
For decades, women in Iran have been barred from entering sports stadiums. The restriction dates back to the 1979 Islamic Revolution and, while not clearly codified into law, has been enforced in practice ever since. Authorities have often justified it by claiming stadiums are not “appropriate spaces” for women.
The policy has excluded more than 40 million women and girls from watching the country’s most popular sport in person.
This month, Iranian-Canadian activist Maryam Shojaei released Azadi Means Freedom, a book that tells the story of her fight to challenge that reality. It’s both a campaign story and a deeply personal one.
Shojaei grew up in a football family. Her brother, Masoud Shojaei, captained Iran’s national team and played in three World Cups. Still, she and her family never had the chance to see him play at Tehran’s Azadi Stadium. Azadi means “freedom.”
It was a contradiction she couldn’t accept.
“Despite its name, which means freedom in Farsi, women were barred from entering Tehran’s Azadi Stadium,” one review notes.
Shojaei went on to found the #NoBan4Women campaign. Through that campaign, she built international pressure with petitions, advocacy and direct engagement with global institutions. Her work brought her to FIFA and the United Nations, where she pushed leaders to uphold their own commitments to gender equity in sport.
There have been moments of progress. Women were allowed into a World Cup qualifier in 2019. But access has not been consistent, and most women are still blocked from attending matches.
The risks have been real. In the book, Shojaei describes being detained and beaten, even as the campaign gained global traction and support.
Her work has also been recognized on a global stage. At the Beyond Sport Global Awards in 2019, Shojaei represented Iranian stadium ban activists to receive the Sport for Human Rights Award, presented in partnership with Equality League. The award recognized years of pressure on international institutions to confront gender discrimination in sport.

Still, this is not a solo story.
Shojaei places her work within a broader movement. Progress, she notes, has come through collective action. When accepting recognition, she did so “on behalf of all the women’s rights activists in Iran who had been fighting for this cause for years.”
That perspective carries through the book. Individual moments connect to something larger — a push for dignity, access and visibility. For activists, the issue has never been just about attending matches. It’s about participation in public life and the right to be seen.
“Maryam’s story is not just about a stadium ban,” wrote Kely Nascimento, former Beyond Sport board member, co-founder of HADAF Global and daughter of football legend Pelé. “It is about the power of sports as a tool for diplomacy… and the constant need to keep fighting for the basic human rights of women everywhere.”
The book arrives at a time when sport continues to reflect both exclusion and change. Shojaei’s story shows how pressure from athletes, fans and advocates can shift even long-standing systems.
At its core, Azadi Means Freedom asks a simple question: who gets to belong in sport, and who is still being left out? It’s a story worth reading for anyone thinking about access, equity and the role sport can play in both.





