Iran's president Masoud Pezeshkian speaks at an event to mark the day in 1979 the revolutionaries took over, Tehran, February 11, 2026
President Massoud Pezeshkian’s increasingly public confrontations with Iran’s state broadcaster have exposed the limits of his authority, underscoring how one of the country’s most powerful institutions operates beyond the reach of its elected government.
The tensions erupted most visibly on Wednesday, when Pezeshkian angrily confronted the head of state television during a cabinet meeting, accusing the broadcaster of refusing to show his administration’s progress.
The exchange was being aired live before the broadcast was abruptly cut off.
During a visit to Golestan Province the following day, Pezeshkian became embroiled in a heated argument on live television with a provincial commander of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) over the military’s role in development projects.
This time, the cameras kept rolling. The commander looked directly into the lens and declared that the IRGC had fulfilled its duties—and that the government had not.
Together, the incidents offered a rare public glimpse into the president’s inability to control institutions that shape both policy and public perception in the Islamic Republic.
Moderate and reformist outlets have rallied to Pezeshkian’s defense, portraying the clash as a sign of the broadcaster’s unchecked power.
“For state TV, news is not the priority; controlling the narrative is,” read a commentary on Rouydad24. If the president’s message does not align with the broadcaster’s preferred narrative, the report said, “it will either ignore him or cut the broadcast.”
An editorial on Khabar Online added that the network’s decision to cut Pezeshkian’s speech reflected “a kind of intoxication with power” and an exaggerated sense of confidence.
“Even if the highest executive authority in the country takes a position against this broadcaster, it feels powerful enough to ignore it entirely,” the editorial said.
Clashes between Iranian presidents and state television are not new. Every president except Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani, whose brother ran the broadcaster during much of his presidency, faced friction with the organization.
Mohammad Khatami, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, and Hassan Rouhani all had public disputes with IRIB, the Islamic Republic’s state broadcaster. Rouhani barred a former IRIB chief from cabinet meetings, while Ahmadinejad withheld the network’s allocated budget to punish its managers.
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But Pezeshkian’s confrontations come at a moment of growing public dissatisfaction and economic strain, weakening his ability to assert authority. He had promised salary increases of 21% to 43% for government employees, but with inflation running at 60%, even those raises would leave workers falling behind rising prices.
At the same time, Pezeshkian has publicly acknowledged the emotional toll of recent unrest, saying he “can hardly sleep at night” after January’s bloody crackdown. Yet his government’s inability to improve economic conditions or assert control over powerful institutions has reinforced perceptions of weakness.
What much of the media avoids stating openly is that Iran’s state broadcaster answers only to the Supreme Leader. As long as he approves of its conduct, no other authority—not even the president’s—can compel it to change course.
The result is a system in which the elected president can be openly challenged, contradicted, or even silenced by unelected institutions.
Iran’s Fajr Film Festival went ahead this year as planned. But it did so in a country still reeling from bloodshed, and the red carpets beneath its guests carried a symbolic weight that many in the film community found difficult to ignore.
Some chose not to attend. Others did, and the result was a festival that felt unusually detached from the public mood—less a national cultural event than a carefully managed display of continuity.
Now in its 44th year, the festival took place less than forty days after tens of thousands of protesters were killed during the government’s crackdown. Under those circumstances, the decision to proceed on schedule was bound to draw scrutiny.
The nature of the festival itself has evolved over time, with an increasing share of films produced by state institutions or affiliated organizations. This year, too, such bodies as municipal authorities and even the judiciary appeared among the producers.
This has contributed to a growing perception, particularly among independent filmmakers, that the festival increasingly reflects official priorities rather than the diversity of Iranian cinema.
That perception was reinforced by a number of high-profile absences. Some directors and actors announced they would not attend.
The actor Elnaz Shakerdoost, one of Iran’s most recognizable performers, publicly questioned the timing of the festival and announced she would step away from acting. “Which festival? Which celebration?” she wrote. “I will not attend any celebration, nor will I ever again play a role in this land that smells of blood.”
Other films were screened without their directors or cast present. In several cases, producers appeared alone at press conferences. The director Soroush Sehat and the cast of his widely discussed film declined to attend altogether, leading organizers to cancel its press session.
