A few days ago I received the news that our film "Pieces" won the award for the best science fiction film at the Monza Film Fest. Not being able to do it personally, I want to send my words of gratitude to the organizers of the festival and, most importantly, to the film's crew. I hope the participants of the project won't mind: I would like to dedicate this prize to all political prisoners in Azerbaijan – regardless of whether our opinions are nearby or far away.

Hola to everyone from the detention center of the State Security Service.

I am very proud and grateful to the organizers for the opportunity to participate in the Madrid Indie Film Festival.

Our film was made within the training of Andrei Palupanau, to whom I would like to express my gratitude for the opportunity to get started in filmmaking. A huge thanks to our crew, who believed in the project and turned the shooting into a pleasure and great memories. But my main gratitude goes to my parents, sisters, friends and beloved ones who have supported me in all projects throughout my life and support me today when I am being persecuted for my scientific work and public activism. I hope that soon justice will prevail, my innocence will be proven, and when I am released from prison I will be able to come to Madrid, meet my friends and see all the films of the festival.

Thanks again to everyone. I send you all smiles and wish you always find a source of joy and fulfillment in life.

Dear friends,

My heart is with my family, my people, my friends, and everyone who supports me. My heart is free.

From here, I send greetings and gratitude to all: to my big-hearted parents, my close ones,and friends, to all those who were not afraid of these accusations and who – whether they share my views or not, – came to my court hearings, who stood up for me and raised their voices in my support. I also speak to everyone who – whether out loud or deep in their hearts, before their own conscience – does not agree with this persecution. I especially thank my lawyers, Fariz Namazli and Rovshana Rahimova, who are fighting for justice. I am glad I met them.

I am happy because I know that you also believe in the equality of people, just as I do. No one should be deprived of their rights because of their gender, nationality, language, religion, or beliefs.

Just a few days ago, I saw Ahmad Mammadli in the detention center corridor with a swollen face. From here, I send him my greetings and support! Young people like him – pure, educated, and seekers of truth – are the hope and future of the state.
Always stay free and keep smiling! Science and inner freedom are stronger than any GULAG.

Dear friends,

I recently learned that you have launched a campaign in support of my defense. Your support has deeply moved me and filled me with a sense of pride. I want to express my gratitude for the steps you have taken.

Freedom cannot be divided, nor does it recognize borders drawn along the lines of citizenship, nationality, language, religion, gender, or political belief. The freedom of one person is the freedom of all. And the freedom of all is the freedom of each individual, regardless of where they were born or where they live. 

Equality cannot be conditional; it either exists or it doesn’t. Where I am now, it does not exist. Prison is the material embodiment and confirmation of the lack of freedom and censorship in which we live. This is not deprivation of liberty, as it is commonly believed, but in fact, persecution for attempting to break the chains of unfreedom, for questioning the dominant narrative. 

We may not know each other personally, but I am glad that we share the same ideals of academic and human freedom.

With gratitude,
Igbal

What must be done for a language to disappear and sink into history? It is enough to exclude it from all public spheres, to confine it within four walls, and even there, to push it into a corner. Today, the situation of the Talyshi language in our country is precisely this.

To express my disagreement with this state of affairs, I demanded an interpreter and delivered my final statement in court in my native Talyshi language during the closing remarks at my trial of first instance, as well as during my speech in the appellate court. The judges of the Lankaran Court for GraveCrimes initially reacted to my request with confused and deafening outcry but ultimately granted it. However, neither of the two interpreters invited to the hearing was able to translate my speech correctly. Because I had to repeatedly correct their translations, I was forced to interrupt my statement midway. The interpreter invited by the Shirvan Court of Appeal also failed to perform his duties professionally, so I had to translate my own speech myself. The reason is not that they do not know the Talyshi language, but that the sphere of its use in the country has been deliberately narrowed, and there is not a single educational institution that trains interpreters or teachers of the Talyshi language. The situation is further aggravated by the fact that anyone who raises this issue risks being branded a “traitor” and imprisoned for up to 18 years.

The “punishment” imposed on me is not only a trial for myself, my family, and my loved ones, but also for our entire society. How sincerely do we believe in equality and equal rights for one another? Do we truly consider every person, every people, and every language equal? Or, as George Orwell once said, “All are equal, but some are more equal than others”? If even the sound of the Talyshi language, spoken from behind the bars of a closed courtroom, irritates or unsettles someone, then that alone is a troubling fact for our society.

I spoke the Talyshi language in court not because I disrespect other languages, but because I am defending my native one. Why this provokes anger and such a harsh reaction – I do not understand.

But speaking for myself, I can say this: I have always believed in the equality of all people, nations, their cultures, and their languages. To all those who sincerely share this simple yet vital belief, I extend my greetings and deep gratitude.

I was not even 8 years old when I left Azerbaijan. And if you put together all my brief visits here before last summer, they wouldn't add up to even a single year. Since then, for the first time, I have lived in Azerbaijan for more than a year. In prison.

But I feel free: waking up every morning, going to sleep every night, every time I stand before investigators, prosecutors, judges. Because a person remains free as long as they allow themselves to think freely. Every day a person reaffirms their freedom before their own conscience – in their heart, at home, at university, in prison, in the street.

