On 14 February, coinciding with the Munich Security Conference, a rally organized by a segment of the Iranians in Munich to present the son of the last shah of Iran, “Reze Pahlavi” as a opposition figure. What propelled the event to headline status was not merely its political message, but the figure announced for attendance: 250,000 people, writes Ali Bagheri, president of the International Freedom of Speech Alliance – IFSA.
I, as an activist, who has participated over the past decade in anti–regime demonstrations across Europe, and who understands the realities of logistical planning, volunteer coordination, chartering buses, arranging overnight accommodation, and securing municipal permits, such a number immediately raises serious questions. Mobilizing even several tens of thousands of people in a European country is a complex operation. Gathering a quarter of a million people in a specific city within a limited timeframe is an entirely different magnitude.
For comparison, one can look to the large Iranian rally in Berlin in 2022 after the death of Mahsa Amini—an inclusive and broadly supported event. Media outlets estimated attendance at around 80,000 people. That demonstration enjoyed cross-spectrum backing. By contrast, the Munich rally was explicitly centered on promoting Reza Pahlavi, son of the previously ousted dictatorship, a figure who resonates a neofascist system and in fact a return to the past. How could an event with a narrower political base attract three times the crowd of the largest Iranian gathering in recent European memory?
To grasp the scale of 250,000, the number must be broken down. It is roughly three and a half times the capacity of Allianz Arena in Munich. It is equivalent to the entire population of a mid-sized European city such as Ghent or Charleroi. In practical terms, it would mean relocating every resident of a medium-sized city and concentrating them in one place. The figure is also comparable to attendance at a massive festival like Tomorrowland—an event that hosts hundreds of thousands over several days with months of planning and infrastructure preparation.
Transporting 250,000 people would entail extraordinary logistics. If relying solely on 50-seat buses, at least 5,000 buses would be required—along with thousands of drivers, hundreds of designated parking and staging areas, and extensive coordination with traffic authorities. If half the attendees traveled by train, dozens of special international services would need to be scheduled. Hundreds of charter flights would be necessary if air travel played a major role, despite limited airport capacity and prior bookings. Accommodating even a third of such a crowd overnight would demand tens of thousands of hotel beds or temporary housing facilities. Such an operation would require transparent networks, substantial funding, and months of public coordination. Without these, it borders on implausible.
Photographic evidence from the rally further fuels skepticism. Geometric estimations based on the size of the venue and standard crowd density calculations suggest that even under optimistic assumptions, attendance would likely not exceed 30,000 to 40,000. That number is far from 250,000. The central question, therefore, is not whether the rally occurred, but why the figure was amplified.
In politics, numbers function as instruments of legitimacy. The projection of massive crowds can create the perception that a leader commands broad and mobilized support. Regional history offers cautionary examples. In Iraq, Ahmed Chalabi was presented in some international circles as a viable post-Saddam leader. After regime change, the gap between that image and political reality became apparent, at considerable cost.
Modern Iranian history presents another case. In 1979, Ayatollah Khomeini returned to Iran amid a powerful wave of symbolic imagery and media amplification that reinforced his position as an unchallenged leader. Regardless of normative judgment, the role of narrative construction in consolidating political authority is undeniable. The question today is whether, in the era of social media and information warfare, inflated statistics can once again be used to manufacture the image of a “future revolutionary leader.”
Equally noteworthy is the response of some European media outlets, which repeated the 250,000 figure without apparent independent verification. In a media environment that formally prioritizes fact-checking and precision, how does such a large number circulate unchallenged? Has the race for compelling headlines eclipsed professional rigor?
A German Journalist: “ I haven’t seen any aerial footage of the Theresienwiese yet. Most shots are from low angles or cropped at sides, sometimes with large gaps etc. I therefore doubt the figure of 250,000 monarchy supporters; otherwise, after this gigantic propaganda effort, we’d have aerial images.
Iran stands at a sensitive historical juncture. Regional and global powers have stakes in its future trajectory. Yet history consistently demonstrates that durable political leadership does not emerge from statistical inflation or media spectacle. It grows from transparent organization, genuine public trust, and sustained participation by people willing to bear the costs of change, parameters that are missing when it comes to the Shah’s son, who has lived a luxury life for 47 years, never distanced himself from his father’s crimes, has no support base inside Iran, and even now, relies on IRGC mercenaries, the very same criminals who slaughtered the protesters during January uprising.
Ultimately, Iran’s future will not be determined in European conference halls or by exaggerated headlines. It will be shaped by the informed and consequential actions of those living inside the country. If any movements seek credibility, their first obligation is transparency and honesty. Inflated numbers may create a short-term illusion of strength, but over time they erode social capital and weaken political legitimacy.
