As the US-Israel war on Iran continues to escalate, 1News in-depth reporter Mava Moayyed details how the conflict has affected everyday life for Iranians.
For the past week, I have been watching the news from Iran through two different lenses.
By day, as a journalist, I monitor geopolitical shifts as well as official statements from the USA and across the Middle East. But by night, I am like thousands of other Iranians in the New Zealand diaspora, straining to hear the voices of family members through shoddy internet connections.
When we talk about war in the Middle East, the conversation is often dominated by armchair analysis. We hear about "strategic assets" and "effects on the financial markets". But when you look at the ground level, the story for me isn't about geopolitical strategy – it’s about the exhaustion of life under bombardment compounded by decades of state oppression.
Watch on TVNZ+ - Mava Moayyed explains the situation on the ground in Iran
I’m trying to look past the political noise and focus on the human struggle for survival. This means that the struggle for a future in Iran isn't just reduced to a geopolitical debate but is understood as a human one.
Why is this being called a 'double threat' for ordinary Iranians?
TVNZ in-depth reporter Mava Moayyed speaks to Breakfast about the human and social impact for people living in Iran. (Source: Breakfast)
Iranians are trying to navigate daily life under a double burden. From family and friends I'm hearing how they are facing the immediate fear of external aggression where bombs fall frequently and unexpectedly, alongside a decades-long history of internal state oppression.
The Islamic Republic, established in 1979, initially promised justice and independence but has delivered decades of strict authoritarian control. In the years since, many Iranians have stood up to this tightening grip while enduring a collapsing economy.
We saw this during the 2022 "Woman, Life, Freedom" movement sparked by the death of Mahsa Amini, and again this past January when the collapse of the Iranian currency triggered a new wave of nationwide protests.
READ MORE: I was visiting relatives in Iran when the January slaughter began
While communication blackouts make exact numbers difficult to verify, human rights groups estimated the death toll from the state's crackdown in January ranged from 7000 to upwards of 30,000 people.
For many Iranians, including my family still there, there is no "safe side". They are trapped between foreign airstrikes and a domestic crackdown.
What is the scale of the bombardment?
The frequency of the strikes is difficult for us here in Aotearoa to fathom. At the height of the recent escalation, one military report indicated that over 5000 bombs were dropped in a matter of days.
I’m told this creates a state of perpetual fight-or-flight for civilians, where the primary uncertainty is not if another strike will occur, but where it will land.
I’ve been thinking about how the impact of these bombs extends far beyond military targets, sometimes hitting the infrastructure required for a functioning society: hospitals, residential neighbourhoods, and schools.
Just this week, AP reported a preliminary US military investigation reportedly determined that its own missile strike on February 28 was responsible for destroying an elementary school in the city of Minab, an incident that reportedly killed at least 175 people, most of them children.
I think when the foundations of daily life are dismantled, it destroys the very infrastructure a peaceful society would need to eventually rebuild.
Why does war make things more dangerous for marginalised groups?
There is a common misconception that an external threat might weaken a government’s grip on its people. Historically, the opposite is true. In times of crisis, security is often tightened in the name of "national unity", as a government under pressure seeks someone to point the finger at.
Marginalised groups, including artists, activists, and religious and ethnic minorities frequently become targets of scapegoating. I’ve seen reports that these communities are facing raids and forced confessions on state television.
The challenge is if the world’s eyes are on the missiles, they’re not the local jail cells where these vulnerable populations are at heightened risk.
What happens when the internet goes dark?
As we know, connectivity has become more than a convenience – it is a humanitarian necessity. In Iran, the intentional disruption of the internet creates an information “vacuum”.
When a bomb falls in a neighbourhood, the immediate instinct to check on loved ones, is thwarted. This forces families into a state of agonising separation. I spoke to one young Iranian Kiwi to describe how, for family here in Aotearoa, the inability to reach family leads to immense psychological stress.
We know that even when connections are restored, the shadow of surveillance remains. The knowledge that a phone call is likely to be monitored creates a culture of self-censorship for those both inside and outside the country. There’s not much they can tell us – just that they’re alive and scared.
Ultimately, these communication blackouts serve a specific purpose: they ensure that horrific events remain uncovered and unverified. By severing the link to the outside world, the state can control the narrative.
Who are the 'proxy journalists' filling the vacuum?
When information is suppressed, a vacuum is created, usually filled by geopolitical analysts discussing the war as a strategic game.
To counter this, everyday Iranians in the diaspora have become "proxy journalists".
They are the ones slowly piecing together fragments of information from their families and sharing the reality of the human toll.
I think that by listening to these voices, we ensure that the conflict is not reduced to a distant debate but is understood as a vital struggle for human agency.
Watch on TVNZ+ - Mava Moayyed explains the situation on the ground in Iran
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