Can Iran’s power grid be knocked out?

For many Iranians, the holiday is more than a celebration—it is an assertion of life in the face of uncertainty, a reminder that renewal is always possible, even in the darkest of years.

Iranians celebrate Nowruz at the exact moment of the spring equinox, which fell on the afternoon of March 20 this year. In Tehran, the atmosphere on Friday was described as surreal.

As people waited for the official announcement on television, a brief rain gave way to sunlight, and a double rainbow stretched across the sky. Images quickly circulated online, with many calling it a good omen for the country.

But the moment of celebration was short-lived. Just after the New Year was announced and greetings began, air defenses roared to life and explosions echoed across the capital. This marked the first time since the 1980s that Iranians were observing Nowruz during wartime.

For many, the outgoing year was defined by loss and upheaval. Social media has been filled with accounts describing it as a period of “pain and calamities,” marked by two wars, widespread displacement, and the bloodiest crackdown in history. Hundreds of thousands have reportedly fled their homes—twice in a single year—seeking safety elsewhere.

Davoud Heshmati, an Iranian journalist, captured the sentiment in a short post: “In these final hours of the year, it seems to me that what we can all agree on is that the year 1404 was a year of darkness.”

Grief remains fresh. Many mourn those killed in January, victims of the recent strikes and those of the 12-day war in June, and at least five young men executed in the final days of the year for political reasons.

Yet amid the trauma, the rhythms of Nowruz persist, albeit with far less energy and enthusiasm than in the past. In markets and homes, people continue to prepare for the holiday, clinging to rituals that symbolize renewal.

One user wrote: “The city is truly buzzing with the vibrancy of the holiday—shopping for sprouted grains, flowers, and sweets. How fortunate we are that, amid the war and its endless fear, Nowruz still keeps us standing tall.” Another added: “As long as Nowruz is alive we are too.”

Images from Tehran’s Tajrish Bazaar—once packed with shoppers buying new clothes, sweets, and traditional items for the Haft-Seen table—have circulated widely in recent days. The display typically includes symbolic objects such as sabzeh (grain sprouts), wheat pudding, flowers, candles and goldfish. This year, however, the crowds appear thinner.

“Street vendors say in all these years, even during COVID, the place was never this quiet,” one Tehran resident noted online.

For those who did venture out, the experience was shaped by the realities of war. Faezeh, a Tehran resident, described using a brief period of calm to prepare for the holiday. “While laying the Haft-Seen I was thinking about how to place things so they won’t fall by tremors from the strikes. How resilient are humans?” she wrote.

In another post, she recounted how the sound of explosions and air-defense systems has become part of everyday life, along with the unsettling sight of destroyed buildings that had stood only hours earlier.

Yet even amid such scenes, many emphasize the symbolic power of Nowruz. “Above our heads is the roar of fighter jets and the sound of explosions, but here in the heart of the city, the pulse of life beats for Nowruz. Amid such darkness, we buy flowers and lay the Haft-Seen; because this ritual is our fortress. What has remained proud and eternal through the tempests of history... is Iran, Iran, Iran,” another user wrote.

Economic pressures have compounded the sense of crisis. Prices have surged, jobs have been lost, and some businesses—already weakened by the June conflict and the January crackdown—have shut down or failed to pay New Year bonuses. Reports from both media and social platforms suggest layoffs are becoming widespread.

At the same time, a prolonged internet shutdown—now stretching into its third week—has deepened the isolation felt by many Iranians. For families split between Iran and the diaspora, the inability to communicate during the New Year has been especially painful.

In a reflection of this frustration, Vahid Online played on the traditional greeting “May your every day be Nowruz!” by writing: “May your every day be ‘online’!”

The main criticism, according to the sources speaking to Iran International on condition of anonymity, centers on the commander’s lack of presence on the ground at a time when operational pressure has significantly intensified since the start of the war in late February.

