Author name: News Desk

Simay Azadi has obtained an exclusive voice recording from Vahid Baniamerian, a member of the People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran (PMOI), recorded from prison in July 2025, before his execution. Vahid was executed on April 4, 2026, in Ghezel Hesar Prison amid a recent wave of executions targeting PMOI prisoners. The message was addressed to his mother following the executions of fellow PMOI prisoners Behrouz Ehsani and Mehdi Hassani in mid-July 2025, at a time when Vahid and several others were themselves awaiting execution. In the recording, Vahid reflects on death, faith, poverty, political awakening, his decision to join the PMOI, and his relationship with his mother. He describes his path as one shaped by witnessing injustice, repeated imprisonment, and what he calls a commitment to fight oppression Here is the full translation of this audio message: I am sending this message to you under circumstances where Behrouz and Mahdi have been executed, and we, too, stand in the queue for execution—awaiting whatever God’s will may be. Just as Behrouz reminded us of the Quranic verse and wrote upon his final notification: “Every soul shall taste death.” Every soul, sooner or later, experiences death. And blessed are those whose state is described by Imam Ali in the 64th sermon of the Nahj al-Balagha: “Be prepared for death, for it has cast its shadow over you. Be like a people who were summoned and then awakened, who knew that this world is not an eternal home and thus exchanged it for the Hereafter. God the Sublime did not create you in vain, nor did He leave you to your own devices. Between you and Paradise or Hell, there is no distance but the brief span of death.” Yes, death is ordained for us all. In the school of the Quran, we have learned to see this world as a place of testing, and death as a gateway to another world where we shall be held accountable. From the school of Imam Hussein, we have learned that: “Life is nothing but belief and struggle.” Indeed, the meaning of life is the conscious choice of an ideal and a belief aligned with the monotheistic path of creation, followed by striving (Jihad) along this magnificent, yet painful and arduous path. Until, as the Quran says: “O mankind, indeed you are laboring toward your Lord with [great] exertion and will meet Him.” And the end of this labor and movement is the meeting with the Lord. Yes, dear Mama, you know these verses well; you read them to me and taught them to me many times. Our ideology has a clear answer to the question of death. When we open the Quran and the Nahj al-Balagha, or listen to the history of the Prophets and Imams, it is full of reminders of the magnificent meaning and philosophy of life. Thus, we must only bow humbly before the Truth. But what is my—and our—test in this life? Let me return to my childhood. To the time when the poverty of my classmates pained my childish conscience. One day, I asked you to exchange the shoes that Haj Baba had bought for me with a simpler pair, because I felt the innocent, longing gazes of Sharifi, Mohammadi, and Karami—with their torn shoes and tattered clothes—upon me. That pain bonded me to them. You accepted my request and bought me simpler shoes, and I became certain that I had done the right thing. I became certain that I should not only think of myself. From then on, whenever we had good food, I would secretly pack morsels in my bag to take to them during the afternoon school shift, receiving the sparkle in their eyes as my reward. How fortunate I am to have been raised in the lap of a pure mother like you. However, despite all the troubles a child causes their mother, I finally grew up and entered society. Now, I saw even deeper pains, and I had to understand their roots. While my young soul was tormented by seeing the suffering of my oppressed fellow human beings, I was searching for the meaning of life. What could life be? Studying, going to university, finding a job, getting married, and perhaps serving society? This was the most honorable and “prescribed” type of life, especially available to me as a student who happened to be quite good at his studies. But what about the homeless sleeping on cardboard, the street vendors, the millions of families below the poverty line, the hundreds of thousands of youths falling into addiction, the millions of talents that wither away, and the discrimination and suppression of women? Could the issue be solved, as in childhood, by skipping a meal or wearing simpler shoes to soothe one’s conscience? No. In response to the call of my conscience, I was drawn into the realm of politics. A realm where many of its “seven-faced” pretenders and players had no relationship with honor. I had to be vigilant, searching for the right path so as not to slide into the abyss. In this search and struggle, however, I encountered “stars” whose pain was of the same nature as mine. Their view of politics was not one of power-seeking or duplicity, but of honesty and sacrifice to eliminate oppression and discrimination. I had re-read the stories of the “nameless ones” of Khavaran—those like your friend Masoumeh, and Mansour, and thirty thousand heroes like them. It was as if I knew them now. It was as if an unbreakable bond had been forged between us. It was as if, in the moments before execution, I understood what they were thinking and what passion they felt. Suddenly, everything that had been a mystery to me—from the reason for Baba’s imprisonment and my expulsion from school, to the fear and despair ruling society and the fate of the ’79 Revolution—all fit together like pieces of a puzzle. I stood on the threshold of choosing a different kind of life. All of this was not sudden; it took years.