Tehran, Iran – Suitcases are passing through the city of Tehran this time, but not this time for family gatherings or holidays. They are being packed quickly out of fear, as evidence of the rising concern that the 10 million Iranians are feeling as they are facing Israeli missiles.
Dual Iranian-American nationals are caught in the crossfire of war and geopolitical uncertainty, just as Iranians search for shelter.
Amir, a dual-national and 36-year-old Tesla engineer, flew to Tehran from the United States just as Israeli airstrikes began to strike targets all over Iran. On Mount Damavand, which is located about 60 kilometers northeast of the capital, he had been spending time with his family and had been spending quiet days with them. Israel launched its attacks a few days before his scheduled return flight to the US, even though his return flight was already booked.
Amir was ensnared by fear when the bombs started falling, not just fear of war but also fear of being drafted and falling victim to politics beyond his control.
“I didn’t first feel scared,” she said. Amir, who opted not to use his last name for security reasons, said that being with my family helped me find peace. He recalled that while watching from afar in the US, he had been more concerned for his family’s safety during the anti-government protests in Iran in 2022. I was constantly worried, glued to the news, and concerned for my family when I was younger. However, he said, “I could see that life was still going on” because he was in Tehran and Damavand.
But he soon realized Iran’s continued existence was too risky. Amir, a US citizen, feared that Iranians who have permanent residency would also be affected by President Donald Trump’s growing possibility of reimposing a travel ban. Amir made the decision to leave with an air of urgency.
leaving loved ones behind, crossing borders
Amir began a lengthy overland journey in fear for his future and his life. He took an 11-hour bus ride from Urmia, western Iran, to the city of Urmia on Monday. After that, he traveled by road to Van, in eastern Turkiye, for another six hours. He then boarded a domestic flight to Ankara, where he made his Thursday US flight.
For Amir, fleeing was more than just a logistical and emotional traumatic experience. I would have stayed close to my loved ones, he said, “If it weren’t for the fear of being conscripted and the possibility of a new Trump-era travel ban.” In the US, “it’s harder.”
A 41-year-old postdoctoral researcher with a San Francisco base had to make a similar choice. One of Israel’s longest-range missile attacks struck Mashhad, which he was visiting while there.
He recalled that he made an effort to remain calm for the first two days. “But then, I had to confront the reality that this conflict is unlike anything I’ve seen in the past. The sky won’t be clear or open, at least for the upcoming months.
Behrouz would typically end his trips to Iran by taking his colleagues back home in the US for a walk through the Imam Reza Holy Shrine’s courtyard to pick up sweets and saffron. However, he flew in a rush this time. The journey was exhausting, taking 10 hours by car from Tehran to Urmia, then crossing the Razi border into Turkiye. He claimed that the checkpoint was “about 20 minutes long,” but the lengthy 22-hour bus ride to Istanbul followed.
Behrouz stated that his job forced him to resign. He said, “But my heart is still with my family, and with the people,” his voice piercing.
He continued, “We oppose both the Iranian regime and Israel.” “We are millions of ordinary Iranians who are entangled in political decisions that aren’t our own.”
Behrouz’s words echoe many others’ quiet apprehensions. According to reports from the US embassy in Azerbaijan, about 600 Iranian-American dual nationals with support crossed into southern Azerbaijan from northwestern Iran via the Astara border. Iranian-American Facebook groups were thriving online for traveling coordination. One user inquired, “My flight was scheduled for late June. Should I attempt to leave Turkiye or Armenia? Bring additional fuel, another advice. Purchases are restricted to 10 liters per car at gas stations. Some even bundled up resources to rent a van to cross the Turkish border.
The logistics are complicated for those who are able to leave, but they frequently fare less than the emotional strain.
Getting cut off and staying behind
Not everyone leaves, though. Before the war broke out, Afsaneh, a 43-year-old mother who lives in northern California, flew to Iran with her daughter, who is seven years old. She stated on Instagram that she had no intention of returning despite US State Department warnings that citizens should leave.
In a recent post, she stated, “This is where I want to be.” “With my family at this time.”
Others have had to watch from a distance as their loved ones endure the strikes.
Just two weeks before the airstrikes began, Iranian-Canadian woman, 38, who lives in Toronto, had sent her parents and sister to Iran. Bombs went off in Tabriz, a city in the northwestern of Mexico, shortly before their habitation.
Mortazavi said, “I was on a blurry video call with them, hearing explosions and air defense systems.” Her family escaped to safety in Urmia, which is close by. The Iranian government had suspended internet access by Wednesday afternoon. Mary and them lost all communication.
She broke down and said, “I can’t even get out of bed. I’m worried.” I just hope they can reach me using a functioning VPN.
