Dear Kelly,
Thank you for your E-mail. Regarding the protests of Iran, the reality is that the information and casualty figures are deeply contradictory. Like you, I hear very different numbers from different sources.
Concerning the figure of “around 3,000,” what I have seen is that this number was presented as the official count. However, it was clear even at the time that it was neither complete nor fully reliable. There were cases that had not been included in the list, and afterward the government announced a mechanism—essentially a reporting system—through which omitted cases could be submitted so the list could be completed and corrected. Beyond those omissions, there were other inconsistencies and ambiguities in how the figures were presented, which led many people to treat even the official number with caution rather than as an unquestionable fact.
As for the claim of “70,000,” I find it highly implausible, at least based on my lived experience and what I personally witnessed. If 70,000 people had been killed, that would amount to roughly close to one person out of every thousand in Iran’s population. At that scale, the impact would be almost universally visible. In practical terms, most people—especially in large cities—would know, directly or indirectly, several victims within their circle of friends, colleagues, relatives, or acquaintances. I was in Iran, in Tehran, during those days. The grief was heavy and real; the atmosphere of mourning and burials was painful and intense. But what I experienced did not correspond to a scale anywhere near 70,000. For that reason, without clear documentation—an identifiable source, date, and link—I cannot consider that figure credible.
There is another concern that feels very serious to me. You yourself wrote earlier on Facebook that very large, unsubstantiated casualty figures can create a pretext or political momentum for a U.S. military strike—much like what happened in Iraq. I share that fear. Just as Iranian friends abroad are deeply engaged with the casualty numbers, friends inside the country—despite their profound grief—are even more anxious about the future. Many people wake up each day checking the news to see whether there has been an attack. One of my friends said bitterly that we might soon find ourselves running behind UN trucks for food and pitching tents in the streets.
Repeated closures of universities and schools, layoffs, economic insecurity, and constant anxiety about tomorrow have become part of our daily trauma. My fear is that a potential war would endanger thousands or even millions more lives and add another layer of grief on top of what we are already carrying.
From an ethical perspective as well—and in the Islamic framework we were taught—even the unjust killing of a single innocent person is something that must never be dismissed, let alone the loss of thousands. At the same time, the responsibility to protect the lives of millions who are still alive, and to prevent a larger catastrophe, has become an urgent concern for me. That is why I feel troubled that, alongside condemnation of repression, the anti-war voice seems so muted—especially at a time when power-driven and interest-based rhetoric is becoming more explicit globally: from openly speaking about “taking Venezuela’s oil” to threatening Greenland, and issuing repeated threats against Iran.
Sincerely,
