From Tehran, “For Palestine”: Disrupting the State’s Discursive Monopoly on Anti-Imperialism and Pro-Palestine Solidarity

From Tehran, “For Palestine”: Disrupting the State’s Discursive Monopoly on Anti-Imperialism and Pro-Palestine Solidarity

From Tehran, “For Palestine”: Disrupting the State’s Discursive Monopoly on Anti-Imperialism and Pro-Palestine Solidarity

By : Azadeh Shabani

In a world where the realms of official politics are increasingly dominated by totalizing discourses and entrenched symbolic orders, spontaneous acts of resistance—rooted in the lived experiences and moral sensitivities of the marginalized—rarely find space for expression. Yet, from time to time, events emerge on the margins of power that disrupt the established order and break through the logics of official representation, thereby opening new avenues for political action. The independently organized “For Palestine” (baray-e Felestin) rally on May 22, 2025 (1 Khordad 1404), in front of the University of Tehran was one such rupture—a moment when a diverse group of citizens, without any formal call, unaffiliated with power centers, and beyond prevailing ideological frameworks, raised their voices in defense of the human dignity of the Palestinian people.

The significance of “For Palestine” is not limited to its humanistic and political content. The rally’s importance also lies in its construction of a new form of collective subjectivity, its articulation of a new language of activism, and its conscious demarcation from official narratives. It is a locally rooted act that nevertheless brings forth an emancipatory global horizon. This text offers an analysis of the event’s implications, situating it within the broader context of struggles aimed at redefining the political and forging alternative solidarities. Here, politics is not merely understood as action within existing structures, but as the potential to open new horizons through the creation of spaces of resistance and dialogue among diverse subjects. 

Unmediated Solidarity: Redefining Politics from Below


The “For Palestine” rally, which took place in front of the main gate of the University of Tehran, can be seen as a form of autonomous, non-state political action in the Iranian public sphere. While this assembly was held in solidarity with the Palestinian people and in protest against the ongoing genocide in Gaza, it was fundamentally different from previous official or semi-official rallies defined within the dominant discourse of the Islamic Republic. The participants, fully aware of power dynamics shaped by the binary forces of domestic despotism and foreign domination, sought to draw clear discursive boundaries against both of these forces. By distancing themselves from the state's official narrative on the Palestinian issue, the participants brought forth a distinct voice—one that emerged from the diverse fabric of Iranian society. This voice neither served to legitimize domestic authoritarianism nor to perpetuate the global structures of domination.

In this sense, the “For Palestine” rally can be understood as an embodiment of a self-grounded and subjectivized will within the political arena—a will aimed at redefining the relationship between solidarity and intellectual autonomy. By insisting on the independence of their position, the participants sought to articulate a radical conception of solidarity—one not aligned with the logic of the state, but rather a conception grounded in the lived experiences of oppressed peoples, whether Iranian or Palestinian.

Reclaiming the Political: A Rupture in Iran’s Symbolic Order


The “For Palestine” rally was not only a protest action in solidarity with the people of Palestine, but also a moment of rupture within an entrenched regime of representation—a moment in which emergent (Iranian) political subjects reclaimed the right to speak, to be present, and to act outside the familiar frameworks of power. It was the embodiment of a will to exit a condition in which “the people” are only recognized through the language, symbols, and structures of the state. What took place on May 22, in essence, was a reclaiming of language and space by society itself—without relying on the mediation of authoritarian structures.

From this perspective, the rally was not only a form of protest against the systematic violence that Israel inflicts on the Palestinian people, but also an act of critique that confronted both internal authoritarianism and transnational domination. In this context, theories of collective action and grassroots politics offer useful conceptual tools for understanding the event. This form of politics, emerging from horizontal networks of human empathy and moral bonds, directly challenges the vertical structures of power. Despite the diversity in background, attire, beliefs, and lifestyles, participants were united by a fundamental principle: the defense of human dignity and opposition to genocide. This was an instance of transnational solidarity—rooted not in dominant ideologies, but in shared suffering.

The “For Palestine” rally was not only a protest action in solidarity with the people of Palestine, but also a moment of rupture within an entrenched regime of representation—a moment in which emergent (Iranian) political subjects reclaimed the right to speak, to be present, and to act outside the familiar frameworks of power.

