Online spaces dominate the lives of young Iranians, and have provided opportunities for them to support each other during war.
The streets of Tehran are telling a story of chaos: suitcases dragged across pavements, a single mother holding her young son with one hand while balancing a blanket and pillow in the other, heading into a subway station to spend yet another night underground. With no shelters, alerts, or public evacuation plans, young Iranians are turning to the only safe space left as Israel attacks Iran: the internet, and chat apps like Discord and WhatsApp.
“We don’t know where to go,” says Momo, a 24-year-old IT engineering student in Tehran.
“We never know if the building next door houses the IRGC [Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps] or the Ministry of Intelligence. I don’t know if my upstairs neighbour is a regular person or a regime official. The facility near me might be part of a secret military programme,” he said, alluding to Israel’s attacks on residential buildings, ostensibly to target individuals associated with Iran’s military or with its nuclear programme.
Despite it all, Momo has chosen to stay in Tehran – not just for his two-year-old rescue cat, but out of principle. “Where would I even go? My home is here. My life is here. We won’t give in to a repressive regime or Israeli aggression. Many of us are staying. We don’t know how long this will last, but I’d rather my home become my grave than live in displacement.”
With conventional safe havens out of reach and communication networks under heavy surveillance or blocked entirely, Iran’s Generation Z – those born between the mid-1990s and mid-2010s – are carving out new refuges in the digital world. Forums have become lifelines, serving as makeshift shelters, therapy rooms, and organising hubs.
Momo has been a Discord user for seven years. “It’s the only place where I can breathe,” Momo says. “I used Discord just for voice chats while gaming with friends. Now, it feels like home. We’re often in touch with people there more than our families. In the middle of the bombings, we watched movies and TV series together. Sometimes, we even fall asleep online.”
“When the attacks began, we were in the middle of a game,” Samin, a 23-year-old from northern Iran, says. “It was surreal – not knowing if the explosions were coming from inside the game or real life. These games are full of gunfire and bombs, creating this bitter irony: I couldn’t tell if I was playing Call of Duty or living it. Sadly, the sounds weren’t from the game – they were real bombings.”
Discord was blocked in Iran in April 2024, with some suspecting that the government shut it down in recognition of its use as a platform to organise protests, although Iran’s judiciary officially cited concerns over indecent content. But the ban hasn’t stopped Gen Z from finding their way back to the app.
“Sometimes we go to great lengths just to find a working VPN, just to log into Discord and join our channels. If someone doesn’t come online, we call them. If their voice cuts out mid-call, our hearts race – we worry they might have been killed in a bombing,” Samin says. “We’re online more than ever, constantly checking in on each other. We’ve shared so much – birthdays, the sound of missiles overhead, the loss of loved ones. We share our fears and daily struggles in that space. It’s a painful atmosphere, but there’s hope, solidarity, and care, too.”
No shelter but the internet
Meanwhile, a WhatsApp group created initially for prenatal yoga in Tehran has become an unexpected hub of resilience. Its members – pregnant women who were unable to flee the capital – now share breathing techniques, emergency tips, and voice messages during blackout periods.
Ameneh and her friend Zohreh, PhD holders and United States green card recipients, had been waiting for their parents’ visas to be approved by the US for months. While both were expecting babies, they made different decisions: Zohreh returned to Iran to have her family’s support for childbirth, while Ameneh stayed in San Francisco to give birth alone – but safely – in the US.
“The sound of an explosion woke me. A friend guided me to focus on breathing and heartbeat to calm my contractions. Another time, when my baby didn’t move for hours, they told me to play music, do a massage, and try yoga again.”
US President Donald Trump’s threat that Tehran be “evacuated” sent waves of panic through Tehran. Zohreh and many other pregnant women found themselves unable to leave the city due to their physical condition and limited access to medical care. “We had planned to leave Tehran,” she says, “but after seeing the traffic and the possibility of going into labour early, I decided to stay so I’d have access to a hospital.”
As the bombs fall and uncertainty deepens, Iranians’ defiance lives in digital spaces – quiet, steadfast, and deeply human. Even when the sky offers no warning and the regime offers no refuge, they are still finding each other and refusing to face the dark alone.
Editor’s note: Due to the sensitive nature of this story, names have been changed to protect the people involved.
This story was published in collaboration with Egab.
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