Maryam Diyor, mother of Abolfazl Amir-Ataei, who was killed at age 16 by the regime for protesting, addressed the 17th Annual Geneva Summit for Human Rights and Democracy on February 18th, 2025.
Full Remarks (Translated from Persian):
Salutations to the Crown Prince, Reza Pahlavi.
On September 16th, 2022, the Islamic Republic killed a young woman named Mahsa Amini over the hijab. People took to the streets, empty-handed, to protest the regime. But the Islamic Republic welcomed them with live ammunition and weapons.
On the morning of September 21st, my son shared a story on Instagram in protest. Later that day, he went into the streets. That afternoon, forces of the Islamic Republic brutally shot my 16-year-old son in the head with tear gas at a close range.
I am Maryam, the mother of Abolfazl Amirataei, a brave boy who refused to remain silent in the face of injustice and who stood alongside the people. But they shot my son with a military-grade weapon. People ended up carrying Abolfazl, drenched in blood, to the hospital.
My son was alive for 8 and a half months. For a month and a half, they refused to allow me into the hospital. He was in the ICU for three months. After that, I stayed by his side in the post-ICU ward for 55 days. I finally brought him home, where he stayed for two and a half months. I then returned him to the hospital for another surgery. And twenty days later, he passed away.
His father Mohsen, his younger brother Arshia, and I died and came back to life every single day and every single moment of those eight and a half months, as we watched Abolfazl fade before our eyes. We had to give Abolfazl hope while enduring relentless pressure and threats from varying forces of the Islamic Republic.
Abolfazl teetered between life and death, enduring pain beyond words. My beautiful, brave son had become completely paralyzed – his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his body motionless. When I held him in my arms and kissed him, his frail, cachectic, helpless body shattered my heart. Pain consumed my entire soul, but for my son, I had to stay strong.
After eight and a half months of pain, suffering and fighting for his dear life, my son passed away.
His burial was like a battlefield—with armored vehicles, armed motorcyclists, and an army of regime forces surrounding us. And with consistent threats to remain silent, we completed my son’s burial.
For the last time, I held his cold body in my arms and whispered a vow in his ear — that the world would know what they had done to him. I laid my headscarf under his head and buried him.
From the very first day, we were under pressure and threats from every branch of the Islamic Republic. They wouldn’t allow us to hold a ceremony. They tried to force us into silence. But I was no longer just a mother. I had to be the voice of a child whom they had murdered.
I hid my tears, swallowed my pain, and cried out—I had to fight so that everyone would know what they had done to my son. He gave up his life in pursuit of justice, and now I must walk in his path. And so, I began my activism.
I began sharing photos and videos of my son’s bitter days, as they were evidence of the Islamic Republic’s crimes. The regime escalated its threats, but I grew stronger with each day’s passing – because my son’s innocent eyes never left my mind.
I never surrendered to their threats. But when they targeted my younger son, made specific demands of me and nearly killed me in a staged car accident, I decided to flee Iran.
I decided to be the voice of my son and all the children of my homeland who have been killed.
Now, I appear before you to speak about the Islamic Republic.
For years, the Islamic Republic has slaughtered our children for any reason – or none at all. The children of my homeland are murdered by military-grade weapons and execution by hanging. Many have been blinded at their hands.
The people of my land have been held captive under the grip of the Islamic Republic, their voices silenced and unheard – because in my country, the judge and executioner are one and the same. After killing our children, the Islamic Republic forces families into silence by threatening the lives of their loved ones.
I, Maryam, mother of Abolfazl, stand here today not just for Abolfazl. I stand before you for all the innocent children who have been killed, for the thousands of young Iranians awaiting execution, for the grieving parents who long for justice, and for the fathers and mothers who are imprisoned simply for demanding their rights—and who are silenced by the regime.
For the dear defenseless people of my country living under the shadows of oppression — who are still breathing, but in whom hope will not die, I say this: My fellow sisters and brothers, you are not alone.
Stop the massacre of the Islamic Republic! See the people of my homeland. Hear them. They are imprisoned in the shadows of oppression.
Behind the walls of the Islamic Republic’s oppression, bound by the chains of dictatorship, wounded yet hopeful souls remain. Please help them. Because your silence only tightens those chains.
Please, be the voice of my people. Stand with them.
With the hope of a free and prosperous Iran, with the support of Crown Prince Reza Pahlavi, long live Iran.
