Transcript
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BBC Correspondent (1:05)
Hello Today, as Western leaders look to bolster their relationship with China, we ask what's in it for Beijing? In Myanmar, our correspondent tries his best to report on elections, but finds fear and surveillance at every turn. In South Africa, we hear how aid cuts are affecting the treatment of tuberculosis and the stigma surrounding the disease. And finally, we're in Lithuania on the trail of a forgotten family tree. But first to Tehran, where reports of thousands of people killed during the crackdown there have drawn international outcry. Protests over worsening economic conditions erupted in the capital at the end of December and evolved into one of the deadliest periods of anti government unrest in the history of the Islamic Republic. The BBC is rarely granted permission to report from within Iran, but BBC Persian's Param Jabadi has been in contact with people on the ground in spite of the Internet shutdown.
Param Jabadi (2:09)
Mohammad first texted me at 4am local time from Tehran. It was just after midnight here in London back in 2022 during the protests of Woman Life Freedom Movement. He was on death row, charged with enmity with God for an act of protest. His sentence was later commuted to a prison term to be served more than several hundred miles away from his home in Tehran. He had been given medical leave when this latest round of protests began. My cousin was killed in the protest. Param, his cousin had been killed on January 9th. The nights of the 8th and 9th were among the most intense of protests after Reza Pahlavi, the son of Iran's last Shah, now living in exile in the US had called on people to take to the streets. Mohammed told me that he and his father searched for his cousin's body for three days, including at the notorious Kahrizak forensic center. Videos from Kahrizak when they emerged, shocked Iranians, even those who had witnessed some of the most brutal acts of the regiment. Hundreds of bodies lying on the ground in bags. Parents, siblings, children and spouses walking among them, trying to identify their loved ones. Some embracing the cold bodies of their children, grieving. The BBC is rarely allowed into Iran, where I grew up. So I spent the days piecing together what's happening on the ground, verifying messages and videos sent by my contacts. Last week, I received another video from Kahrizak. 12 relentless minutes. It shows one father searching for his son, Seper, among the dead, repeatedly calling out his name. Seper, where are you, my son? The video, published on social media, went viral. The father and those around him curse Iran's supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, calling this a massacre he committed. This is a criminal offense in Iran. Imagine searching through hundreds of bodies, some brutally killed, some with open wounds, disfigured faces, some still attached to hospital equipment. Imagine finding your loved one among them, especially your child. We have received testimonies that wounded protesters were arrested by security forces, taken from hospitals and later returned to their families and as corpses. Muhammad eventually found his cousin at Kahrizak. It was beyond imagination, he told me. Children as young as 10, men, women. I saw a woman whose face was half blown away. I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see those images. He was right about the children. The next morning, a video published by the Iranian social media activist known as Vahid online showed images of two infants among the dead, displayed on a screen where families were asked to identify their loved ones. There were many who were under 18. One of them was 15 year old Yalda Muhammad Khani, who had also joined the protests. She died in her mother's arms. Her uncle told me that on January 8, a sniper in Karaj, near Tehran, fired eight live rounds at Yalda. When I witnessed firsthand the throngs protesting for democracy during Iran's disputed 2009 presidential election. Yalda had just been born. Fifteen years later, I'm telling the story of a girl killed for standing up for democracy. A girl who entered the world as hundreds of thousands were on the streets demanding change. Her uncle sent me photos of her before her death, her eyes bright and a radiant smile. And after, her face is etched in my mind. Since this year's protest began. The US based Human Rights Activists news agency says it has confirmed the killing of at least 6,000 people and is investigating 17,000 more reported deaths. Iranian authorities said the death toll was closer to 3,100 and that the majority were security personnel or bystanders attacked by rioters. On Thursday, an informed source contacted me to say that Puriya Mohdari, an Iranian rapper known as alif, died on January 9 after being shot with three live rounds in Tehran. I was told the 33 year old had been beaten by security forces the day before. One of his ribs had been broken. He was supposed to stay at home and rest because he had been badly beaten, the source went on. But he left quietly and never came back. I checked Houria's Instagram. His final post was a freestyle rap published just five days before he was killed. In it, he raps enough of the bullets, enough of the slaps before the noose is tightened further. For a mother who raised a child only to watch him die under the feet of a torturer, those words now read like a farewell or his clarion call to the living.
