A Family Shaped by Iran’s History

My name is Rayan Amiri. I was born on July 2, 1995, in Qaem Shahr, Mazandaran Province, a city once called Shahi before the Islamic Republic renamed it after the revolution.

I was not born special. On the contrary, I was born weak. When I entered the world, I did not cry. The nurses thought I had been born dead until they slapped me and forced my first breath out of me. I cried for nearly an hour. It was my first struggle with life.

I come from Savadkuh, a mountainous region surrounded by the Hyrcanian forests of northern Iran, the homeland of the Pahlavi Dynasty and of Reza Shah the Great, the founder of modern Iran. Those forests shaped our identity as Savadkouhis, Mazandaranis, and Iranians. Today, much of them have disappeared under corruption, incompetence, and destruction.

My family history is deeply tied to Iran’s modern history. My great-grandfathers served as military officers during the late Qajar and early Pahlavi eras. Members of my family fought insurgents and separatists in northern Iran during Reza Shah’s state-building campaigns. Others later became diplomats, military officers, and government officials under the Pahlavi state before being forced into exile after 1979.

Unlike many feudal families, some of my ancestors openly criticized the clerical establishment long before the Islamic Revolution. One great-grandfather called the mullahs “social parasites” and rejected religious ritualism altogether, while strongly supporting the modernization of Iran under Reza Shah.

After the Islamic Revolution, much of what remained of our family’s property was gradually seized by regime-connected figures. The courts, as always, sided with the regime.

Growing Up Under the Islamic Republic

I was raised in a completely different Iran from the one my grandparents described.

Unlike my ancestors, I grew up poor. My father, like many Iranian small business owners, eventually went bankrupt as corruption and economic collapse consumed the country. There were periods when I worked harsh jobs in Tehran simply to survive. At times, I was homeless.

As a child, I developed serious health problems, including rickets and later osteomalacia, causing chronic pain, fatigue, and physical weakness. I also suffered deteriorating eyesight and ptosis. These conditions made me a target for bullying, but eventually I learned to fight back. It taught me early that weakness invites cruelty in authoritarian societies.

My first direct confrontation with the Islamic Republic came when I was fifteen years old. My thirteen-year-old sister was arrested and harassed by the morality police because part of her hair was visible in public. It was not unusual in Iran. That was the frightening part. It was normal.

A year later, I made a decision that changed my life forever.

Becoming Rayan

I decided to convert to Zoroastrianism and change my name from Amir Muhammad to Rayan - replacing an Islamic name with a native Iranian one. For many outside Iran, a name change may sound trivial. Under the Islamic Republic, it became a political act.

A friend of mine easily changed his Arabic name because it lacked direct religious significance. But because my name included “Muhammad,” authorities viewed my request differently. I was labeled “anti-Islam” and “anti-revolution.” I was summoned by the Ministry of Intelligence after local officials spread rumors about me.

From that moment onward, I lived a double life. I hid my beliefs, pretended to remain Muslim on official forms, and concealed my identity to avoid persecution. In Iran, freedom of conscience exists only in theory. The simplest personal decisions become matters of state ideology. That experience fundamentally changed me. It was then that I made a personal commitment to fight the regime in a meaningful way.

Discovering Resistance

At eighteen, I briefly left Iran to study electrical and electronic engineering abroad. But I returned to a country that was already beginning to change.

In October 2016, during Cyrus the Great Day at Pasargadae, I witnessed something extraordinary. Thousands of Iranians gathered around the tomb of Cyrus the Great chanting openly in support of the Pahlavi Dynasty and Reza Shah Pahlavi II. For the first time since 1979, I saw a visible generational rejection of political Islam and a growing embrace of secular civic nationalism.

It gave me hope. I realized that beneath the surface of repression, another Iran still existed.

Building the Underground

After 2016, my activism intensified.

I launched an underground media platform called Azadi Media on Instagram and Telegram to amplify protest footage, anti-regime messaging, and pro-monarchy activism. Under the alias “Shayan X,” I also helped organize a small underground activist network in Savadkuh focused on mobilization and protest coordination.

