Basketball body deletes Iranian women’s dance video after Tehran complaint

Since a June 24 ceasefire ending a punishing war with Israel, a string of blasts and fires has struck residential buildings, airports, and sites described as commercial warehouses in cities including Tehran, Karaj, Qom, Mashhad and Tabriz.

In every case, government officials and state media have rushed to downplay the events, describing them as isolated incidents caused by routine factors.

Israeli air strikes and drone attacks during the 12-day war killed hundreds of Iranian military personnel and nuclear scientists, along with with hundreds of civilians.

The most recent explosion occurred at a residential complex in Qom, injuring seven people.

Footage from the scene showed extensive damage to ground- and first-floor apartments as well as nearby vehicles. Authorities attributed the blast to a gas leak.

That same day, additional incidents were reported: explosions and fire near Karaj; a fire at Mashhad Airport; a large blast in a desert area near Semnan; an explosion in Tabriz; and a fire in a commercial building in central Tehran.

No immediate explanations were offered for most. A Civil Aviation Organization official claimed the smoke at Mashhad Airport was due to "planned burning of weeds."

Government blames media panic

Iranian officials insist the incidents are routine and accuse foreign-linked media of spreading fear. Even minor events now trigger public suspicion.

When a car caught fire on a Tehran motorway on Monday, some compared it to Israeli operations targeting Hezbollah vehicles—despite no visible signs of an attack.

Speaking to the IRGC-linked Fars News Agency, an unnamed official accused “anti-Revolutionary media and Zionist-linked accounts” of connecting natural events to war in order to cause panic.

“People should not worry about this type of news fabrication,” he said.

But with each blast, more Iranians appear to be tuning out the official narrative—and asking harder questions.

Public unease and satire

“Every time something blows up, they say it’s a gas leak,” one user posted on X. Others shared footage with sarcastic captions questioning the frequency of incidents and the speed of official responses.

Satire has become a vehicle for disbelief.

After a July 10 explosion at a residential tower in Tehran’s Chitgar district, an X user named Mehran joked: “Call the Tehran gas company right now and someone picks up saying, ‘Shalom, how can I help you?’”

During the recent 12-day conflict, Israel targeted Iranian military figures and nuclear scientists at their homes.

In prior years, explosions at sensitive sites were later revealed as acts of sabotage—including the 2020 assassination of nuclear official Mohsen Fakhrizadeh with a remote-controlled weapon.

Some Iranian users on social media have been joking that the state may be deliberately turning a blind eye to Israeli involvement—because officially acknowledging it would compel a response and risk dragging the country back into war.

Others see it in darker terms, comparing Iran to Lebanon and its mounting vulnerability.

“It’s gotten to the point where smoke suddenly rises from Vanak (Square) at noon, someone says it was an explosion, someone else says it was nothing. But no one really asks what happened anymore; people are used to it,” wrote a popular user going by the name @NR2OH on X.

“Tehran has become like Beirut: anything can blow up at any moment, but life carries on like nothing happened,” they added.

Located in the Zagros Mountains, the Khorramabad Valley was inscribed as Iran’s 29th World Heritage site on July 10, during the 47th session of the UNESCO World Heritage Committee held in Paris.

Human presence in the valley dates back 63,000 years. The site is described as a key piece of the puzzle in understanding early human evolution and the migration from Africa to Eurasia.

Much of the area remains unexplored, offering potential for future archaeological excavations and discoveries.

Khorramabad Valley is located in Lorestan Province, which boasts over 5,000 historical sites—more than 2,600 of which are nationally registered in Iran.

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Fereydoun Biglari, head of the Paleolithic Department at Iran’s National Museum who led excavations at one of the caves underscored the historical importance of the sights, according to remarks cited by Archaeology News magazine.

“All five sites yield strong evidence for Neanderthal occupation and offer valuable insight into their material culture, subsistence strategies, and interactions with early Homo sapiens who migrated to the Zagros around 45,000 years ago,” Biglari said.

Khorramabad was also one of the major cities in western Iran during the Sassanid era. The Falak-ol-Aflak Castle, also known as Shapurkhast Fortress, is a surviving monument from that period and serves as a symbol of the city. The city also served as a capital for the Hazaraspid and Al-e Hasanuyah dynasties.

Iranian Minister of Cultural Heritage, Tourism, and Handicrafts also provided an update on the status of Falak-ol-Aflak Castle, saying it is on track to be added to the UNESCO list.

“The UNESCO resolution also referenced the status of Falak-ol-Aflak Castle. The deficiencies previously identified by international experts are being addressed, and with the necessary requirements being met, this prominent fortress is expected to be included alongside the Khorramabad Valley and inscribed as a World Heritage site in next year’s session,” said Reza Salehi Amiri in an interview with state TV on July 10.

The last addition to Iran's World Heritage List came in 2023, when the country’s caravanserais were inscribed.

As someone who lived through the Iran-Iraq War and now works as a trauma-informed grief and anxiety counselor, I’ve felt both sides of this reality—the trauma of conflict and the quiet torment of safety, watching loved ones suffer from a distance.

