Rufat Safarov's Final Speech: "Why Am I Here Today?"

Rufat Safarov

The final courtroom speech of Rufat Safarov, Executive Director of the "Line of Defense" human rights organization:

Honorable Court!

Honorable State Prosecutor!

Honorable and dear defense attorneys!

Respected and dear friends, colleagues in our cause!

It is no secret to anyone that the current trial does not stem from law, justice, or legal norms, but purely from the system of socio-political relations. It is a fact that at all stages of the investigation, the objectives, fundamental principles, and conditions of criminal judicial proceedings were cast aside. Objectivity, impartiality, and fairness were completely disregarded. In particular, the principles of legality and the equality of all before the law and the court were dragged to the absolute bottom.

Yes, I confirm that on the day I was detained—December 3, 2024—a crime did indeed take place: I was unlawfully detained and arrested. Knowingly false statements and fraudulent expert reports were submitted, and unjust rulings were handed down. In this sense, the operatives, the fabricated victims and witnesses, the investigator, the prosecutor, the judges, and the experts should be held criminally liable and answer before the law. The roles have been reversed. Although none of my actions constitute a crime or a criminal event, for a year and six months I have been isolated from society, my family, my loved ones, and my work, branded as a "fraudster," a "hooligan," and someone who "intentionally caused moderately severe bodily harm."

This is the triumph of injustice and legal nihilism. It is an act of political violence committed under the guise of the law.

This is terrifying Baku; this is a fearsome Azerbaijan where fundamental human rights have been plunged into pitch darkness.

Honorable Court!

Needless to say, during both the preliminary and judicial investigations, my esteemed lawyers, Elçin Sadıqov and Rövşanə Rəhimli, demonstrated—in full compliance with the requirements of current legislation—that the charges brought against me are fake, baseless, and void. With high professionalism, they thoroughly dismantled and turned an already upside-down indictment completely inside out.

I give a standing ovation to my lawyers' final defense speeches.

I declare:

Since this fabricated case—ordered by the Presidential Administration and executed by the Ministry of Internal Affairs—is tied to violent, Machiavellian politics, I am compelled to frame my speech, my address to the court, and my appeal to the public within the context of current political realities and to touch broadly upon Azerbaijan’s domestic politics. I must state immediately that, as an ordinary citizen, I am not complaining in a certain sense about sharing the same ranks with the nearly 400 political prisoners and prisoners of conscience held behind the four walls of our homeland.

If I were anywhere else but where I am now, I would feel uneasy.

Honorable Court, I will delve into details in the subsequent parts of my speech, but for now, I hasten to answer this question: Why am I here today? What reasons have made me a target for the authorities?

Of course, those who know, already know; but to provide a meaningful answer for those who do not, I will have to look back at times 11 years ago, sometimes 28 years ago, and sometimes 23 years ago, so that those who follow my activities can clearly understand the age, history, and developmental stages of my worldview, the ideological values I have adopted, and my socio-legal perspective.

I, Rufat Safarov, am the child of Eldar Sabiroğlu—one of the founders of the ruling party, a person who played a direct role in shaping party policy in its early years, a politician who served as a member of parliament in the Milli Majlis for five years, and a colonel who was responsible for the media and public relations of the Ministry of Defense for seven years. The portraits of the late head of state Heydar Aliyev and the current head of state Ilham Aliyev adorned every room of the house where I grew up—guided, of course, by the personal and political will of the head of our household. Yet, I did not fall under the influence of this domestic political upbringing, right from the early years of my youth.

I admit that although I lacked the courage to offer open resistance or express independent thoughts back then, I tried to take initial steps in secret from my family. Imagine: in October 1998, while my father was the press secretary and public advocate for Heydar Aliyev's election campaign headquarters, I joined a rally organized by opposition candidate Etibar Məmmədov in Füzuli Square, applauding the speeches of those who spoke up for justice at the time. When I returned home, I lied and said that I had been walking down Nizami Street with my friends. I was only 17 years old.

In October 2003, I listened directly to presidential candidates Isa Gambar and Etibar Məmmədov at rallies in Qələbə (Victory) Square, applauding the speakers' democratic calls with great enthusiasm. On October 15, I voted for Isa Gambar. On October 16, I sat at home, deeply moved and tearful. I was 22 years old, but I was extremely anxious. Moreover, I feared that if they found out at home, I would face massive problems. In the 2005 parliamentary elections, I voted for the "Azadlıq" (Freedom) bloc. I even asked three or four of my childhood friends to vote for parliamentary candidate Arzu Səmədbəyli. However, I was too afraid to directly participate in the organized mass events.

