In the early hours of Tuesday, June 24, 2025, after twelve days of intense fighting between Iran and Israel, a ceasefire was announced—first by Iran, and then officially accepted by Israel a few hours later, putting an end to this round of military conflict. But while the missiles and bombs may have stopped, for people inside Iran, the war continues in another form—and in some ways, it has even taken a new shape. What’s happening in Iran after the ceasefire is not simply a “return to normal.” A closer look at the internal developments shows that the regime is using the end of the war as an opportunity to tighten security measures and redefine its authoritarian order.
Post-War Politics
In the hours and days following the ceasefire, the Iranian regime used symbolic and media tools to present itself as strong and unified. The Supreme Leader of the Islamic Republic, in his first official speech delivered via a video recorded in an undisclosed location, described the missile strike on a U.S. base in Qatar as a “slap to America” and dismissed Israel’s attacks on Iran’s military infrastructure as “ineffective.” He spoke of victory in order to reinforce the official narrative: the war is over, the regime stood firm, and now it’s time for obedience. This, even as Iranians had just witnessed the killing of hundreds of military targets, dozens of field commanders, and over 30 high-ranking IRGC and security officials.
In contrast, President Pezeshkian—considered a “moderate” within the system—tried to strike a softer tone. He called the war “an opportunity for unity” and spoke of “managerial reform,” emphasizing the need to use the atmosphere of national solidarity to push for internal change. Yet these two tones, despite appearing contradictory, are actually two sides of the same strategy: reinforcing state control—one through military strength, the other through civil symbolism.
The biggest political divide after the war has emerged around the issue of negotiations with the United States. State-affiliated media reported diplomatic contacts between the government and regional players, including a phone call between Pezeshkian and the Saudi Crown Prince. Meanwhile, institutions tied to hardline factions fiercely warned against any “diplomatic flexibility.” For them, negotiations were framed as betrayal—an insult to the “blood of the martyrs” and a result of naïveté in the face of the enemy.
This conflict is not just a tactical disagreement. The government, while still rooted in the security apparatus, is trying to use the war crisis to rebuild its political legitimacy. The hardliners, on the other hand, are working to maintain a climate of fear and threat in order to block any concessions or reforms. In all this, the real issues—the lives of ordinary people, the victims, the displaced—are completely ignored.
What stands out is not accountability, but the reproduction of authoritarian power under the names of “national security” and “regime dignity.” Beneath this surface, the deeper problems are clear: a crisis of trust, instability within the power structure, and the total absence of real public policy.
In line with this, the government’s official newspaper Iran reported on the return of military figures to the media, along with the reinstallation of the famous “Countdown to Israel’s Destruction” billboard in Palestine Square, Tehran. According to the report, the billboard—reportedly damaged by Israeli drone strikes—was restored “without a scratch.” Such symbolic acts, amid growing human casualties, political instability, and economic crisis, reflect the regime’s desperate attempt to reconstruct a narrative of victory—not on the battlefield, but in the streets and through state media propaganda.
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Fear, Suspension, and Life Under Security’s Shadow
After the ceasefire was announced, Tehran’s streets appeared calm. Shops reopened, metro and bus traffic resumed, and official funerals for those killed in the war were covered by state media. But this surface-level calm didn’t mean a return to normal life—it was the result of a tightly controlled security environment where fear has replaced politics.
No independent protests were held during this time—not because people didn’t want to protest, but because such a thing simply isn’t possible in Iran. Many civil and political activists, who have already faced arrest and pressure in recent years, have stayed silent and still in the days after the war. No one knows what excuse the regime might use to arrest someone now.
Meanwhile, the state quickly took advantage of the situation to stage organized public rallies. With crowds known as “rented armies,” authorities held official ceremonies in Tehran’s Enghelab Square and other major cities, with the president and military officials present. Many attendees were there due to administrative orders, institutional pressure, or intense propaganda. All this was happening while, despite Israeli propaganda about regime change and open support from monarchists—especially the son of Iran’s former Shah who was overthrown by the people’s revolution in 1979—the political and social mood inside Iran was very different. This difference wasn’t about supporting the Islamic Republic, but about a clear rejection of foreign intervention and a deep commitment to Iranian people’s own collective will. It showed that many Iranians, while strongly opposed to the ruling system, still reject outside interference.
At the same time, the economic and psychological realities of society are being ignored. What was presented in the media as a “national defense” was, for families in Tehran, a terrifying experience of sirens, explosions, evacuating children, and fleeing or returning to the city. Life has not gone back to what it was—it has become a continued state of uncertainty, where there are no guarantees for personal safety, job security, or even the basic right to protest.
The financial newspaper Donya-e-Eqtesad wrote in a Thursday analysis: “Without social security and political reconciliation, any kind of economic investment will face long-term risks. National reconciliation processes, political dialogue between various groups, between the center and the marginalized provinces, and between workers and employers—all of these must go hand-in-hand with economic planning. Inclusive and justice-based growth is a key principle in reconstruction. If regional and gender inequalities are not addressed, they will lead to new waves of dissatisfaction and future conflicts. Reconstruction policies must therefore prioritize regional balance, women’s participation, and the inclusion of ethnic minorities, who play a major role in Iran.”
Right now, Iranian society is neither rebuilding nor revolting—it is suspended. A suspension where people know that what they have lost isn’t just homes or possessions, but the sense of being able to act, to protest, or even to give meaning to life in the middle of crisis. And it is in this very moment that politics is postponed, and the existing order—without consent but also without resistance—is reproduced.
The reinstallation of the famous “Countdown to Israel’s Destruction” billboard in Palestine Square, Tehran.
