A block away from the UN, you could already hear the roars: “USA! USA!” I rushed over to the square where, for the last two years, Israelis and Jewish New Yorkers had gathered in vain to demand the release of Hamas’s hostages. This time, I was there to support a people whose destinies, dreams, and struggles had only recently become intertwined with mine.
Many Iranian Americans were among the crowds gathered outside the UN on Sunday to celebrate the death of Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, the Iranian tyrant who tormented his people—including many of these demonstrators and their families. Those in attendance thanked President Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu for matching their homegrown courage with military might.
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A day earlier, Mayor Zohran Mamdani released a statement calling the American operation a “catastrophic escalation.” He assured Iranian New Yorkers that they “are part of the fabric of this city—you are our neighbors, small business owners, students, artists, workers, and community leaders. You will be safe here.”
But the proud Iranian New Yorkers I met didn’t seem to need reassurance. Nor did they think for a minute that they weren’t safe in the land of the free. They wanted action—action carried on the under‑wing pylons of fighter jets, not in statements assuring them that they are “part of the fabric of this city,” which they already know.
The mood on Sunday was a mixture of jubilance and grief. There were tears of joy for the operational success, and tears of mourning for the innocent lives lost in the fight. Many held up photos of friends and relatives killed in the Iranian protests earlier this year, a reminder that, for young people in some parts of the world, speaking truth to power is deadly.
When I introduced myself as an Israeli, I was met with smiles and pats on the back, not the icy stares and polite nods I get in some corners of New York City. I was thanked by people whom I didn’t know for things I did not do.
As the marchers stepped off toward Times Square, secured by repeatedly thanked NYPD members, Second Avenue saw a stream of American, Israeli, and pre-revolutionary “Lion and Sun” Iranian flags.
Most demonstrators’ signs were homemade—a stark contrast with the generic, NGO-funded ones often held by far-left protesters. Some carried signs urging the international community to help secure the liberation of homeland, knowing full well those calls would go unheeded. Others hoisted images of the exiled crown prince Reza Pahlavi, stuffed toy rats (symbolizing Khamenei) hanging from poles, and “Make Iran Great Again” signs.
One fashionable woman held a photo of herself as a young hijab-clad girl in Iran. A man raised a gory photo of the Ayatollah with the words “RIP—Rest in Piss.”
The dancing, singing, drumbeats, and sea of flags were met with curiosity and confusion from bystanders. A middle-aged woman gave the group the finger in response to a picture of Trump, while several cabbies honked in support of the marchers.
But no one seemed to hesitate as the demonstrators raised “Thank you Trump!” signs. No voices wavered as the group shouted, “Bibi, Bibi, thank you!” in the middle of Times Square.
I doubt all attendees shared the same opinions on health care, immigration enforcement, or Gaza. But at this moment, they showed appreciation for their president, their allies, and their military, all of whom had stood up for them when it mattered most.
What I experienced Sunday demonstrated the beauty of New York City and the United States. These were people who had come from far away for a better life, expressing pride both in their rich heritage and in America. The feeling was contagious. Too bad the mayor missed the party.
Photos Courtesy of the Author