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Hospitals in Iran were transformed from places of care into instruments of state repression. According to Iran International, security forces raided medical centers nationwide to arrest wounded protesters, intimidate staff, and erase evidence of mass killings. At least 12,000 people were killed in two nights. This systematic assault on the wounded constitutes crimes against humanity and demands immediate, concrete action from the international community.

In January 2026, Iranians across every province took to the streets—not to start a revolution, but to undo one. Love Without Memory documents how a generation raised after the Pahlavi era rediscovered Iran’s past through preserved record and transformed national memory into collective action. As millions chanted in unison and called for the restoration of their country, the world looked away. History will not.

After forty seven years of repression, Iran Rising enters a decisive moment as nationwide protests reveal a people moving together in clarity and resolve.

As Iran enters its sixth day of nationwide protests, President Trump issues a public warning against the killing of demonstrators while Tehran responds with denial and force.

On Iran Rising Day Six, unarmed crowds across more than fifty cities chant Reza Pahlavi, endure deadly crackdowns, and declare their future aloud.

In Iran, time is measured in executions, prisons, and absences. As global audiences respond to stories of courage, a deeper question emerges: who pays for patience when delay itself becomes political?

In Virginia’s backcountry, the noise of the world falls away. What remains is the work of fire and shelter, the silence of trees, and the stars’ indifferent watch.

I left Aix-les-Bains at 7:42 that night, the train cutting through fog that swallowed the valleys whole. I was not chasing Geneva’s promenades. I was chasing a story. In June 1816, Mary Godwin was eighteen years old. She was still Mary Godwin and not yet Mary Shelley. She sat at Villa Diodati with Percy, Byron, and Claire Clairmont. Storms sealed them indoors, and Byron, restless, demanded ghost stories. Out of that confinement came Frankenstein. Standing at the edge of Lake

A hand rests on the raw plank. Before any blade bites or a clamp draws breath, before the scent of shavings settles in the room, there is this quiet meeting: skin to wood, pulse to pattern.