HRANA– Seyed Mahmoud Alizadeh Tabatabaei, a licensed attorney, political activist, and member of the board of directors of the Central Bar Association, was also a representative in the first term of the Islamic City Council of Tehran (1997–2001). He has represented many Iranian political figures and senior officials, particularly those affiliated with the reformist movement, including Seyed Mohammad Khatami, Mohammad Atrianfar, Shapour Kazemi, Kambiz Norouzi, Saeed Laylaz, and several defendants from the protests following the 2009 elections.
He also represented Mir-Hossein Mousavi in his lawsuit against Javan newspaper. His other cases include defending Mehdi Hashemi, son of Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani, and representing the newspaper Shargh when it was shut down after publishing a cartoon by Hadi Heidari. One of his most controversial recent cases was defending Mohammad-Ali Najafi, former minister and former mayor of Tehran, in the murder trial of his wife, Mitra Ostad. Since 1999, Alizadeh Tabatabaei has been the legal deputy of the Secretary-General of the Executives of Construction Party of Iran, and from 2019 to 2023, he headed its legal office. To better understand the views of this experienced lawyer involved in many high-profile cases, we spoke with him on the subject of this issue of Khat-e Solh (execution in public). What follows are his legal perspectives on the matter.

As you know, we recently witnessed three public executions, images of which were published in media and on social networks. What reasons would lead a judge to decide that punishment should be carried out publicly?

The text of Iranian law does not explicitly state “public execution” as an absolute “right of enforcement,” but the combination of certain rules and regulations gives the judiciary discretion to determine the place of execution, including external or public venues.

What is the legal basis for public execution? Does the law explicitly allow or prohibit it?

Article 499 of the Code of Criminal Procedure explicitly states: “Execution of punishment in public is prohibited, except in cases of legal obligation or if the court (or upon the prosecutor’s proposal) deems public enforcement necessary due to social considerations, the nature of the crime, the defendant’s background, or concern about repetition of the crime, and specifies this in its ruling.” This means the general rule is prohibition, and exceptions only apply when explicitly ordered by the court or required by law. The details of how punishments involving death or corporal measures are carried out—including place, formalities, required attendees, rules regarding children’s presence, women’s attire, filming, and reporting—are provided in the Regulations on the Execution of Sentences (issued in 2019). This regulation explicitly allows punishments outside prison grounds and empowers judicial officers to determine the place of execution. For punishments such as flogging, the regulation contains provisions allowing courts to designate public spaces in their rulings. Therefore, if the court specifies “public places” as the venue in its verdict, the regulation outlines how this must be carried out.

Is public execution specifically defined in the Islamic Penal Code, or is it merely left to the judge’s discretion?

Article 216 of the Islamic Penal Code (and the authority it gives to issue implementing regulations) is the legal source of this regulation. Article 216 states that the enforcement of hudud, qisas, and ta’zir punishments is subject to regulations that must be prepared and issued by the head of the judiciary within six months of the law’s enactment. Thus, courts may order executions in public spaces under two essential conditions: first, if a specific law explicitly requires it; second, if the court, after reviewing considerations such as social impact, nature of the crime, defendant’s background, or risk of repetition, finds public execution “necessary” and includes this in its ruling. The procedure must then follow the regulations (including record-keeping, presence of specified officials, prior notification to authorities, etc.). In practice, the final authority over place and manner of enforcement rests with the court or the judge in charge of enforcement, but the default prohibition of public executions remains in force.

From a legal perspective, does public execution conform to principles of fair trial and international human rights standards? What do its proponents claim as benefits, and how strong are those claims?

Supporters argue that public executions deter crime, discipline society, satisfy victims’ families, or demonstrate the government’s authority. However, legal-scientific evaluation shows otherwise: academic research and credible institutions have found no reliable evidence that public executions are an effective deterrent. Independent reports and scholarly studies conclude that there is no conclusive proof that executions—or their public nature—significantly reduce homicide rates. In short, the deterrence argument lacks strong empirical support.

How do you analyze the social and psychological effects of this form of punishment? Some argue public execution normalizes violence among the public, especially children and youth. What harms and consequences does it bring?