Thus, the rally can be seen as an effort from below to redefine the political—as something grounded in collective subjectivity, rather than delegated to official institutions. In this sense, politics is not the reflection of a pre-existing system, but the product of creative and dissenting acts that emerge from the cracks in the symbolic order. The creation of such alternative spaces is often met with repressive reactions from the powers that be, since the established order sees the emergence of other voices as a threat to its monopoly over meaning. The fact that some participants in the rally weresummoned, threatened, and faced with security pressures is best understood in this light: an attempt to push the political back into the controlled boundaries of authority.

The political vision of the participants was reflected in the slogans which were chanted during the rally. Among these slogans were:

  • “From Gaza, to Yemen and  Tehran / Workers of the world, unite!” 
    (
    غزه، یمن تا تهران/ وحدت زحمتکشان)
  • “Death to Zionism / Imperialism and Fascism”
    (
    مرگ بر صهیونیسم/ امپریالیسم و فاشیسم)
  • “Palestine, Resilient / Death to Colonialism” 
    (
    فلسطین، استوار/ مرگ بر استعمار)


These slogans articulate the language of global resistance—a language that seeks to liberate the concepts of justice, class solidarity, and the rights of the oppressed from the grip of official discourse, and to reimagine them in a form shaped by the lived experiences of the marginalized. This language offers a way to forge living connections between local and global struggles, between street politics and global ethics, and between diverse subjects who seek to reconstruct a liberatory horizon for politics. 

Politics as the Refusal of Identity-Based Judgment


The questions raised on the margins of this rally—regarding the alleged affiliation of some participants with conservative and Islamist groups such as Edalat-talaban (Justice-Seekers) or the Basij—point to one of the deepest crises in Iranian politics: the reduction of the political to predetermined identifiers, fixed affiliations, and ideological classifications. This tendency toward “identity-centeredness” stands in stark contrast to a radical understanding of politics—one that is not founded on sameness, but on the possibility of dialogue amid difference.

At the “For Palestine” rally, participants did not ask one another, “Where are you from? What do you believe in?” Nor did we seek to categorize anyone using pre-defined labels. The only shared question that united us was: “Does your heart beat for the oppressed?” This became the starting point of an action grounded not in ideological uniformity, but in the lived experience of suffering and solidarity.

However, the response of some civil society actors and observers—who sought to undermine the moral legitimacy of the rally by attaching specific political or ideological labels—revealed a structural problem in Iranian political culture: the internalization of surveillance, scrutiny, and judgment within society itself. In other words, a subtle yet powerful form of authoritarianism often manifests not through official repression, but through the reproduction of exclusionary mechanisms within civic spaces—where alternative identities must “justify” their presence and individuals’ political legitimacy are tied to their background, appearance, or affiliations.

This situation shows that structures of domination can infiltrate collective action when the boundaries of participation are defined not by shared moral concern, but by particular ideological metrics. In such moments, politics ceases to be a space of openness and plurality, and instead becomes a site of judgment, monopolization, and exclusion. Yet politics, in its fundamental sense, is the moment when the “other” is recognized—even if they are not like us, even if they disagree with us.

To stand with the participants of the “For Palestine” rally is not merely about supporting a specific protest; it is also about defending a broader horizon: the possibility of redefining politics as a space for the emergence of differences, for forging connections beyond partial affiliations, and for opening a space in which empathy precedes identity, and justice takes precedence over judgment. 

A Three-Pronged Assault: The Persistent Logic of Exclusion


Following the May 22 rally in support of the Palestinian people, a wave of relentless attacks erupted across social media platforms. Activists who participated in this collective action were immediately subjected to labeling, character assassination, and identity-based interrogations. Some detractors of the “For Palestine” rally have engaged in exposing the activists’ political backgrounds, private lives, and/or the “ideological pedigrees” of those who participated in the rally. These attacks originated from three distinct yet structurally aligned fronts: pro-NATO and anti-communist leftists, monarchists, and religious fundamentalists loyal to the Islamic Republic. Each of them, in their own way but through a shared logic of exclusion and political foreclosure, contributed to the reproduction of authoritarianism.

