Firsthand reports from contributors inside Iran
Iran is awash in voices claiming to speak for its people: state loyalists, opposition figures and self-styled experts of every stripe drowning out the non-extreme yet critical voices with their din.
Most people I see in Tehran feel suspended in uncertainty, struggling with daily water and electricity outages while fearing the return of United Nationas sanctions and another war. They want change, but can’t see it on the horizon.
Worst of all, they feel they can’t express their concerns and thoughts.
“These days, you have to declare your political stance before you can say anything. And what you say must fit the dominant binaries, even if it’s about the price of beef.”
Shahriar is 36. He was laid off from his HR job just after the Iran-Israel ceasefire. He now delivers food while looking for work.
“There’s no voice that represents us,” Shahriar says. “And by us, I mean those who hate the Islamic Republic but don’t want to see the country destroyed by war. The atmosphere of accusation, labeling and hate online is so intense that I stopped posting on X and Instagram two weeks ago.”
That hostility, he says, has spilled beyond the screen.
“I’ve seen this toxicity enter friendships and family gatherings. If you criticize the war, people assume you support the regime—even though that same regime has imprisoned anti-war activists. Even supporters of the regime can’t tolerate anti-war views.”
Pick a side
Since the widespread protests of 2022, many activists have been calling for unity between those who want to see fundamental change in Iran. But solidarity remains fragile and elusive. A coalition of six high-profile opposition figures offered a glimmer of hope. But the effort quickly collapsed, widening divides and deepening mistrust.
“There’s this illusion that only two camps exist. Either you follow a scripted, militant vision of regime change or you’re a regime collaborator,” says Shiva, a civil society activist in Tehran.
The polarization, she believes, has erased nuance and pushed those like her out of conversations.
“Say Israel committed crimes, and one group calls you a regime apologist. Say the same thing to the other side, and they’ll ask why you’re silent about Iran’s military achievements. You find yourself defending your integrity instead of your argument. Constantly. It’s exhausting—and sad.”
Repeat the line
A recent study by LifeWeb, an analytics group operating under restrictions in Iran, offers a partial window into online activity during and after the Iran-Israel war.
The report says the hashtag #جانم_فدای_ایران (“My life for Iran”)—promoted by former foreign minister Mohammad Javad Zarif—was used in over 514,000 posts generated by only 17,000 users. That’s an average of 30 posts per user, suggesting coordinated repetition rather than broad engagement.
Likewise, in the final three days of the war, the Trump-associated hashtag #MIGA (Make Iran Great Again) appeared more than one million times from just 30,000 users—again averaging 30 posts each. This peak came during a nationwide internet blackout in Iran, raising further questions about the campaign’s authenticity.
While not conclusive, such patterns underscore how coordinated efforts can dominate digital narratives, often overshadowing the quieter voices who oppose both war and authoritarianism.
Silence yourself
This “distortion” shapes perception, says Navid, a 28-year-old MBA student.
“These campaigns make it seem like most Iranians supported the Israeli strikes. But around me, most people saw war as a dangerous way to bring change. Sure, some defend it—but when the majority stays silent, the loud minority becomes the dominant voice.”
Navid believes this dynamic makes people fear expressing their views, feeling isolated in their beliefs. His friend Sina nods as he speaks before jumping in to vent his frustration at “losing” the only space he had to talk.
“Social media is the one platform most of us have to express our views. And it has been taken over by aggressive minorities and pressure groups.
“How can we reach a shared understanding, a shared purpose, when all we do is attack and cancel each other,” he asks. “The worst bit is we don’t even know if those shutting us up are real people or bots and cyber mercenaries.”
In 1980, months after Islamists took over what appeared to be everyone’s revolution, Iran’s renowned poet Ahmad Shamlou wrote one of his most recited lines to describe the repression: “They sniff your mouth, lest you’ve said ‘I love you.’”
It’s chilling to hear that line whispered again, not in defiance of power, but in fear of each other.
