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Everyday struggles on Tehran's streets
On a quiet spring afternoon in Tehran, Sanaei Ghaznavi Street appears deceptively ordinary-a mix of grocery stores, fast-food stalls, and flower vendors. Yet beneath the surface, residents grapple with deepening economic hardship and the lingering effects of war, internet shutdowns, and political instability.
A family business fighting to survive
Mohammad, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, opens the striped awning of his family's shoe shop with cautious optimism. The store, stacked floor-to-ceiling with sneakers bearing Western brands like New Balance and Clarks, has been in his family for 40 years. But today, customers are scarce.
"We had so many before," his father, Mustafa, says with a sigh. Both note that even counterfeit goods-all labeled "Made in China"-have become prohibitively expensive. When asked about the fragile ceasefire and ongoing U.S. negotiations, Mohammad surprises with a wry remark: "We hope the war starts again." His father, gray-haired and weary, nods. "Some believe chaos might force change."
Rising costs and digital blackouts
Outside, Shahla, an elderly woman in a pale headscarf, clutches a loaf of bread that now costs three times more than before. "People are going through hell just to afford bread," she says, gesturing toward the leafy street that divides Tehran's affluent north from its struggling south. Her message to negotiators is blunt: "Stop it. Enough."
A 45-year-old architect and teacher nearby laments the 50-day internet shutdown, which has severed access to basic tools like translation websites. Even Iran's communications minister, Sattar Hashemi, has called the ban a violation of "public rights," noting that 10 million people-mostly middle- and lower-income workers-depend on digital connectivity. While restrictions are slowly easing, security officials warn they will remain as long as "enemy threats" persist.
Contrasts and defiance
Tehran's contradictions are stark. In a bustling café, patrons sip iced coffee while women in headscarves share sidewalks with tattooed youths defying dress codes-a legacy of the crushed 2022 "Women, Life, Freedom" protests. Ali, smoking imported cigarettes with his sister, voices a common frustration: "I love President Trump and I hate him. He promised help but delivered nothing."
His sister, a former chef, quit her job after her employer could no longer pay her. Their fears mirror those of many Iranians, who recall the isolation of the recent war, when families were cut off from loved ones in other cities.
Nightfall and divided loyalties
As dusk falls, government supporters gather in Vali-e Asr Square, where a towering mural of the late Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei-killed in an Israeli airstrike on February 28-looms over rows of chairs for an open-air debate. A veiled woman in black interrupts the moderator, insisting Khamenei never trusted Western negotiations. Another speaker urges unity, even on contentious issues like the hijab.
Reyhaneh, a 19-year-old microbiology student, clutches a photo of the new Supreme Leader, Mojtaba Khamenei, despite his absence from public view since the attack. "Everything is in his hands now," she asserts. Moments later, a convoy of armed mullahs on motorcycles roars past, underscoring the tension.
A fragile normalcy
By 10:30 p.m., young people linger outside cafés and fast-food spots, while Mustafa, the shoe seller, chats with friends outside his brightly lit shop. When asked about the day's sales, he shrugs. "Not many. We just want this war to end."
"Freedom of thought and freedom to have a future."
A Tehran architect, when asked what change he desires most
