"Like every Iranian living in the diaspora, I have been glued to my phone day and night."

Since Iranians took to the streets on December 28, 2025, protesters have been met with sweeping and often brutal force by the regime of Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. What started as public outrage over a deepening economic crisis has rapidly evolved into a nationwide movement against the Islamic Republic itself. An internet shutdown imposed by Iranian authorities on January 8 has made it difficult to confirm the full human toll, but numerous reports suggest the crackdown in January 2026 is the deadliest in decades. Amid this climate of uncertainty, we speak with Iranian researcher at Utrecht University, Nilou Yekta, to describe what it feels like to live the Iranian protests from the distance. 

We're all mourning, here and there.

Have you had contact with family or friends in Iran? How are they feeling?

“So just this morning [23 januari, ed.], after nearly two weeks of no contact, I’ve finally heard that most of my family, who live in different cities in Iran, including Tehran, are safe. I haven’t actually heard their voices myself, but a friend of mine in Iran, who miraculously managed to go online for a bit, called them for me to ask how they were doing. I don’t really know much more beyond this (the state is also monitoring phone calls), but even indirectly hearing that they are safe and alive has calmed me down a bit, for now. 

It has been an absolutely agonising experience waiting to hear from them while horrific videos and images of blood, bodies, and body bags have been trickling through pockets of internet connection via social media. You try your best to hold on to hope and not let your mind spiral and expect the worst, but it’s an ineffable pain, not knowing.”

With a near-total Internet shutdown imposed by Iranian authorities, can you describe what it is like to follow what's happening from a distance? 

“I have been glued to my phone day and night, like every Iranian living in the diaspora, waiting for a call, staring in a daze at the single checkmarks on my unsent messages. This week, some people, including some friends of mine, were able to go online using a good VPN. The internet is still shut down, but there have been short periods of connectivity in the last few days for people tech-savvy enough to circumvent it. I am no expert, but people suspect this could be a glitch in the technical transition process that could be part of the government’s plans to nationalise the internet (like North Korea/Russia models), meaning Iran could be cut off from the world longer or completely.

My friend in Tehran, with whom I was able to have a bit more of a conversation via Instagram, told me that they are mentally terrified and traumatised by the brutality they witnessed on the streets. I’m not sure if it’s an Iranian thing or a type of protective love, but I had to insist that I wanted to know the truth about what she saw and how she was feeling. She said many times, ‘I don’t want to upset you with these dark stories since you’re so far away.’ Another friend of mine sent me a message: ‘I can only say that we’re alive.’

I think we can all sense how they are feeling, even if we don’t have the means or chance to talk about it right now. We are all mourning, here and there.”

Iranians are demanding an end to the Islamic Republic; they are demanding a revolution.

What are Iranians demanding? 

“In contrast to the Woman, Life, Freedom protests that followed the state murder of Jina Mahsa Amini in 2022, which primarily addressed gender apartheid in Iran, these protests erupted in the country’s bazaars as a result of the expected collapse of the Iranian rial [ed. Iran's official currency]. Inflation rates in Iran have been on the rise for a very long time now, especially since the last economic protests in November 2019, also known as Bloody November. This inflation is linked directly to the state’s mismanagement—or should I say, corruption—and, as a result, life in Iran has become a matter of survival for more and more Iranians over the years. People cannot even afford to purchase a loaf of bread to feed their families.

The Islamic Republic has pointed fingers at everyone but itself for the country's crippling economic state. They have spent 47 years forcefully feeding Iranians the narrative that the main enemy is the West. Once again, Iranian authorities have labelled protesters as rioters and foreign agents carrying out the plans of the United States and Israel. As an Iranian, I find it painful and heartbreaking that this same narrative also appears in progressive circles in the West, which have remained relatively silent about the brutality of this regime against its own people.

We should be critical of powerful Western voices that try to hijack the people’s movement, but we must not let our unchallenged ideologies obscure the facts: these protests did not occur overnight, and there is no justification for the massacre we are witnessing. So, from the bottom of my heart, I want to ask: what foreign agent is three years old?

Many Iranians stopped buying this narrative a long time ago, and what drives them to the streets is who they see as the real enemy: the Islamic Republic. There is even a slogan: ‘Doshman-e ma haminjast, doroogh migan Amrikast’, which translates to ‘Our enemy is right here; they lie saying it’s America.’ Iranians are demanding an end to the Islamic Republic; they are demanding a revolution.”

