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“They threatened us, beat us and silenced us” – Iranian women who sought refuge in Switzerland, say during the protest on the Rathausbrücke in Zurich on stage about their experiences with the Islamic moral police. Your time of fear, of silence is over. They raise their voices, report on the grievances, the oppression of the mullah regime.

In between, the Persian version of the Italian partisan song “Bella ciao” is played. A song of protest, of resistance. A song whose melody would come from women who had to build inhuman labour. A song about hope for freedom.

Iranian-born Banoo* is one of the protesters. She has not missed a single protest in Iran so far. She always takes her six-month-old daughter with her, who she has wrapped around her torso in a cloth. One day, Banoo wants to show her daughter her homeland – the real Iran, without the mullah regime.

Loudly she shouts protests: “Woman, life, freedom.”

The 36-year-old has only known freedom since she moved to Switzerland five years ago. Before that, her daily life was determined by mass oppression. In Iran, women are seriously disadvantaged in many areas by the legal system used, the Sharia. The regime categorically rejects equality between men and women.

Anger at this injustice has been raging from Beirut to Berlin for months. In Iran, the protests have grown into a nationwide uprising against the Islamic dictatorship. The trigger was the death of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini, who was arrested by the vice squad for not wearing her hijab correctly enough. The young woman died during her arrest. The exact circumstances of her death are unclear.

The authorities first spoke of heart failure, then of a stroke. Eyewitnesses, including her brother, reported massive police brutality. For the victim’s family, this allows the conclusion: Amini has been beaten to death.

The riots barely let Banoo sleep. At night, she scrolls through media posts and social media feeds. But collecting information is difficult. Critical voices are silenced. Communication with her family is also made more difficult because the mullahs are restricting the internet to keep the unrest to a minimum.

Banoo sees it as her duty to give back to those who risk their lives to protest against the authoritarian regime. “The world needs to know what’s going on in Iran.”

She emphasizes that the protests are not about religion or the headscarf. Banoo takes a deep breath and says, “What the mullah regime does to us women, they don’t even do to animals.”

Before the rally, I meet the young mother in a coffee shop. She is fluent in German without ever having taken a language course. She tells me pretty quickly that she will probably cry when we talk. “While it’s hard for me to talk about my time in Iran, it’s the least I can do,” Banoo said.

I was nine years old when my father died. His death turned my mother’s life upside down. She just had to take care of me and my older brother. My mother received no financial support. She’s been working since I was born. Still, money was tight. To save some money, she wanted to move to a smaller apartment.

But the search turned out to be a huge task. Nobody wanted to rent out an apartment to a single woman. You should know that men are above all else under the Iranian regime. That is why many men think that women can do nothing without men.

Despite this, my mother struggled through life without a man by her side.

Banoo sees a role model in her mother. She taught her to fight. For them, fighting back then meant not participating in protests, but resisting when men tried to exercise their power. “When a woman is afraid to speak out against men, terrible things happen,” Banoo said.

It is a reference to an incident that took place at her university.

After school I went to study architecture. At the university, we were checked at the entrance using a surveillance system to make sure we dress according to the regime. We had to wear long dark coats and headscarves, while only women were allowed to study at the university. Makeup was prohibited.

Once, two women dragged me into a room because I had painted my fingernails a skin-colored shade. They asked me why I dress up. I asked if anyone here felt disturbed by that.

Because I didn’t immediately apologize, I had to surrender my ID and was sent to the head of the school’s security department.

He asked me if I liked it when I made myself beautiful. I said I like to be taken care of. Then he said he thought it would be better if I made myself pretty for him at home. The man was married. I should mention here that men in Iran are legally allowed to marry multiple women.

I declined. Then he threatened me with expulsion from the university.

Banoo accepted these consequences, although her studies were close to her heart. She left the school building, fearing she would be released soon. But fate was in her favor.

A few days after this incident, I heard that this man had been released. He also allegedly threatened other female students. But many would not have dared to resist him out of fear. That day, he was caught sexually assaulting a student in his office.

It wouldn’t be the only incident in Banoo’s life.

Another incident happened while I was still a student. The shock of that day still haunts Banoo deeply. “When I remember, I cry.”

I was waiting for a taxi on the street. I was dressed accordingly. In Iran we have to cover our hair and wear a coat that covers everything but our hands and feet. In addition, we prefer to wear black clothing so as not to stand out. Nevertheless, I was stopped by the vice squad. The units check whether the women adhere to the dress code. All parts of the body except hands, feet and face must be covered. Tight clothing is prohibited.

The police put me in a small bus. The vice squad was relatively new then – and not as violent as it is now.

Other women were already on the bus. they cried.

They took us to the police station, where we stood like criminals in a small room with a license plate, waiting for our numbers to be called. Then we were interrogated individually.

They asked if I could identify myself. I said I had no ID with me – even though I had it in my pocket. I was afraid that I would get a criminal record and then not be able to study or work.

Luckily they didn’t search my pockets.

To this day I don’t know why I was arrested. Maybe they were trying to intimidate me, or maybe my pink bag was an eyesore.

Anyway they told me my jacket wasn’t thick enough so I had to cut it up. Out of anger I cut the jacket into very small pieces. Then I waited for my mother to bring me a new coat.

I was looking for a toilet. On the way there, three police officers hit me immorally as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I returned. I was so afraid that a police officer would follow me to the toilet.

When my mother came, they let me go. Then I started to cry. I spent at least two hours in police custody. The police talked to me like I was nothing.

And that’s how she felt: like nothing. Not just on this one day, but every day.

I have been humiliated so many times in my life. For example, when I was first hired, I had to kiss my boss so that he would pay me my wages. I must emphasize that not all men in Iran are bad, but many have become mentally ill because of the system.

Banoo had to interrupt his studies. Living in Iran has become increasingly expensive due to rising inflation. The reason for this is the heavy sanctions that the country has been suffering from for years because of its nuclear program. Despite a good education, many people are unemployed.

Banoo worked while she was in college, but the money didn’t stop until she graduated. She was looking for a full time job.

It would be her last chapter in Iran.

I started working in a food factory. There I fell in love with a man. We were together for about six months until I found out he had a family. I ended the relationship and he threatened and sexually abused me.

I went through a lot before I mustered up the courage to turn him in. But no one supports me. I was blamed. After all, he is a married man.

The situation in her home country touched her. She dreamed of a country where not only one gender has the right to self-determination. Through a contact she finds a way to get to Switzerland.

“Now I know what life means,” Banoo says. She no longer has to veil herself, can wear whatever she wants, paint her nails. And she can do things she never imagined before, like kissing her boyfriend on the street.

Banno’s daughter raises her voice as if to let us know the protest is about to begin. Together we walk to the Ratsbrücke. Banoo points to a police car parked at the edge of the rally. “Look, these police officers make sure that nothing happens to us, we can prove that. In Iran they would beat us up and lock us up.”

*Name changed by editors