Sources say that as casualties have mounted within the Aerospace Force—responsible for missile and drone launches—Mousavi’s absence has been cited as a key factor contributing to the deteriorating situation.

Aerospace Force operators have described the operational conditions as highly dangerous, with each missile launch mission carrying extreme risk and, in some cases, likened to near-suicidal operations, according to the informed sources.

At the same time, sources say families of some personnel have filed complaints with senior IRGC authorities, saying that the commander did not maintain an effective presence under dangerous conditions and that forces were effectively left without adequate support.

Additional allegations have also surfaced, including claims of mismanagement and the provision of inaccurate data regarding missile strikes and launch figures by the force.

Seyyed Hossein Mousavi Eftekhari, known as Majid Mousavi, is a brigadier general in the IRGC. He was appointed commander of the Aerospace Force on June 13, 2025, following the killing of his predecessor, Amir-Ali Hajizadeh, in an Israeli strike.

Prior to his appointment, Mousavi served from 2009 to 2025 as deputy commander of the Aerospace Force, where he played a key role in the development and management of Iran’s missile and drone programs.

The IRGC Aerospace Force is considered one of the Islamic Republic’s most important military branches, overseeing the country’s ballistic missile program, offensive drone capabilities, and parts of its air defense systems.

Mousavi is under US sanctions. On December 18, 2024, the US State Department announced sanctions against him over his role in the development of Iran’s ballistic missile and drone programs.

His appointment came at a time when the Aerospace Force was already under intense operational and security pressure. The force continues to play the most important role in the ongoing conflict.

For more than a decade, the anonymous operator behind Vahid Online built a vast following by aggregating videos, images and reports from inside Iran—often capturing events that state-controlled media ignore or suppress.

During the January protests, he was among the first to publish images from inside a Tehran morgue showing people searching for missing loved ones among rows of body bags.

During the 2022 Woman, Life, Freedom movement, many of the most iconic images—of both defiance and repression—first appeared on his channels.

Now, as the current conflict drives demand for real-time, uncensored information, his channels have once again surged in prominence.

Videos of strikes, damaged buildings and their aftermath are sent directly to him, along with a steady flow of messages from across Iran reporting explosions, air defense activity or fighter jets passing overhead—often with timestamps and locations attached.

The messages Vahid shares not only serve as a lifeline during the information blackout, but can also literally save lives, as evidenced by a recent case in which a user said two lives were saved thanks to a warning he had shared.

What sets the platform apart is not just speed, but trust. Over years of steady, often relentless posting, Vahid Online has built a reputation that prompts people inside Iran to send material directly—text messages, photos, audio and video.

“I rely on direct, independent material sent to me,” he wrote during the January protests. “If I were just reposting what’s already out there, there would be no point—many accounts are already doing that.”

That relationship often carries a distinctly personal tone. Messages frequently begin simply: “Vahid, this happened,” or “Vahid, please publish this.” The exchange resembles less a tip line than a direct appeal to a trusted intermediary—someone anonymous, yet familiar.

That approach—prioritizing original submissions over viral content—has shaped both his influence and its limits. It means he is sometimes slower in the early stages of unrest, when little verified material is available, and more visible once footage begins to flow from the ground.

The volume and intensity of that material come at a cost. He has written at times about the strain of constant monitoring, sleepless nights and exposure to graphic or distressing images—an emotional and physical toll that has, on occasion, affected his health.

The figure behind the account had long remained elusive. Describing himself only as a “curious netizen” based in the US state of Maryland, he has consistently avoided interviews or public exposure.

Iranian state media recently claimed—without independent verification—to have uncovered his identity, publishing what they said were personal details alongside an AI-generated image. In response, he said some details were accurate but dismissed the image as not resembling him.

"The Islamic Republic has known my official identity for years. The day just finally came when they decided to reveal it and pretend they had obtained it in some special way," Vahid said in a post on his Telegram channel on March 17.