For many Iranians in the diaspora, the images flooding our screens—of women removing their hijabs, of protesters facing violence, of families torn apart—rekindle our own memories of fear and loss.

If you’ve fled to safety and now witness the struggle through your screen, know this: your pain is real, your feelings valid. You are not alone.

The surreal reality of distance

There’s something disorienting about watching your homeland’s suffering while living in freedom. You might scroll through news obsessively, heart racing with each update.

Drinking your morning coffee while reading about another protester’s death or celebrating your child’s milestones while Iranian children face fear can create a jarring emotional split.

You may feel guilty for the freedoms you now enjoy, relive past traumas or find yourself emotionally transported back to earlier moments of fear and helplessness.

For many, simply navigating daily life while carrying the emotional weight of a distant crisis can be overwhelming.

Understanding diaspora trauma

The trauma felt in exile is layered and often misunderstood. Relief and guilt coexist—grateful to be safe, yet emotionally anchored to a country still suffering.

This survivor’s guilt is hard to shake when the crisis back home hasn’t ended.

Photos of crackdowns, arrests, or even the Iranian flag may evoke grief. Persian news broadcasts, protest chants or traditional music can trigger memories of fear or loss.

Well-meaning comments like “at least you’re safe” may feel dismissive and isolating. And the challenge of reconciling your identity with how Iran is portrayed in the media can deepen the sense of disconnection.

Survivor’s guilt, silent shame

You may wonder why you deserve freedom when others don’t. Everyday joys—walking outside unveiled, speaking freely, or laughing aloud—can feel laced with shame.

The belief that you’re not doing “enough” to help those still struggling can intensify that guilt. The privilege of safety and agency, once hard-won, may suddenly feel too heavy to carry.

Even in safety, your body may react as if under threat.

This is secondary trauma—when witnessing violence affecting your community triggers real psychological responses: flashbacks, insomnia, numbness, anxiety.

Your body is trying to stay connected to those you’ve left behind, even if it can’t protect them.

Grounding in the present

When emotions become overwhelming, grounding techniques can help return you to the present moment.

One simple method is the 5-4-3-2-1 sensory technique, which gently anchors you through what you can see, touch, hear, smell, and taste:

Five things you can see: A window, a tree, a book, a rug, etc. 4 things you can touch: Clothing, floor, cup, chair. 3 things you can hear: Birds, traffic, your breath. 2 things you can smell: Tea, candle, your shirt. 1 thing you can taste: Water, gum, tea.

It’s especially helpful when anxiety or distress feel like too much to bear. Each sensory cue offers a small reminder: you are here, and you are safe.

Breath and affirmation

Another powerful tool for managing intense emotion is breathwork paired with gentle affirmations.

Begin by placing a hand on your chest or belly. Inhale slowly through your nose to a count of four, pause for a moment, then exhale gently through your mouth for a count of six. Let your breath settle into a rhythm.

As you breathe, repeat calming words to yourself: I am here. I am safe. This is now. You might remind yourself, My freedom honors those still fighting, or My survival is not betrayal—it is resilience.

These affirmations are not meant to erase the pain, but to acknowledge it—and to help you stay rooted in your reality. You carry Iran in your heart.

You can grieve and still build a meaningful life. Breath by breath, you remind your nervous system that you are allowed to heal.

Healing together

Living between two worlds can be confusing and lonely—but healing doesn’t mean letting go of who you are. Both identities can coexist.

Making Persian food while playing Googoosh or Dariush, dancing along with pop videos, or wearing a necklace from home can be quiet acts of memory and resilience. They allow you to choose when to share your story and when to simply carry it.

And in that space, both sorrow and joy can safely exist together.

The light that enters

Survivor’s guilt is the shadow of resilience—proof that you care deeply. It’s a heavy ache, a reminder that freedom comes at a cost. But when you name that grief, you create space for compassion, purpose, and solidarity.

As Rumi wrote: “The wound is the place where the light enters you.”

Let that wound become your strength. You are not broken. You are connected. And you are allowed to move forward—carrying Iran with you as you do.

Authorities cited “owner negligence,” but eyewitnesses disputed the claim. Satire followed in characteristic volume and speed, instinctively almost—to cope with pervasive post-war unease that sees Israeli shadows everywhere after 12-days of strikes and assassinations.

“Call the Tehran gas company right now and someone picks up saying ‘Shalom, how can I help you?’” quipped one X user named Mehran.

“We thought the army would be the first to break ranks,” activist Ebrahim Allahbakhshi posted on X. “Turns out it was the gas company.”

“The gas company has joined the people,” concurred an anonymous but influential activist going by the name Hamidreza.

Default is disbelief

Years of contradictory official accounts, botched cover-ups and evasive press conferences have hollowed out public trust. Disbelief is automatic. Then comes humor—and the occasional ‘gotcha’ fact-checking.

The affected tower was largely unoccupied and yet to be connected to the gas grid, witnesses from the area told Iran International.

