「伊斯兰的天命」繁荣的世相总是千篇一律，末日的风景总是花样百出（才怪

知道为什么「革命人」们总是依恋战争的好处吗？

没有比这更快的「发达」渠道了。

https://iranwire.com/en/special-features/145339-the-10-minute-trial-how-iran-executed-a-man-to-steal-his-bitcoins/

Esmail Fekri's trial lasted10 minutes.

Esmail Fekri 的审判仅持续了 10 分钟

In that brief hearing before Judge Iman Afshari in Tehran's Revolutionary Court, the 32-year-old computer engineer tried to explain that his confession was false, extracted under torture, and that interrogators had threatened to kill him unless he signed documents implicating himself and a colleague in espionage for Israel.

这位 32 岁的电脑攻城狮在法官 Iman Afshari 面前解释说他的认罪是假的，是刑讯逼供，是以死威胁他在暗示「他自己和另一位同事替以色列做间谍」的「证据」文件上签名。

"Mr. Judge, these interrogators told me to do this, so I wrote it," Fekri pleaded, according to sources who heard his account.

「法官先生，这些讯问者要求我签。我只能签。」

The judge's response was swift: "Is that so? Here you are. Execution."

法官：「是吗？死刑。」

Three weeks later, on June 16, just three days after Israel launched strikes against Iran, authorities hanged Fekri at dawn.

2025 年 6 月 16 日，当以色列攻击的第三天。他在清晨被吊死了。（还有比这更加光明正大的行径吗？是不是很有中国人那种「砍死一村，杀敌五千」的仪式感？看到伊朗人的精湛智慧，会不会产生「相对剥夺感」？）

His "crime": spying for Israel. His real offense, according to documents and sources obtained by IranWire, was possessing a cryptocurrency fortune that security forces wanted for themselves.

他的「死罪」：给以色列做间谍。

他的「死因」：持有 500 比特币。（革命英雄们都快饿死了，还能放着一头羊不下锅？啊？？那些真的为此惊讶的人们，你们脑子没这么羊吧？真要如此，那就自己往下看吧，咱没兴趣翻译了，因为实在是早就看腻了。反正，能「真的有头牛」不就是你们最大的人生动力，最高人生价值吗？问题在于：那真是你的牛？眼珠子瞪大点，脑子转一转，如果真有的话。）

The nearly 500 bitcoins Fekri had mined years earlier, when the digital currency was an obscure technology few understood, were worth around $12 million.

Four months after his execution, his family is still waiting for them to be returned. The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps claims Israel gave Fekri the bitcoins as payment for espionage, an explanation that legal experts and those familiar with the case dismiss as a fabricated justification for state-sanctioned theft.

"One must ask what information Mr. Fekri had that was worth $12 million for Israel to come and get information from him," said Mousa Barzin, a human rights lawyer. "It seems that all of this was a fabricated case."

What emerges from IranWire's investigation is a portrait of a judicial system weaponized for asset seizure, where coerced confessions, sham trials, and rushed executions serve not justice but the financial interests of security services.

Fekri's case reveals how Iran's Revolutionary Courts have become instruments of legalized robbery, cloaked in the language of national security.

Fekri, a brilliant and technically minded man, earned a master's degree in computer engineering from Azad University of Gorgan and built a reputation as an elite talent in cryptocurrency and emerging digital technologies.

In bitcoin's earliest days, when mining required little more than technical skill and a decent computer, Fekri was among Iran's first miners.

While others dismissed the technology as a fad, he accumulated 499 bitcoins through the patient work of solving the cryptographic puzzles that generate new units of the currency.

This was before bitcoin's explosive growth, before it became a household name, before a single coin could buy a house. Fekri mined when it was easy, when few bothered, and when the coins seemed nearly worthless.

By December 2021, videos reviewed by IranWire showed a wallet attributed to Fekri containing substantial bitcoin holdings worth more than $12 million.

Though IranWire could not independently verify the wallet's ownership, multiple sources familiar with Fekri confirmed his extensive early mining activities and considerable cryptocurrency wealth.

Unlike many cryptocurrency holders who operate in the shadows, Fekri attempted to legitimize his fortune through official channels.

In a letter he later wrote to Iran's Supreme Court - a copy of which was obtained by IranW是ire - he documented his bitcoin acquisition and his efforts to convert the holdings into usable assets within Iran's economy.

He contacted blockchain companies about converting cryptocurrency to Iranian rials. He drafted preliminary contracts with private firms.

He even approached Iran's Privatization Organization about investing his digital fortune in domestic enterprises, attaching dated emails and documents proving his activities predated the period when investigators claimed he began working for Israel.

"I mined significant amounts of bitcoin cryptocurrency at the beginning of the launch of cryptocurrency financial markets," Fekri wrote in his Supreme Court appeal, emphasizing the timeline and legitimacy of his holdings.

It was transparent, documented, and legal. And it made him a target.

