The regime understands that celebrity is power—maybe the only power that can compete with state violence.
En Irán, donde la muerte de Mahsa Amini encendió una llama que lleva más de tres meses ardiendo, el régimen ha comenzado a dirigir su maquinaria represiva hacia quienes tienen el poder de hacer visible la disidencia ante el mundo: atletas, actores y artistas. La lógica es antigua y conocida: silenciar a los que amplifican, para que el resto aprenda a callar. Con sentencias de muerte, arrestos y confesiones forzadas, el Estado persa libra ahora una batalla particular contra sus propias voces más reconocidas.
- El futbolista Amir Nasr-Azadani y el karateca Mohamad Mehdi Karami enfrentan pena de muerte bajo cargos de 'enemistad con Dios', mientras sus familias suplican en vídeos públicos que se anulen las condenas.
- La actriz Taraneh Alidoosti, estrella de una película ganadora del Óscar, fue detenida por publicar en redes sociales su apoyo a los manifestantes ejecutados y por aparecer sin velo sosteniendo el lema 'Mujer, Vida, Libertad'.
- Las autoridades iraníes utilizan confesiones coercitivas, cierres de negocios y cargos amplios como propaganda contra el Estado para intimidar a figuras públicas cuya influencia trasciende las fronteras del país.
- Con casi 500 muertos, 18.000 detenidos y dos ejecuciones ya consumadas, la represión se intensifica precisamente cuando las protestas pierden algo de fuerza, señalando que el régimen busca consolidar el miedo antes de que resurja la llama.
- La presión internacional crece —desde Shakira hasta organizaciones de derechos humanos— pero el poder judicial iraní no muestra señales de ceder ante ningún llamado externo.
Desde septiembre, cuando Mahsa Amini murió bajo custodia de la policía de la moral por llevar mal puesto el velo, Irán no ha dejado de temblar. Las protestas, protagonizadas sobre todo por jóvenes y mujeres, han exigido el fin de la República Islámica. Y el régimen, fiel a su lógica, ha decidido golpear donde más duele: a quienes tienen voz pública.
El futbolista Amir Nasr-Azadani enfrenta cargos de 'moharebeh' —enemistad con Dios— por su supuesta participación en la muerte de tres agentes de seguridad en Isfahan. Su familia niega el cargo de asesinato, aunque reconoce su presencia en las protestas. La cantante Shakira lo defendió en Twitter antes de la final del Mundial, pero las acusaciones siguen en pie. En un caso paralelo, el karateca de 22 años Mohamad Mehdi Karami fue condenado a muerte por la muerte de un miliciano en Karaj. Su padre grabó un vídeo suplicando a la justicia que anulara la sentencia.
El mundo del cine tampoco ha escapado. Taraneh Alidoosti, considerada una de las mejores actrices del país y protagonista de 'El viajante', ganadora del Óscar en 2017, fue detenida en diciembre tras publicar mensajes de condena a la primera ejecución de un manifestante y aparecer sin velo con el lema del movimiento. Otras actrices como Hengameh Ghaziani y Katayoun Riahi fueron arrestadas por gestos similares, y la directora Niki Karimi canceló todos sus proyectos denunciando meses de 'sofocación e intimidación'.
Incluso Ali Daei, leyenda del fútbol iraní, vio cómo las autoridades cerraban su restaurante y su joyería en Teherán después de que anunciara su apoyo a una huelga. El mensaje del régimen es inequívoco: ninguna fama protege a quien alza la voz.
El saldo humano es devastador: cerca de 500 muertos, 18.000 detenidos, once sentencias de muerte dictadas y dos ejecuciones ya cumplidas. Mientras las protestas pierden algo de intensidad, la represión contra las figuras más visibles se recrudece, como si el Estado quisiera asegurarse de que, cuando el fuego vuelva a crecer, no haya voces capaces de avivar las llamas.
For more than three months, Iran has been convulsed by protests that began in September when a young woman named Mahsa Amini died after being detained by morality police for wearing her headscarf improperly. The demonstrations have drawn hundreds of thousands into the streets, predominantly young people and women demanding an end to the Islamic Republic itself. But as the uprising has persisted, the regime has turned its machinery of control toward a specific target: the athletes, actors, and artists whose voices carry weight beyond the protest lines.
The calculus is straightforward. Public figures can amplify messages in ways ordinary citizens cannot. They can mobilize populations. They can make dissent visible to the world. So the Iranian authorities have begun pursuing them with the full weight of the state's legal apparatus, deploying death sentences, arrests, and asset seizures as instruments of silence.
