Even Students Are Not Safe from the Violence of Deportation
What I witnessed that day was a human tragedy. A tragedy unfolding in silence, on the margins of media coverage, behind walls of indifference
By Tahir Rastagar
I have been a student in Iran for three years. Like many others, I used to leave for university in the morning and return to the dormitory at night. My days were filled with classes and thesis work — the usual concerns of a student. I would occasionally hear about the hardships migrants face, but only in passing. The voices rising from camps and detention centers felt distant and vague — echoes I heard but never truly believed.
That changed three days ago when one of my fellow students was arrested by the police. Despite having his passport and student ID with him, he wasn’t released. We tried to follow up yesterday, but got nowhere. Today, along with a few friends — including Ms. Zahra Hosseini, Ali Ahadi, and Ebrahimi — we went to inquire about his condition. It was then that I realized how costly my ignorance had been about situations of Afghan migrants and refugees in Iran.
The camp where my friend had been taken was nothing short of a scene of suffering, humiliation, and injustice. I’m not sure whether to call it a camp or a dungeon for people whose only “crime” is being migrants and refugees.
I saw a boy who couldn’t have been more than fourteen. The police were preparing to deport him. His mother stood outside, crying, screaming, begging. But the police's response was a whip — not compassion.
After much effort and with countless documents, we managed to get our friend released. But as we walked out, I saw something that will be forever etched in my memory: An elderly mother left alone — the rest of her family had been deported to Afganistan. Orphaned children, separated mothers, detained students, and eyes that screamed in silence.
What I witnessed that day was a human tragedy. A tragedy unfolding in silence, on the margins of media coverage, behind walls of indifference.
I did not write this piece for sympathy, but because we — the migrants — must be our own voice. These sufferings, if left untold, remain unseen. And what remains unseen is bound to repeat.
