All language subtitles for Seven.Winters.in.Tehran.2023.1080p.WEB-DL.AAC2.0.H.264-KUCHU

This is a call

from a prisoner at Shahr-e Rey Prison.

I, Reyhaneh Jabbari, am 26 years old,

I'm about to be hung,

but I'm not afraid.

I want to tell everyone my story.

I want people to hear it

and then judge it as they wish.

And if they wish,

they can pull the rope
tighter around my neck.

I want them to know

what happened to me at 19

that made me no longer fear death.

My dear mother,

I want to finish this
part as soon as possible

because I'm afraid

there's not much time left for writing.

I'll give these letters to a kind woman

who'll soon be released.

All my belongings in this world

fit on a bunk bed in Shahr-e Rey Prison.

What am I doing here?

Where is my home?

Reyhaneh, your hair's visible.

This is Reyhaneh.

My daughter is shy.

I lived free of pain and suffering,

in a home built with love.

I, Reyhaneh,

the eldest daughter of
a family with three girls,

was a 19-year-old university student,

full of ideas and longing for progress.

On a spring day in 2007,

I was in an ice cream parlor,

talking on the phone to a client

I was designing a booth for

at an international fair.

When my call was over,
a middle-aged man,

who was sitting with his friend,
approached me.

He said: "I happened to hear

that you're designing
a booth for a trade fair.

I want to convert my place into a clinic.

I'm a plastic surgeon."

I was bursting with excitement.

I, Reyhaneh, got to know Dr. Sarbandi

and his friend Sheikhi that day.

Reyhaneh had her life together.

She was open to all
the challenges it holds.

She was constantly on the move

and ready to overcome

all obstacles on the way to her dreams.

Her character and attitude were ready

for a modern, 21st-century life.

I promised myself that if I had a daughter,

I would protect her
rights the same as a son's.

Society doesn't give

equal rights to girls,

so our aim right from the start

was to protect our girls' rights.

For many years now,
I haven't seen my home.

I lay awake again last night,

going over what's happened.

On that day, my cellphone rang.

It was Sarbandi.

He asked to meet up at the place

he wanted to convert into a clinic.

Fifth floor.

Next to the lift, there was a door.

Dr. Sarbandi opened it with his key.

I was shocked.

This wasn't a commercial space.

I left the door open.

He asked me to take off my scarf,
but I was scared.

I looked at the rooms,

sketched everything and took notes.

Then I went back.

He came towards me from his prayer mat.

The sofa was covered with a bed sheet now.

My eyes caught the door.
It was closed.

He came towards me.

I ran for the door.

I turned the door handle,
but it was locked.

I wanted to scream,
but I couldn't make a sound.

"You're stuck now.
I'm going to take care of you."

I begged him: "You're a man of faith!

For God's sake, let me go."

He put his arms around my waist.

His moving hand on my body freaked me out.

He grabbed my waist with one hand,

and pulled my head back
by the hair with the other.

He pushed his cheek
against mine and whispered:

"No one is here. No one can hear you."

I started to cry.

"You can't get out.
Stop making such a fuss!

What's the problem?"

I saw the knife on the table.

I picked it up and warned him:
"I'll stab you!"

"Look at my size!
Do you really want to stab me?"

He turned his back to me:

"Come on, go ahead and stab me!"

I raised my hand,

and with all the might of my soul,

my dreams and wishes, I stabbed him.

He turned around,
shocked: "You stabbed me!"

He pulled the knife out of his back.

Blood was splattered
on the mirror and the fan.

Angrier than before,
he came towards me

with his bloody fist raised.
I kicked the door.

I heard a key turn.
The door opened.

It was Sheikhi,
Sarbandi's friend.

"What's going on?"

I didn't answer and ran out.

My cellphone showed a call.
It was Mom.

I texted back: "I'm on my way home."

I wanted to cry out loud

from the bottom of my heart

and tell her what happened, but I didn't.

I'd fallen asleep in front of the TV.

Sometime in the night,
when I got up to go to bed,

I saw a man coming out of Reyhaneh's room.

I said: "Who are you?"

Then I saw Reyhaneh leaving her room.

She was wearing a coat and a headscarf,

as if she was going out.

I said: "What's going on here?"

I was about to call my husband.

The guy was a police sergeant.

He opened his jacket slightly

and I saw his gun.

"Don't wake anybody up."

The man, who was called Shamloo,

would eventually
investigate Reyhaneh's case.

Before they drove away,
I woke my husband:

"They've arrested Reyhaneh!"

We waited
until Reyhaneh's interrogation was over.

Around 5 or 6 a.m., she came out,

accompanied by some policemen.

I hugged her.

She whispered: "They want to turn this

into a political case."

I asked: "What do you mean by political?"

She said: "One thing happened,

but they're twisting the facts."

On Monday, all the newspapers,

Iran, Shahrvand,

Jam-e-Jam, etc.,
printed this headline:

"Surgeon murdered by designer girl!"

