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I am Amir Zargar

Writer's picture: LoabatLoabat

I was killed on the 24th of Bahman 1401. He was twenty-three years old, born on July 27, 1378. I was the son of Shahram and a resident of Shahriar in Ferdowsia. I had not finished my military service yet and I was a professional athlete in boxing and a shopkeeper.


When mass public protests started against the sudden increase in gasoline prices in November 2018, I and my closest friend #Moherdad_Moin_Far participated in the protests. A mercenary militia killed my dear friend with a direct shot. After the death of Mehrdad, I hated the criminal government more and more. I was depressed for a while, but every time my compatriots protested, I was by their side. With the beginning of nationwide protests after the killing of Mahsa Amini, I was actively present in the street. One day in Mehr month, in one of the gatherings, three Basij brutally attacked a girl and punched and kicked her. But they attacked me with a baton and hit me on the face and then dragged me to a mosque and several people attacked me and beat me and broke my head. People entered the mosque and saved me from the mercenaries and took me to the hospital. After a few days, I was discharged from the hospital and when I felt better, I joined Shahriar's protests again. The local Basijs, who had identified me, did not let go of me and kept threatening me that if I continued, they would kill me and take the bullet money from my family!! But I didn't give up and didn't give in to them. On the night of February 16, 1401, in front of my shop, a white Persian car with three passengers suddenly approached me and one of them shot two bullets at my leg, I fell down covered in blood on the floor of the shop. People took me to the hospital. I was hospitalized for several days and several surgeries were performed on my leg and even led to its amputation, but it was useless, the infection covered my whole body and finally, on the 24th of February, I died due to the severity of the injuries and severe eye infection....

My lifeless body was unjustly buried on the same day in a strict security environment.

Writing on my tombstone: "The truth of life is that a person becomes a memory in a moment"...

After I was killed, no one was responsible for my family, no matter how much they pursued my murder, and the security forces threatened them that if they followed up on the murder, other family members would be killed and forced them to remain silent.


My compatriot, I fought for several years in order to gain freedom and I died in this way, if you want my blood not to be trampled on, continue to fight, the victory is yours, remember my name and celebrate the day of freedom of the homeland instead of me...💔

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