These absences altered the character of the festival’s public discussions. Press conferences often featured only those filmmakers who had chosen to participate, some of whom criticized colleagues who had stayed away.
Mohammad Hossein Mahdavian, a director known for films focusing on Iran’s security institutions, described actors who declined to attend as “cowards.”
Many film critics and journalists opted not to cover the event. Even Film Emrooz, a long-established cinema magazine known for its cautious editorial line, did not publish its customary festival issue.
Public turnout appeared subdued as well. Organizers sought to maintain the appearance of normal activity, but attendance remained visibly lower than in previous years.
The closing ceremony reflected similar tensions. Several winners did not appear to accept their Simorgh awards. President Massoud Pezeshkian attended and praised those who had participated, signaling the government’s continued investment in the festival’s symbolic importance.
One award recipient attempted to acknowledge the broader context, alluding to the recent violence while accepting his prize. His remarks, however cautiously phrased, underscored the gap between the official narrative of continuity and the unresolved trauma still shaping public life.
Iran’s film industry has long occupied a complex position—both an instrument of national identity and a space for independent artistic expression. This year’s festival highlighted how difficult it has become to sustain that balance.
Iranians took to social media on the anniversary of the 1979 Revolution to challenge the Islamic Republic’s claims of overwhelming public support, sharing videos of anti-government chants and questioning the authenticity of state broadcasts.
Authorities said “tens of millions” rallied nationwide to back Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei and the Islamic Republic’s ideology on the 47th anniversary of the revolution. Opponents—many still grieving the deaths of thousands shot during January protests—argued that attendance was often compelled and official imagery exaggerated.
State television aired long processions of marchers chanting pro-government slogans.
In Tehran, special police units and armored vehicles were deployed in what officials described as a show of stability. Critics said the heavy security presence signaled coercion rather than confidence.
What was presented as a unified celebration instead revealed competing narratives. While state media depicted unwavering loyalty, many Iranians online asserted that genuine political support cannot be measured in choreographed crowds or tightly controlled broadcasts.
Fireworks and counter-chants
Tuesday evening’s commemoration began with fireworks across Tehran and other cities. As in previous years, mosque loudspeakers and Basij bases urged citizens to step outside at 9 p.m. on the eve of the anniversary to chant “Allah-u-Akbar” from rooftops and streets.
But videos posted online from several cities, including Tehran, showed opponents raising anti-government slogans such as “Death to the dictator”, at times drowning out pro-state chants amplified through megaphones.
Clips shared on X and Instagram captured competing chants echoing across neighborhoods, reflecting a contested public atmosphere rather than a single unified voice.
Social media users also accused authorities of pressuring public employees, teachers, conscripts and others to attend the marches. Some alleged that participation was encouraged through incentives, including paid leave or material benefits—even implied threats to job security.
In several cities, critics said buses transported families to designated gathering points despite the anniversary being a public holiday.
One widely circulated claim alleged that relatives of those detained during the January unrest were told that sharing photos or videos of their families attending anniversary rallies could help secure the release of their loved ones. The claim could not be independently verified.
Staged testimonials?
Accusations extended to state media broadcasts. Opponents pointed to a now-viral clip in which the same woman—holding portraits of Khamenei and revolutionary founder Ruhollah Khomeini—appeared in live footage from Qazvin and Khorramabad, cities hundreds of kilometers apart.
One user wrote that the anniversary had produced “a woman teleporting on state TV.”
Others questioned the authenticity of official images, alleging digital manipulation or the reuse of footage, though no conclusive evidence has been publicly presented.
State media also aired interviews with participants including women without traditional hijab expressing loyalty to the leadership. Opposition voices dismissed the segments as staged propaganda.
In one broadcast from Isfahan, a woman said she had joined the marches after 30 years “for love of the Leader, to support the country and Islam against threats.”
In another clip released Wednesday, a woman without a headscarf declared: “Many enemies of Iran said the Islamic Republic would not see this anniversary—we’re glad it didn’t happen because if it had, surely Iran would have split.”
Critics argued such testimonials were carefully selected to project enthusiasm that may not reflect the broader political mood.
During state-organized rallies marking Iran’s 1979 revolution anniversary, demonstrators in several cities burned large statues of a horned, bull-headed figure identified by organizers as “Baal,” an ancient deity referenced in biblical and Islamic tradition.
