Leyla Khodabakhshi,Washington, DC, Grace Eliza Goodwin,New York Cityand Regan Morris,Los Angeles

AFP via Getty Images
Iranian protesters gather near burning cars on a street in Tehran, Iran on 8 January.
For Mojdeh and her husband, the question of US intervention in Iran is personal.
In early January, they travelled from their home in Washington, DC to Tehran to visit family - expecting a short, routine trip. Instead, protests spread, flights were cancelled and they found themselves stranded in a city that no longer felt predictable.
"Life was on pause," Mojdeh said, especially at night, when the internet and even phone networks went dark.
They did not plan to protest. But on the nights of 7 and 8 January, she said, it was impossible to remain uninvolved.
"If you left your house, you saw it," she said. The BBC has changed her name to protect her and her husband's identities.
One evening, after eating in a restaurant, they stepped outside to find the city transformed: Crowds filled the streets and in some areas, security forces appeared to have lost control.
"It felt like people had occupied Tehran," she said.
Protests erupted across Iran just before the new year, driven by anger over economic hardship and a collapsing currency, but quickly escalated into calls for an end to the Islamic Republic. Days later, security forces responded with deadly force.
The true death toll is difficult to verify, due to an internet blackout in Iran and the lack of independent reporting. The US-based Human Rights Activists News Agency (HRANA) said it confirmed more than 6,000 protesters dead, while Norway-based Iran Human Rights said the final toll could exceed 25,000. Iranian authorities said at least 3,117 people were killed, but claimed most were members of security forces or bystanders, blaming the deaths on "rioters."

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A protester holds a sign during a demonstration outside the Iranian Embassy in London on 14 January.
US President Donald Trump has repeatedly voiced support for Iranian protesters. On Friday, US and Iranian officials held talks, though expectations remain low. Onboard Air Force One later in the day, Trump said the talks were "very good", and that Iran "looks like it wants to make a deal very badly".
Mojdeh's voice faltered as she described her homeland during the protests: people running, shouting, beaten - scenes that stayed with her long after they managed to leave Iran.
Her husband was shocked for another reason: Among friends and family in Iran, the idea of US military involvement was not considered an attack, he said. It was "help".
The couple, living safely in the US, understand the desperation, but remain sceptical that such action could deliver what protesters ultimately want - not just regime change, but dignity, economic security and freedom.
From a distance, they worry about the cost of mistaking destruction for salvation.

AFP via Getty Images
Iranian protesters block a street and set a fire next to a sign spray-painted with the slogan "Death to Dictator" during a demonstration in Shiraz, Iran, on 9 January.
'Regime change should come from within'
Weeks after the deadly crackdowns on anti-government protests and the near-total internet blackout, Iranians inside and outside the country still wrestle with whether the US should intervene.
Shirin, an Iranian-American living in California, said she still hopes for foreign intervention.
"If the international community truly wants to stop the violence and prevent further global instability, action is required," said Shirin, 52, who asked that her surname not be published, fearing for family in Iran.
"When the head of the snake is not cut off, the venom spreads — beyond borders, beyond regions, beyond generations."
But some Iranians worry that intervention could hurt their loved ones still living under the regime.
Roozbeh Farahanipour, once imprisoned in Iran for his student activism and now a restaurant owner in Los Angeles, told the BBC he's "constantly worried" about US intervention.
"I don't know how many have been killed, how many are injured, or who is missing. I don't know how to reach mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, wives, husbands, or children to offer condolences and express solidarity," he said.
There should be global help, he said, but he remembers the risks and history of US intervention. Ultimately, regime change should come from within, he said.
"Today, the greatest power relies in unity, discipline, determination, and mass public mobilisation — building overwhelming crowds and actively calling on the remaining bases of the regime to defect and join the people's movement. That internal collapse is far more decisive than any outside force," said Farahanipour.
Ali, 43, was born in Iran and has lived in the US for 21 years. For much of his adult life, he supported reform within Iran's political system and voted mostly for moderate US presidential candidates. Around 2014, he said, he gave up.
"We've seen this before," Ali said — protests, promises, crackdowns — pointing back to 2009 and earlier uprisings in Iran. He asked that his last name not be shared.
Each time, he said, people were killed and little changed. In his view, the regime cannot be reformed — and without outside pressure, it cannot be defeated.
He is not calling for a full-scale invasion, but for targeted strikes aimed at state infrastructure and key leaders rather than civilians. He argued that attacking a regime at the request of its people is different from attacking a country outright.
Many of those he knows in Iran now want some form of US intervention - not because they trust American motives, but because they see no other way.
Hemad Nazari, an Iranian activist and photographer who left the country in 2015 and now lives in Denmark, echoes that belief.
"How are we going to negotiate with this regime?" said Nazari, 36.
Foreign intervention could change the balance, he said. "The best time [to intervene] was a month ago. The second-best time is now."
Nazari, who is not affiliated with any organisation or political group, created a network to share firsthand accounts from Iran, particularly during protests and internet blackouts. During blackouts, people in Iran messaged him through alternative channels, like Starlink. Nazari then shares their stories on his own social media platforms, including on X where he has over 21,000 followers.
Because Nazari's network, started in 2019, has grown so large, he said he cannot return to Iran, fearing arrest. He's received more than 500 direct messages just in the last few weeks, he said.
The people he speaks to in Iran feel intervention is the only option, said Nazari. "They say, 'we went to the streets. We got killed. There is no other way.'"
Many believe, he added, that even though civilians could die, without intervention, nothing will change.

Europa Press via Getty Images
A protester carries a banner with the slogan 'Free Iran. Digital blackout Iran' during a demonstration in Madrid, Spain
Worried about 90 million people
Even as protests have quieted, repression continues in other forms.
Iran Human Rights (IHRNGO), a nonpartisan human rights organisation, estimates that at least 40,000 people have been arrested since the protests began. The group said it has "serious concern" about the conditions of the missing or detained, including some denied access to lawyers and others held in unknown locations.
Both IHRNGO and the Human Rights Activists News Agency (HRANA) claim they've heard reports that security forces are raiding medical centres and arresting staff who helped wounded protesters. But, HRANA notes that the head of Iran's Medical Council Organization claimed "no physician has been arrested for treating protesters".
The internet blackout has only partially eased, but many services remain unreliable or blocked.
For Iranians at home and abroad, the debate over US involvement is no longer theoretical. It is shaped by grief, fear and exhaustion — and by a growing sense that time may be running out.
It's been difficult to watch the events of the last month from so far away, said Shirin.
"It's painful - as an Iranian, but also as a human being," she said. "And it's not even about our family - it's 90 million people we're worried about."

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