Firsthand reports from contributors inside Iran
Buying, selling, and drinking alcohol in Iran is illegal and still risky. But over the years, something has shifted. Whispers spread: some restaurants let customers bring their own drinks. Then, a few began serving alcohol under code names.
In the days after the ceasefire between Iran and Israel, a friend invited me to a café in Tehran that served beer—to toast, quietly and discreetly, the temporary end of the war.
Alcohol—in all its glorious manifestations—is illegal in Iran.
Possession, production or consumption can lead to lashes, prison, or worse. I know people who’ve been jailed and whipped for drinking. Repeat offenses can even carry the death penalty.
You’ve probably seen the footage from 1979: bottles smashed, bars destroyed, liquor shops ransacked. Alcohol was among the first things banned after the revolution.
But resistance emerged just as quickly. People began brewing at home, drinking at private gatherings, and soon, bootleggers (saaghis) entered the scene.
Everything operated in the shadows. You needed someone to vouch for you before a saaghi would respond. Some even brought a woman or child to make deliveries and avoid suspicion.
Fighting for normalcy
Buying and selling alcohol remains risky. But over the years, something has shifted. Whispers spread: some restaurants let customers bring their own drinks. Then, a few began serving alcohol—beer, even hard liquor—under code names.
I remember a beach café in northern Iran where a friend’s father ordered a drink, and it arrived in a teapot. Prices in such places were several times higher than what a saaghi would charge—an expensive luxury for those willing to pay.
These stories, told with a mix of disbelief and delight, hinted at a fragile but growing defiance—more personal than political, but nonetheless contributing to the erosion of state authority. And all of it unfolds while Iran lurches from war scare to daily shortages—power, water, gas, inflation—yet people keep finding ways to live.
Some people I know have started brewing their own beer and wine, selling only to trusted clients.
Where once reused water bottles or non-alcoholic beer containers disguised the contents, now the products come in elegant bottles with custom-designed labels and clever brand names.
“It’s a response to years of longing,” my friend Saeed says.
“We wanted to drink respectfully and freely, like people anywhere else in the world—not like citizens whose government decides even their food and drink. Not in fear, not in shame, not in secrecy.”
Don’t clink!
Another friend, Babak, brews beer on the side. He sees it as an act of civil resistance.“I’ve learned that freedom isn’t something you ask for—it’s something you live,” he says.
In the café, my friend gave me a few ground rules before we ordered: don’t clink glasses, don’t approach the waiters—let them come to you.When one did, he told us we could order stronger liquor too, but if anyone suspicious showed up, service would stop.
Most tables had the same opaque glasses, supposedly filled with “non-alcoholic” beer. Prices were surprisingly fair—it didn’t feel exploitative.
It was a new kind of experience, unlike anything I’d known before in Iran. But it’s no longer an isolated incident—it’s part of a quiet, growing rebellion.
Unnecessary jeopardy
Even Fars News—an outlet run by the Revolutionary Guards—reported on the phenomenon a few weeks ago.
“Field investigations by Fars reporters show that in luxury restaurants, a ‘secret menu’ is only revealed to select customers—either verbally or via WhatsApp with coded language,” the outlet reported, calling for stricter enforcement.
But such calls ignore the elephant in the room: if it hasn’t worked for nearly half a century, it’s unlikely to work now.
And there’s the darker side of the story.
Underground, substandard production blinds and kills hundreds each year. More than 200 died from alcohol poisoning in the first five months of last year alone, according to health officials.
Like so many bans in Iran, the prohibition on alcohol hasn’t suppressed the desire—it’s only made it more dangerous, more defiant and more alive.
While the government portrays the conflict as a strategic victory, mounting evidence suggests a society battered, exhausted and increasingly disillusioned.
Daily life has grown more difficult, strained by chronic water and electricity shortages. Yet, despite the hardship, protests remain rare.
Beneath this calm lies a deeper frustration, voiced constantly on social media and in testimonials sent to foreign-based Persian-language broadcasters.
No shelters, no answers
While state media continue to glorify the armed forces and the Supreme Leader, many recall a different reality: missile strikes without bomb shelters, ineffective air defenses and a war waged without public support.