At the first level, the so-called pro-NATO and anti-communist leftists deny the intellectual and political autonomy of solidarity actions with Palestine, branding any such initiative as “regime-backed.” This response is not grounded in contextual analysis, but in superficial resemblances and discursive overlaps—as though politics is simply a matter of loyalty to fixed power camps and established meaning systems, rather than a space for emancipatory experimentation. This mode of engagement effectively neutralizes alternatives in the political imagination—alternatives that aim to exist outside the binary of state/opposition and to envision different horizons for global justice. In practice, this camp becomes a component of the Western hegemonic machine, judging independent anti-imperialist actions through Cold War binaries—thus denying political agency and autonomy.

On another front, monarchists—relics of a hierarchical political order—react with hostility toward any popular and emancipatory action that lies outside their nostalgic authoritarian framework. In their discourse, politics is not the legitimate space of contention and debate, but the stage for a return to a preordained order, in which political subjectivity is only validated through loyalty to specific elites and interpretive regimes. Consequently, any bottom-up, spontaneous action is perceived as a threat to “discursive unity” and is met with symbolic violence. Like the previous group, this camp seeks to reduce political multiplicity into a patrimonial unity.

Finally, religious fundamentalists who are aligned with the Islamic Republic, from a different angle yet through a similar logic, also condemned the rally. They questioned the legitimacy of the event due to the presence of unveiled women, interpreting it as a sign of “enemy infiltration.” This reaction illustrates how the hijab, as a disciplinary mechanism over the body and a symbol of the moral-ideological order, serves to reproduce a discourse of domination. In this framework, women are not viewed as political subjects, but as signifiers of a moral and ideological order—any deviation from which is seen as a threat to hegemony.

The Opposition and the Reproduction of Authoritarian Patterns


From the perspective of critical political theory, politics should not be a tool for acquiring power or imposing identity, but rather an opportunity to generate collective action around shared suffering and public demands. Yet in practice, what we see from many Iranian opposition groups today is not a rupture from authoritarian logic, but instead the reproduction of the mechanisms of exclusion, control, and suppression—this time in the language of “justice-seeking” and under the guise of “fighting for freedom.”

Interestingly, the doxxing campaign against those the participants in the “For Palestine” rally was led by some in the opposition. In their condemnation of the “For Palestine” rally, these opposition activists utilized the same oppressive mechanisms the Islamic Republic has long used to silence independent voices. An opposition that thinks in the same logic as the regime may differ in position, but not in its mode of political engagement. Such conduct turns the political from a space of liberating dialogue into a field of closed judgments and exclusion.

What is more troubling, this reproduction of authoritarianism is not always due to ignorance—but often stems from a fear of difference. The Iranian opposition—at least its dominant and media-visible segment—seeks not to open the space for diverse and dissenting forces, but to purify and discipline political taste. It resembles a reverse “cultural revolution,” now not orchestrated by the regime, but by those who claim to be champions of change and freedom.

In a context where the authoritarian structure of the Islamic Republic has penetrated deeply into the social, symbolic, and discursive fabric, even escaping it requires profound ruptures. This type of oppositional activism becomes nothing more than the continuation of the same cycle of violence. Those self-proclaimed champions of rights and freedoms who use their media access to subject grassroots activists to “loyalty tests,” not only destroy the grounds for solidarity, but also effectively play the role of ideological police—one without a government uniform, but nourished by the same logic of interrogation.

To liberate the political from the mechanisms of subjugation and violence, we must first break with the logic of repression—whether it comes dressed in the garb of the state or the opposition. An alternative politics finds meaning not in the monopoly of rigid ideologies, but in the acceptance of plurality, the understanding of difference, and the creation of shared possibilities for resistance against domination. Independent political action—whether in defense of Palestine or in protest against domestic injustice—derives its legitimacy not from allegiance to any particular front, but from its commitment to justice and the ethics of resistance.

Ultimately, if politics is to become emancipatory, it must avoid reproducing internalized mechanisms of judgment and violence. An opposition that cannot tolerate other voices does not herald freedom, but merely represents authority in new attire. A different politics is one not founded on boundaries of exclusion, but on the bonds of coexistence—a politics rooted in radical humanism, social justice, and unmediated collective action. The political begins where what had been excluded from politics finds voice again—where the silenced and marginalized do not submit or remain silent, but begin to produce meaning. What we face is not merely a difference of opinion, but a crisis of political possibility—a crisis that can only be overcome through the reconstruction of collective, anti-hegemonic horizons.

