On a recent January evening, throngs of Iranian protesters filed up wide boulevards spanning the northeastern city of Mashhad. Within hours, the highways and footbridges were packed with people, including young children trailing their mothers and grandparents. Most wore masks and dark clothing. As the crowds thickened, police tried to disperse the swell of people with tear gas. Around 8 P.M., internet service was cut, and, soon after, security forces started shooting into the demonstrations.
Some of the protesters crawled to escape the gunfire. Others bled to death on sidewalks or on the backs of strangers who had tried to carry them to safety. But the government forces kept firing into the crush of demonstrators.
The massacre in Mashhad unfolded on January 8th, after Iranian…
On a recent January evening, throngs of Iranian protesters filed up wide boulevards spanning the northeastern city of Mashhad. Within hours, the highways and footbridges were packed with people, including young children trailing their mothers and grandparents. Most wore masks and dark clothing. As the crowds thickened, police tried to disperse the swell of people with tear gas. Around 8 P.M., internet service was cut, and, soon after, security forces started shooting into the demonstrations.
Some of the protesters crawled to escape the gunfire. Others bled to death on sidewalks or on the backs of strangers who had tried to carry them to safety. But the government forces kept firing into the crush of demonstrators.
The massacre in Mashhad unfolded on January 8th, after Iranians across the country went out to protest the regime—the culmination of a movement that had convulsed the country for nearly two weeks, following the collapse of the economy. Under the cover of a nationwide internet blackout, security forces used lethal weapons to target demonstrators from rooftops, bridges, and building complexes. Only now, more than a week later, have details corroborating the scope of the carnage begun to emerge. The mass killing continued over the next two nights, according to five Iranians with whom I spoke, who witnessed the violence and who shared videos with me. “For three nights, the streets of my home town turned into a killing field,” one demonstrator, whom I will refer to as M., told me. M. went out each evening to help recover the wounded and the dead. “The death was incomprehensible,” he said. Corpses were piled in parks and hospitals throughout Mashhad. Some of the injured were treated by protesters in alleyways, or by doctors operating from makeshift clinics in their homes.
One pediatrician, who was on duty at a children’s hospital on January 9th, told me that her staff transported more than a hundred and fifty corpses from their emergency ward to one of the city’s main cemeteries, Behesht-e Reza, that night. At least thirty of the dead were under the age of eighteen. “I saw an eight-year-old child who was shot in the chest,” she told me, over the phone. “This regime has no sense of humanity.” Families have been forced to pay fees for their relatives’ remains. Many could not reclaim them unless they signed fake death certificates confirming that their loved ones had been murdered by violent protesters or had died of natural causes.
The accounts from Mashhad, Iran’s second-most populous city, are a small window into one of the most lethal government actions the Iranian regime has taken in recent history. The country’s Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, said this past Saturday that thousands had been killed in the unrest. This is likely a fraction of the actual death toll, which has been obscured by the internet blackout.
The U.S.-based Human Rights Activists News Agency has verified more than forty-five hundred deaths, including over seven hundred in Mashhad. Witnesses, including one emergency doctor, who spoke with the Center for Human Rights in Iran, estimate that the death toll in Mashhad could exceed more than two thousand.
Some protesters, like M., have broken through the digital shutdown using Starlink, Elon Musk’s satellite-internet service, which is banned in Iran. Security agents have been going door to door, raiding homes to confiscate satellite dishes and arresting anyone who is using the service. Authorities have warned that citizens caught using Starlink could be sent to prison for up to two years. Iran’s attorney general has said that all “rioters” will be considered “enemies of God,” a charge that could lead to their execution. “Let them find me,” M. told me. “I could have been killed a hundred times during these past few days. There are too many dead. The world should know what has happened here.”
Several months ago, M. was sitting in a prison cell while security forces searched his home after the government alleged that he was a foreign spy. It was days after Israel started attacking Iran, in June, and the Iranian authorities had ordered a manhunt for suspected infiltrators. At least twenty-one thousand were arrested, including M., who believes he was targeted for publishing anti-government posts on social media. He was released, but the experience hardened his rage for the regime. “They only know how to govern with fear,” he said.
