Longing for Liberation, Trapped Between Two Reactionary Forces
A report from December–January 2025 (Dey 1404), Tehran—days of turmoil, anxiety, and disbelief
As we are mourning those who were brutally murdered by the Islamic Republic in their fight for freedom, justice, and a better life, it is necessary to resist the reactionary forces that are trying to co-opt years of popular resistance to their benefit.
The following text is a report by a comrade who has recently left Iran. It is based on their direct observations in a (limited) number of neighborhoods in Tehran through Friday, January 9th. The text is written at a time when images and reports of the government’s widespread and horrific killings, both in other parts of Tehran and in other cities, had not yet been released. Grounded in the terrain of struggle inside the country, it emphasises the urgent need for collective organising and direct intervention to prevent reactionary discourses from becoming hegemonic. The author argues that, despite the prevailing atmosphere of shock and disbelief, it is possible to influence the current trajectory through concrete, organised action and by asserting our own narrative and demands. This necessity is especially urgent in the diaspora, where reactionary opposition forces have their primary base and where there is also space to confront interventionist states.
Merchants’ Strike and the Heavy Presence of Repressive Forces
The recent hike in petrol prices and the plan for its seasonal increase, along with the government’s announced rollout plan—such as penalizing newly registered vehicles—were being widely discussed. But what was felt most acutely was the dollar’s rapid surge. Sellers across various trades spoke of weekly, or even daily, price increases. The start of protests and strikes—first in Tehran’s mobile phone market, then spreading to the gold markets, and eventually to Tehran’s Pazdah-e Khordād Bazaar—stirred shifting and often contradictory emotions and analyses for me and those around me. From my perspective, bazaar is not a unified body or homogeneous entity. It includes wealthy merchants, brokers, precariously and/or informally employed workers, and street vendors. However, the decision to strike and to close shops lay with capital-owning merchants, not with the workers who are exploited under the worst conditions and without contracts. By wielding the threat of dismissal, owners maintain control over workers; in practice, it is they who decide whether a shop opens or closes. This reality, combined with the timing of the protests and its coincidence with specific political events, such as the announcement of the state’s annual budget in parliament that week/on 23rd of December, and the bazaar’s track record in its dealings with the regime, for example in November 2019 (Aban 98), made me suspect that some oligarchs were extorting the government through the market. I understood the mobilization as originating through coordination at higher levels of the bazaar and directed from above. At the same time, I knew that society was ready for ignition with the smallest spark, and that the origins of a protest do not necessarily determine its course—a truth that became clearer as events unfolded.
Of course, strike calls by merchants in certain sectors, such as the gold market, did not bring a complete halt to buying and selling. While officially declaring a strike, many continued trading through alternative channels and employed various tactics to avoid refusing sales outright. On the third day of the strikes, around 9 AM, I went with a friend to the Fifteen Khordad Bazaar. Exiting the metro, we encountered the usual crowd of passersby, vendors, and shoppers. But the bazaar entrance was closed, and repressive forces were present. Entering the bazaar through side alleys, we found shops open but without customers. After nearly an hour, the number of people along the shopfronts gradually increased. By 11 AM, most shops were open, and a relatively large number of buyers were present in the traditional bazaar. The usual routes were open, and there was no longer a need to exit the market through the alleys. Leaving the market, we encountered a large crowd of repressive forces: police, special units, Basijis, along with numerous motorcycles, cars, and vans parked together. Those who had intended to strike had been suppressed and forced back to work. What stood out was how young some of the repressive forces were, uniforms hanging awkwardly off their bodies, batons clutched in their hands. Passing by the police and other repressive units without a hijab drew no reaction. They had been assigned a different mission.
From the Bazaar to Universities to the Streets: Against a Single Narrative — Neither Monarchy nor Supreme Leadership, Freedom and Equality
The protests spread to universities and spilled into the streets. In different neighborhoods of Tehran, people took to the streets. To us, the slogans chanted, whether in the bazaar or the streets, did not echo a progressive, democracy-seeking movement. With a group of comrades, we set out to articulate our relationship to the protests and to actively position ourselves as a political force. Honestly put, we were caught in contradictory emotions and thoughts the entire time: we felt, in disbelief, that over a century of struggle by the Iranian people for freedom, equality, and justice was being appropriated and turned into a reactionary demand.
