Hello everyone,
This post might be long.
My name is Dariush. I’m from Iran. I don’t often say where I’m from because we are either under sanctions or people quickly judge us — sometimes even ban us — just because of the country’s name.
But contrary to many stereotypes, we Iranians are civilized and warm people. If you watch travel vlogs on YouTube from visitors to Iran, you’ll see how beautiful the country is — and how clearly the people are separate from the government.
Now let me tell you what happened to me… or better said, what happened to all of us — because I was there too.
About 2–3 days before the 18th and 19th of Dey (around January 8–11), prices of everything — food, clothing, basic goods — had sharply increased. Our purchasing power had dropped dramatically.
Large markets began striking. Shop owners closed their stores in protest against the economic situation. On the second day, more cities joined the strike. People protested peacefully. The government responded by sealing shut the stores that had closed in protest.
On the 17th of Dey, Reza Pahlavi called for nationwide protests on the 18th and 19th.
That’s when everything truly began.
On the morning of the 18th, I informed the forum admins about what was happening. I told them that I might not return — that I could be arrested or even killed — and asked them to please keep my account. I had genuinely enjoyed being part of that community.
At 8 PM, people were supposed to gather outside.
I wore a mask, packed a backpack with a few T-shirts, turned off my phone and left it at home. I said goodbye to my brother and my parents as if it were the last time I would ever see them.
When I reached the city center, it was gradually becoming crowded. Security forces on motorcycles and in vehicles were slowly increasing their presence.
We asked drivers to stop their cars at intersections and turn them off, blocking the roads so security vehicles couldn’t reach the crowd. We said we would handle the motorcycles ourselves.
People did it. Cars blocked the roads. When the motorcycles approached, many of us had stones, signs, or metal rods. We struck only to knock them off their bikes so they would retreat.
By 11 PM, we were nearly 8,000 people.
It was a strange but powerful feeling — standing in that crowd, feeling united.
Exactly at midnight, the entire internet in Iran — mobile data, phone lines, SMS — was cut off. We knew they would do it.
That night ended. I didn’t go home. I stayed at a friend’s house.
The next night, according to the call, we were supposed to go out again.
From the morning, I could see security vehicles positioning themselves across major streets.
On Iranian state television, Ali Khamenei announced that those who opposed the protesters should gather at mosques that same night and chant against us.
Among my friends, we believed this was a trap — that the government intended to carry out violence and blame it on protesters, later labeling us terrorists and claiming foreign influence.
Since we had no communication — not even with the next street over — I personally told everyone I saw to stay away from mosques that night.
When night came, we went out again and blocked roads. Security forces were far more numerous this time. Around 7,000 of us gathered. I was at the front, chanting.
Suddenly, a girl next to me fell. She had been shot in the abdomen. I carried her back. Then I saw blood coming from my own arm — I had been hit with pellet ammunition. Others were hit with live rounds.
At that point, people began throwing Molotov cocktails toward the security forces.
They attacked from multiple directions — tear gas, live ammunition. It felt like hell. Shots came from rooftops. We scattered into smaller groups. Machine-gun fire targeted concentrated areas of people.
Somehow, we made it home.
Later that night, a few of us went back outside.
What I saw was horrifying:
Officers were removing surveillance cameras from shops. Fire trucks were washing blood off the streets. Refrigerated trucks were transporting bodies.
It was beyond terrifying.
The next day, state television announced that “terrorists” had opened fire near mosques and blamed everything on protesters — exactly what we had feared.
In just two nights, tens of thousands were reported dead.
For 20 days, we had no internet. No phones. No communication. We didn’t know what was happening even in nearby cities.
I stared at the walls of my room. Severe depression took over. I kept replaying what I had seen. I felt helpless.
Every day, security forces were everywhere — armored vehicles, bulletproof vests — stopping people, checking phones, as if we were armed militants.
After about 20 days, limited internet access returned.
We saw international reactions and statements from the United States. For many of us, it felt like a small spark of hope.
Some people believed war might come and remove the ruling clerics.
Even now, when we look at X and see how Iranians abroad gathered in support — nearly 1.6 million people in one rally — and no one was harmed, it brings tears to my eyes.
We Iranians are not extremists.
We are not defined by militant groups.
Many of us do not even consider ourselves religious — religion was imposed on us.
We are hospitable. We love people. We value culture, art, history, and dignity.
Right now, many are simply waiting — holding onto whatever hope remains.
There is so much more I could say, but I don’t have the strength to continue.
This post might be long.
