A protest witness testimony
This testimony is based on an interview conducted by the Abdorrahman Boroumand Center on January 20, 2026. Pseudonyms are used in this testimony to protect the eyewitness's identity.
My name is Reza Mashhadi. I was born in Kerman, where I lived with my family until I turned ten, after which we moved to Mashhad.
I lived in Iran until I was twenty-one, then moved to Canada fifteen years ago. Since then, I have traveled to Iran about once a year to see my family.
Economic Conditions and the Start of the Bazaar Strike
In November 2025, I visited Iran to see my family and stayed in Mashhad for around two months. The experience was profoundly shocking. Although I had traveled to and from Iran multiple times over the years, I had never encountered anything of such magnitude before. This time, the situation resembled a disaster.
As in previous visits, I encountered inflation and increasing prices, along with people struggling to adapt to economic changes and government policies that directly impacted their livelihoods. While I was aware of inflation and the rising cost of living, having seen these conditions worsen each year during my visits, I was still deeply saddened to witness such hardship.
Public concern and frequent complaints about economic hardship were widespread, and poverty was everywhere. An ordinary person could no longer support themselves on a single income. Even those with relatively better financial circumstances or some savings were compelled to drive for Snapp (Iran's version of Uber) or take on informal work. Most people held two or even three jobs just to meet their basic living expenses.
Drug addiction has become more apparent, especially among people who frequently use narcotics and spend much of their time on the streets. This was particularly noticeable in impoverished neighborhoods, where I observed a marked rise in cases compared to previous years. There was a clear increase in individuals battling addiction, depression, and feelings of hopelessness about the future. Conversations with ordinary people often uncovered deep worries about job security and their ability to fulfill basic needs.
I observed this pattern on previous trips to Iran, but this year, the situation worsened, with even upper middle class families, including my own, finding it hard to meet basic living costs, let alone afford travel, leisure, or savings.
A friend of mine, a civil engineer working for a private firm, earns about 15 million tomans a month, compared to the current minimum wage of roughly 10 to 12 million. His wife is a counselor and psychotherapist who used to earn a decent income through online sessions. However, frequent internet outages, shutdowns, and slow speeds caused her to lose many clients. They have no children but wish to start a family. Still, he told me that, given the current economic situation, having children isn't feasible for them. For them, not having children is more a necessity driven by financial constraints than a choice.
Based on my conversations with them, his wife's monthly income averaged between 30 and 45 million tomans, which was more than her husband's earnings. I've known them since my early university years. Despite the economic challenges at that time, life felt more manageable. We traveled, socialized with friends, and enjoyed leisure activities. Although many of us still lived with our families, it was feasible to rent an apartment independently with a part-time job.
Today, the situation has changed dramatically. My friend mentioned that the rent for an apartment, which was 25 million tomans last year, has risen to 55 million tomans this year—a jump of 30 million tomans in just one year. These kinds of increases are hard to fathom. Witnessing these conditions firsthand during my visit was devastating.
For many people, purchasing a house has become nearly impossible. Most individuals I know are just trying to find rental properties with stable rent costs. In Mashhad, the average monthly rent for a one-bedroom apartment ranged from 12 to 15 million tomans. Rents were much higher in wealthier neighborhoods, but it was sometimes possible to find accommodation in poorer areas for around seven or eight million tomans. Even in these situations, wages were often paid irregularly.
The economic crisis, job insecurity, despair about the future, and constant daily pressures had made many people angry and eager for change, waiting for an unexpected event or a public protest call to trigger them to take to the streets.
As merchants and shopkeepers began organizing strikes, clear divisions and uncertainties emerged among the public. At gatherings I attended, some expressed fears that participating in protests could be too costly, risking their ability to meet basic needs. Others looked at the situation more long-term, believing that real change requires ongoing resistance and readiness to endure hardships. Despite these concerns, the number of people willing to sacrifice was significantly higher than in past protests. The rapid increase in the US dollar’s value and mounting economic pressures contributed to a widespread sense of public dissatisfaction.
January 8, 2026
When protest calls circulated, I felt compelled to join the streets, both to see the events firsthand and because I was angry about the situation. On the evening of January 8, a few friends and I left Sajjad by car around 7:30pm and headed towards Vakilabad Boulevard and the Haft Tir district in Mashhad.
The first thing I noticed was how organized everyone appeared to be. Small groups of four or five people came out from various side streets and headed toward Sajjad Boulevard.
When we arrived at Vakilabad Boulevard, the crowd was still forming, and security forces presence was minimal. We proceeded toward Haft Tir and Hafez Street, but faced heavy traffic, with cars barely moving and horns blaring everywhere. We parked and then walked into the main part of Vakilabad Boulevard.
