Fear and anxiety among Iranians in the diaspora: "Delete the message when you have read it"

BarcelonaThe doorbell keeps ringing. Another group has arrived. They descend a staircase decorated with rugs and mirrors and sit with the other diners, who were waiting for them. The restaurant El Rincón Persa is packed with Iranian families and groups of friends who have come to celebrate Nowruz, the Persian New Year, which coincides with the beginning of spring. With the clinking of cutlery in the background, many mouths devour aromatic rice dishes and stews while chatting happily. But behind the smiles, the unease is palpable: many have their minds elsewhere.

"The life we ​​live isn't real. We walk, breathe, and move here, but in reality, we're there," says Shaghayegh Norouzi, an Iranian actress who lives in Barcelona. "Since the beginning of the war, I haven't been able to speak to anyone in my family," she laments. "We've only exchanged a few messages." The ayatollahs' regime has blocked international communications since the beginning of the conflict with the United States and Israel. "In the summer we understood it because there was a suspected leak from within," he says, referring to the US-Israeli offensive of June"It's a war and they have to defend the country, but it's very hard for us," he adds.

Ghazal, who has lived in Denmark since she was eight, came to Barcelona with her husband, Claus. Despite the war, they wanted to celebrate the Persian New Year. "At first, they told us there was no space because many groups had already booked. But in the end, they told us to come and that they would arrange it because everyone should have a place to celebrate Nowruz." But this year is different. She has a lot of family in Iran and hasn't been able to speak with them since the beginning of the conflict. "We don't know anything, not even where they are, because there's no internet," she says. Only her mother was able to have a one-minute call with a relative. "But nothing more because the regime is listening to us," she maintains.

Despite the communications blackout, the diaspora finds ways to contact families inside the country: "People outside of Iran create small WhatsApp groups, and if we know that someone has internet access inside, we ask them to call all our family members to check that they are okay," Shag explains. Even from within the country, some Iranians resort to clandestine services or virtual private networks (VPNs) to maintain contact with their families abroad.

The anguish of silences

Very rarely, however, is contact possible. "I haven't heard from my family in a week," Amina explained at the beginning of the war as the city where her family lives, Isfahan, suffered the first attacks. A few days later, we asked her the same question again: "Have you been able to talk to them yet?" It's impossible to imagine the anguish caused by these prolonged silences in the diaspora, where those in Europe watch on their phones—minute by minute—as the attacks unfold. From the first attack, against a school in Minab, which killed more than 100 girls, to the constant explosions in Tehran.

This time the answer is yes: "Yes, I was able to talk to them yesterday. It lasted less than a minute, and we can't call them back. We have to wait again," Amina explains. She says the only thing she had time to tell her parents was to please find a safe place. After that minute, Amina's life in a northern Italian city, where she moved to study, continues. On the outside, everything is the same: classes, friends, TV series. On the inside, everything is dark.

Amina feels "powerless" every minute she spends away from her country. The only thing that calms her anguish, she says, is sharing a lot of information through Instagram to explain to the world what is happening in Iran. "We are the voice of those who are now silent. The only Iranians who can speak and recount the real situation of what is happening there," she explains. Furthermore, the fear of technological tracking by the regime has reached beyond the borders of the Persian country: "Delete this message when you have read it, please," Amina asks.

Sometimes, anger is stronger than fear. Ali, a medical student in Naples, used Nowruz to demonstrate and "honor the memory of the heroes" who died in Iran's protests against the regime, protests first crushed by repression and then by war. He also uses social media as a megaphone to denounce the crimes of the ayatollahs' regime. That's why he considers the internet blackout "practically a crime against humanity."

But taking a stand on social media can come at a price, even in Catalonia. An individual interviewed by ARA, who prefers to remain anonymous, reports having suffered censorship at work for opposing the war, and that their case is not isolated. "My company, which receives American funding, tried to force me to commit to limiting the interviews I gave," they say, recounting a message from their employer notifying them that their social media posts could affect the subsidies they received. "We left Iran because we couldn't say what we thought, but we can't speak freely here either," she says.

Hope for the end of the regime

From a table presided over by a Persian bow, Farnaz explains the Nowruz tradition to her friends—all international—while they wait for dinner. "We all eat together and read poems, and we also exchange money," she says, showing a five-euro note her friend gave her. Although she left Iran sixteen years ago, she only moved to Barcelona a few months ago for work. For her, Nowruz is a day of hope. "Today we celebrate that the regime can change during the coming year," she says. She emphasizes that she is not in favor of the war or the bombing of her people. Her parents and sister are in Iran, and she suffers greatly for them, as she can barely speak due to internet outages. However, she remains optimistic: "We don't like the regime, and we hope that the war will bring it down."

Amina is also sympathetic to those who hope that the attacks against the country can lead to regime change. In a video she shared on social media, she condemns the actions, especially those against women's rights, perpetrated by the Islamic Republic. She is not alone. Many of her compatriots abroad celebrated the death of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei in a US attack coordinated with Israel. Ali shows us a video of a crowd celebrating that same attack: "For the people inside Iran, this is the help they have been waiting for. The support of the US and Israel must continue until the last day of the regime," she declares, expressing her hope that the international community will recognize Prince Reza Pahlavi as the country's new leader.

But there are also those who predict that the conflict will bring nothing good: "This war will not bring any regime change. It is a very complex political web that does not end with the death of the leaders. When they have finished bombing, they will leave and abandon the country to the same people. But, in return, they will have completely cut off all movement," says Shaghayegh.

In the main dining room of El Rincón Persa, the search for a clock progresses over the map of Iran. It's already ten o'clock, the time when a dancer is to captivate the diners with a traditional dance. A new year begins, but for many Iranians in the diaspora, time stopped on February 28, the day the war began. Today, the real celebration is having been able to talk to loved ones back home: "This morning I was able to talk for a minute with my family to wish them a happy new year," Farnaz says happily.