'Worth being killed': young Iranians from besieged cities defiant as protests continue

Nesa, 24, is locked in.

Used to sharing her dissent against the Iranian regime online, her attempts to join the month-long youth-led protests in Iran have been stymied by her concerned family.

"I have been against this regime for as long as I can remember. I always published my dissent online, even when the country is calm," Nesa told The National via a messaging app.

Shaken by the violence outside their home in the city of Sanandaj in western Iran, her parents refused to let her outside. Nearby, drivers have been killed for merely beeping their car horns at security forces, so attending a full-on demonstration against them is out of the question.

The Kurdish city of around 500,000 lies just three hours from Saqez, the hometown of Mahsa Amini, whose death in morality police custody last month was the catalyst for what many now see as a popular nationwide uprising.

The provincial capital and heartland of the country's western Kurdish areas, it has seen some of the fiercest violence at the hands of security forces, with human rights groups warning of a "massacre" as civilian neighbourhoods are shelled and people shot from their roofs.

Her phone was taken away, hoping it would ease her longing to protest. They don't want to have to mourn her, like other families.

"My family is afraid that I will die, but I say that I am no different from Mahsa Amini and the others. Freedom is worth being killed for."

In Sanandaj, protests have taken place in the city every day since Amini’s burial, where women took off their headscarves as they stood vigil over her freshly-dug grave.

Her tombstone would later read in Kurdish : "You won't die. Your name will become a symbol."

Nesa talks of teenagers and young children whisked away to be held in interrogation centres, a claim also made by Kurdish human rights groups.

A friend's brother was shot dozens of times in the leg, with almost 70 pieces of shrapnel lodged in his leg. She sends photos of the man's bloodied limbs, and says he can no longer walk.

"We are all afraid, death is the worst, but our anger and the cruelty we have seen over the past 43 years has made us overcome it."

'This time feels different'

Kimiya, in the US, watched with worry as the crackdown worsened in Sanandaj, where her family still live.

“They are shooting people from helicopters,” she told The National. “ The people have taken over the streets. There are drone and tank and helicopter strikes.”

She communicates sporadically with relatives through Virtual Private Networks, which encrypt internet use and disguise the user's identity, providing a short relief from constant internet blackouts, a common tactic enforced by Tehran whenever dissent rears its head. The last time Iran saw large-scale protests, in 2019, the internet was shut off for weeks as 1,500 were killed for opposing an overnight hike in fuel prices.

“My grandma feels sick, because Mahsa was my age when she died.”

“We are really used to things being bad in Iran so there's always been a bit of desensitization...but this time feels so different,” she said.

Activist group "Tehran Youth" called for a nationwide general strike last Monday in response to security forces opening fire on Sanandaj crowds the night before. The call was heeded, especially in the west, with businesses shuttered and streets emptied across Kurdish cities.

But the crackdown continued.

Kimiya's family have told her they leave the house as little as possible, fearing they will be shot from above. Her grandmother, in her 80s, has left for Tehran, the only relative able to leave the city.

"We are both really torn up, as are all my family who emigrated."

Human rights activists say most of the protesters have been killed in minority areas of the country, including Sistan and Baluchestan province, where upwards of 80 people were recently killed in what has come to be called "Bloody Friday".

Nationwide, at least 30 children have also been confirmed killed, including a 7-year-old schoolgirl in the Kurdish city of Bukan.

The government focuses its bloody response in marginalised areas to intimidate Baloch, Arab and Kurdish residents, Rebin Rahmani, founder of the France-based Kurdistan Human Rights Network told The National.

"Crackdowns in the Kurdish region have always been harsher than other regions in the country," he added, citing "continuous discontent in the region against central government policies".

A war against the people

Arash, 35, lives in the north of Iran, not far from the Caspian Sea.

He spends most of his time online, sharing videos and reports of the nationwide protests. He complains often about the patchy internet connection, which he says has been awful since the protests erupted.

“I’m not a hero or a genius but I want to do my best for the freedom process. I think for now, I’m more useful in the background.”

Several people have been shot dead in the provincial capital of Rasht, he says, and others in smaller towns and cities.

“It’s a war against our people. That’s not protest control, it’s war.”

“The regime has army weapons and protesters don’t have a pistol.”

As we speak, news arrives of a fire at Tehran's notorious Evin prison spreads online, prompting fear and fury, already heightened after the death of a schoolgirl following a raid on her school in the northern city of Ardabil.

"Only an Iranian knows the real face of this Islam. The regime is awful. It’s non-human behaviour."

Another protester, who didn't want to give their name, had a simple message.

“Write that Iran is steeped in blood.”