Two weeks into Iran’s latest nationwide protests, the Islamic Republic has returned to a grimly familiar strategy: total silence, followed by overwhelming force.

As of Sunday, Iran has been plunged into near-total isolation for five consecutive days. Internet access has been almost entirely shut down. Ordinary means of communication — mobile phone calls, landlines and even institutional lines — have been severed. Iranians inside the country cannot reach the outside world, and those abroad cannot reach their families. Even embassies in Tehran have reportedly been unable to establish regular communication.

Only a handful of people with access to Starlink internet have managed to send fragments of images and videos to the outside world. What has emerged through these digital cracks has struck Iranians everywhere like a knife to the heart.

One video shows rows of bodies lying on the ground outside a medical facility — too many to count. The sound is unbearable: mothers screaming, crying, calling the names of children who will never answer. Other footage shows families searching desperately through hospitals and streets for loved ones, hoping to find them alive — or at least to find their bodies.

These images confirm what many Iranians already know too well. Once again, the regime has perfected its method of repression: First, cut all lines of communication; then unleash direct and lethal force against unarmed citizens.

Unconfirmed reports from inside Iran suggest that more than 2,000 people may have been killed in just two days, with countless others seriously wounded and denied proper medical care. Whether the final numbers are higher or lower, the pattern is unmistakable — and tragically familiar.

They began amid a sudden spike in Iran’s currency exchange rate, which triggered immediate and severe increases in food prices and basic living costs. Inflation, already suffocating much of the population, tightened its grip almost overnight. Within days, Tehran’s bazaar — long considered the backbone of Iran’s economy and traditionally cautious about joining street protests — closed its doors in protest. Historically, when the bazaar moves, the country listens.

This time, the bazaar did not act alone for long. Protests quickly spread from Tehran to cities across the country, including smaller towns in underdeveloped provinces. These communities, often bearing the heaviest burden of poverty and state neglect, became unexpected centers of resistance.

The government attempted to contain the unrest by declaring multiple public holidays under the pretext of extreme cold weather, hoping to empty the streets. The tactic failed. Protesters continued to gather — especially in smaller cities, where the state’s presence is more visible and more violent.

In Malekshahi, a small city in western Iran’s Ilam province, scenes emerged of security forces retreating from a police base as residents celebrated briefly in the streets. Such moments of collective defiance, though rare and fleeting, underscored the depth of public anger.

Alongside these protests, chants explicitly invoking the Pahlavi name have been widely reported. Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi, Iran’s last monarch before the 1979 Islamic Revolution. Today, protesters chant both his name and that of his son, Reza, while also directing increasingly explicit slogans at Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, including: “This year is the year of blood — Seyyed Ali Khamenei will be overthrown.”

Reza Pahlavi publicly called on Iranians of all political and ideological backgrounds to take to the streets last Thursday and Friday. That call coincided with large nighttime demonstrations in major cities, particularly on Thursday evening, the start of Iran’s weekend.

It was precisely at this moment that the regime intensified its crackdown and enforced the most severe communication blackout yet. With independent media banned and journalists silenced or imprisoned, no institution has been able to verify the number of casualties. What is clear from the fragments that have gotten out is that hospitals are overwhelmed and many of the dead and detained are teenagers.

Families search in desperation for children taken into custody. As in past protest waves, Iran’s judiciary has denied detainees access to lawyers and contact with their families, despite explicit guarantees in Iran’s own criminal and procedural laws. Once again, the regime has demonstrated that even its own legal framework holds little weight when power feels threatened.

Having witnessed the Green Movement of 2009 firsthand, I recognize familiar patterns and critical differences. The streets today carry the same potential for mass mobilization, but Iranian civil society is more exhausted. Years of relentless repression, economic collapse and social fragmentation have taken their toll. Many Iranians are angrier than ever — but also poorer, more vulnerable and more fearful. Mobilization takes longer; the risks feel higher.

Meanwhile, the international response has been painfully muted.

Many Iranians, inside and outside the country, are asking a difficult question: Where are the voices that so loudly champion human rights elsewhere? The world has mobilized institutions, headlines and humanitarian language for Gaza and other crises. Why, then, is the killing of thousands of unarmed Iranians in the streets met largely with statements of “concern”?

President Donald Trump and several figures associated with his administration have repeatedly voiced support for the Iranian people, and United Nations Secretary-General António Guterres has expressed concern. But for a population that has endured repeated cycles of protest and repression, words alone are not enough. Meaningful action — real pressure and tangible support — is urgently needed. Time after time, the regime kills its citizens, and the international community responds with condemnation, only to retreat once again into silence.

Iran is a country rich in natural resources and human capital. Yet today, even middle-class families are being pushed below the poverty line. Economic desperation intersects with political suffocation and religious coercion, producing a volatile and deeply unstable reality.

As Iranians watch, wait and refresh social media feeds for scraps of news, fear mixes with fragile hope. Many worry that, once again, young lives will be lost without meaningful change. Others insist that despite the cost, retreat is no longer possible.

The coming days will be decisive. Whether Iran’s battered civil society can transform this bitter winter into a new political spring remains uncertain. What is certain is that the courage on display in Iran’s streets — and the blood already spilled there — demands more than silence from the world.

____

Pegah Banihashemi, a native of Iran, is a legal scholar and journalist in Chicago whose work focuses on human rights, constitutional and international law, and Middle East politics.

___

©2026 Chicago Tribune. Visit at chicagotribune.com. Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.