Meanwhile, that same morning

Iranian Relief Fund board meeting. Sean was checking his phone under the long conference table. No notifications.

Roya, their director, looked tired. “Donations are down again.”

“OFAC,” Kamran said. “The sanctions. Banks won’t process transfers to Iranian organizations.”

“They’ve frozen so many accounts,” Shadi added.

Sean looked up. Leaned forward. “What about Bitcoin?”

Kamran laughed. “You and your Bitcoin.”

“It’s censorship-resistant. No bank can block it—”

“It’s a scam, Shayan.”

“It’s not—”

“It’s internet money for criminals.”

“It’s decentralized—”

Roya held up her hand. “Shayan. We’re not doing cryptocurrency. Too risky. Next item.”

Sean sat back. Nodded once.

Fine.

“Actually,” he said, like he’d been waiting for his turn. “While we’re on fundraising. The Instagram campaign from last quarter?”

Shadi perked up. “Oh, we got great numbers on that.”

Kamran pulled up his tablet. “27,000 impressions. Very high engagement.”

“How much did we spend?” Sean asked.

“$1,200,” Shadi answered.

“And how much did we raise?”

Kamran scrolled. “$180. Four donations.”

Silence. The fluorescent lights above them hummed.

Sean stood. The chair rolled back behind him. He walked to the monitor, docked his laptop, and stepped away from it. “You spent $1,200 to raise $180.”

“But the impressions—” Shadi started.

“Were mostly bots.” He pointed back at the screen without looking at it. “Forty percent of digital ad impressions are fraudulent. Fake accounts. Software. You paid Instagram to show your ad to robots.”

Kamran frowned at his tablet. “The report said—”

“The report Instagram sent you.” Sean clicked to the next slide. “When was the last time you watched an ad on there?”

Kamran chuckled. “I usually skip ’em.”

“Everyone skips them,” Shadi laughed.

“Right.” Sean let that sit. “So why would anyone watch ours?”

“If it’s good?” Shadi offered.

“Maybe.” Sean pulled up an article. “But here’s the best part. Meta suppresses content about Iran. Automatically. Their algorithm flags it as politically sensitive.”

Roya sat up. “They censored us?”

“Shadow suppression. You paid them $1,200 to show your posts to fewer people than if you’d posted organically for free.”

“That’s—” Shadi looked at Kamran. “Can they do that?”

“They’re Meta.” He moved on.

Roya rubbed her temples. “So what do we do? Try TikTok?”

“No.”

“Facebook?”

“Every platform does this. They take from both sides and deliver nothing. That’s their business model.”

“Then what’s the alternative?” Roya asked.

Sean clicked to his next slide. “Make something people actually want to share.”

He walked them through it. Organic content. Trending sounds. Hashtags. Platform-specific formatting. Real work.

Roya didn’t blink. “And who is making these videos?”

“We ask younger volunteers,” he said. “The diaspora community. People who understand these platforms. We treat it as real volunteer work. Help them build marketing skills.”

Roya looked at Kamran. Kamran looked at Shadi.

“Let’s pause on ads,” Roya said. “We’ll start recruiting next month. Shayan, thank you for your research.”

Kamran closed his tablet. “Yes. Merci, Shayan.”

The meeting moved to budget review.

Sean closed his laptop. Unplugged it from the monitor.

His hand moved toward his pocket. Stopped.

She helped him win that. And she’d never know.

Meanwhile, that same morning

Iranian Relief Fund board meeting. Sean was checking his phone under the long conference table. No notifications.

Roya, their director, looked tired. “Donations are down again.”

“OFAC,” Kamran said. “The sanctions. Banks won’t process transfers to Iranian organizations.”

“They’ve frozen so many accounts,” Shadi added.

Sean looked up. Leaned forward. “What about Bitcoin?”

Kamran laughed. “You and your Bitcoin.”

“It’s censorship-resistant. No bank can block it—”

“It’s a scam, Shayan.”

“It’s not—”

“It’s internet money for criminals.”

“It’s decentralized—”

Roya held up her hand. “Shayan. We’re not doing cryptocurrency. Too risky. Next item.”

Sean sat back. Nodded once.

Fine.

“Actually,” he said, like he’d been waiting for his turn. “While we’re on fundraising. The Instagram campaign from last quarter?”

Shadi perked up. “Oh, we got great numbers on that.”

Kamran pulled up his tablet. “27,000 impressions. Very high engagement.”

“How much did we spend?” Sean asked.

