The report says the silence came before Iran’s opening defeat to South Korea on 2 March, and that it was later interpreted in different ways. What matters now is the players’ own account. Ramezanisadeh reportedly said she feared “qualquer forma de tortura,” underlining how loaded even a brief public gesture can become for athletes tied to a repressive political environment.
That is what makes this episode so powerful. Footballers are often told to focus only on the game, but national-team duty can place them directly in the middle of national trauma.
Pasandideh’s reported explanation was even starker: “Meu povo colocou a vida em risco e foi morto. Fazer aquilo foi o mínimo absoluto que podíamos fazer por eles.” That is not the language of publicity or symbolism for its own sake. It is the language of players who believed silence itself was the only honest response available.
The report also says the pair later chose asylum in Australia, while others did not continue with that path. Pasandideh reportedly added, “Não quero colocar a vida delas em perigo,” a reminder that even talking about teammates can carry consequences.
This story is also a warning against treating women’s international football as a soft backdrop to bigger events. For some players, wearing the shirt is inseparable from fear, conscience and exile. The sport can offer visibility, but it can also expose athletes to pressures few supporters ever see.
What comes next will matter. The next chapter is not just about where Ramezanisadeh and Pasandideh play, but whether football’s governing bodies and national associations are prepared to reckon with the risks some players face long after the anthem ends.