The Triangle of Blood in the Islamic Republic, S. Rouzbeh

Blood-shedder, blood-washer, blood-drinker

S. Rouzbeh

These days, the Islamic Republic speaks of “avenging blood” more than ever. It calls the blood of its own dead unforgettable, talks of revenge, and uses the media, pulpits and official platforms to keep it alive; it has even set a reward for it.

But right at this point, a simple question confronts us: what has a government that presents itself as an avenger of blood done with the blood of those it is itself accused of shedding, and how should the leader and those who ordered and approved the massacre be made to answer?

Perhaps part of the answer can be summed up in three words: blood-shedder, blood-washer and blood-drinker.

These three words are not intended as legal or academic terms. They are metaphors for seeing three different faces of one mechanism: blood is shed in one place; elsewhere, efforts are made to erase its traces from the official account; and somewhere else, the judicial apparatus takes the life of a person who was not killed in the street by issuing and carrying out a death sentence.

Blood-shedder: when bullets take the place of answers

The first facet is the most obvious.

The history of the Islamic Republic includes numerous cases of execution, street repression, shooting at protesters, torture and deaths in detention. But we do not need to draw up a long list of victims to see this first facet. I tried to name one example for each facet. The name Mahsa Jina Amini is enough to bring to mind one of the most important chapters of this history.

Mahsa died in Shahrivar 1401, after being arrested by the Guidance Patrol. From the outset, the government presented its own account of the cause of her death, but the United Nations Independent International Fact-Finding Mission later concluded that her death in state custody was unlawful and resulted from physical violence.

Mahsa’s death itself became the start of widespread protests, and the government’s response to those protests further expanded the “blood-shedder” facet. The UN Fact-Finding Mission documented cases of killing, torture, sexual violence and other grave human rights violations, and considered some of these acts to amount to crimes against humanity.

Here, bloodshed is not only the end of a life; it is the beginning of another stage: what should be done with the account of that bloodshed?

Blood-washer: when the traces of blood must be erased

“Blood-washer” may be the least familiar word in this triangle, and for that reason its meaning needs to be made clear.

I do not mean someone who literally washes blood; I mean an apparatus that, after a death, tries to erase responsibility from the account of it: the cause of death is changed, another version is constructed, the victim is blamed, or the family is pressured to remain silent and accept the official account.

The case of Nika Shakarami is one of the clearest examples through which to examine this mechanism.

Sixteen-year-old Nika disappeared during the 1401 protests, and her body was later handed over to her family. Entirely different accounts of how she died were published. Based on its own investigations, Amnesty International reported that Nika had died from fatal blows to the head and that her family had been pressured to accept the official account that she had fallen from a building and died by suicide.

The importance of this case lies not only in how a teenage girl died. The more important issue is the battle over the account of her death that began after she died.

This is where “blood-washer” takes on meaning.

Blood has been spilled, but now it must be washed from public memory—not with water, but with news, interviews, television, the official narrative, silence and pressure.

And perhaps one of the most important questions in this article is this: who decides which blood must remain in society’s memory and which must be erased from it?

Blood-drinker: when the judicial system takes life

But not everyone who takes part in the protests is killed in the street. Some are arrested, taken to detention centres and prisons, and then brought before the judicial system.

This is where we can see the third side of this triangle: “blood-drinker”.

This word, too, is a metaphor. It does not mean literally drinking blood; it refers to a structure that holds the power to take human life, in which the death penalty can become part of the mechanism through which power is exercised.

Mohsen Shekari is one of the best-known examples.

He was arrested during the 1401 protests and sentenced to death on charges of “moharebeh” (enmity against God); in Azar of that same year, he was hanged. He was the first protester to be executed in connection with the “Woman, Life, Freedom” protests. The UN Human Rights Office objected to the handling of his case and the absence of the necessary guarantees of a fair trial.

Here, no bullet is fired in the street. The form and appearance of the exercise of power have changed: arrest, a case file, a court, a sentence and, finally, the gallows.

In colloquial Persian, we have a bitter expression: “to put people’s blood in a bottle”—meaning to subject someone to such pressure and suffering that life becomes difficult for them and those around them. A prisoner sentenced to death faces more than the moment when the sentence is carried out; the wait for death, uncertainty and pressure on the family are also part of the experience that must be considered when examining the death penalty.

Whose blood deserves to be avenged?

But the central contradiction only becomes clear here.

On one side, the government holds ceremonies for those whose blood it calls “martyrs”, puts their images on walls, speaks about them on television and radio, and sometimes presents vengeance for their blood as a duty.

On the other side are families who want to know the truth about the deaths of their children, or who strive for justice.

So the issue is not just blood; it is the political value assigned to blood.

One person’s blood can be sanctified, its memory preserved, and vengeance for it regarded as a virtue; another’s can be denied, recast through a changed narrative, or forgotten.

And this is where the three sides meet:

Blood-shedder, blood-washer, blood-drinker.

These three words are not a judicial verdict on every individual case. They are a framework for posing a larger question about the structure of power: what relationship does a government that speaks today of avenging blood have with the right to life, truth and the pursuit of justice for all victims?

If blood gives rise to a right to seek justice, that right cannot depend on the victim’s political affiliation.

One cannot cry out for vengeance over one person’s blood and demand silence over another’s.

Perhaps before speaking of avenging blood, one question must be answered:

Whose blood? And why should one person’s blood be avenged while another’s is washed away? Who will be held to account before history?

S. Rouzbeh