At that time, I was the chief legal advisor at the Ministry of Agriculture. Concurrently, I was a member of the Supervisory Board of "Agroleasing" Open Joint Stock Company. I could not bring myself to cross that threshold of risk.

But what did I do?

I put on an orange tie and went to work. At that time, I was studying by correspondence at the Faculty of Executive Training of the Academy of Public Administration under the President. Wearing that orange tie, I attended some of the classes. They did not recognize me as an oppositionist; I was playing "partisan." Apparently, they saw the tie as just a random style choice. I was 24 back then.

Finally, the last time I approached a ballot box was in 2013.

I was an investigator at the Zardab District Prosecutor’s Office. I went to the polling station early in the morning, voted for Professor Jamil Hasanli, and returned to my office. You may ask: What is the point of listing these electoral experiences of mine?

The core of my argument is this: ever since I became politically conscious and grasped the political environment in my own way, I have consciously said "yes" to democratic calls, to civil society, and to the idea of a state governed by the rule of law. And I have said "no" to a governance and system that restricts a pluralistic society, independent institutions, and media outlets, that does not recognize free elections, and that subordinates the judiciary to the executive branch, turning law enforcement bodies into instruments of repression.

To tell the truth, while working in government bodies, I tried to express myself publicly on several occasions. I would write something, then delete it; write it again, delete it again, and never publish. I spent a long time preparing myself psychologically. In my mind, I lived through pressures, arrests, and tortures, and I asked myself a single-word question:

Will you endure?"

Only after the answer was "yes" did I take a decisive step, sharing my protest, my open thoughts, and the ideas I carry with society. This happened on December 20, 2015.

Without warning my relatives, family members, parents, friends, co-workers—in short, any living soul—I issued a statement and resigned as an act of protest against the rampant lawlessness, anarchy, and injustice in the country, the total burial of the right to equality under the dark soil, corruption reaching its apogee, the rise of torture, inhuman treatment, and degrading behavior in the operations of law enforcement agencies, and, in short, against the authoritarian style of governance.

Immediately after that, the persecution, violence, arrests, and torture that I had previously only imagined became my daily reality.

Two weeks after my resignation, Kamran Aliyev, who was then the head of the Main Anti-Corruption Directorate, called a press conference and presented me to Azerbaijan as a "corrupt official." I was arrested. I was accused of repeatedly accepting bribes. A week later, Head of State Ilham Aliyev intervened, and, to everyone's surprise, I was released under house arrest. At that time, ten years ago, I posed this question to myself:

What is to be done?"

The answer was: "I must distinguish myself through a collection of articles called The Murder of Law, which discusses the Azerbaijani government’s mechanism of governance and the philosophy of official Baku's domestic legal policy, and, with the help of the Azadlıq newspaper, share my socio-political and legal thoughts accumulated over the years with society."

I remember well, the fear that had dominated my mind and heart for many years was crushed under my heels in a single day. At that time, the investigator handling the fabricated criminal case told me:

Rufat, I have thrown this 6-to-7 page criminal file into a corner of the safe. Please, sit quietly, let me terminate the criminal case, and let both of us be free of this."

During my nine-month house arrest, as a public activist and independent lawyer, I criticized the government's legal policy, which had assumed an extremely harsh character. To be fair, the government tolerated this and did not return me to the pretrial detention facility. This situation lasted until the former Minister of Health, Ali İnsanov, was subjected to a second set of groundless charges while in prison.

I gave an extensive interview to Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty (Radio Azadlıq), defending Insanov's violated rights and criticizing the decision of Head of State Ilham Aliyev. Because I defended Insanov, who had extremely hostile relations with the government at the time, a harsh decision was once again made regarding me.

Just two days after that interview, the Lankaran Court of Grave Crimes sentenced me to 9 years in prison. I was held in Penal Colony No. 9 for 3 years. I did not view prison life as an obstacle; on the contrary, I saw it as a continuation of the path I had chosen.

During my imprisonment, I continued to write articles and give interviews reflecting the dire state of human rights. The government's retaliatory measures were extremely severe. They threw me into the punishment cell (kars) four times in a row, subjecting me to absolute torment. Special forces entered Penal Colony No. 9, where I was held, and tortured me for hours. I remember well, if representatives of the Red Cross in Azerbaijan had not visited me urgently, God knows what my fate would have been...

