I was killed on November 30, 1401. I was twenty-four years old, born on December 16, 1377, the son of Yunus, from Darab city in Fars province, and a resident of Shiraz. I had only one older sister who was married and had a child, I was very excited about being an uncle! My family and I, who used to live in Karaj for five or six years, came to Shiraz for my sister because she settled in Shiraz when she got married. I had been working in a dentist's office for four years, making fixed and removable dentures, and I had already become a professional in my work. My mother was supposed to open a laboratory for me soon so that I could start my own independent business, but it didn't happen... Basically, I am a diligent, happy boy. I was active, oppressed, polite, calm and harmless, and I was never asked even once when I was going to school for my parents' mischief. I was respectful and always respected my parents and appreciated them. I was very family friendly, my mother was like a close friend to me, I had a very close relationship with my sister and we loved each other passionately. I grew up in a family of artists, everyone is a musician, both my parents are very vocal and sing in family gatherings.
With the killing of Mehsa Amini and the start of nationwide protests, I went to the streets to protest with my compatriots to shout my rights. Before that, I told my mother that I have to go to pay my respects to my country and I told her how much I love her. It was the night of November 26, 1401, when my friend and I joined the gathering of people in Khyabon Qudousi to support the girls of my land. My friend Daniel had an argument with a Basiji and they pushed each other, I put Daniel on the motorcycle and we drove away from there, we went to my office, I dropped the key to open the lock and take Daniel to the office. He was chasing, he reached his head, suddenly he shot a bullet at Daniel, Mehrdad, my friend who was there, and I helped. We quickly threw Daniel in the back of a van, and Mehrdad and I ran away from him through the back alleys with a motorcycle. On the other hand, when this was happening, it was all recorded by the office camera that was in front of my workplace. The next morning, I went to that office and wanted to see if the camera there had recorded the previous night's video or not, but unfortunately, they told me that the officers came and took the camera's video the same night, and I was identified from those videos. On the night of November 30th, that is, four days after what happened that night, my mother and father had gone to Darab for the birth of my sister's baby. When I returned, I kept calling them. My mother said, "Why are you calling? What happened? I told them you go home, I will come, but I didn't go anymore...
My mother, who was very worried, called me when I got home and asked where we were, I told her don't worry, go to sleep, I'll come. Those who are tired and have just arrived are sleeping. At 7 in the morning my mother woke up, went to my room, saw that I was not there, and the dinner that was brought to me from outside was not touched. Immediately, my father called my phone, and a man answered and said that your son had an accident and broke his leg. My mother said that it is not possible. Youssef would call in any situation, but I was not used to staying out at night. When my parents came to the hospital, they always sent them from one room to another, and they didn't give the right answer. Finally, they told them that your son is in the recovery room, but when they left, no one was there! A man came forward and said that there were two motorbikes on each of which two people were sitting and they crashed together, three of them died and one of them is alive. They took them to a room and locked the door, and someone told them to come here and sign that your son had an accident and the four of them were on a motorcycle! My father yelled and said that in the recovery room, they said that both of them were the same engine, are you saying that the four of them are the same? How is it possible that Yusuf was on a motorcycle with three other people weighing 127 kilos?! Then my parents cried and said, at least let us see him, give us his clothes and mobile phone, but they can't say, we won't show him, you can only see him in the forensics! On the other hand, when my parents arrived at our family hospital in Darab, they found out about my death! Because Fars news agencies quickly announced that I was not killed in the "disturbances" but had an accident! And this was while no one had said anything and the criminal regime had taken the initiative to falsify the news of my death. The vice president of the university immediately announced that I died due to severe head and face injuries in the accident!!
Government news agencies announced that my death was related to an accident in one of the alleys of Qasr al-Dasht street in Shiraz, where an ambulance was sent to that place. According to that report, four people were riding a motorcycle when they had an accident and three of them were killed on the spot! The video of the cameras only showed up to the floor of Qasr al-Dasht, and except for one painful video, there was no other video to prove whether I was killed by batons and mercenary bullets when I was on the motorcycle, or when I reached my destination, they caught me and beat me with batons and Shot to kill? My parents still do not know where mercenaries brought this disaster to me. In that movie, it showed that my friends
The 40th ceremony was held on December 27, 1401, at my grave, and the first anniversary of my death was held on November 29, 1402, in Mojtabi Paradise. My compatriots fought for our freedom and paid a heavy price that ended with the loss of my life. If you remain silent, you have stepped on my blood and those who died on the path of freedom, continue my path and remember my name until the day of the victory of the country, rejoice instead of me in the celebration of freedom...
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