Where steak is a dream

Just days earlier, authorities had affixed heavy metal seals to the doors of several cafes that had become popular gathering places for young people - 1401, Theory, Jo Cafe, Dobareh, Sam Cafe, Maan, and Nook. Now, even the physical footprint of these gathering spots was being erased.

The scene along Sanaei is not an isolated urban redevelopment project; it is the visible edge of an expanding domestic front. As the Islamic Republic navigates profound geopolitical vulnerability, military standoff, and international isolation, its security apparatus has turned inward with renewed vigor. The target is the physical fabric of daily life—the informal, everyday spaces where citizens meet, breathe, and quietly subvert official ideology.

The erasure of the 'Patogh'

In Iranian urban culture, the patogh - a hangout spot, whether a neighborhood coffee shop, a shaded bench, or a specific street corner- holds a special resonance. Central Tehran, with its historical universities, cultural venues, and tree-lined avenues, has long served as a sanctuary for students and young professionals seeking conversation away from state surveillance.

Cafes in this district do not merely sell coffee; they operate as vital breathing rooms in a pressure-cooker society. They are spaces where women routinely drop their headscarves, where independent acoustic music plays quietly, and where social networks form organically.

To the security state, these hubs represent something far more dangerous than simple rule-breaking: they are unmonitored incubator spaces for civil defiance.

By dismantling the planters and outdoor ledges where young people once congregated, the state is conducting a campaign of physical depatterning. The objective is simple: raise the friction of gathering, eliminate opportunities for unscripted human interaction, and force citizens back into the isolation of private homes.

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From central cafes to northern bazaars

The systematic clearing of social life is not confined to central Tehran's bohemian quarters. In the northern district of Tajrish—a bustling commercial hub anchored by its traditional bazaar, the Imamzadeh Saleh shrine, and the thoroughfares leading toward the Saadabad Palace—a parallel push is underway.

Here, the crackdown targets street musicians, artisans, and informal vendors whose presence gives the district its distinctive kinetic energy.

"Plainclothes men carrying two-way radios came up to me last week while I was playing," a young handpan musician who performed near Tajrish Square told Iran International. "They told me bluntly: 'The time for these antics is over. There will be none of this in the streets anymore.'"

For many, performing or vending in Tajrish was not a lifestyle choice, but a last resort. Following the internet blackouts imposed during recent nationwide unrest, thousands of small online businesses, home-craft pages, and digital storefronts collapsed overnight. Young artisans, women-headed households, and unemployed graduates migrated to the pavements of Tajrish to sell handmade goods or play music for passing crowds.

Now, even that economic and social retreat is being shut down. Vendors near the shrine report periodic sweeps by security personnel and vigilantes ordering them to pack up their "sinful stalls" under threat of physical violence.

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The asymmetry of public space

What makes this campaign so striking to Tehran residents is its stark selectivity.

While young people face sledgehammers and security sweeps for sitting on a sidewalk ledger or strumming a guitar, state-aligned groups enjoy unrestricted access to the city’s major arteries. For months, heavily subsidized groups have set up nightly ideological gatherings, loud ceremonial processions, and roadside stands with full logistical backing from the state.

This spatial double standard reveals the regime's broader urban philosophy: public space in Iran is not a shared civic commodity, but a state monopoly. The streets are permitted to be loud, crowded, and disruptive—provided that noise serves the government's narrative. The moment a street corner becomes a site for quiet civilian autonomy, it is treated as a security threat.

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The historical pattern: Internal repression as external defense

This tightening grip on everyday life follows a familiar pattern in post-revolutionary Iran. Historically, whenever the Islamic Republic faces severe external threats or internal crises, its immediate response is to signal total domestic control.

The destruction of cafe seating and the silencing of street performers occur alongside a sharp escalation in judicial violence, including a surge in executions and political detentions. The message directed at society is unified across every medium: the state retains absolute authority over who walks the street, who speaks, and who lives.

Yet, despite the shattered concrete on Sanaei Street and the quieted plazas of Tajrish, Tehran's urban ecosystem remains stubbornly resilient. The urge to assemble, connect, and reclaim small fragments of normal life has repeatedly outlasted physical destruction—proving that while a government can tear up a sidewalk, controlling the social life that flows over it is a far more difficult task.