"The information they cited from my identity documents appears to be correct," he said.

Three days later, he officially signed off his Nowruz message on X with the name released by Iranian state media: Mir-Vahid Hassantabar.

For many Iranians—inside the country and across the diaspora—Vahid Online functions as a kind of real-time window onto events that might otherwise go unseen. Admirers sometimes describe him as a “one-man army.”

Vahid operates primarily on Telegram—where he has 1.2 million subscribers—and to a lesser extent on X, where he has about 700,000 followers.

His rise dates back to the aftermath of Iran’s disputed 2009 presidential election, when protests erupted following the reelection of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.

Then a blogger, he gained attention by publishing mobile phone footage of a raid on the campaign headquarters of opposition leader Mir-Hossein Mousavi. As repression intensified, he left Iran—reportedly via Turkey—and later sought asylum in the United States.

Since then, Vahid Online has become a central node in the circulation of information about Iran, particularly during waves of unrest. Major international outlets have at times drawn on such material.

Supporters credit the platform with helping bridge an information gap created by censorship, pointing to practices such as blurring faces, withholding identifying details and selectively posting material to protect sources. The operator himself has described his role more modestly—as an “audience member” highlighting what others might miss or suppress.

Iranian state media accuse the platform of foreign backing or links to intelligence services—claims made without publicly verifiable evidence. Vahid has dismissed such allegations as routine smear tactics, writing recently: “I am an ordinary citizen with no links to anyone.”

As conflict deepens and information becomes another battleground, Vahid Online is far more than an ordinary citizen. His platform is no longer peripheral, but part of the story—one that may, in time, be written with material he helped bring to light.

In his March 17 statement, he said now that the Islamic Republic has exposed his identity and "this barrier had been removed," he has been pushed into "a new phase of life."

"Now I’m not sure what new things I might want to do that I couldn’t before because of these limitations."

On the last day of February, as reports emerged that Iran’s Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei had been killed in an Israeli bombardment, it was also announced that a meeting of the Defense Council had been struck.

Several senior figures were killed in the strike, the Israeli military confirmed on March 16.

Among those killed were Ali Shamkhani, a senior adviser to Khamenei and secretary of the Defense Council; Abdolrahim Mousavi, chief of staff of Iran’s armed forces; and Aziz Nasirzadeh, the defense minister.

Also killed were two figures associated with Iran’s Organization of Defensive Innovation and Research, known by its Persian acronym SPND, the direct successor organization to Iran’s pre-2004 nuclear weapons program.

The two figures were former SPND chief Brigadier General Reza Mozaffarinia and the organization’s new head Brigadier General Hossein Jabal Ameli.

Washington has sanctioned more than 30 SPND scientists and multiple affiliated entities, accusing the organization of overseeing “dual-use research and development activities applicable to nuclear weapons and nuclear weapons delivery systems.”

While Tehran denies pursuing a nuclear weapon, the UN nuclear watchdog and Western powers including the US and its European allies maintain that Iran's high-level uranium enrichment (up to 60%) has no credible civilian justification.

Iran currently possesses some 400 kg of near-bomb-grade enriched uranium. The US and Israel have in recent days discussed sending special forces into Iran to secure the stockpile at a later stage of the war, according to a report by Axios.

US War Secretary Pete Hegseth said Thursday that President Trump saw Iran advancing ever closer to nuclear capability and viewed it as unacceptable, prompting his decision to launch the war against Tehran.

Why A-bomb was focus of Defense Council meeting

There are four reasons suggesting the meeting of the Defense Council was likely related to the final stage of decision-making on constructing a nuclear weapon.

First, the composition of the gathering is a key indicator. The simultaneous presence of two former and current SPND chiefs alongside the defense minister — their superior — suggests the meeting concerned nuclear matters rather than battlefield operations. If the session had been focused on the war itself, senior operational or battlefield commanders would have been expected to attend instead of officials tied to the nuclear weapons industry.

