Californian women protested for ‘Palestine’ — why so silent on Iran?

If feminism means standing for all women, then the silence surrounding Iranian women today demands an answer. Not all women are free — and not all feminists are willing to say so. Members of Iran’s women’s national soccer team recently sought asylum in Australia after refusing to sing the Islamic Republic’s national anthem.

For that act alone, an act of conscience, they were treated as enemies of the state. Some were ultimately forced to return to Iran after being warned that their families’ lives were at risk. That is what courage looks like in Iran: choosing between your own freedom and the safety of the people you love most.

And if that were not enough, the regime made its message even clearer. On the eve of the Persian New Year, a time meant to symbolize renewal, hope, and life, the ruthless Iranian regime executed a 19-year-old wrestler, along with two other young men, for the simple act of protesting. They were not soldiers.

They were not armed militants. They were young voices demanding change. They were not victims of war.

They were executed by their own government. This was not justice. This was a warning.

A calculated act of terror designed to send a message to an entire generation: stay silent, or you will be next. To those who marched in the streets for the Palestinian cause, who raised their voices, who filled social media with outrage over the victims of Gaza, where are you now? Silent because the regime and its proxies aren’t paying for you to protest?

Don’t “social justice” warriors have a moral obligation to stand up for innocent teenagers being executed for simply protesting their terrorist government? Download The California Post App, follow us on social, and subscribe s Here in California. home to the largest Iranian population outside of Iran, hundreds of thousands of Iranians live freely. They speak freely, dress freely, build businesses, lead organizations, and raise their voices without fear of imprisonment.

LA has become “Tehrangeles,” a place where Iranian women can walk down the street without fear of being beaten for showing their hair.

In Tehran, a woman can be arrested, beaten, or worse for removing her hijab.

In California, she can become a CEO, an athlete, a journalist, a leader. Two realities. One people.

And yet, many of the loudest voices who claim to champion women’s rights remain silent about this one. Iranian female athletes face threats of prison, harassment, and documented abuse simply for competing freely, for refusing to conform, or for daring to exist outside of the regime’s control. During the “Women, Life, Freedom” movement, women took to the streets knowing the risks of prison, torture, even death.

Still, they marched. They are now called the “Lionesses of Iran.” And they are fighting a battle that much of the world is unwilling to confront.

Why the silence? Why the selective outrage? Because silence in the face of oppression is not neutrality.

Silence is complicity. It is easier to champion women’s rights when it is politically convenient and aligns with popular narratives, when it requires no real risk, no moral clarity, no willingness to confront uncomfortable truths. But standing for women should not depend on geography.

It should not depend on politics. And it should not depend on convenience. For Iranian women, this is not theoretical.

It is not a headline. It is daily life. The athletes who sought asylum and those forced to return under threat represent millions of Iranian women living under a regime that fears their independence, their voices, and their freedom.

Meanwhile, here in California, we benefit from the very freedoms they are risking everything to obtain. That should not just inspire sympathy. It should demand responsibility.

Because freedom is not just something we celebrate. It is something we are obligated to defend. The women of Iran are not asking for attention.

They are demanding dignity. And the question for those of us living freely, especially those who claim to stand for women, is simple: Will we use our voices while we still can? Or will we remain silent while they risk everything to be heard?

Shirin Yadegar immigrated to the United States with her family during the 1979 revolution. She is the founder of www.lamommagazine.com