My name is Dariush. I’m from Iran. I don’t often say where I’m from because we are either under sanctions or people quickly judge us — sometimes even ban us — just because of the country’s name.
But contrary to many stereotypes, we Iranians are civilized and warm people. If you watch travel vlogs on YouTube from visitors to Iran, you’ll see how beautiful the country is — and how clearly the people are separate from the government.
Now let me tell you what happened to me… or better said, what happened to all of us — because I was there too.
Before It Began
About 2–3 days before the 18th and 19th of Dey (around January 8–11), prices of everything — food, clothing, basic goods — had sharply increased. Our purchasing power had dropped dramatically.
Large markets began striking. Shop owners closed their stores in protest against the economic situation. On the second day, more cities joined the strike. People protested peacefully. The government responded by sealing shut the stores that had closed in protest.
On the 17th of Dey, Reza Pahlavi called for nationwide protests on the 18th and 19th.
That’s when everything truly began.
The Night of the 18th
On the morning of the 18th, I informed the forum admins about what was happening. I told them that I might not return — that I could be arrested or even killed — and asked them to please keep my account. I had genuinely enjoyed being part of that community.
At 8 PM, people were supposed to gather outside.
I wore a mask, packed a backpack with a few T-shirts, turned off my phone and left it at home. I said goodbye to my brother and my parents as if it were the last time I would ever see them.
When I reached the city center, it was gradually becoming crowded. Security forces on motorcycles and in vehicles were slowly increasing their presence.
We asked drivers to stop their cars at intersections and turn them off, blocking the roads so security vehicles couldn’t reach the crowd. We said we would handle the motorcycles ourselves.
People did it. Cars blocked the roads. When the motorcycles approached, many of us had stones, signs, or metal rods. We struck only to knock them off their bikes so they would retreat.
By 11 PM, we were nearly 8,000 people.
It was a strange but powerful feeling — standing in that crowd, feeling united.
Exactly at midnight, the entire internet in Iran — mobile data, phone lines, SMS — was cut off. We knew they would do it.
That night ended. I didn’t go home. I stayed at a friend’s house.
The 19th – Escalation
The next night, according to the call, we were supposed to go out again.
From the morning, I could see security vehicles positioning themselves across major streets.
On Iranian state television, Ali Khamenei announced that those who opposed the protesters should gather at mosques that same night and chant against us.
Among my friends, we believed this was a trap — that the government intended to carry out violence and blame it on protesters, later labeling us terrorists and claiming foreign influence.
Since we had no communication — not even with the next street over — I personally told everyone I saw to stay away from mosques that night.
When night came, we went out again and blocked roads. Security forces were far more numerous this time. Around 7,000 of us gathered. I was at the front, chanting.
Suddenly, a girl next to me fell. She had been shot in the abdomen. I carried her back. Then I saw blood coming from my own arm — I had been hit with pellet ammunition. Others were hit with live rounds.
At that point, people began throwing Molotov cocktails toward the security forces.
They attacked from multiple directions — tear gas, live ammunition. It felt like hell. Shots came from rooftops. We scattered into smaller groups. Machine-gun fire targeted concentrated areas of people.
Somehow, we made it home.
Later that night, a few of us went back outside.
What I saw was horrifying:
Officers were removing surveillance cameras from shops. Fire trucks were washing blood off the streets. Refrigerated trucks were transporting bodies.
It was beyond terrifying.
The next day, state television announced that “terrorists” had opened fire near mosques and blamed everything on protesters — exactly what we had feared.
In just two nights, tens of thousands were reported dead.
Aftermath – 20 Days of Silence
For 20 days, we had no internet. No phones. No communication. We didn’t know what was happening even in nearby cities.
I stared at the walls of my room. Severe depression took over. I kept replaying what I had seen. I felt helpless.
Every day, security forces were everywhere — armored vehicles, bulletproof vests — stopping people, checking phones, as if we were armed militants.
After about 20 days, limited internet access returned.
We saw international reactions and statements from the United States. For many of us, it felt like a small spark of hope.
Some people believed war might come and remove the ruling clerics.
Even now, when we look at X and see how Iranians abroad gathered in support — nearly 1.6 million people in one rally — and no one was harmed, it brings tears to my eyes.
Who We Are
We Iranians are not extremists.
We are not defined by militant groups.
Many of us do not even consider ourselves religious — religion was imposed on us.
We are hospitable. We love people. We value culture, art, history, and dignity.
Right now, many are simply waiting — holding onto whatever hope remains.
There is so much more I could say, but I don’t have the strength to continue.
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