It is three o'clock in the morning and I am trying not to fall asleep. By the time the dawn call to prayer reaches my window, three young Iranians may be dead.

I know there is nothing I can do. Still, sleep feels like a kind of surrender. So I keep refreshing whatever scraps of internet still work, hoping to see a message saying the executions have been postponed, that the rumours were wrong, that someone, somewhere, changed their mind.

The three young men have spent weeks waiting for this night. Convicted over their alleged role in the January protests, they now face the possibility of being taken to the gallows before most of Iran has opened its eyes.

Their names are spreading quickly, far beyond their hometown of Isfahan. That is why so many of us are awake.

Videos circulating online show heavy security around Isfahan's Alikhani Square, where scaffolding has been erected ahead of the possible public hangings. Small groups of people hover nearby despite the risks. They know they are unlikely to stop anything, but they go anyway.

There is something profoundly human about it: standing in the darkness simply because another person should not have to die alone.

The authorities would probably describe it as law enforcement. Most people I know call it something else: state killing. The only thing in Iran that never pauses.

War or peace, summer or winter. Presidents come and go, mediators arrive and leave. Bombs fall. Ceasefires are declared. The scaffold remains.

That continuity has become its own form of terror. Executions are part of our lives because the state has made them part of our lives. Deliberately.

Tonight feels different only because people know where to look. Some are watching the square from nearby streets. Others, like me, stare at flickering phone screens. We tell ourselves that daylight would make it harder.

As if numbers could somehow interrupt a machinery that has spent decades perfecting itself. It is an irrational hope. But hope often is.

People outside Iran often ask why sanctions, assassinations or bombs have not broken this system. Well, perhaps look at Alikhani Square.

Bombs can destroy buildings. They cannot, on their own, dismantle a system that has learned to absorb them. Ordinary people are different. They are the only force capable of challenging it from within. So the regime continues to reserve its greatest brutality for us.

The call to prayer will come soon. I still do not know whether I will sleep before then. I tell myself that once the sun is up there will be more eyes on the streets, more phones recording, more people standing nearby.

I convince myself that staying awake might help. I know it won’t. But tonight it feels unbearable not to try.

The UNESCO listing has drawn renewed attention to Choubak’s role in identifying, documenting and conserving the fortress complex, located 120 miles northwest of Tehran, and preparing it for World Heritage status.

Alamut Castle and Related Fortifications became Iran’s 30th UNESCO World Heritage property when it was inscribed on July 26 during the committee’s 48th session in Busan, South Korea.

Images of Choubak crying as the decision was announced were widely shared online, with users praising her decades-long commitment while criticizing the prominence given to government officials at the ceremony.

Zeinab Karimian, an Iranian journalist who formerly worked for the official news agency IRNA, said the inscription was the result of Choubak’s 25 years of “perseverance, yet once again, the front row was filled by male officials who will serve as ministers or deputy ministers for only a few years, while she remained in a corner.”

“History forgets the names of those who occupy the seats, but not those who devoted their lives to this land.”

Many social media users also praised Choubak as a symbol of professional dedication, saying the UNESCO listing had finally brought overdue recognition to decades of largely unseen work.

“I wish people like Dr. Hamideh Choubak could be multiplied—people who love this country’s land and heritage,” communications specialist Negar Arab wrote on X.

The Asr-e Iran news website also published a tribute to Choubak titled “25 years of effort and love for Iran’s cultural heritage.”

The outlet said she had devoted much of her career to researching and protecting Alamut, describing the UNESCO decision as the culmination of years of work.

“Alamut’s inscription may be only a piece of news, but for a woman who devoted more than a quarter of a century of her life to this mountain and fortress, this moment marks the end of a long journey and the beginning of Alamut’s lasting place in global memory,” it wrote.

Twenty-five years at Alamut

Choubak began archaeological excavations at Alamut Castle in 2001.

Her research continued over 25 years and included 16 excavation seasons at the main fortress, surrounding areas and several associated castles.

Her team uncovered buried sections of the complex and identified the functions of different structures.

The excavations revealed the castle’s prison, main entrance, observatory and central courtyard.

Researchers also identified Molasara, believed to have been used by Hassan-i Sabbah and other Ismaili leaders, as well as storage facilities, irrigation systems and communication routes.

