Iran marked its annual Journalists’ Day this week as reporters remained behind bars, others faced lengthy prison sentences and rights groups warned that a crackdown on independent reporting has intensified since nationwide anti-government protests erupted earlier this year.
Among those detained is photojournalist Artin Ghazanfari, who has spent nearly seven months in custody and is being held at Greater Tehran Prison despite serious health problems, according to the Defending Free Flow of Information organization (DeFFI).
Ghazanfari, a Baha’i who suffers from heart failure, high blood pressure and asthma, was arrested at his Tehran home on Jan. 18, according to the Committee to Protect Journalists. CPJ said no charges against him had been disclosed.
Amirhossein Rezaei, a journalist and political science student at the University of Tehran, has meanwhile remained in temporary detention for more than three months. Security forces arrested him at his family home in Arak on May 6, according to the Hengaw rights group.
Photojournalist Yalda Moayeri said on social media this week that she had been sentenced in absentia to 15 years in prison by Branch 29 of Tehran’s Revolutionary Court.
Pressure persists
The cases come amid broader pressure on journalists and independent media following the anti-government protests that began in late December and spread across Iran in January.
Authorities imposed a near-total internet shutdown on Jan. 8 as the protests intensified, severely restricting journalists’ ability to report and cutting much of the country off from the outside world.
Iran ranks 177th out of 180 countries in Reporters Without Borders’ 2026 World Press Freedom Index, ahead of only China, North Korea and Eritrea. In March, amid war and a near-total communications blackout, CPJ said at least 15 journalists remained imprisoned in the country.
Concerns extend beyond detention itself to the conditions faced by journalists already serving prison terms.
Iranian-American journalist Reza Valizadeh, imprisoned at Tehran’s Evin Prison, said in a recording obtained by CBS News in June that prisoners were being denied adequate medical treatment. DeFFI said Valizadeh has also been denied family visits for months.
The US government has designated Valizadeh as wrongfully detained. He was sentenced on appeal in January 2025 to 10 years in prison, according to DeFFI.
Wider crackdown
Pressure on the media predates this year’s protests and war.
DeFFI documented judicial or security measures against at least 225 journalists and media outlets in 2025, with at least 148 new cases opened during the year.
Twenty-five journalists or media managers received sentences totaling more than 30 years in prison, while eight media outlets were shut down or banned, according to the organization’s annual report.
DeFFI recorded at least 398 instances in which it said judicial or security bodies violated the rights of journalists and media organizations, including harassment, arbitrary detention, denial of access to lawyers and pressure on journalists’ families.
In the video, Afsaneh Chatrenoor, a national team forward and four-time top scorer of Iran's women's league, faces Gholamhossein Mohseni-Ejei, the cleric who runs the judiciary. She recites her sporting record and asks him to intervene so that she can be formally employed, so that there is something for her when the football ends.
In a normal country, an athlete's livelihood is not the judiciary's business, and no one petitions a security official for a paycheck. The scene works differently in Iran, where basic rights are routed out of ordinary channels and reissued as favors, dependent on the recommendation, the intercession, the mercy of an official.
A woman footballer is first stripped of what makes an athletic career a career: professional contracts, job security, broadcast rights, media coverage, a visible future. Then, for a fraction of what was taken, she must sit before power and ask.
No one expects a footballer to become a dissident against a state that has answered protest with mass executions. But there is a long distance between fighting the system and petitioning it for mercy, and the space between those two points is where the rest of her team now lives.
The one who spoke
Zahra Alizadeh chose a different point on that line. When security forces massacred protesters in January, the forward announced she was leaving the national team in protest. Within hours, her post vanished from Instagram, amid reports of security threats against players and their families and pressure to delete anything that read as dissent.
Alizadeh was no fringe squad member. In the qualifiers that sent Iran to the Women's Asian Cup in Australia, she scored against Bhutan and set up a goal against Singapore. She was never called up again, and within months she walked away from football altogether.
The message to every woman still in the squad was unambiguous: the right to play lasts exactly as long as the silence about the killing does.
