On a quiet afternoon inside The Wytch's Brew in Denver, Persian rugs and artwork reflecting Iranian culture fill the tea house.
The owner, Mae, says it’s a place where people can connect through tea, art, and conversation, which lately has turned to the war thousands of miles away.
“I have had so many non-Iranians come in be sympathetic towards the war, be sympathetic towards what the Iranian people are going through,” Mae said. “They have been open to hearing my side of it. They have been open to hearing what it actually feels like for us who are here and still have family back home.”
Mae was born in Germany after her parents left Iran after the revolution in 1979. She later moved back to Iran as a teenager and taught English there before eventually settling in Colorado. Mae said the war — and communication disruptions inside Iran — have left many Iranian Americans anxiously waiting for updates from loved ones.
She finally heard from a cousin a few weeks ago.
“I didn't have communication with any of my family until one of my cousins reached out to me,” Mae said. “She also let me know that everything that she's saying is being controlled, watched, listened to.”
Colorado is home to several thousand people of Iranian descent, many of whom remain closely connected to family in Iran. Some people interviewed for this story, including Mae, asked to be identified only by their first names out of concern for their relatives.
For younger Iranian Americans — like Yasi, whose parents also emigrated following the revolution — the war has brought renewed questions about identity and connection to a homeland they've never known firsthand.
“The only difference between me and the kids there are that my parents left Iran, and just because I'm not there, I didn't have to go through that, doesn't mean it's not my problem,” said Yasi.
She added that growing up, Persian culture was always central to her family — from learning Farsi to hearing stories about the country her parents still hoped to return to one day.
“Although it [the revolution] happened 47 years ago and I wasn't even born at the time, I feel very much,” Yasi said. “It's like this pain that's in my bones. I guess maybe that's the definition of like generational trauma, something that you just inherit.”
Some Iranian Americans are finding connection through ancient teachings — like Nush, who helped found the community group Persian Cultural Circle of Colorado.
She looks to the Shahnameh for comfort. The epic Persian poem, written more than a thousand years ago, is a cornerstone of Iranian culture for many across the diaspora.
“Shahnameh is very central in our life, because it teaches us to be resilient. It teaches us to always go by our Iranian identity, to go by positive thoughts, positive words, positive deeds.”
Nush said community gatherings and cultural events have also become spaces where people process grief, fear and uncertainty together.
But even among people with deep ties to Iranian culture, opinions about the war vary widely according to Jamal Abdi, president of the National Iranian American Council, which has long advocated for diplomacy over military intervention.
“People who are more thoughtful, more nuanced, who are trying to hold two ideas in their head at the same time — that the government of Iran is repressive and we shouldn't be bombing Iran — those voices have retreated into silence,” Abdi said. “The political tensions and the divisions in our community around this war has torn apart a lot of communities, has ended a lot of friendships.”
He also worries the war could intensify scrutiny and discrimination against Iranian Americans — particularly as immigration restrictions and political tensions in the U.S. continue to grow.
Those tensions have become especially personal for Colorado state Rep. Yara Zokaie.
As Colorado’s first and only Iranian American lawmaker, Zokaie, who represents Fort Collins, says she’s felt a responsibility to speak publicly about the war and how it's affecting her community.
“There are Iranians across the state who look to me to be able to bring that perspective,” said Zokaie.
On a recent Monday afternoon at Turkish Cafe Co. near her home, Zokaie and her parents play with one of her young children, Rayhan, while they discuss relatives still in Iran.
“For me, not knowing if they're alive and trying to show up and do my job was pretty impossible,” Zokaie said. “We had family members in the hospital, not knowing if the electricity would be shut off if they were going to make it. We heard from kids living in fear that their walls are trembling as bombs go off. I mean, this has a very real human impact.”
Her mother, Marjaneh, recalls one pregnant relative who needed a C-section amid bombings and that “the hospital walls were shaking while she was delivering the baby, and she was heartbroken, like what kind of world am I bringing my kid to?”
Her father, Toorak, says the entire experience during the war reflects a reality many immigrants understand.
“Being an immigrant, you're always torn between two cultures, one that you've left behind and one that you're adopting.”
Back at The Wytch's Brew in Denver, a large mural of Khorshid Khanom, or "Sun Lady,” looks out over the tea house.
Rooted in Persian history, Mae describes how the Sun Lady symbolizes hope and the promise of a new day.
“No matter what we're going through, no matter what is happening in our lives, whether it's war, whether it's love, whether… every day, the sun rises and the sun doesn't ask anything of you. It's just there.”
As Iran’s future remains uncertain, Mae and many other Iranian Americans anxiously await what will happen next to the people, culture and country they deeply care about.