Honorable Court, while being held in the punishment cell under the most severe torture, I managed to ask myself this question:

Is there any regret?"

The voice from deep within me answered:

Absolutely not!"

That voice is still alive, still standing strong.

Neither God nor I can silence that voice.

With God's help, I am determined to keep that voice alive.

Of course, during those years in prison, I realized that once released, establishing a human rights organization together with friends and doing principled work in the field of human rights was the need of the hour—no matter how great the risks it promised.

Thus, we founded the "Line of Defense" human rights organization and distinguished ourselves with weekly bulletins and quarterly reports on the legal landscape and political climate. We began cooperating with international and regional organizations specializing in human rights, and with diplomatic missions serving in Baku. We engaged in open and transparent dialogue with the heads of law enforcement agencies, the Human Rights Committee of the Milli Majlis, the Penitentiary Service, and the Ombudsman's Office, having the opportunity to convey our criticisms and proposals directly. We hoped we could contribute, if even slightly, to easing the intensifying repressive environment.

During this period, we turned down numerous financially lucrative offers and stayed away from systems of political relations hidden from the public. As an organization, we immediately publicized all our contacts and dialogues with officials. During the next, yet far more brutal, wave of repression that began in the fall of 2022, I was warned several times that if I did not cease my activities, I would soon find myself knocking on prison doors once again. I indeed thought long and hard, weighed the options, and ultimately concluded that I must continue my human rights work—no matter the cost.

I must adhere to the provisions and principles of the Manifest we declared to the public when founding the "Line of Defense" human rights organization; I must remain faithful to my public obligations. In such a situation—when people, citizens, colleagues, and friends are subjected to torture—silence and stepping aside is a great sin. Martin Luther King Jr., one of humanity’s great figures, expressed this so well:

We must understand that by passively accepting a system's injustice, we cooperate with this system and thereby become participants in its evil deeds. When we think of an evil deed, cruelty and horrific crimes first come to mind. However, inactivity when the situation requires active assistance to others can also be an evil deed."

In this sense, up until the day of my arrest, I set criticism aside only once. This was during the 44-day Patriotic War.

Honorable Court!

I bring to your attention that immediately after formalizing our human rights activities, I was invited to the Prosecutor General's Office. I was issued a threat-filled warning. Moreover, on the official Facebook page of the Youth Union of the New Azerbaijan Party (YAP), the ruling party's youth reminded me of the fate of my valuable colleague, Oqtay Gülalıyev. I was violently detained several times by police officers and subjected to harsh warnings. I also served a one-month administrative arrest. Yet, spiritually and intellectually, I regarded all this persecution, pressure, deprivation, and obstruction as merely a continuation of the path.

I want to assure the Azerbaijani public that if, in August 2024, the United States Ambassador to Azerbaijan had not nominated the "Line of Defense" for its human rights activities for an international award, if all US ambassadors worldwide had not endorsed this nomination, and if the Secretary of State had not approved it, if I had not been invited to the award ceremony in Washington on December 10, and if meetings with US senators, congressmen, and high-ranking officials of the White House and State Department had not been scheduled during that visit, the Azerbaijani government—specifically, Head of State Ilham Aliyev—would not have sanctioned my arrest. Because in the month leading up to my arrest, I had freely left the country twice and returned.

By the way, I have never had, nor do I now have, any personal grudge against the current government, the state leadership, ministers, committee chairpersons, etc. In fact, I had subjective and fertile ground to be part of the current system and to agree with the ruling policy's theses. Even if it sounds a bit crude, I had "legitimate" grounds to engage in sycophancy. For instance, in 1999, when my father Eldar Sabiroğlu suffered a severe heart attack at the age of 42, the late head of state Heydar Aliyev personally supervised his treatment, ordering professional cardiologists to be brought from Moscow to Baku. Later, he sent my father to London, helping him recover.

Furthermore, just six years ago, I decided to sell my two-room apartment to pay for my father’s surgery, as he was suffering from severe Parkinson’s disease. We needed approximately 50,000 dollars.

One day, Anar Alakbarov, Assistant to the President, called my father and said:

Eldar muallim, we are aware of the severity of your health condition. By order of the leadership, we are taking on the surgical expenses and medical treatment."

I remember my father replying: "Anar muallim, thank you. I have not troubled anyone. Rufat has left me with no face to appeal to the president anyway." The response was: "This call and this matter have nothing to do with Rufat. Your services to the state have been taken into consideration."