A Struggle to Reclaim Public Space


The experience of the May 22 rally—an attempt at autonomous, grassroots political action—revealed the immense challenges and enmities faced by those who struggle for justice and freedom; challenges and enmities that came not only from the state’s security apparatuses, but also from segments of a civil society deeply entrenched in an authoritarian culture. Those who opt for independent political agency are punished with isolation and loneliness among other heavy costs—costs borne at the intersection of security threats and smear campaigns. Under such conditions, building a shared and inclusive space for political action—where people come together not based on sectarian identities or past affiliations, but through emancipatory goals—is itself a revolutionary act of resistance. Strengthening direct ties with the marginalized and speaking the language of their suffering is the only viable path out of ideological enclosures and elitist separations. In the end, every independent act, no matter how seemingly insignificant, contributes to the collective memory of resistance and sows the seeds of hope for a liberated future.

The dynamic emergence of spontaneous, independent public spaces reflects the ongoing tension between dominant power structures and the people’s effort to reclaim their right to the public sphere. The emergence of thesediverse and decentralized spaces—encompassing various social groups and classes—is not only a response to the absence of real representation, but also a sign of the latent capacities for social resistance rooted in everyday experience. Within these spaces, formal and ideological divisions that fragment society into rigid camps are contested, giving way to alliances built on a shared understanding of oppression and justice—not on partisan or religious loyalties. Thus, a postcolonial and anti-authoritarian struggle is also a struggle to create public spaces for dialogue and collective action.

Official demonstrations and state-sanctioned public gatherings are spectacles of limited dissent—where genuine public voices are reduced to controlled and moderated expressions. In contrast, autonomous grassroots action represents a form of political and cultural resistance to this domination—an attempt to reclaim public spaces that belong to the people, but have been expropriated. This rally also serves as a platform to redefine social alliances.

Given Iran’s diverse cultural, political, and social composition, the society is in need of experiences that regard difference not as an obstacle but as a potential foundation for unity and solidarity. A shared focus—such as support for the Palestinian people in the face of genocide and occupation—creates a sort of “political front line” that transcends traditional political and social divisions, allowing for dialogue among classes and groups. At the same time, such an experience challenges the sectarianism and discursive monopolies within civil society, which are themselves legacies of authoritarianism and repression.

Ultimately, this autonomous and grassroots movement signifies an effort to revive radical democracy and reclaim the collective memory of social activism. The significance of the “For Palestine” rally lies not merely in the physical presence of a group of activists in front of the University of Tehran, or in the chants and slogans that were on display; its significance is also in the rally’s capacity to create a space for pluralistic, creative, and independent political action—an action that can stand firm against systems of domination, occupation, and exploitation. This experience serves as a reminder that real democracy resides in the participation of ordinary people, with all of their differences and diversities—and that any restriction on such participation is a continuation of the structural violence that must be confronted. 

In Praise of Global Solidarity Among the Oppressed


For Iranians, the issue of Palestine has never been merely a foreign or isolated matter; rather, it stands as a prominent and concrete symbol of the global struggle against systems of exploitation and domination. Iran’s position as part of the “Global South”—a region long subjected to exploitation, proxy wars, coups, and economic sanctions—enables an understanding of the Palestinian issue as an integral part of the broader imperial-capitalist projects. This historical and structural connection forms the basis for transnational solidarity among the oppressed classes and colonized nations who share common experiences of violence and deprivation.

Our perspective on freedom and justice transcends national borders and views the liberation of every nation as intrinsically tied to the freedom of other oppressed peoples. We recognize the suffering and struggle of the Palestinian people not as a mere regional crisis, but as a critical node in the intersection of global struggles against capitalism, exploitation, and imperialism. Thus, the pain of Palestinians is the pain of all oppressed and marginalized peoples worldwide—including Iranians resisting political, economic, and military pressures from imperial powers. The fight against the occupation and repression in Palestine is part of a class struggle beyond borders, which must be pursued by all oppressed classes globally, including Iranians.

