Iran Expands Online Schooling for Afghan Deportees Amid Controversy

(IRAN) Iran’s government says Afghan students pushed out in mass expulsions will be able to keep learning through online schooling, a pledge that has drawn swift doubts from families, teachers and aid workers who say most children are locked out by paperwork rules and mounting restrictions. The policy was announced on October 25, 2025, as authorities defended months of deportations that have emptied classrooms and reshaped daily life for hundreds of thousands of Afghan families living in Iran.

Nader Yar-Ahmadi, head of the Bureau for Aliens and Foreign Immigrants Affairs at Iran’s Ministry of Interior, said that

“more than 280,000 undocumented Afghan children have left Iran,”
and that
“temporary educational arrangements will be made for their children”
who remain, including online options. In a separate statement attributed to the interior ministry, officials said online schooling would be available to Afghan schoolgirls forced to leave with their families by the end of October 2025. The promise comes with a firm barrier, however. Yar-Ahmadi emphasized that only students with ID numbers and residency documents can enroll in Iranian schools, a rule that many Afghans cannot meet. As he put it:
“Iran could only enrol students with ID numbers and residency documents in its school – something that some Afghans refugees do not have.”

The immediate impact has been stark. About 600,000 Afghan students were enrolled in Iranian schools in 2024. By 2025, that number had fallen to 320,000, a drop that coincides with a wave of deportations and tighter checks at school gates and government offices. Officials argue that the policy has eased pressure on services and housing, with some claiming that deportations have

“freed 3,000 classrooms”
and pushed down rents by as much as 30% in parts of the country. Parents, teachers and aid workers counter that the cost has been paid by Afghan children, many of whom have lost their only route to education and now have no legal way to sign up for either in-person classes or official online platforms.

The ministry’s pledge centers on online schooling, but children who lack documents—residency permits, unique ID codes, or school registration numbers—cannot use state systems. Afghan families say the gap is made worse by the very process of removals. Deportations fracture households, scatter communities, and often leave families without papers for months. Some of those who remain turn to informal lessons or smartphone apps shared by volunteers, but the reach is limited and the risks are rising. As of late October 2025, Iranian authorities have barred civil society groups from providing education to Afghan children, pushing NGOs and volunteer teachers to operate more discreetly or shut down their classes entirely.

Inside Tehran, the policy’s human cost is visible in stories like Rona’s. An Afghan teenager who finished 10th grade in the city, she said:

“When I finished 10th grade, the school said I couldn’t register again because I didn’t have legal documents. I felt very sad. I just wanted to study to continue like everyone else. Sometimes classmates told me to go back to Afghanistan, but I try not to lose hope. Now I study online and take art classes. I want to become a designer, maybe a lawyer or a psychologist one day.”
Her mother works as a caretaker, trying to keep her daughters safe and in school while navigating daily checks, rent, and a job that can end without notice. For families like theirs, the new online schooling promise offers words more than a path, because access hinges on documents they cannot secure.

Others describe a cycle of fear that keeps children at home even when ad hoc online lessons are available. Muhammad, a former police officer from Afghanistan now living in Iran, said:

“My children cannot go to school because we don’t have documents. I’ve been arrested several times. Even when I go to buy bread, I’m afraid of being caught.”
His children spend most days indoors. He sends them links to language videos and math exercises that friends share, but they cannot join any official lessons or take recognized exams. Their internet access depends on cash he earns from day labor, which is sporadic. When money runs out, the connection goes dark and the lessons end.

Families facing deportation told The Telegraph that the government’s promise of online education was

“a baseless claim to justify their deportation.”
Parents say that the vast majority of Afghan students who have been forced out lack the documents required to log into official platforms. Several said they tried to enroll using expired or borrowed numbers and were blocked. Others said they applied for temporary codes and were told to wait months with no clear date for approval. The policy, they argue, has become a Catch-22: students cannot attend class without documents, and they cannot get documents without a legal status that deportations and checkpoints make impossible.

Teachers and volunteers say they have tried to fill the gap, but their work is increasingly constrained. Some Iranian educators run small online classes from their homes, using video calls in the afternoons to teach Persian, math, and science to Afghan students who log in quietly under parent names. A few NGOs offer recorded lessons that can be downloaded to avoid live sessions that risk exposure. Most operate discreetly for fear of raids or legal penalties. A number of these programs have recently scaled down or stopped after authorities barred civil society organizations from educating Afghan children. Without those options, even online schooling—once seen as a low-risk bridge—has become out of reach for many.

