Tehran's cautious talk signals meet Revolution Day rhetoric

The annual commemoration of the 1979 Islamic Revolution has long served as a showcase of mass loyalty. This year, however, it unfolded under the shadow of what critics describe as a deepening crisis of legitimacy following the January bloodshed.

In Tehran, security forces and Basij units maintained a visible presence as supporters gathered in Azadi Square. State media broadcast images of families and children waving flags, and highlighted what it portrayed as festive participation across the country.

Among the more striking displays were symbolic coffins bearing the names and photos of senior US military officials, including US Army Chief of Staff Randy George and CENTCOM Commander Brad Cooper. Cooper was part of the US delegation that recently held talks with Iranian officials in Oman.

American and Israeli flags were also burned during the rally.

The imagery of defiance came as Iranian officials engage in renewed diplomatic contacts with the United States. The juxtaposition reflected a dual message: confrontation abroad and consolidation at home.

President Masoud Pezeshkian, addressing the rally, repeated the government’s narrative about the recent unrest, accusing protesters of sabotage and violence and saying “no Iranian takes up arms to kill another Iranian.”

100%

He acknowledged widespread dissatisfaction but said the government was prepared to “hear the voice of the people,” while emphasizing loyalty to Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei and adherence to his “red lines” in diplomacy, a tacit reference to Iran’s uranium enrichment, missile program and support for regional militia groups.

State television placed particular emphasis on images of children and families at the rallies, a move that analysts say may reflect efforts to soften the government’s image after weeks of reports about civilian casualties.

Rights advocates have long criticized the use of minors in political events, arguing that it instrumentalizes children for propaganda purposes.

The commemorations took place roughly a month after a violent suppression of protests that erupted in late December.

The editorial board of Iran International said earlier this month that more than 36,500 people had been killed in a targeted crackdown ordered by Khamenei.

Even as the government staged its anniversary spectacle, dissent surfaced in other forms. On the eve of 22 Bahman, residents in multiple neighborhoods of Tehran – including Narmak, Ekbatan, Majidieh and Naziabad – shouted slogans such as “Death to Khamenei” and “Death to the dictator” from rooftops and balconies. Similar chants were reported in cities including Mashhad, Arak, Qazvin, Kermanshah and Shahriar.

Videos circulating online showed nighttime fireworks lighting the sky as anti-government slogans rang out.

In one clip from Arak, residents could be heard chanting against Khamenei in response to mosque loudspeakers broadcasting the traditional “Allahu Akbar.”

In Tehran, one resident said the fireworks were so loud “we thought America had attacked.”

In isolated incidents, pro-government speakers appeared to inadvertently repeat anti-Khamenei slogans during live broadcasts, prompting abrupt cuts in coverage.

One state reporter in Sistan and Baluchestan was heard listing “Death to Khamenei” among rally chants before the feed was interrupted.

Political analyst Iman Aghayari told Iran International that the anniversary had become “an arena of confrontation between the government and the people,” adding that unlike in previous years, authorities seemed less concerned with demonstrating broad public backing and more focused on asserting control.

“This time,” he said, “the regime is not trying to prove people are with it. It is simply declaring that it rules.”

As Iran navigates renewed diplomacy abroad and mounting pressure at home, the 22 Bahman (February 11) anniversary appeared to reflect a widening gap between official displays of unity and the anger that continues to surface beyond the state’s stage-managed events.

In an op-ed published this week in one of Iran’s leading economic newspapers, Donya-ye Eghtesad, the economist Massoud Nili described the country’s current predicament as a failure of governance that left mounting problems and public grievances unaddressed.

“The current situation marks one of the saddest and most critical junctures in Iran’s history,” Nili wrote, “a moment in which thousands of Iranians — mainly young people — lost their lives in less than 48 hours.”

He argued that “a combination of poverty, unemployment, inequality, inflation, psychological insecurity under the looming shadow of war, and cultural conflict placed young Iranians at the center of the crisis.”

The unrest began in Tehran’s historic Grand Bazaar in late 2025, initially driven by slogans reflecting economic hardship. Over the following week, they broadened into nationwide demonstrations calling for the overthrow of the Islamic Republic.

Protests peaked on January 8 and 9, following a call for coordinated actions by exiled prince Reza Pahlavi.

As many as 36,500 people were killed during the crackdown on those two days, according to an internal assessment leaked to and reviewed by Iran International.

Among the clearest warning signs, Nili noted, was the existence of nearly 12 million young Iranians who are neither employed nor enrolled in education.

Iran’s labor market, he wrote, has been effectively stagnant since 2009. While the working-age population increased by 4.4 million, the economy created only about 200,000 jobs, even as roughly 700,000 people lost employment.

Official figures suggest that net job creation has approached zero in recent years.

Other economists have echoed Nili’s assessment in the weeks since the protests and their violent suppression.

Speaking at Tejarat Farda’s economic forum in late January, Mohammad Mehdi Behkish described the protests as the product of “forty years of flawed governance and policymaking,” arguing that rigid political and economic structures had pushed society toward a breaking point.

