Between an ongoing internet blackout and the constant strain of war, Mariam sends messages in short bursts from her apartment in Tehran. Like other Iranians, she has been living under war conditions since the U.S.–Israeli strikes began.
Iranian authorities have imposed a near-total nationwide internet shutdown, declaring the move a national security measure. To get online, people like Mariam pay exorbitant prices for black-market VPNs or rely on Starlink, often managing just a few minutes of unstable connectivity each day.
More reliable access is often limited to those with so-called white SIM cards, typically issued to government officials, journalists affiliated with the state, or those with personal connections, highlighting an unequal distribution of connectivity. This digital isolation has compounded fear and uncertainty, making it harder for civilians to check on family, access information on alerts, or share what is happening beyond the regime’s controlled narrative.
“The pressure on us is so much that we can’t think about anything,” Mariam wrote in a WhatsApp message in late March. “We are all exhausted.”
That exhaustion follows months of back-to-back escalations. Since the start of the year, Iran has seen a deadly crackdown, where security forces killed thousands of protesters, followed by U.S.–Israeli strikes that killed numerous top officials. The Iranian government responded with retaliatory strikes across the region, sparking a wider conflict that has left thousands of civilians dead, and only recently eased under a fragile truce.
A week after the start of the ceasefire between Iran and the United States, that feeling Mariam described has still not lifted. Reports of armed checkpoints, executions, and new arrests in Iran have added to the unease. For many Iranians, the pause in fighting has brought a fleeting measure of relief — one without much clarity, with many anxiously awaiting what comes next.
“Honestly, the events that have happened before and the actions of the regime against the people made all of us hope for foreign support,” says Mariam, an artist whose name has been changed due to security concerns.
At the time, the idea of foreign intervention, often framed in the language of human rights or liberation, felt to some like a last resort, as internal change seemed impossible under a government that left little room for organized opposition. Mariam described feeling trapped during this period, with little faith that change could come from within.
“They (the Iranian government) have done nothing for us,” she says. “They treat us like prisoners.”
But as the war began and then unfolded, Iranians’ views have not evolved in a single direction.
“In my view, any kind of foreign intervention in any country, even under a ‘humanitarian’ label, is not acceptable,” says Arshia, an Iranian in Tehran who spoke on condition of anonymity. “I don’t think it’s right.”
He believes that the people of Iran should have the right to decide their own fate, a position he has always held. Arshia reflects on how others in Iran have shifted their attitudes on the war in recent months.
“At first, there were people openly supporting it, chanting things like ‘Trump act,’ ‘Thank you, Trump,’” he says, referring to early calls for U.S. intervention. Videos from inside Iran captured that raw hope, with many even celebrating after Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei was killed in an airstrike at the start of the war, while regime supporters mourned his death.
Others described a more complicated response, marked by a sense of nationalism without clear support for the state. “I couldn’t say I was happy when I heard the news, but I also couldn’t say I was sad. I was worried, because something had been set in motion, something dangerous,” Arshia says.
Over time, as U.S.–Israeli strikes began hitting more of domestic infrastructure – including residential neighborhoods, industrial sites, and hospitals – the initial enthusiasm among those who supported the war began to fade. One of the conflict’s deadliest incidents was at an elementary school in Minab, where more than 170 people, many of them children, were killed. Further straining civilian life, strikes on oil and gas infrastructure have released toxic smoke and pollutants, raising concerns about long-term health and environmental impacts.
The situation is complicated by Iran’s intertwined dual-use industries, where many sectors are tied to the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), a powerful military force that has, over decades, increased its dominance across large parts of the economy that are essential to everyday life. Many of the attacks described as targeting the IRGC have also had civilian implications, illustrating how blurred the line between military targets and civilian infrastructure has become, contributing to job losses, supply shortages, and economic strain.
As strikes broadened in scope, the aims of the war grew less clear to Iranians, leaving many inside the country uncertain about the end goal.
“So much has been destroyed. We have been set back decades,” Arshia says.
