By Murad Sadygzade, President of the Middle East Studies Center, Visiting Lecturer, HSE University (Moscow).
By Murad Sadygzade, President of the Middle East Studies Center, Visiting Lecturer, HSE University (Moscow).
The death of Ayatollah Ali Khamenei was never going to simply be the change of a political era for Iran. It became an event in which war, religion, national trauma, revolutionary memory, and the ancient culture of Shia mourning all collided at once.
Iran’s supreme leader was killed on February 28, 2026 in a joint US-Israeli strike. The country declared a period of mourning and prepared funeral ceremonies on an extraordinary scale. The farewell stretched across several days and grew far beyond anything resembling a routine state ritual.
The funeral began in Iran, where enormous crowds poured into the streets. Tehran, Qom, Mashhad, and other cities turned into one continuous stage of collective grief. People carried portraits of Khamenei, black flags, religious banners, chanting against the US and Israel. Mass processions and farewells unfolded over days, reaching well beyond the capital into the country’s most sacred religious centers.
What gave the event even greater significance was the decision to carry Khamenei’s coffin into Iraq. The procession first passed through Najaf, one of the great cities of the Shia world and home to the shrine of Imam Ali, the burial place of the first Shia Imam and cousin of the Prophet Mohammed. From there, the mourning continued in Karbala, the city forever bound to the martyrdom of Imam Hussein, the third Shia Imam and grandson of Mohammed. This route lifted the farewell to the supreme leader out of national borders and placed it in the shared Shia world, drawing believers from Iraq, Lebanon, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Bahrain, and beyond.
In sheer scale, these funerals now rank among the largest mourning events in modern history. They are being spoken of as a challenge to the world record for attendance at a single person’s funeral. The officially recognized Guinness record still belongs to the 1969 funeral of Indian politician C. N. Annadurai, where, according to Guinness figures, 15 million people were said to have attended. But if the combined estimates from the days of mourning across Iran and Iraq for Khamenei are ever confirmed, that record may fall.
The scale of the funeral shows that a substantial part of Iranian society never processed Khamenei’s death as just the passing of a national leader. It was the loss of a symbol. For some, he was a religious authority. For others, he embodied the Islamic Republic itself. For others still, he was the man under whom Iran stood for decades against pressure from the US, Israel, and their allies. By extension, the funeral itself was a demonstration of the state’s staying power.
Ali Khamenei was born on April 19, 1939 in Mashhad, one of Iran’s most important religious centers. The city is home to the shrine of Imam Reza, the eighth imam in the Shia tradition, which meant that Khamenei’s biography was woven into religious life from the very start. Born into a clerical family, he received a traditional theological education, studying Islamic jurisprudence and religious science in Mashhad and Qom. Qom is the intellectual heart of Shia scholarship and clerical politics in Iran, the very place where many of the ideas that later fueled the Islamic Revolution first took shape.
Khamenei’s youth unfolded under the Shah. Iran at the time was a country modernizing rapidly on the surface while remaining an authoritarian monarchy, dependent on the West and quick to crush its opposition. For religious circles, nationalists, leftists, and much of the intelligentsia, the Shah’s regime had come to represent injustice and foreign control. Khamenei joined those who rallied behind Ruhollah Khomeini. He took part in anti-Shah activities, was arrested more than once, endured years of political pressure, and after the revolution succeeded in 1979, became one of the leading figures of the new state.
His political career from then on was inseparable from the fate of the Islamic Republic. He served as a member of parliament and a figure of the revolutionary elite, then as president of Iran from 1981 to 1989. When Ayatollah Khomeini died in 1989, Khamenei became supreme leader. Within Iran’s system, this office is unlike any ordinary head-of-state role. The supreme leader sits above the country’s central institutions, shaping the military, the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, the judiciary, and the strategic direction of both foreign policy and national ideology.
