It has been over a week since thousands of truck drivers across Iran parked their vehicles and refused to move. What began on May 25th as a localized protest quickly evolved into a nationwide strike, now stretching into its second week. The demands are straightforward yet profound: increased freight rates, an end to rising fuel prices, and, above all, fair treatment and freedom for their captured counterparts. From Mashhad to Tabriz, from Bandar Abbas to Sanandaj, the rhythmic absence of trucks from Iran’s roads has become a powerful form of presence. The soundless resistance of these empty highways echoes loudly against the walls of the regime.
While these strikes are massive and have mobilized union members across different cities, the question lingers: Isn’t this exactly what the Iranian revolution needed three years ago? The answer is both yes and no. Yes, because a strike of this magnitude could have inflicted serious financial and logistical pressure on a regime already cornered by its people. Back then, it was a question of endurance: who would run out of resources first—the government or the people?
But also no. Because a strike is, by nature, temporary, it breathes urgency but not permanence. For it to tip a regime, it must be accompanied by coordination. Without commitments from other key sectors—oil, steel, education, healthcare, and student unions—the momentum falters. Strikes are like giving a portion of your life for a greater goal. That sacrifice demands a destination, a timeline, a collective promise. You cannot ask people to give up their livelihood without showing them where it leads, and for how long.
Woman, Life, Freedom taught us and them that we have the power to bring down empires. But it also revealed what we lack: a roadmap. The sobering truth is that there is no blueprint for the kind of revolution we envision. Similarities between revolutions exist, yes, but they collapse in the details. The architecture of change has no universal design. For those among us dreaming of a democratic Iran, no draft exists. Not yet. And yet, that is where we begin. As soon as we start walking, the road begins to appear. Woman, Life, Freedom showed us that our potential is infinite. But it also whispered another truth: we must truly become a we. What makes a mass into a society is the presence of shared structures. Structures that make a group capable of saying: this is what we want, this is who we are.
The 1404 labour protests are perhaps the clearest recent example of this transformation from mass to society. These protests, spanning the beginning of the Iranian year and continuing today, are not isolated events. They are the cumulative voice of people who have had enough—a reflection of years of unresolved public grievances. Born from economic collapse, inflation, unemployment, censorship, inequality, and repression, they carry the unmistakable rhythm of a society that is beginning to know itself. From striking teachers and protesting retirees to the voices demanding dignity and basic rights, these movements are not fragmented cries. They are a chorus. A shared refusal. A quiet and growing structure.
University students, too, have begun stepping into this space. The tragic case of Amir Mohammad Khaleghi is emblematic. A business management undergraduate at the University of Tehran, Amir Mohammad, was found dead close to the dormitory. The silence of university officials, the denial of an investigation, and the brutal crackdown on students mourning his loss spoke volumes. But louder still was the students’ defiance. They gathered, they chanted his name, they resisted. In those moments, they became a society. And it’s not just in death that students are rising. Their protests over cafeteria food, academic dishonesty, and corrupt professors like Payam Foroutan are proof that the roots of change grow even in mundane soil. These small acts of resistance are not isolated complaints; they are attempts at societal self-repair. These are signs of a population that refuses to regress.
The list goes on and on with the Farmers’ protests, retirees’ constant protests, teacher strikes, all to show no regime can undo a society once it begins to structure itself, even quietly hidden. These are no longer isolated tremors; they are tectonic shifts. We are practicing the mechanics of solidarity. We are building the muscles of coordinated resistance. Through these movements, we are not only practicing nationwide teamwork, but we are also redefining Iran. We are reshaping what it means to be Iranian.
Our society is starving—not just for bread, but for meaning. For structure. For vision. This hunger births a new horizon. A society not shaped by race or language, but by shared values, collective imagination, and the raw will to transform. Just as people once gathered around Fereydoun to cast out Zahak and forge Iran anew, we must find our Fereydoun again.
Ferdowsi already told us where to look; within ourselves. We had not yet become we but we are gradually gathering around Fereydoun—ourselves. We must become a true we. And when that happens, no Zahak, no tyranny, no crown of snakes will stand in the way of this new Iran.