They wrote: "The two met in a restaurant,

and then the murder took place."

Her eyes were blanked out,
but we recognized her.

She was portrayed like a serial killer,

like a scary criminal
you don't want to meet.

I never imagined that one day

I would see a picture like that of someone

I'd shared so many important moments with.

What had happened?

We couldn't talk to Reyhaneh.

We could only read the news.

We didn't know what had happened,

our child wasn't at home,

and we had thousands of questions.

Had she killed someone?
How had she done it?

Why had she done it?
Was she having an affair?

The first time they came
to search the house,

they rummaged through Reyhaneh's room

from top to bottom.
They found nothing.

The second time they came,

they searched the room so long

that we started to have doubts.

We even went to the judicial building

to see Shamloo.

We asked if we could
get a lawyer for Reyhaneh.

He said we didn't have the right to one.

They didn't even let us
get a lawyer for our child.

At the entrance, someone told us:
"This Sarbandi guy

was a big shot in the secret service.

But you didn't hear that from me!"

He was no ordinary person.

We were really scared.

We didn't even feel comfortable at home.

We thought:
"What if they break into our home?

What if they bug us
and listen to what we say?"

Pressure, doubt, insomnia.

You wanted to say something,
but after one word

someone would point at the suspected bugs

and you'd shut up again.

They wore us down psychologically,

we didn't feel safe at home anymore.

Three huge men were
waiting for me in a small room.

"Tell us how the murder happened."

"When I was attacked by Dr. Sarbandi,

I defended myself by stabbing him, once."

"Don't play games,
girl. Tell us the truth!"

"What I told you is the truth."

They yelled at me, one after the other.

"You think you're a smart ass?

We've broken bigger people here than you."

I felt something hit my back.

My skin burst open.

I screamed at the top of my lungs.

When they returned me to the cell,

prostitutes and addicts

softly stroked my bruised skin.

And for the first time in my life,

I associated kindness with these women.

Women that I used to ignore

when I saw them on the street.

One of them cried with me
and whispered in my ear:

"I hope these bastards all die!"

Honey, can you answer my questions?

What's your name?

- What's your name?
- Reyhaneh.

- Reyhaneh what?
- Jabbari.

- What's your mother's name?
- Shole Pakravan.

- What's your father's name?
- Fereydoon Jabbari.

Daddy!

Sharare! Sharare!

Fereydoon is here. Come on!

Hi!

What?

You can't reach it!

You can't reach it!

Transfer to Evin prison, isolation cell,

with an injured body and a soul

crushed by Shamloo's fatal blow:

"Your parents don't want
you anymore. They said:

'Kill her,
we never had a daughter like that.'"

We went to the police station every day,

but we didn't know where she was.

I said: "I'm dying of
worry! I want to see her."

Shamloo said: "No."

If she sees you,
it will give her strength.

Your children's upbringing
was too European.

You gave your teenage daughter

"her own mobile phone.
This is what that leads to."

Doubts started entering my mind:

Oh God, maybe it was my fault?

Iran.

They searched our home again.

The moment I entered her room,

one of them lifted Reyhaneh's mattress

and said:

"Here's the knife sheath.
Put it in the report."

I was shocked as hell.

They'd searched this room several times

and we'd tidied it up.

How could I have replaced the mattress,

put the blanket on top

and never seen this knife sheath?

Suddenly,
Shamloo said to my youngest daughter:

"Shahrzad, you're under arrest

for being an accessory to murder."

They took me into a room for interrogation.

A young girl was hanging by her hands.

The girl was moaning.

Her face was pale

and her lips were cracked from her tears.

The interrogator sat in front of me:

"Soon, we're going to

get your little sister.

How long do you think she'll last,

hanging by her hands?"

I went crazy inside.

He described in detail

what they would do to my little sister.

Helpless, I asked for a way out.

"Confess that you bought
the knife beforehand."

I did what he asked

and breathed a sigh of relief.

They took me to a room.

A man I didn't know
started asking me questions.

I said I didn't know anything.

After a few more questions,
he said: "You can go."

I was so happy that they didn't arrest me.

For the moment, it was very good news.

When she came back home, she was calm.

But things were stirring inside Shahrzad.

Her hair and eyebrows started to fall out.

All over her face and body she had eczema.

Her hair kept falling out.

They ought to be ashamed,

arresting a 14-year-old girl.

Police station? What for?

And nobody is responsible.

They torture you

with a fluorescent lamp, kept on 24/7.

I nervously paced my 9-square-meter cell.

I slapped myself in the face.

Slapping myself made a
sound and caused pain,

so it was real.

I knew Reyhaneh was in the cell opposite.

She didn't give any sign of it, though.

Another prisoner told me

she was very sad,

slept during the day, lay awake at night,

was hardly eating.

We spoke through the door slot.

I asked her: "Are you asleep?"

She said: "When will they let us out?"

