by Sergey Adamov
[REGNUM] "At first it was really scary, even to go outside. Then you get used to it, and it becomes somehow unimportant. One evening, we went to an observation deck with a beautiful view of Tehran. We watched as mushroom clouds of explosions appeared here and there." For Hassan, a resident of the Iranian capital, like many of his friends and neighbors, the war has become a routine threat.
For over a week, the US and Israel have been striking dozens of Iranian cities. The Islamic Republic is counterattacking American bases and allied countries. The humanitarian aspect of the war is being lost in the military and political upheavals.
The information space is oversaturated with fake news from both sides. It's extremely difficult to imagine the situation "from within" Iran. Since the beginning of the conflict, the Islamic Republic's authorities have shut down the internet. It's common to see a message on a friend's messenger account saying, "Was online at 10:14 AM on February 28."
But people are finding ways to stay in touch. Regnum News Agency managed to speak with residents of Tehran, Isfahan, and Yazd.
To avoid putting our interlocutors at risk, we will not disclose their real names.
KESMAT AND RESPONSIVENESS
"If you find the videos circulating online scary, you can multiply your feelings a hundredfold. But when you can't do anything about it, you just get used to it," says Hassan.
He said his first reaction to the attacks was fear of the unknown. Unlike Israel, where citizen warning systems took decades to develop, in Iran people often know nothing about an approaching threat.
Mosque attendants on duty at the minarets are responsible for issuing missile alerts. If an explosion erupts somewhere on the horizon, they alert people through the speakers used for the adhan—the call to prayer. Someone sounds a siren, someone else shouts, "The city is under attack! People, take cover!" But no one knows when or where the attack will occur, so death always comes unexpectedly.
At first, people tried to stay away from government buildings, police stations, and military bases, Hassan notes. But now our interviewee and those he speaks with agree: the American-Israeli attacks seem to be happening without a pattern.
Any building could be hit, so trying to build a safe route is essentially pointless.
But there were no cases of panic in Tehran. Our interlocutors believe that people view the current situation with a certain fatalism—"what will be, will be." There's an Arabic word, "kesmat," meaning fate, destiny, or destiny; this concept has entered the languages of other Muslim countries. It's precisely this "kesmat" that now prevails in Tehran, Hassan believes.
Many people (the press doesn't report how many, but conversations mention "tens, if not hundreds of thousands") left the big cities and went to villages; some were even able to leave the country through the border with Turkey or Iraq.
But millions of people remain in the megacities with nowhere to go. Rents in the provinces have risen sharply, forcing residents of Tehran and other major cities to return home.
Some people go to work out of habit, others leave their family-run shops and stores open simply to avoid being looted or because they have nowhere else to go.
They tell a remarkable story: after the building was hit, officials, with typical Iranian composure, retrieved their desks from the rubble, set them up around the building, and continued working. Fatalism is at work here, too.
"Sometimes, watching another news report on TV, you want to blink and wait for it to disappear," says Goli, a resident of Isfahan. But "it" doesn't disappear, and people adapt.
City buses—both in Tehran and Isfahan—continue to operate. However, the heroes, not those who simply work as if nothing has happened, are considered to be the professionals (Red Crescent doctors, rescuers) and volunteers who respond to emergencies.
"These are probably the bravest guys I know. There have already been cases where a building is bombed, it collapses, rescuers arrive—and then a second strike occurs. But they still work, and they are joined by volunteers, for example, student teams who help clear the rubble and rescue people. There are probably teams like that in every city by now," said Iranian Parsa.
When communication is disrupted—and this is becoming increasingly common—volunteers, primarily on mopeds, travel around the city and, at people's request, find out whether their friend or relative is alive.
FASTING DURING WAR
Cities come to life more or less as night falls. And the reasons aren't just the war and bombings. Muslims around the world continue to observe the month of Ramadan, and Iranians are no exception.
Although Islamic law allows for the practice of not fasting in certain crisis situations, many Iranians still try to observe the prescribed rules. People rise shortly before dawn to eat for the day, and after sunset, they gather for the evening meal—iftar.
