Three eyewitness accounts from Tehran and Isfahan show teenagers leading protests, women shielding them, and security forces responding with pellets, batons, and tear gas.
In the second week of the nationwide protests, Radio Zamaneh has received field reports from Tehran and Isfahan—reports shaped not by official tribunes, but from inside the streets, amid smoke and tear gas, pellet fire, and protesters’ shouts. What these accounts share is the striking presence of teenagers and very young people, and an older generation’s deep anxiety about the price they are paying.
Tehran: a mother who would not let go of her son
One account comes from around Sar Sabz intersection and the Emerald Star area in east Tehran, where—according to the narrator—“the burden of chanting is mostly on the shoulders of young people and teenagers.” They describe the courage of teenagers who, “without covering their faces,” and with no experience of street protest, stand up to the forces of repression.
According to this eyewitness, on Monday around 6:30 p.m., a small crowd of very young girls and boys formed, chanting “Death to the dictator,” followed by slogans in support of Pahlavi. Moments later, “motorcycle officers arrived and fired pellets.” In the middle of this, a mother and her teenage son were arrested—“a mother who was holding her son so tightly in her arms that they couldn’t separate them.”
The narrator says: “The woman was on the ground and, with a mother’s love, tried to protect her son. We went forward and begged them to let them go, but the officers kicked us and pointed the rifle barrel straight at our faces.” They speak of an injury that still hurts in their hand, of a laser shone into their eyes, and of the bitter feeling of why others—despite being there—did not step forward.
A little later, they witness at least four teenage boys being taken away on the motorcycles of security forces: “One of them had a bloody mouth, and the officer sitting behind him was saying, ‘Close your mouth and shut up.’” These scenes, the narrator says, make the question even more urgent: “If they do this to them now, when people are present, what will they do later?”
Tehran: Haft-Hoz, anxious women, and the question of responsibility toward Gen Z
The second account also comes from east Tehran—from Haft-Hoz, Sar Sabz, and streets where, according to the narrator, “women have a strong presence.” It begins in everyday conversations—from a physiotherapy center where a woman around fifty says that the previous night so much gas entered their home that she started vomiting, and that “they opened all the doors so the young people could take shelter.”
In the street, special units run, tear gas is fired, and shops are forced to close. The narrator describes a direct encounter with a member of the IRGC who, in response to her protest, laughs and says, “I didn’t fire it—come on, go.” Another officer, however, snaps at him and pulls him aside.
In Haft-Hoz, the conversations are not limited to repression. Talk about Pahlavi, the right-wing opposition, and simply “getting rid of this regime” circulates among protesters. The narrator writes: “It’s as if despair and political deadlock have made Pahlavi, not a desirable option, but merely a way out—just a way to be rid of it.”
But the core of this account is the encounter with teenagers—girls and boys aged 12 to 16, often without masks, without hijab, and in casual clothes. Again and again the narrator warns them: “This is war. We have to protect you.” One answers, briefly and joltingly: “If we don’t come, who will?” Another adds: “People born in the 1980s don’t come—if we don’t come, there’s no one.”
She ends with a question that echoes across both Tehran accounts: when we talk about the “courage of Gen Z,” do we also see that instrumentalizing them is as wrong as using children in war? Their courage is real—but our responsibility for their lives is even more real.
Isfahan: mass arrests and families’ seven trials
The third account comes from Isfahan and its outskirts—from a city where, according to Zamaneh’s citizen reporter, “angry young people, in groups of a few, shout the overthrow of the Islamic regime.” This account offers a broader picture of organized repression—from sweeping arrests to families’ bewilderment.
According to this report, since last Tuesday the situation in Isfahan has changed and mass arrests have begun. Families have received calls from unknown numbers directing them to police stations and various centers—visits that often end in “confusion, threats, and dread.”
In front of courthouses and special units, families appear who cannot provide heavy bails. A mother cries that with her small retirement pension she cannot secure a 200 million toman bail (about US$1,333, at 1 USD = 150,000 tomans). Some parents speak of more than a thousand arrests and the transfer of protesters to Dastgerd Prison in Isfahan—young people who, in brief calls, have asked only for clothes.