We were stunned and saddened. When students at the university chanted “Death to the oppressor, whether Shah or the Supreme Leader,” we concluded that active intervention—toward revolution rather than “regime change”—and supporting the protesters under suppression was necessary. We began intervening in public spaces through graffiti. Tehran is a city of surveillance cameras, making any urban action extremely risky. Still, we tried to protect ourselves as much as possible. By writing political messages and putting up stickers in busy areas, such as the metro stations and bus stops, we expressed our demands, stance, and outcry:
- Woman, Life, Freedom — Bread, Work, Freedom
- Neither Monarchy nor Supreme Leadership — Freedom and Equality
- Death to the Oppressor, Whether Shah or Supreme Leader
- Neither Monarchy nor Supreme Leadership nor Rajavi’s reactionism
The majority of attendees at the Haft-Hoz demonstration were women
On the afternoon of Wednesday, January 7th, I went to Keshavarz Boulevard with a number of comrades and then headed towards Valiasr Square. Keshavarz Boulevard looked as usual. Although repressive forces were stationed in Valiasr Square, though not in large numbers. Nonetheless, when we reached Haft-e Tir Square, we encountered a different arrangement of repressive forces: large numbers of motorcycle units surrounded the square. On one side, an armored black vehicle was parked, with two armed forces standing on top. There was no sign of any gathering or mass presence. Based on the available news and prior days’ reports from different neighborhoods, we headed towards Haft-Hoz. When we arrived, the atmosphere was tense. Many pedestrians, masked and unmasked, were walking on the sidewalks and side streets leading to the main square. Repressive forces were initially stationed in the square. We paced the sidewalks, like others, waiting for an opportunity. The moment came, and a crowd of around 100 formed. We joined. Over 70 percent were women. At first, we clapped and stomped our feet. As we neared the square, those at the front line turned back and told us to change direction. It was clear that the repressive forces were advancing towards us. Some people changed direction, while others insisted on continuing forward.
The first chants began. A woman in the crowd said loudly that we weren’t supposed to chant, that we should just keep moving. But the atmosphere was charged. The chants began, and the direction of the protest on the sidewalk changed. We began with “Shame on you!” (Bi-Sharaf! literally meaning Dishonorable/Shameless) and “Death to the Dictator” (Marg bar Diktator!), and “Death to Khamenei!” (Marg bar Khamenei!). Suddenly, “Long live the Shah!” was chanted. We were shocked that a crowd composed of more than seventy percent women was shouting this chant. We did not join in. Someone in our group suggested that we either intervene with other chants or leave the protest.
Just then, the repressive forces attacked. The crowd fled into the surrounding alleys, shops, and malls. Later, we exited a mall and headed into one of the alleys where others had gathered. Repressive forces attacked again. We fled down the same alley with the crowd. Some buildings had left their doors open, and several protesters took refuge inside. After the repressive forces withdrew, we discussed what to do. Our numbers were too few to intervene directly in the crowd, especially since none of us lived in the neighborhood. One suggestion was to support the protestors—watching for anyone who might need help during dispersals. Everyone agreed.
When people regrouped, we joined again. We moved up and down the street, spending some time in a cat-and-mouse game with the repressive forces. Their numbers increased. At the same time, shops began closing one by one, leaving nowhere to flee except the surrounding alleys and the open doors of some buildings. The repressive forces managed to disperse the crowd, but people continued to stand in small groups along the sidewalks and nearby alleys. The closing of shops and the dispersal of the crowd imposed a new spatial arrangement on the protesters, signaling an escalation in repression. After a while, we left the area. Before 10 PM, at home, we heard chants. Neighbors were shouting from their windows: “Death to the dictator! Death to Khamenei!” One person called out, “This is the final battle, [Pahlavi will return]” but it was not taken up; instead, someone immediately responded with “Death to the dictator.” We added, “Death to the oppressor, whether Shah or Supreme Leader.” That, too, was not repeated, but it met no opposition. After that, “Death to the dictator” and “Death to Khamenei” became the dominant chants. Breaking the illusion of uniformity and a monolithic atmosphere through our intervention felt necessary, even if our slogans did not resonate with others.
We are not confined to choose between the rule of the Supreme Leader (The Guardianship of the Islamic Jurist) or the rule of the Shah (King)
On Thursday, we saw some graffiti in parts of the city. Slogans like these, though limited in number, were written:
* Women’s rebellion against all forms of domination!
* We will not allow the son of the former dictator to hijack our struggle.
* Reza Pahlavi, the puppet of imperialism!