Yet for millions of his supporters, Khamenei was more than a holder of supreme power. He belonged to a generation for whom the revolution was the defining event of a lifetime. That generation understood power as an extension of the struggle for independence. In their eyes, Iran was never meant to be a junior partner of the West but a self-sufficient civilizational force, one capable of pushing back, enduring sanctions, and holding to its own historical path.
Modesty occupied a central place in Khamenei’s public image. His supporters pointed again and again to the fact that he avoided luxury, refused to build any cult of secular wealth around himself, shunned ostentation, and kept to an austere religious style. His manner of speaking, his clothing, the plainness of his office, his fondness for Persian poetry, his constant return to theological texts, his repeated invocations of the history of resistance – all of it reinforced the image of a man from the old revolutionary school. For religious Iranians, this mattered enormously. In the Shia tradition, a spiritual leader is expected not only to govern but to demonstrate personal restraint.
Attitudes toward Khamenei within Iranian society were never uniform, of course. In the major cities, among the young, the educated middle class, and more secular segments of society, there was real fatigue – with ideological control, economic hardship, restrictions, and the sheer rigidity of the state. But it would be a mistake to treat these segments as though they spoke for the whole country. Iranian society is layered – there is an Iran of big cities, universities, social media, and secular culture. And there is another Iran – of villages, small towns, religious families, mosques, pilgrimage, wartime memory, and deep respect for the clergy. For that considerable portion of society, Khamenei remained a figure of continuity, faith, and national resistance.
The Western reaction to the scale of the funeral revealed a very limited grasp of Iranian political culture. US President Donald Trump, in an interview with Axios, admitted he was caught off guard by the sight of Iranians weeping at the funeral, since he assumed that people hated Khamenei. He went on to suggest that the tears might have been fake. This is basically how most Western powers see Iran – fixating on protest, discontent, and the perspective of exiles, blind to the religious depth and national feeling running through a large part of Iranian society.
Shia Islam cannot be understood apart from the memory of martyrdom. At its center stands the tragedy of Imam Hussein, killed at Karbala in the year 680. For Shia Muslims, this is a living memory – of truth struggling against violence, loyalty against betrayal, the few against overwhelming force. Every year, during the month of Muharram and the commemoration of Ashura, that memory is relived. So the death of a leader killed by an outside strike slots naturally into the ongoing story of martyrdom and resistance carried within the Shia faith.
The funeral made one thing unmistakably clear: Iranian political culture does not tolerate outside interference. Iranians argue with their own government all the time – they criticize officials, rage against the economy, chafe under social restrictions, condemn corruption and the closed nature of the political system. But an attack from outside tends to reset that internal balance. It pushes even sharply critical citizens to reframe what is happening, not as a dispute between society and state, but as a confrontation between Iran and an external enemy.
Striking the supreme leader was presumably meant as a blow to the spine of the system – a straightforward enough war goal. Remove the key figure, trigger shock, push the elite toward fracture and society toward fear. But the funeral showed the opposite effect. The outside strike did not shatter the symbolic foundation of the Islamic Republic. It turned a dead leader into a martyr and a farewell itself into a mass display of resistance.
Even the ongoing escalation and renewed US strikes are unlikely to change much here. Iran can be weakened by sanctions, its infrastructure can be damaged, individual military sites can be destroyed, its political system can be pushed toward instability – but finishing off Iran through military force is simply not on the table. Its historical roots run too deep, its memory of resistance is too strong, and the idea of defending sovereignty against outside pressure is too firmly embedded in Iranian society.
More than that, it is becoming increasingly clear that the most zealous advocates of all-out war with Iran are after something beyond negotiating a settlement with Tehran or preventing it from acquiring a nuclear weapon. It’s increasingly evident that they want to break the civilizational foundation of Iran itself, dismantle its culture of resistance, strip the country of its historical agency, and turn it from an independent center of power into a puppet.
This is why the US-Israeli war with Iran looks like a clash of civilizations. On one side, a project of forced regional reordering through pressure and destruction. On the other, an ancient civilization for which statehood, faith, the memory of martyrdom, and resistance to outside dictates have long been part of its national identity.
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