An open letter from the heart of Iran to America – Don’t give up on us
I woke on Saturday, February 28, to the sound of a massive explosion.
It was terrifying—but we knew what it meant. We had all been waiting for it.
Tears of joy began running down my face, rising from somewhere deep inside my heart.
For many foreigners this reaction might seem strange. How can people feel joy while their country is under attack?
But Iranians understand. Many of us have reached the point where we trust foreign bombs more than the regime that rules us.
Some of us would rather die while the regime falls than live under it forever.
From the window of my home in Narmak, Tehran, I saw smoke rising from the house of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
My first thought was: I hope they also got Ayatollah Khamenei.
I remember Ahmadinejad’s role in the killing and imprisonment of young people during the peaceful protests against his re-election in June 2009. During those protests, part of the Green Movement, he dismissed the demonstrators as “dust and dirt.” At the United Nations he once declared that Israel should be wiped off the map.
Now he himself had turned to dust.
For years we tried to demand reform peacefully. During the protests we chanted, “Obama, Obama, ya ba oona ya ba ma”—“Obama, you are either with them or with us.”
But Obama chose them.
Every peaceful attempt since then to push for democracy has been met with more repression, arrests, and executions. So when I saw the explosion and the smoke rising from Ahmadinejad’s home, I felt relief that a man responsible for so much suffering was gone.
I stood by the window recording the smoke on my phone. I thought maybe one day it could become part of a film.
My filmmaking had already gotten me into trouble.
In November I was arrested simply for filming young people dancing happily in front of a street musician in a Tehran park. The morality police beat me with batons, threatened and insulted me, arrested me, and confiscated my phone.
Only the quick actions of my friends saved me. They contacted my family in America, who erased my iPhone’s iCloud data before authorities could examine it.
Ironically, the same technological restrictions that make life so difficult in Iran ended up protecting me from prison—or worse.
The police station where I was arrested and tortured just months earlier is now rubble. Another friend who had been arrested a week before the bombing has not been seen or heard from since. We pray he is still alive.
When the bomb struck Ahmadinejad’s house, I felt that President Trump had heard our cries for freedom. He had remembered the defenseless people who once heard him say: “Help is on the way.”
People in Iran had become so desperate that a wave of suicides and prison executions seemed inevitable. The strikes changed everything.
The killing of Ayatollah Khamenei in the first hours felt like a moment that brought many of us back to life.
Since the bombing began, my neighbors and I have gathered on our rooftops and balconies. Even as explosions echo through the city, people chant “Long live the Shah” and “Death to Mojtaba Khamenei.” The slogans give us courage, even as regime agents fire bullets toward the windows from which we shout.
Unlike the twelve-day war between Iran and Israel in June 2025—when many people fled Tehran—almost no one intends to leave now. Most of my neighbors are still here, even dealing with the usual problems like parking.
We intend to stay and reclaim our city and our country from the regime.
During the twelve-day war we learned something important. Israel and America targeted many IRGC members while avoiding civilians whenever possible, while the regime itself killed more than 30,000 people in just two days during protests.
Now the regime has again shut down the internet. News reaches us only through foreign radio broadcasts, while state television spreads propaganda and false reports. Armed agents patrol the streets in trucks and on motorcycles, shouting through loudspeakers and ordering people to gather at mosques.
But many mosques are filled with weapons and ammunition, making them military targets. Schools are now used by police forces as well. The regime wants civilians in these places so that if they are struck, the casualties can be used for propaganda.
I had always hoped to study filmmaking at an American university where freedom of expression truly exists.
In May 2025 I was accepted to three film schools: the New York Film Academy in Burbank, Georgia State University, and the University of Miami. But just days later visas for Iranians—including student visas—were cancelled.
First came the joy of acceptance, then the sadness of seeing the door suddenly slammed shut.
Today nearly 90 million Iranians live trapped under this regime, with almost no opportunity to obtain foreign visas—like hostages, much like the 52 Americans held for 444 days in 1979.
Still, I believed President Trump’s visa policies were intended to weaken the regime, not punish ordinary people.
News of Khamenei’s death felt like confirmation of that belief.
The joy of that moment erased the sadness I had felt about losing the chance to attend film school. To young Americans who believe in their country and its ideals, I want to say: many of us are also willing to sacrifice our dreams to save our homeland.
Millions of Iranians participated in the demonstrations on January 8 and 9 in more than 300 cities across the country, inspired by calls from Crown Prince Reza Pahlavi.
Old and young, men and women, religious and secular, monarchists and democracy advocates—even some government employees—joined the protests.
There was an unspoken understanding among many of us: we would remain united behind Reza Pahlavi because unity offers the only path beyond this brutal regime.
Inside the black body bags after the January uprising were innocent young people with dreams and hopes.
One was my neighbor.
Another was Sadra Soltani, the brilliant son of my math teacher, Mr. Soltani.
I could have been one of them. During one protest, bullets passed inches from my ear as we ran, people falling behind me.
I once dreamed of working as a cinematographer on a Hollywood film. That night it felt as if I had become an actor in scenes so horrifying that no movie could truly capture them.
This regime fires live ammunition at its own unarmed youth, killing tens of thousands in days. Imagine what such a regime would do if it possessed nuclear weapons or long-range missiles.
At Iranian universities, the regime placed American flags on the ground at entrances so students would step on them.
We refused.
Instead, we jumped over the flags.
We did this even when we did not know whether America would ever help us.
Now we ask Americans to support President Trump so that the tyranny of Ayatollah Khamenei and his allies can finally end, freeing Iran and weakening a regime that funds terrorism around the world.
Many people who supported the 1979 revolution now admit it was a mistake. Reform once seemed possible—but today there is no path to reform.
Figures presented as “opposition” within the system—Larijani, Rouhani, Hassan Khomeini, Mir-Hossein Mousavi, Khatami, Zarif, Tajzadeh, Pezeshkian, Ghalibaf, Mohseni-Eje’i, and even Nobel Prize winner Narges Mohammadi—are often portrayed by regime propaganda as alternatives, but real change cannot come from within the system.
Many Iranians instead see Reza Pahlavi as a transitional leader who could guide the country toward democratic elections.
We are waiting for the moment when he calls people into the streets.
We are also waiting for the moment President Trump spoke about—when it is safe for people to emerge and reclaim their country.
Iranians no longer want to chant “Death to America” or “Death to” any other nation.
We want friendship with the world and the restoration of a civilization thousands of years old—one filled with poetry, music, dance, and joy.
On the morning that first bomb exploded, it felt as if a knot that had been tightening in my chest for 34 years suddenly broke apart.
For the first time, I felt the possibility of freedom.
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