Narges Mohammadi Discusses Iranian Women’s Fight for Rights in an interview with Elle France, January 2025

ELLE: You were able to leave prison temporarily, How are you feeling?

NARGES MOHAMMADI: Physically, I have become weaker after undergoing surgery. Over the past years, continuous arrests, solitary confinement, denial of leave, and repeated opposition to receiving medical care have severely impacted my physical health. However, my spirit remains strong. Radiographs, which were finally conducted after significant delays, revealed a suspicious mass in my breast and right leg. The delay in diagnosis necessitated emergency surgery. The surgeon deemed an immediate return to prison incompatible with my health condition and recommended three months of medical leave and recovery outside prison.

Despite the surgeon’s recommendation, the authorities returned me to prison 48 hours after this major surgery, even though I could neither walk nor sit. Under these circumstances, I endured 22 days without access to medical care. In the women’s political prisoner ward, I was deprived of basic medical equipment like sterile and waterproof dressings, which were crucial for my recovery. During this challenging period, accompanied by severe physical pain, I also developed bedsores.

Thanks to the solidarity and relentless efforts of my fellow inmates—especially Vida Rabani, a journalist, and Motahareh Gonaei, a dentist—who went on hunger strike for 16 days to demand my treatment, the authorities finally relented and allowed me a 21-day suspension of my sentence for medical leave. Despite doctors’ insistence and my deteriorating health, the forensics department under the judiciary of the Islamic Republic approved only one month of leave, which was arbitrarily reduced to 21 days without any explanation.

This is neither an act of mercy nor a sign of leniency; it was a vital necessity. Moreover, this is not a suspension of my sentence or medical leave: in fact, I am required to endure the days spent outside prison under the suspension of my sentence once I return to prison.

ELLE: When you finally found yourself alone, what was the first thing you did?

NARGES MOHAMMADI: It took several hours, perhaps even a full day, to find a moment to myself—and even then, not entirely alone. In the past few days, I’ve been in constant conversation with old friends, comrades, and many human rights activists, members of civil society, feminists, lawyers, artists, intellectuals, and kind-hearted people who came to visit me. These meetings have given me strength and courage to continue our shared struggle.

One must remember that as a political prisoner, except for the time spent in solitary confinement—a narrow cell without sunlight or natural light, with no human contact except interrogators or prison guards, enduring months of sensory deprivation and complete dehumanization, a cruel form of psychological and physical torture that I addressed in my book and documentary White Torture—you are rarely alone in the general ward.

During these few days of leave, I’ve hardly had a moment entirely to myself. Yet, seeing all these beloved faces was deeply heartwarming. These visits have reinvigorated me to continue the struggle I share with my compatriots for equality, democracy, and resistance against the misogynistic and despotic theocratic regime of the Islamic Republic.

At night, after these visits, when I finally had brief moments of solitude, I took the opportunity to call Ali and Kiana. Sometimes, I would do the same during the day. After years of painful separation and being denied the chance to hear their voices, these moments of connection, just for us, were profoundly meaningful.

ELLE: What are your conditions of detention?

NARGES MOHAMMADI: First, I must explain that prisons and detention centers for political and ideological individuals are inherently abnormal places. These are unquestionably hostile environments dominated by various forms of state violence—physical, verbal, psychological, and symbolic. Moreover, these places detain innocent people arbitrarily, without committing any crime other than fulfilling their human duty to demand justice, equality, democracy, or women’s rights.

Solitary confinement is one of the most common tools of torture, used to break the spirit and psyche of prisoners. It is a place where political prisoners face various forms of violence, even death. I have personally documented severe torture and sexual violence against my fellow inmates. Despite this, as political prisoners, it is crucial for us to fight for life and the continuation of true living. This steadfast resolve of political prisoners against the officers and policies of the regime demonstrates that the government cannot succeed in breaking us. Life must always triumph, even in the face of violence and death imposed on us.

This tireless effort, even in conditions where life in prison seems anything but normal, is in itself a form of resistance against the political regime. It is a daily struggle in prison, where we strive to sustain life, build a small community, and assert human rights through the efforts of political prisoners. Ultimately, the political prisoner emerges victorious. For instance, through hundreds of hunger strikes, relentless protests, and refusing to surrender, we have collectively achieved significant victories.

In the women’s ward of Evin Prison, we engage in various activities. We allocate time for study, gatherings, and discussions about women’s issues, exchange ideas, hold political and intellectual debates, exercise, organize plays and performances, undertake collective activities to strengthen social bonds, sing songs, and even celebrate with joy and dancing.

In prison, staying spirited and active is vital because, for a political prisoner, morale is the key to enduring deprivation, separation from loved ones, and violence. Recently, 45 out of 70 women prisoners gathered in the prison yard to protest and stage a sit-in against the execution sentences of two fellow inmates, Pakhshan Azizi and Verisheh Moradi. Despite severe opposition from prison authorities, we often hold protest sit-ins in the prison yard, chanting against execution sentences, gender apartheid, and the oppressive policies of the Islamic Republic.

In response to these actions, the authorities punish us by restricting visitation rights, cutting off phone access, and imposing additional sentences through the Revolutionary Courts, whose legitimacy I do not recognize.

The women’s section of Evin Prison is a place where the violence of the authoritarian, misogynistic, and religiously oppressive regime persists. However, it is also a place where women resist, asserting life and vitality in defiance of these conditions >>>