In November 2024, on a morning like any other, Fekri climbed into his brother's car for the daily commute to his job at Talieh Sabz, a private technology company in Tehran, where he worked on data center cooling and heating systems.

They never reached the office.

Security agents stopped the vehicle. The car had outstanding fines, they told Fekri and his brother. They would need to impound it and take it to the parking facility. Standard procedure.

It was a lie. They forced Fekri into their vehicle and drove away, leaving his brother behind with a car that had no fines and mounting questions that would go unanswered for two weeks.

The family heard nothing. No charges. No location. No confirmation that he had even been arrested. For 14 days, Esmail Fekri vanished into Iran's security apparatus, as though he had never existed.

When they finally located him, an investigator confirmed the arrest but offered little explanation for the charges that would eventually emerge: espionage for Israel, cooperation with Mossad, and compromising national security.

The evidence? Fekri worked at Talieh Sabz, a company the U.S. Treasury Department had sanctioned in September 2024 for cooperation with Iranian military agencies.

Prosecutors reasoned that anyone working there must be involved in sensitive military projects, must have access to classified information, and must therefore be a potential security threat.

However, sources familiar with Fekri's employment tell a different story - one that undermines the entire espionage narrative.

"Esmail didn't work in a military center, nor in an institution belonging to the IRGC or the Ministry of Defense," a source told IranWire. "Esmail worked in a private company that he found through the Job Vision job search website."

Job Vision - a public employment portal. Fekri had submitted his resume like any job seeker. The company reviewed it and hired him. No security clearances. No background investigations. No vetting by intelligence services.

"If they say this company is the country's security hub, why should they hire someone from a job search website?" the source added. "In this country, if you want to become a bank employee, you have to pass a thousand filters. If it was so secure, why would they hire like this?"

It's a question that exposes the prosecution's case as fundamentally incoherent.

Either Talieh Sabz was a sensitive military center that would never hire through public job boards, or it was a private company with government contracts that employed regular civilians. It cannot be both.

What mattered to Fekri's captors wasn't where he worked, but what he owned.

Security agents were aware of the bitcoins before they arrested Fekri. They knew how many he had. They knew their value. And they wanted them.

The knowledge came from an unlikely source: a 2019 complaint Fekri himself had filed. Court documents from judicial files hacked and released by the group Edalat-e-Ali show that Fekri had accused a man surnamed Najafi of "breach of trust."

Sources say Najafi, an IRGC member in Gorgan, attempted to extort money from Fekri after learning about his bitcoin holdings.

In other words, years before Fekri's arrest for espionage, his cryptocurrency wealth was already known to security services.

If he were truly an Israeli spy, why wasn't he arrested then? Why was Najafi fired from his position? Why did the complaint proceed through normal judicial channels?

The answer: In 2019, Fekri wasn't accused of espionage because there was no espionage. There was only a young man with a fortune that certain officials wanted to steal.

By November 2024, with bitcoin's value soaring and Fekri working at a company with tenuous military connections, security services saw their opportunity.

"From the first day they asked him, 'Where are your ledgers?'" a source familiar with the case told IranWire. "Meaning they were after the bitcoins from the start."

By the second day of Fekri's detention, agents had seized all his electronic devices. They had his passwords. They had access to his bitcoin wallets. The cryptocurrency was effectively theirs.

But possession wasn't enough. To justify the seizure, to protect themselves legally, and to advance their careers within the IRGC intelligence apparatus, they needed something more: a confession. A trial. An execution. The veneer of "justice."

The interrogators made their pitch early: cooperate and you'll get your bitcoins back. Just confirm what we tell you to say. We're taking over Talieh Sabz, bringing it under the control of the IRGC. We need your statement to make that happen. Don't worry - we'll protect you. Nothing bad will happen.

"They told Esmail, 'You have to cooperate with us,'" a source recounted. "'You have bitcoin, and if you want to get it back, you have to cooperate with us. Don't worry - confirm what we say. We're here from beginning to end, and nothing will happen to you.'"

Fekri resisted. He knew his work had nothing to do with military secrets or Israeli intelligence. He had documentation proving his bitcoins came from legitimate mining years earlier. He believed, perhaps naively, that truth would protect him.

The interrogators escalated. They told him he would never leave detention alive. They said he was a danger that needed to be eliminated. They threatened death.

And then they showed him the video.

At dawn on April 30, 2025, Iranian authorities executed Mohsen Langarneshin, another prisoner. Someone recorded it - the body dropping, the rope snapping taut, life ending in seconds.

Interrogators played the footage for Fekri. "This is your future," they told him. "This is what happens if you don't sign."

"Sign the confession or die like this. Choose."

"They had taken him to show him Mohsen Langarneshin's execution scene," the source who spoke with IranWire said. "They said if you don't sign and confirm this letter, this is your fate."