We created social media pages, spread protest calls, organized acts of civil disobedience, and tried to keep anti-regime momentum alive when mainstream media either ignored or underreported it.

In December 2017, I joined protests outside the University of Tehran where demonstrators chanted: “Reformists, principlists, the game is over.” The slogan rejected both factions of the Islamic Republic.

The regime responded with tear gas, arrests, beatings, and gunfire. Friends were detained. I escaped through central Tehran with burning eyes after being hit with tear gas. After that, there was no going back to ordinary life.

Protest, Repression, and Survival

Over the following years, I participated in multiple waves of unrest, including the 2018 protests, the Bloody Aban uprising of 2019, and later the Mahsa Amini uprising in 2022.

As censorship intensified, I increasingly shifted toward English-language activism in an attempt to communicate directly with international audiences. I built a small media platform focused on reporting anti-regime protests and highlighting the growing monarchist movement among younger Iranians.

Social media became our lifeline. When our accounts were suspended, we rebuilt them. When footage disappeared, we reposted it. When journalists ignored protests, ordinary Iranians documented them themselves.

But every year the risks increased. By 2022, I was again summoned by intelligence authorities. Friends warned me repeatedly that I had likely been identified. Still, I stayed.

The Lion and Sun Revolution

Everything changed during the nationwide protests of late 2025 and early 2026.

After Reza Shah Pahlavi II called for mass demonstrations, millions of Iranians across hundreds of cities joined what many supporters began calling the Lion and Sun Revolution. In January 2026, I traveled to Sari and later to Savadkuh as protests erupted across Mazandaran Province.

I will never forget those nights. Security forces stood armed in the city squares waiting for protesters. The moment chants of “Javid Shah” — “Long Live the Shah” — erupted, they opened fire.

People screamed and scattered through alleyways as bullets hit protesters at point-blank range. I filmed parts of the chaos while fleeing through the streets. Later in Savadkuh, thousands flooded the Shah Square — a name locals still used despite the regime’s attempt to rename it after Khomeini. Families, young couples, elderly people, workers, and students all came together.

The regime arrived prepared. Fake ambulances carrying armed agents stood nearby. Fire trucks waited not to rescue protesters, but to wash blood from the streets afterward. The next night became even worse.

Crowds gathered near a police station demanding the release of detained protesters. Security forces first fired pellets, then live ammunition into the crowd. I watched protesters collapse in front of me. Some were killed immediately. Others were shot while trying to carry away the wounded. Nearby residents opened their homes so fleeing protesters could hide from security forces.

Friends later pulled me away from the protests and told me I had likely been identified. I went into hiding.

Escape

For nearly three weeks, I hid in a rural village near Alasht, the birthplace of Reza Shah the Great.

Friends warned me that regime agents were searching for me throughout Savadkuh. IRGC vehicles were repeatedly seen near my family’s home. Eventually, fellow activists helped move me secretly to Tehran. From there, I fled Iran through Istanbul. Even at the airport, I believed the regime was still trying to identify dissidents leaving the country.

When I finally entered Turkey, I felt relief for only a brief moment. The fear followed me.

Exile and Political Organizing

Today, I remain in Turkey in an undisclosed location.

Even here, I believe Iranian regime networks monitor dissidents abroad. Earlier this year, suspicious individuals linked to Iranian vehicles and behavior associated with plainclothes operatives appeared near my neighborhood. Exile does not end fear. It only changes its geography.

In March 2026, I founded the Conservative Party of Iran in exile. I believed many secular and civic nationalists had become politically homeless — trapped between the Islamic Republic, fragmented opposition groups, and ideological movements disconnected from ordinary Iranians.

My goal was to help build a political platform supporting secular nationalism, constitutional order, and the eventual return of the Pahlavi monarchy.

No More Masks

I did not choose this path as an abstract political project. I chose it because I saw ordinary Iranians gather in the streets and get answered with bullets.

For years, I operated behind pseudonyms, masks, underground pages, and anonymous networks. “Shayan X” became part of my identity. But today there is no mask, no mystery. I speak publicly under my real name: Rayan Amiri.

I continue organizing, writing, and advocating because I believe Iran’s future belongs not to fear, but to those willing to fight for it.