* Hands of genocidal governments off our revolutionary struggle!
* No to subversion, Yes to revolution!
* Woman, Life, Freedom
* Bread, Work, Freedom
On Thursday evening, we were around Keshavarz Boulevard. From around 7:30 PM, car traffic became noticeable, and people started honking. Around 8 PM, we heard chants from the surrounding buildings, but they were not widespread. The chants were “Death to the dictator” and “Death to Khamenei”. Once, “This is the last battle, Pahlavi will return” was heard, but it was a single voice and not repeated. From 8:30 PM, small groups of people became visible on the boulevard. There, a group of three or four people shouted, “Long Live the Shah!” A group fled into an alley. Cars in the traffic jam honked. Before 9 PM, a larger crowd formed on the boulevard, initially about seventy people chanting on the sidewalk. We joined the crowd. The cries of “Death to the dictator” and “Death to Khamenei” were very loud. Then came “Neither Gaza, nor Lebanon, My life for Iran” followed by “This is the last battle,…”. We shouted “Neither Monarchy nor Supreme Leadership, Freedom and Equality!”, but no one except us repeated it. People just turned around and looked at us. Then we shouted, “Neither Shah nor Mullah, Power to the Councils!” Someone from the crowd said, “What’s a ‘Council’ anyway?” We shouted “Zan, Zendegi, Azadi” (Woman, Life, Freedom), and again, no one repeated it. But at least our chants showed people that not everyone thinks the same, and it somewhat suspended the chants of “Long Live the Shah” and “This is the last battle,…”. Near us, tear gas was fired, and we fled into the nearby alleys, entering a building whose door was left open. After a few minutes, we came out and regrouped in the side streets leading to Keshavarz Boulevard; perhaps 20 to 30 people. A few people brought a trash bin to the middle of the alley and were throwing stones at the cameras of the Ofogh Kourosh store. The chants started again. A group shouted “Long Live the Shah”. We engaged in conversation. We said, “We don’t want to escape the rule of one dictatorship only to come under the rule of another.” They asked, “So what should we do? What should we chant?” We said, “Three years ago we were shouting ‘Woman, Life, Freedom’.” A young man said: “The problem isn’t womens’ issues anymore, women are free now.” We shouted together, “Neither Shah nor Mullah, Power to the Councils!”. They asked, “What’s a Council?” We said, “Council is us and you!” A young man replied, “I can’t even pull up my own pants, what am I supposed to do?” I responded, “Look, they’ve made us feel so powerless that we always think we need a savior to pull us out of our predicament, but it’s us who have come to the streets and struggled for years, not the person whose only qualification is that his father was once Shah.” A comrade told him, “We’re against nepotism, so why would we start cheering for another nepo baby?”
The rest of the crowd intervened and said, “Now is not the time for these arguments; we need unity.” One said, “We’re forced to choose between bad and worse.” We said: “Why are we forced? There’s another option. We are not confined to choose between the rule of the Supreme Leader or the rule of the Shah.” Right then, someone asked, “Is ‘Death to the dictator’ ok?” We said, “Let’s chant ‘Death to the dictator’”. Someone announced, “We agree on ‘Death to the dictator’.” But shortly after, the sound of “Long live the Shah” rose again. We chanted “Freedom, Freedom!” and “Woman, Life, Freedom”. One person said, “Look, I don’t like Pahlavi either, but what’s the alternative? First, the mullahs must go.” Some were chanting, others were drawn into the discussion. We began chanting, “Bread, Work, Freedom!” The slogan was so unfamiliar that someone asked, “What are you saying? Why are you chanting ‘Death to Freedom’?” We said, “We’re saying ”Bread, Work, Freedom!’.” He conceded, “Oh, okay. I thought you said ‘Death to Freedom’” Similar incidents happned in several other places in the same area. The function of the dialogues that formed and of our chants was that people realised that not everyone thinks alike, and that we, in turn, understood that the crowd that came to the streets is not necessarily pro-monarchy, but rather anti-Islamic Republic, and that some, out of desperation, chant slogans in support of Pahlavi. Essentially, our chants diminished the echo of pro-Pahlavi slogans. That night, during the hours that we were on the streets, we saw many different people. We encountered a group of female students. At one point, one of us made eye contact with one of them and asked, “Are you also chanting in support of Pahlavi?” She replied, “A student cannot be a monarchist!” They hugged each other. We were few, but together we shouted, “Woman, Life, Freedom” and “Death to the oppressor, Be it the Shah or the Supreme Leader,” and we were happy to have found each other. The crowd was repeatedly scattered, only to reassemble in smaller groups. We moved from Keshavarz Boulevard toward Kargar Street as motorcycle units swept in, yelling, “Go away, go away! Don’t gather!”
