On hope: What Iranians hold on to in uncertain times

Submitted by MEE correspondent on Thu, 09/24/2026 - 21:28 As war, economic pressure and instability make long-term plans harder, Iranians are still finding ways to enjoy the present and build a future they can no longer clearly see

Women react to bubbles as they walk at the Grand Bazaar in Tehran on 30 March 2026 (Atta Kenare/AFP) Off

Velayat Park, south of Tehran, was already crowded before dawn on a September morning as hundreds of runners gathered for a 10-kilometre race.

People arrived in groups or alone. Music played as runners waited, talking, laughing and preparing for the competition. The women's race went first.

In their running gear, many women wore sports head coverings provided at the event. Others, however, ran with their hair uncovered. Videos of the race soon circulated widely online, turning the event into a national talking point. The authorities later announced legal proceedings against the organisers over violations of Iran’s mandatory dress rules.

But for the runners themselves, at least for those interviewed for this story by Middle East Eye, that morning was about something more ordinary: just running.

Fahimeh, a psychologist who took part in the race, described the atmosphere as a rare experience of energy, hope and life. She was struck by the energy and enthusiasm of the people who had come together in the early hours of 18 September.

Her description of hope was simple: "It did not mean believing that everything would be better tomorrow. It meant making a choice today."

That choice is difficult to understand without looking at what has happened to Iran's sense of the future in recent years.

The impact of two wars in consecutive years, and the possibility of another round of military conflict, have become deeply visible in everyday life. Decades of sanctions and economic restrictions have eroded purchasing power, while inflation, unemployment and rising housing costs have made many long-term plans increasingly difficult.

Political disappointments and restrictions on everyday life have added another layer of uncertainty.

Many people simply no longer ask whether the future will be better. Instead, they wonder whether it can still be planned for at all.

The changing face of hope

That same day in central Tehran, another large gathering was taking place.

Jan-Fada, a government-organised mobilisation, brought together military formations, armed volunteers and civilians under a message of defence and sacrifice. The movement emerged after the US-Israel war on Iran began in February.

Two Tehrans: The parallel lives of a city Read More »

Although the two events were unrelated, it would be easy to see them as opposing images: people running and exercising on one side, people preparing for national defence and sacrifice on the other.

But that would be too simple a reading.

People at both gatherings had arrived with friends, family members, acquaintances or colleagues. There was a sense of dynamism and excitement at each, and those taking part likely shared many of the same concerns about their families, jobs, finances and the future.

Yet for many Iranians, the scale of those expectations has changed.

Hamed, a journalist and father of a teenager, describes hope as “the last asset a person has”.

He said difficult economic conditions have not necessarily extinguished people’s hopes, but have changed what they hope for.

A home or a car may once have represented a realistic aspiration. Now, that same desire may take a more modest form: buying a new phone, taking a short trip, going to a cafe or finding an inexpensive way to spend time with family.

For Hamed, these choices still matter because they show that people are making plans, even when those plans have become smaller.

Elsewhere in Tehran, Maryam, a sports and dance instructor, sees a similar instinct in the people who continue to attend her classes.

'Hope is the last asset a person has'

- Hamed, journalist

In recent years, she has seen sustained interest in different forms of dance, from traditional and western styles to newer forms that have sometimes been controversial.

But the economic crisis has also hit the industry hard. Fewer people can afford classes, and there is a limit to what families can spend on activities that are not essential to survival.

Yet some continue. Maryam says there are many reasons why.

Dance brings pleasure through music and rhythm, provides physical activity, and allows people to develop a skill. It can also bring people together and offer a break from the pressures of everyday life.

Maryam considers learning a skill a form of investment. People spend money learning languages, music or other skills because they expect them to remain useful throughout their lives.

Dance, she says, is no different.

That belief is also what drives her to keep teaching. Her students have kept practising through periods of political unrest and war, including times when classes had to move online. For them, that is what it means to remain hopeful for better days to come.

Building a life anyway

In Tehran’s Grand Bazaar, Reza, a car dealer and trader, reflects on the path his life has taken.

He began accompanying his father to work in the historic marketplace when he was nine. Today, at 26, the future has taken the form of marriage.

Under siege: Iran faces strategic dilemma as war of attrition drags on Read More »

Reza is set to hold his wedding next month, much to the astonishment of most of his friends and relatives.

He expects to spend at least two billion tomans ($8,500) on the ceremony, a substantial commitment at a time when inflation, housing costs and economic uncertainty have made marriage increasingly difficult for many.

But Reza’s explanation is simple.

“I fell in love,” he said.

Reza also sees marriage as a way to leave his father’s home and begin an independent life. He believes the person he has chosen is right for him, and describes their union as an investment in the future – a chance to build a home together, experience something different and work towards the life they want.

The uncertainty, he said, is unavoidable.

He does not believe the future is secure. He is making plans anyway.

“We have no choice but to be optimistic,” he said. “We have no choice but to continue to live.”

'Life is worth it'

For some Iranians, the problem is not simply that their expectations have become smaller.

An environmental activist and writer, who wished to remain anonymous, had imagined a more open political environment and modest improvements in her personal life.

'We have no choice but to be optimistic. We have no choice but to continue to live'

- Reza, trader

After the death of principlist president Ebrahim Raisi and the election of reformist Masoud Pezeshkian in 2024, she hoped civil society might gain some space and that at least more capable mid-level officials would be appointed.

Some limited changes followed, she said, but they fell short of what she had expected.

The two wars made that disappointment harder to ignore. She watched the destruction of nature and wildlife and felt “increasingly unable to do much” about it. The latest conflict eventually cost her her job, adding another personal blow to the uncertainty.

Yet she does not describe herself as hopeless.

The activist invokes Czech writer Vaclav Havel’s distinction between hope and optimism.

"Hope is not the certainty that things will turn out well, but the belief that what one does can still have meaning, regardless of the outcome," she wrote to MEE.

She is not sure whether her life will be better or worse in two years.

“Life is worth it,” she said.

A lantern

Back at the Jan-Fada event, Hamid says the question of the future is tied to what he believes he is defending.

“For me, it is not about the government. It is about Iran,” he said.

Hamid describes defending the country as defending his home, his family and his children.

The life he wants for his family is not radically different from the ambitions of many other Iranians: a home, a decent car, university for his children, an occasional trip and enough money to live without constantly worrying about the next expense.

'Our situation is currently like holding a lantern in the dark. You can only take a few steps in front of you, and then you look for the next step'

- Maryam, dancing instructor

But the pressures of the present are already affecting that life. Hamid said he recently had to spend several million tomans on medicine for his ill mother. For a salaried worker, it is a significant expense at a time when war, sanctions and difficulties obtaining some medicines have made treatment more expensive and harder to access.

Still, for him, these concerns do not contradict his willingness to defend the country, but are part of it.

At the race, Fahimeh says she sees hope in much the same way.

Hope for her is not necessarily confidence that circumstances will improve. Rather, it can be a decision to do something within one’s control.

Put on running shoes. Go outside. Move.

That Friday morning showed her how hope can become meaningful when it turns into action.

Maryam has watched her students do much the same.

“People have been stuck in a long period of uncertainty and often cannot make long-term plans,” Maryam said. “Instead, they take the next step they can see.

“Our situation is currently like holding a lantern in the dark,” she added. “You can only take a few steps in front of you, and then you look for the next step.”

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