Amir Nasr-Azadani, a footballer, now faces charges of "moharebeh"—enmity with God—a crime that carries a capital sentence. He is accused of participating in the killing of three security agents on November 16 in Isfahan. His family and supporters deny the murder charge but acknowledge he participated in the protests calling for greater freedoms. The case has drawn international attention; the singer Shakira posted in his defense on Twitter just before the World Cup final in Qatar. Yet the charges remain, and the threat of execution hangs over him.
Then there is Mohamad Mehdi Karami, a 22-year-old karate athlete condemned to death for allegedly participating in the killing of a basiji—an Islamic militia member—in Karaj, near Tehran. His father, Mashallah Karami, released a video pleading with Iran's judiciary to overturn the sentence. "I respectfully ask the judicial power, I implore you, please, to annul the death penalty in my son's case," he said. Another athlete, Eshragh Najafabadi, who competed for Iran's national mountain biking and mountaineering teams, appeared in a video confessing to involvement in a bombing plot in Shiraz. International human rights organizations have documented that such public confessions are typically coerced.
Even Ali Daei, a legend of Iranian football, encountered the regime's reach when he announced he would close his businesses in support of a strike. The authorities responded by shutting down his restaurant and jewelry shop in Tehran.
The crackdown has extended into cinema, Iran's most internationally visible cultural sector. Taraneh Alidoosti, considered one of Iran's finest actresses and the star of "The Salesman," which won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film in 2017, was detained on a Saturday in December. Her offense: she had posted on social media condemning the execution of Mohsen Shekari, the first person hanged for participating in the protests. She had also released a video in November showing herself without a veil, holding a sign reading "Woman, Life, Freedom"—the protest movement's rallying cry. The authorities charged her with publishing false and distorted content, inciting disorder, and supporting anti-Iranian movements.
Alidoosti was not alone. In November, actresses Hengameh Ghaziani and Katayoun Riahi were detained for posting videos without headscarves, accused of intending to act against national security and spreading propaganda against the state. Though they were eventually released, the message was clear. More recently, actress and director Niki Karimi announced the cancellation of all her projects, posting the protest slogan and denouncing "these months of suffocation and intimidation of 'don't speak and don't write.'"\n The toll has been severe. The protests have claimed nearly 500 lives. Authorities have detained approximately 18,000 people. In Tehran alone, 400 have been sentenced to prison. Eleven death sentences have been issued. Two executions have already been carried out, the most recent one public. As the demonstrations have lost some intensity in recent weeks, the regime's targeting of high-profile dissenters has only intensified, suggesting that the conflict between the state and its most visible critics is far from over.
Citas Notables
I respectfully ask the judicial power, I implore you, please, to annul the death penalty in my son's case.— Mashallah Karami, father of condemned karate athlete Mohamad Mehdi Karami
These months of suffocation and intimidation of 'don't speak and don't write.'— Actress and director Niki Karimi, announcing cancellation of her projects
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why are the authorities so focused on athletes and actors when there are hundreds of thousands of ordinary protesters?
Because a footballer or an Oscar-winning actress can reach millions of people instantly. When Shakira posts about Nasr-Azadani, it becomes international news. When Alidoosti removes her veil on video, it spreads across the world. The regime understands that celebrity is a form of power—maybe the only power that can compete with state violence.
But executing them seems like it would only create more outcry, more fuel for the movement.
You'd think so. But the regime appears to believe that making examples of the most visible figures will terrify everyone else into silence. If they can silence the voices people actually listen to, maybe the protests collapse from within.
The confessions we're hearing about—are people actually admitting to these crimes, or is something else happening?
International human rights groups say they're coerced. A 22-year-old karate athlete suddenly confessing to a bombing plot on video? A cyclist admitting to an attack? These don't emerge from nowhere. The regime has a long history of extracting confessions through pressure, then broadcasting them to delegitimize the accused and the movement.
What about the families? What can they actually do?
Almost nothing. Karami's father made a video pleading for his son's life. It's heartbreaking and it's also futile. The judiciary has shown no willingness to reverse these sentences, no matter what pressure comes from outside or how much a parent begs.
Is there any indication this will stop?
Not yet. If anything, it's accelerating. The more the protests persist, the more aggressive the targeting becomes. The regime is betting that fear will work where other methods haven't.