The Islamic Republic was bad news in 1979 and it is bad news in 2026, sending security forces to beat and murder peaceful protesters. Deporting Iranians to a country gripped by violent repression is hardly the ‘help’ the United States promised.
Over four decades ago, we spent 444 days as prisoners in Iran for the crime of being American diplomats. One of us, Barry Rosen, was compelled at gunpoint to provide a “confession.” The captors kept John Limbert in solitary confinement for nine months and threatened him with a trial before a revolutionary kangaroo court.
We know firsthand how a terrified regime mistreats human beings it brands as “terrorists,” “enemies,” or “foreign agents,” in a never-ending effort to hold on to power at all costs. We witness daily tragedy for our Iranian friends and recall our own experience forty-seven years ago with Iran’s self-serving rulers.
Can the American government help Iranians face down the thousands of armed forces on the streets? Can we help without repeating the costly tragedies of Iraq and Afghanistan?
The president has promised Iranians that “help is on the way.” What help? What form of American support would allow Iranians to breathe after forty-seven years of theocratic authoritarianism? And what help would keep the country from descending into anarchy, as happened in Iraq in 2003, or falling victim to a new and more brutal regime, as happened in Iran after 1979?
As Americans, we should be proud of our record of providing a haven to those fleeing persecution. We have seen how Iranian-American friends and relatives were forced to flee their beloved homeland and become refugees in search of safety. Many of these same Iranian refugees have become outstanding scientists, physicians, lawyers, teachers, artists, and entrepreneurs in their adopted country.
We are alarmed by reports that the Trump administration is now deporting Iranian asylum seekers and other vulnerable Iranian nationals in ways that evade scrutiny, placing them on charter flights from the United States to Qatar or Kuwait and then sent onward to Tehran.
This dubious action is a strategic and moral blunder of the highest order. If we want to help, we must stop the deportations and show that we support those brave Iranians confronting their brutal rulers.
For decades, the United States has recognized a core principle of refugee protection rooted in both domestic law and the post-World War II international order it helped build: we do not return people to countries where they face persecution, torture, or death. When the destination is the Islamic Republic of Iran, the risk is not theoretical. It is profound and well documented.
The US State Department has designated Iran a state sponsor of terrorism. The Islamic Republic has a long record of arbitrary detention, coerced confessions, and political punishment of ethnic and religious minorities, journalists, lawyers, writers, musicians, students, filmmakers, women’s rights activists, and anyone else who asks inconvenient questions.
Returning people to that system does not send help to those fighting a murderous regime. It hands Tehran an unearned victory, supplying leverage, propaganda, and human capital to a government that has perfected the use of hostages and forced confessions as instruments of state power.
Supporters of these removals argue that deportation is simply the execution of US immigration law. But asylum seekers are, by definition, telling US authorities that they fear their own government. In Iran, an asylum claim can be interpreted as collaboration with foreign enemies, propaganda against the state, spying, apostasy, acting against national security, or the catch-all charge of “making war against God.”
Iranians have been imprisoned, tortured, or killed for all these accusations—and often for nothing at all.
History offers sobering parallels. In the 1980s, the United States returned Salvadoran and Guatemalan asylum seekers to governments engaged in widespread political violence and death-squad activity. Many deportees were later killed or disappeared. Officials at the time rationalized these deportations as “lawful and necessary.” They were neither and are now broadly recognized as grave moral and strategic failures that damaged US credibility.
The United Kingdom made a similar mistake in the early 2000s when it cooperated with Muammar Gaddafi’s Libya to deport dissidents. British officials relied on diplomatic assurances that returnees would be treated humanely. Instead, some were imprisoned and tortured. Years later, British courts ruled the practice unlawful, and the government was forced to reckon publicly with the consequences of secrecy and misplaced trust in an authoritarian regime.
The scale of the current situation also matters. Initial reporting referenced roughly 400 individuals identified for removal; subsequent reporting suggests the number at risk could be significantly higher.
Meanwhile, independent estimates indicate that thousands have been killed in Iran in recent months. Whatever the precise number of deportees, the precedent being set is appalling. Normalizing indirect removals to Tehran through US allies in the region signals that the United States is willing to look away from what happens next.
