Iranwire – Hasti Hossein Panahi was one of the thousands of Iranian teenagers who took to the streets after the death of Mahsa Amini in police custody in September 2022.
Hasti, along with many of her classmates in the city of Dehgolan in Kurdistan Province, joined the nationwide protests that same month.
For the first time since the 1979 Islamic Revolution, students became part of a broader movement. Security forces identified and interrogated 14-year-old Hasti.
Hasti later fell into a coma for six months, and half of her body became paralyzed. Due to harassment by security forces, she and her family were forced to emigrate. They now live in Munich, a city that has become a refuge for many Iranians in recent times.
We were unable to conduct the interview at the refugee camp for various reasons. Instead, we spoke with Hasti, her parents, her sister Mahna, and her doll Baran in a park.
Baran is a doll that has been with Hasti since childhood: “Whatever I do during the day, I tell Baran about it.”
I promised Hasti that Baran would definitely be part of both the documentary and the report or book about her.
“A girl who listens to Rumi and writes, a girl who, while washing dishes, without gossip, goes to the sea and the forest, a girl who lets her hair blow in the wind…”
She couldn’t recall the rest of the poem. When I asked Hasti, now nearly 16, to recite one of the poems she had written, she read a few lines, but the rest she had forgotten.
Before November 9, 2022, Hasti attended a creative writing class, wrote short stories, and composed poetry.
I asked Samira, Hasti’s mother, what her dreams for her daughter had been. She responded, “I wanted my Hasti to be someone useful for society and herself. To be herself in the community. Every morning when she wakes up, I wait to see if she will wake up like she used to. I watch how she gets out of bed. Does her voice sound like it used to when she calls me and speaks? Does she walk the same way? Does she get up on her own and go, without needing my help? Our happiness was shared. We were more friends than mother and daughter. They took my breath away.”
Hasti in school, before the Woman, Life, Freedom movement. They protested against child marriage
Schoolgirls under the age of 18 in Kurdish areas, like many others in Iranian cities, were among the most active protesters in the Woman, Life, Freedom movement sparked by the death of Mahsa Amini.
For Hasti, who had already participated in peaceful civil protests at her school, the Mahsa movement provided an opportunity to protest against 40 years of oppression of women and ethnic minorities under the Islamic Republic and to strive for a normal life.
What happened to Hasti?
I asked Hasti about Mahsa Amini. Without hesitation, she replied, “Mahsa Amini? Yes, they took her and killed her, unfortunately. I don’t remember much from before that, but now, when I think about it, I feel sad.”
During the tense days and nights of protests, whenever chants echoed through the city, Hasti would open the windows and shout “Woman, Life, Freedom” along with the protesters. She was a child, and neither of her parents imagined that the desire for freedom was so deeply woven into the fabric of children under 18 that they, too, would step into the streets and join the nationwide protests.
Samira recalls, “[Hasti] said, ‘Mom, if I don’t go, if you don’t go, if dad, uncle, and aunt don’t go, then who will? It is our duty to go [to the streets].’”
Hasti distributed protest leaflets with slogans like “Woman, Life, Freedom” just like other active students, placing them on car windows until she was identified.
The head of the Melli Bank in Dehgolan at the time, extracted footage of Hasti from the bank’s CCTV cameras and handed it over to the Ministry of Intelligence.
A video that Ghanbari provided to the Ministry of Intelligence was made available to Mojtaba Karami, the then-head of the security department of the Education Ministry in Dehgolan.
A video that Ghanbari provided to the Ministry of Intelligence was made available to Mojtaba Karami, the then-head of the security department of the Education Ministry in Dehgolan
According to Hasti’s mother, agents from the Ministry of Intelligence, along with Mojtaba Karami, went to Hasti’s school. They interrogated the 14-year-old girl alone in a room without the presence or knowledge of her parents.
Hasti’s father, Mansoor, is a teacher with a strong passion for educating children. From the beginning of his career, he chose to teach in villages rather than larger cities, focusing on teaching elementary school children.
He said, “These kids were at an age full of excitement and enthusiasm, and they could have informed me that your child is doing these things. This child had not yet reached the legal age and was only 14 years old. Legally and religiously, at this age, they cannot make proper choices.”
Samira, Hasti’s mother, adds that after the incident, the agents told them that her daughter had repeatedly gone to the streets and joined the nationwide protests, “Hasti [and her classmates] had torn pictures of Khomeini and Khamenei from their textbooks and thrown them out of the window into the street. They knew all this. My sister told me that once the agents had followed her in the street, and that was why she went to my sister’s house.”
According to Hasti’s mother, agents from the Ministry of Intelligence, along with Mojtaba Karami, went to Hasti’s school. They interrogated the 14-year-old girl alone in a room without the presence or knowledge of her parents
The exact events of the day of the incident remain unclear. After suffering a skull base fracture and being in a coma for six months, Hasti cannot remember what happened, and the school and Education Ministry officials have not been held accountable.