The foremost impact is trauma and widespread psychological harm. Witnessing executions or corporal punishment in public can cause serious psychological damage, especially to children. The regulations themselves acknowledge this by forbidding the presence of minors under 18 except with judicial approval. Another issue is violation of human dignity and possible “degradation of human worth.” International human rights bodies generally consider public executions “torturous, degrading, or humiliating,” conflicting with prohibitions against cruel and inhumane punishment. They may also produce discriminatory effects, as marginalized groups or those with weaker legal defense face greater risk of being subjected to such displays. Moreover, given the irreversible nature of execution, any judicial error becomes catastrophic. Public enforcement reduces the chances for fair review by increasing social and political pressure. Furthermore, the “brutalization effect” exists: evidence suggests that state displays of violence can normalize violence in society rather than reduce it.

Some argue it is legal because it follows regulations. What legal criticisms can be made against its validity?

The default domestic legal principle is “prohibition of public enforcement.” Any exception must be justified with strong reasoning in the verdict. Merely specifying a place (e.g., “X Square”) without explaining necessity, social impact, etc. is indefensible under Article 499 of the Code of Criminal Procedure. Even if internal procedures are followed, international human rights law—especially prohibitions on torture and degrading punishment under Article 7 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR)—calls public executions into question. Iran is a signatory or participant in such frameworks, and these conflicts undermine its legal validity.

Which legal principles and human rights are in conflict with public executions?

The right to life is central. Article 6 of the ICCPR limits capital punishment to the “most serious crimes” and requires strict safeguards. Article 7 prohibits torture and cruel, inhuman, or degrading punishment, under which international bodies criticize public executions. Domestically, Article 38 of Iran’s Constitution bans torture, providing internal support against degrading punishments. Additionally, children’s rights and public mental health are protected under various international conventions, which public executions clearly violate by exposing society to violent spectacles.

Recently, the Iranian Psychiatric Association wrote to the head of the judiciary warning of the widespread consequences of public executions and calling for their immediate halt. Have lawyers or legal associations taken similar actions?

From a legal standpoint, the general rule is prohibition, and exceptions must be strictly reasoned and follow proper procedures. From a criminological perspective, public executions lack guaranteed deterrent effect and carry serious social and human costs. A practical legal recommendation would be to establish clearer laws, stricter criteria, detailed reasoning requirements, explicit limits on public attendance, and stronger protections for children and families. Media must also emphasize transparency and respect for basic rights. Importantly, harsh punishments such as executions have little preventive impact. Over 20,000 people have been executed for drug-related offenses, yet crime persists; in some families, after a father was executed, the son continued drug trafficking, then the son was executed and the sister continued, leaving families with multiple executed members. Thus, neither execution itself nor its public nature has prevented crime.

Thank you for the time you gave Peace Mark Monthly Magazine.

In your opinion, was the government prepared for the crisis of the twelve-day war? What is your assessment of how the political system responded to this crisis?

In my view, the power structure was not at all prepared for such a war, and fundamentally didn’t anticipate that a war would break out. As evident from the interviews given by government officials—ranging from members of parliament to the Supreme National Security Council and even officials and experts speaking on state TV—none had predicted the possibility of such a war. Therefore, when there is no prediction, preparedness is certainly lacking. Even so, military forces in every country—especially ours, which has been in a constant cold war with the U.S. and Israel—should have the necessary readiness for such incidents.

How do you think the regime faced this situation?

In fact, the regime was confronted with this situation—it didn’t anticipate it. So it wasn’t the regime that assumed this would happen; it was forced to face it. As we saw, unfortunately, a large number of experienced military personnel were killed on the first night. We also saw the extent of the damage to national infrastructure during the twelve-day war. In addition, we witnessed issues with the country’s air defense systems. One might say this was due to outdated equipment. Those of us living in Iran saw that the military personnel gave their all, but due to a lack of sufficient equipment, Iran’s skies became such that the [Israelis] could come and go wherever and strike wherever they wished. These are events that the regime itself publicized, and the people witnessed them.

During your time in Parliament, were there discussions or mechanisms for dealing with military scenarios like this?