My first impression of her:

a 19-year-old, inexperienced girl.

One incident had turned her life

totally upside down.

I warned her about the
women she'd meet in prison:

criminals, smugglers and drug addicts.

Parvaneh constantly told
me how important it was

to avoid forced confessions.

But I'd already made
some major confessions,

including a politically-motivated murder

and several love affairs.

Some time after I was released,

I met Shole.

Times were difficult for me

due to my political activities.

I suspected that Shole's phone was tapped,
too.

A new arrest could cost me my life.

I met her in a park close to my place.

I told her

that she should be proud of her daughter.

That she would never have
killed someone in anger,

only to defend herself.

I told her as much as I could.

She asked me about torture in prison.

I thought the more she knew,

the better she might be
able to help Reyhaneh.

My mom and I went to
the prosecutor's office.

Mom was really unwell.
She wrote an appeal,

saying she couldn't
cope with her daily routine.

That she was very sick,

needed to see her daughter.

She asked if she could visit her.

Her request was refused.

Mom started screaming

and made a scene in the hallway.

The next morning, they called us:

"Mrs. Jabbari?
This is Mr. Shamloo's office.

They just brought Reyhaneh in.

If you come right now, you can see her."

I put the phone down and said:

"We can go see Reyhaneh."

Everybody got up. We raced there.

I'd heard of Evin Prison before

but I'd never been there.

You could see from the highway

that it was very big.

Its walls and guard towers

are spread over the whole mountain.

The day before,
when my mom was screaming,

I'd thought she was
only making things worse.

But the next day I was like: "Well done,
Mom."

It was such a great feeling

to see her again after two months.

To see her and hug her.

Her face looked sadder.

She was probably pleased,

but her eyes looked sad.

It was so joyful!

Imagine, two months.

I asked her: "Reyhaneh, are you hurt?"

Less than two minutes later,
Shamloo came in.

"Now, Miss Reyhaneh,

tell me, have you been tortured?

"Your mother's complained about me."

I wish I'd had my mother's courage,

but I didn't and said nothing.

My mother said:

"No matter what happens,

good or bad, I adore you."

Shamloo replied: "She
certainly isn't good."

Mom looked him in the face and said:

"Well, if you don't want her,
I'll take her."

Shamloo said: "Our
meeting is over. Get out!"

I heard Dad's voice:

"Sweetheart, take care. I love you."

I was in seventh heaven!

So, my family was interested
in my fate after all.

I was put into

the general population at Evin prison.

I got to know the dark side of society.

Summer was over.
We had to go back to school.

Life began to feel a little more normal

and our daily routine kicked in.

Only on Tuesdays, we kept time free

to visit Reyhaneh.

That was like an unwritten law for us.

The rest of the time,
I did all kinds of stuff,

but on Tuesdays I missed my last class.

After the visits,
we were completely exhausted.

I, Reyhaneh Jabbari,

experienced my first New
Year away from home.

I was angry about what had happened to me.

"How come I've lost everything?"

I hated Sarbandi.

Last night I couldn't write.

My head, my body, everything hurt.

At 9 a.m., I was sent to court.

They gave me 30 lashes.

I didn't cry,
I didn't scream, I didn't beg.

I felt humiliated, debased.

Is being whipped fair?

The sentence was executed: 30 lashes

for having "a forbidden
affair without zinā,"

a relationship outside marriage,

but without sexual intercourse.

How was that possible?

Sarbandi had tried to rape her

and Reyhaneh was being punished?

Can you believe it?

You're convicted

even if you're the one who was raped.

Those 30 lashes were given

even before Reyhaneh got a trial.

I was stunned,

speechless and very sad.

We met with four lawyers.

None of them would take the case.

I even asked one of them:

"Why won't you take the case?"

"Because I'm not looking for trouble."

I went to Evin prison.

After listening to Reyhaneh's testimony

and reading the file thoroughly,

I had the feeling that this
was not a normal case.

That it was a trial with people

pulling strings in the background.

Powerful people connected
to the secret service,

for whom it would have been unpleasant

if it had turned out

that one of them was
involved in such a case.

The hearing took place

a year and a half after her arrest.

We were excited because
we thought that in court,

our child couldn't be found guilty.

We saw Sarbandi's mother,
his wife, his brother,

all the family members for the first time.

The women were wearing chador.

You could see from afar
that they were his family.

They looked very religious.

I had to go to court in
order to gain my freedom.

I decided

to expose all those who'd tormented me.

I would explain

the contradictions in my confessions.

The judge would be convinced by my logic.

The court hearing began
with Judge Kohkamari.

The prosecuting attorney had requested

punishment for premeditated murder.

According to Islamic law,

a person who has murdered another person

or intentionally caused
someone physical harm

is sentenced to blood revenge.

Blood revenge means

harming the perpetrator in the same way,

making them pay an eye for an eye.

The dead man's family

demanded Reyhaneh's execution.

