The gatherings, known as ‘Chehelom’ ceremonies, carry deep roots in Shi ite tradition. But in Iran’s modern political history, they are more than moments of prayer. They are sparks. In 1979, similar 40-day mourning cycles helped build the wave that toppled Mohammad Reza Pahlavi during the Iranian Revolution. Today, many Iranians see a faint echo of that past.

This week, security forces were deployed across several cities in anticipation of unrest. Authorities encouraged citizens to attend state-organized memorials, while warning against what they described as gatherings manipulated by “terrorists.” Yet in a number of towns, families chose to hold their own ceremonies.

In the Kurdish town of Abdanan in Ilam province, witnesses said hundreds gathered at a cemetery despite a heavy security presence. Videos shared online showed people chanting ‘Death to the dictator’ a phrase widely understood as a reference to Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei. Moments later, gunfire rang out, and the crowd scattered in panic.

Rights groups reported injuries and arrests. Similar tensions were described in Mashhad and Hamedan, where internet access was reportedly restricted, leaving many events shrouded in silence.

The pattern feels familiar. In 1979, every funeral created new protests, and every protest produced new funerals. It was a cycle of grief and defiance a drumbeat that grew louder with each passing week. Today’s demonstrators appear to be drawing from the same playbook, though the scale and coordination remain uncertain.

January’s unrest began with modest economic complaints but quickly grew into the most serious challenge to Iran’s clerical establishment in decades. Protesters called not just for reform, but for fundamental change. Their grievances are rooted in daily realities: rising prices, shrinking opportunities, corruption, and a sense that ordinary people are carrying the weight of political isolation.

Authorities, for their part, blame foreign interference and armed agitators. They have arrested activists, lawyers, and students, while tightening control over communications.

Meanwhile, tensions with the United States add another layer of strain. U.S. President Donald Trump has warned of possible military action if diplomatic efforts over Iran’s nuclear program fail. Iranian officials have privately acknowledged that the threat of external conflict could deepen domestic unrest a fear that lingers behind the scenes.

Unlike 1979, there have been no sweeping strikes by oil workers or bazaar merchants, the economic engines that once fueled revolution. Instead, resistance has taken on a quieter but persistent tone. At night, in some neighborhoods, people climb to rooftops and shout “Allah is great” into the dark, followed by the now-familiar cry, ‘Death to the dictator.’

It is a simple act, but heavy with meaning. ‘How long can they kill people to stay in power?’ asked Sara, a 28 year old government employee in Isfahan. Her voice carries both fear and fatigue. ‘People are angry. People are frustrated. We want a normal life.’

For now, Iran stands at a crossroads shaped by memory. The ruling establishment remembers how mourning once turned into a movement. The protesters remember it too.

History does not repeat itself in the same way. But sometimes, it rhymes and in Iran, the rhyme is growing louder.