In public sessions of Parliament, such discussions were rare. But certainly in the relevant committees, these matters were raised. I wasn’t a member of those committees, so I can’t comment or judge. The National Security Committee is very specific and one of the most important committees, and I wasn’t part of it at the time. These matters also seldom arose in open sessions.

Last year (1403) and years before that were filled with protests and social movements. How do you think the wartime or suspended situation affects social movements and protests in Iran? What’s your analysis of the current state and your prediction for the future?

In 1403, we didn’t experience a large-scale social movement like those of 1396, 1398, or 1401. But we did witness smaller, sectoral movements—teachers, retirees, nurses, and the like have been and remain active. However, now it seems that due to wartime conditions, people prefer to avoid such matters. The regime is pleased with this, as it appears that a kind of national unity has formed around the war. In sociological theories, war is said to foster national solidarity. We are currently seeing this, and solidarity has indeed formed in the country. Of course, there were and are shortages, but people tolerated them. For instance, after a water pipe in Tajrish was hit, we didn’t have water for several days, but people showed great patience and understood the wartime situation. Contrary to hostile foreign media reports, the shortages weren’t as dire as claimed. For example, food was widely available.

Given these social theories on solidarity during war, what do you think may happen by the end of this calendar year?

We know that power sociology is not highly predictable. What we say is based both on personal experience and theoretical frameworks. I believe the issue must be examined on two levels—international and domestic. Internationally, I believe Iran’s diplomacy should, firstly, be dignified, and secondly, not adventurous. That is, we must seek direct negotiation with the U.S. and aim to achieve something through diplomacy. Furthermore, just as the regime sends positive signals to the U.S., it should do the same for the people. To move toward a more successful path, the government must, at a minimum, take actions such as releasing political prisoners, nationalizing the state broadcaster, and addressing people’s livelihoods. Social pressures must also be reduced, and civil liberties granted—not curtailed. We are now facing heavy filtering and even satellite TV signals are jammed. There is pressure on political and social activists. If the regime cannot shift course and meet societal demands, it will face trouble with a society that—by your own observation—has already seen widespread protest and movement.

Moreover, as Mir Hossein Mousavi mentioned in his statement, a second step could be to establish a constituent assembly. Back in 1397, I said in a speech that a referendum should be held to align the contradictory principles of the Constitution and reinforce the republic aspect of the system. The key is to stabilize the system’s republican nature. I’ve said after this twelve-day war that we must seize the opportunity created by the ceasefire and move in this direction. Of course, we don’t expect immediate change, but even moving toward this goal would send a positive signal and show that the regime has plans for change.

Just as a referendum was held ten years after the Revolution that greatly empowered the principle of Velayat-e Faqih, now another referendum could resolve issues with the Guardian Council and vague constitutional principles. For example, Article 27 of the Constitution states that gatherings and marches are allowed, provided no weapons are carried, but the article also contains a conditional “if”—such ambiguous clauses allow broad interpretation by the Constitution’s interpreter, which is why no permit for a public protest has ever been granted since the Revolution, as it’s always deemed contrary to Islamic principles. In this environment, rogue groups can act with impunity, while ordinary people are denied their rights. We must also ensure party freedoms and aim for a structure where major political parties exist. Political development must eventually occur, but in my view—as someone with a social and cultural background more than a political one—the social foundation of Iranian society must evolve. Political transformation without stable social change will not endure, as history post-Revolution has shown. Unfortunately, today’s social conditions in the country are such that—even in a small sample like cyberspace—we see how people treat each other.

Before the twelve-day war, Iranian society was seen as a movement-oriented society. What effect do you think this war had on that characterization?

Dr. Asef Bayat, Dr. Saeed Madani, and many other sociologists working especially on political sociology and social movements, consider Iranian society a movement-based society. Since at least 1378, we have witnessed recurring movements in Iran, with shorter intervals between them. Going back to the Constitutional Revolution, we have experienced two major revolutions. Alongside them, over the past 120 years, we’ve seen both small and large-scale movements, like the women’s movement. This shows that Iran is indeed a movement society. These movements may be suppressed, like in 1388, 1396, or 1398, and thus appear dormant. Movements succeed when there is no strong military will to crush them—this is one key factor. Regarding 1401, I believe the failure of the “Women, Life, Freedom” movement was due to the opposition abroad fighting over power while people inside were being imprisoned and killed. This led to people retreating. From 1388 onward, change has been brewing in Iranian society. In another interview, I said Iranian society is like a dormant volcano—it may be quiet now, but a small spark can cause it to erupt.

