From the Red Carpet to the Blacklist: What Does the Islamic Republic Do to Iranians Abroad?

A year ago, when the Islamic Republic was speaking of “support for Iranians abroad”, I asked in an article in Kayhan London: Is this support, or a prelude to greater surveillance and control? In that same piece, I warned about the creation of a database of Iranians abroad and wrote that such a mechanism, if established without independent oversight and guarantees of privacy, could become a tool for identifying, controlling and threatening opponents. A few months later, in the article “When Love of the Homeland Becomes a Political Tool”, I also warned about the government’s invitation to Iranians to return, and the absence of clear security and judicial guarantees.

At that time, there was no system called “Elaaj”. So it would not be right to say that I had predicted this system itself. But the path we see today continues the same concern: a shift from gathering information and inviting people to trust the authorities towards identifying, categorising, threatening and punishing a large section of Iranians abroad.

Two questions now arise: why does the Islamic Republic invite Iranians abroad to return, invest and cooperate, while at the same time subjecting some members of this very community to the confiscation of their property, surveillance and threats? And is the aim of “Elaaj” merely to identify opponents, or are spreading fear, forcing them into silence and undermining trust among them also part of the picture?

The “Law on the Support of Iranians Abroad” was passed using language such as attracting elites, making use of specialists’ abilities and facilitating travel. Yet even in that law, the security-focused outlook was not concealed. Alongside representatives of the Foreign Ministry and the FARAJA, representatives of the Ministry of Intelligence, the IRGC Intelligence Organisation and the judiciary also sit on the committee reviewing the travel status of Iranians abroad.

This point alone raises a simple question: why should an Iranian citizen’s travel be so closely tied to the security agencies, and made so problematic?

This was the concern I raised a year ago. Today, however, the issue has gone beyond travel checks and databases.

This spring, Tehran’s prosecutor announced that the property of a number of prominent figures abroad had been identified and confiscated, and their bank accounts frozen. Orders were also issued to confiscate the property of 63 managers and employees of Iran International. Shortly afterwards, Gholamhossein Mohseni Ejei, head of the judiciary, said on the one hand that the “homeland’s embrace” was open to those who had repented, while on the other insisting that the “red carpet” would not be rolled out for everyone. Speaking of those the government considers to be on the enemy’s side, he referred to the confiscation and seizure of their property.

Perhaps this sentence sums up the Islamic Republic’s policy towards Iranians abroad: the door is open, but not to everyone. A red carpet for one group, and a blacklist for another.

Now “Elaaj” has entered the scene: a system described in official reports as being for “identifying and punishing traitors living abroad”. Its stated aims include “intelligent and continuous monitoring”, financial and media restrictions, and even the “stripping of citizens’ privileges”; the public has also been asked to report information about the people concerned.

Here, a legal distinction must be observed. It is not yet clear what independent authority “Elaaj” itself has to confiscate property or strip people of their rights. What has officially been presented is a monitoring and intelligence system. Information-gathering should therefore not be confused with the issuing of a court judgment.

But the impact of such a system is not limited to its official powers.

It is not necessary to arrest everyone in a community of several million in order to silence it. It is enough to make speaking costly. They are seeking to create anxiety and fear in the community abroad, and to foster a sense of mutual distrust.

An Iranian abroad might ask themselves, before publishing an article, attending a demonstration or engaging in human rights work: Will my name be recorded? Could my property or assets in Iran be put at risk? Could my family come under pressure? This very uncertainty can lead someone to retreat or self-censor.

The threat here is not directed only at the individual whose name appears in a case file. Its message reaches others too: be active, but know that it may come at a cost.

When we speak of the “Islamic Republic’s fear of Iranians abroad”, we do not mean a psychological fear of every individual migrant. The issue is concern about their actions and influence.

An Iranian abroad can bring news and evidence to the attention of international media, organise campaigns for prisoners and people sentenced to death, connect with human rights organisations, engage members of parliament and challenge the government’s official narrative. What matters to the security apparatus is not simply opposition, but an opponent capable of having an impact.

From this perspective, the government’s contradictory behaviour becomes easier to understand. A specialist or investor may be welcome, provided they do not enter into political confrontation. An artist or athlete may be welcomed, so long as they do not mobilise their audience against the government. But that same person, once they become an influential activist, can shift from being a “national asset” to a “security problem”.

So perhaps the Islamic Republic’s policy can be summed up in one sentence:

Attracting those who could be an opportunity, and raising the cost for those who could have an impact against the regime.

From this perspective, the Protection Law, invitations to return, security checks, seizure of assets and now “Elaaj” are not scattered, unrelated decisions. They are links in a chain: at one end are invitations and encouragement, and at the other, surveillance, threats and deterrence.

A year ago, the warning about a database of Iranians abroad was still only a possibility. Today, with the launch of a system to identify individuals and receive reports about them, alongside the expansion of financial and judicial threats, that concern has taken more tangible form.

Even so, one question remains:

If Iranians abroad are so ineffectual that the Islamic Republic’s propaganda apparatus sometimes portrays them as scattered, unimportant and lacking a base, why are so many tools, laws, cases and systems needed to identify, monitor, threaten and contain them? But it seems to me one thing is quite clear: the diaspora’s struggle abroad has had a real impact on global society and the international community.

Perhaps the answer should be sought not in official slogans, but in this very scale of effort to silence voices.

The red carpet is still laid out; but beside it, the blacklist grows longer by the day.