From chaos to abandoned streets, inside Iran as the conflict with Israel escalates

Fear and confusion have swept Tehran. 

On the streets, the situation has gone from utter chaos — traffic jams as thousands fled the capital in direct the aftermath of Israel's attacks — to eerie silence amid shuttered shopfronts and abandoned streets. 

Iranians, who have spoken to the ABC, say they are frightened by the barrage of rockets, by the uncertainty of what comes next, and by the prospect of the Islamic Republic turning on its citizens — again.

"Unfortunately, the internet has been completely and widely cut off inside, but now [briefly] I was able to connect after hours, which is like a miracle," said one prominent Iranian activist and former political prisoner whose identity has been concealed for safety reasons.

Iran's government has already responded to Israel's latest military attacks with internet restrictions and arrests of journalists and dissidents within the country, according to reports from people inside Iran.

They also report that police checks have ramped up, and access to cash from banking networks is being cut off.

Israel has launched a series of air strikes on Iran since last Friday, claiming Tehran was "marching very quickly" to "weaponise the uranium".

It came after a report from the United Nations watchdog that found Iran had failed to comply with its nuclear obligations — the first time in almost 20 years.

Iran has denied Israel's claim, launching retaliatory air strikes on Tel Aviv.

As hostilities between Israel and Iran intensify, people inside Iran who have spoken to ABC News are worried the conflict could result in high civilian deaths, but also fear what could happen if the Islamic Republic of Iran loses its grip on power. 

Ramps up in checkpoints and 'inspections'

There are reports that Iran's government is ramping up inspections of citizens across the country.

The activist who spoke to the ABC is based in Tehran, but says, "these inspections are also seen in abundance in urban areas".

"My car and everyone else were thoroughly inspected one by one," she says.

"The situation is very stressful. The internet and people's access to the free flow of information are cut off, but government mercenaries and government bloggers have access to the open and free internet to take control of the situation and make people believe that everything is safe and secure, when it is not at all.

She wishes there was a way to connect Iranians with the outside world and "convey the people's voices abroad".

But she says, instead they are being shut off from the world.

This feeling of being held prisoner and disconnected from the outside world is a common sentiment expressed by Iranians who spoke to ABC News.

Unlike those who have fled Iran in recent days, leaving isn't an option for Sara whose name has been changed for her safety.

She is eight months' pregnant, and unable to risk being too far from her doctor or the hospital.

A vocal critic of the regime, she is intimately familiar with the Islamic Republic's brutal record — and has taken part in every major protest since the 2009 Green Movement.

"You know what? We're not scared," she says, with a detached calm in her voice, even as blasts echo in the background.

In 2018, she was arrested. During interrogation, they told her she would be raped, then killed. 

She was lucky — it was a scare tactic. 

A year later, about 1,500 people were killed during less than two weeks of protests that started on November 15, three Iranian interior ministry officials told Reuters based on information gathered from security forces, morgues, hospitals, and coroner's offices. 

Amnesty International reported the death toll was at least 304, while the US State Department estimated "many hundreds" of Iranians were killed and had seen reports that the figure could be more than 1,000.

In the most recent 2022 protests sparked by the death in custody of 22-year-old Kurdish-Iranian woman Mahsa Jina Amini, the Human Rights Activist News Agency estimated about 500 people were killed and more than 20,000 were arrested.

Amnesty International accused Tehran of conducting "sham trials" which ended the lives of young detainees in the wake of the #Women, Life, Freedom protests 

She says Iranians have lived through far worse than the latest conflict.

The Center for Human Rights in Iran said it was gravely concerned about the fate of political prisoners on death row in Iran. 

At least 54 individuals, including three women, had been sentenced to death before the outbreak of the conflict.

"Iran must not be allowed to use the fog of war to eliminate its critics in silence," centre executive director Hadi Ghaemi said.

Tehran has not provided regular updates on the death toll from Israeli bombing but the Washington-based Iranian group Human Rights Activists estimated at least 693 people, including top generals, scientists, and civilians, have been killed in Iran and more than 1,300 wounded. 

At least 24 civilians have been killed and hundreds have been wounded in Israel.

An exodus from Tehran

In the hours and days following the Israeli strikes, Tehran transformed. 

The city didn't erupt in panic — it drained. People grabbed whatever they could — documents, water, petrol — and moved. 

The roads out of the capital pulsed with headlights pushing north, toward the Alborz mountains, toward anywhere else. It wasn't just fear. It was instinct.

There were other exits, but most took the familiar routes — Chalous Road (Jaddeh-ye Chalous), Haraz, Fasham, the Tehran–Rasht highway. 

Every one of them jammed. Vehicles barely crawling. From overpasses and rooftops, it looked like a slow-moving exodus: families packed into sedans, sharing bread and sunflower seeds, eyes on their fuel gauges and their signal bars.

Some said the traffic stretched over 100 kilometres. At one point, people left their cars, lit up cigarettes and walked for stretches, returning only when movement resumed — inch-by-inch, hour-by-hour.

A week on, the picture has shifted.  Tehran is subdued.The typical hustle and bustle of millions — shoppers, students, taxis, soldiers — now echo under an unusual, metallic quiet.  Many shops are shuttered. The footpaths almost empty.

She speaks with a tone that's almost blasé — upsettingly relaxed for someone living through foreign air strikes.

In her voice messages, there is even a faint smirk as she responds to the shock expressed by outsiders.

She goes on to say, firmly, that Iranians do know what is going on. And she insists we get that on record.

Then she pauses, before adding the harder part: "But what alternative do we have? Do you know how many people would have died to get just one of those murderers?" — referring to the more than 20 senior regime officials reportedly killed in Israeli strikes so far.

She sends a short voice message: she'll be back. Her brother is calling.

When she returns, her tone shifts. He's stuck on the road heading north — no fuel, no way forward. The highways are gridlocked with people fleeing Tehran. She and her husband can't reach him. No use even trying. She says she needs to figure something out — and then she's gone.

Connection drops. And we lose her — to the unknown.

No fly zones restrict Iranians travelling to Australia to be with loved ones

When news of Israel's attack on Iran broke, Maryam says her first instinct was not political — it was visceral.

"All I could remember was growing up during the Iran-Iraq war … constantly being afraid, running from the living room to beneath the staircase, waiting for Iraq's bombs to fall," she said. 

Rahil nods beside her. "The poor people," she says quietly. 

Maryam continues. "It's a dilemma. It's your land, your country — a piece of your heart — and it's being attacked. Of course, it feels off. It feels terrible."

She presses her thumb and two fingers to her eyes. A pause. Then tears.

They are most concerned for family members left in Iran — their brother Mohammad-Reza and his young family. 

With flights from Iran grounded, Mohammad-Reza was unable to get to Australia to see his father, Ezzatollah Shaker, before he passed.

The ABC could not reach Mohammad-Reza directly. Finding a stable internet connection in Tehran had become a task in itself. But in a voice message, his emotions break through — torn, his voice cracking.