The ones who left, and the ones brought back
Weeks later in Australia, the quiet broke. Seven members of the traveling party moved to seek humanitarian protection, a walkout confirmed at the time by Iran International, with US President Donald Trump publicly urging Canberra to take them in.
Five reversed course and flew home. The reversal is not simple to read: it happened in an atmosphere of dread, fear for families in Iran, the watchful presence of federation security officers, and reports of pressure both direct and oblique, with threats attributed to the Revolutionary Guards.
Neither staying nor returning, as the circumstances stood, can honestly be called a free choice.
What the government did next completed the picture. The returned players were paraded at Tehran's Valiasr Square, presented as proof of love of homeland and the collapse of what officials called the asylum plot. The crisis became a pageant.
The star nobody recognized
One moment from that pageant deserves to outlive it.
Golnoush Khosravi, herself a national team player and one of the figures in the Australia episode, was handed a microphone and sent into the crowd at a state rally to ask people what they thought of the women's team and the affair she had been part of. The answers were warm.
People thanked the returned players, said they loved them, said they were proud of them.
Not one of them recognized the national team player holding the microphone.
That is the Islamic Republic's relationship with women's football, compressed into a single scene: a state that buses in crowds to celebrate players it has spent decades making invisible.
Women's matches are almost never broadcast; photography is restricted; the players compete in mandated full cover.
The country's champions can walk any street unrecognized, and when the government finally needed their faces for its own story, it discovered the erasure had worked too well.
In its pageant, the player is not an athlete with an identity, a record and professional rights; she is a prop for a narrative, thanked on camera by people who do not know that the woman interviewing them is on the team.
The invisibility of the women who play has an older twin in the women who watch. Stadiums have been closed to female fans since shortly after the 1979 revolution, a ban that took the life of Sahar Khodayari, the fan who set herself on fire in 2019 facing prison for sneaking into a match, and that has since eased only in small, revocable concessions extracted under FIFA pressure.
The ledger abroad
Meanwhile, the world keeps collecting what Iran discards. Taekwondo fighter Kimia Alizadeh, once the country's only female Olympic medalist, left declaring herself one of millions of oppressed Iranian women and won Olympic bronze for Bulgaria. Chess players Sara Khadem, Mitra Hejazipour and Dorsa Derakhshani now play for Spain, France and the United States. This month, weightlifter Yekta Jamali, who left as a teenage medal prospect, was named best lifter of the German Bundesliga final, according to Persian-language media reports.
And on Wednesday, in Brisbane, Fatemeh Pasandideh, 22, and Atefeh Ramezanisadeh, 34, the two who did not board the plane home, received Australian citizenship at a ceremony attended by Home Affairs Minister Tony Burke.
Both now train with Brisbane Roar's women's side, and their passports make them eligible, one day, to play for the country that took them in.
"This citizenship is more than a certificate; it is a symbol of hope, safety and the opportunity to build a new future," Ramezanisadeh wrote. Pasandideh remembered "those who lost their lives or remain in prison."
Four roles, no future
One was erased for a sentence of protest. Some left home without the chance to say goodbye. Some came back and were placed inside a propaganda frame. And one, the best striker in the country, sat before the head of the judiciary and asked for a job.
These are not the same choices, and the women who made them do not bear the same responsibility. But they are all products of one structure, a system that recognizes only a few roles for a woman who plays football: silent, exiled, an instrument on a stage, or a supplicant before power.
What appears in none of these frames is the thing itself: an independent athlete whose success could buy her dignity, security and a future in her own country.
Chatrenoor says she does not regret coming home. Pasandideh is 22, with a passport, a club and a career ahead of her. Same team, same tournament, one flight's difference.
HRANA said 54 detainees were being held in Ardabil prison, near Iran's border with Azerbaijan. Of those, 25 have been sentenced to between six months and five years and three months in prison, while 29 remain in custody without having had a hearing in their cases.
Among those convicted, Ahmad Seifi received the longest sentence of five years and three months, while Milad Ashkani was sentenced to four years. Three others received sentences of three years and six months, according to HRANA.