"This was a big event before, when tables were set up in the courtyard or on the street and anyone could join in. But now it's especially important because some people may be struggling with food or money. It's crucial to feel like we're all facing this together and supporting each other," says Parsa.
At markets, fruit and vegetable vendors hang signs reading, "In honor of the war, I'm ready to give this away for free to those who need it," and "Take it now—we'll settle accounts after the war." However, there are sometimes temporary shortages of bread due to the lack of a supply chain.
Bakers, like millions of other Iranians, wake up in the morning to light the oven. If flour is scarce, it may appear later, meaning bread needs to be baked. As Parsa explained, "Buying bread is a symbol that life still goes on, and the lines at the bakery continue to form, just as before."
"ROAMING POLICE" AND VILLAGE SELF-DEFENSE
At the same time, no one knows exactly how much certain goods, especially imported ones, might cost.
By March, the exchange rate of the rial, the Iranian currency, had fallen to astronomical levels: more than 1.5 million rials per dollar.
Although paying with foreign currencies is strictly prohibited, the country has long had a black market. Here, you can buy things unavailable in stores, and only for dollars or, say, UAE dirhams.
In Tehran and other major cities, authorities have restricted fuel sales to individuals. Even more noticeable are the reductions in water supplies to homes and shortages of some medications in pharmacies.
However, there is no threat of famine or shortages of essential medications. Markets and stores still have food and essential goods.
But there's no "iron order" on the streets either. Since the attacks began, groups of looters have appeared, rushing to be the first to get into destroyed buildings to steal anything valuable. The city's usual criminal underworld has also become more active.
It's now common to see not only permanent but also "roving" police posts in cities. Law enforcement officers block roads and check cars.
In villages, local residents themselves create something like public patrols, check strangers and inspect cars.
Some are on the lookout for potential spies and saboteurs, while others fear looters and robbers. Similar squads are organized in city neighborhoods, maintaining vigil day and night.
WAITING FOR NOWRUZ
Almost all of our interviewees note that the most frightening and difficult thing about the current situation is the uncertainty, which isn't always manageable with fatalism. No one knows what needs to happen for life, if not to return to normal, then at least to become more predictable.
While Iranians who disagreed with the government's course initially believed that life would improve after the war, after a week of fighting, their hopes turned to disappointment.
Following the assassination of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, his son Mojtaba was elected to replace him. By order of the authorities, posters honoring the new Supreme Leader are being hung on the streets and oaths of allegiance are being held.
At the same time, according to our interviewees, those of their acquaintances who had some hopes for help "abroad" were even more disappointed. It turns out that government propaganda wasn't lying when it claimed the US and Israel wished ill upon every Iranian personally.
On the other hand, many Iranians who were previously loyal to the authorities are expressing their disappointment.
"Far worse than the enemies who are somewhere far away are the people who are now dividing up power, divvying up the last resources among themselves. They've forgotten our problems, " says Goli. " If it weren't for the volunteers, the doctors, the blood donors, things would be much worse. We've been called upon to be resilient for years, and we have proven ourselves resilient. But the good we've learned in these days has happened despite, not because of, those who were supposed to protect us."
“If it weren’t for the doctors, it would have been much worse…”
No one is thinking about what Donald Trump just said about which American bases were damaged by retaliatory strikes—people don't know how they'll pay rent next month, with major businesses closed and no one getting paid. The country's economy, already in crisis, has suffered serious damage.
However, Iranians say, in the periods between the blows, one still wants to believe in something good. That spring will come, and after it, Nowruz, the New Year celebration according to the astronomical solar calendar. The holiday's name literally translates as "new day."
People would like to believe that some lessons will be learned from what happened, even if the war lasts another day, week, or year.
In conclusion, here are some official figures.
Iranian Deputy Health Minister Ali Jafarian reported that 1,255 people have been killed in the US-Israeli attacks across the country, including at least 200 children and 11 medical workers. According to the Iranian Red Crescent, 13,700 civilian structures were damaged, including more than 11,000 homes and 65 schools.