The Supreme Leader’s three-week stay in an underground shelter became a symbol of elite insulation. On the ground, thousands of homes were damaged or destroyed, with casualties still likely unreported.
The government’s support for reconstruction has been slow and unclear, evoking comparisons to Khorramshahr, a focus of combat in the Iran-Iraq war which remains mostly ruined decades after the Iran–Iraq War.
The official refrain that “Israeli homes were also destroyed” has brought little comfort.
Economic disruption, official deflection
At the end of the 12-day war, Iran’s Chamber of Commerce acknowledged the war’s serious impact: disrupted trade, blocked currency repatriation and shaken investor confidence.
“Government-led economics cannot improve the situation,” said Isa Mansouri, head of the Chamber’s Research Center.
The warning echoed the view from Tehran’s bazaar and stock exchange: that even limited geopolitical shocks can derail imports and daily commerce.
Pension delays are another flashpoint.
A July 23 report by state news agency ILNA revealed some retirees were still waiting for April payments. Infrastructure damage in Tehran is extensive—over 3,000 housing units were hit in District 4 alone, with no clear timeline for repairs.
To contain the crisis, authorities quietly declared unofficial “holidays” in Tehran, reducing strain on water and power utilities while avoiding transparency.
President Pezeshkian’s claim on Al Jazeera that Israel bombed water resources to deprive Iranians of access was widely ridiculed and seen as deflecting from decades of internal mismanagement.
War’s reach into private life
A study by academic Momeneh Baseri, "The Iran-Israel War and the Change in Iranians' Lifestyle", published June 21 by Azad University, highlights the war’s broad social effects—even among those far from the front lines.
Drawing on field research and crisis sociology, Baseri identified several trends:
Cinemas and concert halls remain empty. In their place: home-based religious rituals, streaming platforms, and a growing culture of isolation.
The illusion of normalcy
Even efforts to portray resilience have backfired.
A video recorded and published by moderate daily Ham-Mihan shortly after ceasefire showed quiet Tehran streets and shuttered shops.
Another report by moderate online publication Asr Iran featured returning residents—some relieved, many bracing for more strikes. “It felt good to return,” said one man on camera, “even to an unsafe home.”
Foreign observers confirm the unease.
Deutsche Welle’s Dan Hirschfeld described Tehran as “in a constant state of alert,” with many seeking to leave and economic stress visibly deepening.
Calls for fundamental change
Criticism of the government narrative is mounting.
Sociologist Taqi Azad Armaki, writing in Fararu, called for a transition “from ideological warfare to national reconstruction.”
A urged empowering the sidelined middle class and warned that the war had left Iran helpless and unable to meet basic needs.
More notably, some opposition voices—inside and outside Iran—are now discussing the formation of a “constitutional assembly.”
Though cautiously framed, it marks the clearest sign yet of openness to structural change.
Despite claims of stability, the Islamic Republic may be at its most fragile point since the 1981 bombing that killed over 70 top officials claimed by the People's Mojahedin Organization of Iran or MEK.
Then, the system had a charismatic leader in Ruhollah Khomeini and revolutionary zeal. Now, it is led by a solitary, increasingly isolated Supreme Leader with no clear path forward.
Iran consumes about 100 billion cubic meters of water each year—more than twice Turkey’s usage, despite similar populations. Around 90% goes to agriculture, 6% to households and the rest to industry.
Per capita household water use is similar to Turkey’s, but Iran recycles only about 20% of wastewater, compared to 85% in Turkey, 95% in the United Arab Emirates and 98% in Germany.
Despite a UN “red warning” 25 years ago, Iran expanded hydropower rather than wastewater treatment.
The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) has built over 60 dams in recent decades. More than half are now empty, with hydropower generation operating at just one-third of its nominal capacity.
Hydropower’s share in Iran’s electricity mix has fallen below 5%. Meanwhile, 80% of untreated wastewater is dumped into rivers, deserts and underground wells, contaminating the very sources Iran increasingly depends on.
Agriculture: high consumption, low output
The agricultural sector accounts for nearly all of Iran’s water use but contributes just 11% to GDP. Most farming still relies on flood irrigation.
