Iranian Musician Shot Dead During Protests Embodied Defiance Through Art and Activism
A nationwide internet blackout concealed the full extent of the violence, but the story of Pooya Faragerdi, a 44-year-old musician, reveals the brutal crackdown on dissent in Iran and the courage of those who dared to demand change. Faragerdi was shot by security forces near a police station in Pasdaran, Tehran, on the night of January 8th, becoming another casualty in the escalating conflict between protesters and the Iranian government.
A Violent Night in Pasdaran
Videos verified by Iran International from Pasdaran on January 8th depicted a harrowing scene: wounded protesters lying bloodied in the street, desperately aided by others, while gunfire echoed in the background. Initially, Faragerdi’s brother, Payam Fotouhiehpour, believed he had been killed in Majidiyeh, but later learned the tragic truth – his brother had been fatally wounded in Pasdaran. A bullet pierced the right side of Faragerdi’s abdomen around 11 p.m., and he was rushed to a hospital, ultimately succumbing to his injuries the following day, January 9th.
For days, the family remained in agonizing uncertainty, unaware of his fate or whereabouts. Nearly twelve days later, on January 20th, they were informed that his body was at Kahrizak – a forensic medical complex south of Tehran that has become synonymous with the suppression of dissent, having been used to hold and allegedly torture numerous protest victims. Footage from Kahrizak, also verified by Iran International, showed families desperately searching among rows of black body bags as the complex became overwhelmed with the deceased.
Cut Off From the World
While Faragerdi participated in protests in Tehran, his brother was in the United States, severed from communication with him by a nationwide internet blackout imposed on January 8th as demonstrations intensified. Connectivity plummeted, leaving tens of millions without access to the global internet and severely disrupting phone communication. Rights groups condemned the shutdown as a deliberate attempt to prevent information from reaching the outside world and to obscure the scale of the government’s crackdown.
“I was unaware of everything,” Fotouhiehpour recounted. Limited international calls were partially restored days later, allowing him to learn his brother was missing. “I convinced myself he had gone somewhere with a friend… I told myself he would show up and I would scold him for ten or fifteen minutes.” He never did. The weight of uncertainty was crushing. “Every moment his image was in front of my eyes. I had to go into the storage room or my office to cry so my wife and daughter would not lose themselves.”
Faragerdi was buried the following day, January 21st, at Tehran’s Behesht-e Zahra cemetery. His brother now finds himself haunted by memories. “These days, images of his childhood come to my mind more and more. Even his childhood voice is in my ears — ‘Dada Payam.’”
A Life Dedicated to Music and Defiance
Faragerdi’s resistance to the Iranian regime extended far beyond his participation in the recent protests. Long before the unrest, he actively challenged Iran’s restrictive cultural licensing system, which requires artists to obtain approval from the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance before performing or releasing music.
Born on September 7, 1981, Faragerdi received rigorous violin training from childhood, establishing a strong foundation in classical performance. Despite earning a degree in agricultural machinery engineering, music remained the core of his life. “He decided to play the violin professionally – and teach,” his brother explained. “He taught my daughter Baran as well.”
Faragerdi’s musical tastes were eclectic, encompassing classical music from the Baroque to modern eras, as well as jazz, blues, and rock. However, the permit system stifled his artistic expression. “He hated that,” Fotouhiehpour said. “It was insulting to him that these creatures would decide what he could do.”
Driven by this frustration, Faragerdi channeled his creativity into craftsmanship, skillfully carving wooden instruments by hand, including ocarinas that he both built and played. A fellow musician, speaking anonymously, revealed that Faragerdi had been part of an independent orchestra in Tehran – one that operated outside of government oversight. Following the 2019 crackdown, during which at least 1,500 protesters were killed, many artists sought refuge in such independent ensembles, avoiding orchestras requiring ministry permits.
“Your Bow is Still, But Not Our Rage”
Tributes to Faragerdi have poured in from fellow musicians and students across social media. “We shared a stage, a stand, a country. We played side by side for years, and we still hear your velvet voice in the pauses between movements,” wrote two of his colleagues in a message to Iran International. Another tribute powerfully stated: “On January 8, you were shot for daring to breathe free… They might have silenced your body but not your echo. They killed a musician, not sound itself. Your bow is still, our rage is not.”
Faragerdi’s final Instagram post, a defiant act of protest, showed him burning an Iranian banknote bearing the image of Ruhollah Khomeini, the founder of the Islamic Republic, over a toilet before discarding the ashes. The clip was captioned: “Let us count the life that has passed,” and set to the song “The Final Countdown” by the Swedish band Europe.
In text messages shared with his brother, Faragerdi’s motivations for joining the protests became clear. “I think on Jan. 8 he fell in love with his people again,” Fotouhiehpour said. “I wish he had lived to see freedom as well.” The last sounds Faragerdi heard were not the melodies of his violin, but the powerful chants of a nation rising up – a chorus of voices that perhaps, represented the music he had longed to hear all along.
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