Overview

A note on tone

this article is written for Iranian-Canadians across the political spectrum. Baraka serves clients who hold a wide range of views on Iran — pro- government, pro-opposition, secular, religious, monarchist, reformist, apolitical. We do not take political positions in our clinical work. The psychological dynamics described below apply regardless of where any given person stands politically.

There is a particular exhaustion I see often in Iranian-Canadian clients — and Iranian-Americans, and Iranian-Europeans, and the broader diaspora. It is not depression, exactly, though it can lead there. It is not anxiety, exactly, though it usually carries anxiety. It is not burnout from work.

It is something more specific

the cumulative cost of caring deeply about events in a country you cannot reach from a distance you cannot close. In trauma literature, this is sometimes called witness fatigue, vicarious trauma, or compassion fatigue — terms developed for therapists, journalists, and humanitarian workers who carry exposure to suffering they cannot directly fix. The terms apply, with adaptation, to the diaspora condition.

This article is for any Iranian-Canadian (or other diaspora reader) who has recognized that caring about their country is, currently, breaking them — and who wants to find a way to keep caring without coming apart.

What's actually happening The nervous system was not built for the level of suffering exposure that contemporary news consumption delivers. Our threat-response systems evolved for immediate, local threats — threats we could fight, flee, or address. Watching events thousands of kilometres away that we cannot directly affect activates the same nervous-system responses without the same resolution.

For diaspora witnesses specifically, several layers compound the basic news-overload problem: The events are not abstract. They concern your country, your people, sometimes your family. The footage is from streets you have walked. The faces look like faces you know.

You have a relationship to what is happening that is not the same as a foreign observer's. Your relationship is layered with personal history, family connections, identity, language, the particular ways your life has been shaped by the country in question. You cannot directly help. The traditional response to seeing suffering — go to it, be present, contribute physical labour or care or witness — is unavailable across borders.

The advocacy work that is available (donations, social media, political engagement, contacting representatives) does not always feel commensurate to the situation. The exposure is constant.

Pre-internet, diaspora communities received news from home through letters, occasional phone calls, eventual visits. Now the news is on your phone, at all hours, in real time. The nervous system never gets to settle. Your community is also affected. The friends and family you would normally turn to for relief are also affected. You cannot fully release the weight to them because they are carrying their own version of it.

The political landscape is divisive. For Iranian-Canadians, conversations about Iran can fracture friendships, families, and communities depending on political alignment. The diaspora is not a unified emotional support system; it is itself a contested space.

The personal weight intensifies during specific events. Wars, protests, economic crises, natural disasters — these moments produce acute spikes on top of the chronic baseline.