Life During the Ceasefire: "We Are Fine, But..."

"We are not fine; the economic and social situation is in ruins." This is how a young man from Tehran describes the atmosphere ten days after the ceasefire. Like him, millions of Iranians are anxious about the future, especially as the shadow of war looms over the country once again. Some have grown accustomed to living with the sound of bombs, but economic instability and the severance of ties with the outside world have only deepened their anxiety. The internet, once the lifeblood of business and communication, has now become an inaccessible luxury, a major source of anger against the Islamic Republic.

When I attempted to speak with friends in Iran to understand their daily reality, the conversation was arduous. Their internet connection constantly dropped, the audio was fragmented, and we spent nearly two hours trying to hold a thirty-minute conversation. Their words were filled with contradictory emotions; they were worried about everything, and no one saw a bright future ahead. They felt abandoned amid a multitude of personal, social, and political crises, yet they shared a common conclusion: with the Islamic Republic in power, nothing will get better.

Economy and Communication Under the Shadow of War

The first obstacle in understanding what Iranians are thinking these days was the internet itself. My first question to them was: "How did you manage to get online?" Reza, a 50-year-old Tehran resident working for one of Iran's largest distribution companies, said he has friends who help him connect, though he offered no further explanation. Sahar, a 30-year-old who owns a small restaurant, said, "I buy these gigabytes; each gig costs 600,000 tomans." Hamed, a 28-year-old sports coach, says he has been scammed twice while trying to purchase a VPN; after they took his money, they blocked him. He says he is currently trying to get a Starlink connection. Mohammad-Ali, a 32-year-old social sciences student, explains: "They sell two types of configurations in Iran: one for Telegram and one for international internet. A Telegram config costs 180,000 tomans, and every gig on the open internet costs 500,000 tomans."

These figures immediately point to the economy. Mohammad-Ali says, "We are destitute, but we still don't know the exact scale of the devastation." The next sentiment is similar: "Our economic situation is a catastrophe. Many companies have shut down, and many workers are unemployed." Reza explains that since mid-winter, the market has been "virtually dead." He links part of the issue back to the internet, stating that the lack of connectivity has prevented many retailers from selling goods, and companies have scaled back operations related to foreign markets due to the "horrendous internet situation," which has severely affected production.

"The supply chain has collapsed," Reza explains. "Many raw materials are not being produced. There is little aluminum or steel in the market, and these shortages have driven up housing prices as well." He adds that many parent companies are struggling, which in turn has jeopardized the smaller firms that supply them. He has heard that in major industries, at least 100,000 people have lost their jobs, and eleven small supply companies he was in contact with have closed entirely. Reza notes that factories that remain open are laying off manual laborers to stay afloat. "Another major worry for companies, leading to more layoffs, is the mandated salary increase, which they cannot afford."

The government recently decided to increase workers' wages by 60 percent. While intended to provide some relief, it has created a complex situation in wartime, especially as the government has provided no assurance of support for factories. Alireza Salimi, a member of parliament, stated, "Many workers face layoffs at a time when economic and livelihood problems have doubled due to wartime conditions." Addressing factory owners, he urged those with the capacity to help retain workers, promising government assistance. However, the government has yet to take action or even issue the formal wage increase directive. A representative of the labor community on the Supreme Labor Council stated on April 19: "A month has passed since the minimum wage for 2026 was set, but the directive has not yet been issued. This delay has become the most important concern for both workers and employers."

"Medicine and fruit have become very expensive. The situation with plastic goods is also terrible. Let me put it this way: I went to the neighborhood store a few days ago, and a plastic pitcher cost 210,000 tomans, and the vendor said he would even let me pay in installments." Mohammad-Ali says the fear of water cuts and infrastructure failure has forced people to resort to traditional methods.

Numbers occupied their lives and minds. Each person I spoke to listed different prices for products: "A carton of milk was 104,000 tomans before the war; now it’s 120,000." "Yogurt was under 100,000; now it’s over 200,000." Reza says, "Catering food prices have nearly doubled, which shows how much everything else has risen."

Sahar doesn't talk much about her restaurant, though she is upset about having to lay off two colleagues. She explains, "Everything you can imagine has become expensive, from the plastic containers we use for takeout to tomatoes, rice, and chicken. Meat prices haven't risen as sharply, but all of this forced us to raise our menu prices." She notes that her customer base has shrunk.

In the fitness industry, prices have also skyrocketed. Hamed says, "We used to buy protein powder - an Iranian brand for 500,000 tomans, a foreign one for about a million. Now, whatever price the seller gives is the price. You can't find foreign brands at all. The other day, I bought a Kalleh Whey protein for 4.5 million tomans."

Reza notes that imported goods have no set price: "If you find a simple foreign detergent, the price is whatever the seller decides." He mentions the price of foreign coffee, which he says has tripled in the last 50 days, and a shirt that cost 5 million tomans before the war is now sold for 12 million. Hamed’s example of imported goods is even more striking. He needed to buy a router and has tracked the price: "It was 16 million in mid-March, 28 million by mid-April, and now, at the end of April, it is 42 million."

