Some areas of Tehran sustained heavy damage during the ongoing protests in Iran, such as this building shown on Jan. 10.Getty Images/Getty Images

Amir Zadeh is an Iranian-Canadian living in Vancouver.

The family WhatsApp chat is usually a circus. On a normal day, it’s my uncle forwarding news from sources that definitely do not exist, my aunt sharing medical advice from 2003 about herbs that can cure anything from heartbreak to heart attacks (“Just boil it and drink”), and cousins sending memes that would get them disowned by elders if they knew what they meant. It’s loud, it’s chaotic, it’s home.

And then suddenly, silence.

When the protests started in Iran, the government shut down the internet and jammed phone lines across the country. It isn’t the first time, but it never stops feeling unreal. One minute you’re watching shaky videos from the streets, the next minute the entire country falls off the map.

If you don’t know Iranians, silence might seem harmless. If you do, you know they’re not sitting at home bored, drinking tea and watching state TV, waiting for things to fix themselves. Iranians don’t do quiet resignation; they do stubborn survival. They push, even when it scares them.

© The Globe and Mail