Upwards on the horizon rises the Eastern Sun,
The light in the eyes of the believers in truth,
Bahman is the zenith of our faith.
Your message, O Imam, of independence, freedom, is imprinted on our souls.
O Martyrs! Your clamours echo in the ears of time.
Enduring, continuing, and eternal.
The Islamic Republic of Iran!
These are the lyrics to the national anthem of Iran, one of the 32 countries competing at this year's World Cup in Qatar.
Like the language of all the anthems, it's aimed at unifying a community; drawing upon a nation's shared history, culture, and identity to evoke deep feelings of patriotism and collective pride.
However, at this year's tournament, anthems have become something quite different. Instead of inspiring a sense of togetherness, the anthems of some teams in Qatar have become complex and contested sites - moments that have highlighted the tensions and divisions that exist within the nations that these anthems are supposed to unite.
None have perhaps been as significant as that of Iran. In their opening group stage match against England earlier this week, Iran's athletes refused to sing. Some closed their eyes, others bowed their heads, but not a single word of the above stanza left their mouths.
It was meant as a gesture of solidarity towards the women's rights protesters back in Iran, as well as an attempted distancing of themselves from an oppressive government that, according to human rights groups, have killed over 300 demonstrators, including women and children.
The players' silence was especially loud in contrast to England's meek capitulation over their "OneLove" armband: a vague symbol intended to stand "against discrimination of any kind" but which England's players ultimately chose not to wear after FIFA threatened them with sporting sanctions like yellow cards, suspensions, and fines.
The silence of Iran's players, then – an act that could have life-or-death consequences for themselves and their families – was the counter-argument to England's no-stakes surrender to the powers that be; an example of what real sporting protest looks like, as well as a reminder of the power of speaking (or, in their case, not speaking) out on behalf of a persecuted community.
Zara, who spoke to ABC Sport on the condition of anonymity, was there that day, sitting among her country people. She can count on one hand the number of times she has sat in a football stadium; back in Iran, women are banned from attending altogether.
In Mashhad in March, women were tear-gassed for lining up outside a stadium to watch football. Even though she is not home right now, she is as much a part of the undercurrents of the protests as any other person who believes in the rights and freedoms of women.
So precarious is the situation for Iran's women that many of them attended the England game in disguises, wearing hats and sunglasses and masks, and refusing to give their name to any journalist who asked them why. One carried a pair of giant scissors, symbolising the radical act of women cutting their hair in defiance of a patriarchal cultural custom, which has swept across the country – and the world.
Here in Doha, hundreds of Iranians wore shirts, carried posters, and flew flags emblazoned with the revolution's motto, "Women, Life, Freedom," after 22-year-old Kurdish woman Mahsa Amini died while in the custody of Iran's morality police for wearing "inappropriate" clothes. They gathered here so that the rest of the world would finally pay attention.
This game was meant to be one of the most liberating moments of Zara's life. Instead, as she sat and watched her nation's players refuse to sing the anthem, amidst a soundscape of boos and whistles from the crowd, she felt something very different about their silence. Because from the perspective of Iranians, it was a silence that started well before this opening game in Qatar.
"The reality, on our side, is a bit different," she says.
"For us, people didn't like this team because during the [past] two months of revolution, they didn't show that much support to the people. Many people were saying that football was going to [take] attention or focus from what is happening on the streets of Iran.
"For me, when I was going to the stadium, I was like, 'I'm hating you guys. We really invested in you and we were always supporting you, but you didn't support us.' In the really difficult days, they were just posting goofy pictures of themselves, selfies on social media.
"And then when they didn't sing the anthem [against England], it was like, 'OK, not bad. Maybe you are showing that you care about the Iranian people.' My heart was pounding at that moment.
"The mass media, they didn't pay attention in the beginning. But later, they paid a lot of attention because of all the casualties and because this is about, maybe not a feminist revolution, but it's about women's rights. We received that attention then, but now we talk more about football rather than what is happening inside.
"So I cannot really say that I'm happy that our team is here. Maybe if the team wasn't here – if they got the same treatment that Russia received [Russia was banned from World Cup participation by FIFA following the Ukraine invasion] – maybe I'd be happier because the focus would be about why this team is not here and what is happening in their own country."
There is a deeper tension, then, within the symbolism of Iran's protest from the people that they are supposedly representing, which became even more visible during Iran's second group match against Wales on Friday.
This time, the players sang their anthem – though they seemingly did so reluctantly, without the passion or enthusiasm of their Welsh opponents, suggesting they were singing not out of love but out of fear, as though under invisible duress.
It came just a day after Iranian security forces reportedly arrested one of the country's most famous footballers, Voria Ghafouri, who has regularly and publicly criticised the government's treatment of Iranian Kurds on social media. There was no knowing whether they could be next once they returned home.
