Trapped between bombs and crackdowns: Iranians wrestle with decision to flee their home

ITV News

5 hours ago

Iranians are trapped between bombs and crackdowns.
'Where am I supposed to go?' Fatemeh asks me.
Since I first reported on Iran in 2022, I have met, interviewed and remained in touch with dozens of people in the country.
I have no answer for Fatemeh's question. I have never been to Iran. I know where she lives - the capital city of Tehran - but I have no idea where is safe and where isn't right now.
An Iranian neighbour of mine in London has been checking in on his extended family living in Tehran, every day since Friday.
"Everyone is out of harm's way. But this is all pretty awful, and sad to be honest."
This morning, he couldn't get in touch with anyone. The internet was down, and phone lines were dead.
Communication is so often patchy in Iran, and when it comes alive again, Iranians often reach out - even to veritable strangers like me - so people hear their voices, and know what is happening to them.
We can't tell the stories of the Iranian people easily, because journalists are rarely allowed inside the country, whereas we can speak directly to Israelis being attacked, because ITV News has reporters and producers there.
Since Friday, many people have been trying to escape Iran. Turkey and Armenia being the favoured routes. It's quicker to get there from Tehran, and once they're there, they can fly more easily to other countries.
Babak, who is 41, left Tehran two days ago. Today, he finally reached Yerevan in Armenia.
'I spent one day in the car,' he says. 'Tehran to Tabriz took 12 hours. I switched cars there, then another four hours to the Armenian border.
"I walked for about an hour, got another car, and it took us 10 hours to reach Yerevan. The road is narrow and dangerous. We drove through the night on dangerous roads – I wouldn't recommend it.'
Babak was visiting family in Iran on a holiday. Now, he's hoping to find a flight back to Canada.
It is Tehran that has been hit hardest so far. In the capital, there is fear of bombs, fear of arrest by the regime, and fear of silence.
Thirty-year-old Farideh crossed into Turkey on foot.
'The journey is terrifying, especially for older people. You wait in the heat for five or six hours just to cross the border. It's not something I'd recommend to anyone with health issues or kids.'
But not everyone is leaving, or able to.
'This is my home,' says Homa, who is 54. 'My daughter is in a wheelchair. I can't travel a long distance like that with her. And even if I could — where would we go?'
Kaveh is 42. He owns a small café in Tehran, and says he's staying put, even as others around him flee.
'I feel responsible for my staff. Some have young kids, others are caring for elderly parents. They can't travel. I'll stay behind to help.'
Fear doesn't just come from the skies. The government's war on dissent hasn't paused just because missiles have rained.
Hossein is a filmmaker.
He said: 'No one cares about us. I'm constantly thinking, will I be killed by a bomb? Or will I be arrested first? We, as Iranian people, only have each other. That's it.'
With the internet down and news hard to verify, people rely on scraps of information delivered via voice notes, texts, and coded messages.
My phone illuminates again. This time with an audio message from Minoo, telling me about her journey out.
Hearing the voice of a woman, of a similar age to me, recounting her journey and her thinking stopped me in my tracks. Minoo is an architect who started her escape to Armenia two days ago, never believing this would happen.
Minoo's choice to flee is one she has made reluctantly. Iran is where she was born, where she went to school, where she grew up, where she got married and where she has carved out her career.
It is the country she loves and never thought she'd leave.