In the 1980s, I endured appalling abuse at the hands of the Iranian regime. I was imprisoned for eight years, tortured and threatened with death – for the simple act of demanding my freedom from an oppressive regime. I witnessed friends executed and tortured and lived in constant fear of violence. These images haunted me long after I arrived in the UK, filling my mind with the sounds, the faces, and the nightmares of prison.
I was lucky. I was able to escape, recover, and slowly rebuild my life. Therapy, writing, and art helped me process trauma and reclaim my voice. Organisations like Freedom from Torture offered a lifeline – therapists, lawyers and welfare advisors provide the vital support that survivors of torture so desperately need. Because of this, over time, I was able to feel safe and strong again.
But my heart aches for those still imprisoned, tortured, and silenced in Iran and around the world. And I worry for the refugees who arrive in the UK, fleeing violence and persecution, only to encounter increasing suspicion, hostility, and hate.
When I arrived years ago, life was difficult, but the political climate was not openly hostile. Today, the rhetoric against refugees is louder, more divisive, and more dehumanising. The Prime Minister speaks of Britain as an “island of strangers”. Politicians and the media use refugees as pawns to score political points. We have even seen racist riots and violence against asylum seekers. This is not just rhetoric – it is making real people’s lives harder and dangerous.
People like me are not responsible for long GP waiting lists, the housing crisis, or the rising cost of living. Scapegoating us only fuels division, hate and fear. As someone who has fled torture, I can tell you: we come seeking sanctuary. We want to contribute, to rebuild our lives in local communities. To feel secure, and to belong. We want to work, learn, and raise our families in safety.
We must not turn our backs on refugees. We must reject the politics of fear and division and instead offer compassion, support, and the chance to rebuild lives. Survivors of torture are among the most vulnerable people in the world, but with help they can thrive, rebuild, and reclaim their voices – just like I have.
For me, recovery has also been a journey of creation. Healing is not only about surviving, it’s about finding ways to live again. That is why art has become such an important part of my life – it is my weapon against oppression. Art is how I resist.
In Iran and many other countries, art is treated as a threat precisely because it gives people a voice. Through painting and drawing, I have found meaning in my suffering and a way to fight back against cruelty and injustice. Art allows me to share what words alone cannot express. Sharing my story and raising awareness about the horrors happening in Iran has helped give my life meaning since I had to leave my home.
This year, I’m honoured to be part of Freedom from Torture’s art auction Drawing A Line Under Torture. Almost seventy artists, including world-renowned figures like Antony Gormley and Paula Rego, have donated artworks to raise vital funds for people rebuilding their lives after torture. Every piece represents defiance, solidarity, and the belief that creativity can be a force for healing and change.
This auction comes at a critical time. The UK has a choice: to embrace refugees with humanity and support, or to let fear and prejudice define its response. We can build communities that welcome, protect, and empower those fleeing torture, war, and persecution or we can allow dangerous rhetoric and politics to breed isolation and mistrust. The path we choose says everything about who we are as a society. It is time to stand shoulder to shoulder with those seeking sanctuary, not turn our backs on them.
Find out more about Nasrin and her work here.
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