Since his father’s passing, the name Reza Pahlavi has hovered over the Iranian opposition diaspora like a dark cloud. The exiled heir of the widely resented Pahlavi dynasty remains a living reminder of why Iranians rose up against his father’s rule. Yet, never one to pass up a chance at reclaiming the Peacock Throne, Pahlavi regularly launches initiatives that debut with fanfare and publicity—only to fade into bleak irrelevance.

The latest example is the “100 Cities – One Voice” project, unveiled at the Munich Security Conference on February 16 with Pahlavi in attendance. The plan promised synchronized demonstrations worldwide, rallying Iranians under his banner. Its first action, slated for April 19, was to span 19 cities. In practice, only 14 events materialized; the largest, in Frankfurt, reportedly drew roughly 20 people. Other “gatherings” were so small that a single person at a table with flags could be counted as an “action in support of Reza Pahlavi.” Project-affiliated websites and social accounts avoided attendance figures and offered no verifiable photos or video, even as they claimed participation in as many as 45 cities.

The pattern is familiar. Across three decades, Pahlavi’s orbit has produced councils, foundations, and campaigns whose names outstrip their staying power: the Council of Iranian Solidarity (1990s), the Foundation for the Children of Iran (1991), the Iran National Council (2013), Ofogh Iran International (2014), the Phoenix Project of Iran (2019), the New Covenant (2020), and more recent inventions such as the Alliance for Democracy and Freedom in Iran, the Iran Prosperity Project, the National Cooperation Convention, the National Collaboration Campaign, the Emergency Phase booklet “We Will Take Back Iran,” and the Small Combatant Groups (Imperial/Immortal Guards).

The through line is failure beyond launch. Ideological splits, Pahlavi’s imperious style, leadership rivalries, and the absence of durable grassroots engagement have splintered these efforts. Grandiose in name but thin in structure, they underscore how exile-centered projects under Pahlavi have struggled to cohere into a credible alternative.

Three weaknesses lie at the heart of this record. Exiled since 1979, Pahlavi has no sustained presence in the country. While ordinary Iranians face repression and want, he has lived in comfort—an opulence inseparable, for many, from the wealth amassed under his father. His initiatives rarely penetrate Iran’s streets or activist networks. The clerical regime remains entrenched, and Pahlavi’s brand—whether as “Crown Prince” or as a self-styled “citizen leader”—does little to bridge the chasm between nostalgic monarchism abroad and present realities at home.

The proliferation of councils and campaigns dissipates energy rather than concentrating it. Each new launch promises a fresh start, but without institutional memory or operational depth, it quickly stalls. When every few months a new “movement” appears and then collapses under its own organizational lightness, the opposition’s coherence erodes. The monarchical label may appeal to segments of the diaspora, but it resonates little inside Iran. A younger generation that braved bullets during the 2022–23 nationwide uprising does not pine for dynasties. It demands liberty, democracy, and secular governance. Pahlavi’s fixation on his father’s autocratic legacy reads as an anachronism—out of step with the aspirations of those risking their lives.

This is not an isolated episode but a pattern of false starts. From the short-lived, Washington-based Georgetown Coalition in 2022 to the endless carousel of councils and campaigns, Pahlaviism has too often substituted press conferences for power-building. Sympathetic advisers urge organizational reform and meaningful engagement within Iran, but those pleas go largely unheeded. Instead, statements to exile media and made-for-camera gatherings create the appearance of motion while delivering little. The stagecraft speaks to ever-diminishing audiences abroad, not to the streets of Tehran, Shiraz, and Mashhad.

In Paris on June 23, Pahlavi announced he was in “direct communication” with officers of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) and that he aimed to establish “a formal channel for military, security and police personnel to reach out” to him. He claimed these “brave men” were contacting him, eager to join a “national salvation.” This was more than a rhetorical flourish; it signaled a dramatic turn for a man who still styles himself as heir to the monarchy yet appears ready to court the very enforcers of the clerical state. Equally troubling are reports that his inner circle includes Parviz Sabeti, a longtime deputy in the Shah’s notorious secret police, SAVAK. To woo the IRGC—an institution designed to preserve the Islamic Republic—and to revive ties to the SAVAK era is to raise alarms across the diaspora and in Western capitals alike.

The path to freedom in Iran will not be paved by alliances with the security organs of dictatorship, whether clothed in green uniform or wrapped in a royal sash. It must come from the Iranian people themselves—the women and men who shouted, “Death to the oppressor, whether the Shah or the Leader.” Not from exiles bargaining with their oppressors’ cohorts. Anything less betrays the sacrifices already made. Iranians have rendered their verdict: they reject both the mullahs’ tyranny and the return of the crown. Between the turban and the throne, they choose neither. They choose freedom.

Reza Pahlavi remains ensnared in nostalgia—forever promising unity while presiding over fragmentation. His vanity projects, trumpeted as global awakenings or political breakthroughs, reliably end as footnotes in the annals of exile politics. “100 Cities – One Voice” is simply the newest entry on a long list of empty initiatives. If the international community is serious about a democratic future for Iran, it should engage forces with the capacity to deliver it—not symbolic heirs of a bygone monarchy. In a free Iran, there is no room for a naked emperor.