After 17 years in prison, Kurdish political prisoner Zeynab Jalalian remains defiant, refusing to break under torture, exile, and relentless pressure to confess. She was arrested on 26 February 2008 on the Kamyaran-Kermanshah road in Iran and later sentenced to death for “armed rebellion” due to alleged membership in the Kurdistan Free Life Party (PJAK). Her sentence was later commuted to life imprisonment.
Over the past 17 years, Jalalian has been held in multiple prisons across Iran, repeatedly denied basic rights. Her family has also faced harassment. In 2021, four of her relatives were arrested after her mother, Gozel Hajizadeh, released a video message. They were detained for a day and a half before being released after her mother fainted.
Despite years of suffering, Jalalian continues to resist through poetry, holding firm in her fight for freedom. She has released a letter on the 17th anniversary of her capture.
Here is Zeynab Jalalian’s letter in full, translated and lightly edited for clarity:
“My hands smelled of flowers, yet they convicted me of picking them. But no one ever thought that perhaps I had planted a flower.”
Oppression has left a wound in my heart, a wound that will never heal. I was a small dandelion, carrying a great message of freedom and liberation. On 26 February 2008, I set out on my journey to the beautiful city of Kermanshah, but the agents of tyranny abducted me along the way and took me to an unfamiliar, foreign place.
The black-clad agents had strange customs. In that dreadful place, no one was allowed to see another. They blindfolded me with a black cloth and kept asking, “What is your name?” I replied, “My name is Zeynab.” They beat me and asked again, “What is your name?” I answered again, “My name is Zeynab.” They beat me more, tortured me, and kept repeating the same question: “What is your name?”
They asked the same thing over and over again. Whether I answered or remained silent, it made no difference—the torture continued. I could not comprehend their sick minds. In that dark place, there was no window to the light because the agents of oppression, like bats, feared the light.
A few months later, they transferred me to prison. The prison guards were women, but their behaviour was even worse than those nameless, faceless men—and that was the most painful thing of all.
After months of agonising uncertainty, one day, my name was called from the prison loudspeaker with a voice full of hatred and resentment. They shackled my hands and feet and took me to a sham court. I debated with the judge for three minutes about my mother tongue. He did not know me, nor did he listen to my words. So what did he rely on when he sentenced me to death? I do not know!
Later, they exiled me to Tehran. For six months, I was held in the cells of the intelligence services, enduring unbearable pressure to confess and give forced interviews. After years, they brought my mother to Tehran under threats. My mother’s wailing was beyond comprehension, beyond words. The agony of separation from her child and the weight of a death sentence for her beloved daughter was unbearable for her. My mother suffered more than she endured, yet she never bowed to oppression. My mother was the embodiment of deep sorrow; no words of mine can ever describe her.
After six months, they transferred me back to Kermanshah. I repeatedly requested a transfer to my home province, but for seven years, I remained imprisoned in Kermanshah. Then they exiled me to Khoy prison, where I spent four years under intense psychological pressure.
One night, when the lights were off and the prison was engulfed in a deathly silence, the agents of tyranny came again, chained me, and exiled me to Qarchak prison. They kept me in a temporary ward, and there, I contracted COVID-19. I received no medical care; my lungs were severely damaged. I repeatedly requested a transfer, but no response came. I had no choice but to go on a hunger strike.
After days of waiting, on a night when the prisoners were asleep and only the sound of my coughing broke the silence, the agents of tyranny returned. They handcuffed and shackled me and forcibly exiled me to Kerman. There was no eye to read my pleas, no ear to hear my words, no heart to show empathy or compassion. After months of solitude and isolation, deprived of phone calls, visits, and even the right to buy necessities, in a sorrowful and dust-laden sunset in Kerman, the prison agents, with false oaths and by force, once again exiled me to Kermanshah.
Despite all this forced displacement, with a tired and sick body, I closed my eyes for a moment to find some rest. But the voices of the prison guards stole my slumber. They bound my hands and feet, blindfolded me, and exiled me to Yazd. Years have passed in this darkness, enduring all hardships and deprivations without phone calls or visits. Now, I have been imprisoned in Yazd for four years and four months.
In the darkness of this prison, I close my eyes. A faint image of life outside these walls remains in my mind. I miss my mother’s warm embrace, my father’s loving gaze, my sister’s laughter, and even my brother’s frowns. I miss the warm-hearted and hospitable people of Kurdistan and the melodies of Kurdish songs. I miss the scent of the soil, the inverted tulips, the oak trees, and the squirrels feeding on their acorns. I miss the clear springs, the flowing rivers, the towering mountains, and the starry nights.
Through all the pain and longing, 17 years have passed… 17 years!
The honourable people of Iran!
The officials of this regime are leading our homeland to destruction. They kill our youth, execute them, or throw them in prisons. They have plundered our natural resources and national wealth. They have destroyed the country’s economy. Poverty and hunger are rampant.
How much longer will you remain silent in the face of these ruthless destroyers?! How much longer will you struggle with poverty and hunger?! How much longer will you watch the destruction of your country and the future of your children without speaking out?! Is this humiliating life what we deserve?!
Beloved people of this land! Let us unite and raise our voices together: No to murder! No to executions! No to prisons! No to poverty! No to hunger! “If you tremble with indignation at every injustice, then you are my comrade.” —Che Guevara
—Zeynab Jalalian, Prisoner in Yazd, 26 February 2025
