Iranian activist tells BBC how fear of war restarting intensifies trauma of repression

Living in Fear

Iranian activist tells BBC how fear – In recent days, Shirin has remained indoors in Tehran, her days and nights consumed by vigilance. She listens for the distant hum of aircraft, the explosive crack of bombs, and the faintest hint of news—good or bad—about those detained by the regime. The constant anxiety weighs heavily on her, manifesting in physical ways. Her left hand, once functional, now moves sluggishly, a casualty of the psychological toll. “Whenever I hear a disturbing sound, my body reacts involuntarily,” she explains. “The pressure that’s been building in my mind has numbed this part of my hand. It doesn’t work. I still fear the war might begin again, and that’s a terrifying thought.”

Shirin’s fear is not unfounded. The regime regularly showcases its military might through processions, including parades featuring women driving jeeps equipped with heavy machine guns and others wielding automatic rifles. These displays serve as reminders of the power the government holds over its citizens, both in physical and emotional terms. The BBC relies on confidential sources within Iran to reach individuals whose voices are suppressed, offering a window into the lived experience of those under strict control.

The Weight of Silence

As a political activist, Shirin feels a deep sense of helplessness. “There are moments I couldn’t prevent—like the executions of those arrested during the January uprising,” she says. “They were hanged, and we had no say. Now, the streets are silent, and we’ve lost our freedom to protest.” This quietude has become a defining feature of life under the current regime, where dissent is met with swift consequences. Shirin’s fear of being taken again is ever-present, a lingering shadow from her first encounter with the secret police.

Back in 2024, during the aftermath of the “Woman, Life, Freedom” protests sparked by the death of Mahsa Amini, Shirin was caught in a sudden raid. She had just finished discussing dinner plans with her mother when the car pulled up. A man and a young woman emerged, their presence an immediate threat. “Are you Mrs…?” the man asked. Shirin nodded, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. She had promised to call her mother back later, but the conversation was cut short. “You are under arrest,” the agents declared, and within moments, she was inside the vehicle.

A Moment of Defiance

The young woman beside her demanded she wear the hijab, her tone sharp with authority. “Put on your headscarf,” she insisted. Shirin resisted, her hand gripping the fabric of the scarf as the officer tried to force it over her head. “You shouldn’t touch my headscarf,” she retorted, pulling the woman’s hand down in a gesture of defiance. The exchange was brief but vivid, a snapshot of the tensions that define daily life. Though she was interrogated, Shirin was eventually released after signing a pledge to remain quiet for two months. Breaking that promise would mean solitary confinement, a stark reminder of the regime’s control.

Yet, even now, the threat looms. “If I were arrested today, I’d have no choice but to be silenced,” she says. “The repression has only grown since the war began in February. People are scared, and the fear is worse than the punishment.” Activists estimate that over 50,000 individuals have been detained since the anti-regime protests of January, many held without access to their families or legal representation. The regime’s actions have created an atmosphere of dread, where even the act of speaking out carries the risk of disappearance.

The Human Cost of Conflict

According to Human Rights Watch, the current wave of detentions has led to widespread human rights abuses, including serious injuries and deaths. “Many detainees were never meant to be arrested,” the organization notes. “They face violence, intimidation, and conditions that push them to the brink.” Shirin’s story is part of a larger pattern. The combination of state crackdowns and the US-Israeli bombing campaign has deepened Iran’s mental health crisis, which was already severe before the conflict began.

The Iranian Red Crescent reports a surge in calls to its helplines, with thousands seeking support after the war started. The World Health Organization has documented attacks on 18 medical facilities, straining an already overwhelmed system. A hospital worker in Tehran, speaking to the BBC, described the growing burden on staff. “People come in with panic attacks, depression, and trauma,” they said. “They can’t sleep, can’t eat, and are haunted by the sounds of explosions. Even children are affected, their fear contagious.”

Shirin’s perspective on the war has also shifted. Initially, she felt relief when regime soldiers were killed in airstrikes. But the toll on civilians has changed her view. “I saw a half-finished building next to the road, and a bomb hit it,” she recounts. “Twenty-five people died inside, including a one-year-old who lost his mother. That broke me. I couldn’t bear to see the suffering.” Her anguish reflects a broader sentiment among Iranians, who now see the war as a double-edged sword—destroying both enemies and innocent lives.

A Nation in Crisis

The psychological impact of the conflict extends far beyond Shirin. As the war drags on, the mental health crisis grows, with reports of increasing anxiety, paranoia, and hopelessness. “The regime’s actions have created a climate of fear that sticks with you,” says one activist. “Even after release, the trauma lingers. You can’t escape it.”

Shirin’s personal struggle mirrors that of countless others. Her job was lost due to her activism, and colleagues blamed her for the Israeli-American attack on Iran. Yet, her resolve has not wavered. “I still fight for what I believe in,” she says, “but I’ve learned to measure my courage. The war has taught me that fear is not just a feeling—it’s a weapon.”

With each passing day, the pressure mounts. The regime’s message is clear: dissent is dangerous, and silence is survival. Shirin’s story is a testament to the human cost of this strategy. Her left hand, a symbol of her vulnerability, stands as a reminder of how trauma can manifest in unexpected ways. As she waits for the next knock on the door, the sound of aircraft overhead, and the uncertainty of whether her friends are still safe, Shirin embodies the resilience—and the fragility—of those who dare to resist.

“We will not deem anyone who takes to the streets at the will of the enemies as a protester or anything else, but as the enemy itself,” said Ahmadreza Radan, a senior Iranian police commander. “We will treat them in the same manner that we would treat the enemy.”

The interplay of state repression and external attacks has created a perfect storm of psychological distress. For Shirin, it’s a daily battle against the fear that has become a constant companion. “I used to feel hopeful about the future,” she says. “Now, I just feel like I’m waiting for the next disaster. But I won’t stop fighting. I have to.” Her words echo the determination of a nation on the edge, clinging to hope in the face of relentless trauma.