Even before the current war, Iran was among the hardest places in the world to report on. Much of the work of The New York Times happens from the outside, through conversations with contacts inside, verified visual material and social media posts.
But this month, Abdi Latif Dahir, a Middle East correspondent, and Emile Ducke, a photographer, became the first Times journalists to visit Iran since before the United States and Israel attacked in late February. They were joined by two colleagues from The Times’s video department, and together, they traveled from three continents to witness the funeral ceremonies of Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, the country’s slain supreme leader.
To help readers better understand how they approached the assignment, I spoke to Abdi about his preparations and how he worked through constraints. These are edited excerpts from our conversation.
Abdi, images of the mourners streamed across screens around the world. It appeared to be so crowded that the funeral procession vehicles could barely move. Can you take us there?
ABDI LATIF DAHIR: The funeral ceremonies unfolded over several days across different cities. I attended four of them, and each seemed more crowded, emotional and overwhelming than the last. The most astonishing was the funeral procession that culminated in Tehran’s Azadi Square. It was a sweltering day, and the crowds seemed endless.
The sheer scale of the turnout, the weight of the moment, the palpable sense of history and the raw chaos of mourning made it extraordinary to witness. It was a funeral for a man revered by millions, but also for one whose rule was marked by repression, imprisonment, torture, executions and exile. His legacy is one of deep veneration for many, and profound pain for many others.
The Iranian government tightly restricts access to independent journalists. How did that work in practice?
ABDI: We were assigned a translator and a guide who accompanied us at all times. We understood that our access was specifically to cover the funeral ceremonies, not to conduct broader reporting in the country. But there was one thing we always made clear: Our editorial independence was not negotiable. We would document what we saw, what we heard and what people told us, without approval or interference. Despite the restrictions, I went in with my eyes and ears open, trying to be fully present and capture the moment as honestly as possible.
How did you prepare for the trip?
ABDI: The visas came through very last minute. I remember rushing from a reporting assignment in Beirut to the Iranian embassy to pick mine up.
While we were racing to secure the paperwork, we also had to figure out the logistics of getting there. The airspace was expected to close, and flights from many places were filling up. Our colleague Erika Solomon, who is also the Iran and Iraq bureau chief, worked hard alongside several of our Iran researchers and bureau managers in the region to help coordinate travel. We were a team coming from three different continents, and we needed to find a central meeting point so that we could enter the country together.
We also had to think carefully about what equipment to bring, like phones and laptops. We were in touch with The Times’s Information Security team to help us prepare. All of this happened within the span of just a few days.
Let’s talk about those assigned guides. How did that work?
ABDI: We had two handlers with us throughout the trip. In the beginning, one asked for a lot of details, including where we planned to go and what we hoped to do. Gradually, his approach changed and he became much more relaxed, especially as we worked in preapproved places like the Grand Mosalla, the sprawling mosque complex in Tehran where some of the mourning ceremonies took place.
The second handler spoke English flawlessly and said that he had a Ph.D. from a university in the United States. He went around with us and arranged for us to have dinner at a nice restaurant in northern Tehran. But at times, he would tell us we could not photograph certain places or say we couldn’t go to certain places without explaining why. It was a strange and sometimes surreal dynamic: We had normal conversations and even friendly interactions while knowing we were being monitored.
How were you generally received by everyday Iranians?
ABDI: They were very kind to us. People would approach me and ask where we were from and what we were reporting on. Sometimes they would simply take the opportunity to tell us what they wanted the world to know, often sharing their thoughts about President Trump and the United States.
I was fascinated by how many people I met, particularly younger Iranians in Tehran, who dressed less conservatively than often assumed — men in shorts, women with dyed hair and riding motorcycles — revealing a layered social landscape. They were warm and polite with us, but almost all were unwilling to be interviewed. Even those who stopped to talk would often make clear that they did not want to risk getting into trouble.
You described the streets as “managed and staged.” How is that different from, say, security we see at major events in the United States?
ABDI: There was a level of organization and uniformity that went beyond what you would normally see at a large public gathering. Stations set up by the government were distributing flags, posters and headbands, so many of the symbols people carried had been provided in a very coordinated way.
How did you file your reports? Was there internet access?
For the most part, we had no usable internet at the events. That shaped the way we worked. We had to gather material quickly, return to the hotel, file our stories and then go back out. It was especially challenging for the photo and video teams, given the large files they have to send. With roads closed, our shoes became the unsung heroes of the trip as we walked constantly between events and the hotel while racing to file.
You were in Tehran, the capital, and another large city, Mashhad. How would you compare them?
ABDI: Both cities were united in grief: There was a sea of black-clad mourners, an unmistakable sense of loss, and an emotional atmosphere. Even the landscapes felt similar. Both cities are surrounded by mountains, which seemed to give them the same solemn feeling.
But the mood wasn’t quite the same. In Tehran, the mourning felt more political. Alongside the grief, there was a strong current of defiance, with many people chanting slogans and calling for revenge. As the capital and the seat of power, it felt like people were also making a political statement.
Mashhad, by contrast, felt more spiritual. The ceremonies centered on the Imam Reza shrine, and the emphasis seemed to be on prayer, remembrance and paying religious respects. There were political messages there too, but the overwhelming feeling was one of devotion and mourning.
You’ve reported in many challenging countries, including Rwanda, Somalia and Syria. So you’ve seen your share of hardship, violence and political upheaval. How does wartime Iran compare?
ABDI: Iran is a massive, sprawling country, and we were only able to see very specific parts of two cities. But the scars of the war were still visible.
We were taken to Golestan Palace, the UNESCO World Heritage site, where some of the intricate mirror work had been damaged after a nearby judiciary building was hit in a strike. We also saw damage at Sharif University of Technology, one of Iran’s top academic institutions, which was hit during the conflict. We passed by the destruction on the university campus while covering the procession, and we saw other signs of damage while driving through the city.
We also heard about the impact of the war. About how the war had added to the economic pressures they were already facing, how wages were low and how difficult it was to find jobs. So even amid all the ceremony, the crowds and the displays of power, there was a very clear sense that life for many Iranians was difficult.
What did you find most remarkable about Iran, despite the limited picture?
ABDI: What struck me most was the people: how curious and warm they were, and how deeply proud they felt of their country, its history and its culture. It reinforced something I think is true of every country. They cannot be reduced to its politics or the headlines. Iran contains multitudes. There are so many different stories, perspectives and lives unfolding there. I came away wishing we had more time and opportunity to document that complexity, rather than just one extraordinary moment in the country’s history.