Prosecutors seek harsher sentences
An informed source told HRANA that Ardabil prosecutor Jalal Afaghi considered the sentences handed to 10 of those convicted too lenient and had asked Iran's Supreme Court to increase their punishments.
HRANA said full details of the charges, proceedings and courts responsible for the sentences had not been made public.
Some of the detainees have also been denied telephone calls and family visits, while relatives have faced restrictions in seeking information about their cases or requesting temporary release, the rights group said.
Hundreds detained in northwestern province
Around 800 people were arrested in Ardabil province during the January protests, according to HRANA. The group said about 500 were released during the first 10 days and roughly another 250 were later freed after posting bail or other forms of security.
The cases form part of a much broader judicial crackdown following the protests. Rights groups have estimated that more than 60,000 people were detained across Iran, while some independent sources have put the number summoned, detained or interrogated at more than 100,000.
Iranian judiciary spokesman Asghar Jahangir said in February that authorities had issued more than 10,000 orders sending cases for prosecution and around 9,000 indictments against people detained during the unrest.
The report comes amid mounting international concern over prosecutions and executions connected to the protests.
UN human rights chief Volker Türk said this week that Iran had executed at least 56 people on national security-related charges since March 19, including 27 in protest-related cases. He urged Iranian authorities to halt executions and move towards abolishing the death penalty.
Pezeshkian described the protests as a "riot" and accused people abroad of falsely inflating the death toll.
"Those sitting abroad who present themselves as intellectuals and scholars, yet say 30,000 or 40,000 people were killed, are dishonorable and traitors," he said in the video interview.
His remarks prompted a wave of criticism from citizens who sent messages to Iran International, with many accusing the president himself of bearing responsibility for the killings.
"Mr. Pezeshkian, this is disgraceful. Stop lying and have some shame," one said. "Your hands are stained with the blood of tens of thousands of Iranian protesters. Curse all of you killers and the remaining figures of the Islamic Republic."
Others argued that even the official death toll acknowledged by his administration warranted accountability.
"Sitting there and saying 3,000 people were killed – first of all, this is not about the number," one citizen from Arak said. "Even if it were those 3,000 people you admit were killed, you should answer for every single one of them."
Another viewer wrote that if Iran had "a normal government," Pezeshkian should face punishment simply for acknowledging that thousands had been killed.
"So if, by your own account, 3,000 people were killed, that's acceptable?" another message read.
Government figures disputed
In mid-February, Pezeshkian's office published a list containing the names of 2,986 people it said were killed during the January protests, saying it had been compiled using data from the Legal Medicine Organization and cross-checked with the National Organization for Civil Registration.
The figure is far below Iran International's editorial board estimate of at least 36,500 people killed during the crackdown. Several international media outlets have also cited similar estimates.
Pezeshkian has repeatedly accused protesters of carrying out armed attacks and sabotage.
In his latest interview, he again described protesters as having been armed by US President Donald Trump, referred to the crackdown as an "incident" and said demonstrations had turned into a "riot" in which "difficult events" occurred.
One person responded by invoking a Quranic verse.
"If your memory serves you, the Quran you probably believe in says killing one innocent person is like killing all humanity," the message read. "Yet you speak about 3,000 deaths as though nothing important happened."
Another accused the president of contradicting earlier official accounts.
"It is interesting that you say terrorists killed the victims, yet you become angry at those who say the real figure is 40,000 and call them traitors," he wrote. "That amounts to admitting that the terrorists you blamed were actually yourselves."
Activists challenge official narrative
Human rights activist and former political prisoner Mehdi Mahmoudian also criticized Pezeshkian's remarks.
"Please explain who killed the several thousand people whose deaths you yourself do not deny, and what those responsible for this crime should be called," Mahmoudian wrote.
Separately, critics resurfaced comments by Mojtaba Lotfi, a cleric and former aide to the late Grand Ayatollah Hossein Ali Montazeri, who argued that the government's casualty list had been censored.
Referring to his hometown of Najafabad, Lotfi wrote that local records indicated at least 30 victims from the city had been omitted from the official list, suggesting the government's figures were incomplete.