The Economy of Tension and Surface-Level Recovery
After the ceasefire was declared, the first official reactions came from Iran’s currency, gold, and stock markets. As soon as the attacks stopped, the dollar rate dropped in the open market, exchange offices reopened, and economic officials promised a return to stability. But can these early signals really be seen as a return to balance?
The economic daily Jahan-e Sanat wrote in its Thursday editorial: “The post-war period comes with high levels of uncertainty that directly impact financial markets. This uncertainty—ranging from macroeconomic instability like inflation and currency fluctuations to weak legal and regulatory frameworks—makes the investment environment highly unstable. The ongoing threat of conflict, lack of transparency in economic decisions, and emotional market behavior lead to capital flight, a drop in long-term investment demand, and decreased liquidity. Financial institutions, under such conditions, cannot properly function as intermediaries. Without serious government intervention, these uncertainties could disrupt economic reconstruction and erode public trust in the markets.”
Iran’s recent economic history shows that financial and currency volatility is not a sign of market health, but a response to political and security threats. The markets quickly moved past the war shock—not because of structural reforms, but simply because the fighting stopped. The government tried to portray this as a sign of “public confidence” and “economic growth.” The Central Bank spoke of increased oil exports, and the president announced upcoming compensation packages for war damages.
A similar pattern played out in the gold market. The price of coins and domestic gold dropped at first but soon climbed again as public distrust returned. This psychological reaction reflects fear about the future—a fear that shows people don’t trust the ceasefire, only the war’s temporary pause. From this perspective, the ceasefire is just a break in the instability, not the start of a real recovery.
In the end, the government is trying to use financial tools to project an image of “stability restored.” But without deep reforms, transparency, and public involvement, this recovery is only cosmetic. The reality is that the working class and lower-income groups have gained nothing from the ceasefire and see little hope in post-war promises. In such conditions, Iran’s economy remains reactive and performative—locked in a cycle of crisis response rather than real progress.
Controlling Fear as a State Tactic
With the end of the external war, the Iranian regime quickly shifted its focus from the military front to domestic control. But this shift didn’t come with public dialogue or efforts toward unity—it came through a tightly organized security campaign: arrests, threats, summons, executions, and the spread of fear throughout society.
In less than two weeks, hundreds of people have been arrested across the country. In just the provinces of Isfahan and Fars, more than 70 legal cases have been filed against individuals accused of “collaborating with Israel” or “disturbing public morale.” Hundreds more have received phone warnings or been summoned. Prosecutors and judiciary heads in several provinces have emphasized “priority processing” and “zero tolerance” for these cases—language that in practice replaces any hope for fair legal procedure.
In Tehran, independent artist Reza Daryakanari was arrested in a café and taken to an unknown location. Political activist Hossein Ronaghi and his brother disappeared without any news. Children’s rights advocate Hossein Mirbahari was arrested at home by security forces and taken to Ward 209 of Evin Prison, with no notification to his family. Days later, there’s still no information about any of them. And this list is far from complete. According to human rights reports, at least three political prisoners have been executed since the start of the attacks on charges of “spying for Israel”—charges based on alleged acts that happened over eight years ago. These individuals were arrested years later and executed in the middle of the war.
Even the prisons weren’t safe from Israeli attacks. A direct strike on Evin Prison—where hundreds of political detainees are held—sparked global concern. Amnesty International called the attack “alarming” and possibly a “war crime,” urging the Islamic Republic to relocate prisoners from high-risk areas. But neither the Iranian government nor Israeli authorities have accepted any responsibility for the prisoners’ safety.
At the same time, racist and anti-immigration policies have intensified. According to an official order to law enforcement, “all undocumented foreigners”—a term mainly referring to Afghan migrants—must leave Iran. The border police commander announced that any property rented to Afghan migrants, even with a signed agreement, would be “invalidated,” and the property would be sealed and confiscated. These actions, justified as reflecting the “will of the people,” are part of a broader strategy to securitize migration in Iran—one that leads to the social erasure of already marginalized populations. In just the past two days, over 60,000 people have been deported. Renting any kind of house or property to Afghans has also been officially banned.
In this climate, the very meaning of security has been flipped—used now as a tool to silence all independent voices. The repression is not limited to border provinces or ethnic minorities; it is widespread and indiscriminate. Alongside Kurdistan and Baluchistan, citizens in Tehran, Isfahan, Shiraz, Pardis, and other cities now live under constant threat. Whether at home, in a café, a hospital, or even online—no space is truly safe.
The Reproduction of Repression
The official ceasefire between Iran and Israel may have ended the missile exchanges, but inside Iran, another kind of war continues—a war against society, against memory, and against the very possibility of politics. What the regime failed to gain from the outside, it has now rebuilt within: a climate of threat, the silencing of dialogue, and the consolidation of power in the hands of security institutions.
Instead of using the war as a chance to rethink power relations, the regime has turned it into an opportunity to expand its security grip. Silencing dissenting voices, bypassing legal processes, and ignoring widespread social anxiety all serve one purpose: maintaining power through fear. While this repression might create a temporary sense of surface stability, in the longer term it leads to a breakdown of trust, the hollowing out of political life, and the buildup of silent, unexpressed anger.
The real question now is: what response is possible for society when politics has been erased? Today, Iran is trapped between two silences—the one forced from within by the regime, and the one from outside, as the world turns away from what’s happening. As the well-known and non-political figure Rasoul Khadem wrote, with bitter irony: “The strength of the homeland comes from the lives of its people.” But those lives have no refuge.
If a new politics is to be born, it must rise from these silences—not through missiles, not through foreign intervention, but from within a society that is still alive, even if voiceless.