Reza attributes the price hikes, especially for imports, to the uncertainty of the dollar exchange rate. He notes that some are trading the dollar at 250,000 tomans. The head of the Tehran Guild Chamber recently explained that "in wartime, market regulation, supply, and pricing are different," citing this as the reason for the high cost of some items. Reza also reports that trade routes with the UAE have been disrupted, contributing to the chaotic state of imported goods. This was echoed by a member of the Tehran Chamber of Commerce, who noted that while restricted use of southern borders will not necessarily stop supply, routes via Turkey, Iraq, and northern countries could be used as alternatives.

The Atmosphere in the City

"A dual atmosphere has emerged. Many people were exhausted. The war had become grueling, and the damage was immense. Because of that, some believed the ceasefire provided breathing space. Civilian casualties had become very high toward the end of the war. Although they were targeting security sites, this widespread unemployment is, after all, a product of the war, and people can no longer bear it. On the other hand, people have this feeling that a faction within the regime wants to strike a deal with the U.S., and for that reason, they are suspicious of America's intentions: why did they start the war in the first place? Was it to grant legitimacy to another faction within the regime?" This statement by Mohammad-Ali reflects the concerns of some Iranians.

Hamed says: "By the second week of the war, people were under such pressure and stress that they were saying, 'I wish the war would end.' Early on, they were saying, 'The Islamic Republic must go.' Now, they don't say that; they think these people won't leave even with the war, but our lives are being ruined, so now they just say, 'I wish the war would end.'" Reza, however, makes an interesting distinction. He says, "The mood in Tehran is more toward 'end the war,'" but "I don't see this in smaller cities, especially those that came out in protests in January. They say, 'Let America come and finish the job,' and they are unhappy that a ceasefire has been established." But in Tehran, there are different perspectives. Sahar says, "After the ceasefire was announced, I cried for more than an hour. We talked with friends; we were all in a bad state. We endured these sleepless nights and bombings just so the Islamic Republic could stay, and now its supporters can come and look us in the eyes?"

Mohammad-Ali explains, "These Basijis and IRGC members feel more secure and less worried after the ceasefire. The city is in the hands of the regime loyalists, and ordinary people, especially in the evenings, have no desire to go out." He says their behavior at checkpoints has also worsened. However, Reza says, "I've traveled to many parts of Iran these days and saw many checkpoints, but they didn't stop me. Their behavior toward people varied. They would look at one's appearance and then act accordingly."

But one point everyone emphasizes is that they have seen machine guns and armored vehicles in major Tehran squares like Vanak, Azadi, and Sadeghiyeh. They say parts of the city are effectively militarized, and they emphasize that with the closure of police stations, law enforcement officers are more dispersed throughout the city, either living in vehicles and tents or patrolling.

Sahar speaks of the presence of Islamic Republic supporters in the streets and explains: "Every evening, they take to the streets chanting 'Haydar, Haydar,' and every day they come up with new slogans. But when they pass through neighborhoods, people usually give them a piece of their mind." She explains that in her neighborhood, she sees stationary cars that constantly show up at night to participate in nocturnal gatherings.

An interesting detail mentioned by both Reza and Hamed is the money exchanged at these gatherings. They say each flag is entrusted to individuals with a 150,000-toman deposit. They then return the flag the next day. The two say that one friend and one second-degree relative of theirs are among these individuals, and they have received between one and three million tomans for attending the rallies. Even more interestingly, they claim that facial recognition systems are used to facilitate this "street economy," confirming the individuals' presence for payment. The issue of paying people to participate in street rallies has been raised in the media multiple times, which the Islamic Republic has denied. A citizen journalist had previously told IranWire that his brother and cousin had joined the "Jan-Fada" (Life-Sacrificing) movement and received two million tomans per night for being on the streets and at checkpoints.

However, individual lives have suffered the most damage, which none of them discuss in detail. But one can understand from their words that there are disputes with family members over whether the war was "good" or "bad," and their anxiety about tomorrow is immense. They say they are worried about being unable to earn money tomorrow, yet they say little about today. They do not talk much about their feelings, saying they have survived these days through small gatherings. But another common denominator among them is that they all smoke. Two of them decided to start smoking during the war. They added that a new expense has been added to their lives, and a cheap, decent cigarette costs at least 160,000 tomans.

Hamed says it was in the middle of the war that his skin began to ache, and then the pain spread to his bones and all his muscles; he later realized it was due to stress. He explains, "For a while, I couldn't even move because of body aches and didn't go to the gym. Now I’ve just returned to the gym, but many others don't come here anymore. Some can't afford it, and some have no motivation left. You don't know how ruined our situation is. There is no future. If it continues like this, I will also be unemployed, and I don't know what to do other than coaching. Even the merchants don't want workers. We’ve hit a dead end in a bad way. If these people were gone, the situation might improve and hope would return to the people; now, even that hope is gone."