When the Internet Goes Dark, So Do the Paychecks: Mass Layoffs Spread Across Iran

Two weeks after the internet was switched off at the outset of the U.S.-Israeli war, parts of Iran that once hummed with code and e-commerce went eerily silent—and so did a lot of paychecks. Tech workers who depended on online tools, platforms and payment rails found their whole industry effectively un-plugged almost overnight.

Take Babak, a 49-year-old product designer in Tehran: called into his boss’s office in mid-March and let go. He’s not a lone anecdote. Resignation and redundancy notices multiplied across companies as the shutdown and wartime strikes tangled supply chains and froze commerce.

The numbers make the whisper a shout. One government estimate put job losses in the millions; a major industry council warned of a contraction affecting as many as 3.5 million workers. Online hiring portals saw record traffic—one reported 318,000 resumes in a single day—while tech lobbyists calculated that the internet blackout was costing the economy tens of millions of dollars every day.

The mechanics are painfully ordinary: e-commerce anchors trimmed staff (one national online retailer cut about 200 roles), small startups closed entirely, and factories that relied on petrochemical and steel feedstocks were starved after industrial sites were struck and ports faced a blockade. Textile plants and other manufacturers announced mass cuts—one western factory let go of 700 of 800 workers—while many production units continued in name only, operating intermittently to avoid fully shutting down.

It’s not only bombs and blockades. Iran’s economy was already limping from sanctions, corruption, runaway inflation and a sinking currency. Years of unrest and a government crackdown have left public patience thin. On a national holiday honoring workers, officials urged employers to avoid layoffs—a fine-sounding request when many of the same policies and wartime hits are the very reasons firms are bleeding.

Policy choices added to the awkward timing. In March a roughly 60 percent minimum-wage increase aimed at keeping up with inflation ended up jolting some employers instead of helping them: higher mandated pay, in the absence of sales or raw materials, pushed some companies to shed staff rather than shoulder the new costs.

For people like Babak, the result is grindingly personal. Laid off twice in a year, he and his wife have sold cars and jewelry and are leaning on family while he hunts for work that may not exist. The scene across cities and industrial towns is similar: hopeful resumes, closed shops, half-running factories and a lot of people rethinking how long savings—and hope—can stretch.

Nobody is pretending there’s an easy fix. Between the blackout, strikes on industrial infrastructure, a ports blockade and domestic policy misfires, the job market has been hit from every angle. The challenge now is less about restoring a single service than about convincing businesses and workers alike that the next payroll is coming—and that the internet, and the economy, will be on when they need them.