The only confirmed information indicates that Hasti was interrogated alone and violently in an empty school room by a woman and four men, without her parents present. She then escaped from them and hurriedly boarded the school bus. However, upon seeing the agents chasing the bus, she threw herself from it in fear of being interrogated again.
Samira recounts that according to other students, at that moment, Hasti had escaped twice but the agents had dragged her back to the school, “The third time she escaped, her scarf had fallen off. Her hair was dishevelled and she was crying.”
According to Hasti’s classmates, when she boarded the school bus, a woman pulled her out and spoke to Hasti angrily.
Hasti told her classmates in that state: “They want to take me away and rape me.” Samira adds, “Hasti was very afraid of rape. She preferred death over sexual assault.”
After the Incident: The Presence of Security and Intelligence Forces at the Hospital
The first news of the incident was delivered to Hasti’s father by her uncle. From that moment on, life for the family changed completely. Six months of suffering followed – a struggle between hope and despair. A father who lost his job, a younger sister enduring the hospital ordeal with the family for months, and a mother who prayed by her daughter’s bedside every night until morning for her recovery.
When Mansoor received the news, he hurriedly set off. On the way, he saw the school bus parked by the roadside. Hasti was nowhere to be found. She had been transferred to Dehgolan Hospital. When Mansoor arrived at the hospital, medical staff were working to revive Hasti. Shortly after the news reached Samira, she also headed to the hospital and saw that local residents and family members were all in the hospital yard. Among this crowd were also plainclothes security forces.
Samira recalls, “I turned to the plainclothes forces and asked what did you tell my daughter? What did you do to her? Suddenly, the school principal came over and said to the agents, ‘Didn’t I tell you to leave her alone? Did you see what happened to her?’ The first group that was present above Hasti were intelligence agents.”
Hasti was transferred to Kowsar Hospital in Sanandaj. According to medical documents, her skull base was fractured on the day of the incident, and she was admitted to the ICU.
She then escaped from them and hurriedly boarded the school bus. However, upon seeing the agents chasing the bus, she threw herself from it in fear of being interrogated again
Hasti’s mother says, “Doctors always wondered that if the skull base fracture and cerebral haemorrhage were caused by falling from a vehicle, why was there no other part of her body fractured? Only Hasti’s head was severely injured. If this blow was this severe, why weren’t her hands or legs broken or injured? Only her eye was bruised, which is also unclear whether it was hit during the interrogation or was something else. I asked the doctors why they didn’t write this down. They said it couldn’t be done.”
The doctors had given up hope, saying that if she were lucky, she would lead a vegetative life. The only hope was that the bleeding would subside and she might regain consciousness. The surgeon decided to place a shunt to drain the cerebral fluid, giving her a 50 per cent chance of survival. After 40 days in a coma, the shunt surgery was performed.
According to Hasti’s father, her consciousness was so low that she was operated on without anaesthesia.
Throughout the six months, Samira was by Hasti’s side. She repeatedly witnessed code 99 being called for Hasti, meaning resuscitation.
Samira says, “I never believed that Hasti was gone. During those six months, I talked to Hasti, played her films and stories, got her a laptop, put wedding videos on for her, and painted her nails.”
On the morning of the surgery, the hospital director approached Samira, took her out of Hasti’s room, and told her that for the surgery, Hasti’s hair needed to be shaved – this was particularly hard for a mother who had braided her daughter’s hair every day and night during her hospital stay and coma, “It was very difficult for me because I knew how much Hasti loved her hair. It was even harder from the moment I went to Hasti’s bedside.”
At the suggestion of one of the nurses, Hasti’s braided hair was given to her mother, “There were two braids – they brought them to me. I was right beside Hasti. In those early hours, I said I trust no one, I must be beside my daughter.”
All these impossibilities were made possible with the support of the medical staff and the hospital – six months of around-the-clock life next to a child who was in a coma.
Despite Hasti’s mother stating that the hospital yard was filled with plainclothes security forces and Hasti was forbidden from receiving visitors, she would still meet her visitors in the hospital yard, “They would come close to my ear, men, women, plainclothes officers. They would come and say ‘Don’t say that,’ I would see the pictures of Khomeini and Khamenei in the hospital and would say to the pictures, oppressors! What have you done to my daughter? They would come and say don’t say that.”
Hasti’s father was summoned to the Ministry of Intelligence and pressured to accept Hasti’s death.
A few days after the incident, the Dehgolan security forces summoned Mansoor, Hasti’s father, a teacher employed by the Education Ministry, “They wanted to absolve everyone and place all the blame on Hasti, claiming she had issues and was depressed.”
Hasti and her mother Samira in hospital
The Hossein Panahi family was pressured to portray the incident as an “accident” and to file a complaint against the school bus driver. Hasti’s family, however, refused to cooperate.
