"You are no longer my sister." The response was swift and uncompromising: "Go to hell."
This bitter exchange, witnessed by a young Iranian man we will call Sina, did not happen on a political debate stage, but inside his grandmother's home near Tehran. It is a stark illustration of the deep, often irreparable rifts tearing through Iranian families as foreign airstrikes and internal regime crackdowns force people to choose sides.
Sina's uncle is a member of the Basij, a hardline volunteer militia frequently utilized by the state to crush public dissent. His aunt, conversely, vehemently opposes Iran's clerical rulers. Following their explosive confrontation, the uncle fell silent and abruptly left the family gathering.
Across the country, similar emotional scenes are playing out. Despite sweeping government internet blackouts, a handful of Iranians have managed to bypass restrictions using VPNs or illegal satellite dishes to share their realities with the outside world. Through intermittent texts and voice notes, they describe a surreal daily existence—practicing yoga to the muffled thuds of explosions or sitting in desolate cafes—while navigating a minefield of domestic relationships.
The recent Nowruz festival, a traditional Persian New Year celebration meant for family unity, instead magnified these divisions. Sina, who actively hopes US and Israeli strikes will topple the government, notes that his Basij uncle had boycotted family events for years. The uncle's sudden appearance this Nowruz was a shock. Sina suspects the looming threat of war has made his uncle "afraid of dying," prompting a sudden, desperate bid to make amends with his estranged relatives.
But forgiveness is hard to come by. Sina has barely acknowledged his uncle since the nationwide 2022 protests sparked by the death of Mahsa Amini. The resentment deepened during a recent brutal crackdown in December and January, where human rights groups like HRANA estimate over 6,500 protesters were killed and tens of thousands arrested. During that turmoil, Sina’s uncle allegedly declared he would refuse to claim his own children's bodies if they joined the anti-regime demonstrations.
For others, the political friction proved too much to endure even for a single holiday. Kaveh, a young man from Tehran, ended up spending Nowruz entirely alone. He had traveled to be with his family, secretly bringing a smuggled SpaceX Starlink terminal to provide them with internet access—a crime punishable by up to two years in an Iranian prison.
Kaveh’s sister, also a member of the Basij, had previously mocked his involvement in the 2022 protests and showed no sympathy when his friends were killed by security forces. The breaking point arrived when Kaveh discovered she had deliberately disconnected his Starlink equipment.
"I just had a fight and said I can't stand it, and I left," Kaveh explained over an encrypted connection. "I was so excited about Nowruz... But now I don't feel it at all."
Yet, the fracture lines do not only separate regime loyalists from dissidents; they are also splitting the opposition itself over the ethics of foreign military intervention. The human cost is severe: the International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies reports 1,900 deaths from the ongoing US and Israeli strikes, while HRANA estimates the death toll exceeds 3,400, including over 1,500 civilians.
In the northern city of Rasht, a student named Maral finds herself deeply alienated from her father over his unwavering support for the bombings. He is a staunch backer of Reza Pahlavi, the exiled former crown prince who has framed the airstrikes as a necessary "humanitarian intervention."
"Many ordinary people have died, and I just want this war to end as soon as possible," Maral says, expressing her frustration at her father's persistent optimism amid the carnage. "My dad lives in this illusion that Iran will open up its borders and within five years everything will be rebuilt."