Another prominent economist, Mousa Ghaninejad, pointed to the scale of the deterioration. In 2011, he said, fewer than 20 percent of Iranians lived below the poverty line. Today, that figure has risen to roughly 40 percent.

Declining oil revenues have further constrained the state’s ability to provide social support, while access to adequate nutrition and medical care has sharply declined.

Official data show inflation has exceeded 40 percent for at least two years, eroding purchasing power even among government employees and military personnel.

High inflation has enriched groups with preferential access to state-linked resources, widening inequality and deepening social resentment.

Nili concluded that a convergence of poverty, unemployment, inequality, psychological insecurity under the shadow of war, and cultural conflict had placed young Iranians at the center of the crisis.

Writing from inside Iran, Nili confined his analysis to economic and social indicators and avoided the political roots of the crisis—the deepening rupture between the state and a society that has come to resent the worldview and governing vision of its rulers.

He did mention “realities”, however, that if ignored, would steer the country toward “an extremely dangerous future.”

Originally scheduled for February 18, the visit was brought forward by a week following fresh indirect talks in Oman that both sides have indicated could resume in the coming days.

Netanyahu is expected to press President Donald Trump to impose firm constraints on Iran’s ballistic-missile program and its support for armed groups in the region. But the urgency of the meeting appears to reflect more than immediate tactical concerns, pointing to a blunter effort by Israel to shape US policy rather than simply align with it.

Trump has repeatedly signaled his preference for a "deal with Iran." But Netanyahu remains wary that negotiations might focus narrowly on the nuclear file and leave unaddressed what he sees as Tehran broader threat ecosystem.

That gap was evident during the previous round of US–Iran talks in the spring of 2025.

While Trump conveyed optimism about diplomatic openings and outlined prospective nuclear proposals, reporting suggested Netanyahu remained unconvinced, ultimately awaiting the expiration of Washington’s 60-day deadline before launching strikes that became the 12-Day War.

Even after US bombers joined strikes on Iran’s Natanz and Fordow nuclear sites, Washington reportedly urged Israel to scale back operations as Israeli forces moved closer to senior figures following the killing of top Revolutionary Guards commanders.

Israeli and Western officials say Iran has since moved to restore damaged ballistic-missile infrastructure, in some cases prioritising missile sites over nuclear facilities. Iranian officials have also publicly pointed to renewed—even enhanced—missile capabilities, reinforcing Israeli concerns about Tehran’s readiness to deploy them in a future confrontation.

It is against that backdrop that Israel has watched recent diplomatic signals from Tehran and Washington with growing unease.

Iran has reintroduced senior figures into the diplomatic arena, including Ali Larijani, a longtime adviser to Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, who has held consultations alongside the Muscat talks. His reappearance has been read in Israel as a sign that Tehran is seeking to project flexibility while resisting constraints on missiles and regional networks.

Those moves have coincided with messaging from within Trump’s political orbit emphasizing diplomatic opportunity.

Remarks by J.D. Vance, cautioning against escalation and underscoring the potential for a negotiated outcome, have been noted closely in Jerusalem, where officials have long worried that talks could narrow toward the nuclear file alone.

Taken together, these developments appear to have heightened Israeli concern that its core security priorities could be sidelined as diplomatic momentum builds—helping explain Netanyahu’s decision to advance his Washington visit rather than wait.

Netanyahu’s publicly stated red lines, particularly Iran’s arsenal of more than 1,800 ballistic missiles, align not only with Israeli threat assessments but with those of key Arab states.

Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates have borne the costs of Iran’s regional tactics firsthand. Iran-supplied Houthi drones and missiles struck Saudi Aramco’s Abqaiq processing facility in 2019 and later targeted infrastructure near Jeddah in 2022.

Israel’s September 2025 strike on Hamas leaders in Doha strained but did not sever quiet channels with Qatar.

Despite public friction, Persian Gulf states involved in the Abraham Accords and Qatar continued to participate in US-led security discussions in which Israeli intelligence on Iran was reportedly shared, underscoring the resilience of regional threat coordination.

At the same time, Iran’s Arab neighbors have actively sought to contain escalation and, in some cases, helped create the conditions for diplomacy.

While they share Israel’s assessment of the missile and proxy threat, they have often favored de-escalation and engagement as a means of managing it—highlighting a divergence not over the nature of the threat, but over how best to reduce it.

Netanyahu’s visit to Washington reflects an effort to push back against that regional pull toward accommodation, pressing for a harder line on Tehran that addresses Israel’s security concerns. He appears to view Iran’s nuclear latency, missile expansion and regional outreach as a single, interlocking challenge.

Israel’s objective, therefore, is not episodic deterrence but the steady erosion of the capabilities that allow Tehran to sustain an existential threat posture—a logic shaping Netanyahu’s diplomacy in Washington as much as Israel’s readiness to act alone.

The widening gap between the two suggests not tactical ambiguity but strategic confusion—and it is most visible in the conduct of Iran’s foreign minister and chief negotiator, Abbas Araghchi.