What price are they paying for calling for a new revolution?

“I believe it was Gandhi, although it’s unclear, who said, ‘There are people in the world so hungry that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.’  When you have literally nothing to eat, you also have nothing to lose. This quote came to mind because the Islamic Republic has repeatedly invoked religious framing in response to protesters. Protesters are seen as seditionists against God’s rule and can be charged with moharebeh, which means “waging war against God” or “enmity with God.” This charge, which has previously been used to execute protesters, is severely punished, including by execution. These threats clearly do not work on Iranians anymore, in the same way that they no longer seem to see the West as the enemy in that way. And these are not new threats: Iranians are experienced in resistance and well aware of the price they pay to protest, but millions still showed up in the streets.

While it has been difficult to confirm the numbers due to the blackout—a crime in itself—a recent report by Time magazine estimates that as many as 30,000 people were killed on January 8 and 9 alone, according to local health officials. The report also states, ‘The only parallel offered by online databases occurred in the Holocaust. On the outskirts of Kyiv on Sept. 29 and 30, 1941, Nazi death squads executed 33,000 Ukrainian Jews by gunshot in a ravine known as Babyn Yar.’  The real figures are expected to be even higher. They don’t even include those who have been injured, scarred for life, or numbers from smaller towns where people have been unable to communicate with the outside world.”

In addition to bullets, security forces are using chemical gas.

My friend also told me that, in addition to bullets, security forces are using chemical gas. A family friend of hers was protesting and suddenly felt nauseous, with severe stomach cramps. After returning home from a medical clinic, where he had gone to have it checked, he died in his apartment the next morning. I have also heard via another friend that a family member was injured, went to the hospital, and was killed there. I had read about these horrors on social media, but hearing them directly from people who were there made everything so much more real. It’s not just social media content; it’s the very real reality of Iranians. The price is life.”

Do you think these protests will be the end of the regime? And if not, what gives you hope as an Iranian at this moment?

“Almost every Iranian I have spoken to, both inside and outside the country, has said that they believe this will be—and already is—the end of the regime. Otherwise, what did we sacrifice so many lives for, if it isn’t for freedom? I share the same feeling. It is a hopeful feeling because I’m not sure how we, as a people, can endure any more pain and suffering. What gives me hope as an Iranian is how we are tirelessly working to bring attention to the crimes committed by the Islamic Republic in whatever way we can. We try to remember the people who sacrificed their lives on the path to freedom by sharing their pictures, their stories, their lives. We fight to keep their memory alive, even if the Islamic Republic tries with all its might to erase them.”

Based on your research into Iranian visual culture, what the role does social media play in these protests? 

“As we have seen in past protests, such as Woman, Life, Freedom, which were highly visual, Iranians rely heavily on social media to document and express their demands in various forms. The documentary function of images has been crucial to these protests, as the scale and brutality of the regime’s violence are so extreme that, without visual evidence, it is difficult to imagine or believe through hearing or reading alone: families searching for their loved ones among endless rows of body bags, streets and sidewalks painted red with blood, or the bound hands of a man lying in a body bag, executed by state forces.”

Videos of the funerals of protesters have become acts of defiance.

Images and videos circulating on social media capture Iranians’ resistance to the Islamic Republic through diverse yet interconnected affective registers. Most of us have seen the early images of women lighting cigarettes with pictures of Supreme Leader Khamenei set on fire, but many other important countervisualities are currently circulating online, revealing the undercurrents of this secular shift. For example, videos capture acts of rage in which protesters burn mosques—sites that, within the theocratic context of Iran, are closely associated with the regime and often serve as operational centers for the state’s Basij militias, the very forces responsible for killing protesters. 

Conversely, hope in regime change manifests in visual artworks that reinterpret the Islamic Republic’s flag, substituting its “Allah” emblem with pre-Islamic symbols such as the lion and the sun. But the most powerful and striking images for me, which I will explore in more depth in my research, are videos of the funerals of slain protesters, in which upbeat music, clapping, dancing, and ululation have replaced religious prayers, transforming them into acts of defiance. These acts give material form to the final words of Majidreza Rahnavard, a protester executed during the 2022 Woman, Life, Freedom protests, who, blindfolded, addressed the camera: ‘Don't cry, don't read the Quran, don’t pray. Be joyful, play happy music.’”