As the crowd thinned, we planned to head toward Salsabil and Azerbaijan Streets. On the way, we noticed a large crowd gathered on Enghelab Street. As we moved to join them, tear gas was fired, and the crowd scattered into the side streets. Again, the chant “Long live the Shah” rose. We chanted “Woman, Life, Freedom”. Three or four women joined in. We chanted “Neither Monarchy nor Supreme Leadership, Freedom and Equality”. A young man, roughly our age, muttered something at us under his breath as he passed by. We didn’t fully understand what he said. It sounded like a threat. We asked each other, what did he say? He turned back and yelled: “You ‘fag…s’ (a derogatory term), do you want me to take off my mask so you can see me?” This was the only instance in which we encountered harsh or negative reactions from other protesters. We drove to other parts of the city. We saw large crowds in Salsabil and Azerbaijan Streets. In Tohid Square, it was clear protesters had been there before we arrived. The presence of scattered styrofoam on the street and burnt trash bins indicated their presence. In Sattarkhan Street, a relatively large crowd had also gathered. Around 11 PM, as we were returning, the streets were relatively empty and under the control of the suppression forces. Only in a few spots were there smaller groups trying to block the streets by burning trash bins and other items. For security reasons, we had not brought our mobile phones with us. Only when moving by car did we realize that the national cell phone service, Hamrah Aval network, was down, and only Irancell was working. The next day, I read in the news that one of the operators had not complied with the shutdown order. By 1 AM, there was no sign of protesters along the routes we had taken, and checkpoints had been set up in central parts of the city.
Friday – The Slaughter of Protesters in Darkness
By morning, mobile lines appeared to be reconnected, and phone calls were possible, but text messages could not be sent. We could only receive text messages from banks and similar services, as well as state-issued messages. For example, the police sent messages to families urging them to keep an eye on their young people. Some card payment terminals were also not functioning due to the internet shutdown. The internet was out from around Thursday afternoon, and only the “national” internet was working. During the day, the city was calm. Graffiti and some damage, such as shattered glass of BRT stations and torn-up metal barriers, were visible. Around 7 PM, the part of the city we were in seemed quieter than a typical Friday evening. Around 8 PM, chanting from windows and in the streets began. Given the situation and the lack of organization, we were unsure whether to take to the streets. We debated our options: staying home, going out to observe, joining the crowd to intervene with chants, or avoiding the crowd altogether and focusing instead on painting graffiti. Some of us believed the protest of the previous night had been completely co-opted by the Pahlavi camp, and therefore, participating in protests simultaneous with his call was not right. Others saw the dialogues formed with other protesters the night before as a reason to go out again. After a collective discussion, we decided to drive to the places we had been the previous night to check them out. Haft-e Tir Square, Valiasr Square, and Enghelab Square were full of repressive forces. Based on what we observed on Thursday and Friday, our assessment was that the deployment and role of repressive forces at that stage focused on securing specific locations — major squares, symbolic streets such as Haft-e Tir, Valiasr, and Enghelab, as well as sites like Basij bases and military headquarters. As a result, people were more often gathering in their own neighborhoods rather than on the main streets.
News coming from small towns reported high numbers of killed. And, of course, later news also arrived of many killed in large and central cities. Domestic news agencies themselves wrote that there was an urgent need for blood donations in Gilan province. This means the suppression was brutal and the number of wounded was high. One friend said that on Friday night, the sound of gunfire (military-grade) could be heard in some areas of Tehran. A new point, besides the widespread cutoff of mobile lines, was the state media’s reporting on the protests. ISNA, Fars, Entekhab, etc., were writing about the protests with the usual regime rhetoric and propaganda, but not denying them as they usually did. They wrote about people being killed. Some believe that now that they have cut the internet, they intend to scare people with this news. The video of numerous dead bodies in Kahrizak was first published by the regime itself, with the false narrative that these were Basij forces and regime supporters killed by protesters. They wanted to prepare the public mind for when the internet is back, and the high death toll is revealed, or even, by showing this number of dead, frighten people and deter them from taking to the streets.
