IRAN: The Mosques Are Burning—and So Is the Lie of the Islamic State

Iran’s Fire is Consuming the Pillars of Theocracy

By: Amil Imani

For those of us who fled the Islamic Republic decades ago, watching the images of mosques burning across our homeland evokes a complex, visceral cocktail of emotions. To the outside observer, a mosque in flames is a tragedy of religious intolerance. But to the Iranian people – and specifically to those of us who have lived under the suffocating veil of theocratic absolute power – these fires are not acts of “terrorism.” They are acts of exorcism.

We are witnessing more than a political protest; we are seeing a definitive, civilizational uprising against the very concept of the Islamic state. As the smoke rises from Tehran to Mashhad, it signals the end of a forty-seven-year experiment in forced piety. The Iranian people are not just demanding a change in government; they are demanding the return of their soul – a soul that was systematically suppressed in 1979.

To understand why an ex-Muslim Iranian might cheer for the destruction of a “house of God,” one must understand what the mosque has become in the Islamic Republic. For decades, the regime has used the mosque not as a sanctuary, but as a command center.

As documented by human rights monitors like HRANA, mosques are the primary recruitment and staging grounds for the Basij, the paramilitary thugs used to beat, blind, and disappear young protesters. When a building houses the snipers who fire into crowds of students, it ceases to be a mosque in the eyes of the people; it becomes a fortress of the oppressor.

The burning of these structures is a rejection of the regime’s claim to divine legitimacy. It is a declaration that the “Allahu Akbar” used to justify the execution of teenagers is a phrase that no longer holds power over the Iranian heart. This is an uprising against the ideology of political Islam itself – a system that has, for nearly half a century, held a vibrant, ancient culture hostage.

For those of us in exile, we have always known that Iran is not its government. Beneath the black chadors and the grim sermons of the Friday prayers lies a civilization of profound depth and beauty. Before the 1979 revolution, Iran was a beacon of ancient wisdom, a culture defined by the humanitarianism of Cyrus the Great and the intoxicating beauty of its poets.

“The children of Adam are limbs of one body, who in creation are of one essence.”  –  Saadi Shirazi

The current movement seeks to replant the seeds of this “goodness” that were scorched by theocracy. We envision an Iran where the Soshians – the bringers of light – are not religious zealots, but the artists, musicians, and thinkers who have been silenced for too long.

The Islamic Republic’s war on beauty is well-documented. From the banning of Western music to the strict censorship of cinema and painting, the regime understood that Art is the natural enemy of Totalitarianism. When people are allowed to sing, they are harder to control.

In the New Iran, the “ancient wisdom” we speak of will flourish through:

• Music: The return of the Tar and Setar to the public square, free from the “haram” labels of the mullahs.
• Social Dynamics: A society where gender is not a hierarchy and where the “morality” of a person is judged by their character (Humata, Hukhta, Huvarshta – Good Thoughts, Good Words, Good Deeds), not by the length of their sleeves.
• Poetry: Reclaiming Rumi and Hafez from the dry, religious interpretations of the state and returning them to the lovers and the seekers of truth.

The uprising we see today is the physical manifestation of a cultural thirst. The youth of Iran are thirsty for the “Zendeh” (living) culture that was replaced by a cult of death and martyrdom.

According to recent surveys, a staggering percentage of the Iranian population no longer identifies with the state-mandated religion and shows how a majority now view the regime as an entity entirely separate from the Iranian people. The fire we see today is the logical conclusion of a population that has been pushed too far.

This is not a “reform” movement. You cannot reform a system that believes it has the mandate of God to kill you. This is a displacement. The Iranian people are moving toward a secular, pluralistic society that honors its Zoroastrian roots, its Persian history, and its modern aspirations all at once.

As an exile, I look at the fires and I see a clearing of the brush. The old, rotted structures of the Islamic Republic must fall so that the soil can be prepared for something new. We are not just watching the end of a regime; we are watching the rebirth of a nation.

When the last mosque-fortress falls, it will not be replaced by a void. It will be replaced by the theater, the university, the garden, and the concert hall. The “ancient goodness” of Iran is like a desert flower; it has waited decades for a single drop of rain. That rain is now falling in the form of the courage of a generation that is no longer afraid of the fire.

The Iran of tomorrow will be a masterpiece of art, music, and poetry – a civilization that remembers its past to build a free future.