Credits: Gage Skidmore / Flickr — CC BY-SA 2.0.
On February 14, 2026, under a light rain, the Iranian diaspora gathered in Munich. In addition, this event took place on the sidelines of the Munich Security Conference. Flags with the lion and sun flew, while chants for regime change rose up. Moreover, figures from Germany and other European countries were in attendance, all contributing to a story of a show of force. At the center, Reza Pahlavi, son of the last shah, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, promised to lead a transition to a democratic and secular Iran, overseen by elections. However, he also called on Donald Trump to act against Tehran, going so far as to raise the military option. In this way, he shifted the debate from wet pavement to the halls of power.
A Bavarian Square, A Staged Event, And The Numbers Dispute
The scene begins like a report you think you’ve seen before. A crowd in dark coats, flags snapping in the wind, and signs in Persian and English on display. Moreover, there is a feeling in the air of a country transported in fragments. In Munich, people are not only protesting against a regime; they are looking for a framework in which they can be heard. The Security Conference, with its hallways, badges, and delegations, serves as an echo chamber.
Very quickly, the question of numbers enters the picture, like an argument out in the open. The organizers announce a sea of people. An estimate attributed to city authorities and repeated by several media outlets rises to 250,000 participants. Some of the German press instead puts the figure at around 15,000 people. Between these two poles, the event becomes a test of storytelling. The crowd, here, is not just a fact; it is an argument.
This battle of estimates says something about the exiled opposition. It needs to prove it matters, because its power is first and foremost symbolic. It has no seat in parliament in Tehran, no candidate on a ballot, no national television channel. It has images, slogans, numbers. And videos that spread fast.
Munich, that day, looks like a showcase. You see pre-1979 Iran flags, as well as young faces and retirees. Moreover, families hold the same sign together with multiple hands. You also hear the language of the world, because the message is not just Iranian. It is aimed at Berlin, Brussels, and Washington. It is aimed at those who, a few streets away, are talking about international security.
Reza Pahlavi, The Heir Who Casts Himself As A Bridge
When Reza Pahlavi appears, 65 years old, composed, with a measured smile, he looks like the idea of a man used to being on TV. His speech is meant to be simple, almost procedural. He repeats that he is not running to become a ‘king’ or a ‘president.’ He presents himself as a transitional figure, a bridge tasked with guiding a process toward free elections.
This refusal of final power has become both his shield and his method. It lets him harness the force of a name without taking up the crown. It allows for a promise of neutrality in a fractured landscape. He speaks of a secular state, institutions to be rebuilt, and a transparent transition. He knows that, to be heard, he has to anchor himself in universal language.
But history slips into every sentence. The name Pahlavi points to accelerated modernization, authoritarianism, the alliance with the United States, repression, and then the collapse of 1979. For his supporters, the heir embodies an Iran before the Islamic Republic, an Iran imagined as more open. For his critics, he embodies a past that has not accounted for itself.
In the crowd, people sometimes call him ‘prince,’ sometimes ‘leader,’ sometimes just by his first name. This fluidity in the title is a clue. Everyone projects what they want. Reza Pahlavi, for his part, tries to keep his balance. Too much monarchy and he loses the democrats. Too much caution and he disappoints those who want a leader.
In France, his recent visibility has also grown through short television news segments. Moreover, it has been built through online profiles. In these media, he is often cast as either the ‘savior’ or the opportunist. This media framing, effective but reductive, serves him as much as it traps him. It puts him front and center in the news while constantly bringing the same question back around. Indeed, what does he actually have beyond the name and the podium?
The Trump Appeal, Or The Vertigo Of Interference
The most incendiary moment of the weekend comes down to one widely repeated sentence, because it touches a taboo. Reza Pahlavi called on Donald Trump to act against the Iranian regime. According to a wire report, he mentioned the possibility of an American military intervention. He presents it as something that could save lives. In just a few words, transition becomes a question of weapons.
This passage changes the tone of the story. In Munich, many had come to denounce repression in Iran and call for increased international pressure. Mentioning the American military goes further. It also hands the Iranian leadership an ideal target: the opposition as a mouthpiece for foreign powers.