Thus, by instruction of the country's leadership, my father's brain surgery—he was in extremely critical condition—was performed in Istanbul.

Yes, it is a fact that without that surgical intervention, my beloved father would most likely not be alive today. Of course, six years ago, immediately after the surgery, I gave a comprehensive interview in which I recounted everything I am saying here in detail. Although we had not appealed to them, I highly appreciated the attitude of the country's leadership and expressed gratitude on behalf of myself and my family. Nonetheless, I continued to criticize the ruling policy, the repressive apparatus, and the unlawful style of governance.

By recounting this at length, I mean to say that in organizing my activities as a human rights activist, I felt it my duty to cast aside all personal motives and prioritize the public interest. This path was dictated to me by the feelings I carry.

In what sense?

Naturally, a human is a bundle of emotions: joy, pride, comfort, peace, and the feeling of happiness represent the world every human strives for. Humans try to steer clear of a life filled with pain, suffering, sorrow, deprivation, disappointment, and hardship—and rightly so. But there is a subtle yet difficult point here. As I underlined at the beginning of my speech, unfortunately, lawlessness runs rampant in Azerbaijan today, and the vast majority are squeezed in a socio-economic vice. Azerbaijanis are not happy. Frankly, I realized that in such an environment, I have completely forbidden myself from being happy, from entering the narrow circle of the privileged class. Like the majority, I am prepared to live a painful life under these circumstances. In this sense, how can the "Line of Defense" human rights organization, which understands the principles of its profession and the essence of its work, stand with everyone if it shuns hardships?

In line with the program and manifest of the "Line of Defense" declared to the public, we have structured our defense work regardless of citizenship, social or religious affiliation, language, origin, property status, position, or conviction, keeping even the violated rights of people working in government bodies under our focus.

Honorable Court!

I ask nothing of you; I have no request. Because I know for certain that, especially in trials carrying political weight, Azerbaijani judges lease out their legal will to the repressive executive authorities.

Today, by order of some official in the Presidential Administration or some general in the law enforcement bodies, you can bring baseless charges, conduct a fabricated judicial investigation, and shortly after, sentence me to 8–9 years of imprisonment. Yet, your legal nature is such that, without even a second thought, you could one day send that very official who gave you the unconscionable orders against me and my colleagues behind four walls. Azerbaijani judicial-legal history is rich with such examples. My current thoughts are dictated by the sharp and harsh political atmosphere of our country, which is incompatible with the law, and this gray environment is reminiscent of the working style of the Stalinist "troika" of the 1930s. But it seems our situation as Azerbaijanis is even more hopeless. In one of the previous court sessions, I touched briefly on the part I am about to tell you now. Look, even in the legal system of Stalin, the most brutal dictator of all time, there were investigators and military prosecutors who evaded executing unlawful directives and life-destroying political orders—even if they paid for it with their lives. Those investigators and military prosecutors listened to the voice of their consciences and inner convictions under the tolling of the "execution bell."

Although capital punishment is not among the types of punishment in Azerbaijan's criminal legislation, unfortunately, I cannot name a single investigator, prosecutor, or judge here who has refused to carry out an unlawful instruction and listened to the voice of their conscience. Speaking of ears, Alexander the Great, while listening to an accusation against someone, would cover one of his ears with his hand. When asked why he did so, he replied: "I am keeping this ear for the defendant." For 11 years, I have been dragged back and forth through Azerbaijan’s police stations, temporary detention centers, pretrial detention facilities, and correctional institutions; I have been brought before countless investigators, prosecutors, and judges. I try to protect my violated rights, and if necessary, I demand justice at the top of my lungs—but I am not heard, they do not listen. They act without conscience, without God. Instead, my voice is heard by the impartial judges of the European Court of Human Rights outside our country, who hand down just rulings. Under these harsh, indeed unbearable, conditions, we fight, we speak, we think, and we say: how fortunate that despotic regimes have still not invented chains that can shackle the human mind. Yet, there is bad news on this front as well. Recently, I was listening to a speech by the world-renowned Azerbaijani scientist, Rafiq Aliyev. Professor Rafiq says that the current pace of technological development will, in 5 to 10 years, produce machines capable of reading and understanding the human heart. In that case, the "Thought Police" familiar to us from George Orwell’s novel 1984 will practically become a structural subdivision of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Azerbaijan. They will try to build prisons for 10 million people because fearing and hating hearts will be easily read. Yes, the current regime and system would gladly send an entire nation behind four walls just to prolong its own lifespan. Will they succeed? The decision rests with the Azerbaijani people!