“$1,200,” Shadi answered.

“And how much did we raise?”

Kamran scrolled. “$180. Four donations.”

Silence. The fluorescent lights above them hummed.

Sean stood. The chair rolled back behind him. He walked to the monitor, docked his laptop, and stepped away from it. “You spent $1,200 to raise $180.”

“But the impressions—” Shadi started.

“Were mostly bots.” He pointed back at the screen without looking at it. “Forty percent of digital ad impressions are fraudulent. Fake accounts. Software. You paid Instagram to show your ad to robots.”

Kamran frowned at his tablet. “The report said—”

“The report Instagram sent you.” Sean clicked to the next slide. “When was the last time you watched an ad on there?”

Kamran chuckled. “I usually skip ’em.”

“Everyone skips them,” Shadi laughed.

“Right.” Sean let that sit. “So why would anyone watch ours?”

“If it’s good?” Shadi offered.

“Maybe.” Sean pulled up an article. “But here’s the best part. Meta suppresses content about Iran. Automatically. Their algorithm flags it as politically sensitive.”

Roya sat up. “They censored us?”

“Shadow suppression. You paid them $1,200 to show your posts to fewer people than if you’d posted organically for free.”

“That’s—” Shadi looked at Kamran. “Can they do that?”

“They’re Meta.” He moved on.

Roya rubbed her temples. “So what do we do? Try TikTok?”

“No.”

“Facebook?”

“Every platform does this. They take from both sides and deliver nothing. That’s their business model.”

“Then what’s the alternative?” Roya asked.

Sean clicked to his next slide. “Make something people actually want to share.”

He walked them through it. Organic content. Trending sounds. Hashtags. Platform-specific formatting. Real work.

Roya didn’t blink. “And who is making these videos?”

“We ask younger volunteers,” he said. “The diaspora community. People who understand these platforms. We treat it as real volunteer work. Help them build marketing skills.”

Roya looked at Kamran. Kamran looked at Shadi.

“Let’s pause on ads,” Roya said. “We’ll start recruiting next month. Shayan, thank you for your research.”

Kamran closed his tablet. “Yes. Merci, Shayan.”

The meeting moved to budget review.

Sean closed his laptop. Unplugged it from the monitor.

His hand moved toward his pocket. Stopped.

She helped him win that. And she’d never know.

Meanwhile, that same morning

Iranian Relief Fund board meeting. Sean was checking his phone under the long conference table. No notifications.

Roya, their director, looked tired. “Donations are down again.”

“OFAC,” Kamran said. “The sanctions. Banks won’t process transfers to Iranian organizations.”

“They’ve frozen so many accounts,” Shadi added.

Sean looked up. Leaned forward. “What about Bitcoin?”

Kamran laughed. “You and your Bitcoin.”

“It’s censorship-resistant. No bank can block it—”

“It’s a scam, Shayan.”

“It’s not—”

“It’s internet money for criminals.”

“It’s decentralized—”

Roya held up her hand. “Shayan. We’re not doing cryptocurrency. Too risky. Next item.”

Sean sat back. Nodded once.

Fine.

“Actually,” he said, like he’d been waiting for his turn. “While we’re on fundraising. The Instagram campaign from last quarter?”

Shadi perked up. “Oh, we got great numbers on that.”

Kamran pulled up his tablet. “27,000 impressions. Very high engagement.”

“How much did we spend?” Sean asked.

“$1,200,” Shadi answered.

“And how much did we raise?”

Kamran scrolled. “$180. Four donations.”

Silence. The fluorescent lights above them hummed.

Sean stood. The chair rolled back behind him. He walked to the monitor, docked his laptop, and stepped away from it. “You spent $1,200 to raise $180.”

“But the impressions—” Shadi started.

“Were mostly bots.” He pointed back at the screen without looking at it. “Forty percent of digital ad impressions are fraudulent. Fake accounts. Software. You paid Instagram to show your ad to robots.”

Kamran frowned at his tablet. “The report said—”

“The report Instagram sent you.” Sean clicked to the next slide. “When was the last time you watched an ad on there?”

Kamran chuckled. “I usually skip ’em.”

“Everyone skips them,” Shadi laughed.

“Right.” Sean let that sit. “So why would anyone watch ours?”

“If it’s good?” Shadi offered.

“Maybe.” Sean pulled up an article. “But here’s the best part. Meta suppresses content about Iran. Automatically. Their algorithm flags it as politically sensitive.”

