Tehran’s routine persists despite economic strain and looming conflict

A sunny spring morning in Tehran unfolds on Sanaei Ghaznavi street, where a blend of grocery stalls, home essentials, and fast-food vendors coexist with flower shops. Amid a nation grappling with prolonged instability, this bustling locale offers a fleeting glimpse of normalcy for locals striving to endure daily challenges. For Mohammad, a 27-year-old proprietor of a family shoe shop, the act of lifting the striped awning is a small gesture of optimism. “It brings me joy to be here,” he says, as he navigates through shelves stacked with trainers of all sizes. “Many have lost their jobs, and life feels harder than before.” Yet, the lack of customers is palpable, with his father Mustafa lamenting the decline in business. “We used to have more,” Mustafa sighs, noting that the family’s store has been a staple for over four decades.

Unofficial reports from Iranian platforms suggest up to four million jobs could be lost or disrupted due to the war and the government’s near-total internet blackout. The shelves in Mohammad’s shop hold boxes marked with Western brands like New Balance and Clarks, their Chinese origins remarked upon by both father and son. “Even counterfeit goods are costly here,” Mohammad adds. While they hope for a return of imports, they also express a strange optimism about the potential for war to bring change. “We hope the war starts again,” Mohammad says, flashing a wry smile. His father nods, his grey hair a testament to years of struggle. “He doesn’t grasp it like I do,” he murmurs, reflecting on the economic decline.

Voices of Resilience

At a nearby corner shop, Shahla, an elderly woman in a pale headscarf, balances bread on a clipboard. “Bread now costs three times what it used to,” she mutters, her fingers brushing the soft slices. “People are enduring hell just to afford it.” She gazes along the tree-lined street, dividing the city between the affluent northern quarters and the conservative southern districts. “The wealthy are managing, but workers are suffering,” she explains, urging negotiators to end the situation. “Stop it,” she declares, “something good won’t come of this for us—especially with Trump threatening everyone.”

A few blocks away, a young man clutches a small bottle of green spread, calling it “valak butter.” He describes it as a traditional remedy made from wild garlic, which grows in the foothills of the Alborz mountains. “We’re making do as best we can,” he says, avoiding political discussion. The digital shutdown, now in place for over 50 days, has limited his ability to access translation tools while reading. Even Iran’s communications minister, Sattar Hashemi, recently acknowledged the necessity of internet access, noting that 10 million people, especially those in middle and lower-income brackets, rely on it for work. “It’s a public right,” he emphasized.

Security Tightens

Security measures have intensified, with plain-clothed agents—paramilitary Basij volunteers and Revolutionary Guards—now commonplace. A short drive to Ferdowsi square reveals a more stark presence: hulking black armored vehicles flanked by uniformed soldiers. The square, named after a revered Persian poet, mirrors the tension in the streets. The architect, a 45-year-old teacher and designer, offers a simple wish: “Freedom of thought and freedom to have a future.” While he avoids predicting the outcome of current events, his frustration is clear. “The digital blackout makes it hard to keep up,” he says, highlighting the daily impact of restrictions that show no sign of easing anytime soon.