When Israel first bombed Iran in the early hours of June 13, Mahin Abasi, 47, initially believed that the attacks were confined to military sites and homes of members of Iran’s elite Revolutionary Guards Corps.
But in the days that followed, as the machinery of war, as it so often does, pushed past its proclaimed boundaries, she realised the destruction had crept into residential neighbourhoods, including her own, the well-off Sa’adat Abad district in northwestern Tehran, far from any front line.
“I trusted the precision of their strikes,” she told The New Arab. “I visited one of the bombed sites early on, and I was surprised to find that only the two floors belonging to a government official in the building had been burned. The rest of the neighbours were safe.”
By Sunday, however, she was hastily packing her belongings, ready to leave the capital. It was on that day that Israel’s defence minister, Israel Katz, infamously threatened on X that residents of Tehran would “be forced to pay the price” for the actions of the Ayatollah regime.
“They [Israeli officials] announced that people should evacuate some parts of Tehran. We decided to go,” she said, her voice edged with worry. “You can’t take risks in this situation.”
For the first time in decades, Tehranis are fleeing their capital en masse, not under government orders, but driven by fear, confusion, and a deepening distrust in both their own authorities and the growing threat of Israeli strikes.
Confusion looms over the capital
Following the initial trading of blows between Tel Aviv and Tehran, which resulted in the deaths of at least 224 people, including 74 women and children, and left around 1,800 injured in Iran and 24 in Israel, Israeli authorities urged residents of several parts of Tehran, including the populous District Three, home to more than 350,000 people, to evacuate the capital.
But according to eyewitnesses, the warnings were often vague or issued late at night, leaving many residents confused and uncertain about where or how to seek safety. The absence of any official evacuation plan from Iranian authorities only deepened the sense of fear and uncertainty.
US President Donald Trump added to the chaos with a message on his social media platform: “Everyone should immediately evacuate Tehran.”
That single sentence, though unofficial, was widely interpreted as a dire warning, and for many, it was enough. By the next morning, a mass exodus had begun.
On Tuesday, Tehran, a bustling city of 10 million, began to empty. Shops shuttered one after another, and even the Grand Bazaar, the historical and economic heart of the Iranian capital, which had remained open through the COVID pandemic, closed its gates.
With no end in sight to the rising sounds of explosions and the sense of growing terror, thousands of Iranians were pushed to head to the countryside for their own safety, creating the largest internal migration in the city in recent memory.
From the Chalous Highway to the dusty backroads leading into Mazandaran, traffic moved slowly. Cars were packed with suitcases, children sat between grandparents, and pets rested in crates beside bags of documents. Tehranis had gathered whatever they could and set out, heading far away from the capital.
With public shelters unavailable, schools have become informal havens for the displaced. Farhad Rezaei, who fled with his family and elderly grandmother, is now staying in one such facility.
“There was nowhere else to go,” he said. “Everywhere is full. It’s especially hard for my grandmother, she sleeps on the floor and has knee pain. We have to wait in long lines just to use the bathroom. It’s very difficult for her.”
According to fleeing citizens, Telegram groups, Instagram stories, and other social media platforms became lifelines for thousands as residents from the countryside, north, and south of the country opened their homes and arms to displaced residents of the capital.
Grassroots efforts shine in government’s absence
Leila Khandan, a 40-year-old woman, had renovated her grandmother’s old home in a village near Nour, approximately 180 kilometres from the capital, five years ago. She transformed it into an eco-lodge that they would rent out to tourists during the summer months to supplement their income. Now, the rooms are being offered free to families with nowhere else to go.
“We always followed the war in Gaza and never thought something like this would happen to us,” she told The New Arab. “Today I feel both sad and happy… sad for the people of Iran, who shouldn’t have to face this, and happy that I can help. I think my grandmother, who’s no longer with us, would be proud.”
Many, like Leila, now stand at city entrances holding handwritten signs that read “Free Shelter,” offering refuge to the thousands of internally displaced people.
Parsa Ahmadi, a 25-year-old architecture student, had a small home and couldn’t host anyone, but he found another way to help.
“I was really upset that I couldn’t do anything,” he said. “Then I saw the long queue at the gas station, and an idea came to me. My mum and I made cool drinks and handed them out with my little sister. It made me feel better.”
Fariba Akrami, 63, is experiencing wartime conditions in Iran for the second time. Originally from Mahshahr in the south, she fled to Gilan, 320 kilometres away from the capital, during the Iran-Iraq War of 1980.
“Around 44 years ago, I experienced war with a small child,” she said. “The people of Gilan welcomed us then. Now it’s our turn. I’ve opened my home to people from Tehran. I have land where I grow rice and fruit, and I live off the produce that I harvest. I know what it means to lose your home. It’s a heavy pain.”
A growing humanitarian crisis
But the sudden, uncoordinated movement of thousands had taken a toll on some parts of the country. Northern Iran, particularly Mazandaran, nearly 120 kilometres from Tehran, now resembles a chaotic refugee camp more than a tourist destination.
Reza Eslami, an electrical engineer who fled to Mahmoudabad with his family, noted the striking contrast.
“We always came to the north during holidays for the lush forests and the beautiful coastline, but everything was always more expensive than Tehran,” he said.
“Now, though, people have become kindhearted. I haven’t seen a single seller overcharge. Some are even offering villas for free to refugees.”
Still, basic needs remain a challenge. Long lines formed at gas stations as residents scrambled to get fuel, with a limit of 25 litres per car now in place.
“Buying bread is also a problem,” Reza added. “The queues are very long, bakeries are few, and they’re selling limited amounts of bread.”
According to residents of the northern provinces, thousands of families from Tehran have overwhelmed the area, straining the local infrastructure, which was built for a much smaller population.
Poor government planning has worsened the crisis. Bakeries and supermarkets struggle to meet demand, and in some areas, there is a shortage of drinking water, forcing families to wait in long lines.
“Even in normal summers, this region struggled with the high numbers of tourists. Now it's a real humanitarian crisis, children and the elderly are sleeping in schools and sports halls,” one resident who wishes to remain anonymous for fear of reprisal told The New Arab.
Sogol Naderi, a young woman from Tehran, fled to Amol with her family.
“We’ve become internal refugees. We had never seen war, but now it’s our turn to experience displacement," she told The New Arab.
"A four-hour journey took us 18 hours. I’ve lost contact with my friends; each of us ended up in a different city. I just pray I see them again.”
*All last names in this article are pseudonyms used to protect the individuals’ identities for security reasons
[Cover photo: Photo courtesy of Saeedeh Fathi]
Saeedeh Fathi is a journalist with 22 years of experience in Iran and was the country’s first woman to serve as editor-in-chief of a sports magazine. In 2022, during the Woman, Life, Freedom movement, she was arrested and spent two months under interrogation at Evin Prison
This article is published in collaboration with Egab