On December 1, 2025, as the bright lights of the Gotham Awards in New York City illuminated the achievements of global cinema, acclaimed Iranian filmmaker Jafar Panahi was honored with three prestigious awards for his latest film, It Was Just an Accident. Yet, thousands of miles away in Tehran, a very different kind of recognition awaited him: news broke that Panahi had been sentenced in absentia by an Iranian revolutionary court to one year in prison for “propaganda activities against the system,” along with a two-year ban on leaving the country. The announcement, relayed by his lawyer Mostafa Nili on X (formerly Twitter), cast a shadow over what should have been a night of celebration for one of Iran’s most courageous artistic voices.
According to The Independent, Panahi, who is no stranger to government crackdowns, was in New York City the very evening the sentence was handed down, collecting awards for Best Director, Best Original Screenplay, and Best International Feature at the annual Gotham Awards. His film, It Was Just an Accident, had already claimed the coveted Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival in September 2025 and is now France’s official submission for the Academy Awards. Despite the accolades, Panahi’s legal team confirmed that they would appeal the court’s decision, though the director himself has yet to publicly comment on the sentence or his immediate plans.
Panahi’s journey is nothing short of extraordinary—and perilous. Over the past 25 years, he has become both an icon of Iranian cinema and a thorn in the side of the authorities. His films, often made in defiance of official bans, are celebrated worldwide for their unflinching portrayals of contemporary Iran, exploring themes of state oppression, misogyny, and the lingering trauma of political imprisonment. But within Iran, these same works have been deemed “anti-government propaganda,” drawing repeated reprisals from the state. Since 2010, Panahi has faced a string of punishments: a six-year prison sentence (of which he served three months), a 20-year travel ban, and an official prohibition on making films.
Yet, as Arab News and ARA report, these restrictions have only fueled Panahi’s resolve. After serving seven months in prison in 2023—his release secured by a hunger strike—Panahi returned to filmmaking with characteristic audacity. He shot It Was Just an Accident clandestinely in Iran, drawing inspiration from the stories of fellow inmates. The film, a tense revenge drama, follows a group of former political prisoners as they confront a man they believe could have been their torturer. Because they were blindfolded during their interrogations, their certainty is clouded by doubt—a powerful metaphor for the ambiguity and paranoia that pervades life under authoritarian rule.
“Prisoners have one common experience, and that is being interrogated,” Panahi explained in an interview with The Independent. “We are forced to sit down on a chair in front of a wall, without our lawyer present, and with an interrogator asking questions from behind. What happens to prisoners is that, rather than thinking about the questions and answering them, you become absolutely engrossed in trying to guess and determine who this interrogator is. What do they look like? How old are they? And if I see the owner of this voice outside the prison, will I recognise them?”
Panahi’s creative defiance has inspired a generation of Iranian filmmakers to find new ways of expressing dissent. “The best films made in Iran today are made underground,” he observed. “And people find their own ways to make them—many get [government-sanctioned] permits to make a particular film, but then make it differently, or add a subversive message into it.” Despite the risks, Panahi’s collaborators—often a mix of professional actors and ordinary citizens—are undeterred. “They know fully who they’re being asked to work with, and all of them are keen to do something different, too,” he said.
His resilience is partly rooted in a deep connection to his homeland. After his travel ban was lifted in 2023, Panahi briefly left Iran for Paris to edit It Was Just an Accident, but he soon realized he couldn’t adapt to life elsewhere. “I can only live in Iran,” he confessed. “I don’t have a profound knowledge of people in other countries—say in England, or France. And if I were to make a film about them, it would only be superficial.” Despite the dangers, Panahi plans to return to Iran, undaunted by the regime’s latest attempt to silence him.
Panahi’s body of work is a testament to perseverance under pressure. When first banned from filmmaking in 2010, he responded by making a documentary about his own circumstances, slyly titled This Is Not a Film. Later, he filmed Taxi (2015) from the driver’s seat of a cab, turning everyday rides into candid conversations about Iranian society. His 2021 film No Bears was made under strict secrecy, further proof of his ingenuity and refusal to be silenced.
The director’s activism extends beyond the screen. He has spoken out in support of the Women, Life, Freedom movement, which erupted in Iran in 2022 following the death of a woman in police custody. “Ever since then, many of us in Iran have decided to do something for the movement, in whatever form that takes,” Panahi said. For him and many others, art has become a form of resistance, a way to challenge repression and inspire hope.
Despite the state’s hostility, Panahi harbors no resentment toward more mainstream filmmakers who work within the system. “I just ask that the state tolerates my films at least enough to allow them to be shown,” he said, noting that only his early works The White Balloon and The Mirror have ever been screened legally in Iran.
As the world awaits the release of It Was Just an Accident in cinemas on December 5, 2025, Panahi’s story serves as a powerful reminder of the risks artists endure to speak truth to power. His sentence may be the latest in a long line of attempts to silence him, but if history is any guide, Jafar Panahi’s voice—and his vision—will not be easily suppressed.
