When Hamid learned a week ago that Iran’s Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei had died, a surge of euphoria swept through him. He took his wife and daughter into the street outside their Tehran home to celebrate. In the days that followed, as US and Israeli strikes hit targets across the capital, the family went up onto the roof to watch the bombardment, cheering whenever they believed regime targets had been struck.
“Try to find anywhere else on this earth where the population would be happy with an external attack on their country,” he told a BBC contact via a cousin in the UK. “But we now have hope that the regime will soon be gone. We are happy.”
Hamid is not alone. Alongside colleagues from BBC Persian, reporters have heard from people both inside Iran and in exile about a momentous and traumatic week for the country and the wider region. BBC Persian — used by millions inside Iran despite state jamming and blocks — has collected voices that show a nation deeply divided in feeling and uncertain about what comes next.
In a police state under bombardment, with severe internet restrictions, it is impossible to gauge precisely how the 90 million people of Iran feel. Residents in Tehran have received warnings: “If your connection to the internet continues in the coming days, your line will be blocked and you will be referred to judicial authorities.” Fear of reprisal means few who oppose the regime will give their names.
A week on, some people continue to celebrate strikes on regime targets, while others grow frightened and question the endgame. “The goal of this war isn’t to bring about freedom or democracy for the Iranian people,” one man, Ali, told the BBC. “It’s for the geopolitical benefit of Israel, the US and Arab countries in the region.”
Mohammad, in his 30s and living in Tehran, said he had hoped for a US-Iran deal that might have avoided war. He had expected to feel relief at Khamenei’s death but instead “felt nothing.” With checkpoints on the streets and bombardments from the sky, he now feels uncertainty and fear.
Many describe mixed emotions: fear, stress and a fragile hope. “You would have to live in Iran for 40 years to understand the complexity of what we are feeling,” one woman said. “We laugh and are happy when the regime is hit, but when children die and our infrastructure is destroyed, we worry about the future of our country.”
There are no reliable opinion polls inside Iran, but many appear to despise a regime they blame for longstanding suffering. It still has die-hard supporters, but its opponents are split between those cheering the US and Israeli strikes and those who are deeply suspicious of foreign motives.
“Trump’s government – from top to bottom – they’re all lying. They had no reason to attack Iran. Other than Israel wanted them to,” Saeed told the BBC. Apart from official state voices, the BBC has heard far fewer from regime supporters, and not yet from some of the people who have suffered most, such as the parents of children killed on 28 February in a strike on an elementary school in Minab — the deadliest known attack so far.
Several Iranians said that after 47 years of the Islamic Republic they are so desperate for change that this war represents their only hope of freedom. Hamid’s cousin in the UK, one of millions in exile, summed up conflicted feelings in a message: “I hate wars, I don’t want a single innocent human being killed or harmed no matter which side they are on, but I’m jumping for joy at the news of the attacks this morning. I know, it’s contradictory and mad but it’s the truth. The thought that the dream of freedom from the murderous Ayatollahs might finally be turning into a reality is making me giddy with joy.”
As the week closed, the cousin said she could not reconnect with Hamid. “Please don’t judge me,” she added. “But I think the strikes must continue. They have to finish the job.” Hamid had told her the airstrikes were mostly well-targeted against the “bad” people.
Yet reporters are also receiving mounting reports of civilian casualties, including many children, in a country lacking widespread bomb shelters or warning sirens. According to the US-based Human Rights Activists News Agency (HRANA), more than 1,000 civilians have died so far, including nearly 200 children. HRANA was still trying to document thousands of protesters killed in the regime’s crackdown on a nationwide uprising in January when the war began.
Many Iranians remain traumatised by the regime’s past violence. Saman (not his real name), from Isfahan, knew six people who were gunned down during earlier protests; since the strikes began, two of his relatives have been killed by separate attacks in Tehran. He messaged BBC Persian at the end of the week describing Isfahan as “truly terrifying,” with body parts near one target. He said he was in shock and anger: “I never imagined in my worst dreams that we would become this war-stricken.”
BBC Persian reporters say some people’s feelings have shifted as the conflict has dragged on; they had not expected strikes to continue after Khamenei’s death. A young woman in her 20s in Tehran, who had been “over the moon” at initial reports targeting the supreme leader, told a reporter six days later: “I’m neither happy nor sad now — just tired.”
The week has revealed an Iran of fractured moods and hard choices: joy at the prospect of regime change, fear of foreign motives and escalating violence, grief for civilians caught in the crossfire, and lingering terror from the regime’s recent repression. With communications restricted, and fear of reprisals ever-present, many voices remain unheard — but the accounts gathered by BBC Persian paint a picture of a country in turmoil, where hope and horror sit uneasily side by side.