We faced an enormous crowd, unlike anything I had ever seen and totally unexpected. The streets stretched out filled with people as far as I could see. It was the largest gathering I had ever witnessed in Mashhad. I climbed onto a bench for a better view, but even then, I couldn't see where the crowd ended or what stretched further down the long boulevard.
While older individuals were present, the majority of protesters were young women and men. I believe the women showed remarkable courage, as many chants seemed to come from groups of women, whose voices were frequently the most noticeable.
The most common slogans I heard were 'Long live the Shah' and 'This is the final battle, Pahlavi will return,' along with other similar chants.
Later, during a gathering in the Netherlands, I realized I had more chances to chant slogans than in Mashhad. In Mashhad, security forces would attack whenever people started chanting, so most of our energy was spent running instead of protesting. In contrast, the Netherlands offered order and structure. In Mashhad, groups of fifteen or twenty would begin chanting, but as soon as an attack broke out, they would run away. Further down the street, another group would start chanting, but often less than a minute later, an attack would happen again.
In the area, protests typically consisted of small groups of fifteen or twenty people chanting. These events were brief; security forces would intervene within a minute, sometimes firing weapons, using pepper spray, or simply creating a tense environment that made the crowd disperse.
In the first ten to fifteen minutes, I heard no gunfire. Afterwards, the sound of shots grew more frequent. From afar, I couldn't tell if the shots were aimed at the air or at people. The pattern was consistent: small groups would begin chanting, and security forces would quickly respond with gunfire or tear gas to break up the crowd.
I also saw people emerge from the crowd to attack protesters before deploying tear gas and then quickly disappearing. On two occasions, this happened very close to me. In both instances, the attackers were masked men. Given the situation, it was impossible to determine whether they were protesters or agents acting on behalf of the authorities.
People used different techniques to lessen the impact of tear gas. Some lit cigarettes and blew the smoke toward the faces and eyes of those affected. Others set small bushes on fire to create smoke, hoping it would reduce the burning sensation in their eyes.
Around 9 p.m., as people gathered on Vakilabad Boulevard and traffic backed up, I suddenly heard a woman's scream, 'Help! Help!' Just seconds before, I had heard gunfire. I was about twenty meters away and did not see the moment he was shot, but I saw someone shambling on the ground, bleeding badly. The bullet struck him in the side. People tried to move him quickly, but traffic congestion prevented a car from reaching him. Eventually, they put him on a motorcycle and took him to what they hoped was a safer place.
I'm unsure if pellets or live rounds were employed, but I know there was continuous gunfire and many injured individuals. I witnessed numerous people limping along the street after being shot. People tried to help the injured, but panic suddenly swept through the crowd. Someone would shout, 'Run! Run!' and everyone would start to flee. Nearby, large groups of security force motorcycles were visible.
Part of Vakilabad Boulevard was closed off. At one point, a vehicle arrived and four men got out. All four doors opened instantly. Two men immediately fired shots into the air. As bystanders started to run, two or three people from the crowd rushed toward the security officials. Suddenly, chaos erupted in the area. Despite the armed men, people moved toward them. Within three or four minutes, a crowd had gathered around their vehicle. The car was set on fire, smoke billowed everywhere, and the officers were beaten. It seemed that the protesters had either overwhelmed the officers or seized their weapons. It was a remarkable scene, and I never expected ordinary citizens to confront armed security forces like that.
Security forces on motorcycles had set up barricades along Vakilabad Boulevard, with two or three rows of motorcycles placed at various points to block protesters from moving toward Park Square.
Most people were trying to move in that direction, but there was an absence of clear leadership or organized coordination. No one was guiding the crowd or indicating where to go. In contrast to the 2009 protests, which I recall involved large, coordinated groups of about five hundred to six hundred chanting together, these protests mainly consisted of small groups of friends and acquaintances who had planned to meet in advance. Yet, the severity of the attacks and the prevailing fear repeatedly disrupted these groups, causing people to become separated and spend considerable time trying to reunite.
I left Vakilabad around 1:30 a.m. and on my return, I noticed the city looked like it had experienced a war. Guardrails were torn down, bus-stop windows shattered, and buses along with pedestrian bridges were set ablaze. Signs of violent clashes were evident everywhere.
A hunting-gun store near the Sajjad entrance was burned down, and the Sajjad police station was also set on fire. The police station was reportedly vacant since its functions had been combined with another station's, but the building was heavily damaged with all windows shattered.
I also noticed a house that people claimed belonged to the owner of the Tabarok food company, where religious gatherings were said to have taken place. That house had also been burned down.
