Introduction

One of my central aims is to demonstrate how nostalgic discourses, rather than simply expressing personal sentimentality, are deeply implicated in the power structures that shape diasporic identity, memory, and political advocacy. By “genealogy,” I refer to a critical historical method—rooted in thinkers like Michel Foucault and David Garland—that seeks to trace the contingent routes through which our present has emerged. This genealogical approach illuminates how specific memories are valorized, repackaged, or mobilized to fortify a certain vision of Iranian identity, and how such visions influence political agendas and alliances.

David Garland, drawing on Foucault, suggests that genealogical history highlights “the erratic and discontinuous process whereby the past became the present,” thereby emphasizing contingency and the openness of the future. This approach is especially useful for understanding diasporic nostalgia: it helps us see how stories about “back home” are neither static nor purely personal, but rather products of ongoing negotiation within transnational networks. As new geopolitical events arise—such as heightened tensions between the U.S. and Iran—these narratives can be reshaped, intensified, or even weaponized.

Kathleen Stewart’s work provides a crucial theoretical scaffolding for understanding nostalgia as both a “cultural practice” and a “mode of representation.” In a transnational and postmodern context, nostalgia is never innocent; its meaning changes depending on who is remembering and why. For some in the diaspora—often those who benefited from the former Pahlavi regime’s policies or hold elite social status—nostalgia for the monarchy becomes a way to reassert a sense of cultural superiority, modernity, or alignment with Western power. Simultaneously, those who suffered under the monarchy or who oppose authoritarianism may find such nostalgia alienating or politically dangerous.

Hamid Naficy, in his seminal work on Iranian exile culture in Southern California, underscores the paradoxical nature of longing for a homeland that no longer exists as remembered—or that perhaps never existed in the first place. This “impossible return” is especially resonant among those who left Iran in the immediate aftermath of the Revolution, or whose families did so. Many such exiles were staunch supporters of the Shah or belonged to the economic and social classes that thrived under his rule. In this context, nostalgia is fueled precisely by the awareness that its object is unattainable. The idealized past, in turn, becomes an ever-receding horizon that can perpetuate and intensify longing.

The theme of “recovery” dovetails with this discussion, as nostalgia often represents an impulse to recapture something lost—whether a cultural ethos, a political system, or a sense of collective prestige. For Iranian neo-monarchists, “recovery” goes beyond simple commemoration. It is a project aimed at resurrecting a glorified narrative of Iran’s modern history: one that lionizes the Pahlavi dynasty as enlightened and progressive, while overlooking the regime’s reliance on surveillance, censorship, and socioeconomic stratification.

This “recovery” frequently involves historical revisionism—elevating the monarchy’s modernization projects (e.g., the White Revolution) while minimizing discontent related to corruption, political repression, and uneven development. Revisiting or revising the past serves a practical political aim: it helps to legitimize calls for regime change in the present. This is why we see some diaspora activists aligning themselves with U.S.-based neoconservative organizations or policymakers who advocate harsh sanctions or even military intervention in Iran. Nostalgia here is not a simple recollection of personal or familial memory; it is a potent framework through which history is sanitized and repurposed to forge a path toward what they imagine as the inevitable “restoration” of the monarchy.

A Walk Through “Tehrangeles”: Spatializing Nostalgia

Photograph of Pars Books & Publishing storefront in Westwood, Los Angeles.

One cannot fully understand Iranian diasporic nostalgia without considering its spatial dimensions. Los Angeles, often dubbed “Tehrangeles,” is a central node in the global Iranian diaspora. Its enclaves—particularly along Westwood Boulevard south of Wilshire—once housed vibrant bookstores, music shops, restaurants, and other cultural spaces devoted to sustaining Iranian heritage.