His resentment carried him into the streets of Mashhad to join the protests, which reached a fever pitch, days later, after Reza Pahlavi, the U.S.-based son of the former Shah, posted a video that urged Iranians to join anti-government demonstrations in cities across the country on Thursday and Friday. They were emboldened further by President Donald Trump, who wrote on Truth Social that the United States would come to their “rescue” if protesters were killed. “People lost their fear,” M. told me. “They all left their homes to fight for a new future—and they were slaughtered for it.”
M. and his friends provided me with videos, which have been verified and support key parts of the narrative put forward by witnesses. The clips have been altered to protect the identities of those depicted. The interview with M. has been edited for length and clarity.
Part 1
I will try my best to tell you what happened. My wife is scared every hour at night. She goes and checks the windows to make sure no one is there. She doesn’t want me to talk to you, but they have killed so many people, and I need to do this.
It all started because of crazy inflation. The craziest inflation in our life. First we saw online that people in the biggest bazaar in Tehran had started protesting. I saw Trump talking about Iran, and he said that if the government shoots the protesters the U.S. is going to shoot back. We believed him. Trump is a man of his word. Also, online, everyone was sharing a video post from Reza Pahlavi, the son of the last Shah of Iran, encouraging us to protest.
Suddenly, everyone lost their fear. Before that day, no one had the courage to post Instagram Stories about the protests, because they knew that they would go to jail. But, this time, it was like everyone was supporting Pahlavi. They reposted his video, putting him in their stories. There was this feeling: “We’re gonna make it this time.” That was how we felt that day. Everyone was writing on social media—“just get to a street. Walking is not a crime.” Then many other people across the country started filling the streets in every big city.
Part 2
I couldn’t believe what I saw on Thursday. It started as a normal day. The government shut down the internet at 7 P.M., one hour before the Thursday protests began. I decided to go out, but I didn’t bring my phone, because the government can follow people.
At 8 P.M., my wife and I walked twenty minutes to Vakilabad Highway. Each second, we saw more people gathering. Then we got to the crossroads, one of the biggest, most famous crossroads in our town. We saw thousands of people coming from all directions. It was really crazy. Everyone was chanting against the government.
Iranian protesters chant anti-government slogans on Vakilabad Highway, in Mashhad.
A few minutes later, we heard the first gunshots. It was rubber bullets. We saw some people with blood on their faces. People started throwing stones at the police, but the security forces were too far away. The police started using tear gas and sound bombs, but we were too many people. Everyone was screaming, “Don’t go back. Stay. We can defeat them.”
Nearby is this bridge called Haft Tir Highway, and a police station. The riot police took off on motorcycles, with people chasing them, running at them. We get to the police station and we stay there and start protesting.
My wife says, “I’m going home.” Her right foot is broken and she has a cast on it, so I gave her the keys.
Part 3
We were in front of the police station, on the ground over the bridge. We were watching the police station—who is there, who’s not there. We saw an officer open a wooden box and take out a gun.
Live rounds are fired from a police station in Mashhad’s Haft-e Tir district. Weapons analysts from Earshot, a nonprofit specializing in audio investigations, reviewed the video, and confirmed that the sound of the ammunition is consistent with AK-type rifles.
The bridge was full of demonstrators. The officer started using the gun, firing straight into us, at our faces and backs. So many people were getting shot. So many of them were screaming. Two people got shot next to me, but I managed to get on the ground and crawl down from the bridge.
When the shooting paused, we went back to the bridge to check on the people who were shot. One of them was shot in the leg. Another was shot in the chest. A group of us helped to bring them out and carry them for about two hundred metres, to a small clinic on the same street. One was screaming, the one shot in his leg. The other man was passed out, not dead, but he wouldn’t move at all.