As a human rights activist, I remind the Azerbaijani authorities in advance of the warning of the great thinker Diderot:

The people must be allowed the right to criticize and complain. Hidden hatred is more dangerous than open hatred."

As a co-founder of the "Line of Defense" human rights organization and as a citizen who consistently and rightfully criticizes the methods of the current government, I want to hope that the hearth of struggle for popular sovereignty, the supremacy of law, and the rule of law in Azerbaijan will not be extinguished but will keep smoldering. If even just one Azerbaijani can be found, they will not let that ember die out. When I think of that one Azerbaijani from my prison cell, I am reminded of the Chinese student who stood alone and empty-handed against 17 tanks sent to Tiananmen Square to disperse the rallies demanding democratic change in Beijing on June 5, 1989.

I take this opportunity to call upon my former colleagues, those serving in the prosecution bodies, not to plunge to the depths of injustice, and I would like to quote Philip Zimbardo, the famous author of the book The Lucifer Effect. Zimbardo, the architect of the Stanford Prison Experiment, notes that:

If one person protests, the system can declare it a delusion or madness. If two people protest, the system can call them victims of a mania, but when there are three, they will take you seriously."

Following this quote, let me note that 11 years ago, when I made the decision on my own to leave the prosecution bodies, rumors from the offices of the Prosecutor General's Office reached my ears: "Safarov shouldn't be paid attention to. He is crazy, he has mental problems."

By the way, during the Soviet era too, countless dissidents were isolated in psychiatric dispensaries and madhouses for criticizing the ruling institutions and official ideology. But why look so far back? Similar practices are experienced in our own times. On orders from above, Azerbaijani courts in some cases declare political critics "insane" and send them to psychiatric facilities. In this sense, I suppose I should be thankful that I have been transferred to the current trial from a pretrial detention center rather than an asylum.

Honorable Court!

I wish to conclude my speech with expressions of gratitude that I deem essential:

I consider it my duty to express my deepest gratitude to my lawyers, Elçin Sadıqov and Rövşanə Rəhimli. Thank you very much, my esteemed attorneys!

I consider it my duty to express my gratitude to my valued lawyer, Fəxrəddin Mehdiyev, who met with me almost every week at the Baku Pretrial Detention Facility during both the preliminary and judicial investigations.

I consider it my duty to thank the valuable lawyers who defended me during the preliminary investigation—Cavad Cavadov, Bəhruz Bayramov, and Aqil Layıc!

Undoubtedly, I express my deep gratitude to the people listening to me now, to friends, colleagues in our cause, veteran politicians who have fought for years, dedicated journalists, members of the media who were forced to leave the country due to political pressure and continue their activities in exile, socio-political activists, human rights defenders—in short, to everyone who has supported me, and even to those who did not deem it necessary! This is invaluable and unforgettable for me.

In a world where material interests, hyper-pragmatic politics, energy resources, hydrocarbon assets, and economic-commercial interests have cast universal civil liberties and idealistic values into a useless corner of the earth, I express my gratitude to the foreign politicians and lawyers who strive to bring human rights issues onto the international agenda from prestigious tribunals.

At the same time, I would like to take this opportunity to thank the judges of the European Court of Human Rights, who have twice delivered legal and just decisions regarding my case over the last two years. Refusing to recognize the verdicts of Azerbaijani judges who are politicized to their core and trample upon the very concept of law, the judges of the European Court have acquitted me, declaring that my right to a fair trial, right to liberty, and freedom of assembly have been violated.

Finally, I express my gratitude to my dear family—my beloved father, my mother, my sister, my wife, and my 9-year-old son.

In closing, I want to cite a quote from Marcus Tullius Cicero's work, the Tusculan Disputations:

Upon receiving the news of her son's death after sending him to battle, a Laconian woman said:

I gave birth to him for this very reason: so that he could go to his death for his homeland without fear."

I dearly hope that after the verdict is handed down, my beloved mother, Tahirə Səfərova, will also say this to those who ask:

I gave birth to Rufat so that he would stand in defense of those whose rights are violated, and stand up against the unjust. Without fear!"

Long live a free, democratic, and law-governed Azerbaijan!

Rufat Safarov

June 1, 2026