After that, Reyhaneh testified.

When she talked about

Sarbandi touching her,

Jalal, Sarbandi's eldest son, shouted:

"Nonsense!

My father was of great
service to this country!

He did a lot for the Revolutionary Guards."

Jalal interrupted Judge
Kohkamari several times.

Kohkamari told Jalal:

"If you say one more word,
I'll kick you out.

You may only speak when it's your turn."

They paused the hearing
and Reyhaneh came out.

All of a sudden, she turned pale.

I said: "What's wrong, my dear?"

She said: "Nothing, nothing's wrong."

The hearing continued.

A long time after the hearing

she told me: "Do you know

what happened that day?"

There were two main guys who tortured her.

Reyhaneh recognized them

sitting among the people in court.

With his head,

one of them pointed to
the end of the hallway.

Reyhaneh turned her head

and saw the other one

making this gesture...

He was the one who'd burned my back.

When I was on the ground
and curled up in pain,

he kicked me in the head with his boot.

The same man kicked me in my stomach.

My heart was beating so fast.

I knew if I said a word,

I'd have to deal with them again.

My hands began to shake.

Seeing the two men, she grew hesitant

and didn't talk about her torture in court.

Judge Kohkamari had concerns

about the credibility of the investigation.

"Let's say that this girl
was young and naive.

Let's even say she's an unbeliever.

Why was a devout middle-aged religious man

alone at his own place
with a female stranger?"

The answer was silence.

I knew that this judge

could find out everything
that happened to me.

Judge Kohkamari said:

"The investigations are insufficient

and incomplete.

We need a reinvestigation."

But then Kohkamari
was transferred from Tehran.

Judge Tardast took his place.
Who was Tardast?

A Revolutionary Guard,
an Islamic scholar

who'd never studied law.
I asked myself:

"Who's pulling the strings in this trial?"

I can say for sure

that a lot of evidence was destroyed.

Evidence that would have
been in Reyhaneh's favor.

In all of Reyhaneh's statements,

she'd mentioned the name Sheikhi.

The secret service didn't want

the name Sheikhi mentioned at this trial.

Everything turned in favor of Mr. Sarbandi.

The question of

why a religious man was alone with a girl

was never raised again.

The new big questions were:

"If it was self-defense,

why didn't you shout
to alert the neighbors?

"Why didn't you jump out of the window?"

Once, Judge Tardast

was quoted in the media as saying:

"The father is an alcoholic

who beats his wife and children.

This family is dysfunctional."

Reading these lines felt very strange.

I don't remember him

ever yelling at us or hitting us.

Besides being a father,
he was always a friend.

Hello, I'm Shahrzad.

I've filmed reports

about the Jabbari family in the past.

As you can see,

I'm very close to the Jabbari family.

He's stretching out his arm

so that I can lay down.

Look!

Look!

This is the Jabbari family.

Shole is in the kitchen,

and this is Fereydoon,

Reyhaneh's father.

Look, he's kissing me.

He kisses me all the time.

Without listening to my story,

my lawyer, or my defense,

they started prosecuting me in court.

Judge Tardast began to attack me.

You could see the hatred in his face.

All his questions were phrased

as if I was a prostitute.

In one session,
he went so far as to tell me:

"You should've let yourself be raped

and filed a complaint later."

I wonder if Tardast
would have said the same

to his own daughter in that situation?

Does that mean that all
the women on the street

who want to live a modern and free life

are fair game for rape?

I'm extremely proud of the fact

that Reyhaneh resisted being raped.

I never blamed Reyhaneh

for what she did.

On the contrary,

I believe that resisting
such people is good.

I've often thought about

what I would do in Reyhaneh's situation.

At her age and level of experience,

I would've lacked the strength,

I wouldn't have defended myself,

I would've let myself be raped.

And now, with the knowledge

that self-defense
doesn't lead anywhere in Iran,

I would let myself be raped.

COURT VERDICT DECEMBER 16, 2009, TEHRAN

The defendant found the victim's wish

to sleep with her unbearable.

Due to her narcissistic personality,

her excessive expectations

and even though there was no threat to her,

she stabbed the victim in the shoulder

with a kitchen knife in
an act induced by anger.

In accordance with the religious lifestyle

and character of the victim's family,

in court,
the murdered man's wife and daughter

wore hijab and chador,
his son a religious beard.

Since the victim was praying,
it seems plausible

that the victim intended

to temporarily marry the defendant.

Although it does not seem that

the defendant's intention
was to kill the victim,

we consider her act
to be premeditated murder.

The defendant Reyhaneh Jabbari is condemned

to blood revenge

by means of hanging by the family.

In the name of God.

Dear Shole,

I'd be lying if I said

that I was full of hope

that I will survive.

I'm going to die.

As written in the verdict,

I'm sentenced to death by hanging.

My whole life has been destroyed.

It's all just pretend: my laughter, crying,

happiness and sadness.

