As families hold 40th-day memorials and students continue demonstrations on university campuses, the country’s widening crisis has left athletes weighing personal conscience against state pressure.
In the early days of unrest, athletes across disciplines signaled support through Instagram posts. Before the January crackdown, former national football team captain Mohammad Khakpour responded online to the Supreme Leader’s characterization of protesters as “rioters.”
“One cannot expect perpetual silence from the people who are being crushed under the burden of high prices, unemployment, and insecurity and then have their voices silenced by labeling them as rioters.”
He added: “The people who come to the streets defenselessly have neither weapons nor a platform; they only have voices. Silencing their voices with force, bullets, batons, or fear neither solves the problem nor makes the wound smaller."
Some have gone further. Goalkeeper Rashid Mazaheri, long known for outspoken criticism, published a defiant Instagram post on Wednesday addressing the Supreme Leader directly: “Khamenei, beware that your rule on this divine land has ended.”
In the same message, he wrote that being a champion means standing against injustice, not winning medals: “We won’t bow our heads to you!”
The post was removed within hours. His wife wrote on Instagram that she feared for his life and would hold the government responsible for his safety. Supporters interpreted the message as confirmation he had been detained, though authorities have not commented and his whereabouts remain unclear.
The pressure has also reshaped national team rosters. Two women’s national team footballers preparing for the Women’s Asia Cup in Australia this month—Zahra Alizadeh and Kousar Kamali—publicly withdrew from the squad.
Kamali wrote: “When the heart is wounded and the soul is exhausted, football is no longer a refuge. I can’t pretend everything is normal.”
“This decision is not born of anger, but of awareness; it is not out of disrespect, but out of respect for my conscience. I say goodbye not to football, but to the national team — in the hope that one day it will again be possible to play for the people with a peaceful heart.”
Symbolic gestures have also drawn scrutiny. In recent weeks, some footballers have refrained from celebrating goals altogether or marked them with muted gestures reflecting protest or solidarity rather than triumph.
In several competitions, players have reportedly been barred from wearing black armbands or other signs of mourning.
According to Sami Sport FC, match supervisors have been instructed to suspend games if players use black clothing, ribbons or armbands. Facing possible disqualification and citing mounting security pressure, the club announced it would withdraw from the remainder of the season.
Two weeks earlier, Sami Sport players entered the pitch in black kits and armbands. After scoring, they covered their faces in a gesture of mourning rather than celebrating.
The episodes echo earlier moments when Iranian athletes declined to sing the national anthem—reminders that even arenas meant for national unity have become sites of political contest.
The stakes are likely to rise further this year. Iran has qualified for the World Cup, and all three of its group-stage matches are scheduled to be played in the United States. The tournament will place the team under intense international scrutiny, including from a large Iranian diaspora that has become increasingly vocal.
During the 2022 World Cup, many fans harshly criticized the national team and even called for a boycott, accusing players of indifference to the “Women, Life, Freedom” protests and to the state’s violent crackdown.
This time, the political climate is even more charged. Iranian society has grown more radicalized, repression much harsher and mistrust deeper than three years ago.
The government is likely to exert tight control over players to prevent any gestures of dissent on the sport’s biggest stage. But with global attention fixed on the team, even silence—or the absence of it—may carry political meaning.
