Yalda Moayeri: Majority People Are Waiting for War to Move Past the Regime

Iranwire – Yalda Moayeri, a photojournalist who has documented Iranian protests for years, recently saw her photographs from the January 8 and 9 protests published in the French newspaper Le Monde. Soon after, security agents raided her home, and her summons and interrogation sessions continue. We spoke with her about how the 2026 protests differ from those of previous years, what people on the streets are asking for, and what the future of Iran looks like through her lens.

Moayeri says that while she is personally anti-war, her years of photographing conflicts across the Middle East have taught her that “democracy” does not come out of a foreign soldier’s backpack. Yet, she adds that if she is to speak honestly as a journalist about the reality inside Iran today, she must acknowledge what many people feel – that they are waiting for war as a way out of the quagmire of this regime, and that they want an attack to happen.

In another part of this interview, she states that her dream, like that of 80 million other Iranians, is the departure of the Islamic Republic.

The Interview

A few days ago, security agents raided your home and took your electronic devices, and you were summoned. What did they want? What did they say?

Official interrogations haven’t started yet, and on the day they came, they did not explain their presence. I refused to participate in the first interrogation because they were supposed to bring back my belongings and hadn’t. I wrote that I wouldn’t answer any questions and walked out. The second time, when they returned some items, including this phone, they spoke in generalities and didn’t get to the main point. I asked them several times: What was the reason for this raid and this setup? They evaded the question. So, I still don’t know why they showed up with ten people in the house, people in the street, and people on the roof. I truly didn’t understand the reason for this method of attack.

You’ve photographed all the protests of these past years. In your view, do the 2026 protests differ from previous ones?

I have been photographing public protests since 1999. We went from the very peaceful gatherings of 2009 and the “Silent March” to the protests of 2017, 2019, and 2022. Now, what is very clear is that the people’s patience has run out, and perhaps they have become more violent to some extent. This is analyzable from a sociological perspective, but the level of pressure has reached a point where such behavior is justifiable and understandable. Despite this, the people are empty-handed. If they used tools, like sticks or construction blocks, I didn’t see anyone using them to attack agents; they were used to block streets and paths.

What is the story behind your photo where a group is standing on an overturned car and appearing to hold sticks?

People would get on the car for a few very short seconds and then get off. The overturned car that was on fire was a traffic police car, not even a general law enforcement (NAJA) vehicle, but the people’s joy was as if they had achieved something, like they had dealt a blow to the government. Lighting a car on fire might be nothing, but it represents the level of anger and protest. Something I found very amusing was that one person held a “Stop/Go” traffic sign, and most Gen Z protesters were taking photos with that sign and the car; there was actually a queue to take photos with it. There was a sense of satisfaction there, that something had “cooled their hearts” (given them relief). I heard this feeling persisted among protesters across the city for about an hour, and after that, the story changed – which is exactly what happened on Karim Khan Street. Around 10:00 or 10:30 p.m., the tables suddenly turned.

What was the most shocking scene you witnessed in these protests?

First of all, because of these security issues, many things cannot be photographed. Even if I am the most reckless of photographers, there are many places where I cannot work – not out of fear for my life, but because they simply don’t let you work; they stop you. But there have been a few times in my life when I couldn’t photograph because I was in shock. I think it’s happened twice, because I’m quite thick-skinned; I could even photograph easily during the Bam earthquake. One of those two times was the day I went to the memorial service for Ms. Sahar Fallah, one of the “Eternal Names” (fallen protesters). I went there quite by chance after seeing the funeral notice, but the movements of her mother and aunt, that dancing and the state they were in, were truly shocking. It was one of those times I simply couldn’t lift the camera. Although I took photos of the ceremony with my mobile phone, those scenes shook me so much that I still get emotional seeing the images. They had made a clip with screenshots of the girl in different poses, and while it played, the mother would strike every pose her daughter had taken. I think, unlike those for whom images of corpses or headshots are the most shocking, this scene was one of the most jarring things I’ve seen in my life. I kept scolding myself: “You are here to document,” but sometimes you truly can’t; you just freeze in the face of the volume of grief. I think this is a “nationality-wide” mourning – it’s not even just national. Wherever you are in the world, even if you live in Uganda, if you are Iranian, you are a mourner in the face of this event.

