Iran’s expat opposition is a joke They prefer bickering to politics

Since 1979, the Islamic Republic has been challenged by a constellation of dissident groups. Indulged by wealthy funders, all keen to bring the ayatollah down, forecasts of the regime’s imminent collapse ceaselessly flow from Persian-language TV networks in London and Los Angeles. That the status quo is untenable is, after all, a foregone conclusion. There is no doubt about the Islamic Republic’s undemocratic nature, its gender apartheid, its muzzled press, or its aggressive support for Shi’a nationalism at home and militant proxies abroad. 

Yet if many overseas Iranians agree that the ayatollahs must go, why have they utterly failed to accelerate the ousting of the clerics in Tehran? The answer partly lies in their own internal divisions. For if the expats are united in loathing the Islamic Republic, they violently disagree on what should come next. 

Consider, for instance, the pro-monarchy camp. Straddling a range of ideological and cultural backgrounds — from atheists and liberal Muslims to alienated supporters of the Islamic Republic — they harbour nostalgic visions of reinstating the deposed Pahlavi dynasty. Their attention typically focuses on Reza Pahlavi, who currently lives in Virginia but is imagined to someday return to Iran and reclaim his father’s throne. From there, the royalists hope to recover the glories of ancient Persia. Drawing on documents such as the Cyrus Cylinder, a cuneiform legal tablet from the 6th century BC, they envision an Iran of universal human rights and joyous festive rituals. That’s echoed by praise for Zoroastar, the ancient prophet and founder of Iran’s traditional pre-Islamic faith.

Their exaggerated use of Zoroastrian symbols obviously doesn’t necessarily mean the monarchists subscribe to the triple tenets of “good thoughts, good words and good deeds” laid out by Zoroaster. Nor does it mean that they particularly care about spirituality in general. Rather, such iconography appeals to them as symbols of Persia’s glorious past. It goes without saying, of course, that these conceptions are utterly eclipsed by the realities of modern Iran, a country of 85 million people wobbling between Shi’ite conservatism and the rising secular thirst for modernity. It hardly helps, moreover, that many royalists haven’t returned to their native land in decades, leaving them physically as well as psychologically unmoored from the Iran of today.

Not that they’re the only ones to harbour fantastical ideas about the country. There remains, after all, a liberal opposition to the Islamic Republic. They envision a replica of French democracy being built in Iran. Their unofficial chieftains are social media influencers, artists and exiled athletes. One example is Masih Alinejad, a celebrated activist who’s spoken everywhere from the World Economic Forum to the Munich Security Conference. There’s also Hamed Esmaeilion, who lost his wife and nine-year-old daughter when the Revolutionary Guards shot down a Ukraine International Airlines plane in January 2020, killing 176 passengers. His quest for justice propelled him to fame. 

That’s complemented by more marginal groups. Blending Islamism and Marxism, and led by Maryam Rajavi, Mujahedin-e Khalq (MEK) is perhaps the most disciplined example. Then there are those unaffiliated and apolitical Iranians who yet dream of a rejuvenated nation. That surely includes some who voted in the 2024 election who nonetheless hope that home-grown reform, supplanting an indefinitely delayed promise of regime change, can boost their country’s fortunes.

Taken together, then, the Iranian diaspora hardly knows what it wants. And if that makes concerted action difficult, the would-be revolutionaries are also split on strategy. Some, including the more nuanced academics and journalists rejecting opposition militancy, believe it’s only through splits in the regime’s top brass that change can finally come. Others back the idea of rebellion from below. Still others, notably Alinejad and anchors on the popular London-based Iran International TV, support sanctions and military action by the US and Israel. It’s surely no accident that, when officers began inquiries over the headscarf-snatching incident, Bahar Mahroo announced on X that she was leaving Britain — and flying to Tel Aviv. 

If the diaspora were adept at grassroots campaigning, these strategic disagreements might not matter. As it is, and as events in London so vividly show, many of them are remarkably skilled at securing bad press. Waving monarchist flags — emblazoned with a golden lion — they targeted polling stations across 90 different embassies. And though Pahlavi himself initially backed the action, much of the resulting conduct was anything but regal. Berating older voters with megaphones, activists told them to “plunge into their graves”. Elsewhere, women were scorned as prostitutes. 

