Natalie Amiri – Keynote speaker at the True Story Award 2026 in Bern, Switzerland
Natalie Amiri was invited to deliver the keynote speech at the True Story Award 2026, held on Friday 6 May 2026 in Bern. Here is Natalie Amiri’s original keynote speech.
“Good evening.
As I stand before you this evening – before journalists from 102 nations – I find myself thinking: what a concentrated force for good. And I feel a sense of hope. That is what I need. Hope.
Yesterday I looked at a map of the world. And I saw red. Literally. It was the map from Reporters Without Borders. The Press Freedom Index.
Dark red: a very serious situation. Light red: a difficult situation. The situation is now ‘good’ in only seven countries – yet just ONE per cent of the world’s population lives there.
My keynote speech today is supposed to last about ten minutes. Even a whole night wouldn’t be enough for me to say everything that needs to be said. About wars in breach of international law, illegal occupations, disinformation and propaganda, war crimes and human rights violations. Ten minutes wouldn’t even be enough to simply list the names of the people murdered by the Iranian regime in January.
I’ll stick with Iran, because fortunately I’ve been asked to focus today on the people of Iran. Which I’m happy to do, because amidst all the hysteria over petrol and kerosene prices, and the statements of a misguided leader who treats a millennia-old civilisation with nothing but disrespect – indeed, with utter contempt – we talk far too little about the people of Iran and learn far too little about them. People who have been crushed between American and Israeli missiles and the Islamist apparatus of oppression.
I worked as a journalist in Iran for nine years. I had two passports, one Iranian, one German. And yet: I was intimidated, followed, and they tried to silence me. You can imagine what it is like for the Iranian men and women who have no backup, no second passport. Those who are fair game in this country.
In fact, that includes everyone who does not belong to the regime. Not to their ‘Khodi’ circle. In Persian, ‘Khodi’ means ‘those who belong to us’, whilst ‘gheire khodi’ means ‘those who do not belong to us’.
Those who do not belong to them make up the majority of the population in Iran. But they have neither power nor weapons nor a voice.
Never has credible, well-researched journalism from Iran been more important than it is today. And never has it been more difficult to get a truly representative picture of the country.
The Islamic Republic of Iran ranks 177th out of 180 countries in the Press Freedom Index.
Yesterday I managed to get in touch with a journalist in Iran who is currently on trial; in the worst-case scenario, she faces the death penalty. She told me: “As a journalist in Iran, you live with the knowledge that every word can have consequences. A report on detainees, just ONE sentence expressing sympathy for someone who has been executed, or a critical comment, can be enough to land you in court. The arbitrariness of it all is particularly bitter: international television crews are allowed to walk through Tehran and film women without a hijab. Images intended to suggest to the world an openness and freedoms that Iranian women themselves do not enjoy. Whilst such footage is welcomed, Iranian female journalists are summoned, interrogated and charged for taking their own photos without a hijab. Anyone reporting on arrested athletes suddenly finds themselves in an investigation file. Anyone naming the dead or writing about protests risks prosecution for ‘endangering national security’. For us in Iran, journalism often does not mean seeking out the next story – but continuing, despite fear, pressure and threats, to record the reality of people whose voices are meant to be silenced.”
She is right. The regime has done everything in its power to ensure that the truth does not come to light. To ensure that the voice of the people does not reach beyond the country’s borders. Everything. Because the regime simply shut down the internet. Everything went dark. And whenever the regime shuts down the internet, I know from experience: now they are about to start killing.
And it happened. The worst massacres in recent history, perpetrated against a population, began. Carried out by the state regime of the Islamic Republic of Iran. Within 48 hours, tens of thousands were literally executed in the streets. The protesters had taken to the streets for a more dignified life, against the corruption of the ruling elite, for freedom.
Since 8 January, I have seen videos in which mothers weep so bitterly that I have often found myself in tears, to the point where I thought I could no longer cry. But then the funeral ceremonies began, and the mourners began to dance on the graves of their daughters and sons. Not because they were celebrating; they were simply dying of grief, yet they wanted to defy the regime’s sick ideology with their martyrs and the ritualised mourning ceremonies. An entire country was in a state of trauma. And that was not enough.
For that was when the war began – and once again, Iran was plunged into total darkness.
It is the duty of us journalists to counter the propaganda of such regimes. The Iranian regime seeks to paint the following picture: the protesters were foreign agents, troublemakers who have now been eliminated for the sake of the country’s unity and security. They portray a strictly religious, ideologically loyal population that stands behind the system.
What I experienced was the exact opposite: a secular, highly educated, politically emancipated society. People who know exactly what they want.
Alongside the war that began on 28 February, an information war is raging that has reached a new dimension. Never before has so much AI been deployed in a war. Manipulated images, deepfakes, AI-generated videos, rumours. For consumers, it is becoming harder by the day to distinguish between authentic material and artificially generated content.
The regime in Iran has – for the moment at least – won the propaganda war. Opinion-makers in the West attribute more intellectual competence to the Iranian leadership than it actually possesses.
That is bitter, especially for journalists on the ground who are risking their lives to do everything they can to show the true picture of this country.
I live in Germany. I report for Germany. And sometimes, when I follow the debates, the complaints, the whining, the weariness, the cynicism – then I think: I really don’t want to pass judgement. I understand the exhaustion. But sometimes it would help to look beyond one’s own nose. And through that, to feel and appreciate what it means to live in a democracy. What it means, as a journalist, as a citizen, to be protected by the state, and not persecuted.
In Germany, we have the Freedom of Information Act. I have the right to information. Every ministry, every government department, must provide me with information. Every time, after all those years in Iran, when I received the information, I thought: Is this really true? I celebrate it every time, because I know what it’s like when it isn’t.
Many of you will know this feeling.
Today we will hear about 36 nominated stories. From reporters who went out in search of the truth. Sometimes risking their lives, sometimes under enormous pressure, almost always under extreme exhaustion.
I know that feeling: that moment when you return from an investigation. When you wonder whether anyone cares. Whether the story will make any difference. Whether it was worth the effort. Whether it will be understood and make an impact.
It does make an impact.
Not every story will change things immediately. But journalism is the collective memory of a society. Because without our work, what happens in Iran’s prisons, in the Uyghur camps, in the ruins of Gaza and the occupied West Bank, the atrocities committed by Islamist terrorists, remains invisible. Does not exist. Is forgotten.
We are the witnesses. This is not a heroic pose. It is a responsibility.
The British-Turkish author Elif Shafak said recently: “We live in an age of fear, aggression and algorithms. But what could truly paralyse our society is the fourth A: apathy, when people become numb, look away and stop caring about one another.”
You are the ones who ensure that individuals cannot take refuge in apathy.
The greatest danger I know of, apart from apathy – not for journalists in dictatorships, but for us here in safe democracies – is cynicism. That quiet, creeping cynicism that says: ‘Nothing’s going to change anyway. So why even try?’
I would like to mention a young woman who was tortured in an Iranian prison and who said to me after she managed to escape: “If you look away, they’ll kill us all.” I’m sure those of you here in this hall today will not look away.
Thank you for doing this work. And congratulations to all the nominees.”
Natalie Amiri, journalist, presenter of ARD’s Weltspiegel, bestselling author and a leading voice for the people of Iran and the Middle East. Book Natalie Amiri for keynote speeches and panel discussions with PREMIUM SPEAKERS.