Witnesses Report Protests in Saqez: People Chanted in Persian and Kurdish: 'Don't Cry Mother, We Will Avenge Your Daughter's Death'

Diako Alavi, an English teacher at a high school in Mahsa Amini's hometown of Saqez, witnessed the first protests following Mahsa Amini's death in police custody. Now residing in France, he shared his observations with France 24: 'I was an English teacher at one of the high schools in Saqez. I know Mahsa's family well. We called her 'Zhina' (her Kurdish name). Saqez is a small town of 50,000 people. Zhina's father is a retired local social services employee. He is respected by everyone.' 'When I heard that Zhina had gone into a coma due to repeated blows to her head, I became worried. The news spread through the town like wildfire. Her parents asked everyone to pray for her. Then we learned that Zhina had left us on Friday. I went to the cemetery at 8:30 AM. There were so many people. Thousands were in complete silence, just prostrating. Even their breathing was inaudible. It was both strange and terrifying.' Diako Alavi 'Then a man started shouting: 'She could have been my daughter. Or your sister. How long are we going to endure this situation?' The crowd seemed to come alive and began to shout. Suddenly everyone was yelling: 'Death to Khamenei!' 'Security forces began filming the crowd from the roof of the cemetery mosque. Some people got angry and went after them. For a moment, I thought they were going to shoot them, but they only took their phones and returned to Zhina's grave.' 'The people were chanting in Persian and Kurdish: 'Don't cry mother! We will avenge your daughter's death.' Zhina's father took the microphone and tried to calm the crowd. I think they had threatened him the day before that if the funeral turned into a protest, they would harm Zhina's brother. But the crowd began chanting 'Don't be afraid! Don't be afraid!' directed at Zhina's father. At that moment, women started throwing their black scarves into the air.' 'Then the crowd decided to head towards the local governor's office. There were so many of us that it took a long time to get there. The officers knew we were coming and had stationed themselves in the square. They only issued a warning and began firing blue bullets at us. Then they shot at us with pellet guns. I saw two young people get shot in the eye right in front of me.' 'In the following days, the city felt like a war zone. Every day, the number of security forces and special forces increased. At first, I didn't want to go outside because I was a bit overweight and couldn't run fast, but the parents of my students called me, saying: Please go. The kids listen to you. Go tell them it's dangerous outside. Tell them to go home.' 'So I went to the protests every day to take care of the kids. I saw young people ready to fight. This generation is different from mine. They live in a society that offers them only a future full of lies and darkness. They have nothing to lose. The 'Women, Life, Freedom' movement has given them a bit of hope. They have taken this opportunity to keep their heads above water. They no longer obey anyone.' 'I remembered a young girl who had been shot, and I wiped her bloodied face. I told her: 'Go home. You've done your part for today; you don't need to stay here. Come back another time.' But she seemed not to hear anything. She got up and went back into the fray.' 'A few months later, I was arrested for my union activities as a teacher and for participating in protests. I was in prison for two weeks. During the interrogation, they accused me of being a bad teacher and instilling ideas in my students. I told the kids everything. Teaching English was an opportunity for me to teach them words like 'freedom', 'equality', and 'apartheid'. I had also started a literary café for teachers to have cultural discussions there.' 'When they released me, they gave me a 'temporary freedom' order. That same day, I decided to leave without saying goodbye. Before coming to France, I had spent three months in Turkey. I often regret it. I miss my students. I worry about them and their future.' 'I feel ashamed for leaving my loved ones without saying goodbye. I keep telling myself I should have stayed. At worst, they would have given me an eight-year sentence. I thought I couldn't endure it. Now, looking back, I think I could have. Besides, will the Islamic Republic last another eight years? This regime is crumbling from within every day.' 'The Islamic Republic has lost its ideological roots and support in society: teachers, workers, retirees, doctors, women, even the most religious among them no longer support it. In their battle over hijab, which is one of the pillars of their government, they have completely failed. This regime is just an empty shell.' 'I don't know when, but one day, I will definitely return to Iran.'