The emotional damage is mounting as well. Girls as young as nine have been described as

“depressed”
after being deported to Afghanistan, where the Taliban has stripped away their right to education. Volunteer counselors say they have fielded messages from teenagers who fear they will never return to a classroom. One case they cited was a 17-year-old Afghan girl who reportedly contemplated suicide after being forced out of school and deported. In conversations with families, volunteers say students often ask the same questions: when will it be safe to go back, and will any of their exams count when they do?

Officials present a different picture. The Ministry of Interior says it is trying to manage numbers and protect services for citizens, and that temporary online options will soften the blow of removals and school closures for those still in Iran. The ministry also highlights the legal framework that requires documents for school enrollment, both to track students and to ensure security. Yar-Ahmadi’s remarks sketch the government’s line:

“Temporary educational arrangements will be made for their children.”
The condition he underscored—proof of identity and residency—applies across the system. As he stated:
“Iran could only enrol students with ID numbers and residency documents in its school – something that some Afghans refugees do not have.”

That condition is where the policy stumbles on the ground. Families say getting a residency document can take months and often requires proof of employment, a formal lease, or a guarantor—steps that are hard for many Afghans to meet even before the threat of detention or deportation. Those who recently returned to Afghanistan report that their daughters, who had been in Iranian schools for years, are now at home with no classes at all. Parents say they fear drawing attention by asking local authorities for help. Some try to enroll their children in small private lessons in Afghanistan, but prices are beyond reach and options for girls are limited or banned. These realities leave the online schooling pledge sounding remote to the very children it is supposed to serve.

The numbers tell the broader story. The drop from 600,000 Afghan students in 2024 to 320,000 in 2025 tracks with removals and tighter controls at registration. Yar-Ahmadi’s estimate that

“more than 280,000 undocumented Afghan children have left Iran,”
combined with the ministry’s claim of online options, suggests authorities see education as a logistical problem to manage alongside deportations. But parents, teachers, and NGOs frame it as a basic right being erased by rules they cannot meet. They point to the quiet shuttering of informal lessons and the bar on civil society education as proof that the space for learning—online or otherwise—is shrinking fast.

Technology also adds barriers. Afghan families without stable income struggle to pay for a reliable connection or devices for multiple children. Even when a phone is available, live lessons can be hard to follow due to low speeds or shared data plans. Without official enrollment, students cannot access exam portals or get certificates. Those limitations turn online schooling into a patchwork of short videos and worksheets that do not add up to a recognized education. Volunteers say they try to track attendance and progress, but without the state’s cooperation, their efforts do not translate into credits or grades.

In neighborhoods with large Afghan communities, the effects ripple beyond classrooms. Iranian landlords and shopkeepers have noticed sudden vacancies and lower rents, changes some officials have touted as benefits of mass expulsions. But school corridors that once mixed Iranian and Afghan children are quieter now, and teachers say the losses are felt by everyone. Mixed classes helped newcomers learn Persian faster and helped Iranian students develop broader skills. Educators who taught both groups say they worry especially about Afghan girls, who are at high risk of being pulled out of schooling entirely once removed.

For families still in Iran, the coming months look uncertain. Some hold on to the hope that temporary codes will come through, allowing children to tap into the online schooling systems the ministry says it will provide. Others have given up and are focusing on finding steady work, moving apartments frequently to avoid checks, or preparing for deportation. Parents say that every choice carries a cost: keep a child home and they fall behind, send them to work and they may never return to school, try an informal online class and risk drawing attention. For many, the only safe option is silence and staying indoors.

The government has not released detailed enrollment data for its online education platforms, nor has it clarified how children without documents might be allowed to use them. The promise of

“temporary educational arrangements”
remains broad, with no published schedule, curriculum details, or testing plans for Afghan students who are excluded from regular schools. Parents who tried calling hotlines say they were told to wait or to contact local offices; visits to those offices often end with reminders that no services are available without valid papers.

The question now is whether the online promise can be opened to children who lack proof of status, or whether enforcement will tighten further. Families say small changes would have big effects—granting temporary IDs for students, allowing access to exam portals with parent information, or restoring space for NGO-led online classes. Aid groups argue that the ban on civil society education should be lifted to prevent a lost generation of Afghan students. For now, there is no sign of that shift. Instead, parents and children are left to piece together informal study and wait for a door to open.

Iran’s interior ministry insists it is working within the law, managing a difficult situation, and offering what it can. Parents say that without documents, those offers mean little. Between those positions sit hundreds of thousands of Afghan students who watched their school enrollment collapse from one year to the next, who now depend on a phone, a data plan, and a password they cannot get. The gap between the promise and reality is where their future hangs.

Further information on the ministry’s role in migration and residency policies is available from the Iran Ministry of Interior.