For many Iranians, what has become clear is the economic toll of the war, particularly as it has unfolded against the backdrop of years of pressure from sanctions.
“Economically, for ordinary people in Iran, money is the primary concern,” says Arshia. “Inflation is extreme. Prices are skyrocketing. Many haven’t worked for months.”
He pauses, then adds: “Every conversation comes back to money. The real problem of the Iranian people is economic.”
Kamran, who continues to support the U.S. military campaign, describes a different perspective, one in which reactions to the war remain fluid.
“With the threats from the United States and Trump himself, along with the political maneuvering that the regime is doing on state television, people are being pushed in a direction where they feel that injustice is being done to them, and the war is no longer between leaders,” he writes over text.
Mariam echoed these sentiments, noting the turning point came as President Trump escalated threats, warning the country could be brought “back to the Stone Ages” and that “a whole civilization will die” if Tehran did not comply.
“Many people feel worried and anxious, and there is a noticeable sense of fear in society,” she wrote in early April in a message.
Her concerns are practical, largely concerning electricity, water, and health care.
“In the past, some people may have seen external support as a potential opportunity for positive change,” she says. “However, when such support is accompanied by threats, particularly those targeting infrastructure, the perception shifts significantly.”
Those fears have also deepened a broader sense of being caught between forces that feel equally indifferent to the lives of Iranian civilians. Amir, a businessman from Tehran who temporarily relocated to the north of Iran because of the war, says, “It is a dilemma, people are caught between resentment toward their government and fear of destruction caused by war.”
He also describes the unevenness of these experiences across the country. “There are 90 million people with 90 million narratives. One can’t overgeneralize one’s observations.” As a result, reactions to the war and the ceasefire vary widely depending on where one stands, both geographically and economically.
For those with the financial means, connections, or familial networks outside major cities like Tehran, moving away from heavily targeted areas is possible, where daily life remains less impacted by war. For many others, it is not.
Borna, who lives in central Tehran and attends pro-government rallies, describes a different kind of shift – not necessarily in views on the war, but in how people relate to one another under pressure.
He points to subtle changes in everyday interactions. “People are fighting with each other less,” he says. “Even in traffic, people are more patient and kinder.”
Amir points to a similar observation of what he referred to as “social resilience” that has strengthened since the war began. “One thing that has been remarkable is the solidarity among ordinary people,” he says. “People open their homes, share resources, and support strangers. After every explosion people often call each other to check that everyone is safe.”
Even so, that sense of solidarity has not resolved doubts about the next phase of the conflict. “People I’ve spoken to are against it (the ceasefire),” Borna says. “Not because they want the war to continue, but because they think if it (the war) stops now, it will just start again in six months.”
“We have to wait and see what happens next,” he adds, saying he believes the Islamic Republic will ultimately prevail.
Others, like Amir, do not see the government as representative of their views. “Most Iranians distinguish clearly between their government and their country,” he says, underscoring a wider sense of disillusionment with the state. “The future many hope for is an Iran that is both free and sovereign, shaped by its own people rather than by external pressure or internal repression.”
Some, like Kamran, continue to remain hopeful. “People are definitely still optimistic, because they think that this might truly be the last time that positive changes could happen for the country, and despite all the threats against the country, that optimism still exists.”
For Mariam, however, there is no clear path forward that does not carry risk. The ceasefire may have paused the fighting, but it has not resolved the overwhelming uncertainty about what comes next, or who, if anyone, will shape that future.
“Rather than seeing it (the war) as purely beneficial, many now view it as something that comes with serious risks and uncertainties,” she says.
That uncertainty builds on something Mariam has felt since she was a child — that the life she wants has always been out of reach.
“My dream in life is freedom of expression.”
For now, that dream feels distant — caught between a government that she explains has lost all legitimacy among its people, and external forces she doubts can help facilitate the future that many Iranians had desperately hoped for or protect ordinary people.
After so much loss, and with an already fragile economy further weakened, the ceasefire hasn’t eased her fears that the same regime will remain in place, perhaps more emboldened than before.