Ultimately, the Palestinian cause, within a broader framework, represents a global battle against exploitation, tyranny, and colonialism that can only be resolved through the worldwide unity of the oppressed and the working classes. Any narrow, purely nationalistic or identitarian perspective on this issue perpetuates domination and reinforces the existing order, thereby weakening genuine resistance to these violent systems. Therefore, understanding the Palestinian issue as part of the global struggle for social justice and freedom is not only a moral imperative, but a strategic necessity for achieving fundamental transformations. 

Postscript: Waking to Independent Political Agency in the Midst of Disaster


The original draft of this article was written before Israel’s all-out war of aggression on Iran—a war which so far has killed over a thousand men, women, children; civilians, military personnel, and nuclear experts. Against such horror, the significance of the “For Palestine” rally—as a political act of defiance by and on behalf of the people against the hegemonic orders of representation—is all the more evident. 

Israel’s unprovoked and criminal war on Iran should be a reminder of a fundamental political fact: the people of Iran do not need intervention from abroad to liberate them from authoritarianism at home. What was made clear by the “For Palestine” rally was that there is a third voice in Iran—a voice which is neither aligned with state power nor seeks to enlist foreign intervention; the autonomous voice of a collective will by Iranians who want to decide their futures by themselves, free of constraints that are designed and imposed by others. What brought us together was not only a shared suffering, but also a shared political consciousness of liberation–that is, a resistance to the logics of an externally-imposed “salvation”. We have borne witness to the reality that what the self-proclaimed champions of democracy and human rights brought to countries such as Iraq and Libya was not liberation, but rather the dismantling of the social order and the cementing of new mechanisms of domination. Such experiences, from our region and from the rest of the world, have proven time and again that political liberation is not secured by foreign intervention, but by the sovereign willpower of ordinary people. 

And therein lies the classical and radical conception of “political agency:” undertaking acts which, defying predetermined courses within the existing power structures, aim to build alternative future possibilities within the everyday lived experiences of common people. Every autonomous action, every expression of self-mobilization by ordinary people is a testimony to the fact that history is not constructed by political apparatuses, be it global or at the level of the nation-state; history is constructed by the people themselves. And in Iran too, history is constructed by people who, in defiance of repression, war and sanctions, are committed to building hope, resistance, and a just future.

Now more than ever before, it is necessary to assert the fact that basic and true change in Iran—as in much of the rest of the Middle East—is achievable only by virtue of the free will and collective actions of the people. Our stance in solidarity with Palestine, our rejection of war, and our opposition to dictatorship are all nourished by a single root: a shared consciousness of liberation without outside interference, of freedom without bombings, and of dignity without domination.

*********************
Acknowledgment

Siavash Saffari provided feedback on an earlier draft of this article, and helped to translate it from Persian to English. 

 

Watching Iran: Paralyzed at Dawn

5:30 a.m. I emerge into consciousness—hazy, alert, terrified by the thought that in the three hours of fragile sleep I managed, I may have lost a friend back home. Israel has launched a sudden and staggering military assault on Iran. The full scope of the operation remains unknown, but the target is unmistakable: the strike began in the heart of Tehran, a city of over ten million people—seventeen million including its vast sprawl. For many of us, this is the moment we’ve feared for decades: that the shadow of war, long hovering at the edge of imagination, would one day cross the threshold into reality. Now it has.

I grab my phone and squint through the needling brightness to read the first headline—a quote from Defense Minister Katz:“We will strike the sites and continue to peel the skin off the Iranian snake in Tehran and everywhere.” Peeling the skin—how far does it go? Peeling air defenses? The sound barrier of a city never built to absorb explosions? Empty grocery shelves? Hacked banks and frozen accounts? I remember haunting footage from Gaza: a field covered with the clothes of Palestinians, stripped before arrest—like peels of vanished lives. What’s left to see, to know, when everything’s been peeled away?

5:37 a.m. Footage shows monstrous fires at fuel depots—one in the northwest of Tehran, the other in the south—set ablaze by Israel the night before. The sky is blackened into an unnatural dawn. My brother calls it psychological warfare. Oil, fire, war. A reel begins to play in my mind: Qayyarah’s oil fields torched by ISIS, Kuwait burning for a year, tankers aflame at sea during the Iran–Iraq War. Oil as fuel for spectacle. Then the toxic aftermath: the barren soil, birds unable to open their wings, black water without reflection. I think of a woman in an old video from southern Iran, weeping as she said, “Since this blackness was discovered here, we’ve seen nothing but blackness.”

