Iran analyst
Iranians’ chants against the Islamic Republic—muted for now by brute force—are viewed in Turkey not as a struggle for freedom but as a geopolitical risk from migration and militancy.
Iran, in this view, is a buffer—a state whose continued cohesion has helped secure Turkey’s eastern borders for decades, whatever its internal circumstances.
The prospect of that buffer weakening alarms Ankara far more than the nature of the demands driving Iran’s unrest.
That approach was underscored on Thursday, when President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan told Iran’s President Masoud Pezeshkian in a phone call that Turkey opposed any foreign intervention in Iran and valued peace and stability in the country.
The message echoed a broader pattern in Ankara’s response: caution, restraint, and a clear preference for preserving the status quo over endorsing political change.
Since the protests began, Turkish officials have framed developments in Iran as the erosion of central authority driven by outside forces.
Senior figures, including Erdoğan and Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan, have described the unrest as a “scripted scenario” and warned against what they portray as foreign efforts to push the region toward chaos.
At the core of this stance lies a long-standing fear that instability in Iran could open space for militant groups along Turkey’s eastern and southern frontiers, even as a peace process with Kurdish militants has made historic progress after decades of combat.
The Syrian precedent
This security-first reading of events reflects a fear expressed from corners of Turkey’s media and academic establishment that if the Islamic Republic were to collapse, Turkey could be next.
As a result, Iran’s protests are often explained away through the language of conspiracy—foreign plots rather than expressions of domestic discontent—making meaningful democratic solidarity between the two societies more difficult at a moment of profound crisis.
Years of economic strain at home and unresolved entanglements in Syria have further heightened Ankara’s sensitivity to instability beyond its borders.
Few Turkish policymakers are eager to risk a scenario that could trigger new refugee flows after the epic out-migration of Syrians fleeing that country's civil war strained Turkey's domestic cohesion and stoked bitter arguments with Europe.
Support for armed insurgents in that war did not render the hosting of millions of Syrian people on Turkish soil any easier, and Turkey has shown no such fondness for any anti-state elements in Iran.
Ankara’s caution has also been shaped by its regional calculations since the war in Gaza. Turkish officials are acutely wary of being seen as aligned with Israel, particularly as Israeli leaders have spoken openly in favor of regime change in Iran.
In Ankara’s reading, Western rhetoric about democracy masks a broader realignment that would ultimately strengthen Israel’s regional position at Turkey’s expense. Weakening Iran, they fear, could expand Israeli influence in ways that leave Turkey strategically exposed.
Some Turkish analysts have warned in recent days that the government should be less concerned about Iran losing a conventional conflict than about what might follow. A weakened Iranian state, they argue, could rely on proxy forces and non-state actors to drag the region into a prolonged, asymmetric struggle.
Fear of what may come next
From this perspective, preventing war in Iran is a strategic necessity. A collapse of authority inside Iran could empower Kurdish groups such as the PKK or its Iranian affiliate, PJAK, and test Turkey’s security more severely than the Syrian civil war ever did.
The fragmentation of Syria remains a vivid reference point: a power vacuum, the emergence of armed enclaves, and a long-term security burden that Ankara is still struggling to manage.
These fears help explain why the refrain “if Iran falls, Turkey is next” has gained traction in Turkish media.
Turkey’s main opposition party, the Republican People’s Party, has largely aligned with the government’s cautious approach. Even media outlets critical of Erdoğan have, at times, reinforced narratives that external actors are driving the violence in Iran.
The relative absence of support from Turkey’s secular movements for protesters in Iran also reflects the limited reach of Iranian opposition groups in neighboring countries.
Turkish officials often say they would prefer an Iran that is more developed and better integrated into the international system. But the uncertainty surrounding Iran’s political trajectory—and the perceived costs of a turbulent transition—continue to outweigh that aspiration.
For now, Ankara’s overriding objective remains stability: not because it approves of Iran’s system, but because it fears what might come after it.
The expression gained traction during the 12-day war with Israel in June, when Khamenei largely disappeared from public view amid reports that he had moved into a fortified underground shelter.