Someone might think that under these circumstances, my thoughts were the road that led me to prison. But for me, they have always been the road to freedom. The only possible road to freedom and scientific objectivity.

After my arrest, I saw with my own eyes that Cipollone, the father of Gianni Rodari's character Cipollino, was telling the truth: how many honest people are imprisoned! Thirty daysafter my detention, Bahruz Samadov was arrested for his pacifist stance. Later, human rights defender Rufat Safarov was arrested for his work.

After that, I heard about the arrests of journalists Farid Ismayilov, Ulviyya Ali, Khayala Agayeva, whom I had seen at the court hearings of my own case and the cases of other political prisoners. Over the past year, many of their colleagues from independent media have ended up in prison: Shamshad Aga, Nurlan Gahramanli, Aynur Elgunesh, Aytac Tapdyg, Aysel Umudova, Natig Javadli, Ramin Deko. After them, activist Ahmed Mammadli was also arrested.

Even before my arrest, many others had already been imprisoned for their long-standing civic, political, and journalistic work: Tofiq Yagublu, Anar Mammadli, Bakhtiyar Hajiyev, Akif Gurbanov, Alesker Mammadli, Ruslan Izzetli, Ulvi Hasanli and his colleagues from Abzas Media.

To paraphrase Elias Canetti, one could say that the threat of prison is the currency of power. All political prisoners are the corpus delicti of this lawlessness.

I send my support to all of them and to their loved ones. I express my gratitude to every activist, and to the national and international organizations supporting them and me. I extend special gratitude to my family, my friends, all those close to me, my lawyers Rovshana Rahimova and Fariz Namazli, the head of the committee for the protection of my rights, Hilal Mammadov, and all its members.

The thoughts of political prisoners may differ, but I believe that everyone has the right to freely express their opinion. Because freedom does not come with hatred toward each other, nor with caring only about one's own rights, but with the determined support of each other's rights.

They say celebrating your birthday in a new place every year is a good tradition. Last year, I spent my birthday watching the lights of the Flame Towers in the center of Baku. This year, I was lucky enough to taste a slice of birthday cake near the bald hills of Garadagh. I won’t lie – it was an interesting experience.

I did not choose the date of my birth. I also did not choose my gender, my skin color, my eyes, my hair, my family or the ethnic and religious groups it belongs to.

I must make a personal confession: I don’t believe in horoscopes. But even if I did, I doubt I would think that Sagittarians are more important to humanity than Libras or Pisces, that Sagittarians have more rights than others, and so on. Just as it would be strange to feel proud of being born under a certain zodiac sign, it is just as strange to feel pride in one’s nationality, gender, or skin color – things given at birth.

I am not proud of being born Talysh. But I am proud that I can publicly call myself Talysh under conditions where the word “Talysh” is artificially replaced with “South” and “Southerner,” where the Talyshi language is on the verge of survival (and, under current conditions, will inevitably disappear in Azerbaijan within 2-3 generations unless extraordinary measures are taken), and where anyone who speaks up for the right to their Talysh identity can be sentenced to 18 years in prison.

Being Talysh, for me, is not just feeling the language I speak with my mother as my native, or the Talysh nature and sense of humor as my own. First and foremost, it is resistance to assimilation and disappearance – it is an ontological and existential choice between being and non-being.

Today, I want to send my words of support to other Talysh activists who are in prison – Kamal Isaev, Ruslan Vahabov, Aslan Gurbanov, and others. I know that the sole reason for their public work and activism as well is the fear of losing their native language. And that fear is stronger than the fear of imprisonment. I express my gratitude to all Talysh activists who, despite the current circumstances, defend their mother tongue and their right to their national identity.

February 21 – International Mother Language Day – is a sad day for me. Because this day once again reminds me that my native language – Talyshi – is on the verge of extinction. This day reminds me that the possibilities of using my mother tongue are limited: its use in public spheres of life is associated with fear and is possible only with permission. 

After my arrest, these restrictions increased for me personally: for example, in the Detention Facility of the State Security Service and in Baku Pretrial Detention Center No. 1, I was forbidden to speak with my parents on the phone in the Talyshi language. Yet it was precisely in the State Security Service’s Detention Facility that I taught Talyshi to my cellmates. Because in the circumstances that have arisen, freedom means speaking your native language wherever you are, teaching it, preserving it, and writing in it.

Mother Language Day is not one single day – it is every day. The place of a native language is not only the home; it is also the street, the school, the university, a scientific conference, and even a prison – any place.

Every language is a means of human communication. Since childhood, I have always wanted to know many languages and many cultures, even to accept them as “my own”. Today, I consider Talyshi, Azerbaijani Turkic, Belarusian, Russian, and other languages as “my own”. I also regard Russian, French, American, English, Japanese and Latin American literatures as part of my personality and my way of thinking. But in some societies like ours, language turns into a symbol of domination and superiority for the authorities or certain groups and individuals: only one language may be used everywhere and in all spheres, while others must slowly disappear under visible and invisible restrictions. The 18-year prison sentence imposed on me is part of a death sentence passed by the same forces upon my people and my native language. Yet just as every person has the right to live with dignity and equality, every language has the right to live with dignity and to develop. If not today, then one day the Talyshi language will also obtain that right.

