Every night in Melbourne, Darius* wakes in the dark and checks his phone. He’s not expecting good news. He simply hopes for any news at all.

An Iranian Australian academic, Darius [whose identity is protected due to fear of reprisals upon his family] is torn between life in his new home and the chaos unfolding in his former city

“I get up in the night and check my phone to see if I received any messages,” he said. “Even just a missed call.”

Like many Iranians abroad, he has struggled to reach family members since widespread internet restrictions began following the latest escalation of conflict in the country.

“The majority of people don’t have access to the internet,” he said. “I can’t connect with my parents. Like a lot of other people, it brings stress.”

For many in the Iranian diaspora, communication with loved ones has become sporadic or impossible. Internet restrictions have become a common tactic during periods of unrest in Iran. According to the BBC, online services during protests, limiting the ability of demonstrators to organise and preventing images of violence from spreading internationally.

For families outside the country, the shutdown has another consequence: silence.

“It’s not just about the internet,” Darius said. “It’s about people losing their voice.”

Inside Iran, people are living with a different kind of uncertainty.

A Tehran resident, speaking via a complex encrypted messaging system and whose identity has been withheld for safety reasons, describes a city that alternates between routine and chaos.

“Naturally, we have a sense of fear.”

During the day, the city can appear almost unchanged. Traffic moves through Tehran’s crowded streets, and some shops remain open.

“If you drive around when the bombs don’t hit, you think everything is normal,” the resident said.

But the illusion rarely lasts long.

“Every few hours missiles hit the corners of the city, and all the houses shake.”

The explosions can be heard kilometres away, sending people rushing to windows or into hallways to check on neighbours.

“Especially at night when we sleep at home, we wake up to the sound of an explosion.”

Despite the violence, basic supplies remain available, though economic pressures are mounting.

“Food and water are not a problem right now,” the resident said. “Only food prices have almost doubled in stores.”

Businesses, however, are struggling.

“Most businesses are paralysed and lost,” they said. “Most say this is no problem if all this pressure and stress lead to the government going away.”

Iran has faced prolonged economic hardship, with sanctions and domestic mismanagement contributing to rising prices and unemployment. Waves of protests in recent years have been met with harsh crackdowns, leaving thousands dead or imprisoned.

“People tried everything civil in their capacity,” Darius said. “And it didn’t work.”

Frustration with Iran’s leadership has grown significantly in recent years, according to the resident in Tehran.

“People have been tired of the government for a long time,” they said. “I can boldly say that between 80 and 90 per cent of people hate the government now.”

The resident said public anger intensified following mass protests earlier this year.

“After the January protests that killed more than 30,000 people in Iran, we realised that a government that wants to maintain itself at any cost and has no problem with crimes against its people—we have no power to confront it with empty hands.”

For many, economic hardship has added to the resentment.

“With the bad economic situation and hyperinflation, we only want the end of the government,” they said.

Darius adds that such sentiments are unsurprising given the violence and repression many Iranians have experienced.

“Thousands have been killed, and human rights were seriously jeopardised,” he said.

He pointed to BBC reports of protesters being shot and accounts suggesting some victims were attacked even after receiving medical treatment. 

“People with a bullet in their head still receiving medical aid…medics won’t treat someone who is already dead.”

According to Darius, these events have pushed many Iranians to a point where they believe fundamental change is inevitable.

“This regime has to go.” 

Many Iranians initially hoped change could come from internal protests alone. But after repeated crackdowns, some have begun reconsidering whether outside assistance is necessary.

The Tehran resident echoed that shift in thinking.

“We ourselves wanted to change everything without the intervention of a foreign government,” they said. “But after the protests and the killings, we realised we have no power to confront it with empty hands.”

Even so, the future remains uncertain. Some opposition supporters have begun discussing the possible return of Iran’s former monarchy under the son of the last Shah, while others warn against replacing one unchecked power with another.

“We must be very careful about what happens after these changes,” the resident said. “But the priority is to oust the regime.”

In Melbourne, Darius says the silence from Iran is often the hardest part.

One fellow Iranian colleague recently told him that she had received a single missed call from her mother in Tehran.

“I was so happy,” she recalled. “I never thought I’d be so excited just to see a missed call.”

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