The Voices of Iranian Women Who Refuse to Be Silenced
In Iran, where the echoes of oppression are stitched into the fabric of daily life, there is another sound rising, defiant, steady, and unmistakably female. It is the voice of women who refuse to disappear. They are journalists, singers, lawyers, mothers, daughters. They speak, sing, and write not because it is safe, but because it is necessary.
I spoke to three such women, each living under a different sky, and their names here are pseudonyms.: one still inside Iran, one creating underground music, and one in exile. What unites them is their relentless courage and the certainty that silence is no longer an option.
Sara: “If I Stay Silent, They Win”
Journalist, 34, Tehran
“I was nine when I realized freedom was not for me. A neighbor scolded me for playing football with the boys, saying I was too old to run around uncovered. That moment split my life into two parts, before shame, and after.”
Sara is a journalist who has written for reformist newspapers, international outlets, and now under pseudonyms. Her work has been flagged, censored, and threatened. Still, she writes.
“Every article is a risk. But every silence is a betrayal. I write because someone has to remember the names. The girl who was dragged away for showing her hair. The mother who cried in court. The protester who bled on the pavement.”
She has faced interrogation, surveillance, and exile warnings, but remains rooted in Tehran. She says leaving feels like surrender.
“Some of my friends have left. I understand it. But I stay because the story is here. I want to be a witness, not a shadow.”
When asked what she dreams of, her voice softens.
“A newsroom with no dress code. A byline with my real name. A country where truth is not treason.”
Farnaz: “You Can Ban My Body, But Not My Voice”
Singer, 27, Shiraz
Farnaz is a female singer from the land of Iranian culture and art, Shiraz. Not on a stage, not in a studio, but in living rooms, rooftops, and encrypted chats. Her voice—haunting and sharp—is part lullaby, part war cry.
“My first protest song was recorded in my closet. It wasn’t perfect. But it was honest. That song reached people I’ll never meet, but I know it gave them something to hold onto.”
Women in Iran are legally banned from performing solo in public. But Farnaz, like many underground female artists, has found a way around the silence. She writes lyrics that speak to loss, resistance, and yearning, and she releases them anonymously through digital channels.
“A song can go where I can’t. Into a prison cell, into a mother’s grief, into the hearts of the diaspora.”
She recounts the moment she heard her song “Zan” played during a protest in Sanandaj.
“I wasn’t there, but I cried like I was. They sang my words. And for a moment, I wasn’t afraid, I was part of something bigger than fear.”
What does she dream of?
“A stage in Tehran. No scarf. Just me and the mic. Thousands of voices rising with mine. That’s the dream. That’s the freedom I sing for.”
Parisa: “I Left Iran, But Iran Never Left Me”
Lawyer, 42, Now in Exile in Germany
Parisa once walked the marble floors of Iran’s family courts, defending women in cases that were always uphill battles. She wore the hijab not by choice, but by law, and spent years working to help women navigate a system designed to erase their rights.
“When I won custody for a mother whose husband had abused her, the judge accused me of ‘weakening the family unit.’ I knew then that I was no longer safe.”
Soon after, she received threats. Her legal license was revoked. Fearing for her daughters, she fled to Germany with her family.
“Exile is not freedom. It’s displacement. I breathe easier, but my heart aches every day.”
Now, Parisa works with international human rights organizations, helping newly arrived Iranian women seek asylum and justice abroad.
When asked if she’d ever return to Iran, she pauses.
“Not under this regime. But if it falls—if it ever falls—I want to walk into court again, no hijab, and defend my people like I used to. That’s the day I’m waiting for.”
And what should the world know?
“That we are not voiceless. We are silenced. There's a difference. And we are done being quiet.”
These women are just a very small sample of Iran’s resilient women. But there are still countless others we never hear about: singers, mothers, scientists, schoolgirls. The fighting spirit and hopeful character of these women demonstrate one truth: their voices will not be silenced, and if one voice is silenced, others will become a cry.