The burnings, some reported to have taken place at the same time in different cities, were presented by organizers as a symbolic protest linked to renewed online conspiracy theories surrounding the late financier Jeffrey Epstein and alleged child abuse by Western elites.
Iranian news agency Mehr said the effigy represented “the idol of Baal,” described in religious texts as a false god associated with deviation from monotheism.
Participants, chanting “Death to Israel” and “Death to America,” were quoted as saying the act symbolized resistance to what they described as corrupt Western systems and Zionist ideology.
Images circulated by Iranian and foreign media showed a giant statue with a bull’s head engulfed in flames in Tehran’s Azadi Square. Some versions included additional imagery such as the number “666” and references to US President Donald Trump.
Hardline outlets and channels said the burning was a symbolic reference to documents recently released by the US Justice Department related to Epstein, who was charged in 2019 with running a sex trafficking ring involving underage girls. Epstein died in jail later that year.
Online speculation in recent weeks has revived unverified allegations linking Epstein to ancient deities such as Baal or Moloch, figures that in some traditions are associated with child sacrifice.
Fact-checkers and mainstream media have previously reported that many such claims stem from misinterpretations of financial documents or from longstanding internet conspiracy theories, including allegations about a “temple” on Epstein’s private island that US media said was designed as a music pavilion.
Baal, a title meaning “lord” in ancient Semitic languages, was worshipped by Canaanite peoples in the ancient Near East and is portrayed in Jewish, Christian and Islamic texts as a false deity. Some scholars say there is limited archaeological evidence of child sacrifice practices in parts of the ancient Levant, though interpretations remain debated.
Iranian organizers described the statue burning as a “symbolic protest” aimed at drawing attention to alleged moral corruption in the West.
One conservative outlet linked the initiative to the Masaf Institute, a group associated with propagandist Ali Akbar Raefipour, which has promoted anti-Western and anti-Zionist narratives.
The coordinated burnings formed part of broader anniversary events that included anti-US and anti-Israel slogans, flag burnings and displays criticizing Western governments.
While state media framed the act as a message from Tehran to the world, some Iranian clerics expressed concern about the symbolism, and online users debated whether the act itself risked unintended religious connotations.
The message coming out of Tehran on the anniversary of the 1979 Islamic Revolution was that Iran is willing to negotiate with the United States, though it remains unclear how its declared “red lines” can be squared with Washington’s demands.
The signals of flexibility were buried beneath the usual chants of defiance and confrontational theatrics at the annual rally marking the foundation of the Islamic Republic. Coffins bearing photos of US officials were paraded through the streets. An effigy of Jeffrey Epstein was set on fire.
The messaging unfolded as Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu met President Donald Trump at the White House—a meeting that could reinforce calls in Washington for a harder line on Tehran.
Two dozen Western reporters were in Tehran. Some appeared delighted to meet Iranian schoolchildren speaking fluent English; others were charmed by Persian cuisine and elderly men eager to shake hands. Few seemed inclined to recall that, just four weeks earlier, thousands of protesters had reportedly been killed in those same streets.
Away from the orchestrated celebrations and from the state-approved “fixers” guiding journalists through carefully staged displays of loyalty, senior officials blended familiar defiance with cautious hints of compromise.
Foreign Ministry spokesman Esmail Baghaei said Iran was ready for talks about the level of enrichment and even the extent of its stockpile of enriched uranium.
“If the negotiations are meant to bear results, there needs to be some kind of compromise,” he added, acknowledging that “this is the difficult part of the job.”
Ali Larijani, secretary of the Supreme National Security Council, struck a similarly measured tone, telling Al Jazeera that talks in Oman had been positive while reiterating Tehran’s position that conflicts with Washington’s demand for stricter limits.
“There is no talk of zeroing out enrichment,” he said. “We need it in the fields of energy and pharmaceutical manufacturing.”
The comments followed Larijani’s visits to Oman and Qatar, where he reportedly delivered a red folder that some analysts suggested could contain Khamenei’s response to a message from President Trump.
Photographs show him handing a letter to the Sultan of Oman and later presenting a red envelope in Doha, despite aides’ denials that any formal message was conveyed.
