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Life in Tehran amid relentless fear
Residents of Iran's capital describe a city gripped by constant dread-of airstrikes, state surveillance, and an uncertain future. Interviews and footage obtained by the BBC reveal a population trapped between external threats and internal repression.
The sound of war
For Baran, a businesswoman in her thirties, the nights in Tehran are marked by an eerie quiet-punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic. But the silence is deceptive. The first warning often comes from dogs barking at the sound of approaching aircraft, followed by explosions and the glow of airstrikes in familiar neighborhoods.
"With the start of the drone attacks, no one dares to go outside," she says. "If I open my door and step out, it is like gambling with my life." Baran, who lives alone, stays in constant contact with friends, messaging them even in moments of silence. "The silence itself is terrifying," she adds. "I am doing everything I can to stay alive and witness whatever lies ahead."
A city of shattered hopes
Baran's fear is compounded by the trauma of recent months. In January, regime forces cracked down on widespread protests, killing thousands. "I cannot even remember how I used to live in the past without being reminded of the loved one I lost during the protests," she says. "I fear tomorrow. I fear the person I will be tomorrow. Today, I survive somehow, but how will I get through tomorrow? That is the real question."
For many young Iranians, the hope for change has been extinguished. The state's repression is total, with dissent impossible under the watchful eyes of security forces. Footage obtained by the BBC shows pro-regime supporters driving through the city at night, flags flying-a warning to would-be protesters.
The regime's narrative
State television broadcasts a carefully controlled message: footage of pro-regime demonstrations and funerals, interviews with officials and supporters denouncing America and Israel. The government portrays Iranians as willing to embrace martyrdom. Independent journalists, however, risk arrest, torture, or worse to document an alternative reality.
"In wartime conditions, you really don't know what they are capable of doing,"
an anonymous journalist
A city under siege
Ali, a middle-class man in his forties, had hoped the death of Ayatollah Khamenei at the start of the war would bring change. Instead, he describes a city transformed into a "city of the dead," with armed security forces patrolling the streets. "It is painful when I go into the streets," he says. "The city looks like it has been taken over by people who support the government." Ali relies on anti-depressants to "keep myself normal."
Many Iranians share conflicting emotions: they want the regime gone but feel their country is under attack. "The skies of your country are controlled by enemy forces," Ali says. "But there is always a hope in people's hearts. It's not that we are supporting America or Israel. We just hope for one moment that something might happen to end the current Iranian regime, and that the people will be able to create change."
Living under rockets
Baran spends her nights listening for explosions and messaging friends in other neighborhoods. "Do you know what the difference is between our sky and the sky of the rest of the world?" she asks. "They sleep under the stars at night, and we sleep under rockets. Both skies give light, but different kinds of light."
She believes the war will drag on for years, leaving lasting psychological scars. "This war will not end soon, because this war is inside our homes, inside the families... The war has entered our blood and has entered our lives."
No escape from dread
The people of Tehran, a city with a 6,000-year history, live in unrelenting fear-of bombs, of the regime, and of what the future holds. There is no sign of escape from the daily dread that defines their existence.