5:45 a.m. Rumors spread of an immediate evacuation order for Tehran, issued by Israel. How immediate is immediate? And where would they go? A city with no shelters, no clear roads out. Before I can search Israeli-run pages on X with shaky hands to confirm the news, I’m distracted by footage of another explosion in eastern Tehran. Then comes a barrage of videos showing blasts in densely populated neighborhoods: Shahrak Gharb, Sa’adat Abad, and then Pounak Square. I know people across all these neighborhoods. I’ve kissed, loved, cried with people here. Names blur with locations. My thoughts scatter like shrapnel. Who to call? And what to ask? Are you alive? A gnawing dread coils in my stomach. 

6:10 a.m. Pro-Israeli Iranian outlets insist: only military targets. But injured civilians are already filling my screen. First face, a young flight attendant, unrelated to the regime, bright smile, now gone. Mehrnoush Hajisoltani. “If you’re lucky, there’s a body—these bombs shred everything.” She stares at me like the smiles from Gaza, Lebanon, Syria—faces I never knew alive but now recognize instantly. Faces I’ve memorized posthumously. How many dead bodies, caught half-smile, half-blink, can fit inside a living one? 

6:16 a.m. Long lines are forming at gas stations across the city. Cars packed in tight, inching forward. No official announcement, no direction, not even the sound of sirens. The city responds to air raids by a shared instinct: move, stock up, escape if you can.

6:45 a.m. With the internet down, people begin sending audio clips of new explosions—dull thuds, then sharper cracks—reported in more neighborhoods: Amirabad, Fatemi, Sattarkhan, Amirieh. My mind zigzags between districts and memories. A café I loved. A street I walked. A rooftop where I once stood to watch the city breathe. The map unravels in my head, every corner pulling at me at once. I tell myself: we should organize, put together a statement, reach out to public figures for support. But I can’t move. I feel a paralysis in my limbs, my words.

Throughout all the street protests in Iran since 2009, I was filled with grief—but it was a grief in motion, carrying a will to live. The flow of people through the streets poured new blood into my veins, as if, even in loss after loss, I was an extension of a surging collective pulse. But this invasion—and the terror of what it might bring—drains me: of hope, of movement, of life. What’s awaiting us? Food shortages? Collapsed infrastructure? A military coup? Looting, warlords, drug lords? A broken state no regime—democratic or not—could rebuild in decades?

Each blast feels like a rupture in my nerves, the loss of a limb. I’m hollowed out, static, my weight dropped into my feet like cement. I feel sweat beads on my forehead, then a hot twist in my throat. Nausea. I walk to the bathroom and throw up bile. I remember that I haven’t eaten. I return and sit on the edge of my bed. Paralyzed. I can’t move. It’s as if the hopeful future once imagined through the 2022 street protests—through the chant Women, Life, Freedom—has collapsed in on itself: twisting, folding, swallowing a country into a chaos it cannot bear, a war it never asked for.


Photo by Amir Kholousi

7:18 a.m. Ahmadabad-Mostowfi neighborhood, on the edge of Tehran: two loud blasts, then smoke. The footage starts to blur; white plumes against blue sky, then black, spreading over rows of dense residential buildings. It loops like a nightmare, except it’s real. Where was it hit? Why that location? No one knows. This is the rhythm now: the sound, the shake, the smoke. Everything else—the victim, the cost, the future —remains unknown. 

I start to learn the language of news from Iran: Israel F-35Is circling overhead, Israel pocket-sized UAVs planted near missile sites, Israel aerial tankers extending strike range, Israel-operated drone swarms, and Israel Spike NLOS missiles. If the weapons are unfamiliar, the narrative isn’t; yet again, Israel has launched an unhinged aggression in the rhetoric of defense. Destruction reframed as protection. 

7:30 a.m. Israeli pages repeat the line: We are friends of the Iranian people. I keep scrolling, mindlessly, through footage of people filming from their windows, capturing pale vapor dissolving into the sky. In the hazy spreading smoke, one thing is clear: the Iran we knew is forever gone.