ISTANBUL — Rasoul had a plan for the worst-case scenario. A 42-year-old engineer in Tehran with a steady job at a tech company, he often reassured his wife about their financial security. If times ever got truly tough, he would tell her, he could always drive for Snapp — Iran's local ride-sharing equivalent to Uber.
Then the war hit, and the worst-case scenario arrived.
Since the United States and Israel attacked Iran over six months ago, ordinary Iranians have borne the brunt of a collapsing economy. Inflation has skyrocketed, driving up the costs of gas, food, and rent. Livelihoods across the country are unraveling, forcing many to borrow just to survive and put major life milestones on hold.
While the official unemployment rate in Iran sits at 9%, independent analysts say the true figure is significantly higher. The desperation for work is palpable: Jobvision, a prominent Iranian job-seeking portal, reported a 50% spike in resume submissions in late April alone.
Even state-sanctioned labor leaders acknowledge the depth of the crisis. In May, Alireza Mahjoob, head of Iran's Workers House — the country's primary labor organization — admitted on state television that joblessness was far worse than anticipated.
"We don't know how much it will afflict our already fragile working class, leaving us all helpless and powerless," Mahjoob said.
Disrupted networks and shut down transit
For Rasoul, the decline was swift. In January, during a brutal government crackdown on protests, Iranian authorities severely restricted internet access to cut off communication with the outside world.
Because his company depended on worldwide networks that were cut off by the regime, the disruptions severely damaged his company's delivery services.
"The company's situation got really bad," Rasoul said. "They were losing customers one by one."
By mid-February, he was laid off, triggering a period of severe depression. Like all Iranians interviewed for this report, he spoke on the condition that his full name be withheld out of fear of government retribution.
Desperate to pay his bills, Rasoul reluctantly turned to his backup plan and began driving for Snapp at night.
"I remember being extremely anxious — accepting a ride, waiting, having the passenger get in, and so on," he recalled.
The strategy failed. The U.S. and Israel launched a war against Iran at the end of February, and ever-tighter U.S. sanctions and a naval blockade of the Strait of Hormuz led to rising fuel prices, and costly vehicle repairs quickly ate into his meager earnings. Ongoing U.S. airstrikes made navigating the streets at night far too dangerous. Eventually, he had to rely on extended family to stay afloat. Personal plans, including starting a family, have been completely shelved.
"I thought that after marriage I could keep working and traveling, going places together," Rasoul said. "But since we got married, nothing."
Other industries have faced complete collapse due to supply chain blockades and regional instability. Kayvan, a 42-year-old materials engineer from Tehran, helped a Chinese firm establish a business supplying raw materials to Iran's vital oil sector.
When fighting escalated, the maritime trade came to a halt.
"The environment became so unsafe," Kayvan said. "Transit routes and shipping routes were shut down, the Strait of Hormuz was closed, sea transport became impossible."
With clients unable to place orders, the business collapsed.
"It was like those American movies where people dump their belongings into a box and clear out their desk," Kayvan said about the day he had to leave his job.
"Passengers on a train"
To survive the job loss, Kayvan's family relied entirely on his wife's income and rapidly dwindling personal savings—a cushion eroding fast against extreme economic headwinds.
"Terrifying inflation, unprecedented price hikes... we've genuinely never experienced days like these before," Kayvan said, adding that the conflict simply needs to stop. "We're all just falling apart."
For some, temporary relief has come, though it offers little peace of mind. In July, Rasoul managed to secure a new role as a sales manager. Yet with the conflict continuing and the broader economy in freefall, stability feels like an illusion.
"We're like passengers on a train," Rasoul said. "We don't know if the bridge ahead is broken or intact."
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