Many others pointed out that there were no signs of fire associated with gas explosions in the available pictures of the building.

Even a typically sober voice like BBC analyst Hossein Bastani couldn’t resist invoking precedent.

“One of the strange constants of Israel’s operations in Iran is the Islamic Republic’s effort to deny Israeli responsibility,” he wrote on his Telegram channel.

“The 2011 Bidganeh explosion that killed Hassan Tehrani Moghaddam, father of Iran’s missile program, was first described as an ‘accident’—until it was revealed to be Mossad’s work.”

No hard evidence has emerged to date of Mossad’s hand in that explosion, but British publications Time and The Guardian have reported Israeli links citing unnamed officials outside and inside Iran.

Israel is the punchline

This perceived Israeli link is reflected in almost every reaction.

“The Islamic Republic has lost control of the gas company too—just like it lost the skies over Iran,” joked Amin Pouria, a prominent influencer with over 400,000 followers on X, alluding to Israel’s aerial dominance during the 12-day war.

Some users even posted AI-generated images depicting Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu in the uniform of Iran’s national gas company.

Blogger Siamak Mosalmani invoked the targeted assassination of Iran’s top military brass by Israel—and their mass funeral after the ceasefire.

“With the mayor of Tehran in attendance, the Martyrs of Gas section (will be) opened at (Tehran’s main cemetery) Behesht Zahra.”

It struck a chord because it mirrored the state’s reflex: blame the tool, ignore the problem.

Digital strategist Adel Talebi summed up the sentiment with a full-on mock policy proposal.

“You say WhatsApp is a spy tool, you’re shutting down the internet,” he posted on X. “But now gas has gotten unruly too, blowing up on its own, without coordination. Maybe it’s time to cut off gas entirely?”

Many are convinced it will start again.

“More homes will collapse. More people will die,” says Masoud, the electrician fixing the lights in our building’s corridors. “We have our carry-on ready by the door.”

Fears aren’t as sharp as last week, but many in the neighborhood still talk about safe and unsafe spots. The strike on Evin Prison—and the video of a blast at a busy junction in northern Tehran—hammered home the reality of war.

“We were at my in-laws’, right next to the prison. We thought it was the safest place—no way they’d hit a prison. But they did,” says Shadi, who lives with her husband and their two children in the apartment above us.

“The chandelier broke off and glass shattered everywhere. My son and his grandma had surface cuts. It could have been far worse.”

The prison bombing has seeded a new fear, Shadi says. “If even the prison isn’t safe, then what is? Not hospitals, not universities, not schools, not kindergartens.”

Kindergarten—that’s another image that cannot be unseen: shattered dolls and toys flung across the room. By sheer chance, it had closed 15 minutes before impact.

'Did they hit again?'

Officials say over 3,200 residential units were destroyed in Tehran. Thousands are now homeless. The wreckage has chipped away at war supporters.

One of them is a close friend of mine from university—Yara.

Before, when I warned that war meant destruction, he’d say: “This isn’t war. It’s just precision strikes against officials and bases, not civilians.”

Yara was lucky not to be physically hurt, but he was close enough to enough loud explosions to have nightmares—per his partner.

“He still jumps up at night and asks me, zadan (did they hit?)”

'They're still here'

Not all war supporters have changed their minds. In many homes, even emotional bonds were frayed under the bombs. When the ceasefire came, some were relieved, others angry.

“We endured the war, and they’re still here,” you hear many say.

They—who are still here—refers to Iran’s ruling elite, the Islamic Republic, the regime, as many prefer to call it.

Quite a few people I know hoped a few days of bombing would force the regime to collapse or walk away. The further you get from the epicenter, the deeper the divide, perhaps because you haven’t heard the blasts or watched the walls crumble.

I remember a conversation on day two of the war, before the full fear had set in. I asked a cousin and his wife to leave Tehran with us, for the sake of their kids.

“What if there are evacuation alerts like Beirut?” I implored. “Tehran will lock down. You won’t be able to leave.”

They refused, pointing me to their conversations with ChatGPT.

In the worst-case scenario, you could grab your bag and walk a couple of blocks to safety, they argued. “Any such alert would cover a couple of alleys at most. That’s what a precision strike is.”

ChatGPT had reassured them.

A new reality

Later, they told me what happened when evacuation orders hit districts six and seven—two major parts of the city. They had stayed. We had left.

“People were fleeing in panic in the middle of the night. Car horns nonstop,” my cousin’s wife said. “I sat in the car with my head in my hands, hoping nothing would explode nearby.”

That’s everyone’s fear these days—that the pause in fighting ends and they, or someone they love, are near an unannounced target of another “precision strike.”

And then there are the costs few talk about.

Many companies have laid off staff. It’s peak moving season in Tehran—leases ending, rents rising. People don’t know whether to stay, sign, or leave.

We thought we were used to suspended life—constant inflation, sudden, irreversible shifts in the economy and politics. But this is something else. A new phase entirely.