Iranians after the crackdown on protests: ‘Nobody cares about us’

Fear and a profound sense of abandonment are the prevailing feelings among Iranians after the massive demonstrations that, in recent weeks, have shaken the Islamic Republic and been brutally suppressed by the authorities. Fear of what has been seen and experienced, and of the possible reprisals against those who spoke out. And abandonment by the international community — especially by U.S. President Donald Trump, who until just recently was urging Iranians to keep protesting and promising that “help” was “on the way.”

Her heels echo through the hotel lobby every time the woman gets up from the table where she sits, in a secluded corner, alongside two men in dark suits. She, too, is dressed in black, her head covered by a light veil that leaves the front of her hair visible, and she issues orders over the phone in Turkish and Persian. She is a senior official at the Iranian Consulate General in Van, the capital of the Turkish province of the same name, home to the main border crossing between Iran and Turkey.

This hotel, like many others in the city, has become a refuge for Iranians who have recently fled their homeland. They are in Turkey to catch international flights — suspended from Iranian territory — to connect to the internet cut off by the ayatollahs’ regime, or to flee repression. And they are afraid. When they do speak, they recount what they experienced in whispers, glancing around warily, suspicious of who might be listening. Iranian dissidents have previously been abducted on Turkish soil. “Everything is under control,” the consular representative says with a somewhat forced smile when this journalist asks about the situation in her country and the arrival of Iranians in Turkey. “Everything is going to be fine.”

Indeed, the many Iranians EL PAÍS has spoken to in recent days at the Kapiköy border crossing and in the city of Van agree that calm has returned — albeit by manu militari. “At the intersections of the main avenues [in Tehran] there are heavily armed government forces, and no kind of public gathering is tolerated,” says Reza, a middle-aged man who left the country in the past week. They also agree that there have been hardly any protests since the country was plunged into silence — with the cutting of internet and phone lines — and the brutal repression unleashed on January 8 and 9. “That’s why they cut the internet, so they could kill with impunity,” explains Zahra, from Tehran, whose name — like all the others — has been changed to protect her identity.

From his home, Reza saw police firing point-blank at protesters with sawed-off shotguns, less accurate and more lethal than standard ones. Ali, a young man in his twenties who took part in the protests in Varamin, on the outskirts of Tehran, also saw police use the same weapon, as well as knives, to attack demonstrators. “I had to run for my life, but I wouldn’t mind risking it again if there are more protests, or even dying. If I die, it will be fighting for my country,” he says.

The Oslo-based organization Iran Human Rights (IHR) has documented at least 3,428 protesters killed, though other groups put the figure above 10,000. “We lived through the Green Revolution [in 2009] and other uprisings, but this time it was different; this time they killed far more people,” recounts Zeynab, another Iranian who was abroad during the protests but stayed in contact with Tehran through acquaintances who had access to Starlink satellites. “In the past, you knew someone who knew someone else who in turn knew someone who had been killed. This time, we all know someone who’s been killed. This regime has to fall.”

Ali, who also took part in earlier protests — like those in 2022 over the death of Mahsa Amini at the hands of the Morality Police, or in 2019 over fuel prices — explains the dilemma they face: “Seventy percent of Iranians oppose this regime. The problem is that the 30% who support it are the ones with the weapons.” For this reason, he argues, he supports an external intervention to remove Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei and the Revolutionary Guard, the regime’s main armed support. However, when he is informed of Trump’s latest change of heart regarding Iran (he has ruled out intervention, for now), the young man bursts out in English with a loud “Fuck him!”

“Trump wants to make a deal with the Iranian government; he doesn’t care about the people,” Reza laments. Zeynab agrees: “They’ve abandoned us; nobody cares about us.” However, she also warns that bombings like those carried out by the U.S. and Israel in June are not the solution: “We Iranians are a proud nation. We don’t want this government, but we also don’t want Israel to attack or invade us.”

Moreover, Zahra, who is older and lived through the 1979 Islamic Revolution as a child, believes that an external attack would only strengthen the ayatollahs, “just like the sanctions, which the regime uses as an excuse for everything that goes wrong.” In reality, “Trump, the Netanyahu regime, and the Iranian regime need each other because they reinforce one another,” she adds.

The other major problem facing the Iranian uprisings — constant outbursts of anger and frustration against a stagnant regime that are occurring with increasing frequency — is the lack of leadership or a coherent program. This, Reza argues, is why he did not join the protests this time: “I want democracy and freedom, not to shout ‘death to Khamenei’ or anyone else. I don’t want a bloodbath. I was also disappointed that they were chanting Pahlavi’s name.”

Reza Pahlavi II, son of the last shah and currently in exile in the U.S., has positioned himself as a leader of a transition to end the Islamic Republic, which itself was established after co-opting the popular revolution that in 1979 overthrew the Pahlavi dictatorship. Ali, 25, and despite his parents still defending the Islamic Republic, is a declared supporter of the shah’s son: “When Pahlavi returns, Iran will be a great country for everyone. I watch videos from his father’s time, and you can see that life was good. Not like now, when my money is worthless, and millions of Iranians have to live abroad.”

“I think there are television channels like Manoto [which is broadcast from abroad] that promote an idealized image of the imperial era, and that appeals to young people,” says Reza. Like almost all of those interviewed, he plans to return to Iran — afraid of what might happen, but with cautious hope that new uprisings may rise against the regime, perhaps ending it once and for all.

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