In an interview with Oman’s state television, Larijani offered an unusually restrained assessment of US policy, saying Washington’s framework “has become more realistic.”
Whether these tonal shifts signal a durable change in Iran’s messaging or a tactical adjustment on a symbolic day remains unclear.
Another unusual development added to the speculation. For decades, Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei has marked the anniversary by meeting a delegation of Iranian Air Force officers, echoing a similar gathering with Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini in 1979.
This year, he skipped the meeting and instead sent the officers to pay their respects to Hassan Khomeini, the founder’s grandson and presumed heir—a gesture that reignited the never-ending whispers of succession.
One month after a sweeping and deadly crackdown on nationwide protests, Islamic Republic marked its anniversary with state-organized rallies that appeared designed to project strength even as anti-government chants reverberated across neighborhoods nationwide.
The annual commemoration of the 1979 Islamic Revolution has long served as a showcase of mass loyalty. This year, however, it unfolded under the shadow of what critics describe as a deepening crisis of legitimacy following the January bloodshed.
In Tehran, security forces and Basij units maintained a visible presence as supporters gathered in Azadi Square. State media broadcast images of families and children waving flags, and highlighted what it portrayed as festive participation across the country.
Among the more striking displays were symbolic coffins bearing the names and photos of senior US military officials, including US Army Chief of Staff Randy George and CENTCOM Commander Brad Cooper. Cooper was part of the US delegation that recently held talks with Iranian officials in Oman.
American and Israeli flags were also burned during the rally.
The imagery of defiance came as Iranian officials engage in renewed diplomatic contacts with the United States. The juxtaposition reflected a dual message: confrontation abroad and consolidation at home.
President Masoud Pezeshkian, addressing the rally, repeated the government’s narrative about the recent unrest, accusing protesters of sabotage and violence and saying “no Iranian takes up arms to kill another Iranian.”
Iranian President Masoud Pezeshkian speaks during the 47th anniversary of the Islamic Revolution in Tehran, Iran, February 11, 2026.
He acknowledged widespread dissatisfaction but said the government was prepared to “hear the voice of the people,” while emphasizing loyalty to Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei and adherence to his “red lines” in diplomacy, a tacit reference to Iran’s uranium enrichment, missile program and support for regional militia groups.
State television placed particular emphasis on images of children and families at the rallies, a move that analysts say may reflect efforts to soften the government’s image after weeks of reports about civilian casualties.
Rights advocates have long criticized the use of minors in political events, arguing that it instrumentalizes children for propaganda purposes.
The commemorations took place roughly a month after a violent suppression of protests that erupted in late December.
The editorial board of Iran International said earlier this month that more than 36,500 people had been killed in a targeted crackdown ordered by Khamenei.
Even as the government staged its anniversary spectacle, dissent surfaced in other forms. On the eve of 22 Bahman, residents in multiple neighborhoods of Tehran – including Narmak, Ekbatan, Majidieh and Naziabad – shouted slogans such as “Death to Khamenei” and “Death to the dictator” from rooftops and balconies. Similar chants were reported in cities including Mashhad, Arak, Qazvin, Kermanshah and Shahriar.
Videos circulating online showed nighttime fireworks lighting the sky as anti-government slogans rang out.
In one clip from Arak, residents could be heard chanting against Khamenei in response to mosque loudspeakers broadcasting the traditional “Allahu Akbar.”
In Tehran, one resident said the fireworks were so loud “we thought America had attacked.”
In isolated incidents, pro-government speakers appeared to inadvertently repeat anti-Khamenei slogans during live broadcasts, prompting abrupt cuts in coverage.
One state reporter in Sistan and Baluchestan was heard listing “Death to Khamenei” among rally chants before the feed was interrupted.
Political analyst Iman Aghayari told Iran International that the anniversary had become “an arena of confrontation between the government and the people,” adding that unlike in previous years, authorities seemed less concerned with demonstrating broad public backing and more focused on asserting control.
“This time,” he said, “the regime is not trying to prove people are with it. It is simply declaring that it rules.”
As Iran navigates renewed diplomacy abroad and mounting pressure at home, the 22 Bahman (February 11) anniversary appeared to reflect a widening gap between official displays of unity and the anger that continues to surface beyond the state’s stage-managed events.