Tehran media voice doubt over US seriousness after short Geneva talks

In Iranian culture, the fortieth day after a death is a solemn threshold. Families and friends traditionally gather at the grave, laying flowers, reciting prayers and receiving visitors – a ritual of grief that is both private and communal, and that often carries religious undertones.

This week, cemeteries were only part of the picture as mourners map memory onto the sites of violence. With so many deaths concentrated in urban centers and around hospitals, intersections and residential streets, memorials have spread outward from cemeteries into the everyday fabric of cities.

Videos sent to Iran International and others circulating on social media show flowers placed not only on graves but on asphalt, sidewalks and hospital entrances – at the very spots where protesters were shot.

In Shiraz, relatives and close friends of Hamidreza Hosseinipour covered the boulevard where he was killed in petals. In Tehran’s Sadeghieh Square, citizens gathered at the traffic circle where demonstrators had been shot, laying flowers in what is normally a site of rush-hour congestion.

In Tehranpars district of the capital, mourners placed flowers and candles outside a hospital where wounded protesters were taken and where some died.

In Mazandaran province, black balloons were released into the sky.

Schools, too, became sites of commemoration. Videos show groups of schoolgirls lighting candles and singing patriotic songs, marking the chehelom inside classrooms rather than in mosques.

The sites of commemoration have widened beyond the places where many Iranians once expected mourning to unfold. Where people believe their loved ones fell, they now leave photographs, flowers or pieces of clothing.

Pavements become shrines. Traffic circles are transformed into temporary altars. Hospital gates turn into gathering points. The geography of grief has changed.

There are simply too many dead, and too many sites tied to their final moments, for remembrance to remain confined to cemetery gates.

Even when ceremonies do take place at graves, the atmosphere captured in recent videos differs sharply from older conventions of public mourning, where religious elegies used to set the tone. Today, music and movement have emerged as ways of carrying grief.

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  Iranians burying slain protest youths mourn with dancing and defiance

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  Families across Iran defy pressure to honour January protest victims

At Behesht Zahra cemetery in Tehran, footage shows families gathering and playing traditional musical instruments. In Najafabad, Isfahan province, mourners applauded and played music.

In Zanjan, kites were sent into the sky above the cemetery as names were read out.

In Shahreza, a video shows a traditional Qashqai dance performed during the fortieth-day memorial for 20-year-old Pouria Jahangiri, killed on January 8.

In Qarchak, near Tehran, mourners clapped in time to songs played for Hamid Nik, a resident who died after being hit during the crackdown. In another video from Najafabad, fireworks illuminate the night as people gather and chant.

In Mashhad, the memorial for Hamid Mahdavi – a firefighter whose act of carrying an injured protester on his back had spread widely online – took place not in silence but amid chants in the street: “For every one person killed, a thousand will rise behind them.”

These moments do not erase grief, they translate it.

The scenes appearing in recent weeks suggest a shift: not away from mourning itself, but away from a single, familiar language of mourning. Music, clapping, balloons released into the sky, kites and dance have become part of the ritual vocabulary.

After decades in which public mourning was steeped in official religious symbolism, the scenes in recent weeks suggest some are shaping something different: a mourning that is national in tone, public in form, and edged with defiance.

The fortieth day has long been a marker of closure in Iranian tradition – a moment when visitors thin out and life, at least outwardly, resumes.

But with flowers now laid on asphalt and candles lit at hospital doors, the boundary between mourning and daily life has blurred. The city itself has become the setting of remembrance – and, for many, the proof of how profoundly the culture of grief is changing.

From Riyadh to Ankara and Doha, governments across the Middle East have moved with unusual urgency to contain the confrontation.

Their motives are not driven by abstract appeals for peace, but by hard calculation: war between Iran and the United States would expose their territory, economies and political stability to immediate risk.

This emerging consensus reflects a simple conclusion shaped by a decade of upheaval: a controlled crisis can be managed; a war cannot.

Turkey, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia and Egypt have taken active diplomatic roles, encouraging negotiations and warning against escalation.

Iran, for its part, has sought to use these fears to its advantage, signaling that any US strike could trigger a broader regional conflict and effectively drawing its neighbors into the role of intermediaries.

Most of these states maintain closer ties with Washington than with Tehran. Yet their opposition to war is rooted less in sympathy for Iran than in their own vulnerability.

Mediators and stakeholders

Oman has played the most visible mediating role, hosting talks and serving as a trusted channel between the two sides. Muscat has repeatedly warned of the dangers to Persian Gulf security and maritime traffic, emphasizing diplomacy as the only viable path forward.

Qatar occupies a similarly delicate position. It hosts Al Udeid Air Base, the largest US military installation in the region, while maintaining functional ties with Tehran. Qatari officials have warned that any war would be “catastrophic,” and Doha’s dependence on uninterrupted gas exports makes it especially exposed to disruption.

