Since strikes began on 28 February, residents of Tehran and other cities say daily life has been upended by near-constant bombardment. “The number of explosions, the destruction, what is happening — it’s unbelievable,” says Salar (name changed), describing the atmosphere in the capital. US and Israeli forces have struck military and political sites across Iran; officials acknowledge some unintended areas have been hit. Iranian authorities reported more than 160 people, including children, killed when a girls’ school in Minab was struck; the White House says it is investigating and that US forces do not target civilians.
Tehran feels emptied and tense. “Each day has felt like a month,” Salar says. Recent strikes shook his entire home; he left windows open to prevent glass from shattering. Many shops have closed, some ATMs are offline, and long queues for petrol and bread are common. Supermarkets and bakeries remain open, but prices for staples such as eggs and potatoes have surged. People leave their homes only for urgent needs.
Security has been tightened across the city. Checkpoints and an increased police presence are widespread. A 25-year-old student in Tehran says authorities seem fearful and on edge. Salar says security forces have sent SMS alerts warning that anyone who protests could be harshly treated and labelled an “Israeli collaborator,” a message he interpreted as implying possible use of force.
The strikes have not been confined to Tehran. Zanjan, about 275km north-east of the capital, was heavily struck in the opening days, Kaveh (name changed) says. Fighter jets have been a constant presence there and smoke from strikes has darkened the sky in scenes he describes as “simultaneously beautiful and horrifying.” Internet disruptions have made it harder to keep in touch with family — Kaveh lost his connection for two days — and many people are relying on VPNs to bypass restrictions, though access remains intermittent.
Some residents are trying to leave the capital. Salar sent his parents north but was unsure which cities are safe; his mother was “very frightened,” and he says these attacks have felt worse to her than the Iran-Iraq war of the 1980s. Others cannot relocate because of illness, lack of resources or other barriers.
The security environment also complicates reporting. International news organizations often struggle to obtain visas, and internet blackouts limit independent information. That scarcity affects how Iranians hear about and respond to events, including the reported killing of the supreme leader, which produced a mix of reactions. Some people celebrated in the streets, others attended state-led mourning. Kaveh says news of the leader’s death initially felt unreal: instead of elation he felt anger, shaped by years of suffering and loss.
Amid fear and grief, some still cling to hope. Salar warns those abroad — particularly monarchists who support US and Israeli actions — that outsiders cannot fully grasp what Iranians are enduring. “I hope they never have to,” he says. Kaveh believes the conflict “won’t end as quickly as we thought,” but adds that he grows more hopeful each day, believing this operation might prevent something worse and preserve at least a chance for a future and for life.
Additional reporting by Alex Boyd, Ghoncheh Habibiazad, Caroline Hawley and Tom McArthur.