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Nowruz overshadowed by war as Iran marks Persian New Year
For the first time in decades, Iranians are celebrating Nowruz amid airstrikes and economic turmoil, casting a shadow over the ancient festival that symbolizes renewal and hope.
The festival of rebirth
Nowruz, meaning "new day," marks the spring equinox and the start of the Persian New Year. Dating back over 3,000 years, it is one of the world's oldest celebrations, observed by diverse cultures across Iran, Central Asia, and beyond. This year, the holiday begins on March 20, with festivities traditionally lasting two weeks.
The festival is deeply tied to Persian identity, with customs like deep-cleaning homes to sweep away misfortune and setting the Haft Sin table-a display of seven symbolic items representing prosperity and health.
A nation at war
Since February 28, Iran has been targeted by U.S. and Israeli airstrikes, disrupting daily life and forcing families to adapt their celebrations. According to the U.S.-based Human Rights Activists in Iran, at least 3,114 people have died, including 1,354 civilians, among them 207 children. Tehran has retaliated with strikes on Israel and Gulf states allied with the U.S.
Mina, a woman in her 50s from Damavand, northeast of Tehran, described the stark contrast to previous years. "We'd be cleaning, shopping for new clothes, and preparing sweets," she said. "This year, every day feels endless. I've lost track of time."
"I don't know if the holiday announcement on TV will be drowned out by missiles and drones. I hope not."
Mina, Damavand resident
Traditions persist amid fear
Despite the conflict, some Iranians are determined to uphold Nowruz traditions. Maryam, a Tehran resident, noted that while markets were quieter than usual, people were still buying items for the Haft Sin table. "This is a tradition that happens once a year. We must celebrate it," she said.
Others, like Parmis, a woman in her 20s, ventured out for pre-Nowruz preparations but faced constant anxiety. "Salons were still busy, but when an explosion went off, no one even flinched," she recounted. "It's like we've grown numb."
Many families have fled cities like Tehran, which has borne the brunt of attacks. Mina's son, Amir, relocated to Damavand with his family. "People are losing jobs, and the country's infrastructure is crumbling," he said. "At this rate, there might not be much left of Iran."
Defiance and despair
While some cling to tradition, others reject Nowruz outright, seeing the war as an opportunity to challenge the government. Ramtin, a man in his 30s from Tehran, dismissed the festival as irrelevant. "What's the point? If the Islamic Republic stays in power, we'll keep suffering. This time, the regime must go."
Kian, another Tehran resident, echoed the sentiment. "My mother says she'd rather the house collapse on her if it meant the clerics would fall. We don't care about Nowruz or the Haft Sin table."
Shirin, a woman in her 20s, captured the mood of many: "The war coinciding with Nowruz makes everything worse. The usual excitement is gone. You can't even smell Nowruz in the air."
Echoes of past conflicts
The last time Iran celebrated Nowruz during wartime was in the 1980s, during the eight-year conflict with Iraq. This year's festivities, however, unfold against a backdrop of regional tensions and economic strain, leaving many to question what the future holds.
As Iranians navigate this uncertain Nowruz, the festival's themes of renewal and hope feel more poignant-and fragile-than ever.