Saudi Arabia, after years of confrontation with Iran, has adopted a more cautious posture. Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman has emphasized avoiding escalation in contacts with both Tehran and Washington.

Saudi officials have also publicly supported diplomacy, reflecting concern that another regional war could threaten the kingdom’s economic transformation plans and expose its oil infrastructure to attack, as seen in the 2019 strikes on Aramco facilities.

Egypt, though geographically further removed, faces its own vulnerabilities. The security of the Suez Canal and Red Sea shipping lanes is critical to its economy, and Cairo fears a conflict could disrupt trade routes and deepen economic strain.

Turkey’s balancing act

Turkey, which shares a border with Iran and maintains deep economic ties with its neighbor, has intensified diplomatic efforts to prevent escalation.

President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan has repeatedly said Ankara does not want another war in the Middle East, while Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan has warned that military strikes would neither topple Iran’s leadership nor resolve the nuclear dispute.

War could trigger refugee flows, destabilize border regions and inflame ethnic tensions, particularly in Kurdish areas.

Yet Turkey’s NATO membership and longstanding security relationship with Washington limit its room for maneuver. In a conflict, Ankara would likely seek formal neutrality while quietly maintaining limited cooperation and positioning itself as a mediator.

Oppose war, prepare for it

Across the region, governments face a difficult reality: they depend on the United States for security while remaining exposed to Iran’s missiles, drones and allied militias.

This dual vulnerability explains their approach. They oppose war and are working to prevent it—but are also preparing for the possibility that diplomacy fails.

War could drive up oil prices, offering short-term gains for producers like Saudi Arabia and Qatar. But those benefits would be outweighed by the risks: attacks on infrastructure, disruption of shipping through the Strait of Hormuz or Suez Canal, and capital flight.

Their mediation efforts have helped create the conditions for talks in Muscat and Geneva. But their calculations remain shaped by geography and alliances.

If war breaks out, most would seek to avoid direct involvement while quietly aligning with Washington’s security framework to protect their territory and long-term interests.

Security forces opened fire and imposed internet disruptions as Iranians held ceremonies marking 40 days since the January protest killings, while officials organized state-led commemorations for those they described as “martyrs.”

In the Kurdish town of Abdanan in Ilam province, activists and witnesses said security forces fired live rounds to disperse hundreds of mourners gathered at a cemetery.

Videos and accounts shared online appeared to show people fleeing as gunfire rang out during chants of “Death to Khamenei.”

Unconfirmed reports said several participants were seriously injured and that a 22-year-old man, Saeed-Reza Naseri, had been killed.

Reports of clashes and gunfire also emerged from Mashhad, where social media users said security forces confronted mourners.

Internet access was severely disrupted in both cities, according to users and monitoring accounts, continuing a pattern seen during previous periods of unrest.

At the same time, the government organized its own official ceremonies, including a state event Tuesday at Tehran’s Imam Khomeini Prayer Grounds attended by senior officials such as First Vice President Mohammad Reza Aref, government spokesperson Fatemeh Mohajerani and Esmail Qaani, commander of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps’ Quds Force.

A parallel ceremony was held at the Imam Reza shrine in Mashhad.

State media and senior officials have described the January unrest as an “American-Zionist sedition.” Participants at the official ceremony chanted “Death to America” and “Death to Israel,” and the event featured Quran recitations, religious eulogies and official tributes.

The official commemorations contrasted sharply with independent ceremonies held by families, which often included music, clapping and traditional mourning rituals.

Others questioned official claims that “terrorists” were responsible for the deaths, pointing to continued security pressure on families attempting to hold independent memorials.

Online, many Iranians accused authorities of attempting to control the narrative of the killings. “They kill and then send text messages inviting people to attend a 40th-day ceremony,” one user wrote on social media.

Despite the pressure, families of those killed held independent memorials in cemeteries across Tehran and dozens of other cities and towns. Participants in several locations chanted slogans including “Death to the dictator” and carried photos of victims, many of them young.

In Najafabad in Isfahan province, a large crowd marched toward a cemetery holding portraits of those killed. Demonstrators chanted: “We didn’t surrender lives to compromise, or to praise a murderous leader,” according to videos circulating online.

Users reported a heavy security presence at cemeteries nationwide, and in some cases closures intended to prevent crowds from assembling.

Rights groups and social media accounts said families faced pressure from security agencies to limit gatherings or avoid overtly political messaging.

The parallel ceremonies underscored the continuing divide between the state’s portrayal of the unrest and the experience of families and communities still mourning those killed.

The fortieth day after a death carries special significance in Shiite tradition, often marking a moment of collective mourning and reflection.

Families of those killed in the January 8 and 9 crackdown marked the occasion this week with memorial ceremonies across the country, even as authorities maintained a heavy security presence.

On February 17, Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, President Massoud Pezeshkian and Parliament Speaker Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf repeated the government’s longstanding assertion that foreign forces played a decisive role in fueling the protests.