This dormant volcano—by your description—has now also faced war. What impact has the war had on society?

I hope this war ends here, because our country cannot bear another war. We sincerely pray that Iran’s rulers act rationally. Of course, this is not just on Iran’s side—unfortunately, Israel’s survival depends on war. After this twelve-day war, you saw that it attacked Gaza. Israel—and especially Netanyahu—feed off war to survive. The Middle East has always been the victim of such conflicts. I hope our officials and the global community realize that these wars are harmful to the entire world and stop Netanyahu’s adventurism. On our side, the regime must also block war and stop those beating the war drums. Only then can we reach a lasting peace. If this happens—and internal reforms follow—we can be hopeful. But if the stubbornness toward the people continues and the same harsh tactics are used, predicting the future will be difficult.

Currently, the security atmosphere and the discourse of resistance dominate Iran. How much do you think this discourse can be used to justify violence and suppression inside the country?

Such suppression cannot continue indefinitely. Of course, the system is at war, and it’s natural to be sensitive. The regime itself, the global community, and even Israel have admitted the vast extent of infiltration. In such a situation, the regime must figure out where the breaches were—which is understandable. But such crackdowns should not target ordinary people. Ordinary individuals do not have access to sensitive information—that level of access must be investigated elsewhere. On the other hand, trust must be built among the people. Personally, my heart burned when I saw photos from Iran being sent to Persian-language media abroad. Israel forbade any journalists from taking photos and monitored strictly, yet our people were sending photos. If people trusted the government, seventy thousand citizens wouldn’t have messaged them. This distrust led to such events. The regime must now trust the people and build trust on a national level. Only then will the public heed warnings that, for example, sending photos could endanger their own lives. So the regime must focus on trust-building.

Currently, there is talk of a return to the 1980s. Do you think the people and the government are even capable of such a return?

No. Look, no matter how much you filter, people will still find access. Today’s conditions are incomparable to the 1980s. The government no longer has the same social base. Back then, if the state said someone was an infidel, people accepted it—most were regime supporters and would go along. You see in a video from that time a mother turning in her own child. We lived through that. Today’s conditions are not like that.

Given these circumstances, what future do you foresee for political prisoners and civil activists? Will the space become even more restricted?

We’ve seen that Mr. Mostafa Tajzadeh’s sentence was extended by five more years. Yet he has a strong social base, which the regime surely feels. Tajzadeh’s Telegram channel is active as he nears ten years in prison, and much has been written about him. His charisma, the support he receives, and the logical things he says all have an impact. One must ask whether those increasing his sentence or pressuring other political and civil prisoners have good intentions. It doesn’t seem so. The system must examine why someone like Tajzadeh, who has been consistently critical of war from the beginning and is clearly patriotic, is facing a longer sentence. These are important questions that must be addressed—especially if they hope to narrow the gap between the people and the government.

You were a critic of censorship and information restriction in Parliament. What impact has this war and its aftermath had on the free flow of information and media?

We are currently facing widespread filtering. Restrictions persist. For years we didn’t have satellite signal jamming, but now it’s back. I don’t know if this is just in our area or nationwide. On the other hand, no one trusts the state media. Most of our news comes from satellite networks. I hope that along with security measures, civil liberties are also granted. The enemies have access to everything—it’s the ordinary people who are in the dark. When they lack access to credible information sources, any fake news can spread and take hold. Officials must consider this, but sadly they haven’t—and we don’t even see positive signals in this regard.

Returning to the social sphere and the topic of war—how do you assess the role and position of women in these conditions?