I want to go back to a tweet you posted where you said you heard nothing but Mr. Pahlavi’s name during the protest days, and your previous tweet where you apologized for saying “We won’t go back.” What was the story behind these tweets?

I am not a monarchist. Before that, I had written a tweet that was my personal opinion as Yalda Moayeri, saying, “We won’t go back.” We won’t go back to any “past.” But after January 8 and 9, I saw that the people weren’t calling for anyone else. There were other slogans, top among them “Death to the Dictator,” of course. But what I meant was that they didn’t call for any other opposition figure besides him (Prince Reza Pahlavi). For example, I didn’t hear the “Ya Hossein, Mir Hossein” slogan at all, or even slogans like “Death to the oppressor, be it the Shah or the Leader.” My tweet was my report as a journalist. What the people want might not necessarily align with my personal views, but if my duty as a journalist is to state and show reality, I must honestly express what the people want. Perhaps one of the reasons for the IRGC raid on my house was that very tweet.

I know you are among the anti-war crowd, but in an interview with CNN, you said the people are waiting for an attack. You are inside Iran; how do you evaluate this demand?

This is one of those questions where I must first state my own view: I am an anti-war person. I am one of those people who believe that “democracy” does not come out of a foreign soldier’s backpack. I have seen numerous wars in the Middle East, from Afghanistan and Georgia to the Iraq War, when I was twenty years old and entered Kirkuk behind U.S. forces. Based on my experiences, I believe war does not bring democracy. However, since we are talking about the people’s opinion here, yes, the majority of people want an attack to happen; they want war. But there is a very important point here: no one wants their home destroyed or themselves or others killed. What people mean by “war” is help to cross over from a regime they are stuck in, like a quagmire. They do not mean the destruction of the land, and this is an important distinction we must pay attention to.

As someone who has documented people’s protests for years, been a civil activist, and gone to prison and faced trial for it, how do you predict the future of Iran?

To be honest, I am not optimistic at all. I am perhaps going through the most hopeless and bitter days of my life. A few years ago, I was more hopeful, but now I believe that even if we move past the Islamic Republic today and enter a new era, we are faced with an infinitely tired, infinitely depressed, and defeated society. All of us are deeply scarred, and I don’t know by what method we can pass through this stage. I only know that we aren’t even the people of 2022 anymore. The grief, sorrow, and depression ruling over society are inexplicable. Everyone is frozen, and no one can do anything.

In these conditions, what do you think would make you happy? What is your dream?

My dream is the dream of 80 million Iranians, and I think nothing will be as joyful as the departure of the Islamic Republic. My youth is over, and I am in middle age, but I hope the next generation sees better days. I don’t think that in at least the past 20 years anyone has blown out a birthday candle and wished for anything other than these rulers to go.

What have you done to realize this dream?

My whole life, I tried to honestly portray what existed. A part of what existed was the struggles of the Iranian people. The Islamic Republic, in various ways and at critical junctures, has tried to defame me and make my photos look fake, but I continued this path. I remember in 2022, I was very sick in solitary confinement in “2-A” (a wing of Evin Prison), and I spent a week going back and forth between the Evin clinic and 2-A. During one of the interrogation sessions, I was just slumped in the chair, and the interrogator – whom I couldn’t see – said: “With every single photo you took, you dealt a blow to the Islamic Republic.” It was as if I suddenly woke up; new blood pumped into my veins. I thought to myself, “So I was able to do something.” In the photography community, many try to separate work from activism. Sometimes our friends say a photographer shouldn’t be an activist, and they separate the two. But I believed in a path, a word, an honesty, and I tried to advance it my whole life.

Many of your colleagues do not publish photos under their own names because of security risks. Yet you, despite being harassed after 2022, tried and imprisoned, still publish with your name. Why?

My colleagues aren’t even taking photos anymore, let alone publishing them with or without a name. It is very sad and, in my view, a kind of betrayal; but regardless, it’s a personal decision, and everyone must answer to their own conscience and history, not to me. As for myself, I have reached a stage where I perhaps have nothing left to lose. I only have one life left, and if they want to take that too, what value does it have compared to these thousands of people, many of whom were the age of my child? Even if they kill me, what will happen? So, until the moment I am here, I will try to narrate.