Some Iranians fear the regime is now more entrenched – and ready for revenge

The Shadow of Authority

Some Iranians fear the regime is now – The presence of the ruling powers is undeniable. In every corner of Iranian life, from bustling streets to quiet homes, their figures loom large. Whether it’s the faces of fallen leaders or the new stewards of the state, they are etched into the public consciousness. Protests have ebbed and flowed, wars have risen and fallen, yet the Islamic Republic remains unshaken. According to insiders the BBC has interviewed, the regime has not only survived but deepened its grip. Its leaders, now emboldened, are brimming with a sense of retribution.

Take Sana and Diako, a young couple in Tehran whose lives have become a microcosm of the nation’s struggles. Neither their real names are disclosed, a precaution necessary to shield them from state scrutiny. They are part of a middle-class, educated demographic that has long sought to dismantle the rigid religious hierarchy. But with each step they take, they face the ever-present threat of being identified by the regime’s surveillance networks. The journalist who facilitated their conversation met them in a park, a place where families gather, allowing them to speak with a semblance of safety during the ceasefire.

A Shift in Emotions

Diako clings to hope, convinced that the tide is turning. “Things will change,” he declares, emphasizing that the transformation has already begun. Sana, however, offers a more somber view. “Changed?” she questions, her tone laced with cynicism. “The country is now in the hands of the Revolutionary Guards. It’s a mess.” Her sentiment reflects a broader disillusionment. The war, which began as a catalyst for change, has instead deepened the divide. Initially, she was elated by the attacks on key figures, a reaction shared by others who saw the conflict as an opportunity to weaken the regime. But as the war stretched on, her optimism gave way to despair.

Sana recalls the moment the war erupted. “At the start, I didn’t want it to happen,” she admits. “But halfway through, when they were targeting important leaders, I felt a surge of joy for every death.” This was a fleeting moment of solidarity, however. As the months passed, the reality set in: the regime had not crumbled. Instead, it had solidified its position. “So many of their people are still standing,” she says. “What I imagined didn’t happen. Everything got worse. And now, we’re left with the same system.” Her frustration is palpable, a feeling she attributes to the regime’s victory in the war.

The Weight of Fear

Susan, a human rights lawyer whose name has been altered for safety, paints a vivid picture of the regime’s increasing brutality. Her parents are staunch supporters of the government, a fact that haunts her. “They worry I might be targeted if the state falls,” she explains. Yet her brother, an anti-regime activist, sees this as an inevitability. “Since they want to be martyrs, why deny them that right?” he asks, his words chilling in their simplicity.

Susan’s concerns are not isolated. She describes how prison conditions have deteriorated since the war began. “Before the conflict, harsh treatment was reserved for those leading protests, people with Molotovs, or armed rebels,” she says. “But now, the brutality has escalated. It’s not just about punishment anymore—it’s about silencing dissent.” Her fears are echoed by others who have seen the regime’s methods grow more ruthless. The war has not only strengthened the state’s resolve but also its capacity to crush opposition.

Numbers and Necessity

Statistics underscore the regime’s tightening control. The Washington-based Human Rights Activists News Agency (HRANA) reported over 53,000 arrests during the anti-regime protests in January, a number that swelled as the war escalated. Detentions have continued at an alarming rate, with thousands more reportedly held in custody. The death toll has also risen sharply, with 21 political prisoners executed during the conflict—a record high for the past three decades. Nine of these executions were linked to the January demonstrations, while the remaining were tied to alleged ties with opposition groups or espionage charges.

The war has become a tool for the regime to consolidate power. “The state uses this period to target those who speak out,” says Susan. “Every arrest, every execution, is a calculated move to instill fear.” This strategy has proven effective, with opposition rallies now banned and public displays of loyalty mandatory. The regime’s ability to monitor and control dissent has only grown, leaving many to wonder how long they can keep their voices hidden.

The Cost of Defiance

For independent journalists, the stakes are even higher. Armin, a source in Tehran, fears being accused of aiding the United States or Israel. “They’re watching us closely,” he says. “If we’re seen as allies to foreign powers, we’ll be silenced.” His apprehension is shared by others who have faced arrests for disseminating material critical of the government. The war has turned the media into a battleground, with every article and broadcast potentially carrying the risk of retaliation.

The regime’s actions have fractured families, creating an atmosphere of tension and mistrust. Susan’s parents, who once celebrated the war as a sign of progress, now live under the shadow of possible retribution. “They support the state, but they also know how dangerous this can be,” she says. “If the government falls, they might be the first to be caught.” This fear has driven some to question whether the war was truly a victory or a prelude to harsher times ahead.

A Future of Retribution

As the conflict wanes, a new phase of repression looms. Human rights groups warn that the regime may now focus on punishing those who opposed its policies. Susan believes this is already happening. “If the war ends, they’ll take out their anger on the prisoners,” she says. “We’re living on borrowed time.” Her words reflect a growing sense of foreboding among those who see the state as a predator, ready to strike when the moment is right.

Even as the ceasefire allows people to return to their daily routines, the air is thick with uncertainty. The regime’s victories have emboldened its leaders, who now see the world through a lens of vengeance. For Sana and Diako, the struggle continues, their voices tempered by the knowledge that a single misstep could cost them everything. And for Susan, the war has not just changed the political landscape—it has rewritten the rules of survival. The question remains: how long can they endure before the state’s grip becomes unbreakable?

The fear that drives these individuals is not unfounded. The regime’s ability to adapt, its use of propaganda, and its relentless targeting of dissenters have created a climate where resistance is met with swift punishment. As the nation moves forward, the scars of the conflict will linger, and the specter of repression will follow closely behind. For many Iranians, the war was not just a battle for territory or ideology—it was a test of loyalty, a trial by fire that has left them questioning whether the fight is worth continuing.

Yet, despite the grim outlook, hope persists. Diako, though skeptical, still believes in the possibility of change. “We’re not defeated,” he insists. “The system can be shaken again.” Whether this optimism is justified or not, it remains a beacon for those who refuse to surrender their voices to the regime’s demands. As the war fades into memory, the struggle for freedom will take on a new form—one of quiet defiance, careful words, and a deep, unyielding fear that the worst is yet to come.