Tens of thousands of supporters of the Iran-backed armed Houthi movement converged in the Yemeni capital Sanaa on Friday to mourn the group's military chief of staff assassinated by Israel, which accused him of close ties to Iran.
The Israeli military first said it had killed Major General Mohammed al-Ghamari in an attack in August which killed the Prime Minister appointed by the Shi'ite group.
The Houthis did confirm his death until Thursday, and the date or details of his assassination were not immediately released.
"Appointed in 2016, al-Ghamari played a central role in building Houthi missile systems and weapons-production infrastructure, trained by Hezbollah and IRGC," the Israeli military said in a statement, referring to Iran's Revolutionary Guards.
"His elimination delivers a severe blow to the Houthi command structure, responsible for hundreds of attacks against Israel during the war."
At the mass funeral, Houthi politburo member Daifallah al-Shami praised the slain leader's role in confronting its enemies.
"Al-Ghamari and his comrades in the various formations of our armed forces played a great role in inflicting a humiliating defeat on America at sea, along with Britain, as well as on the criminal Zionist entity enemy over the course of two years," he said.
UK forces played a supporting role in a US military campaign against the Houthis earlier this year which appeared to make little headway in dislodging it from power.
"They proved to the whole world that God’s promise of victory to his believing servants is true and honest, even if it was in the face of the most modern arsenals of the world: aircraft carriers and strategic American bombers," al-Shami added.
Leadership central
Al-Ghamari, according to Yemen analyst Mohammed al-Basha, "was one of the most senior and influential figures within the group’s leadership."
"As the top military commander, he directed operations that targeted both civilian and military infrastructure across Yemen and neighboring countries. His leadership was central to shaping the Houthis’ strategy."
His assassination marks one of the biggest blows to the hardened fighters since Hussein Badreddin al-Houthi, their founder and brother of the current Houthi leader, was killed by Yemeni government forces in 2004.
The Houthis launched attacks on waterways straddling the war-torn Arabian Peninsula republic beginning in November 2023, in what it called a blockade of Israel in solidarity with Palestine as war raged in Gaza.
Attacks killed eight international mariners and targeted dozens of vessels with no apparent connection to Israel or Western foes.
The group has fired scores of missiles and drones to Israel since the outbreak of the Gaza war, with most intercepted by air defense systems, though there have been some lapses.
One man was killed in a drone attack on Tel Aviv which hit a residential building last year and a missile attack narrowly missed Israel's busiest airport in May.
Israel responded with multiple airstrikes in Yemen, where the Houthis control large amounts of the territory after a civil war erupted in 2014. Local health authorities say the attacks have killed scores of civilians.
For eighty-four years, he lived between art and truth and chose the latter as his art.
When he could no longer make films because Iran's theocratic system would not let him, he endured in silence. That moral stillness, that refusal, will grant him a kind of immortality no monument could.
It might sound sentimental, but it’s no small thing to hold on to principles that offer no promise of survival: to keep saying no to censor when yes could buy you comfort.
Most people take the deal and call it success. For Taghvai, success meant honesty, even if it meant silence. He chose to stop working than betray the essence of his work and bow to censors.
For years, he chose quiet over compromise, teaching instead of directing, living modestly but faithfully to an idea of cinema that no longer seemed to belong to this world.
'Found freedom' in death
Taghvai died on October 14, 2025. The modern world—obsessed with visibility, market value, and the algorithmic myth of individuality—has little patience for those who stand apart.
Everyone believes they are unique; artists are sure of it. But there is a difference between those who merely believe it and those who live it. Most pass through history collecting, as Andy Warhol once put it, their fifteen minutes of fame.
Others—those like Nasser Taghvai—shape history from within.
His wife, the filmmaker Marzieh Vafamehr, announced his passing with a single, luminous sentence: “Nasser Taghvai, the artist who chose the difficulty of living free, has found freedom.”
That line captures him entirely: liberation through honesty, not survival through compromise.
The smell of oil and the sea
Taghvai was born in 1941 in Abadan, a city poised between refinery and sea—between modernity and tradition. The geography of the south shaped his eyes: the heat, the salt, the rhythm of labor and myth.
He studied Persian literature at the University of Tehran, but it was life, not books, that made him a filmmaker.
His early documentaries of the 1960s, such as Wind of Jinn (1969), were meditations on fear, faith, and freedom. For him, cinema was never entertainment; it was knowledge in motion. He helped forge the Iranian New Wave, replacing sentimentality with silence, rhythm, and thought.
In Tranquility in the Presence of Others (1970), he dissected authoritarian family structures so precisely it was banned. In Sadegh Kordeh (1972), he brought Iran’s forgotten peripheries to the center. In My Uncle Napoleon (1976), he revealed—through humor and tenderness—a society haunted by its own mistrust.
After the 1979 Revolution, in a suffocating climate of censorship, he made Captain Khorshid (1985), a southern reimagining of Hemingway’s To Have and Have Not. A parable of courage and dignity, it won the Locarno Prize and remains one of Iran’s cinematic masterpieces.
Later came Hey Iran, a satire that turned laughter into rebellion, and Paper Without Lines, a meditation on imagination and identity.
“When I cannot tell the truth, I don’t make films”
His final project, Bitter Tea, about the Iran–Iraq War, was shut down. His response was austere and unforgettable: “When I cannot tell the truth, I don’t make films.”
For Taghvai, not making a film was itself an act of art—a decision against deception.
Across his work, one theme persisted: resistance to power and deceit. In Tranquility in the Presence of Others, madness defies authority.
In Captain Khorshid, honor resists betrayal. In Hey Iran, laughter dismantles militarism.
His cinema was intellectual yet humane, philosophical yet popular. He never mocked his audience; he invited them to think.
“The camera is not just an eye; It’s a conscience”
Taghvai was not only a filmmaker but a teacher of filmmakers. For him, cinema was not a profession but a way of perceiving. Generations of Iranian directors learned from his credo “the camera is not just an eye—it’s a conscience.”
He lived between presence and absence: present in his images, absent in his long silences. He refused to lie for visibility, to flatter power for memory, or to compromise for survival. “Art that isn’t honest isn’t art,” he once said.
In a world where art is often reduced to advertisement, he proved that honesty is the hardest, most enduring form of resistance. Even in stillness, he made the loudest noise.
His death is not just a farewell to a filmmaker. It is an invitation to remember that independence in art means standing against power without shouting — to be quiet, and yet remain unforgettable.