When the Iranian rapper Toomaj Salehi’s first big hit, Rat Hole, came out, so incendiary were the lyrics that most listeners assumed he must be outside the country. “Buy yourself a rat hole!” he raged, not just at the ayatollahs of the Islamic regime but also at the Iranians he deemed complicit, from judges to journalists, businessmen to celebrities. As the song went viral at home and abroad, Salehi had to make an Instagram Live to prove that he was actually inside Iran.
For many in the music world it was the first they had heard of him. But for a generation of disillusioned young Iranians his combination of anti-establishment lyrics and personal fearlessness made him their very own Tupac Shakur, the late American rapper he idolises.
“Toomaj is way beyond an artist,” says Omid Shams, an exiled Iranian writer, academic and director of operations for the NGO Justice for Iran. “Not only is he one of the greatest rappers of his generation, but the fact he voices such harsh criticism from inside Iran makes him an iconic figure. He’s so vocal and brave that he puts everyone else to shame.”
Salehi is far from unique in using music as protest, but to do it so openly against such a repressive regime means many regard him as the bravest rapper in the world. His family and friends now fear for the life of the 32-year-old, after almost a year in jail, allegedly undergoing repeated torture.
Salehi’s first brush with authorities came in September 2021, shortly after he released Rat Hole, when his home in Isfahan was raided by intelligence ministry agents. He was arrested and charged with “spreading propaganda against the state”. It was the start of many detentions and threats.
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Yet he refused to stay silent, and when tens of thousands of people poured on to the streets last September protesting the death of the 22-year-old Mahsa Amini while in the custody of the morality police, he joined them, posting videos of himself. For many he became the voice of the unrest.
“We come to the streets like ghosts and become a nightmare for the government,” he rapped in the song Battlefield. “We see the light after this hell. Neither suppression nor execution can stop us.”
He went underground, moving from place to place, but on October 30, 2022, security forces abducted him in the middle of the night, part of a crackdown during which more than 500 were killed and about 20,000 detained, some of whom were later executed.
Salehi was charged with spreading “corruption on Earth”, a charge that can carry the death sentence. State media published a video purporting to show him blindfolded, his face bruised, apologising for his words. Forced confessions through torture are a common tactic of the Iranian security forces. Family members and human rights organisations accused the authorities of torturing Salehi in prison.
In July he was convicted and sentenced to more than six years in prison. Almost a year into his sentence, his health is deteriorating, his family and friends say, and he urgently needs medical attention. Salehi’s official social media account reported last month that his injuries from torture include severe swelling and bleeding in his eyes, broken fingers and teeth. “It is crucial to take swift action to secure his medical release and transfer to a hospital to address his urgent medical needs.”
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On Thursday he received an award from Index on Censorship to mark his bravery and bring his case to the world’s attention.
Salehi raps in Persian, which “because of its power of diction and underground status has become the main language of protest in Iran”, according to Nahid Siamdoust, the author of Soundtrack of the Revolution: The Politics of Music in Iran, and assistant professor of media and Middle Eastern studies at the University of Texas. She adds that Salehi’s music is “more explicit and daring in criticising government corruption and impunity than any other music produced in Iran”.
Salehi’s childhood in Isfahan played a key role in his artistic development. He was born to working-class parents, both of whom were politically active. His father spent eight years in jail as a political prisoner and his mother was also once detained.
Salehi followed his father into a job at a metalwork factory, but studied mechanical engineering and set up his own workshop. Music, however, was always his main love. He started playing piano at seven and was introduced to hip-hop by his elder brother. By the time he was a teenager he was writing his own lyrics.
Some were about his heritage as part of the Bakhtiari tribe, famed for its traditions of riding and shooting. He has posted photos of himself in traditional costume on a horse and carrying a rifle.
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But most were protest songs. Inspired by his idol Shakur, Salehi began writing about the injustice and inequality that haunt his society — the dire economic situation, the restrictions on women and the human rights abuses that include the killings of protesters and executions.
“The upper classes have voice enough,” he once said. “I think rap is the voice of the suffocated throats.”
His openly political lyrics meant he struggled to get his work produced, and even had to sell his motorbike to finance it. He was shunned by many underground studios and producers, who feared he was too toxic. But Salehi never gave up. As he rapped in Rat Hole: “If you saw peoples’ pain but looked away; if you saw the oppression of the innocent and walked right past; if you did it out of fear or for your own interests, you’re the oppressor’s accomplice, you’re a criminal too.”
Christina Lamb is the Sunday Times chief foreign correspondent
