In Memory of the Silenced:

Crimes in Kurdistan That Will Never Be Forgotten

A personal account from a bloody decade, an execution without trial, and a memory that still lives on

Esmail Moloudnezhad

Amid the dust-covered pages of Iran’s contemporary history, the 1980s stand out as one of its darkest chapters. In those years, under the shadow of the newly established Islamic Republic, hundreds of the nation’s sons and daughters—especially in Kurdistan—fell victim to organized violence, systematic repression, and executions without trial. For many, these accounts might be merely fragments of history. But for me, they are deeply personal—an old and open wound. One of those executed was my uncle, Esmail Mouloudnezhad.

Esmail was only 21 years old. A quiet, intelligent, and thoughtful young man who never picked up a weapon, never took part in any war or conflict. His only “crime” was having beliefs and an identity that did not align with the official politics of the time. He was arrested and, shortly thereafter, on April 22, 1979, executed without a trial.

Our family was never even allowed to kiss his body goodbye or hold a simple memorial for him. His name did not appear on any official lists. His grave was identified in secret, and for years, out of fear, no one dared speak his name.

But Esmail was not alone. In those years, dozens of villages across Kurdistan witnessed similar atrocities. Villages like Quri Qala, Qalatan, Jandiran, Marjanabad, and Jafarabad became scenes of massacre. Reports later compiled showed that between 1979 and 1984 alone, hundreds of residents in these areas were executed by firing squad without any form of trial. Many of them were teachers, students, cultural activists—or even children.

The regime called these crimes a “fight against counterrevolutionaries.” But the truth was something else entirely: an ethnic cleansing and an effort to silence independent voices. The official media remained silent. State historians erased this chapter from the books. But families like ours could never forget.

For me, writing these lines is not just a revisiting of the past; it is a tribute to an uncle I never met but have always carried with me. A silenced voice who, had he lived, might have written these words himself.

Justice for people like Esmail does not only mean putting the perpetrators on trial—it means acknowledging the truth. A truth that, no matter how deeply buried, will one day rise from the soil.

May the day come when not only the names, but also the dignity and the rightful memory of all those who perished in this land, are finally recognized.

Farid Moloudnezhad Analyst of Politics and Society with a Focus on Silenced Voices