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Studies of six neighboring castles indicated that the fortifications had operated as an integrated network.

Botanical research conducted during the excavations also challenged some common accounts about the use of hashish during Hassan-i Sabbah’s era.

Choubak said the site had been reduced to little more than a mound of earth after years of erosion and neglect when excavations began.

Only parts of its walls remained visible.

Over the following decades, the main structures were identified, documented, conserved and restored as part of efforts to prepare Alamut for UNESCO recognition.

Protecting Alamut from development

Choubak was also praised for opposing projects that could have damaged the site and its surrounding historical landscape.

She resisted plans to construct a road, a cable car and other developments within the protected area, and sought to prevent unauthorized land occupation and construction.

Choubak, who serves as director of the Alamut World Heritage base, has said the complex was more than a military fortress.

It was also a center of government, science and culture during the Ismaili period, she said.

She pointed to the presence of scholars including Nasir al-Din al-Tusi, as well as the castle’s library and scientific activities, as evidence of its broader cultural importance.

Asr-e Iran also highlighted Choubak’s archaeological work in the ancient city of Jiroft and the Jazmourian region.

Those excavations led to the identification of a mosque, bazaar, public square, cemetery, water-distribution network and industrial workshops.

Choubak, born in 1952 in Bushehr in southern Iran, is an archaeologist specializing in the Islamic period. She studied archaeology at the University of Tehran, completing her master’s degree in 1983 with a thesis on Islamic ceramics, before earning a PhD in Islamic archaeology from Tarbiat Modares University.

Her career has included work at Iran’s Archaeological Center, the Glassware and Ceramic Museum, the Tehran Cultural Heritage Center and the Research Institute of Archaeology.

Choubak has participated in and led numerous excavations across Iran, including at Rey, Tepe Hissar, Hormuz, Jiroft and Kish.

Iranians are increasingly borrowing money, delaying treatment and bargaining over medical bills as healthcare costs outpace household incomes, according to a new report by Eghtesad Online, while authorities say medicines and medical supplies are fully secured for Arbaeen, the annual pilgrimage commemorating the 40th day after the death of third Shiite imam.

The report describes a healthcare system where treatment increasingly begins not with a doctor's diagnosis but with offers to activate credit, pay in installments or use discount codes. From dental care and physiotherapy to psychotherapy, prescription drugs and online consultations, households are increasingly financing healthcare with future income.

"The issue is not just the growth of a few startups or advertisements by a few clinics; the issue is the shrinking liquidity of households, where a patient is forced to borrow from next month's income to pay for today's pain," the report said.

When treatment depends on payday

Conversations in doctors' offices, the report said, increasingly focus on affordability rather than treatment. Patients ask whether insurance will cover consultation fees or whether doctors can charge less, while physicians report seeing people who postpone laboratory tests, imaging scans and prescriptions after paying for the initial visit.

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"Is this charged at the private rate? Doesn't insurance cover it? Can't you charge a little less?" are now common questions at reception desks, according to the report, which said patients bargain "not out of habit, but out of necessity."

Long-term treatment is particularly vulnerable. Patients stop physiotherapy midway, discontinue psychotherapy after only a few sessions or ration medication so it lasts longer, turning what the report called "a shortage of cash into a shortage of treatment."

Official figures for the current Iranian year have not yet been released, but the latest available data showed healthcare accounted for 8.7% of urban household spending and 9.8% of rural household spending in 2024.

Mental health becomes a luxury

Financial pressures are especially visible in mental healthcare, where patients increasingly align appointments with payday.

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"Can I pay for this session at the end of the month?" is among the requests therapists now hear regularly, according to the report. Others ask, "My salary is deposited on the 10th. Can I pay for two sessions together?" or explain, "I can't come every week for now. I'll come twice a month."

The report said psychotherapy is intended to help people cope with anxiety, exhaustion and the pressures of daily life, yet "the cost of the session itself has become one of those anxieties." Social media users quoted in the report described calculating rent, loan payments, medicine and food costs before deciding whether they could afford therapy.

Dental care has become another symbol of the trend. Clinics increasingly advertise installment plans for implants, orthodontics and root canals, while online pharmacies and health platforms now offer credit for medicines and health-related products.

