As we mark the 36th anniversary of the 1988 mass execution of political prisoners in Iran, we are confronted with a stark reminder of the ongoing repression that persists in silencing the voices of those who demand justice.
On this somber anniversary, Khavaran Cemetery—the infamous site where thousands of political prisoners were buried in unmarked mass graves—was once again sealed off by the authorities. The families, who for decades have gathered at this barren plot to mourn, remember, and demand justice, were denied entry. Their grief met with the cold indifference of the Islamic Republic of Iran.
This closure is not just an attempt to physically bar families from mourning; it is part of a broader, systematic effort to erase the memory of the 1988 massacre and stifle the pursuit of accountability. Yet, this act of repression only fuels the determination of the Mothers of Khavaran, who have dedicated their lives to keeping the memory of their loved ones alive and demanding justice.
Note: The author's brother was one of the political prisoners summarily executed in 1988.
In the summer of 1988, as the Iran-Iraq war came to a close, the Islamic Republic of Iran initiated one of the most heinous acts of political repression in its history. Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, then-Supreme Leader, issued a fatwa that led to the formation of "Death Commissions" tasked with summarily trying political prisoners. Many of these prisoners had already served years of their sentences; they were brought before these commissions, where they were questioned about their religious and political beliefs. Those who refused to denounce their affiliations or faith were sentenced to death.
The executions were carried out with chilling efficiency, with prisoners hanged in groups and buried in mass graves. Khavaran Cemetery, a desolate stretch of land on the outskirts of Tehran, became one of the most infamous sites of these mass graves. The government not only executed these prisoners in secret but also worked tirelessly to cover up the crime. Families were denied the bodies of their loved ones, refused the right to hold funerals, and were kept in the dark about the location of their graves.
Yet, despite the regime's best efforts to erase the memory of those who were executed, the families refused to be silenced. The Mothers of Khavaran, along with other family members, have for decades braved the threats and intimidation to gather at Khavaran, laying flowers and placing photos on the unmarked graves. Their defiance has been met with brutal force—flowers trampled, photos destroyed, and mourners harassed and arrested. But these mothers persisted, turning their grief into a powerful symbol of resistance against a regime that sought to obliterate the memory of their children.
The Mothers of Plaza de Mayo: A Parallel Struggle
The story of the Mothers of Khavaran bears a striking resemblance to the struggle of the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo in Argentina. During Argentina's "Dirty War" (1976-1983), the military dictatorship kidnapped and "disappeared" thousands of people, most of whom were young political activists. The government denied any knowledge of their whereabouts, leaving families in a state of perpetual uncertainty and grief.
In response, the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo began gathering every Thursday in the Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires, demanding to know the fate of their disappeared children. Wearing white headscarves embroidered with the names of their children, these women became an iconic symbol of resistance against state terrorism. They, too, faced repression, threats, and violence, but they refused to be silenced. Their persistent efforts eventually brought international attention to the crimes of the dictatorship, leading to some degree of accountability and justice.
Both the Mothers of Khavaran and the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo have shown extraordinary courage and resilience in the face of overwhelming odds. Their struggles are not just about seeking justice for their loved ones; they are also about preserving the collective memory of their societies. By keeping the stories of their children alive, they have challenged the state's monopoly on history and truth.
Grief as a Catalyst for Political Activism
The grief of the Mothers of Khavaran and the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo transcends personal loss; it has become a powerful force for political and social change. Gail Holst-Warhaft, in her work on grief and its political uses, argues that the control of mourning and the dead is a potent tool for regimes seeking to suppress dissent. By denying families the right to mourn, regimes attempt to control the narrative and prevent the formation of a collective memory that could challenge their authority.
However, as seen in both Iran and Argentina, this strategy can backfire. The refusal to allow families to grieve publicly has often led to the politicization of grief, turning mourning into a form of resistance. The Mothers of Khavaran and the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo have transformed their sorrow into a relentless pursuit of justice, using their loss as a catalyst for broader social and political activism.
In both cases, the mothers' activism has forced the state to confront its past, even if it has not yet resulted in full accountability. The Mothers of Plaza de Mayo succeeded in bringing international attention to the atrocities committed by the Argentine dictatorship, leading to trials and convictions of some of those responsible. The Mothers of Khavaran, on the other hand, continue to fight against a regime that still distorts and hides the truth about the 1988 massacre. Their battle for justice is far from over, but their persistence ensures that the memory of the victims will not be erased.