Fekri signed. He confessed to espionage that he had not committed. He implicated Babak Shahbazi, a former colleague with whom he had worked on cooling systems for data centers in Parand, a city with no military installations or classified sites.

The work had been mundane - HVAC systems, temperature control, standard technical installation. Nothing remotely connected to national security.

It didn't matter. Shahbazi became "collateral damage" in the machinery grinding toward Fekri's execution and the seizure of his cryptocurrency.

Shahbazi had no confession on record, and there was no evidence against him beyond Fekri's coerced statements. On September 17, 2025, authorities hanged him anyway.

Before his own execution, Fekri attempted to recant. In a letter to the Supreme Court, he explicitly denied all statements made to interrogators, citing "the officers' favorable promise of freedom and threats of death and seizure of his confiscated cryptocurrencies" as the reason for his false confessions.

The letter detailed his legitimate acquisition of bitcoins through mining, attached documentation of his attempts to convert them through proper channels, and laid out a timeline proving his wealth predated any alleged contact with Israeli intelligence.

None of it mattered. The confession existed. The trial was scheduled. The outcome was predetermined.

"The interrogator said Iman Afshari, the case judge, is our donkey - he has to do whatever we say," a source recounted, describing what Fekri himself had shared about his interrogations.

Branch 26 of Tehran's Revolutionary Court. May 2024. Judge Iman Afshari presiding. The trial of Esmail Fekri lasted 10 minutes.

There was no presentation of evidence, no examination of witnesses, and no opportunity for meaningful defense. Fekri attempted to explain that his confession was false, that interrogators had tortured him, and that they had threatened his life unless he implicated himself and Shahbazi.

"Mr. Judge, these interrogators told me to do this, so I wrote it," Fekri said, according to sources who heard his account. Afshari's response was brutal: "Is that so? Here you are - execution."

Ten minutes. A man's life, his fortune, his truth - all dismissed in less time than it takes to drink a cup of tea.

The verdict cited Article 6 of Iran's Law on Countering Hostile Actions of the Zionist Regime Against Peace and Security.

It claimed Fekri had received "one billion and eighteen million, one hundred sixty-five thousand, three hundred sixty-nine tomans in exchange for this cooperation with Israel" - roughly $9,000 at unofficial exchange rates, a small fraction of the actual value of his bitcoin holdings.

The court ordered his execution and the confiscation of "assets derived from the crime."

The Supreme Court reviewed the case within a week. Despite the irregularities, the appeals court confirmed the death sentence.

But even the Supreme Court judge appeared troubled, sources said. He told Fekri's family he had been pressured to uphold the verdict.

"Forgive me, they forced me to reject Tataloo's verdict and confirm Esmail's verdict," the judge told the family, referring to a celebrity whose sentence had been overturned. "Forgive me, this child doesn't deserve execution."

But deserving had nothing to do with it. The judicial machinery, once set in motion, could not be stopped.

At dawn on June 16, 2025, authorities hanged Esmail Fekri. He was 32 years old. His 33rd birthday would have been on October 18.

Death was not enough. Fekri's family endured weeks of additional torture as authorities withheld his body.

They camped outside Qezelhesar Prison in Tehran, demanding answers. Reports emerged that the judiciary wanted 150 million tomans - roughly $1,300 - to release the body.

The family lives in northern Golestan province, hundreds of kilometers from Tehran. Each trip meant a grueling journey of hundreds of kilometers - expensive travel for a grieving family already devastated by their loss. Each visit ended without answers, without closure, without retrieving their son's body.

Finally, instead of releasing Fekri's remains to his family for a proper burial in his hometown, authorities took matters into their own hands. They transported the body to a desert outside Qazvin and buried it themselves.

For weeks, they had kept it refrigerated in a morgue. They could have returned it at any time. They chose not to.

"Every time they visit Esmail's grave, they have to travel hundreds of kilometers and return hundreds of kilometers," a source told IranWire. "The very day the family went to follow up on the corpse, they took and buried him. They had kept him in the morgue all those days, but still didn't give him to the family and didn't respect their being bereaved either."

Now Fekri lies in an anonymous desert grave, far from home, far from family, in a location chosen not by those who loved him but by those who killed him.

And the bitcoins? Four months after his execution, the IRGC still holds them. Officials claim they constitute evidence of Israeli payment - spoils of espionage that belong to the state.

The family has received nothing.

还是那句话：太阳底下没有新鲜事。

你以为的玩意儿不是你以为的聪明，往往笑话都不如啊。

不是有无数人急着「知道未来」吗？

视线怎么总是往梦境里钻呢？

-----------------------------------

Oh, sorry

是不是有人又要开始「夜眠不能安枕」了？

想想人家尤里·加加油同志，想想人家的走狗，想想那些「爱我中华」们的煎熬，现在（或即将）分享一点儿出来。

有什么好奇怪？

来，一起张嘴，念好下面儿的新·平安经：
「中国人是好的！」
「中国人是好的！！」
「中国人是好的！！！」