Now, I am a lie too.

I want to shout out that I'm scared.

I'm scared of handcuffs and blindfolds.

I'm scared of the rope around my neck.

My heart aches
when I see how you're hoping.

I feel pity for you.

Why do you love me?

I wish you'd hate me!

I wish you hadn't given birth to me at all!

When someone is sentenced to blood revenge,

the family of the murderer

addresses the family of the victim

and asks for their forgiveness.

The law leaves the right of execution

to the family of the victim.

In my view, that's pure revenge.

We knew
that the Sarbandi family could forgive her.

It wouldn't be easy,

but we were willing to do anything

to get them to do that.

Jalal was their eldest son.

In traditional families,
boys are more important.

So he was the head of the family.

He was the one

the negotiations and decisions depended on.

I found out Jalal's mother's phone number.

I called her. She was very sad.

For five minutes, she yelled at me.

I listened in silence.

Then she started to cry,

and, slowly, I began talking:

"I know how difficult your situation is."

I know that you don't want your son

to go through the experience
of killing my daughter.

Let's join hands

so that your child won't
cause someone's death

"and mine will survive."

We talked for over an hour.

She said: "OK, let's talk again tomorrow."

I called the next day
and the day after that.

But she didn't answer.

But I didn't give up and kept calling.

Time has passed very quickly.

I'm facing the death penalty

despite an unjust trial.

You start reviewing the past

and remembering details from your life.

Remembering freedom

makes you desire it and you become tired.

I admit that I sometimes miss home badly.

Home is something that many women in prison

have never experienced.

These women didn't choose their fates.

They were forced to follow a path

they didn't want to follow.

I realized that even in harsh conditions

a spark can create

some happiness and positivity.

To help forget my fear,
I celebrated my birthday.

My third away from home.

We danced and fooled around like crazy,

we laughed and enjoyed the moment.

I spent

one of the best days of my life

among the most oppressed women,

who had spent their entire lives

in prison or on the street.

In 2011, they transferred

all non-political prisoners out of Evin.

They were transferred
to Shahr-e Rey prison.

During our first visits,

the building was still under construction.

In the waiting room,

where we had to give our names,

there was no roof.
Birds were flying around.

We didn't know much about the cells,

except that there was

no air conditioning and no windows.

In the visiting rooms, it was hot

and very dirty.

The conditions were far worse than in Evin.

I've spent another day

in the mass grave known as Shahr-e Rey.

Here, 2,000 women

are imprisoned for
minor and serious crimes.

Every day,

some are freed and others are imprisoned.

Yesterday, 11 prisoners went for execution.

9 were hung, 2 were spared.

Routine life continues in prison.

I was imprisoned when I was 15 years old.

Some prisoners were friends with Reyhaneh

for quite some time.

They were a kind of family,

and Reyhaneh was basically the matriarch.

There was a sister, a brother,

a son, a daughter,

and I was the only grandchild.

Reyhaneh spoiled me, took care of me.

When I messed up

and the others went at me,

she supported me.

The only real thing
that existed there for me

was my relationship with Reyhaneh.

For 5 years now,

I've been listening to
these women's stories.

I had no idea that one day

I would have to bear
a great responsibility.

Mina told me that her mother,

till the last day of her life,

had forced Mina and
her sisters into prostitution

so her two brothers could live in comfort.

Mina told me

that the first time her mother "sold" her,

she was 12.

She told me how, after a while,

she got used to everything.

She even learned

to use especially ugly tricks

to get other girls

to work in that profession.

Her victims were girls like Mahsa,

who'd been raped
by her brother since she was 11.

Niusha was another young girl.

After they divorced,
neither parent wanted her.

She had no choice but to live

in public toilets in the city's parks.

Suffering from hunger,
she began to sell drugs.

Unsurprisingly, she ended up in prison.

I was alone in my room.

My father and his friend
were in the living room.

I didn't notice
that my father had left the house.

This man entered my
room and came towards me,

and then all those things happened...

The whole time,

I was just waiting for
my father to come in.

While it was happening,

I hoped he would save me.

I was waiting for my father to come home,

so I could tell him everything.

But then the man left.

Several hours later my father came home.

And the moment I saw his face,

I realized right away

that he already knew what had happened.

How can a man understand

the devastated soul of a woman after rape?

How can a man understand

the shocked mind and body

of a woman

while she is caught in the
hands of an aroused man?

The laws of rape and self-defense

are written by men.

If you resist, you're guilty.

If you defend yourself, you're guilty.

If you comply, you're also guilty.

I'll try to raise my voice to the public

with all my heart,

on behalf of all women who've been raped

or exposed to a similar danger.

Even if it costs me my life.

From behind bars,
she made her voice heard:

"Help my cellmates avoid execution."

She gave interviews
and got journalists involved.

She managed everything
from inside the prison.

She motivated us
to get mercy for her cellmates.

