Global Uprising: 168 Iran Protests Erupt in 73 Cities Worldwide

“Like North Korea, the Islamic Republic has been working to build an intranet, and it is scary. It will be blocking off Iran," said Neda Bolourchi, the executive director of the Public Affairs Alliance of Iranian Americans. The Washington-based PAAIA works to amplify Iranian American voices and advocate for policy solutions on Capitol Hill. Iran's internet blackout began on January 8 as the uprisings spread nationwide and security forces launched a sweeping crackdown. At least 12,000 people were killed, most of them over January 8 and 9 according to medics and government sources who spoke to Iran International. Iran’s Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei has since acknowledged that “several thousands” were killed, while doctors say most deaths occurred over just two days during what they describe as the most violent phase of repression in the Islamic Republic’s 47-year history. With near-total internet and phone shutdowns in place, independent verification remains extremely difficult, and medical sources warn the true toll could be higher. Where does the blackout stand now? Bolourchi said the shutdown remains severe but not absolute, and that the small openings are not born of restraint but aim to support a bare minimum of business activity especially in the banking sector. “We’re getting reports that landlines are sporadically available and that some of the throttling has been reduced,” she said. A limited number of calls and messages are still getting out through platforms such as WhatsApp, though at dramatically reduced levels. The Islamic Republic, she explained, cannot fully cut connectivity without paralyzing its own systems. Banks, hospitals and parts of the economy still depend on the internet to function, forcing authorities to allow just enough access to keep the state running while the broader population remains largely cut off. Satellite internet, once a critical lifeline, has also come under heavy pressure. Bolourchi said authorities are using jamming equipment to disrupt Starlink connections while simultaneously confiscating receivers, which are visible and easy to locate. She warned that possession of such tools has become increasingly dangerous, as the clerical establishment expands the use of severe charges traditionally reserved for enemies of the state. The length of the blackout itself, Bolourchi said, points to something more permanent taking shape. Unlike previous shutdowns that proved economically unsustainable after a few days, this current outage has persisted, suggesting the Islamic Republic has made significant progress in separating government infrastructure from public access. That shift, she warned, could leave ordinary Iranians trapped inside a sealed digital ecosystem, unable to communicate freely with the outside world even after protests subside. Bolourchi argued that the United States still has leverage if it chooses to use it, pointing to legislation already passed by Congress that was intended to fund internet circumvention tools for Iran, including support for satellite connectivity and VPNs. Congress, she said, went further than requested by approving $15 million annually for these efforts. “A lot could have been done over the past year that would be helping the people of Iran right now,” Bolourchi said, citing bureaucratic and funding delays. “Instead, we’re always in a reactive position.” Official outlets show bundled up children frolicking and families shopping, suggesting normal life restored. Eyewitness accounts from inside Iran and testimony from those who have recently left describe instead a country gripped by grief, fear and economic paralysis. Prominent journalist Elaheh Mohammadi—whose report about Mahsa Amini, a young woman who died in morality police custody, helped trigger the widespread protests of 2022—described the mood. “For the past day or two, our VPNs have been working only sporadically—maybe for half an hour to an hour each day—allowing us brief access to the internet. We use that time to let people know we’re still alive,” she said on X. “The city smells of death. In all my life, I have never seen snow fall in Tehran without anyone even smiling,” she added. “Everyone is in shock; the entire country is in mourning.” For nearly two weeks, Iran’s internet has been almost entirely shut down, with little sign it will be soon restored. Aside from a handful of government-affiliated outlets and state television, access to news has been virtually nonexistent. Fleeing the tragedy Those who have managed to leave Iran by land or air have become key sources of information. Yet many say that once across the border, they too fall into an information vacuum, cut off from reliable updates from home. Mortaza, who left Iran for a neighboring country several days after the killings, says satellite television has become the primary source of news for many inside the country. Even those broadcasts, he adds, are intermittently disrupted