Wrestling, known as “koshti,” isn’t just a sport in Iran—it’s the very heartbeat of a nation, echoing through millennia of Persian history and identity. This ancient practice, steeped in honor, chivalry, and humility, has inspired generations of poets and storytellers, becoming a cornerstone of Iranian culture and heroism.
But this heritage is under attack. On the eve of Nowruz, the ancient Iranian New Year, a chilling act unfolded: the execution of Saleh Mohammadi, a gifted young wrestler, alongside two others. It was a deliberate message, a brutal reminder of who holds power, delivered while a nation braced for a celebration of renewal.
The charges—killing police officers, inciting violence, waging war against God—felt hollow, a pretext for silencing those who dared to honor a past the regime seeks to erase. The public hangings in Qom, the spiritual center of Iran, were a stark display of control, a chilling spectacle meant to instill fear.
This isn’t an isolated incident. The regime has a pattern of targeting those who embody Iranian pride and resilience. Mohammad Hossein Hosseini, a soccer player, Ali Pishevarzadeh, a water polo goalkeeper, and numerous other athletes are now reportedly detained, facing the same terrifying fate.
Human rights organizations warn of a looming catastrophe, describing the trials as shams built on torture and forced confessions. The international community is witnessing a systematic crackdown, a desperate attempt to extinguish the spirit of a nation.
The case of Navid Afkari, another star wrestler hanged in 2020, serves as a grim precedent. Despite a global outcry, the regime silenced a champion, demonstrating its willingness to sacrifice even its most celebrated figures.
This isn’t simply about sports; it’s about identity. Activists argue the regime is systematically eliminating Iran’s heroes to crush the nation’s soul. The execution of Saleh Mohammadi wasn’t just a punishment—it was a symbolic act of cultural annihilation.
The roots of this conflict lie in the 1979 revolution, a struggle to redefine what it means to be Iranian. Ayatollah Khomeini sought to replace a rich, pre-Islamic history with a strict interpretation of Shi’ism, dismissing figures like Cyrus the Great and Anushirvan the Just as insignificant or even malevolent.
But Iranians have resisted. They formed human barriers to protect ancient ruins, gathered at historical sites to chant pro-Iranian slogans, and even subtly reclaimed their heritage through the names they give their children—Shahan, meaning “king,” now eclipsing the traditional Mohammad.
Wrestlers, embodying Iran’s ancient traditions of strength and heroism, have become prime targets. The regime values their destruction as an example far more than any Olympic medal they might win. It’s a tragically ironic strategy, given wrestling’s remarkable success, accounting for nearly two-thirds of Iran’s Olympic medals.
The regime isn’t merely seeking to control; it’s attempting to normalize the absurd. As one former diplomat put it, executing a champion wrestler is akin to the U.S. government executing its best Marine on Independence Day for complaining about hot dog prices—a chillingly illogical act designed to break the will of the people.
Welcome to the Islamic Republic of Absurdity, where history is rewritten, heroes are silenced, and the very soul of a nation is under siege.