When we were driving to Shahr-e Rey Prison,

Mom posted on Facebook

to show our constant support for Reyhaneh.

Many people joined because of her posts.

On the way,
we noticed our car was being pursued

by a police motorcycle.

When we arrived,
there was a lot of police there.

They blocked the road into the prison,

so we stood at the side of the highway.

Don't resist

- if I get arrested.
- We won't.

Kids, I'm really strong.

Don't worry at all. No worries.

We just wish you luck.

Great! Exactly!

- Bye!
- Don't worry.

- Do you have a permission?
- No, I...

- No.
- Whose parents are you?

Reyhaneh's.

- Family name?
- Jabbari.

They filmed everyone and everything,

even the car license plates.

So Dad started to film them.

The situation escalated.

Where shall we meet?

- Near Grandma's house.
- OK.

They're afraid of us because we're fighting

this country's execution laws.

I really mean it.

Stop terrorizing our children!

Stop scaring us mothers!
We're sick of this!

We've mourned our children enough.

As long as I can remember,

my parents had problems and fights.

My father was a drug addict.

My mother murdered my father

and then kept telling my sister and me:

"We'll tell the police
we killed him together.

They'll never execute
three people for one killing."

My mother, my sister and I

were all sentenced to blood revenge.

All three of us were sentenced to death.

My sister was 11 years old at the time.

When I came to Shahr-e Rey,

I was still claiming

that we'd all killed my father together.

The self-confidence
Reyhaneh instilled in me

helped me to believe in myself

so that I could testify in court

and say that I didn't commit this crime.

When I was packing to leave the prison,

I saw Reyhaneh waiting
for me outside the door.

She hugged me and said:

"I'll join you soon

and we'll do all the
things we planned to do.

You'll have to deal with me

if you get into trouble."

She had a special song, just for me.

"I'm the little grandchild,

I didn't close the door of our home,

so the boys came by,

saw me, fainted and died."

I sing this song now
for my daughter Melodie.

With Reyhaneh's voice...

echoing in my ears forever.

Little bird Ashi Mashi,
don't sit on our roof.

Don't sit on our roof.

When it rains, you'll get wet.

When it snows, you'll be a snowball.

And you'll fall into a
pool of colorful dreams.

In my cell in Shahr-e Rey Prison,

I spend my days

at below-zero temperatures.

This is my seventh winter here.

In the winter,

many well-known women were executed.

I don't want to live like this anymore.

She had every right to
want to know her fate.

And we had the right to want

to keep her alive as long as possible.

Every extra day was precious to us.

I discussed this with Reyhaneh for a month.

I said: "Let's not rush.

Don't draw their attention to you.

They've announced a sentence, but,

as you can see,
they aren't carrying it out."

They had a legal
supervisor called Ms. Haji.

Reyhaneh insisted:

"Ask Ms. Haji to sort things out faster."

I sent a message to Ms. Haji

and spoke with her.

She said: "OK,

I'll let you know as soon as possible."

The next day, she called:

"Reyhaneh is already

on the execution list."

That moment, it got serious.

I found out Jalal's phone number.

Jalal played cat and mouse with me.

He made appointments,
but then he kept me waiting,

as if he was having doubts.

I always told him the truth

during our conversations

and showed him I wasn't his enemy.

Jalal said: "Treat me like your own son,

then you can ask for forgiveness."

Then we started texting each other.

Shole: You can tear
down the wall between us.

Give me Reyhaneh.
I'll be eternally grateful to you.

Jalal: You bring back my father.

I'll give you back your child.

Shole: My dear,
if revenge is the only thing

that will bring you peace, take me instead.

I wrote a post on Facebook:

"What I've hoped for 7
years wouldn't happen

has now happened.

My daughter

is on the execution list."

People rapidly joined the cause.

Our numbers swelled.

We won't allow this girl to be executed.

Thank God.

The power of the media
is greater than they think.

I did anything, even if it only had

a 1% chance of saving her.

Reyhaneh's case sparked a lot of interest

from far beyond Iran's borders.

Some papers put their
own reporters on the case.

For 7 years, Shole Pakravan
has been fighting for her daughter's life.

And it is a desperate fight, she tells us.

Death sentence for 26-year-old Iranian

for murdering a man

who she says was trying to rape her.

I was against Shole's actions.

Shole talked to opposition channels

and international media.

They disapproved of that.

I was quite worried about Shole.

I was warned that it
might be counterproductive

if the case caused an international stir.

According to the Islamic
Human Rights Commission,

the West is attacking the
sentence of blood revenge,

for example,
in the case of Reyhaneh Jabbari.

These campaigns here and abroad

are preventing forgiveness
by the victim's family,

as they're steering things
in a different direction.

It's claimed the girl is innocent

and that she was sexually assaulted.

We don't know the details of the case,

but she's been sentenced!

Nuclear talks were the
only reason for Westerners

to regularly meet with Iranian officials.