In August 2017, the largest Persian bookstore in the area, Ketab Corporation, closed after 36 years and was replaced by a hip marijuana dispensary. This symbolic shift underscores the fluidity of diasporic cultural landscapes: as the generations age and consumer demands change, diaspora-run businesses adapt or vanish. Across the street, Pars Books and Publishing endures, its display window adorned with a tattered Lion and Sun flag—the pre-Revolution emblem of the Iranian monarchy. Inside, shelves brim with texts lauding the last Shah’s achievements and detailing the “catastrophe” of 1979. The store effectively serves as a museum of nostalgic longing, promoting a vision of monarchy that resonates with a particular subset of exiles.

These cultural sites function as reservoirs of national memory. Whether through historical memoirs, romantic accounts of the Pahlavi court, or revisionist scholarly works like Andrew Scott Cooper’s The Fall of Heaven: The Pahlavis and the Final Days of Imperial Iran, they cater to an audience seeking reassurance that “true Iran” still survives—if only in the realm of imagination and memory. The presence of the old Lion and Sun flag is not a neutral aesthetic choice; it is a political statement signaling support for a specific ideological project that idealizes the monarchy as the zenith of Iranian modernity and global influence.

Neo-Monarchists, January 6, and the Intersection of Diasporic and U.S. Politics

Photograph of Iranian Americans during the January 6, 2021 Capitol insurrection.

That these nostalgic imaginations can translate into reactionary politics was made starkly visible on January 6, 2021. Amid the chaos at the U.S. Capitol, a group of Iranian monarchists brandished the Lion and Sun flag, signifying an alignment with far-right populist movements in the U.S. Some prominent neo-monarchists had already been vocal supporters of Donald Trump, partly because of his hawkish stance against the Islamic Republic and the broader “America First” narrative that resonated with their anti-regime fervor.

My research draws on Donya Alinejad’s The Internet and Formations of Iranian American-ness to examine how neo-monarchist rhetoric flourishes on social media. In Facebook groups like “Supporters of Prince Reza Pahlavi” (in Farsi), which boasts over 60,000 members, images, memes, and superimposed text valorize the Shah’s rule. The online format amplifies nostalgia’s ability to reach large audiences, effectively constructing a digital archive of curated history that feeds into a unified (if highly selective) narrative. The resulting discourse frequently repeats themes: the monarchy was “modernizing,” the Shah was “benevolent,” and Iran under the Pahlavis commanded global respect.

Exemplary Neo-Monarchist Imagery

1. Map of Iran with Poetic Plea

A graphic features Iran’s map alongside the verse “Dearer to me than life and religion / You are my dearest, O’ land of Iran,” twisting an old slogan—“God, the Shah, and the Country”—into a new form that places Iranian nationalism above religious or other affiliations. In this reimagined hierarchy, national identity supersedes all else, thereby distancing itself from the Islamic Republic’s theocratic framework.

2. Comparative Meme of Bows

A meme juxtaposes photos of President Obama bowing to Emperor Hirohito in 2016 with Emperor Hirohito bowing to the Shah in 1969, highlighting a supposed historical moment when Iran’s leader commanded greater respect. Through a single, decontextualized image, the meme fosters a powerful sense of aggrieved nostalgia for “lost greatness,” reinforcing the narrative that Iran was once at the center of global affairs.

3. Skiing Shah and Queen Farah

A snapshot of the Shah and Queen Farah holidaying in the Swiss Alps is superimposed with text about how the monarchy stood at the cusp of “rapid progress” and near-future democracy. This glamorous scene, however, omits the lived reality of many Iranians under authoritarian rule—a contrast that betrays the selective nature of neo-monarchist memory.

Institutionalization of Neo-Monarchist Nostalgia

While some might dismiss neo-monarchists as a fringe group, the establishment of new organizations and alliances signals a more entrenched political force. “Iranian Americans for Liberty (IAL),” founded in 2020, encapsulates this trend. Through its political action committee (Iranian Americans for the Constitution) and super PAC (Iranian Americans for Peace), IAL orchestrates press releases, webinars, and social media campaigns that call for maximum pressure on the Islamic Republic—often alongside broader neoconservative policy agendas. They support severe sanctions, reject diplomacy, and envision a U.S.-facilitated downfall of the Islamic Republic, with an eventual return of monarchical rule.

