Issa

In the early 2000s, I began working to clear minefields in Iran, remnants of the Iran-Iraq war. I loved my job; in the perilous border regions between Iran and Iraq, where every step could be fatal, I worked with precision and passion to rid the earth of these silent killers.

In 2008, I recognized a gap in public awareness about the dangers of landmines. Alongside my fieldwork, I started blogging and writing articles to educate civilians, especially those in border areas, about the risks. I created a blog called Green Peace (link), where I documented statistics on landmine victims and analyzed the causes of their tragedies. Each post was a cry to save lives lost to neglect.

Years later, in 2012, my exposés on areas where mine clearance fell short of standards led to my arrest by Iran’s security forces. I was charged with disclosing military secrets. For nine months, I languished in cramped, dark prison cells, enduring interrogations that wore down my body and spirit. Through countless intermediaries and a hefty bail, I secured my release.

But freedom was fragile; the threat of death loomed over me. The moment I was freed, I fled Iran with my family to Turkey, clinging to a trembling hope for a safer future.

In Turkey, I was trapped in the limbo of refugee life, awaiting resettlement to a secure country. But Iran’s regime never relented. Their transnational threats haunted me like a relentless nightmare.

In those anxious years, writing became my refuge. I authored books:

• Landmines, Iran’s Silent Killer
• Landmines, Nightmare of Borderland Children
• Until the Last Mine on Earth

Then, by chance, I stumbled upon the executions of political prisoners in Iran’s prisons during the 1980s. This horror gripped me, and I began to write.

UNESCO Prison, once a UNESCO cultural center under the Shah, became a gruesome jail after the revolution. Its eucalyptus trees bore witness to firing squads executing political opponents of the new regime. Later, those trees were cut down to erase evidence. But I was determined to expose the truth, especially when I learned that those responsible had risen to senior regime positions — a fact that burned in my soul.

The novel’s publication in England and its underground circulation in Iran put me in grave danger.

In 2018, Iran’s security forces, including senior officials from the 1980s, ordered my elimination.

One morning in Manisa, I stepped out to pay an electricity bill. A black car pulled up. A blonde woman lured me to the window with a question about directions. Suddenly, I was yanked inside.

My head was trapped between the seats, a burly man’s foot crushing my neck. The screech of tires and excruciating pain paralyzed me. The man, with a strange accent, interrogated me about my book.

The woman, clearly in charge, drew a gun and screamed, “Speak, or I’ll kill you!”

Blood pooled in my mouth. With a broken voice, I said, “I’m Issa.”
I admitted to writing the book.

They were furious:

• Why did I write about executions and senior officials?
• Why didn’t I stick to landmines and victims?

They wanted to drag me back to Iran as a warning to other activists.
They seized my phone, accessed my Google Drive, and destroyed all my unfinished books and articles.

After three days of beatings and torture, as the kidnappers’ car sped toward Iran’s border, I seized a moment of their distraction and threw myself out [Foreign Policy, The Times].

My hand had a minor fracture, my leg was completely broken, and my neck suffered a small fracture from the kidnapper’s foot.
Yet, in agony and terror, I limped on for kilometers with a broken leg to escape death’s grasp.

I stopped storing work on Google Drive and minimized using Google Docs. Now in Norway, fearing loss, I keep everything on an external hard drive — but the lack of secure tools for anonymous publishing still haunts me.

Turkish police and security forces, after my escape, warned me not to write books or appear on TV programs opposing Iran’s regime.
This dual censorship — transnational threats and host-country restrictions — trapped me in a vise.

Staying in Turkey became impossible.
With a heart full of pain and eyes brimming with tears, I left my family behind and fled to Europe on foot, a journey of hunger, cold, and despair that pushed my body and soul to the brink.

In Norway, I found a sanctuary to continue my fight.
I poured my experiences into:

• No Place to Go — Published in Persian by 49 Books in Sweden (link), with a Norwegian edition forthcoming
• Gelareh — Published in Norway (link)

I am now working on a novel about the 1980s Kurdistan massacres.

The threats and crimes of Iran’s security forces, who rose to senior ranks, did not silence me.
They strengthened my resolve to expose the truth about oppression, injustice, and human suffering.