People from the Supreme
Leader's office told me

that Foreign Minister
Zarif was extremely upset:

"I have to comment on
this girl's case every day.

Kill her or release her,

so that we can move
on with our negotiations."

Mom, I want to tell you something.

During these 7 years,

I haven't smoked, nor taken drugs.

I have no scars from self-harm,

and I've never burned myself.

I have no enemies in the prison.

So just in case they tell you

I'd committed suicide

or overdosed on drugs

or that something
happened to me in a fight:

never ever!

I'm not scared of death.

But I like my life,
and I won't commit suicide.

FAMILY SARBANDIS TERMS OF FORGIVENESS

Jalal was willing to forgive Reyhaneh

if she would take back her accusation

that his father had tried to rape her.

I assume Jalal wanted
to retrieve his honor.

The family was badly
insulted on the Internet.

We were relieved, assumed that this case

would come to a good end.

I was really happy.

I asked Reyhaneh right away:

"Please write this letter:

'I was just a child then.
I was only 19 years old.

I didn't even know what rape meant.

Maybe this man didn't intend to rape me

"and I misinterpreted the whole thing.'"

My kind mother, dear Shole,

my beliefs have changed,

but you're not responsible for this.

You told us

the story of Nietzsche, the philosopher.

You said he taught us

to defend our values to the death.

I've learned that
sometimes you have to fight.

"Mom, for God's sake, stop!"

Once or twice she called me and said:

"When I call, I just want to talk about us.

If you want to go on about this,

I won't call you anymore."

I told her: "Reyhaneh,

my heart can't stand this anymore.

The pressure is too great for me.

All I want is for you to come back home."

"It was attempted rape, Mom!

How stupid would I have had to be

to mistake his advances

for anything other than rape?"

I told Shole that the Sarbandi family

still might not grant her mercy,
despite the letter.

"Don't pressure Reyhaneh
to write the letter."

The decision was hers.

I trusted her judgement completely.

"Do whatever you think is right."

Now, many years after the incident,

I've learned that a person's attitudes

are often different than they appear to be.

Sarbandi didn't learn
this lesson from life.

Otherwise, he would've known

that he had no right to force me,

no right to deceive me and harass me.

Bearing this injustice

is more difficult than facing death.

What could move her more
than my supplications,

those of her sisters,
her father and everyone else?

What motivation is stronger
than the will to live?

Why did she say no and reject the offer?

This is a call

from a prisoner at Shahr-e Rey Prison.

Mom, they keep sending me a message

to go to the prosecutor.
They won't give up.

I guess they'll cut the phone line too.

Do anything you can,

so that we can at least meet before...

Dear Reyhaneh,

tell me,
do they intend to take you by force?

Do you think

they intend to carry out the sentence?

I think so.
This much persistence is very strange.

My dear, do you think

- they really intend to execute you?
- I think so.

Where will they take you for the execution?

To Rajai Shahr? I don't know.

Rajai Shahr Prison.

Reyhaneh!

I'll always love you, darling.

We left for Rajai Shahr Prison.

Will they find peace when I'm dead?

Will this nightmare be over soon?

Oppression!

Around 7 p.m.,
they took her back.

- Why...
- Around 6 or 7 p.m.

Around 6 or 7 p.m.,
they took her back.

Towards Shahr-e Rey Prison.

You're yelling!
The prison is 2 km away.

She won't hear you!

I swear to God and the Qur'an!
They took her back!

Last week,
there were more than 20 executions.

We let the families come in to talk,

so that they could say their last words.

- You should've called us!
- We can't.

Only the judge is allowed to.

I'm scared!
I don't trust this system.

I'm staying here!

They won't execute her today.

Maybe tomorrow or the day after.

There was a large crowd gathered there.

The police came, patrol cars...

They shouted through the megaphone:
"Disperse!"

But no one moved.

The warden of Rajai
Shahr called and insisted

that Reyhaneh was no longer there.

I asked him: "Where have they taken her?"

We've been here outside the gate for hours.

"No one has come out. You're lying!"

Around 2 a.m., Reyhaneh called.

I shouted: "It's Reyhaneh!"

People heard me and
started shouting together:

"Reyhaneh, we love you! We love you!"

I said: "Reyhaneh, can you hear them?

We don't know these people,
but they love you."

Hello. This is Reyhaneh.

I'm still alive.
I'm fine, I'm breathing.

Thanks to all of those

who were worried or followed my case.

Please keep praying
for the issue to be resolved.

Thank you. Goodbye.

Free Reyhaneh!

FORGIVE REYHANEH

They gave us 10 days

to try again for a pardon.

We asked the chief prosecutor

to arrange a meeting with Sarbandi,

so we could talk to him.

We thought

that maybe we could change Jalal's mind.

Jalal said: "She just
has to tell the truth."

Reyhaneh told him:

"You know the truth.
What else can I say?"

Annoyed, Jalal said:

"My father never had a bad reputation.