Most troubling is how little information is available. Basic questions remain unanswered, including who, precisely, our government is deporting, what screening standards are being applied, what access to legal counsel exists, and what assurances, if any, have been received from Iran or third countries.
That organizations such as the Iranian American Legal Defense Fund have had to resort to Freedom of Information Act requests simply to understand the contours of this policy underscores the secrecy involved. And secrecy is where abuse takes root.
Our argument is for moral clarity and strategic seriousness.
A government that encourages Iranian protesters and warns Americans about Iran’s hostage-taking and coercion cannot, at the same time, deliver vulnerable people into the machinery of repression. A nation that still remembers 1979 and what followed should not supply the Islamic Republic with a new pool of captives, especially people who came here believing their search for safety would be handled with care and compassion.
Congress should demand immediate answers, and the administration should halt removals to Iran and allow transparent review. Our government must keep its promises, observe both law and morality, and guarantee meaningful access to asylum and withholding protections. What appears to be an arbitrary and cruel process should be subject to immediate, independent oversight.
The United States is strongest when it refuses to outsource its conscience to regimes that have none.
In late September 2022, when a young Iranian woman named Mahsa Amini was killed for showing her hair, Iran erupted. Millions of brave Iranians, women and men, young and old, took to the streets.
What followed was not just a protest against compulsory hijab laws, but one of the clearest rejections of the Islamic Republic since 1979: Woman. Life. Freedom.
At the time, I was head of digital operations at the Israel ministry of foreign affairs, leading Israel’s public diplomacy online in six languages, including Persian.
From the start, we distinguished between the Islamic Republic and the Iranian people. That distinction guided everything we did. We launched one of the only official digital campaigns anywhere in direct solidarity with Mahsa Amini and the protesters, including a filter viewed more than a million times.
Our Israel in Persian accounts exploded. Posts expressing support reached millions. Every day, we received thousands of messages from inside Iran: “Thank you for seeing us,” they said, “be our voice.”
In January 2026, they did the same.
For more than four decades, the Islamic Republic has insisted that hatred of Israel is central to Iranian identity. But millions of Iranians have told us otherwise.
A GAMAAN survey published in 2025 found that roughly two thirds of Iranians said the government should stop its “destroy Israel” rhetoric, and a similar majority viewed the recent 12 day conflict as between the Iranian regime and Israel, not between Israel and ordinary Iranians.
Loyal supporters of Iran's theocratic rule, the same voices that celebrated October 7, want you to believe Iranians hate Israel and that the protests are foreign engineered fantasies.
They flood social media with trolls, lies, and fake AI videos. But the people have already spoken. Across ideology and geography, they are saying the same thing: Not death to Israel. Not death to America. Death to the Islamic Republic.
Hundreds of thousands of Iranian Jews live around the world today, many still speaking Persian, cooking Iranian food, and aching for the country they were forced to leave.
Israel is home to about 200,000 Iranian Jews. Long before modern politics, Cyrus the Great liberated the Jews from exile and allowed them to return to Jerusalem, an event recorded in both Jewish and Persian history.
That shared past still lives between our peoples. And it lives in everyday encounters.
Every Iranian I have ever met has responded to me as a Jewish Israeli with warmth, curiosity, and respect. Never hatred.
Israelis are taught that Iran wants them wiped off the map. Iranians are taught that Israel is satanic and responsible for their suffering. But we both know the truth. It is the Islamic Republic that threatens both of us.
The rulers in Tehran have destroyed Iran’s economy, murdered teenagers for defying religious rule, and crushed dissent. They send money to their armed allies in the region while ordinary Iranians struggle to afford food and medicine.
Inside Iran, protesters chant, “Not Gaza, not Lebanon, my life for Iran.”
For Israelis, the danger is existential. The same regime that brutalizes its citizens openly calls for Israel’s destruction and races toward nuclear capability.
Israelis and Iranians do not need permission to recognize each other. Beneath decades of forced slogans lies something older and stronger than propaganda.
When Iranians rose up, Israelis didn’t see enemies in the streets of Tehran. We saw courage. And just as Iranians amplified Israeli voices after October 7, we understand that now it is our turn to speak for them.
This is not a Zionist conspiracy. It is human beings standing up for human beings.