One of the main reasons for the current calm is the women themselves. Even unmarried women possess maternal qualities. Motherhood is sacrificial and forgiving. Mothers not only mother their children, but consider the land their child and protect it. In this situation, women played a decisive role in safeguarding their homeland. This is crucial. We’ve always seen this in various movements—women have repeatedly set aside their own gender-based demands for broader national causes. That happened this time too. Women with voices—from Narges Mohammadi inside Iran to others abroad—spoke out against the war.

Some analysts have talked about social cohesion in Iran in response to the war. What do you think caused this? Did we even expect it?

One thing Israeli experts—who have a deep understanding of our society—had hoped for was domestic chaos following their aerial attacks. But this assumption proved entirely false. Those of us living in Iran know that such things don’t happen to our people. Despite their dissatisfaction with the government, people still care about the country. The current government is the Islamic Republic, but for our people, Iran matters. Any unrest could have led to collapse or disintegration. Even ethnic groups didn’t make any moves during the war. Not only were other protest movements inactive, but ethnic groups also remained still. We witnessed national cohesion in full. This proves that many of the prevailing theories and predictions turned out wrong. The Israelis had bet heavily on this—and were proven completely mistaken.

In wartime, governments often misuse religious or national sentiments. Do you think this is happening now? How can society resist such exploitation?

It’s similar to what happened with the “Women, Life, Freedom” movement—when the hijab bill was proposed, people feared renewed crackdowns, but society didn’t regress. I think the government now realizes we have two identity wings—religion and nationality—both are fundamental to our people’s identity and are valued. Believers of other faiths also joined the defense when the country was threatened. I don’t believe the use of these themes was exploitative. The regime has realized how important nationalism is. I hope this atmosphere continues and becomes the foundation for improving Iran’s future.

If you—as a sociologist and politician—were to offer one clear warning about the consequences of war, what would it be?

Given the nuclear facilities in our country, the biggest threat we face is nuclear explosions. This is extremely worrisome—not just for us, but for neighboring Middle Eastern countries as well. No one will be safe from such fallout. This is a key concern. Another is that our region is prone to conflict and instability. The global economy depends on our region’s oil. Any disruption to oil exports affects the world. Sometimes, wars start from small sparks and spiral out of control. Just look at how the world wars started. If this war continues, the risk of it becoming global is high. It’s unpredictable. Though unlikely, the Eastern Bloc could side with Iran and the Western Bloc with the other side, and a “trigger mechanism” could activate—all of which could lead to global chaos. If war does erupt, the Iranian people will be the main victims, and the country’s infrastructure will be devastated.

Thank you for the time you gave Peace Mark Monthly Magazine.

Interviewer: Ali Kalaei
Originally published in Khat-e Solh (Peace Mark) monthly magazine on April 21, 2025.

This report is the result of an exclusive conversation with three prisoners in Iran whose identities remain confidential for security reasons. The questions were the same for all three prisoners, but the answers bear witness to various pains, shattered hopes, and a truth that may have been less heard of. These narratives are the voices of those who have been silenced under the unjust sword; human beings with bitter fates, but understandable and lost futures in narrow and dark prison cells. It is the story of those who are not heard in their defense, nor do they have a chance to return. Only a sentence, silence, and the black fate that befalls their families. This narrative is about executions in a country where its rulers have pushed society towards a direction that, according to reports from international organizations, has broken the ten-year record of carrying out death sentences and has accounted for more than two-thirds of all recorded executions in the world.

You read the conversation of Peace Mark with three prisoners under the sentence of execution below:

Accusation and legal process until the issuance of a verdict.

Each of the three prisoners has been charged and convicted with drug-related crimes. One of them was arrested for carrying “more than 50 kilograms of heroin,” the second for their role in a “heroin production kitchen,” and the third for “8.5 kilograms of crystal meth” in Hamedan. Their life stories, even before their arrest, tell of poverty, unemployment, and desperate attempts to survive. None of these three had a criminal record. They were small members in the lower layers of smuggling networks, not the main designers and leaders of the drug mafia. They were small-time dealers who, according to their own accounts, had no motivation other than providing for their families. From the moment of their arrest to the time of their death sentence, the path for all of them has been filled with uncertainty, fear, and despair. Two of them have received their final death sentence in two to three years, and the third, after three years of uncertainty, has finally been spared from

