How Southern Californians are reacting to — and coping with — news from Iran and the Middle East

Reza Arzanian has only been able to get in touch with his parents in Iran once since the U.S. and Israel began bombing the country over the weekend. Communication into the country is nearly impossible — he has to rely on them contacting him.

The Los Angeles resident isn’t yet sure how to think about the evolving attack on the country of 90 million people, where he lived until he was 25. Even when news came Saturday that Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei was killed, Arzanian was unmoved.

“ I wasn't happy or I wasn't sad,” he said. “All I could think of was the last time I spoke with my mom and her voice was shaking and she was telling me her jaw was shaking because she was so scared.”

This is the reality for so many Southern Californians with ties to the Middle East. In the last few years, there has been a relentless barrage of news about tragedy and bloodshed: Iran’s Zan, Zendegi, Azadi movement in 2022; Hamas’ attack on Israel in October 2023 that killed about 1,200 people and Israel’s subsequent military assault on Gaza that killed more than 70,000 people; the fall of Bashar Al Assad’s regime in Syria; recent protests in Iran over economic conditions that the regime violently put down; and other headlines from Lebanon, Jordan, Kuwait, Qatar and the United Arab Emirates.

The unrelenting stories of destruction and tragedy from the region — which are inescapable on the news, social media and in group text message threads — are taking a toll.

Marwa Azab, a mental health expert and a professor at Cal State Long Beach, said people can go from a state of “hyperarousal” — or increased anxiety — in their nervous systems to “being disconnected from the body, feeling emotional numbness.”

 ”The misinformation, inciting and inflaming media has made our identity fragments fight each other, like parts of us are fighting each other, really making it very difficult, if not impossible, at this present moment to feel whole,” she said.  ”This numbness, this detachment from the body where the mind and body becomes separate, makes us further removed from who we are, from our identity, and gives us a sense of being fragmented.”

Arzanian, who is Iranian American, can relate.

“ It feels hard to exist in my body,” he said Monday. “Like yesterday, I didn't know what to do with myself. I cannot distract myself.”

Rachel Sumekh, an Iranian Jewish economic justice activist, told LAist she feels as though she is holding her breath, struggling to exhale.

“We have no idea what will happen. We pray that what happens next will be something that's good, will be something that brings freedom to the people of Iran,” she said.

And as a U.S. citizen with Iranian roots who is Jewish and has ties to Israel, Sumekh called the current moment “nuts.”

But her identity has also been politicized since she could remember.

“ I have avoided telling people I'm Jewish at times since Oct. 7, simply because I feel like then I need to qualify that I believe in human rights and whatever my international positions are,” she said.

But she added that this multifaceted identity has also helped her cope and navigate life in America, “designing and developing life here in America in a way that feels future-oriented as opposed to saddled with what the heaviness of those identities comes with.”

Sumekh has never set foot in Iran. Her father left before the Iranian Revolution, and her mother escaped a few years after the Revolution on the back of a camel. Israel was where her family escaped to as refugees when they left Iran. And her identity shows up in how she interacts with people and moves through life. Her activism, including organizing around ending campus hunger, she said, is rooted in Persian principles of hospitality, warmth and openness.

One way she copes with the heaviness of it all, she said, is deleting social media.

Arzanian said he has been avoiding social media, too. Instead, he relies on a Telegram channel for news updates. To get away from the news, he tries to stay active, do breath work and write in his journal.

“I  try to write before doing anything, and usually my writing is a mixture of how I'm feeling and prayers,” he said.

Shared reality 

Sandy Hamideh knows how Sumekh and Arzanian are feeling.

The last few years have left the Palestinian American who lives in Rowland Heights “overwhelmed.”

Her young children remind her of the children dying in Gaza, and as she prepares their food and helps them with homework, she’s reminded of the people back home.

“ I'm just stuck in this cycle, the same just recurring cycle,” Hamideh said. “We think it's going to get better, and here we are two and a half years later and still, stuck and confused and scared.”

Israel’s war on Gaza has changed her, she said. She's become a more grateful person, not overlooking the little luxuries. And, she said, she has been heartened by the outpouring of support she's seen for Palestinians. Before, Hamideh said, she would quickly brush past the fact that she was Palestinian.

“ Now, I'm more proud about it because people are out there like learning and loving your culture, so that's really nice,” she said.

But there is also a sadness that permeates everything she does, Hamideh said.

 ”The things I would get excited for before, now I look at it differently,” she said. “People across the world don't have these resources or have these moments of good times or these chances to go out and explore and just the freedom.”

Sumekh also identified with recent victims of violence. She said the news of Iranian protesters being killed earlier in the year as they called for regime change affected her more than the recent strikes.

“ Those were Iranians who could have been me there fighting for freedom,” Sumekh said. “What's happening now is just a bunch of strong men, politicians bombing each other.”

Survivor’s guilt 

Marwa Azab, a psychology professor at Cal State Long Beach.

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Samanta Helou Hernandez

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LAist

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Cal State Long Beach’s Azab calls this survivor’s guilt “a beautiful thing.”

 ”It means that we are still human … that we have morality,” she said.

She cautioned that people should not let that fester into feeling responsible for the destruction and tragedy.

Instead, Azab advised, people should turn any guilt they feel into values. Remind yourself that feelings of guilt mean you value human life and relationships.

For people with ties to the Middle East, the images can be retraumatizing, she said. The danger that some people fled has not ended, so they keep reliving that trauma over and over again.

And, Azab said, the images of destruction can be more triggering for people with ties to the region because they share aspects of their identity.

How to prioritize conversation 

Andrea Hodos, associate director of NewGround: A Muslim-Jewish Partnership for Change, understands why people feel overwhelmed.

“ I'm worried about Israeli Jews, Palestinian citizens of Israel. I'm worried about Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza. I'm worried about people in Saudi Arabia. I'm worried about people in UAE and Lebanon and all of these places. Jordan was hit because there are U.S. bases there and there are so many civilians who are impacted by Iranian leadership,” she said.

Her advice to people is to have deep conversations — and to do more listening than talking.

Even if you go into a conversation really wanting to share your perspective, she said, first be prepared to listen. You may find openings in someone else’s perspective and the other side will be open to hearing your side.