At the same time, officials acknowledged that some of those killed were “innocent,” drawing a distinction that appeared intended to preserve the official narrative while recognizing the scale of the bloodshed.

Yet beneath that public consensus, alternative interpretations are emerging—even from figures long associated with the system.

Hassan Beyadi, a hardliner and secretary-general of the Abadgaran (Developers) Party, which helped propel Mahmoud Ahmadinejad to the presidency in 2005, offered a starkly different assessment in an interview with Khabar Online.

“People came to the streets because their dignity was trampled by politicians,” Beyadi said, describing the unrest as a reaction to corruption, discrimination and violations of basic citizenship rights.

Only “essential changes in the structure of the system and its economic policies” could restore public trust, he added.

A more conservative but still revealing analysis came from Abbas Ghaemi, a director at the Social Analysis Center of Imam Sadeq University, an institution closely tied to the Islamic Republic’s political elite.

Ghaemi argued that many participants in the January protests had already been shaped by previous waves of unrest, including the 2009 Green Movement, the 2018 and 2019 economic protests and the 2022 Women, Life, Freedom uprising.

“We are facing a society that has tried many different ways without achieving results,” he said.

Ghaemi emphasized the need for dialogue between society and the political system, an idea that has surfaced periodically within establishment circles but has rarely translated into sustained engagement.

Iran’s Supreme Leader, who holds ultimate authority over state policy, has never granted a media interview during his more than three decades in power.

Analyses published in Iranian media since the crackdown point to broader structural concerns, with some commentators describing a society marked by declining trust, growing anger and widening distance between the state and its citizens.

Former government spokesman Ali Rabiei, writing in the reformist-leaning newspaper Etemad, warned against attempts to channel public anger into state-controlled expressions of mourning.

“Looking at the frosty streets of Iran in Winter 2026,” he wrote, “it is clear that turning angry protesters into mourning protesters and vice versa reflects the inefficiency of a policy that will lead to one crisis after another if the system remains unreformed.”

Such warnings suggest the state may be struggling to fully impose its narrative of the unrest, even within establishment circles.

The administration of President Masoud Pezeshkian announced on January 21 that it had created a committee to examine the causes and consequences of the unrest. Government spokesperson Fatemeh Mohajerani said the body is collecting documents and testimony related to the violence.

Critics across Iran’s political spectrum have questioned whether a government-appointed panel can impartially investigate events in which state institutions themselves are accused of involvement.

The United Nations Human Rights Council has already mandated an independent fact-finding mission to investigate alleged serious rights violations linked to the protests.

Established after the 2022 “Woman, Life, Freedom” uprising and extended in January 2026, the mission has never been permitted to enter Iran. Tehran has refused to cooperate with the UN inquiry, dismissing it as politically motivated.

Even moderate commentators—who typically favor gradual change within the system—have questioned the credibility of the government’s initiative.

The reformist newspaper Tose’e Irani wrote that rebuilding public trust would require participation from figures independent of the state.

“For the report of the committee investigating the January events to be credible,” it said, it must include “independent lawyers, human rights activists and even prominent Iranian academics living abroad.”

Journalist Ahmad Zeidabadi similarly warned that any internal investigation would face deep public suspicion.

“What is the problem with inviting the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights to send a professional team to investigate?” he wrote, arguing that “only a credible international report can end the conflict of narratives.”

Lawyer and political activist Hassan Younesi urged the president to pursue a genuinely independent inquiry, while journalist Hossein Yazdi wrote that a committee would be trusted only if formed by individuals “not themselves accused.”

Public distrust reflects a broader history of disputed official investigations.

Many Iranians have cited previous cases—including the 1999 attack on Tehran University dormitories, the 2020 downing of a Ukrainian passenger plane that killed 176 people, and the death of Mahsa Amini in morality police custody—as examples where official explanations were widely contested.

Iran’s presidential office says 3,117 people died in the January unrest, including more than 2,400 civilians and security personnel whom authorities say were killed by “foreign enemy agents.”

That figure has been widely challenged. Human rights groups and independent media have reported far higher death tolls. Iran International has reviewed leaked internal government documents indicating the toll may be as high as 36,500.

Allegations from within Iran’s own political establishment have further fueled skepticism.

In a leaked audio recording, reformist politician Ali Shakouri-Rad said security institutions had “deliberately injected violence into the scene” to justify a sweeping crackdown, describing such conduct as “systematic” in Iran’s security policies.

Former president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad has made similar claims, saying forces within the state were responsible for protest deaths.

Pezeshkian initially dismissed Shakouri-Rad’s remarks as “unfair,” but later softened his position, saying he had ordered further investigation into the allegations and authorized additional review through relevant officials.

For many critics, the central question remains whether institutions accused of responsibility for violence can credibly investigate themselves, especially while Tehran rejects all international scrutiny, even refusing to recognise the UN investigators’ mandate.