They were even pressured to remove Hasti from the medical devices sooner. “During those six months in a coma, they repeatedly said to discharge Hasti. They asked, ‘What would you do about the hospital costs?’ They wanted to disconnect the machines from Hasti. Sometimes they would say, ‘This is not Hasti breathing, it’s the machine.’ They came and said, ‘Why don’t you want to disconnect the machines? Do you realize how many lives you are putting at risk by doing this? Hasti is gone.’ There was a plainclothes officer who insisted on disconnecting the machines.”
Hasti after surgery in hospital
A Miracle
Hasti’s father and mother, while sometimes keeping Mahna, their younger daughter, at the hospital and sometimes at home, watched Hasti’s body day and night, hoping for even the slightest movement that would indicate their child’s recovery.
Hasti’s mother practiced patience: “Every night, after cleaning the room and arranging Hasti, I would spray perfume in the room and sit waiting. All night long, I prayed to God for Hasti to return.”
One night, Samira felt that life had returned to Hasti’s eyes, and as always, she asked her for water with her gaze.
The devices were connected to Hasti, and she couldn’t drink water. Samira wet her hands and touched her daughter’s lips, but once again, life had left those two eyes. Samira couldn’t tell anyone because she thought no one would believe her.
Two weeks later, on the morning of March 19, 2023, Hasti opened her eyes to life. Samira says, “Suddenly, she moved the fingers of her left hand. I believed that Hasti was truly coming back. I turned on the phone to record a video. I said, ‘Hasti dear, what do you want?’ She asked for water again. I wet her lips and recorded the video. She raised her hand in a sign of victory.”
Life for Hasti
After the coma, Hasti had a slow recovery process. Her father says that at first, she would only open her eyes, and the doctors said those gazes were not purposeful; it couldn’t be said with certainty that Hasti had returned. It took some time before her looks became purposeful, and she came back to life. A month passed before she was discharged from the hospital, but half of her body was paralyzed, and she couldn’t speak.
Samira’s nightly prayers were now mixed with another sorrow: “I always say, ‘God, you gave Hasti back to me. I wanted her breaths, I wanted Hasti’s eyes and presence. Now, give health back to Hasti. It’s so hard to see that she wants to talk to her friends but can’t communicate. It’s so hard, so hard…’”
Samira adds, “Hasti’s younger sister is eight years old. My little girl stayed with me in the ICU for three months. After three months, she couldn’t endure it anymore and stayed with my mother. Her psychological condition is worse than Hasti’s. I always say, ‘Hasti slept for six months, but Mahna suffered while awake.’ Our entire 20-year life, mine and her father’s, is gone. Everything.”
Hasti’s father says, “They threatened us not to say anything, or we would be arrested. That’s why we left. Not just for Hasti’s treatment, but so we wouldn’t get trapped ourselves.”
After the incident, her father, alongside Samira, stayed by Hasti’s side, which is why he gave up his job as a teacher: “I gave everything for Hasti.”
A letter was sent from the Dehgolan court asking whether Hasti’s family wished to file a complaint. They had announced that they would, but “When I went to lawyers to pursue the case, many refused. Finally, a lawyer agreed to draft the request. After six months, we received one or two summonses to go to court and file a complaint against the school bus driver. I’m not complaining about the driver. I’m complaining about the school principal, Dehgolan’s Department of Education, and the provincial Department of Education. Who will answer for my daughter’s condition? My daughter went to school healthy.”
Instead of responding, however, their lawyer was summoned: “He told me that after drafting the complaint, he was summoned twice by the intelligence protection department. They had even said that Hasti’s parents were collaborating with foreign media and leaking information – they threatened to summon us too.”
Hasti’s family’s complaint went nowhere. After being harassed by security agents, the Hossein Panahi family had to leave their homeland. With the help of the “Munich Circle” group, they migrated to Germany in February 2024. After months of waiting, Hasti’s treatment has recently begun, and her family hopes that the girl who once wanted to be a writer and poet will start writing again.
Two weeks later, on the morning of March 19, 2023, Hasti opened her eyes to life
“My Daughter is a Writer”
“Before this incident, wherever we went, when we returned home at night, Hasti would go to her room for two or three hours and come back with a paper, reading what she had written. After I realized her writings were interesting, I enrolled her in a storytelling class. In the early days after the incident, when I was upset and crying, I would say, ‘My daughter is a writer, a short story writer.’ My phone was always in her hands, and then I would see that she had written something and saved it.”
Hasti had written for Mahsa too. A day before the incident, she had written about her in class. She told her mother that she had written the text with self-censorship. She wanted to complete her writing later, but the day of the incident arrived.
One of Hasti’s sentences about Mahsa and “freedom” reads: “Here, all the butterflies die in their cocoons because freedom is a crime.”
We handed Hasti the phone to read one of the writings she wrote after the incident, the ones she wrote on Samira’s phone. Hasti read: “I miss the one who thought she’d grow up and everything would be okay.”
IranWire will publish Hasti’s short stories in a collection called Hasti’s Book, a book that reflects the delicate and poetic spirit of a 14-year-old Iranian girl, sensitive to the social issues around her, who was plunged into a coma, paralyzed, and lost part of her memory and speech simply for living an ordinary life.