June 11, 2025, marked six years since I walked out of Evin Prison and back into a world that had kept turning without me. Six years since I regained my freedom after 1,362 days of captivity, psychological torture, and the unbearable weight of uncertainty. Every year, this day comes as a moment of quiet reflection, not only of what was taken from me but also of what I have since chosen to reclaim and rebuild.

What happened to me between September 18, 2015, and June 11, 2019, changed me. I was taken hostage in Iran after accepting an official invitation from the Vice President of Iran to speak on women empowerment through the use of technology. My only “crime” was trying to help; offering hope and opportunity to youth and women. Instead, I was held in solitary confinement for 18 months, subjected to relentless interrogation, hunger strikes, and complete isolation. I lost everything; my work, my home, and my life as I knew it.

When you’re taken as a hostage, the hostage taker is trying continuously to reduce your name, your identity, and even your humanity to a pawn in a cruel and calculated political game.

But the pain didn’t end with my release. Over the past six years, I’ve learned that the release of a hostage is not the end of the struggle.

Rebuilding a life stolen from you is a long and challenging journey. Reintegration is not automatic. Trauma lingers. Your place in the world feels altered. Many former hostages return home only to face a new kind of pain; one that comes from trying to live a “normal” life after the abnormal has shaped a large part of you.

You return to a world that doesn’t quite know how to welcome you back, and in some cases, doesn’t want to. I learned the hardest lessons not behind Evin’s bars, but outside them, where betrayal stung deeper than the interrogator’s threats.

While I was a hostage, the enemy was clear. I resisted, fought back, and held firm in the belief that on the outside, those responsible and in charge were doing the right thing. I refused to give my captors even the slightest gain. I refused to record a video despite their continued pressure.

But upon my release, I was met with a devastating truth: the belief I had held was merely an illusion.

While I was fighting to survive interrogations, protecting everyone I could under unimaginable pressure, some people on the outside whose duty it was to assist, were actually erasing my existence; choosing self-preservation over truth, and quietly hoping I would never come back to hold up the mirror to their inaction.

What shocked me most were the lies told in my absence when I had no voice to defend myself. 

Rumors spread easily. Some labeled me a spy. Others dismissed me as just a businessman in Iran. And those who knew exactly why I was there said nothing. Worse, they fed the lies, hoping their role would be forgotten, especially if I never returned.

A few who were directly involved in my trip to Iran were quick to distance themselves and ignore responsibility. They didn’t even acknowledge my return; not a message, not a word. They had abandoned me and my family under the pretext that it was for my own safety. To me, that kind of betrayal, abandoning someone at their most vulnerable, someone they themselves had requested to take this trip, is no different than the act of hostage taking itself.

Yet, amid the darkness, there was also light. People who offered love and support simply because it was the right thing to do. Their kindness gave me the strength to keep going. They helped me survive not only captivity but also the loneliness that followed.

Most heartbreaking of all, I lost my mother while I was in prison. I was never allowed to speak to her. Just 48 hours before her death, she recorded a desperate video plea to Iran’s Supreme Leader. Her pain, and the injustice of being denied a final goodbye, will stay with me forever. No mother should endure that agony.

My story is not unique. Too many remain unlawfully detained. Too many are forgotten. What’s unique is what you do once you are free. And that is why, upon my return, I co-founded Hostage Aid Worldwide with former hostages from across the globe because we all felt that although many try to help, in some cases they lack the knowledge that comes from the first-hand experience of the different phases that hostages go through during captivity and the best ways to support them. Together, we work to dismantle the cruel business model of hostage-taking, a system that trades in lives, uses suffering as leverage, and robs individuals of their humanity.

Through Hostage Aid, I strive to make sure families are not left in the dark, uncertain of their loved one’s fate.

Hostage-taking is a deep tragedy. Behind every headline is a life interrupted; a son, a daughter, a parent. Their pain is not abstract. It is real, and it demands our attention.

To all the former hostages who have joined our cause, from Barry Rosen to Joe Cicippio, Allen Gross, Xiyue Wang, Kylie Moore-Gilbert, Siamak Namazi, Shoshan Harran, Tal Shoham and many others, I am honored to stand beside you. Your courage and commitment inspire me every day.

And to those who stood by me while I was held hostage and after my return, I am forever grateful. You reminded me that even in the worst moments, humanity can still shine through.

Today, I live with the scars of what I endured, but I also live with purpose. I speak not for sympathy, but for those who cannot. I work so that others are not abandoned, misrepresented, or left to suffer in silence.

Six years ago, I was given back my life. I now dedicate it to ensuring that no hostage is forgotten, no mother left without answers, and no survivor returned to a world that does not care.

I am frequently asked why I haven’t written a book. Writing a book that truthfully and transparently relays the story of my captivity uncovers facts that: 1st, might be misused by the hostage takers to falsely justify their criminal acts; and 2nd, I am still hoping that a few might right their wrongs rather than hiding behind the so-called sovereign and derivative sovereign immunity. 

Let us never grow comfortable with injustice. Let us never accept silence. Let us fight for every voice that was silenced and every freedom unjustly stolen.

Together, we can build a world where freedom is not a privilege reclaimed, but a right never taken.

By Nizar Zakka, President of Hostage Aid & Former Hostage in Iran.