Days after returning from Muscat, where he exchanged messages with US envoys in indirect talks, Araghchi embarked on an extended media tour at home, laying out rigid red lines that either were not conveyed to the Americans or were deliberately softened in private.

At home, Araghchi insists that Iran “will not stop enrichment,” that its stockpile of enriched uranium “will not be transferred to any other country,” and that it “will not negotiate about its missiles, now or in the future.”

Abroad, he has described the Muscat talks as “a good beginning” on a long path toward confidence-building.

The two messages are difficult to reconcile. Together, they suggest an intention to stretch out negotiations—an approach the United States under President Donald Trump has shown little interest in accommodating.

Even if these positions were not stated directly to US interlocutors, they have now been aired publicly. The question is no longer what Iran’s red lines are, but which audience Tehran believes matters more.

Other senior officials have reinforced the same internal message. Iran’s nuclear chief, Mohammad Eslami, said Tehran would be prepared to dilute its 60-percent enriched uranium only if all sanctions were lifted first—a familiar posture of maximum demands paired with minimal, reversible concessions.

This hardening rhetoric contrasts sharply with Iran’s underlying position.

Tehran enters these talks economically strained, diplomatically isolated, and politically shaken by the bloody crackdown on protests in January. Sweeping arrests of prominent moderates over the weekend have further narrowed the state’s already diminished base.

Still, for domestic audiences, defiance remains the preferred language. Hossein Shariatmadari, the hardline editor of Kayhan, warned after the Muscat talks that “the United States is not trustworthy” and urged officials to “keep our fingers on the trigger.”

State-affiliated outlets have amplified that tone, declaring the Oman talks a “political victory for Iran” without explaining what was won. State television has gone further, airing AI-generated footage portraying Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei as having “defeated” the United States.

More extreme claims have circulated as well. Ultraconservative lawmaker Mahmoud Nabavian asserted on state television that Trump had “begged” Iranian commanders to allow a limited strike—echoing earlier efforts to recast confrontations with the US as evidence of dominance.

Taken together, these messages point to a leadership struggling to reconcile its external need for sanctions relief with its internal reliance on confrontation. Diplomacy abroad requires flexibility; legitimacy at home, the system appears to believe, still demands bravado.

It is the Supreme Leader who must ultimately arbitrate between these competing narratives. Ali Khamenei has long proven adept at sustaining both at once—and at bearing responsibility for neither. Whether he can repeat that balancing act one more time remains an open question.

While the identities of many remain unconfirmed, the stories behind these images have helped create a shared narrative for a public mourning thousands of deaths during just two days of crackdown on Jan. 8 and Jan. 9.

In the weeks since, artists have used technology to blend modern tragedy with Persian mythology. These digital tributes often place fallen protesters in settings reminiscent of the Shahnameh, Iran’s national epic, lending the dead a sense of timeless honor.

The firefighter

One of the most widely shared figures is Hamid Mahdavi, a firefighter from the northeastern city of Mashhad, who was killed on Jan. 8 after being shot in the throat.

Social media posts and witness accounts say Mahdavi spent his final hours carrying wounded protesters away from lines of security forces. Digital artists have reimagined him as a guardian figure.

Videos circulating online show a man carrying the injured, but activists say it is difficult to confirm with absolute certainty whether the person in the footage is Mahdavi. For those mourning, however, the image has become inseparable from his story.

The firefighter from Mashhad is now widely seen as a symbol of rescue.

“He was brave, kind and honorable,” one user wrote in Persian on Instagram, where Mahdavi had been active before his killing. “His memory will remain eternal.”

Another wrote: “I’ve watched this video a hundred times and I still cannot stop crying.”

The man as shield

In another story that has become central to the narrative of the January uprising, a man identified by social media users as Mohammad Jabbari, or “Mohammad Agha,” is reported to have died while protecting others.

In a video that has gone viral, a man is seen holding open a building door to let protesters inside for safety, then attempting to force it shut against advancing security agents.

According to activist accounts, agents shot the man at close range after forcing their way through. Digital artists now depict him as a literal shield, with some comparing the scene to moments from the Shahnameh.

While the man’s identity cannot be verified with certainty, the narrative of “the man at the door” has taken on powerful symbolic meaning as an act of self-sacrifice.

Social media comments reflect a deep emotional connection to the scene.

“One day we will see this statue standing in the heart of Tehran,” one person wrote. Others simply posted, “Hold the door,” a phrase that has become shorthand for the act shown in the footage.

“These symbols must be built in our Iran so that future generations remember their history,” another user commented.

Shared memory for the future

The use of AI and rapidly produced digital art has allowed Iranians to create a visual record in real time.

As the government restricts traditional media and periodically shuts down the internet, these images offer a way to preserve stories the state cannot easily erase.

“We do not know the names of everyone who fell,” one user wrote beneath a viral tribute. “But these images carry the meaning of what happened. They are the glue that holds our story together.”

By focusing on individuals like Mahdavi and the man at the door, the protest movement has moved beyond statistics. Even when identities remain unconfirmed, the images ensure that stories of resistance continue to circulate—inside Iran and beyond it.