Like the two Tehran accounts, this one ends by emphasizing the role of young people and the cost they are paying—a cost that, according to the narrator, is accumulating a deep anger and revulsion in society.
This is the full account received from Isfahan:
Past midnight: Khaju Bridge, Naqsh-e Jahan Square, Bozorgmehr Bridge, Darvazeh Shiraz, and… I no longer have the strength to keep roaming this vast city. Young people, angry, to claim their most basic rights, in groups of a few shout the overthrow of the Islamic regime.
More than a week has passed since the rise of people who have rebelled against the ruling system. The uprising of Dey 1404 (November 2025 / January 2026) began when runaway inflation broke people’s backs and effectively destroyed the economy. People see the cause of price hikes in the destructive performance of the system. The proposed budget for the year 1405 (2026–2027)—aimed at fattening military and security forces, religious institutions, and bodies affiliated with the system—has further inflamed people’s anger. More than 75 percent of next year’s budget is financed in various ways from people’s pockets; meanwhile, revenue from oil sales is spent on military purposes and strengthening institutions tied to power.
Iran’s enraged people—and this time, the bazaar—have entered the protest against the ruling system. Young people, especially those born in the 1990s and 2000s, have risen again for the demands of their generation. In the past week, day by day, the number of opponents has grown, and shopkeepers across Iran, following Tehran’s bazaar, have taken up protest. With a passionate spirit and a cry for freedom, young people stake their lives for the overthrow of the ruling system.
The attack on Venezuela and the toppling of Maduro’s government—at least as far as I have seen and heard—has not so much created a spark of hope in people’s hearts as it has terrified the ruling system. As parents I spoke to put it, the system is taking out its fear of foreign intervention and outside support for the opposition on their children.
In these days I have seen young people aged fifteen to thirty-something who, determined to fight, have come into the streets to claim their simplest civil rights. In the first days, police forces equipped with batons, tear gas, and weapons limited themselves to watching and patrolling on massive motorcycles. But since last Tuesday the situation changed, and mass arrests began across Isfahan and its satellite towns.
From Tuesday afternoon until now, not only have young people faced beating and injury in the streets, but families’ efforts to reach their children have turned into the “seven trials of Rostam.” According to families, calls came from untraceable numbers, in an authoritative voice, announcing their child’s arrest and ordering them to go to local police stations; but going to these centers ended only in confusion, dread, and threats.
Security forces have told families that the charge against all detainees is “disrupting public security.” For example, many families had to go to the Shahid Nabavi-Nejad courthouse on Atashgah Street or to the “morality security” unit at the Shahid Cheraghi complex on Anoushiravan Street. In these places, I encountered shattered, exhausted families whose terror grew with officials’ professed lack of information.
On Saturday morning, in front of the Prosecutor’s Office (Branch 22 Bahman), they announced that those under 17 would be released on bail. In front of the provincial courthouse on Nikbakht Street, the situation was similar; an elderly man demanding information about his child was violently dragged into the building. A mother cried that with her small retirement pension she cannot provide a 200 million toman bail (about US$1,333).
In front of the Soroush special unit on Qaemieh Street, the crowd is much larger. Parents speak of more than a thousand arrests and the transfer of protesters to Dastgerd Prison in Isfahan. Some young detainees, in brief calls home, have asked for clothes, and reports indicate one-month temporary detention orders have been issued. What I saw in these days was a deep anger and revulsion; as Akhavan Sales says:
“Hey barren trees—your roots concealed in soils of depravity,
no precious bud can sprout from you.
O group of leaves—filthy warp, filthy weft,
relic of dusty droughts—
no rain can wash you clean.”
Taken together, these three accounts offer a multilayered picture of the ongoing protests in Iran: streets where teenagers lead from the front, women who are simultaneously protesting and worried, and families wandering behind the closed doors of security institutions.