While Iranian officials did not confirm his location at the time, state media limited his presence to a pair of prerecorded video statements, which appeared to be filmed from a bunker rather than his office.
Since then, new reports have reinforced the perception of prolonged seclusion.
According to sources who spoke to Iran International on condition of anonymity, Khamenei has again taken refuge in an underground facility in Tehran amid heightened concerns about a potential US strike amid the recent wave of nationwide protests.
The site is described as a fortified complex with interconnected tunnels, with his son, Masoud Khamenei, overseeing day-to-day operations and serving as the main conduit between the leader’s office and the government.
In Persian, “moush” (rat) is a common metaphor for timidity or avoidance, particularly when someone is perceived as retreating from danger rather than confronting it. By pairing the word with Khamenei’s name, critics draw a sharp contrast between the image he has long cultivated – of a steadfast leader and commander-in-chief – and his physical absence during moments of acute national crisis.
The nickname has also taken on a visual dimension. Protest imagery circulating online depicts rats in clerical robes or emerging from underground tunnels, reinforcing the association between concealment and political weakness.
One chant that includes the term – “Cry out, Moush-Ali, Pahlavi is coming” (Zajjeh Bezan Moush-Ali, Dareh Miad Pahlavi) – links the insult to broader political demands and signals a rejection not only of Khamenei personally, but of the authority structure he represents.
For analysts, the spread of the phrase points to something deeper than mockery. Khamenei’s extended absence during the war, followed by reports that senior officials struggled to reach him directly, has raised questions about leadership visibility and continuity.
While political slogans in Iran have evolved before, the rapid adoption of “Moush-Ali” shows how language becomes a vehicle for social judgment – compressing complex grievances about power, accountability, and legitimacy into a single, resonant word.
In that sense, the term is less about insult than about perception: a reflection of how authority is being re-imagined, contested, and, increasingly, stripped of its aura.
Shahpari was shot by security forces on January 8, 2026, during protests in Baharestan, Isfahan province, people familiar with the matter told Iran International.
The sources, who asked not to be named for fear of retaliation, said security forces opened fire indiscriminately on protesters that night.
“They opened fire on everyone that night, men and women, young and old,” the source said.
Videos sent to Iran International show gunshots being heard as protesters chant “long live the King” in Baharestan on January 8.
Security forces shot Shahpari in the leg on Isar Street in Baharestan sometime between 8:30 p.m. and 9 p.m. local time, causing him to fall to the ground, a source said.
Wounded but alive, he was taken by ambulance to Al-Zahra Hospital in Isfahan.
“He was not dead when he was taken to hospital,” the source added.
For days afterward, Shahpari’s family searched hospitals across Isfahan. Authorities repeatedly told them he was wounded and alive but refused to say where he was, the source said.
“Then there was nothing. No answers.”
Three days later, the family’s search ended near Bagh-e Rezvan cemetery, Isfahan’s main burial ground.
With the cemetery morgue full, bodies were being kept in a storage warehouse used for fruit and vegetables near Bagh-e Rezvan cemetery, the source said.
“There was no space ... They had put the bodies in a warehouse. As far as the eye could see, there were bodies,” putting the total at a minimum of 500.
When the body was found, a gunshot wound was visible on the side of his head, which the source said was not present when he was taken to hospital.
The source said they believed it was a gunshot to execute him and that he had been operated upon on his abdomen without his family's knowledge and later stitched back up.
About 18 miles southeast of Baharestan, also in Isfahan province, in the provincial capital, another source told Iran International that at the height of protests, “several containers of bodies” were brought to Bagh-e Rezvan in the middle of the night and unloaded into warehouses.
According to the source, some of the bodies were still alive and semi-conscious.
Shahpari, 32, was originally from Izeh in Khuzestan province in southwestern Iran, but had moved to Baharestan in search of work.
To support himself, he worked nights as a building security guard and spent his days unloading cargo as a laborer.
“He was a freedom-seeker,” a source said. “He opposed religion and supported the monarchy.”
Shahpari was buried on January 18, 2026, in the village of Nashil-e Do near Izeh.
“He was buried wrapped in the lion and sun flag, just as he wished...just as we all do.”