When we arrived at the clinic, it was total chaos. Ten people were on the floor screaming in pain and waiting for help, but the nurses were attending to other people in worse conditions. There were only two doctors and five nurses. You could see bloody handprints on the walls.
There was a young woman in one of the rooms who had died. I was worried that it might be my wife. That was the hardest moment of the night, but I looked at her feet and I didn’t see my wife’s shoes.
Part 4
After helping those two men to the clinic, I decided to walk home to check on my wife. When I got home, I saw that she wasn’t there, so I went back out to find her.
I walked down every street, looking for her all the way back to the police station. Then I went back to the clinic thinking she might have been injured. But I still couldn’t find her.
Soon after, I saw someone carrying a man I saw shot earlier. He told me that the man would die if we didn’t get him to the larger hospital nearby. So I carried him myself to a waiting car.
An injured man lies motionless as others attend to a gunshot wound on his back.
When we arrived at the emergency room, someone told me to put him down on an open bed. The only bed available was dirty and bloody, but it was empty. The nurse came and said, “He’s already dead,” and closed his eyes.
I continued searching for my wife there, too. Two officers started to question me. I had a mask on, and I was covered in blood from the people I was helping.
They asked me, “Where did you find this dead body? Why are you wearing a mask? And why are you covered in blood?” A doctor who was nearby helped me get away. He got very angry at the officers and said, “Why are you bothering him? He just saved someone. Why are you doing these things to your people?” I ran out of the hospital.
I started to make my way back home. A dead city on fire. It was like a civil war. I saw people running, running and screaming. I saw police shooting tear gas. I heard guns. I ran and I got home.
My wife opened the door. I saw that she was covered in blood, and I was scared that she got shot, but thanks to God she was just helping people. She hugged me, and she started crying. She explained to me what she had experienced. She was helping the protesters who were getting shot near the police station. Doctors had opened up their home and were helping people.
Part 5
On Friday and Saturday, we made sure that we were prepared this time. My wife and I went to a drugstore. We bought stuff for helping people if they got injured, like bandages, and things to clean gunshot wounds. My wife said, “Bring your phone today, to record.”
On Friday, January 9th, protesters across Mashhad returned to Vakilabad Highway, one of the main boulevards in the city, to confront security forces.
We saw many more people than Thursday. We saw kids, young girls, old men. It was like every person was out. I even saw one man who lost one of his legs, who was in a wheelchair, and a woman who was pushing him, protesting.
Protesters jump over a highway barricade on Vakilabad Highway, in Mashhad, as gunshots are heard in the background.
Things quickly became violent again. Five or six men carrying guns and tear gas started shooting at us. We fled into an alley and came across a young woman on the stairs in front of a home. She was shot in the face with metal pellets. She was in so much pain. We helped clean and bandaged her face. We asked her not to scream, because the forces would find us.
Part 6
On Sunday, I said to my wife, “I’m going to check if anyone is out there protesting. If they are, I will tell you to come.” No one was there—it was only the police. I saw snipers on the bridge.
When we first entered the streets, there was hope that we could do something, and that Israel and the U.S. would help us. Now there is just death—so many dead. And the evidence of the killing is gone. The streets are clean. I cannot believe it. There are no bodies in the hospital. They are all at the cemeteries. They are only letting blood relatives check the bodies. Even if you find your family members’ corpses, you cannot give them a burial if you cannot pay. After you pay, you need to sign papers stating that it was a natural accident.
There are people here who still believe in this government. They are living on another planet. My brother did not go to the protests last week. I saw him recently and he did not believe what I told him about what I saw—until I showed him my videos. My own brother. People choose to be blind. I am losing hope. It feels darker than before.
Right now, everyone is being careful. I am checking my front door every hour. I feel like they could arrest me at any minute.
The government announced that people who have Starlink disks need to hand them over. If you keep it hidden, if you don’t report it and they discover it in your home, they will arrest you. The sentence is two years. But, if they discover that I am speaking to foreigners, they will execute me. I have no doubt about that.
Still, if I don’t speak about it, it will be as if it didn’t happen. ♦