"Toothache does not wait for next month's paycheck," the report said, describing installment payments as both an opportunity to obtain treatment and a warning that essential healthcare costs are increasingly becoming future debt.

Officials warn of shortages

The financial pressures coincide with warnings from lawmakers about Iran's pharmaceutical sector.

Salman Es’haqi, spokesperson for parliament's Health and Treatment Committee, described medicine shortages as a "serious and critical" issue, citing sanctions, the recent war and disruptions to imports of pharmaceutical raw materials. He warned that unstable access to medicines could cost lives.

Other lawmakers have linked shortages to delays in foreign currency allocations and cash shortages affecting imports, while pharmacists have said weak oversight has allowed some medicines to be diverted from official distribution channels into the unofficial market.

Medical support for Arbaeen

Despite those concerns, officials have repeatedly emphasized that healthcare resources for Arbaeen will be fully available.

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Jafar Miadfar, head of Iran's Emergency Organization, said authorities had no concerns about supplying medicines and intravenous fluids for pilgrims. He said around 300,000 units of intravenous fluids had been allocated and medicine stocks positioned at six border crossings ahead of the pilgrimage.

Earlier, Iranian Red Crescent chief Pirhossein Kolivand said medicines and medical equipment had been dispatched for Arbaeen and that five hospitals in Iraq along the Najaf-Karbala route would provide care for Iranian pilgrims.

The controversy has exposed the unofficial network of so-called trusties: companies and intermediaries entrusted with receiving and transferring oil revenues outside the international banking system.

Speaking on state television on Sunday, the head of Iran's State Inspection Organization, Zabihollah Khodaeian, said one intermediary alone had failed to return $200 million in state funds before leaving the country.

Khodaeian added that judicial authorities had opened 59 criminal cases against managers of trustee companies. Some suspects have been arrested, while others have fled abroad.

Iranian media also reported that prosecutors had sought Interpol Red Notices for 15 fugitives linked to the network.

The disclosures prompted unusually blunt criticism from Majid Reza Hariri, head of the Iran-China Chamber of Commerce.

In a public message addressed to Tehran's prosecutor, Hariri said the Interpol requests meant at least 15 trusted intermediaries had escaped with "billions of dollars" in national wealth.

"Who introduced these trusties? Who guaranteed them? And why is no action being taken against those who backed them?" he asked.

Although Hariri's estimate has not been independently verified, his comments echoed questions increasingly being raised in Iranian media over how individuals entrusted with handling billions of dollars in oil revenues could allegedly abscond without serious failures in oversight.

A product of sanctions

The trustee system emerged as international sanctions largely cut Iranian banks off from the global financial system.

Unable to receive oil payments through conventional banking channels, Tehran increasingly relied on trusted intermediaries with access to foreign companies and bank accounts to collect, hold and transfer export revenues.

Many of these intermediaries operate through countries including the United Arab Emirates, Turkey and Oman.

The arrangement became indispensable to sustaining Iranian oil exports under sanctions. But it also created a largely opaque financial architecture operating outside many of the transparency, auditing and compliance mechanisms that govern formal banking systems.

Trusties have never been clearly defined under Iranian law. Little is publicly known about how they are selected, what commissions they receive, what guarantees they provide or how their activities are supervised.

Critics say the structure also creates an inherent conflict of interest. Oil revenues can remain in intermediary accounts for days or even weeks before reaching Iran, allowing trusties to profit from holding large balances while the state bears the financial risk.

Questions over oversight

The growing scandal has also drawn attention to who ultimately oversees the network.

Oil Minister Mohsen Paknejad has previously said the Oil Ministry's responsibility ends with marketing and selling crude, while the Central Bank determines where export revenues are deposited and supervises their transfer.

The issue is especially sensitive because trusties are not ordinary commercial intermediaries. They are selected precisely because they are considered sufficiently reliable to handle some of the state's most strategically important financial transactions.

Officials maintain that such intermediaries remain indispensable as long as sanctions keep Iran largely excluded from the international banking system.

The expanding investigation, however, has transformed what was once a largely hidden mechanism of sanctions evasion into yet another damaging scandal for the Islamic Republic, raising difficult questions about both the alleged abuse and the system that allowed it to occur.