The Islamic Republic fears that if Israelis and Iranians ever meet as people rather than caricatures, its mythology would collapse. So we stand with our Iranian brothers and sisters as allies, determined to answer their call for help.
For Jews, “Next year in Jerusalem” is a prayer for freedom. Today, that prayer has an echo: Next year in Tehran.
Variations of this message have surfaced across pro-government platforms, from seminarians presenting bloodshed as “righteous” to well-connected insiders arguing that killing protesters in the street is cheaper than arresting and executing them one by one.
A week after Iran killed more than 36,500 people, a state-affiliated analyst, Hesamoddin Haerizadeh, framed the protests not as civic dissent but as a divinely charged war, wrapping state violence in religious and moral language.
Opening his remarks, Haerizadeh cast the uprising as an externally orchestrated assault, describing the unrest as foreign backed riots and part of a broader confrontation between the Islamic Republic and the "non-believers front."
From there, he moved beyond political framing into a religious logic that treats street protests as a battlefield where killing is not a crime but an inevitable feature of a sacred struggle.
Haerizadeh branded the protests as “armed rebellion,” insisting that what had taken place was not peaceful protest but organized violence.
Haerizadeh then introduced an explicitly theological lens, portraying the crackdown as part of what he described as a divine process of purification.
“These events are meant to separate the impure from the pure,” he said, adding that turmoil is necessary so that “the impure are distinguished from the pure.”
In one of the starkest passages, he cited a Quranic verse often used to legitimize violence against perceived enemies: “And fight them until there is no more fitna,” he said, quoting scripture, “until religion is entirely for God.”
Critics say the effect of this framing is to turn the killing of protesters into something sacred: not a state decision, but a divine sorting mechanism—a form of moral cleansing.
Haerizadeh’s rhetoric relied heavily on dehumanization, dividing society into moral categories rather than citizens with rights.
“Kill, but with a ‘pure heart,’” activist Ahmad Batebi wrote, arguing that the lecture was designed to allow perpetrators to believe: “I didn’t kill; God sifted.”
The civic technology group TavaanaTech described the session as “workshops for killing and murder,” warning that such religious framing lowers the moral barrier to atrocity.
“This language is the language of genocide,” the group wrote, “a language that first makes the victim worthless so killing becomes easier.”
Killing as bureaucratic efficiency
A separate set of remarks, contained in an audio file attributed to Ahmad Ghadiri Abyaneh – the son of a former senior Iranian diplomat – moves beyond ideology into blunt cost-benefit logic.
In an online session on Thursday, January 29, he argued that killing protesters in the street could spare the Islamic Republic the international pressure that follows formal executions.
He minimized the scale of the deaths, reducing reported killings from tens of thousands to just over 3,000, and said the cost of killing protesters on the streets was far lower than arresting and executing them one by one.
“Why didn’t you kill them on the streets?” he asked, addressing the authorities. “You know that if they had been eliminated on the spot, the cost to the system would have been far, far lower than if you tried to execute them one by one.”
“Each one becomes a case file and a source of pressure on the Islamic Republic,” he continued. “By any logic—by any religious reasoning—it would have been right to show an iron fist with a decisive strike and wipe them out on the scene.”
Mockery on state television
The narrative hardened further when a host on Ofogh TV, an IRIB channel affiliated with the Revolutionary Guards, mocked reports that thousands of bodies had been transported in refrigerated trailers.
“What type of refrigerator do you think the Islamic Republic keeps the bodies in?” he asked sarcastically, offering joking options including an “ice cream machine” and a “supermarket freezer.”
The remarks sparked outrage across Iran’s political spectrum. IRIB later removed Ofogh TV’s director, Sadegh Yazdani, and pulled the program, though many critics said deeper accountability was unlikely.
'Enemies of God'
The same logic resurfaced on Sunday, when Tehran City Council head Mehdi Chamran denied protest deaths while labeling victims with one of the Islamic Republic’s harshest religious-legal categories.
“In these protests we had no deaths, and only moharebs were present with guns and knives,” Chamran said.
The term mohareb –used for those accused of waging war against God – has long been associated with the harshest punishments, including execution. Critics say it functions as a rhetorical weapon, transforming civilians into divine enemies.
Taken together, these remarks point to a single through-line: Tehran's effort to frame violence as either sacred duty or bureaucratic convenience.