by jamming. Without exception, those interviewed say the scale of the killings far exceeded what many had anticipated. Violence was so widespread, they say, that almost everyone knows at least one of the dead personally. Across neighborhoods, families and friends have erected traditional mourning displays—hejleh—decorated with flowers, candles, mirrors, lights and framed photographs of young victims. The structures resemble wedding canopies, symbolizing lives cut short before marriage. Banners announcing the victims’ “passing,” often accompanied by poetry or phrases such as “martyr of the homeland,” are visible throughout cities. What tragedy? News programs on the state broadcaster repeatedly air footage of vehicles and buildings allegedly set ablaze by protesters—now described not merely as “rioters,” but as “US- and Israel-backed terrorists.” These segments are interspersed with televised interrogations and forced confessions of individuals who have not appeared in court, alongside images of daily life and repeated claims that foreign-backed "terrorist" plots have been thwarted. In recent days, the judiciary has issued repeated warnings promising harsh punishment and “no leniency” for those accused of participating in the unrest. Continued repression The crackdown has extended well beyond those who took part in protests. Mohammad Saedi-Nia, a prominent investor and owner of the Saeedi-Nia café chain, was arrested after closing his cafés during calls to protest by exiled Prince Reza Pahlavi. His businesses—along with those of former national footballer Voria Ghafouri—were shut down for supporting protesters. Saeedi-Nia’s assets, estimated at around $20 million, have reportedly been confiscated. Dozens of athletes, artists and intellectuals who expressed support for the demonstrations have also had cases opened against them; some have been detained. The judiciary says assets have been seized to ensure that, if convictions follow, alleged damage to public or private property can be recovered. Mostafa, who communicated with Iran International via Starlink from his workplace, says traffic in Tehran is unusually light. Only a small number of street-facing shops have opened, he said, and the gold market remains shut. Economic standstill Most universities are closed, with final exams moved online. Many businesses are effectively dormant: transactions have stalled because prices depend on the dollar, and the currency market has frozen without a clear exchange rate. Eyewitnesses also report growing shortages of basic goods. Cooking oil is scarce and selling at several times its previous price when available. Prices of staples such as rice, eggs, chicken and meat have surged, while consumers limit purchases to essentials and shopkeepers hesitate to sell non-perishable goods. State media deny that conditions resemble martial law, but eyewitnesses insist otherwise. Many people have deleted photos and videos of protests from their phones, fearing random stops and searches by security forces. Some witnesses say young people have been forced to expose their bodies in public to show they bear no marks from pellet guns or rubber bullets—signs authorities use to identify those who took part in demonstrations. “I know it’s over,” Bolouri said, referring to the Islamic Republic. “I’m not afraid to say this openly, because I believe the regime will be a different regime.” Bolouri, a 40-year-old Iranian Canadian, traveled to Iran in late December to visit family and was in Mashhad as protests erupted on January 8. What she witnessed, she said, was unlike anything she had seen during earlier protest waves. “It was the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen,” Bolouri said. “The crowd was so huge that I couldn’t even get to the front line.” She described Vekilabad Boulevard, one of Mashhad’s largest and most prominent central avenues, filled shoulder to shoulder with demonstrators chanting slogans against Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei and calling for the return of Reza Pahlavi, the son of Iran’s deposed Shah. The scale of the turnout initially made her feel safe, she said, despite the city’s reputation as a conservative stronghold and its symbolic closeness to Khamenei’s power base. That sense of safety quickly evaporated as security forces moved in. Live gunfire and tear gas intensified as protesters pushed forward, with the gas becoming so thick it left people disoriented and unable to see. She recalled being helped away by strangers after losing her vision and struggling to breathe amid the chaos. What struck her most, she said, was the bravery of younger protesters who repeatedly surged toward security forces even as shots rang out. “I am a brave person, but they are on a next-level brave,” she said. “Aren’t they afraid of their lives?” As night fell, Iran’s internet was cut, severing communication and access to the outside world. Bolouri said she realized her messages were no longer sending and feared her parents would be unable