The National Academy of Talysh announces a call for papers for the publication of the multidisciplinary scholarly volume Acta Talyshica, dedicated to Talyshi studies, under the editorship of Igbal Abilov.

Unpublished works in Talyshi, English, Russian, and Azerbaijani Turkic are welcome for submission. Manuscripts (Times New Roman, font size 14, line spacing 1.5, footnotes and references as page notes, abstract not exceeding 250 words) should be sent to actatalyshica@protonmail.com no later than February 1, 2026.

The very fact that the first specialized academic collection of this kind in Azerbaijan is being prepared under conditions of imprisonment is both symptomatic and telling. On 23 October 2025, the Shirvan Court of Appeal upheld the verdict against Talysh researcher and enlightener Igbal Abilov, sentencing him to 18 years of strict-regime imprisonment. For his scientific and civic activities, he is persecuted on fabricated charges of “high treason,” “incitement against the state,” and “fomenting interethnic discord.” I. Abilov has been recognized as a political prisoner by the European Parliament and many international human rights organizations, including Freedom Now, Amnesty International, Scholars at Risk, Committee of Concerned Scientists, the International Committee of Concerned Scholars, Institute for Peace and Democracy, Human Rights Watch, Memorial Italia, among others.

Despite the conditions of detention, he continues his scholarly research. Because the only possible response of science to criminal prosecution (including the draconian sentence of 18 years in strict-regime imprisonment), threats, attempts at discreditation and defamation, stigmatization and marginalization, is to demonstrate resilience and to continue objective research while upholding the academic standards of free and independent inquiry.

When I learned about the new smear campaign launched against me in state-controlled media, I smiled: it means that those behind this campaign understand that no reasonable person believes their insinuations, so they are once again trying to convince everyone (including themselves) that they carried out a “successful operation,” rather than fabricating a criminal case and arresting yet another Talysh scholar. If this “operation” resulted in a complete lack of evidence in court and turned into a legal, mental, and moral fiasco, then it truly “deserves to be included in textbooks.”

Listening to retellings of the film dedicated to me, I recalled one of my conversations with the investigator, the head of the investigative department of the State Security Service, during which he once again offered me a “confession” in exchange for a reduced sentence (the first time I was offered 8 years, then 3 years, and at the very end of the helpless “investigation” -1 year). During the conversation, he expressed surprise at my “naive belief” that the Earth is round. He claimed that it is flat and that “there are other continents beyond Antarctica.” If a person or a security service believes that the Earth is flat, I am not surprised by the accusations brought against me.

In a situation where journalists from independent media are imprisoned by the dozens, and talking heads read commissioned smear pieces about them and other political prisoners on camera while calling themselves journalists; when many real, honest, principled lawyers are subjected to constant pressure, threats with arrest, and disbarment - effectively banning them from their profession; when compliant lawyers come to their “clients” after interrogations by security forces (in my case, on the day of my arrest, such a lawyer, instead of speaking with me, asked the investigator: “Have you still not cleared the Southern region?”); when “judges” issue prearranged verdicts, violating all laws and procedural norms - I am not surprised by the words of one of the operatives who interrogated me a month before my arrest: “Remaining in Azerbaijan is in itself a punishment for you.” Because in this theater of the absurd, criminals arrest those who openly speak about their activities, hoping to conceal their crimes and to spread fear and division. Those who call me a “traitor” are themselves traitors to the state and its very foundations.

Listening to the attempts to discredit my academic research in the mentioned film, I recalled how the investigation tried to do the same within the framework of the criminal case, despite having no qualifications whatsoever to assess such matters. I remembered how the operatives at the first interrogation (before my arrest) were irritated that I was smiling: “Why aren’t you afraid? You should be afraid. Don’t you understand, we are inflicting trauma on you.” But how could I not smile when they told me, “We are treating you in a humanitarian way,” without understanding the difference between the words “humanitarian” and “humane”!

How can one not smile when those behind your persecution for your Talysh studies are afraid to even mention the word “Talysh” in a “film” about you? How can one not smile when an investigator tells you that naming a tandoor bakery “Əsl talış təndiri” (“Genuine Talysh tandoor bakery”) is “inciting interethnic hatred” because of the word “Talysh” in its name and accuses you of the same because of your academic publications on the history, culture, and language of your people? How can one not smile when another investigator asks you, “How many Talysh live in Azerbaijan? 500,000? A million?”, and you remind him that the official statistics count just over 85,000 Talysh in the country, and he immediately withdraws his words?

If the investigation and the media under its control take it upon themselves to evaluate my academic work, then perhaps they could finally organize the first Talysh studies conference in the country? Even if it is held remotely, I would gladly take part and listen to any qualified criticism. Or if these media outlets ever remember their nominal functions, perhaps they could come and interview me and ask the questions they have accumulated?

I doubt it, because it seems that they see their function as the destruction and darkening of the present and the distancing of the country’s bright future. But the future is inevitable - a future in which truth, law, and justice will prevail.