Second, Ali Shamkhani had publicly spoken about nuclear weapons months earlier. Four months before his reported death, he said in an interview that if he could go back in time during his tenure as defense minister, he would build an atomic bomb.

Third, Shamkhani’s roles placed him at the center of coordination between multiple institutions. As Khamenei’s senior adviser and secretary of the Defense Council, as well as a former defense minister, he maintained extensive ties with officials within the ministry, including the department responsible for special weapons development, SPND.

He was also described as a senior commander overseeing Revolutionary Guard officers involved in nuclear weapons development and as the link between these networks and Khamenei himself.

Fourth, in one of his final public remarks, Shamkhani told Lebanon’s Al-Mayadeen television that a war with the United States and Israel was inevitable and that the Islamic Republic needed to prepare for it.

Taken together, these elements may indicate that the meeting struck in the bombardment may have been connected to the final stage of decision-making regarding nuclear weapons development.

It is unknown whether Israel was aware that the gathering concerned possible deliberations over building a nuclear weapon, or whether it targeted the meeting simply because senior Iranian officials were known to be present.

Among Iranians, Nowruz has long been tied to renewal and to the idea of the “triumph of good over evil.” Yet Iran’s turbulent history has often cast a shadow over the holiday, turning it into a moment marked by loss, war and unresolved grief.

This year carries all three.

Since 2022, a continuous national mourning has taken hold. The dead of the Woman, Life, Freedom movement—some known, many unnamed—have left their mark on the country’s rituals.

At Nowruz tables across Iran, mothers sit with clenched throats and tearful eyes, or stand beside the graves of their children.

Iran has seen such Nowruzes before. During the war with Iraq, the new year arrived under the sound of missiles falling on cities, as young men were sent to the front in waves. Celebration persisted, but it did so alongside fear and loss—often shaped by what many would later call the “ignorance and irresponsibility” that drove a generation to war.

The death of the young has long been among the deepest sorrows in Iranian culture.

The story of Siyâvash, the innocent prince killed unjustly, still carries the grief of mourning mothers. In the Shahnameh, his death comes on the eve of Nowruz. The holiday marks renewal, yet in Ferdowsi’s telling it is shadowed by war and sacrifice.

That grief echoes in one of the epic’s most enduring lines: “If death is justice, then what is injustice?”

Over time, mourning became ritual. The death of Siyâvash gave rise to Suvâshun ceremonies, observed for centuries in parts of greater Iran. The convergence of death and renewal came to symbolize a belief that justice, however delayed, would prevail.

Today, the Siyâvashes are many. Their images appear on walls, in homes and in the hands of protesters, carried like the banner of Kaveh the Blacksmith.

One custom, known as now‘id, marks the first Nowruz after a loss, when families visit the bereaved. Last year, at one such table, a young woman sat silently, her hair turned white by grief for her slain son. Then she broke the silence: “Was it not enough to kill him? What did you do to my child’s head?”

Her question lingers. So do many others like it.

Nowruz has long been intertwined with remembrance. In ancient belief, the days before the new year—Farvardegân—were a time when the spirits of the dead returned. Homes were cleaned and tables set not only for the living but for those who had passed. The bond between the two was renewed.

In recent years, many of the dead have been buried in unmarked graves, or in cemeteries where tombstones are repeatedly destroyed and rebuilt by grieving families. Flowers return, even when they are torn away.

And yet Nowruz endures.

Neither war nor repression, nor the hostility of those who reject Iran’s pre-Islamic traditions, has erased it. Each year, after the fires of Chaharshanbeh Suri are lit and the dead are honored, the new year arrives again.

As one line often recited at gravesides has it: “If we feared the sword, we would not dance in the gathering of lovers.”

Iranians celebrate Nowruz as they always have: with hope that the coming year may bring a more just life—one in which rights are equal, dignity is preserved and the state serves its people rather than stands above them.