On Friday night, in Azerbaijan and Salsabil, we saw smaller crowds compared to the night before. But in Sattarkhan, a large crowd, perhaps up to around 1000 people, had gathered. There too, suppression forces confronted protesters with tear gas and blocked some streets. On the Yadegar-e Emam bridge, cars had stopped, and people were watching from above. Below the bridge, where about six or seven cars had been burned the night before, people were blocking the street. They lit fires and chanted, “Death to the dictator! Freedom, Freedom!” One person shouted, “Long live the Shah,” which no one repeated. Compared to Thursday, on Friday in the neighborhoods of Keshavarz Boulevard, Salsabil and Azerbaijan, Satarkhan, and Sohrevardi, we heard fewer chants in support of Pahlavi, and more chants were “Death to the Dictator” and “Death to Khamenei.” Others we spoke to, who were in other parts of the city, concluded the same. But according to what we saw and heard, the suppression was greater than the night before.
Final Word: We’ve been on the streets for years
Our observations over the past few days made us think that if we had a clear organization, we could have entered gatherings in small groups and been more effective. Admittedly, the speed of events and the rapid evolution of suppression tactics are so intense that perhaps these small groups may only serve such a function for a short time. However, it is possible to define different tasks for them based on the level of changes at hand. Many civil and political activists we know did not consider these protests their playing field due to the loud cry of monarchism and a fear of co-optation. For this reason, and of course, the very high level of suppression, they avoided participating in the protests. In any case, from our perspective, creating plurality in this situation and changing the face of the protests was important. We witnessed that this heterogeneity also exists among those chanting “Long live the Shah” and “Pahlavi will return”—not all necessarily support Pahlavi as a king, leader, or even desire a monarchical system. And we also saw that people who were against monarchy were also present on the streets, chanting “Death to the Dictator,” “Death to Khamenei,” and “Freedom, Freedom”. Just as on nights before Pahlavi’s call, people were on the streets protesting. In fact, during the gathering on Thursday night, someone asked us, “If you don’t support Pahlavi, why did you come to the street at 8 PM?” We said, “We were on the streets the nights before and the years before. It’s Pahlavi who is riding on the wave of people’s struggle and wants to hijack it. We came to show that this struggle is not monolithic. Just as it hasn’t been all these years.” It is undeniable that chants in support of Pahlavi were widespread. But the homogenizing propaganda and media representation led many, including political forces opposed to Pahlavi, to either not participate in protests or to shout chants that, as one comrade put it, were “neutral”. And in this way, years of struggle were being hijacked right before our eyes.
At the end of the night, we gathered together and discussed our intervention and the dialogues we had. We spoke about the experience of the past few days, believing that organization and presence among the people could have changed the equation.
The function of the dialogues that were formed and our chants was to convey to individuals present in the gatherings that not everyone thinks the same. At the same time, we also understood that the crowd in the streets was not uniformly pro-Pahlavi, but rather anti–Islamic Republic, and that a part of it chanted in support of Pahlavi out of desperation; in practice, our chants reduced the echo of pro-Pahlavi slogans.
Our encounters in the weeks and months prior, with individuals who viewed Pahlavi as a viable option, had already confirmed that the dominance of such a reactionary discourse is fragile. This means there is still time to counter it. If other alternatives are presented, many of those currently attached to the idea of Pahlavi fall away, and many of those who have not taken to the streets will join. This situation re-emphasizes the necessity of organizing and articulating a clear plan of action—the very thing we spend more time discussing rather than undertaking serious, concrete action for.
We also spoke about the suppression we had endured and the groups that had been shattered. One of us believed that it was necessary to try to once again form groups, even with those with whom we previously disagreed. This comrade, who were not in Iran in the year 1401 (2022-23), emphasized the possibilities for intervention. The other comrades, who had been in Iran the entire time, pointed out that this difference in opinion about the possibilities for intervention stems partly from the intensity of the constant suppression they had experienced, and that perhaps they needed to try to step out from under its shadow. The comrade who had been away from Iran for a while agreed that their approach was certainly influenced by the fact that they had not been under suppression inside Iran for a while. Nonetheless, everyone agreed that intervention is necessary, and that we need to talk about our experience of the days on the streets, the reluctance of many civil and political activists to join the protests, and that night’s intervention.
This report reflects our observations and interventions as a small group up to the end of Friday night, 19 Dey, and from the locations where we were present. The pace of events was, and continues to be, so rapid that it has led to shifts both in people’s forms of resistance and in the regime’s strategies of repression.