to reach her. “It’s a different city now,” she recalled telling her family once she was back home. She described streets stripped of traffic signs and surveillance cameras, pulled down by protesters to block motorcycle units and avoid identification. Fires burned at sites linked to the security apparatus, including banks associated with the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps. The damage, she said, was deliberate and defensive rather than random. One moment, she said, stayed with her. An ambulance drove toward the crowd—the only vehicle moving against the flow. At first, she thought it was responding to a medical emergency. “I was like, why is it coming this way?” Bolouri said. “Why wouldn’t it go around? The other streets were still open for cars.” She soon realized that ambulances were being used to transport security forces. “That’s when it made sense,” she said. Although she did not personally witness fatalities, Bolouri said she saw multiple injured protesters being carried away as gunfire flashed through clouds of tear gas. She later learned from relatives that the violence intensified the following night. Her uncle, who remained in Mashhad, told her that from early evening until nearly midnight, the sound of continuous gunfire echoed through residential neighborhoods. “They were crying at home,” she said, describing how older family members panicked simply from the noise, aware that something terrible was unfolding outside. Bolouri’s flight out of Iran was canceled, but she managed to leave via a domestic route to Istanbul. Her family believed she might not survive if she stayed another night. Now back in Canada, she says the experience has left her unexpectedly hopeful. Comparing the protests she witnessed in Iran with rallies abroad, Bolouri said what stood out inside the country was unity and certainty. “In Iran, there was no hesitation,” she said. “Everybody was on the same page.” Despite the violence and mass killings, she believes the uprising marked a turning point. The scale of participation, the open calls for regime change, and the willingness of protesters to face live fire convinced her that this movement had gone beyond anything she had previously witnessed. Bolouri said she would normally avoid speaking publicly about her experience, out of concern for being able to return to Iran, but decided to speak out because she firmly believes the Islamic Republic is finished. Monday night’s call-in show The Program unfolded through broken connections, Starlink links, and brief windows of limited access. From Tehran, Mashhad, Shiraz, and smaller cities, callers described nights shaped by gunfire, bodies taken away, families disappearing after hospital notifications, and what several people called an urgent need for outside backing as the crackdown intensifies. Many callers placed their accounts around Thursday and Friday, January 8 and 9, when a public call for protests gave way in the following days to chants from windows and rooftops as streets became harder to enter. ‘We need help’ Several callers said protests have reached a point where they do not believe people inside Iran can sustain the pressure alone, especially with widespread violence and a continuing near-blackout online. Ali, calling from Tehran, put it bluntly. “We are 90 million prisoners in Iran, and we need support,” he said. He pointed to foreign involvement in Iran’s past and argued that outside powers should play a direct role again. “Even the 1979 revolution did not happen only by the people, and the United States and European countries helped shape it,” Ali said. From Shiraz, Shiva voiced a similar fear that if the moment passes without outside action, the aftermath will be even harsher. “If no foreign force helps us and everything becomes normal again, what comes next will be arrests, heavy sentences, and executions,” she said. She described a level of exhaustion that has turned into desperation. “People are empty-handed, and we cannot do more than this alone.” Houman, calling from Mashhad, addressed US President Donald Trump directly and tied the question of foreign help to what he said he had witnessed on the streets. “We did not come out for Trump, we came out for freedom and for our children’s future,” he said. He then framed outside action as decisive for whether this ends in even more bloodshed. “Trump should do something,” Houman said. 'Proxy forces brought in' Another theme running through the calls was descriptions of Arabic-speaking forces operating alongside Iranian security units. Masoud, calling from Tehran, said people around him were hearing and seeing signs that some forces deployed were not local. “I do not understand who these people are who speak Arabic,” he said. He also described what he said was an effort to document them while avoiding exposure. “My friends recorded them, and some of it is on CCTV cameras, but they cannot publish it for security reasons,” Masoud said. The suggestion, repeated in different forms, was that Iran is drawing on proxy networks and allied forces from the region. US officials have also said they are concerned by reports that Hezbollah members and Iraqi militias are being used against protesters, after Iran International and CNN cited sources describing Iraqi Shi’ite fighters crossing into Iran under the cover of religious pilgrimages. 