Firsthand reports from contributors inside Iran
"I can’t remember the last time I was so shaken as I was watching images of Assad’s prisons," says Fatemeh, who has seen the inside of Iran’s prisons for her activism. “My country funded these crimes. Syrians have every right to hate us."
Her anguish mirrors the conflicted emotions of many Iranians following the events in Syria. For decades, their government funneled financial and military support to prop up Bashar al-Assad and his police state. And yet the much-feared dictatorship unraveled in less than ten days.
Fatemeh is 36. She’s been jailed twice in the past five years, each time for a few months. Like many other Iranians struggling with economic hardship, she doesn’t approve of giving money to the so-called Axis of Resistance in general. But to see with her own eyes the horrors that money bought repulsed her.
“I’ve seen countless images of Nazi death camps and other dictators’ prisons, but those feel like history. These are live broadcasts from the depths of hell,” Fatemeh says pointing at her laptop.
The fall of Assad has sparked hope for many Iranians that the Islamic Republic could be next. The events of the last few months, including the battering of Hamas and Hezbollah by Israel, has punctured the high-flying rhetoric of Iran’s supreme leader Ali Khamenei. His air of invincibility is gone, the posturing notwithstanding.
"I’ve been arguing for a while that the Islamic Republic cannot be toppled because it’s cruel enough to jail and kill as many as it takes to survive," said Bahador, 40.
"My reference point was always Assad and his survival. But he’s gone now. And I can’t help thinking ‘what if’?”
Bahador owns a small company and—in relative terms—is well off. He says his friends call him Glum after the character in the cartoon Gulliver’s Travels who famously said "it’s hopeless" and "it will never work."
“I stopped hoping after the 2022 protests were crushed,” Bahador explains, “but the ecstasy you see in Syria these days is contagious. It’s hard not to dream again.”
He qualifies his optimism immediately, of course, noting the possibility that radical Islamists could take over Syria. He says he cannot help his fear of disappointment, which compels him to hedge his best hopes.
Still, you can tell that he is, indeed, hopeful. And he’s not alone.
"Since the first videos from Syria’s prisons surfaced, I can’t stop imagining that moment when the prison doors open and people walk free.” This is Mehdi, a sales assistant in an insurance company, who unlike Bahador dares to speak his dreams.
“I picture myself in their place—that moment of unconditional freedom, shared with everyone else, leaving no one behind. I really hope we get to see this. But I can’t stop thinking about the thousands that have been killed or gone missing under this system.”
The events in Syria have rekindled hope, but also shocked many. While the brutality of Assad’s regime was no secret, the full extent of its machinery of repression, especially in Sednaya prison, is beyond imagination.
And it has raised uncomfortable questions about prisons in Iran.
Many fear that similar horrors might exist here in Tehran or other cities, hidden from public view. The Islamic Republic is quite brazen about its actions. It openly executes and convicts dissidents, often in breach of its own laws and processes.
Still, Syria’s revelations have troubled many activists that the brutality we see may only be part of the story.
Past nightmares aside, the Syrian experience is closely watched in Iran for hints of what the future may hold.
Debates rage on social media. Some warn that Syria’s revolution could end like Iran’s, leading to new forms of oppression. Others argue that the Syrians are miles ahead already, managing a peaceful transition, not rushing to execute former officials as Iran’s revolutionaries did in 1979.
Arash, a 29-year old crypto-trader, captures the irony of shifting narratives.
"For years we were warned that Iran could become another Syria. Now we should warn Syrians not to become another Iran. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” Arash says, shaking his head.
“Every time we protested, they’d flaunt so-called security: ’appreciate that you’re safe in this country,’ they said. And we all know how fragile that security is.”
He’s referring to the Israeli airstrikes and other operations inside Iran.
For now, fears of a war with Israel have eased among Iranians. The saber-rattling has somewhat faded with Assad’s fall. In its stead, we see gentle moves to build a functioning relationship with Syria’s new rulers.
The will of the Syrian people will be respected, Iran’s foreign ministry said in a statement. The irony!
The significance of the moment is hard to overstate: a young woman raising her voice in song in an open space just as greying men in closed rooms pass laws demanding women and girls like her live as they dictate or face punishment.
Politicians and philosophers in eras past clearly warned of the affront to society such brute measures represent.
Under Iran’s new hijab law, women and even teenage girls face heavy fines, travel bans, and ultimately imprisonment if they do not follow a strict, arbitrary dress code. A government that enacts such a law seeks to exert total control over its citizens. This is not a law about clothing; it is a tool for suppression of human dignity.
The scope of this law is unprecedented. Minors as young as nine years old can face fines or detention in juvenile facilities for noncompliance. Social media influencers, businesses and even parents of offenders are held accountable, creating a web of fear and enforcement.
Surveillance measures extend to digital spaces, requiring platforms to remove noncompliant content or face punitive actions. The aim is to crush dissent and—perhaps more disturbingly— to correct any ideological deviation.
The law evokes George Orwell’s dystopian novel 1984, where surveillance extends not only to actions but also to thoughts and identities. The legislation seeks to enforce not just outward compliance but inward conformity, leaving no room for personal freedom or dissent.
Control is imposed by surveillance and punishment, targeting families, businesses, and entire communities. Women who choose to wear attire deemed inappropriate by the state risk being charged with “corruption on earth,” a charge that can carry the death penalty.
Businesses, from local shops to online platforms, are fined or shut down if they fail to report or enforce compliance among employees and customers.
This flies in the face of societal changes in Iran. Young Iranians appear to be convinced more than ever that individuals are the best judges of their own lives. Having grown up under the Islamic Republic, they seem to know by instinct what the English philosopher John Stuart Mill said in On Liberty: that their freedom to make personal decisions must be protected unless it directly harms others.
The Hijab law, however, does the opposite—it strips away personal choice under the guise of moral guardianship, violating a core tenet of human dignity.
Laws are meant to protect freedoms, safeguard dignity and promote societal justice. A law that fails to uphold justice, as Henry David Thoreau would say, is not a law at all, but a tool of oppression. The Hijab law is that exactly, violating the dignity and autonomy of individuals.
The social consequences of this law are equally alarming. Hannah Arendt, in The Origins of Totalitarianism, warned of the dangers of laws designed to pit citizens against one another.
By mandating surveillance and encouraging individuals to report alleged violations within their communities, the Hijab law fosters mistrust and undermines social cohesion. This dynamic creates a society where neighbors become informants, and fear replaces solidarity.
Despite these oppressive measures, citizens are not powerless. Thoreau believed that resistance to unjust laws is a moral imperative.
Silence in the face of injustice, he argued, equates to complicity. The Hijab law, which flagrantly violates fundamental freedoms, calls for collective opposition. Defending the right to freedom of dress and personal choice is not merely an act of defiance but a stand for justice and human dignity.
In a society where women are jailed or executed for the simplest acts of autonomy, Parastoo’s voice resonated as a symbol of resistance, courage, and the irrepressible human spirit. Accompanied by male bandmates who stood in solidarity rather than domination, they showcased the power of collective defiance against tyranny.
This act of rebellion was a vivid reminder that even within the confines of authoritarianism, the spirit of freedom can shine, emboldening others to challenge unjust laws and envision a future where justice and dignity prevail.
The question for us Iranians and the global community is clear: will we stand idly by, or will we follow Parastoo—and many before her— to confront this affront to freedom and justice?