Roya sat up. “They censored us?”

“Shadow suppression. You paid them $1,200 to show your posts to fewer people than if you’d posted organically for free.”

“That’s—” Shadi looked at Kamran. “Can they do that?”

“They’re Meta.” He moved on.

Roya rubbed her temples. “So what do we do? Try TikTok?”

“No.”

“Facebook?”

“Every platform does this. They take from both sides and deliver nothing. That’s their business model.”

“Then what’s the alternative?” Roya asked.

Sean clicked to his next slide. “Make something people actually want to share.”

He walked them through it. Organic content. Trending sounds. Hashtags. Platform-specific formatting. Real work.

Roya didn’t blink. “And who is making these videos?”

“We ask younger volunteers,” he said. “The diaspora community. People who understand these platforms. We treat it as real volunteer work. Help them build marketing skills.”

Roya looked at Kamran. Kamran looked at Shadi.

“Let’s pause on ads,” Roya said. “We’ll start recruiting next month. Shayan, thank you for your research.”

Kamran closed his tablet. “Yes. Merci, Shayan.”

The meeting moved to budget review.

Sean closed his laptop. Unplugged it from the monitor.

His hand moved toward his pocket. Stopped.

She helped him win that. And she’d never know.

Meanwhile, that same morning

Iranian Relief Fund board meeting. Sean was checking his phone under the long conference table. No notifications.

Roya, their director, looked tired. “Donations are down again.”

“OFAC,” Kamran said. “The sanctions. Banks won’t process transfers to Iranian organizations.”

“They’ve frozen so many accounts,” Shadi added.

Sean looked up. Leaned forward. “What about Bitcoin?”

Kamran laughed. “You and your Bitcoin.”

“It’s censorship-resistant. No bank can block it—”

“It’s a scam, Shayan.”

“It’s not—”

“It’s internet money for criminals.”

“It’s decentralized—”

Roya held up her hand. “Shayan. We’re not doing cryptocurrency. Too risky. Next item.”

Sean sat back. Nodded once.

Fine.

“Actually,” he said, like he’d been waiting for his turn. “While we’re on fundraising. The Instagram campaign from last quarter?”

Shadi perked up. “Oh, we got great numbers on that.”

Kamran pulled up his tablet. “27,000 impressions. Very high engagement.”

“How much did we spend?” Sean asked.

“$1,200,” Shadi answered.

“And how much did we raise?”

Kamran scrolled. “$180. Four donations.”

Silence. The fluorescent lights above them hummed.

Sean stood. The chair rolled back behind him. He walked to the monitor, docked his laptop, and stepped away from it. “You spent $1,200 to raise $180.”

“But the impressions—” Shadi started.

“Were mostly bots.” He pointed back at the screen without looking at it. “Forty percent of digital ad impressions are fraudulent. Fake accounts. Software. You paid Instagram to show your ad to robots.”

Kamran frowned at his tablet. “The report said—”

“The report Instagram sent you.” Sean clicked to the next slide. “When was the last time you watched an ad on there?”

Kamran chuckled. “I usually skip ’em.”

“Everyone skips them,” Shadi laughed.

“Right.” Sean let that sit. “So why would anyone watch ours?”

“If it’s good?” Shadi offered.

“Maybe.” Sean pulled up an article. “But here’s the best part. Meta suppresses content about Iran. Automatically. Their algorithm flags it as politically sensitive.”

Roya sat up. “They censored us?”

“Shadow suppression. You paid them $1,200 to show your posts to fewer people than if you’d posted organically for free.”

“That’s—” Shadi looked at Kamran. “Can they do that?”

“They’re Meta.” He moved on.

Roya rubbed her temples. “So what do we do? Try TikTok?”

“No.”

“Facebook?”

“Every platform does this. They take from both sides and deliver nothing. That’s their business model.”

“Then what’s the alternative?” Roya asked.

Sean clicked to his next slide. “Make something people actually want to share.”

He walked them through it. Organic content. Trending sounds. Hashtags. Platform-specific formatting. Real work.

Roya didn’t blink. “And who is making these videos?”

“We ask younger volunteers,” he said. “The diaspora community. People who understand these platforms. We treat it as real volunteer work. Help them build marketing skills.”

Roya looked at Kamran. Kamran looked at Shadi.

“Let’s pause on ads,” Roya said. “We’ll start recruiting next month. Shayan, thank you for your research.”

Kamran closed his tablet. “Yes. Merci, Shayan.”

The meeting moved to budget review.

