Thirty-three-year-old, Roya Heshmati was on a mission tonight. She refused to be silent anymore. She had emerged from her protective cocoon throwing off the shackles and chains of fear. Dressed in a black skirt and a red t-shirt, Roya walked out of her apartment, took a deep breath, and courageously walked down the street, at fifteen minutes past 9 pm in Tehran on April 19, 2023.
Her evening walk was different from the normal casual walk she was used to doing. Tonight, Roya was raising her voice for the rights of women in Iran. She had just left her apartment, refusing to wear the required hijab when going out publicly. Tonight, she let her soft, black hair dangle freely down over her shoulders in protest of the mandatory hijab law. Roya was joining the thousands of other women in Tehran who were also fearlessly opposing the law, displaying their beauty, and saying no to a dictatorship government. Recently the government had installed surveillance cameras across the cities of Iran to catch violators of the Hijab Law. The new President, Ebrahim Rais, had begun a fierce crackdown campaign against women. The new law warned small businesses they would be shut down if their customers came in without wearing the required veil. Women violators would also lose access to public transportation and have their bank accounts frozen.
Roya understood the harsh consequences of her actions and yet she knew she could no longer be held captive by fear. Tonight was the night. Her best friend accompanied her and at a designated location on the street, she took a picture of Roya with her back turned toward the camera to protect her identity. Arriving home, Roya quickly logged onto her Facebook account and proudly posted her picture, anxious for all of her female friends to know that she was "out of the closet" and joining them in the uprising.
Less than 24 hours later, Roya was rudely awakened from her sleep by a tall chador-clad woman accompanied by officers from the secret police. After forcing their way through the door, the woman pushed her aside impatiently, ordering her to put on a hijab. One of the male officers shouted, "Put something on your head" as they began ransacking through her personal belongings and confiscating her computer.
Outraged by their behavior, Roya refused their demands, staring intently into their eyes, and shouting, "You came into my house. You can't tell me what to wear!"
Roya was shocked to discover that in less than 24 hours, her photograph had been identified by the cyber police and now she was being arrested. She gazed down at her bed looking at the nylon socks, black skirt, and red t-shirt lying neatly arranged from the previous night. One of the male officers demanded an explanation for her going out publicly the night before without wearing the required veil. Mustering up the remaining courage from deep down in her soul, Roya proudly and unashamedly stood her ground and replied,
"I am angry about this endless darkness. I am angry about the constant marginalization and erasure of women. I am infinitely angry about the systematic poisoning of female students. I went out in this attire to reclaim my life and my plundered freedom, even if it was just for a few hours, and I accept the consequences for my actions."
During her interrogation, Roya was questioned if she understood that she had broken the law, to which she replied, "I know wearing a hijab is the law here, but I question its ethical grounding. We all have to choose between compliance with law enforced by power or acting on what's ethically right."
When pressed by her interrogator if she regretted her actions, Roya was unwavering and boldly answered, "No. I have the freedom to choose my beliefs and attire. I won't compromise my right. No, I don't regret it!"
The final verdict of the Islamic Revolutionary and Criminal Court for Roya was one year of suspended imprisonment for propaganda against the regime, 12 years and six months of penal imprisonment, for promoting and encouraging corruption and indecency, and seventy-four lashes for violating public decency, plus a fine for production and distribution of offensive content. After spending eleven days in detention, Roya with the help of her lawyer's appeal, had the 13-year imprisonment reduced to a one-year suspended sentence, leaving only the punishment of seventy-four lashes to endure.
On the morning of January 3, 2024, Roya was summoned to District 7 court for the penalty of 74 lashes to be carried out. The enforcement officer approached her and directed her to wear the hijab, but she adamantly refused. He then sternly warned Roya that she would be lashed severely, adding another 74 lashes, but Roya bravely stood her ground, refusing to put on the headscarf. Writing later on her Facebook account, Roya described in detail what happened next when she was escorted to the basement for the punishment to be carried out:
"The iron door squeaked open, revealing a room with cement walls. On the room's floor lay a bed with handcuffs and wielded iron bands on both sides. An easel-like iron device, complete with handcuff places and a rusty iron blind in the center, stood in the room's midst. Additionally, a chair and a small table with an assortment of lashes were behind the door. It resembled a fully medieval torture chamber!"
The executioner instructed me to remove my coat and lie on the bed. I hung my coat and headscarf at the foot of the torture easel. He insisted, "Put on your headscarf!" I firmly replied that I wouldn't. "Put the Quran under your arm and do what you have to do."
The man retrieved a black leather lash from the collection, wrapping it around his hand twice as he approached the bed. He began striking my shoulders, back, hips, thighs, and legs. I refrained from counting the strikes. I chanted softly, "In the name of woman, in the name of life, the garments of slavery are torn, our black night will dawn, and all whips will be severed."
Reading Roya's graphic account of this inhumane torture deeply grieves my soul. I have spent the last eleven years of my life, being a voice for the rights of women in Iran. I have written self-published books telling their stories and doing a weekly podcast called, "The Cross in the Desert," to bring awareness to their struggles for freedom behind the Iron Curtain of the Islamic Republic of Iran. Roya is one of many, brave Iranian women who refuses to compromise her principles, speaking truth to power, and standing up for the precious God-given gift of freedom, that this dictatorship government refuses to recognize.
Back in 2013, I wrote a historical fiction novel about a young Iranian violin player named Bahareh, who was secretly performing in an anti-government play entitled, "The Rose of Nowruz." Zealous to be a voice for all of her Iranian friends, she takes part in a public protest during a corrupt presidential election and is tragically gunned down by the militia. One of the powerful songs in my book that is featured in the play, depicts Bahareh, as a courageous freedom fighter who sacrifices her life for the freedom of her friends.
As I was reading the powerful account of Roya's lashing, the words to this original song came to mind and I believe it perfectly fits her uncompromising valor in the face of brutality.
"There is a rose that was silenced, that was crushed. But it will live again. The sun will shine again.
You gave us hope, gave us freedom, gave us life. Your life will never end. The rose will live again.
The sun is gonna shine again. The rose is gonna live again.
Give me wings of freedom so I can fly. I wanna touch the sky. I wanna soar.
Give me wings of freedom or let me. die. I wanna kiss the sky. I wanna soar!"
Roya willingly endured every single painful lash, every single torturous blow, for all Iranian women. She wasn't thinking of herself. She was thinking of every oppressed Iranian woman with every strike of the leather whip against her back. Roya patiently endured every severe blow of the leather strap with the undying hope that one day the dawn of freedom will finally arrive and the sun will begin to shine again!
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