‘You can’t smell Nowruz in the air’: Iran marks Persian new year under threat of strikes
You can’t smell Nowruz in the air’: Iran marks Persian new year under threat of strikes
Traditions Amid Uncertainty
As Nowruz, the Persian New Year, approaches, Iranians typically gear up with enthusiasm, engaging in festive preparations. Mina, a woman in her 50s from Damavand, recalls the usual bustle: “We’d be busy getting ready … cleaning the house, shopping for new clothes, sweets and snacks,” she says. Yet this year feels markedly distinct. “Every day feels so long. It’s like I’ve lost track of time,” Mina adds, her voice trembling. For many, Nowruz symbolizes renewal and cultural identity, but its celebration now occurs in a climate of war and tension.
A Festival Rooted in History
Nowruz, meaning “new day,” is a time-honored tradition marking the spring equinox and the rebirth of nature. Celebrated for over 3,000 years, it is one of the world’s oldest festivals, observed by Persians, Parsis, Kurds, Armenians, Azerbaijanis, Tajiks, Kazakhs, Uzbeks, and other communities. This year, however, the festival will be the first in decades to coincide with active conflict, as Iran endures bombardments since 28 February. The US-based group Human Rights Activists in Iran notes 3,114 deaths, including 1,354 civilians and at least 207 children.
War Changes the Rhythm
Mina’s son, Amir, who relocated with his family to Damavand, echoes the shared anxiety. “People are losing their jobs with the war. My biggest worry is our country’s infrastructure,” he says. “At this rate, there might not even be much left of Iran. I don’t want this to be our last Nowruz.” Families typically gather during the two-week holiday, but some now hesitate to return to Tehran, the region most affected by attacks. “Visits this year are very limited. We’ve been displaced ourselves, leaving Tehran for a safer place,” Mina explains.
Resilience in the Face of Fear
Despite the backdrop of war, certain rituals persist. Parmis, a 20-something in Tehran, recalls the usual excitement of pre-Nowruz shopping. “It used to be so much easier to find all the items for Nowruz before. Now, if you go anywhere, you’re always worried whether you’ll be caught in an air strike,” she says. Yet she ventured out on 17 March to get her nails done, noting the calm amid chaos. “I was in the salon when a loud explosion went off, and no-one even flinched,” she adds.
A Defiant Celebration
Meanwhile, Maryam observes that some still embrace the festival’s traditions, such as the Haft Sin table. “There were people out buying things for Haft Sin. I saw flowers and street vendors, but it’s not like it was in previous years,” she says. “At the same time, this is a tradition that happens once a year, and we must celebrate it.” Others, like Ramtin, a man in his 30s in Tehran, see Nowruz as a symbol of resistance. “What’s the point of Nowruz? If the Islamic Republic stays in power, we have to live with endless hardships. Nowruz is always there, comes and goes. This time, the Islamic Republic must go,” he argues.
Hope and Hesitation
As the cold of winter begins to recede, the festival’s traditional significance remains intertwined with its current challenges. While some mourn the loss of pre-war festivities, others find solace in continuing their cultural practices, even as the world watches the conflict unfold. For now, the hope is that the sounds of Nowruz will not be overshadowed by the roar of missiles and drones.