Initial reaction to the death sentence

The initial feelings of prisoners after hearing their sentence vary from “shock” to “gradual acceptance”. The first prisoner says, “Two years after my arrest, I had endured so much psychological pressure that I was prepared to hear the execution order.” He adds, “In prison, there are rumors of execution every week. You hear so much that your mind becomes numb.” The second prisoner has a completely different state: “My world was destroyed. I had gone for 5 million tomans. I never thought I would receive the death sentence.” He describes the initial shock with a feeling of disbelief and anger. The third person, who was later saved from execution, recounts, “When I received my death sentence, I felt like my life was over, my family was also shocked. I attempted suicide several times, and the effects are still present. My left hand is no longer the same as before.”

Court and justice, or the lack thereof

None of the three prisoners consider their trial to be fair. All three have lawyers, but they describe it as “useless.” One says, “In the revolutionary court, the accused has no voice. The lawyer is useless.” The third prisoner describes it as follows: “The judges are trained to issue harsh sentences. It’s called a court, but the outcome is clear from the beginning.” According to them, the court session is usually short, superficial, and with minimal involvement from the accused or their lawyer. The second prisoner believes that if there was a real opportunity for defense, they would never have been sentenced to such a punishment: “They didn’t even let my lawyer defend me, they just said the case is clear. I wasn’t someone who deserved to be executed for five million tomans.”

The impact of the death penalty on one’s perspective towards life

The experience of life with a death sentence is a collapse of hope for all of them. The first prisoner says, “Life is over. I have been in prison for seven and a half years. Before I was imprisoned, my car was worth twenty million tomans, now it’s worth eight hundred million tomans. Time has been lost, life has been lost.” The second one says, “I have become hopeless. I have nothing left to lose. I have two children whose future has become dark.” And the third, who is now begging for mercy from the prison guards, says bitterly, “I wish I was executed. Thirty years of imprisonment is a slow death. In this situation, no one will marry me. I have no future.”

Time, nights, and endless nightmares

Prisoners say that the concept of time has disappeared for them. Nights do not free them from the nightmare of death. The first prisoner says, “Every Tuesday night, we only sleep with the fear of who will be next tomorrow.” The second one adds, “Every night I wonder if I will be executed or not.” This shared nightmare has taken hold of their minds like haunting shadows. The third one says, “I work during the day, but at night I think about a future that may not even exist. Even after a sentence reduction, the thought of execution remains in my mind.”

The impact of judgment on the family

All of the interviewees talk about the collapse of their families. One was the head of two families and had three children, the oldest of whom is six years old. The second one also has two children and says that after the verdict, they lost their spouse and children. The third one sadly says, “My family was not criminal. When I received the death sentence, everyone’s attitude towards me changed. Some of my friends and relatives cut off ties with me. It was hard for my mother to see her son sentenced to death.”

Hope for salvation and a view towards execution

None of them have any real hope of overturning the verdict. One says, “There is no justice in this government, so there is no hope.” Another knows hope as “one percent.” They all have the same opinion about execution: “This punishment is neither deterrent nor corrective.” According to one of them, “We were workers, not criminals. Real mafias are never executed.” The second prisoner believes that the judicial system does not differentiate between major criminals and weak individuals: “We are executed for a few kilograms of drugs. Those who move billions are set free.”

Final words

At the end of the conversation, all three have a message for society. The first prisoner emphasizes, “Before issuing a death sentence, thorough investigations must be conducted,” and addresses the judiciary, “If your own child makes a mistake for the first time, will you execute them?” The second one says that the laws are flawed and “real criminals are never executed,” and the third, with a bitter and honest tone, says, “The head of the judiciary must do something so that the prisoner can return to society after five years, not be forced to commit crimes again.”

These three narratives, although heard from three different individuals, have a unified voice: the voice of a generation that has been condemned from the beginning in the bed of poverty and injustice, a generation that today, from behind bars, speaks not for its own salvation but to be “heard” and listened to.

Interviewer: Amir Aghaei
Originally published in Khat-e Solh (Peace Mark) monthly magazine on April 21, 2025.