If she doesn't say what I want,
she'll hang."

I started to cry:

"For God's sake, have mercy on me!"

This meeting is for
you two to find a solution

"and to save me, too!"

Reyhaneh said: "What kind of a man are you

that you can watch her cry?"

When she said this, Jalal started to cry.

"What am I supposed to do?

Don't make me suffer anymore!"

Jalal stood up and left the room.

Mr. Sarbandi,
I want to talk about the case

of Reyhaneh Jabbari

and your father, Morteza Sarbandi.

- Who is this?
- It's Masih Alinejad, a journalist.

I'm not in a good place
emotionally right now.

I don't want to be seen as a victim.

Well, I want to know what exactly

you expect from Reyhaneh Jabbari?

My point of view doesn't matter.

She should tell the truth.

If you read what she said, you'll see

that it's full of lies and inconsistencies.

More than 13 judges in this country

have reviewed the case and concluded

that she's lying.

Reyhaneh Jabbari's family
asks you for forgiveness.

Forgiveness is for those who don't lie

and don't make false accusations.

I'm sick of this war for my freedom.

The war between me and the Sarbandi family,

who I don't hate anymore.

Freedom isn't about breaking out

of these prison walls,

but out of the walls of my mind and soul.

I've forgiven Mr. Shamloo

for his false accusations.

I've forgiven Mr. Tardast

and all those involved in this case

who pressured me in every possible way.

And I've asked my father, mother

and my family to forgive them too.

It was October 24, 2014.

October 25 is the first day of Muharram.

In Sharia law,

blood revenge is not
allowed during Muharram.

Therefore, we were relieved to know

that we had at least two more months.

She wasn't going to be executed right away.

Sharare and I went to a
fashion show that Friday.

Friday is a holiday,
so there are no executions.

Sharare received a call from home:

Reyhaneh had called

and asked for the last meeting.

The last meeting on a holiday?
Impossible.

We spent two hours together.

Reyhaneh talked to Shahrzad and Sharare,

to Shole, to her grandparents, to me.

In those two hours,

I only looked at Reyhaneh.

For me, she and I were the only ones there.

I only looked at her.

She was under a lot of stress,

but she didn't show it.

She didn't want us to be affected.

She did her best.

Just as we were leaving,

she told me:

"Take care of the others.

This is our last goodbye."

It's like a scream from deep inside you:

"I want to hug her

and kiss her one last time!"

She walked two steps away.

I said: "Please come back again!

Just one more time!"

She came to me and whispered in my ear:

"Mom, please don't call me anymore."

Then she went through an iron door.

And then she was gone.

Outside, I immediately called Jalal:

"They're going
to carry out the execution tonight.

Do you know in which prison?"

Jalal panicked: "No. Nobody informed us."

Jalal and his family

had to be present at the execution.

They could forgive Reyhaneh

up to the last moment.

But if they didn't,

they'd have to pull the chair
from under her feet.

Shole: Break off contact with everyone

who's telling you to kill Reyhaneh.

Think about the future and your heart.

Jalal: Maybe Reyhaneh has news.

Pray that she confesses.

Shole: I pray that you'll be happy.

Jalal: God willing, we'll all find peace.

Did Jalal call?

No.

Look, Jalal texted:

"Pray that Reyhaneh talks."

They led her away to torture her.

They're going to kill her.
No! My darling!

No!

What time is it?

3:15 a.m.

God! I don't want to be without Reyhaneh.

Take my life!

- We're not allowed to shout here.
- To hell!

Fereydoon, go there.

Everything will be
alright. She'll come out.

She'll come out.

If she came out of the prison now,

what would you do to Jalal?

I'd hug and kiss him!

Though he wouldn't like it, I know.

But I would kiss him.

- Would you treat him like your own son?
- Yes.

No, let me be honest.

I told him I'd call him my son

once I loved him as much as Reyhaneh.

I don't know...

I still don't love him as much as Reyhaneh.

But I love him very much.

What you said, Mohammad...

Imagine if Jalal came out.

A man who'd been under pressure for hours.

So much pressure!

"Shall I kill her or not?" In this cold.

I'd go and hug him.

Or kiss him.

It's possible. It's possible.

It's possible, Shole.

God willing!

I want it so much.

I don't want anything else.

What's happened?

Is it over?

Did they execute her?

Leave me.

Morteza Sarbandi,
I'll meet you in the afterlife!

You've brought misery
to your children

and to mine!

That day,

I went to get Reyhaneh's body.

She was so beautiful.

So beautiful!

She was sleeping peacefully.

I long for the day

when no girl is raped anymore.

I long for the day

when no one takes advantage of their power.

I long for the day

when the rights of the
weak are not violated

just because they're weak.

I hope all these wishes come true one day.

Sweetheart, sleep.

Sweet Reyhaneh, sleep.

FOR REYHANEH JABBARI

Subtitling by SUBS Hamburg