Mohammad Darvishi

A Neighbor's Account of an Unknown Compatriot in Karaj

On January 8, in one of the neighborhoods of Karaj, a man lost his life; a man whom the neighbors knew for his simplicity and hard work. He was a Snapp driver, working with a Pride car to make ends meet. He was the father of three children: a daughter and two sons who are now grieving the loss of their father.

His family is under severe pressure. From the very first days, plainclothes officers were around their house. They didn't allow anyone to come close or let the neighbors offer their condolences. They didn't permit the installation of banners and posters for more than a day. On the twentieth day, they came and tore down all the banners and photos. The sound of the women's cries and wailing inside the house echoed through the alley; a sound that the neighbors cannot forget.

Their house is directly across from a Basij base, which has increased their fear. No one dares to knock on their door and ask how they are doing. The family hasn't even publicized his name because they are under so much pressure and are worried.

He is now absent from the statistics; his name is not recorded anywhere, but he lives on in the memory of the neighbors: a hardworking man, a simple father, a driver with a Pride car who was killed on January 8, and whose family was even denied the right to mourn normally.

This account is to ensure he does not remain nameless and faceless; to acknowledge that behind every statistic, there was a life, a family, and children who are now waiting for a father who will never return.

*Translated on 2026-03-12*