Six days after the Israeli bombardment began, I left my university dormitory to find a safer place. A friend of mine lived in Qom, so I went there and spent the night. The landlord came and said, “You have to leave, because the Revolutionary Guards are cracking down, and they’ve arrested several Afghans on charges of spying for Mossad.” So I left and spent the next few days at the homes of family and friends. I wanted to return to Afghanistan, but I had no money. The banks weren’t giving out cash, and bus tickets were either not available or were being sold for two to three times the price. I couldn’t leave, and I couldn’t stay. The environment was very hostile, and Afghans were accused of espionage. Of course, there were exceptions, but most people’s behavior was hostile and anti-Afghan.
On June 25, I went out in Qom with one of my friends, who is also a student. His computer keyboard was malfunctioning. Near the Hazrat Masouma Shrine, another friend joined us by the Qods Market. The repair shops were closed, so we went to Imam Hassan Mosque to charge his laptop. After a short while, we left. During this time, we were stopped and searched multiple times, and then it ended.
Around 12 o’clock, we called a Snapp (ride-hailing app) to leave, but the police stopped us again. They checked our documents and the computer and hurled insults at us non-stop. One of the officers told me, “There’s a report that you’ve been gathering information from people since this morning,” and pointing to my friend, he said, “This is the third person you’ve gotten information from.” They bombarded me with questions, trying to find a pretext. After a few moments of interrogation and insults, they ordered us to turn off our phones.
They took our laptops. We were put into a vehicle, and the interrogation continued. It seemed our answers weren’t giving them what they wanted. One of the officers slapped me lightly across the face. The insult of it hurt me deeply.
Eventually, two of us were taken to the police station, and one of us was sent home. All the officers at the station insulted us. Then they took us to a small room and forced us to strip. After much abuse and humiliation, they charged us with spying for Mossad and sent us, with an official letter, to the cyber intelligence division.
On the way there, they demanded one billion tomans [$16000] from each of us in exchange for our release. My friend replied, “If we had that kind of money, we wouldn’t be here.” So they took us to cyber intelligence. There, an officer told me, “There are videos of you gathering information from people—if you don’t confess, it’ll be worse for you.” I replied, “If such a video exists, show it to me—I’ll admit to the crime.” They kept insisting, and my answer stayed the same. In the end, they found nothing on our phones or laptops and released us.
During all those hours in detention, our minds raced with fears—from being deported to being executed. The officers said, “We can come up with a thousand reasons to keep you and punish you.” Even though we knew there was nothing incriminating on our devices, as the officers said, “Being Afghan is reason enough.”
Although my friend and I were not refugees or undocumented—we had valid student residency permits. But no one paid any attention to our student ID cards or legal documents.
On June 26, my friend, my brother, and I headed toward Tehran. At the Tehran checkpoint—south of the Qom–Tehran toll station, near Ahlul-Bayt University where I study—we were stopped. They searched our documents, phones, and laptops, but found nothing. One of the officers, whose bloodshot eyes looked like bowls of blood, hurled every vulgar and degrading insult he could think of at us.
I told the officer, “We are just ten steps away from the university’s security office—let’s go there and ask if I’m a student here or not.” He responded, “Shut up, you Afghan spy.”
I told another officer, “Please don’t insult us. If we’ve committed a crime, arrest us.” He asked his colleague not to insult us and to let us go. But the other officer wouldn’t back off. He started picking on our family photos—even commented on a blurry picture I had on my phone of our neighbourhood school back in Afghanistan. Then he ordered us to pick up trash from the street. Finally, after slapping us again, he let us go.
This is what Afghans are going through these days in Iran. There is little difference between the lives of those with legal residency and those without it. Afghans are suffering blatant and rampant racism.
Elham Asadi is a pen name.
