, and they were shooting. I could feel blood soaking my shoes, and I knew I was bleeding badly. When I reached the crowd of protesters, I fainted. In those moments of escape, the trauma of previous torture hit me, and that’s why I left."

Iman’s companions carried him up a mountain. His body was riddled with pellets: "Even my knuckles were hit. My friends removed the more superficial pellets, but those lodged in the back of my knees, fingers, and upper vertebrae of my neck remained for two to three months. Eventually, some were expelled from my body. The doctor said the remaining bullets aren’t dangerous. I still have bullets inside me."

Iman was taken home, where his mother was waiting. He climbed to the roof and sat, looking down at the crowd still shouting, their voices louder than the gunfire.

Until the final night of the Mahabad protests, Iman was deeply involved in public gatherings and relief efforts. He collaborated with media outlets outside Iran, providing critical evidence - photos and videos - of the regime's repression. He moved between neighborhoods, shielding others from bullets, until he realized he had to leave Iran.

Now, Iman, the youngest of nine siblings, is seeking asylum with a heavy heart and an uncertain future, still searching for a safe country. As the family's cornerstone, he has carried the weight of responsibility since his father died twenty years ago, leaving his mother to raise the children alone.

"My mother is 53 years old," Iman says. "She’s young, but since 2019, when I was first imprisoned, she has aged rapidly. By the end of 2021, she would anxiously wait for me to return from the shop, fearing the worst. If I didn’t come back for days, she knew she had to alert someone. That’s what has aged her."