By the next day, most of the damage had already been repaired. Workers were repairing the railings around Ferdowsi University. It appeared that the authorities were eager to restore the city's appearance and swiftly eliminate any visible traces of the incident.
January 9, 2026
On the second night of protests, 9 January 2026, I was with a friend in Bahonar neighborhood. Before leaving at around 8:00 p.m., we went to the rooftop to check the situation. From there, visibility was limited, but we could hear continuous gunfire, with shots fired every few seconds. We then decided to move toward the outskirts of Vakilabad Boulevard. We arrived in the Kowsar area via Bahonar Street around 8 p.m. Initially, the streets seemed fairly quiet, with cars passing through and no significant crowds.
When we arrived, we noticed around five to six hundred motorcycles blocking the roads along Vakilabad Boulevard and Park Square. Most officers wore uniforms labeled 'Police,' but there was another group of plainclothes officers who looked quite different from the regular police.
The streets were strangely empty. It seemed that most of the protesters likely gathered across Vakilabad Boulevard. Crossing was challenging due to the metro line and guardrails along the center. Despite some damage to the barriers from the night before, crossing remained risky due to the heavy security atmosphere. Motorcycle units could easily spot anyone trying to cross on foot. Our side's lights were turned off, leaving the area in darkness, while the opposite side remained lit. We arrived at a pedestrian bridge and paused to determine whether to attempt crossing to join the crowd on the other side. I climbed the bridge to evaluate the situation while my friends remained below. At this time, mobile phones were still functional, and calls could be made.
As I reached the middle of the bridge, I suddenly noticed a crowd of roughly one thousand people marching along Vakilabad Boulevard's center. They were shouting slogans and heading toward the bridge. What impressed me most was how well-organized their march looked, especially since they were moving straight toward the security forces near Kowsar. At that moment, I saw security forces on motorcycles positioned in an underpass behind the crowd. Without warning, they suddenly accelerated towards the protesters, firing shots into the air. The armed forces did not give any warnings or instructions to disperse. What I saw was not crowd control; it was an immediate attack intended to intimidate and terrorize the people.
I quickly ran down from the bridge. At the bottom, a narrow alleyway was crowded with terrified protesters rushing towards it as their only escape. In the chaos, I couldn't see my friends anymore. My main concern was just to save myself. It felt like I was in a war zone. Whether alone in a quiet spot or in the crowd, safety seemed impossible. Suddenly, hundreds of people would appear out of nowhere, gunfire would break out, and everyone would run blindly. The situation was entirely unpredictable.
The motorcycle units emerged from the Kowsar underpass, heading toward the bridge and the narrow alley. I stood on the pavement, leaning against a house wall. People were squeezed together in fear, some clinging to each other's jackets to avoid separation. What happened next is one of the most terrifying moments I have ever seen. Gunfire erupted nonstop, with fragments or debris from the shooting hitting my back. The gunfire seemed relentless. We ran, holding onto each other to stay close, with those behind me clutching my jacket tightly.
Before me, a woman was walking with a young child, who looked too young to understand what was happening. She held his hand and pulled him along as I heard a man shout behind me: 'Don't be afraid! Turn back! They can't hurt us. Don't run.' It was hard to believe someone could say that amid gunfire. It took real courage. We moved awkwardly, bending low and crouching to make ourselves less visible, trying to become smaller targets.
Suddenly, I heard two rapid gunshots. Immediately afterward, I saw the woman and the child get hit. I'm not sure whether the rounds were live ammunition or not, but I saw blood spray across the wall to my left. It all happened in just seconds. It was dark, and we were running at full speed. What I remember most vividly is seeing blood suddenly splatter across the wall under the glow of a nearby light.
I was running so fast that by the time I reached them, I nearly leapt over the woman's body to keep going, as the gunfire still continued. A second or two later, the shooting subsided. I looked back and saw a man in a large beige jacket lying over the woman and child, apparently trying to protect them with his own body. At the same time, I saw several motorcycles turn around and head back toward Vakilabad Boulevard. The woman was dragging her child along the ground, but they were both still moving. She appeared to be trying to reach the wall to lean against it, while the man seemed to be attempting to get back up and help them.
I only saw this scene briefly, but it has stayed with me. The security forces seemed to carry handguns, and the shots sounded like single rounds rather than automatic fire. It also seemed like multiple people were firing simultaneously. When the motorcycle units went by, I didn't notice any assault rifles or machine guns; they appeared to be armed with pistols. I don't know what kind of ammunition was used, but this is what I observed firsthand. I believe it was just before 9 pm, shortly after we left the house.