Just like the England game, thousands of Iranian fans booed and whistled to smother the sound of the anthem over the stadium speakers. Some Iranians who did sing the anthem were actively shushed by those around them. Several fans were caught on camera singing loudly and through tears, gripping their green, white and red flags in their hands. Instead of unifying their community, the anthem only seemed to further highlight what divides them.
Zara was there, too. She saw the thousands of Iranian women like her entering the stadiums that they're banned from back home; she saw the revolution's motto blasted onto the big screens; she heard the boos and the whistles of the anthems, as well as the voices of those who sang it loudly and proudly. She felt the shades of grey.
"For me, today at the Wales game, it was a really strange feeling," she says.
"I'm a fan of football; we all love our team and it's something that, for years, we try to show the other face of Iran through sport, through art, through other things.
"Today, I had the same feeling that I had the previous match. But when they were near the end of the match, they were scoring goals, deep down, I was happy. Because in the end, people see Iran, not the regime.
"But I'm really worried about what is happening back home and I hope that these things happening here don't take focus from the really serious thing that is happening inside Iran. So it's a mixed feeling."
It's a frustrated feeling, too. Frustration at the players for not doing more with their platform, frustration at FIFA's hypocrisy when it comes to their blind eye to Iran compared to other nations like Russia, frustration at the largely western media for simplifying a complicated moment for their country.
"What is the difference between Russia attacking Ukraine? They are killing other people, with the regime of Iran that is killing their own people – and the numbers are higher, the amount of kids got killed is higher," she says.
"I don't know what principle is within FIFA when it comes to the blood of this nation or the other nation; it seems there's a double-standard.
"There are some players that are pro-regime. But the main group of the team, they are the middle-ground, so they can shake hands with the president of the regime and also be good with protesters and revolutionary people. Maybe one person [in the team] has shown solidarity with what is happening inside of Iran.
"But it's not like they are calling on the regime to stop killing people. They are just saying 'we are sorry that this is happening'. They're not addressing who is causing this. But I also understand that every person has a certain capacity and mindset; not everyone is as brave as those young women on the streets of Iran, protesting in front of the bullets.
"The players are not brave, they didn't show bravery.
"They don't have the capacity of doing what I would like to see. All these children that got murdered – 7 years old, 10 years old – they could say, 'to respect the people, I'm not going to play, I'm resigning from the national team.' But they prefer to play football."
The question of player protests has reached fever pitch in Qatar. England and Iran are not the only two groups who have had microphones shoved in their faces, asked by the world's media to speak to the many layers and complexities of social and political issues that they may or may not understand, care about, or feel comfortable engaging with.
Australia, Denmark, Germany, Belgium, and several other European national teams have all been tangled up in the ethical and political dilemmas that this World Cup has raised, be it the treatment of migrant workers or the LGBTQIA+ community.
Different players and different teams have approached the subject in different ways, with public statements, jerseys, armbands, and silence during anthems. For some, like Iran's players, it is already a risk. But for others, like Zara, it's not enough.
"I wish they would show more solidarity with their people, or said they will donate their share of this World Cup to the victims of the regime," she says.
"Or releasing football players who are in jail for speaking out about the problems. Some sorts of gestures like these. But I don't believe they will.
"Unfortunately, this time, when they win, it's a sort of knife in the heart for us because it's going to be too much about football. When the attention is somewhere else, they kill us and execute us. This happens a lot. So I'm worried for what is happening in Iran if the attention is more on football."
For Iran's players – many of whom are in their 20s, with families and children back home to protect – being here in the middle of all of this is a complication in itself. They are caught between two tides, with their community pulling one way and their government pulling another.
The question is why they should have to choose between the two. They are footballers, and the World Cup is and has always been about that. 15 Iranian players who competed in the 2018 tournament in Russia are in this squad, as is the coach Carlos Queiroz, and with an arguably easier group than four years ago, all they may want – as Queiroz told media before the Wales game – is to focus on football.
Similar to Qatar itself, Iran's team has become a kind of proxy; a white sheet upon which other people's expectations around political protest at this World Cup have been projected. They have been pressured to speak about problems that they had no say in creating, and are judged harshly if they fail to do so in a way that satisfies the questioner, with little acknowledgement of how difficult it is to speak at all. Their football has been peripheral.
Until now. Because here they are, beating Wales 2-0, playing the same kind of dynamic, exciting, brilliant football that got them here in the first place. They are now with a real chance at making it through to the knockouts with a point against the USA in a few days' time.
The Iranians have done their talking off the pitch; the question now is whether we will let them do the rest of their talking on it.