'A city of blood' Callers repeatedly described shootings they said were indiscriminate, close-range, or intended to kill rather than disperse. Masoud described what he said he saw the morning after a protest night in Tehran. “I saw intestines on the street, and I saw what they did to our young people,” he said. He described bodies being dragged through blood and said streets had been washed while traces remained. Elen, calling from Turkey after spending days in Shahinshahr near Isfahan, said she saw an injured person reach a side street and then be shot again. “I saw a wounded person reach the alley, and the officers came over, shot him, and then put his body in the trunk and took him away,” she said. Houman described what he called sniper fire and shooting from elevated positions in Mashhad, and said people were hit as they tried to flee. “They were shooting people from the rooftops, and many were shot from behind while they were running.” He described Friday as a night when he said arrests were not even the point. “On Friday, they were not even arresting people, and they were just shooting,” Houman said. Danial, who called from Iran without naming his city, challenged official narratives about who is responsible for the dead, and said the violence was the story. “They say people were killed by terrorists, but I ask why nothing happened during the rallies they organized for their own supporters,” he said. He then offered a line that became the moral center of his call. “The terrorist was the Islamic Republic that stood in front of the people and opened fire,” Danial said. Bodies taken, buried quietly, or never returned A large share of the testimony focused not only on killings, but on what happens afterward. Masoud described what he said was the forced removal of a body and a secret burial. “On Thursday night, they snatched the body and buried her stealthily in a nearby village,” he said. He also described what he said is becoming a pattern: families burying people at home to avoid pressure. Masoud said he was seeing many cases of people being buried at home to avoid official procedures and pressure. “We have a lot of cases like this; people being buried at home.” Elen described families burying without paperwork or formal steps, and said she heard of demands for money in exchange for returning bodies. “They buried the young man quietly, without papers, and the family said, ‘I know he is dead and that is enough,’” she said. Nima, calling from Texas, said he had received information from a hospital worker in Tehran who managed to connect briefly. He read out a list of names and ages, including a nine-year-old. He said the hospital account suggested an unusually high concentration of lethal shots. “They said not one person had been hit in the legs, and the injuries were to the head, neck, and chest.” He also said the hospital worker described security pressure inside the facility, including what he said were detentions of families. “Every family that was told their loved one had died disappeared within 10 to 15 minutes,” Nima said. He described what he said were vans arriving to remove bodies, and claimed some people taken away were still alive. “I saw people who were still breathing, and they took them away together with the dead." A protest evolving under shutdown With internet access still largely down inside Iran, callers said the blackout is not only an information barrier but a tactical weapon, forcing protests to evolve. Ali in Tehran described a shift away from mass street gatherings toward nighttime chants from homes following the call by exiled Prince Reza Pahlavi. “People are still shouting the slogans from their windows and rooftops,” he said. He said the sense of isolation is growing. “In this situation when the internet is not there, we cannot even connect with our loved ones outside Iran,” Ali said. Kian, calling from Ahvaz, argued that the country has entered a different phase, with older methods of control losing impact even as violence escalates. “Iran has entered a new stage where the old tools of repression and official storytelling do not work,” he said. He described the shutdown and the use of force as signs of fear by the authorities, not strength. “Cutting the internet and bringing forces into civilian spaces and widespread killing are not signs of power, and they are signs of fear,” Kian said. Callers repeatedly returned to two immediate questions: whether outside governments will take steps beyond statements, and whether the escalating violence and the handling of bodies will push even more people into open defiance despite the fear. “The history is written with the voice of the people,” Kian said.