Around that time, a door from a nearby house opened. I was probably among the last to enter. What I saw was both astonishing and deeply disturbing. The yard was full of injured people, many of them appeared to have been hit by pellets. A woman, likely the homeowner, was moving constantly between the house and yard. People said she was a nurse. She checked each wounded person, disinfecting their injuries with antiseptic and doing her best to help them. Meanwhile, I stayed near the door, listening carefully to determine if the security forces were still outside. My mind was filled with countless thoughts: who are these people? Is the house still safe? Could they hand us over to the authorities? About ten minutes later, I and several others left the house.
By that point, the phones had gone dead. We couldn't call or text, and we were unable to locate the friends we'd been separated from. Before leaving, we agreed that if we got lost, we'd all return to my friend's house in Bahonar. As I ran back towards Bahonar, I saw the same man I noticed earlier near the bridge. Once again, he turned to me and said, 'Don't leave. Stay. We have to fight for our rights.' When I told him that people were being shot, he responded, 'Let them shoot.'
When I finally reached my friend's house, I knocked loudly on the door. Someone answered it, and from a distance, I saw two women rushing toward the house in a panic, with a motorbike approaching from further down the street. As soon as the door opened, I told them to come inside swiftly. They stayed in the yard for a short time before leaving again.
Later, my friends also returned. When the attack on the alley began, they were about ten meters ahead of me. They took shelter in a different house and told me they saw many injured people there, too. One person had pellets hit them in the forehead and another in the throat. They described the scenes as horrific. Because of the security forces' presence, they had to take a different route, which is why they arrived nearly an hour after me. After witnessing all this, none of us could speak for almost an hour. We were in shock. What we saw was terrifying and deeply traumatic.
My two nights in Mashhad, along with my observations and subsequent conversations with friends and acquaintances, deeply affected me. Those who traveled from areas like Sakhteman Street and Tabarsi mentioned that the streets were stained with blood the following day. It seemed as though repression had significantly intensified. Many believed that direct orders had been given for a far more severe crackdown.
Regarding communications, phone calls within Iran continued to work intermittently. We could still call each other on mobile phones and landlines, but text messaging was largely impossible. Internet access was entirely cut off. Only a few domestic websites like Fars News Agency, Tabnak, and Varzesh3, along with some service platforms such as Alibaba for booking airline tickets, remained accessible.
After 8 and 9 January 2026
Around noon on January 10, I visited the Ahmadabad neighborhood after hearing about heavy clashes the night before. Upon arrival, I observed burned pedestrian bridges and destroyed buses, making parts of the city look like a war zone. Yet, many workers and municipal crews were already busy clearing debris and fixing damages. It appeared that authorities were ready to restore normalcy quickly after the unrest.
Starting the night of 10 January, the city's atmosphere shifted dramatically. A few friends and I decided to walk towards the Sajjad neighborhood to observe the situation. However, before reaching our destination, a family coming from the opposite direction warned us not to go further. They informed us that a military vehicle resembling a tank was at Bozorgmehr Intersection, and security forces were stopping and questioning people about their destination and reasons for being outside.
When we approached Sajjad from a different route, the area seemed deserted. Shops were shut, and few people were visible outside. It then struck me that the authorities had maximized repression and fear over those two nights. The intimidating atmosphere made me believe that people would not gather again if new protest calls were made later.
Several banks in different parts of the city had also been damaged. What impressed me most was how swiftly the repairs were underway. One afternoon, around January 9 or 10, I passed by the Bank Melli and Iran Zamin Bank branches in the Sajjad area. All their surveillance cameras had been broken, but new ones were already being installed. Damaged security doors were also being replaced.
One of the most disturbing things I witnessed occurred around January 11 or 12. I began seeing pictures of young people who had been killed displayed on car windows across the city. Some of the pictures were accompanied by the words 'A Young Life Cut Short'. In neighborhoods such as Sajjad, black mourning banners could be seen every few blocks. Their presence suggested that many families were grieving the loss of loved ones.
Communication with individuals outside Iran was entirely interrupted for several days. It was only after four or five days that I discovered international communications had been reinstated, allowing contact with people abroad once more.
Leaving Iran Several Days After the Protests
A few days following the protests, I went to Tehran with the intention of leaving Iran from there. Since I had a flight booked, I stayed only one night in the city.
The area around Mehrabad Airport was highly militarized. After exiting the airport and getting into a taxi, I observed about ten to twelve Special Forces vehicles, which looked very military. During my time there, I also saw security forces randomly stopping cars nearby.
I asked the taxi driver about it, and he explained that these forces were stationed all over Tehran. He mentioned that they regularly stopped vehicles, questioned drivers and passengers, and carried out inspections.
That night, I wasn't stopped, nor was my phone searched. Still, armed security forces were present right outside the airport exit car park.
The next day, I left Iran.
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