Iran’s Persecution of the Baháʼí Faith Exposes Its Deepest Insecurity

The Baháʼís have asked only to live by their principles of unity and peace. In the wake of nationwide protests and regional conflict, they are instead enduring a new wave of arrests and dispossession.

I grew up as a Baháʼí child in Iran. In our Baháʼí children’s classes, we were given drawings of the earth to color—people from every race standing hand in hand, smiling. Above them was a verse from Baháʼu’lláh: Ye are the fruits of one tree and the leaves of one branch.

At the state school, the lessons were very different. Officials forced us to line up, place our hands on each other’s shoulders, and chant, “Death to America, Death to Israel.” Many children mispronounced the words, shouting “Death to Ja-Rika,” the name of a detergent brand. They laughed, but for me, it revealed a sad contrast between two worlds: one teaching unity, the other feeding on hatred.

The Baháʼí Faith is a modern, monotheistic religion founded in 19th-century Persia by Baháʼu’lláh, who taught the unity of God, humanity, and all religions. It holds that major faiths—such as Judaism, Christianity, Islam, and others—are part of a single divine plan revealed progressively throughout history. Centered on principles like equality, justice, and universal peace, the Baháʼí Faith promotes education, gender equality, and harmony between science and religion. Its global community is guided by elected councils rather than clergy.

My grandfather spent eight years in prison because of his faith. Years later, security forces raided my mother’s house to arrest me. (By then, I had already left the country.) Yet my mother never expressed hatred toward Muslims or the state. That is not how Baháʼís are raised.

Long before the revolution, Baháʼís helped modernize Iran—opening schools, promoting hygiene, advancing science, and encouraging gender equality. In 1899, they founded Madreseh Tarbiyat, Tehran’s first modern school. Soon after, one of the city’s first public bathhouses opened. Baháʼís believe in the separation of religion and politics; their contributions were made in service to society, not in the pursuit of power.

After the 2022 nationwide protests, regime authorities expanded their crackdown from unveiled women to religious minorities. According to data from the United States Commission on International Religious Freedom and the Baháʼí International Community, at least 60 Baháʼís were arrested or had their sentences enforced within weeks. Another 180 faced harassment and intimidation by security agencies. Over four months, at least 120 Baháʼí citizens were targeted—an average of one person persecuted every day.

The Islamic Republic’s fixation on the Baháʼí community reveals a deeply seated insecurity. A faith that rejects violence, avoids political power, and preaches equality poses no real threat to the state—unless that state depends on division to survive. The regime cannot tolerate a belief system that models unity without coercion, morality without dogma, and loyalty without intimidation. In persecuting the Baháʼís, Iran’s rulers are exposing how deeply they fear ideas they cannot control.

The government of Iran does not recognize the Baháʼí Faith. Officials routinely label its followers “spies” and “enemies” because the faith’s founder, Baháʼu’lláh, was exiled in the 19th century to Ottoman territories that now form part of Israel, where his shrine stands. The authorities use this fact to spread the false claim that Baháʼís have ties to Israel. In truth, this fits a broader pattern: the Islamic Republic often accuses journalists, writers, and human rights activists of being foreign agents to silence dissent and justify persecution. No credible evidence has ever supported the espionage allegations against Baháʼís.

Harsh sentences have followed the arrests. Two elderly women—Mahnaz (Mahvash) Sabet and Fariba Kamalabadi, prominent members of the former leadership group known as the Yaran—recently received a second 10-year sentence, simply because of their faith. Reports from prison describe their torture and the breaking of Sabet’s knees during interrogation.

Outside prison walls, daily life for Baháʼís continues to worsen. Authorities have desecrated burial sites, secretly burying bodies without ceremony, and shut down Baháʼí businesses, confiscating assets and raiding homes without warrants. In August 2025, they seized dozens of pharmacies and warehouses owned by a Baháʼí family—without any legal process or evidence.

The campaign has been most visible in Isfahan, where dozens of Baháʼí families have lost their property. In late summer 2025, at least 22 Baháʼís received text messages informing them that their farmland, homes, vehicles, and bank accounts had been confiscated under Article 49 of Iran’s Constitution—a law meant to seize illegally gained assets. No evidence was presented. No legal process followed. The orders came from a special branch of the Revolutionary Court, led by Judge Morteza Barati, already under European Union sanctions for human rights abuses. These are coordinated acts of dispossession, not bureaucratic mistakes.

According to Simin Fahandej, spokesperson for the Baháʼí International Community in Geneva, this is “state-organized theft.” Security agents have raided homes without warrants, confiscated gold, laptops, and family photos, and threatened anyone who spoke out. In some homes, they smashed musical instruments; in one, they beat a young man.

During this same wave of attacks, security forces arrived at a Baháʼí-owned pistachio farm in Isfahan. Without a court order or paperwork, they loaded vehicles—including a police car and pickup trucks—with the entire year’s pistachio crop. When the family went to the prosecutor’s office, officials told them: “You are Baháʼís. You are spies for Israel.” Their lawyer was verbally informed of the confiscation, and when they protested, they were threatened with further legal action.

One family member ran through the fields shouting for help, hoping neighbors would witness the raid. No one came.

Later, officials told them to return to work and “produce again.” One farmer asked bitterly, “Do they think we will work so they can come and take everything again?”

Despite decades of persecution, Iran’s Baháʼís have responded not with violence but with what they call “constructive resilience.” They rebuild when their businesses are closed. They teach their children at home when barred from universities. They speak of unity when accused of treason. This perseverance has become an existential threat to the regime’s narrative. A community that refuses to hate its oppressors cannot easily be used as a scapegoat—but can be easily marginalized. That is why the state intensifies its attacks in moments of crisis—after protests, during wars, whenever it needs an enemy to rally against.

The Baháʼí International Community has appealed to the world: “We call on the international community, media, human rights defenders, and all people of conscience to demand that the Government of Iran end its systematic abuse of the rights of Baháʼí and all its citizens.”

What the Baháʼís endure is not random repression but a system—confiscations, false accusations, and show trials meant to criminalize belief itself. Their persecution reveals not their weakness, but the regime’s deepest fear: that a people grounded in justice, equality, and peace can outlast the machinery built to silence them.

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