Iranian history is shaped by the issue of interference. In the twentieth century, the country was a battleground of influences and rivalries. The current regime built its legitimacy on the promise of independence. Then it reinforced that promise by waving the external threat around. In this context, calling on Washington, even in the name of humanitarian urgency, is like walking on hot coals.
For Reza Pahlavi, the argument is one of asymmetry. He describes a population facing a massive security apparatus and says that prolonged inaction would extend the repression. He wants to speed up the regime’s سقوط, he says, to avoid deaths. The logic is one of shock, and it clashes with those who fear a regional chain reaction.
This debate unfolds at a moment when international diplomacy is once again discussing the Iranian nuclear file. The diaspora protests, meanwhile, are saying something else. Technical negotiations are not enough. Moreover, the question of rights and repression cannot be left on the sidelines. In addition, security is not just about uranium.
The Lion And Sun, A Logo For The Social Media Era
In this mobilization, the lion and sun flag plays a leading role. It catches the eye, gives identity, and creates unity. It is also a point of fracture. For some Iranians, it represents the continuity of a nation beyond regimes. For others, it recalls an era of tightly controlled power, a monarchy that fell because it could not tolerate dissent.
In Munich, the symbol works like a passcode. It lets people recognize each other and count themselves. In the age of social media, a cause needs a legible motif. The flag becomes an algorithm. It circulates, gets shared, and sums things up.
But contemporary Iranian politics is wary of summaries. The opposition is diverse. Monarchists, republicans, human rights activists, unions, feminists, and intellectuals all have different aspirations. In addition, local figures do not want the same thing, nor at the same pace. The figure of Reza Pahlavi crystallizes this complexity because it is familiar. It brings people together through visibility. It divides them through its legacy.
This is where the style of the era matters. The Munich mobilization is not lived only on the ground. It continues in video clips, subtitled excerpts, drone footage, and applause captured up close. Every shot becomes an argument. Every edit, an interpretation.
The Pahlavi Dynasty, A Past That Demands Answers
To understand this resurgence, you have to look at the dynasty without nostalgia or caricature. Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi ruled in the name of imposed modernity. He launched reforms, transformed the economy, and accelerated urbanization. He also shrank political space, repressed opponents, and governed through fear, notably via the SAVAK. The record remains a knot.
The 1979 revolution toppled that structure and installed an Islamic Republic that, in turn, produced its own mythology. Resistance, sovereignty, religion, the fight against the West. Today, crises are piling up, and this narrative is being challenged by a growing part of society. What it wants first and foremost is a livable life, freedom, and a future.
Reza Pahlavi, in exile for decades, mainly in the United States, embodies this expectation from afar. His supporters see consistency. His critics see a disconnect. The debate remains insoluble so long as no one can clearly measure his influence in today’s Iran, where public space is restricted, information moves with difficulty, and opinions are risky to express. In this family and historical imagination, Farah Pahlavi, the Empress of Iran, also remains a guiding figure, often invoked as a symbol of a bygone era.
The Decisive Question, Turning A Crowd Into A Project
In the end, the question is less the size of the rally than its translation. What can a diaspora do? It can create visibility, attract support, and shift agendas. It can also produce illusions, mistaking media buzz for political strength.
The Iranian regime, for its part, has a tried-and-true arsenal. It can denounce foreign interference, criminalize the opposition, and tighten repression in the name of national security. Every lion and sun flag waved in Europe can become, in Tehran, a pretext. Every call for foreign intervention can feed the rhetoric of threat.
Reza Pahlavi is therefore moving along a ridge line. He promises an electoral and secular transition. He calls for strong moves from abroad. He rejects the crown while benefiting from the prestige of a name. He wants to be a bridge, but Iranian history judges harshly those who present themselves as passageways.
On this February 14, 2026, in Munich, part of the Iranian opposition occupied the space and the narrative. What remains is the question that does not dissolve in the rain. How do you turn a crowd into a project. And a project into reality, without once again confiscating Iranians’ choice.
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