Once you recall that some liberals also engaged in “delegitimisation” of the recent elections, you might imagine these people receive short shrift from the outside world.

But in fact, some corners of the Iranian diaspora have been feted over the years. After Mahsa Amini’s murder at the hands of Tehran’s morality police, for instance, Alinejad had a flashy European gig that involved one-on-one audiences with Emmanuel Macron and then-Dutch Prime Minister Mark Rutte. Nazanin Boniadi, an actress and activist, shared a platform with the US ambassador Linda Thomas-Greenfield at the UN, after a private meeting with Kamala Harris at the White House. That’s shadowed by appointments at neocon think tanks: over recent years, Reza Pahlavi has visited both the Hudson Institute and the Henry Jackson Society. 

More radical actors have also enjoyed their time in the sun. Despite its former designation as a terrorist organisation — and the fact that it’s sometimes dismissed as a cult — MEK is now being touted as a reliable alternative to the Islamic Republic. Mike Pence and Mike Pompeo have both visited MEK camps in Albania and France, as have the former premiers of Canada, Denmark and Italy. Even Liz Truss found the time. Delivering speeches about the so-called “saviours” of Iran, the dignitaries have reportedly managed to bring tears to the eyes of MEK’s lieutenants, albeit in return for staggering fees.

How can such sentimentalism be explained? One factor is surely the brutality of the Islamic Republic: with the internal opposition demoralised, it makes sense that the ayatollah’s enemies should be desperate for champions abroad. It helps, too, that some campaigners are more sophisticated than Bahar Mahroo. Soon after her death, Amini was movingly commemorated at events from New York to Istanbul. In Berlin, Esmaeilion assembled some 80,000 people, all chanting for Iran. Even MEK boasts a reasonably efficient propaganda machine. Given its bloody history of extrajudicial killings, the group can’t hope for much sympathy beyond its cadres of celibate fighters. But its online operations have sometimes proved impactful, thanks largely to a dynamic troll farm that plants stories by fake journalists.

Not that any of this can hide the diaspora’s ultimate failure. They may be received in the State Department and the Foreign Office. But almost five decades on from the Shah’s overthrow, the Islamic Republic endures. That’s even as Western officials remain far happier liaising with the theocracy in Tehran than with unreliable subversives abroad. As memories of the pre-1979 world fade, meanwhile, you get the sense that the expatriate conversation is becoming ever more parochial. For many so-called activists, politics starts and ends online, where they’re engaged in interminable arguments about which hypothetical leader is more righteous, or which of their rivals is actually a plant of the Revolutionary Guard. 

All the while, the opposition’s figureheads enjoy what attention they can grab, visiting extravagant diplomatic banquets and speaking at K Street forums. But while they may once have been lauded for their courage and integrity, this rush to win awards and secure civil society funding feels increasingly hollow. Certainly, the rise of egos such as Masih Alinejad hasn’t struck a chord with ordinary Iranians. Though she certainly has charisma, Alinejad now claims to have marshalled the protests as a “leader” — and has even suggested she needs constant media attention to stay safe.

Despite enjoying the spectacle of a vocal partisan standing up to theocracy, Iranians instead wish the expat elite would put down their smartphones, leave their Brooklyn or Westwood Village bubbles, and help them overcome practical hardships. The exiles could, for instance, pressure foreign governments to provide Iranians with more accessible migration routes. They could encourage them to develop new satellite and digital communication options, allowing their compatriots to overcome internet censorship at home. They could also stress that certain sanctions might be eased intelligently, and that allowing basic international transactions can help freelancers and start-ups.

If nothing else, you got a sense of these frustrations back in June. In one London encounter, an activist lifted his camera to film a group of academics and writers strolling down the street to vote. Focusing on a straggler, trailing slowly behind, the cameraman informed him he was legitimising the Islamic Republic by voting in its “charade” of an election. But as the man was quick to point out, the election offered a choice, and voting against one didn’t mean he backed the system generally. “Damn the Islamic Republic!” he angrily rejoined, referring to hardline candidate Saeed Jalili. “The Taliban are coming, my dear!”