I am 28 years old, and I have lived my entire life suffocating under the Islamic Republic. I am writing this from the streets of Tehran, nearly a month into a war, and let me tell you a truth that the outside world cannot seem to comprehend:
My biggest fear right now is not the missiles.
My paralyzing, everyday terror is walking out my front door and hitting an IRGC checkpoint. It is the sickening knot in my stomach when the people I love step outside, knowing they might get dragged away by these monsters. Nothing is, was, or ever will be worse than this regime. You cannot convince me otherwise.
I am bleeding myself dry. I spend every ounce of my energy and money fighting this digital blackout, buying VPN after VPN just to force a connection through so I can be the voice of my people. And what do I see when I finally get online? Analysts sitting safely abroad telling us, *"You haven't tried all the paths yet!"*
Are you out of your minds?
The last "path" we took, over 40,000 of us didn't come home. On that path, a live bullet flew centimeters past my ear and right past the head of the most precious person in my life. I almost lost my best friend forever on that asphalt. What goddamn path is left to take?
Why do you trample on the spilled blood of my compatriots? Why do you spend your time fighting Crown Prince @PahlaviReza instead of listening to a crushed, bleeding nation?
Last night, I watched his speech. Do you know what I felt?
Relief.
The profound relief of hearing an honorable man echo the exact pain and demands of his people, with more precision than anyone else. And I felt pride. I felt absolute pride in the truth, structure, and beauty of his words.
Do you know how heartbreaking it is that pride is a foreign, alien emotion for an Iranian today? He gave that back to us.
We screamed his name with all our might. 40,000 of our fallen heroes signed his leadership with their own blood.
Stop fighting our choice.
Listen to us.
@InterstellarUAP Waking up from this sim is biblical eternity. Just the same way a fetus (if it could think) doesn’t believe there’s anything outside the womb, because it can’t comprehend being detached from its life source. It’s just as complex for us to believe or understand the next awakening
Un abuelo cubano se pone a llorar cuando ve una bolsa de leche en polvo y una lata de atún.
¿Te parece increíble?
Pues no lo es. Recuerdo que para mi madre era siempre una inmensa sorpresa cuando yo me aparecía en su casa con helado o dulces, o con queso crema, o con mantequilla. Una bola de carne de res la hacía abrir los ojos y quedarse con la boca abierta. Una lata de avena Quaker, que ella pronunciaba «cuáquer», era el paraíso en la Tierra. Y no paraba de hablar de cómo su madre, mi abuela, se la compraba antes de la llegada del cáncer castrista.
Nos volvieron enfermos terminales del estómago, obligados a extrañar y añorar cosas pedestres en las que nadie piensa en el mundo.
¡Me cago en tu revolución!
What sparked the millions-strong uprising?
Shop owners in Rasht’s historic market went on strike for a few days. Almost the whole city shut down, only a few pharmacies and grocers open.
The regime warned: break the strike or we burn the market. Strikes continued.
Then Islamic regime security forces surrounded the bazaar, set it ablaze with people trapped inside the flames. They shot anyone trying to escape. Hundreds of shops were burned and several dozen died. Reports say the smell of charred bodies lingered for hours.
If you stayed quiet when this happened, don’t speak on behalf Iranians. We welcome the attacks on the regime.