TEHRAN — To say it was historical doesn’t do it justice. That word feels too clinical for the civilizational gravity of what unfolded here on July 6.
As someone living not far from Azadi Square, I spent hours walking through the swelling avenues, watching people move as one colossal, grief-stricken body under a punishing summer sun.
I had not still been born during Imam Khomeini’s funeral in 1989, so my mind naturally drifted to General Qassem Soleimani’s farewell at the same spot in 2020.
Yet even those massive milestones felt eclipsed today. This was the heavy, aching culmination of the nightly wartime demonstrations we have joined since March 1, a profound answer to the criminal U.S.-Israeli war forced upon Iran.
The atmosphere carried the same defiant spirit I witnessed during the first day of ceremonies at the Mosalla on July 4, only magnified into an unprecedented national wave.
The incredible diversity of the crowd was gracefully striking. I met people from every corner of our land, hearing a rich tapestry of regional accents and seeing beautiful local clothes.
Many were completely unfamiliar with Tehran’s complex grid. Miscommunication had left hundreds of thousands stranded early that morning at the wrong spots. Some elderly mourners, unable to walk far, had to turn back. Yet even those frustrations melted into the larger current of unity.
Amid the confusion, I guided a family from Lorestan who said they had traveled for only their second visit to the capital. They were exhausted but filled with quiet purpose.
I also heard rumors, merely rumors, about Ayatollah Seyyed Mojtaba Khamenei being somewhere in the crowd incognito. Most probably, it’s not true. But it’s worth noting that the new Leader has written before about going incognito in Tehran’s taxis, about wanting to feel the pulse of the people. His absence from the official ceremonies was conspicuous.
The July heat was brutal, intensified because a vast majority of us wore thick black clothing that absorbed the sun. Yet, the capital transformed into a sanctuary of mutual care.
Local mowkebs served bread and eggs at dawn, followed by water, dates, cheese, and warm watermelon. For lunch, we shared steaming bowls of Khoresh-e Qeimeh.
The collective demand for strategic revenge was deafening. Thousands of red flags waved alongside placards demanding the killing of Donald Trump.
The crowd also targeted the intellectual and financial architects of this imperialist assault, carrying banners explicitly condemning Zionist agents and warmongers such as Miriam Adelson, Lindsey Graham, Peter Thiel, Mark Levin, Ben Shapiro, Mark Dubowitz, and Laura Loomer.
Amid this sea of people, I randomly bumped into an old high school friend. Back then, he was entirely secular and bitterly criticized the Islamic Republic.
Laid off due to recent wartime economic pressures, he said he still holds strong criticisms, but the foreign aggression has completely reshaped his outlook.
A few incidents were reported in crowded elevators, such as the Ostad Moein metro station and parking garage, but they were calmed rather quickly.
I heard reports of children going missing, and my heart sank. I called an informed source who told me dozens of children had been separated from their families. My stomach dropped. But then he said not to worry; over half had already been found, and people were doing their best to locate the rest.
I worried about the vulnerable, about anyone collapsing from heat or the emotional weight. Some felt unwell, which is natural in such conditions. Thanks to the care shown by everyone involved, as of writing this, there has been no reports of lives being lost to the crush or exhaustion. God watched over us.
The dhuhur (noon) prayer time azaan sounded a few minutes past 12 PM after I had started returning home. The packed, roaring streets instantly found an absolute, breathtaking stillness as millions knelt on bare concrete and curbs to pray.
As I finally walked back toward my neighborhood, I was completely exhausted, with the thunderous slogans still ringing in my ears.
This is what it feels like to watch history being forged in real time. It was the same heavy, world-shifting gravity I felt when General Soleimani was martyred, during the 12-day war in June 2025, and throughout this entire war since late February.
Walking among those millions, I found myself reflecting on the old theory that history is shaped solely by great men, that towering individuals bend the arc of civilization through sheer will.
Ayatollah Khamenei was undeniably one of those towering figures, a man who anchored the Islamic Republic through decades of siege and sacrifice. Yet the true revelation of this day went far beyond any single individual.
What the world sees flows from a higher, sacred spirit alive in the people themselves, an unbreakable collective soul drawn from a source beyond our full understanding.
Disclaimer : This story is auto aggregated by a computer programme and has not been created or edited by DOWNTHENEWS. Publisher: tehrantimes.com