In contrast, Turkey has reduced agriculture’s share of national water use from 75% to under 64%, while doubling the value of its agricultural output, which now stands at $60 billion, 13 times higher than Iran’s.
Perhaps more staggering, Turkey has achieved that using only a third of what Iran uses annually for farming.
Overextraction is reducing Iran’s groundwater reserves by 5 billion cubic meters annually. In Turkey, by contrast, aquifer recharge rates exceed extraction by a factor of three.
Drought is real, so is bad policy
Past policies pushing grain self-sufficiency worsened the problem.
In 2014, a deputy agriculture minister dismissed claims that farming consumed over 90% of the country’s water—insisting on continuing the strategy despite mounting environmental costs.
Iran, like many countries in the region, faces rising water stress.
Last year’s rainfall totaled around 400 billion cubic meters, but 70% of it evaporated, compared to a 50% loss in Turkey, which saw 537 billion cubic meters of precipitation.
Official figures show Iran’s dam reserves are just 46% full nationwide, and only 13% in the capital region. Turkey’s dam levels are at 57%, down from 70% a decade ago.
Both countries experience erratic rainfall but Turkey’s investments in water recycling, storage and irrigation have helped stabilize its system. Iran’s have not.
Iran’s water crisis isn’t simply the result of climate stress. It’s the consequence of institutional neglect, poorly prioritized infrastructure, and refusal to heed decades of expert warnings.
While others adapted, Iran doubled down on wasteful practices and political denial. The result: a deepening crisis, no longer possible to blame on nature alone.
With temperatures topping 40°C in Tehran and nearing 50°C in the south, many now face all-day water cuts—or near zero pressure—and frequent power failures.
Dozens shared their experiences with Iran International, highlighting the scale of the crisis and its toll nationwide.
“This is a big prison called Iran that has neither water nor electricity,” said a woman from Fardis, a suburb of Karaj.
“Water outage again… People have reached the breaking point. Do something before it’s too late, you irresponsible officials!” another woman pleaded.
A man in Tabriz sent footage of a kitchen sink filled with unwashed dishes. “There has been no water for 12 hours,” he said, ending his message with: “Death to the Islamic Republic, death to Khamenei.”
Even Gilan—a lush, northern province with over 1.2 meters of rainfall—has seen outages, challenging claims that drought alone is to blame.
No water, no power
Low pressure is compounding the crisis. In many buildings, only the lower floors receive water—barely.
Some residents install private pumps to reach upper floors, but these depend on electricity, which is also being cut.
“The lower floors have low-pressure water, but the upper floors, even with a pump, have none,” wrote journalist Maryam Shokrani on X.
A refrigerator technician in Tehran said he hadn’t been able to test appliances for over a week. “There’s either no electricity or no water to check if the cold water and icemaker work,” he said.
Small businesses without backup systems are especially affected.
More than a drought
Officials blame the crisis on “unprecedented drought.” Iran is in its second-driest year in five decades, with rainfall down 43% from last year. Key dams, especially those feeding Tehran, are critically low.
Government data shows 24 of 31 provinces are under “water stress,” including major cities like Tehran, Mashhad, Tabriz, and Isfahan.
In response, the government shut down or shortened hours at offices and banks in several provinces on Wednesday, citing peak demand. Spokeswoman Fatemeh Mohajerani said closures may continue.
Visions gone dry
Experts say the real roots lie in chronic mismanagement, flawed policy, and decades of unsustainable water use in agriculture and industry.
Since 2000, Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei has called for population growth and food self-sufficiency in crops like wheat and rice—both highly water-intensive. In a 2021 speech, he reiterated that producing wheat, corn, and barley domestically was “both necessary and achievable.”
Experts argue these goals have worsened shortages, particularly in arid regions.
In Yazd, among Iran’s driest cities, officials have permitted sturgeon farming—a water-heavy industry—to produce caviar for export. The city has also grown rapidly due to industrial expansion.
Now, Yazd is locked in disputes with Isfahan over scarce water, highlighting how poor national coordination is fueling provincial rivalries. Both cities are major industrial hubs, making the stakes especially high.