The murder of Amir Mohammad Khaleghi and the student protests that followed lay bare the deep anxieties gripping Tehran University students and the broader Iranian society. This is not just about one student’s death; it is about a nation worn thin by fear, injustice, and a regime that has long stopped listening.
On Saturday, Tehran University students gathered in protest, demanding answers, demanding accountability. Amir Mohammad Khaleghi, a student at the University of Tehran, was walking back to his dormitory on the night of February 13 when two men on a motorcycle attacked him. They took his backpack, and before he could resist, before he could even cry out, they stabbed him. And then they left him bleeding on the cold streets of Tehran. He made it to the morning, but not beyond that. On February 14, he died from his wounds.
The news spread fast. It wasn’t just another death—it was a warning, a reminder, a message written in blood. That night, students gathered outside the dormitory. They shouted into the dark, knowing full well the ones responsible for this crime wouldn’t hear them. Or maybe they would—because the killers weren’t just the men with knives. The killers were those who let this happen, those who rule a city where students are left to die on the streets.
“One of us is gone—who will answer for it?”
“Incompetent Zareh, responsible for this crime!”
“The blood that’s been spilled won’t be washed away!”
The Islamic regime’s officials scrambled to respond, their words empty, their actions delayed. The Minister of Science announced the resignation of the head of university dormitories, offering a feeble apology and assuring the public that the Islamic regime’s president, Masoud Pezeshkian, had ordered an investigation. The Tehran prosecutor, Ali Salehi, reported that several suspects had been arrested, though few believe this will lead to anything resembling justice.
Amir Mohammad, the 19-year-old student was running after his attacker, he was on the edge of death, but he was chasing the thief—to get back his laptop. According to one of his classmates, “that laptop was everything to him.” He knew he would never be able to buy another one.
Further outrage was sparked by police comments captured on CCTV footage of the murder. Police announced that Khaleghi should not have run but instead pressed his hand against his wound. Online users condemned this statement, arguing that it ignores the root cause: a failure to prevent such crimes in the first place. One user remarked that the police should have ensured the student never suffered the wound at all, and that authorities should have retrieved the stolen laptop, not the victim himself.
The protests didn’t stop there. When the head of the University of Tehran tried to dismiss Amir Mohammad’s murder as something “outside the university’s jurisdiction,” the students responded:
“Back when the university’s security forces were dragging female students on the ground during the ‘Woman, Life, Freedom’ movement—right here on 16 Azar Street—those streets weren’t outside the university’s jurisdiction, were they?”
A Campus Under Siege
Students report an intensified security presence on Tehran University’s main campus. Armed officers stationed at every entrance, their watchful eyes tracking every movement. It is a response not to crime, not to the violence that claimed Amir Mohammad’s life, but to the students themselves—to their rage, to their defiance, to their refusal to be silent.
Amir Mohammad Khaleghi was walking toward his dormitory when two men on motorcycles attacked him. He never made it home. His murder set off a wave of anger that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long. Students have long warned about the lack of safety around campus, and now their worst fears have been realized. They are no longer willing to accept hollow reassurances. They demand change.
The outcry has not been limited to students. Narges Mohammadi, the Nobel Peace Prize laureate, voiced her support for the protests. She took to social media, writing:
“Do not leave these young protesters alone. Raise their voices. Show that we stand together.”
Shirin Ebadi, another Nobel laureate, spoke out against the deep-seated insecurity plaguing Iran, writing:
“The house is ruined from the foundation! In a country where unemployment, corruption, poverty, and psychological and social insecurity push people toward crime, in a country where a young person knows that if his laptop is stolen, he will lose his job and his future, safety cannot be guaranteed by securing a single door, a university, a district, or a city.”
University officials have promised increased security, better street lighting, more police patrols. They will install police kiosks near the site of the murder, as if this will erase the years of neglect, the systemic failure, the suffocating atmosphere that makes every student feel like a target.
The protests are not subsiding. Students continue to gather, demanding transparency, real investigations, and genuine reforms. They have warned authorities that this moment will not be forgotten, that they will not be placated with superficial solutions. They want the police and municipal authorities to guarantee their safety, not just around the dormitories but across the city. They remind anyone who will listen that they have been sounding the alarm for years.
A statement read by one of the students during the gathering on February 15 was, in reality, an indictment—an indictment against the policies of the Islamic Republic, against repression, against any form of joy, and against women for refusing the mandatory hijab.
The statement called out those responsible for the suppression of students and condemned “the foolish and reckless management of a gang of incompetents” who “label every protest as a security threat, neglect the university’s most basic needs, and instead deploy hundreds of security personnel to tighten the atmosphere of fear—installing surveillance cameras inside the university, not to ensure safety around the dormitories and campus, but to make sure no one dares to breathe.”
The students demanded an immediate response to this tragedy. They called for real security—not the kind that turns universities into prisons, but the kind that ensures safety in and around campuses and dormitories. They insisted on full transparency in identifying, prosecuting, and punishing every person responsible for this crime.
A Funeral, A Warning
Amir Mohammad Khaleghi was buried in his hometown, Darmian, in South Khorasan. A crowd gathered to mourn him, their presence a testament to the depth of the wound left by his murder. His death is not just a personal tragedy—it is a national reckoning. The students know this. The people know this. And the regime, despite its posturing, knows it too.
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