IAL’s alliances with Farashgard (“Iran Revival”) and the Constitutionalist Party of Iran—both active in Southern California—position the organization within a transnational network that frequently collaborates with U.S. Republican politicians and pro-Israel lobbies. These coalitions enable neo-monarchists to amplify their narratives within American political discourse, drawing on well-funded platforms to frame the monarchy as the most legitimate alternative to the current regime. In these alliances, nostalgia is not a personal longing but a political currency—an ideological tool that justifies an aggressive stance toward Iran while romanticizing an imperial past.

Conclusion: The Regressive Pull of Neo-Monarchist Nostalgia

Hamid Naficy’s warning that “nostalgic longing can produce not unity but discord, not peace but war” resonates powerfully in the context of Iranian neo-monarchist movements. Far from being a benign or merely personal sentiment, nostalgia for the Pahlavi era fuels a revisionist history that can justify authoritarianism and militaristic interventions. This nostalgia magnifies a fantasy of a “lost golden age,” sidestepping the monarchy’s oppressive tactics, socioeconomic inequalities, and political silencing.

A genealogical approach compels us to ask whose memories are privileged and whose are erased. The lionization of the Shah, for instance, often coexists with a dismissal of the experiences of rural Iranians, religious minorities, leftist activists, and other groups who experienced the Pahlavi regime’s authoritarianism firsthand. By elevating a sanitized past, neo-monarchists risk perpetuating precisely the conditions that led to the 1979 Revolution in the first place. Nostalgia, in other words, can enable a convenient historical amnesia about the regime’s failings, repackaging an incomplete and distorted narrative as the foundation for future politics.

Additionally, it is critical to recognize that the Iranian diaspora is not monolithic. Many Iranians abroad oppose both the Islamic Republic and the idea of reinstating a monarchy. Others have no desire to engage in the politics of “regime change” at all, focusing instead on cultural continuity, humanitarian concerns, or academic and artistic pursuits. Neo-monarchists, however, often position themselves as the “true” voice of Iranian expatriates, creating an illusion that the entire diaspora is united behind a royalist revival.

The politicization of nostalgia raises pressing questions about transnational alliances and the potential consequences of external intervention in Iran. For diaspora communities, the risk lies in allowing mythic visions of past grandeur to overshadow a critical reckoning with history—thereby overlooking opportunities for democratic and grassroots-centered change. As genealogical history reminds us, the route from the past to the future is neither predetermined nor linear. It is shaped by the stories we tell and the silences we maintain. Understanding how neo-monarchist nostalgia functions—and who benefits from its circulation—helps us see more clearly the stakes involved when diaspora politics merges with global power struggles.

Nostalgia, especially in contexts of exile and diaspora, is never “just” nostalgia. It is a powerful political and cultural force that can both console and mobilize, unifying some while marginalizing others. For the Iranian neo-monarchist movement—and its evolving alliances in places like Los Angeles and Washington, D.C.—nostalgia serves as a scaffold for a reactionary vision that seeks to reinstate a monarchical order many have only imagined or idealized. This genealogical exploration underscores that far from a harmless indulgence in collective memory, nostalgia can become a critical vector for shaping identities, forging alliances, and steering the future of both diaspora communities and the homeland they claim to represent.

In the end, we must ask: who is served by this idealized Pahlavi restoration? Who is left out of that narrative? And what are the broader, real-world implications of anchoring a community’s political energies to a romanticized past that never fully existed? As we trace the winding paths from imperial memory to contemporary neo-monarchism, we discover that nostalgia is not merely about looking backward—it is also about defining, quite forcefully, the shape of things to come.

Nostalgia, Diaspora, & Iranian Neo-Monarchists: A Genealogical Exploration of Longing and Politics