On the Streets in Tehran

I went out into the streets on Thursday, January 8. 

The further we went, the more people there were. At first we were on the sidewalks, then gradually we merged to take over the entire street. 

To begin with, no one was chanting; it was as if we were all waiting for the crowd to grow larger. Suddenly, about two rows ahead of us, a woman around 60 years old shouted, “Death to the dictator,” and all of us joined in. 

Everyone was shouting with all their strength, “Death to the dictator,” “Death to Khamenei” and “Freedom, freedom.” 

I went to different places in the city centre and in most, after the crowd warmed up, chants like “Long live the Shah” and “Pahlavi will return” were also heard. 

Being together like this in the street was very beautiful. Together we were magnificent and dignified. Shoulder to shoulder, we moved forward, believing in our steps.

There were also people who didn’t chant and you could tell they had different political views, but they walked along with everyone else. We were united and no one pushed out of line, no one argued. 

That first day, security forces were lined up in groups of 30 or 40 but didn’t dare approach the mass of people. They were wearing black or camouflage uniforms with helmets and all were armed; mostly, as far as I saw, with pellet and paintball guns. But they also had pistols and Kalashnikovs.

All kinds of people were in the crowd. There were many women, mostly unveiled, but also some with a loosely worn scarf and other even fully veiled. Most people had come out with family members or friends. We often saw teenagers with their parents and even their grandparents. We rarely saw people alone, and if so they would quickly join a group and stay with them. In an alley leading to the main street, a woman about 50 years old locked her front door, came into the alley, and started walking toward the main street. At first she was ahead of us; after a few steps she joined us and we went together.

There were many people aged 60 and older. It seemed that the lower, middle, and affluent classes had all come out together. Morale was excellent. 

Then they started killing people.

On Friday, January 9, on Shariati Street, we had just separated from the crowd and were heading home. It was 9 pm. I went into a bakery, and when I came out with bread in my hands, I saw a plainclothes agent pointing his gun at my brother’s chest and shouting, “Go home!” I was so scared that I could only scream. 

We ran toward our home a few alleys away when we saw several agents coming from the other side of the street. This time one of them aimed his gun at me. My brother threw himself between me and the agent, and at that moment they fired tear gas into the alley, even though people had already dispersed and were returning home. I have lung problems, and for an hour I was vomiting and couldn’t breathe.

When we got home, we learned how they were massacring people. An 18-year-old son of one of my relatives was killed in the protests. They told his father to come pick up the body from somewhere near Shoush Street. When he went there, he saw that the bodies had been thrown on the ground in the courtyard of a building. They hadn’t even put them in a morgue. When our relative went to retrieve his son’s body, they demanded one billion tomans from him. They were literally selling the corpses. 

A friend saw with his own eyes how agents collected the bodies of those killed in eastern Tehran and piled them all together in the middle of the square, without even putting them in body bags. The dead were still in their bloody clothes; it was as if they just wanted to clear them from the street so traffic could pass. A few people tried to approach the bodies, and they were shot dead on the spot. While my friend was recounting this, someone else said they had also been there and had seen the same scene with their own eyes.

The authorities have cut off our phones and internet and jammed satellite signals. To be sure, they’re going door to door collecting satellite dishes from rooftops. 

The shortages of basic necessities are also beginning to show. Since January 11, many items can no longer be found in supermarkets, not even cigarettes.

Martial law has been imposed and plainclothes agents are out in force with pistols and Kalashnikovs. The city feels as if a pall of death has been cast over it. 

In these past few days, the killing of people has been extensive, and enduring it is very hard. People are desperate. My own mother said today, “Weren’t they supposed to help us? We people can’t do this alone. Why does Trump keep changing what he says?”

I personally don’t pin my hopes on foreign help and I’m not waiting for Trump, but I also know that it’s impossible to overcome this government on our own. They have the weapons, and they’re not even comparable to dictators like Pinochet. The government has mobilised against the people and unleashed a bloodbath. It has never been like this before.

This is an edited version of an article that originally appeared in Aasoo.