Hush, We Have Something to Say” Part III, Survivors of State Violence Speak for the Silenced

In the third episode of Hush, We Have Something to Say, a bold and emotionally charged series amplifying the voices of victims of gender-based violence, the conversation returns with familiar, courageous voices. Host and journalist Sherry Soltani, from Skyrise Media Society and Parvaz TV, welcomes back Mehran, Mahbubeh, and Pouran—three survivors whose stories reveal the brutal cost of repression under the Islamic Republic of Iran.

Sherry Soltani – Local Journalism Initiative

What began as a platform to explore hidden trauma has grown into a civic testimony—an archive of resilience and a rallying cry for justice. These stories are not history; they are warnings. They are not exceptional; they are widespread. And for many, they remain ongoing.

“We’re not just telling stories,” says Sherry in the opening moments. “We are building a memory—one that the regime tried to erase. And by sharing it, we are reclaiming space for truth, dignity, and accountability.”

Pouran opens by revisiting earlier episodes, where Mehran and Mahbubeh shared their harrowing journeys of imprisonment, psychological warfare, and state violence. “Their stories reflect what so many women in Iran cannot say out loud,” Pouran remarks. “These traumas don’t end when the cell doors open—they echo for years.”

The spotlight then turns to Mahbubeh Mojtahed, a former political prisoner and longtime activist. Her story cuts deep. She speaks of her husband’s execution, the birth of her son behind bars, and the surveillance state that haunted her long after release.

“For six years, I had to report weekly to the authorities. I was not free—I was merely outside prison,” Mahbubeh says, her voice steady. “My brother never gave up. He moved heaven and earth to get me out.”

But escape was anything but safe. Mahbubeh describes being smuggled to Malaysia, where promises of safety collapsed into another nightmare: she and her son were arrested again—this time by Malaysian authorities. Her son, then only five, was jailed alongside her.

“I thought Evin Prison was the worst,” she recalls, “but in Malaysia, I had no name. I had no rights. I was a ghost with a child in my arms.”

Thanks to her brother and advocates in the immigration system, she was spared deportation. Officials recognized her as a political refugee, offering a rare window for asylum. Clutching that fragile hope, she boarded another smuggler’s route—this time through Thailand.

“It was night. We crossed borders like shadows, afraid of being seen,” she says. “There was no way back. Only forward.”

Eventually, she and her son landed in Vancouver on forged documents. That moment, she says, shattered every wall she had built around her grief. “When the plane started to descend, I wept and laughed all at once. I had survived—but I was also mourning all I had lost.”

Mehran, who shared his story in earlier episodes, offers a reflection: “These are not stories of weakness. These are stories of war—and the quiet warriors who never picked up a weapon, but still fought with everything they had.”

Pouran adds, “We carry the wounds, but we also carry the truth. And we will speak, even if our voices tremble.”

As the episode closes, Sherry reminds viewers that these are not isolated tales. “Behind every account lies a thousand untold. The silence is not consent—it’s fear. And when we break it, even slightly, we create space for change.” This episode of Hush, We Have Something to Say is not just a chronicle of personal trauma. It is a civic act. A resistance. A message to all who listen: no matter how brutal, can silence a truth that continues to be spoken.