Sean closed his laptop. Unplugged it from the monitor.

His hand moved toward his pocket. Stopped.

She helped him win that. And she’d never know.

Meanwhile, that same morning

Iranian Relief Fund board meeting. Sean was checking his phone under the long conference table. No notifications.

Roya, their director, looked tired. “Donations are down again.”

“OFAC,” Kamran said. “The sanctions. Banks won’t process transfers to Iranian organizations.”

“They’ve frozen so many accounts,” Shadi added.

Sean looked up. Leaned forward. “What about Bitcoin?”

Kamran laughed. “You and your Bitcoin.”

“It’s censorship-resistant. No bank can block it—”

“It’s a scam, Shayan.”

“It’s not—”

“It’s internet money for criminals.”

“It’s decentralized—”

Roya held up her hand. “Shayan. We’re not doing cryptocurrency. Too risky. Next item.”

Sean sat back. Nodded once.

Fine.

“Actually,” he said, like he’d been waiting for his turn. “While we’re on fundraising. The Instagram campaign from last quarter?”

Shadi perked up. “Oh, we got great numbers on that.”

Kamran pulled up his tablet. “27,000 impressions. Very high engagement.”

“How much did we spend?” Sean asked.

“$1,200,” Shadi answered.

“And how much did we raise?”

Kamran scrolled. “$180. Four donations.”

Silence. The fluorescent lights above them hummed.

Sean stood. The chair rolled back behind him. He walked to the monitor, docked his laptop, and stepped away from it. “You spent $1,200 to raise $180.”

“But the impressions—” Shadi started.

“Were mostly bots.” He pointed back at the screen without looking at it. “Forty percent of digital ad impressions are fraudulent. Fake accounts. Software. You paid Instagram to show your ad to robots.”

Kamran frowned at his tablet. “The report said—”

“The report Instagram sent you.” Sean clicked to the next slide. “When was the last time you watched an ad on there?”

Kamran chuckled. “I usually skip ’em.”

“Everyone skips them,” Shadi laughed.

“Right.” Sean let that sit. “So why would anyone watch ours?”

“If it’s good?” Shadi offered.

“Maybe.” Sean pulled up an article. “But here’s the best part. Meta suppresses content about Iran. Automatically. Their algorithm flags it as politically sensitive.”

Roya sat up. “They censored us?”

“Shadow suppression. You paid them $1,200 to show your posts to fewer people than if you’d posted organically for free.”

“That’s—” Shadi looked at Kamran. “Can they do that?”

“They’re Meta.” He moved on.

Roya rubbed her temples. “So what do we do? Try TikTok?”

“No.”

“Facebook?”

“Every platform does this. They take from both sides and deliver nothing. That’s their business model.”

“Then what’s the alternative?” Roya asked.

Sean clicked to his next slide. “Make something people actually want to share.”

He walked them through it. Organic content. Trending sounds. Hashtags. Platform-specific formatting. Real work.

Roya didn’t blink. “And who is making these videos?”

“We ask younger volunteers,” he said. “The diaspora community. People who understand these platforms. We treat it as real volunteer work. Help them build marketing skills.”

Roya looked at Kamran. Kamran looked at Shadi.

“Let’s pause on ads,” Roya said. “We’ll start recruiting next month. Shayan, thank you for your research.”

Kamran closed his tablet. “Yes. Merci, Shayan.”

The meeting moved to budget review.

Sean closed his laptop. Unplugged it from the monitor.

His hand moved toward his pocket. Stopped.

She helped him win that. And she’d never know.

Meanwhile, that same morning

Iranian Relief Fund board meeting. Sean was checking his phone under the long conference table. No notifications.

Roya, their director, looked tired. “Donations are down again.”

“OFAC,” Kamran said. “The sanctions. Banks won’t process transfers to Iranian organizations.”

“They’ve frozen so many accounts,” Shadi added.

Sean looked up. Leaned forward. “What about Bitcoin?”

Kamran laughed. “You and your Bitcoin.”

“It’s censorship-resistant. No bank can block it—”

“It’s a scam, Shayan.”

“It’s not—”

“It’s internet money for criminals.”

“It’s decentralized—”

Roya held up her hand. “Shayan. We’re not doing cryptocurrency. Too risky. Next item.”

Sean sat back. Nodded once.

Fine.

“Actually,” he said, like he’d been waiting for his turn. “While we’re on fundraising. The Instagram campaign from last quarter?”

Shadi perked up. “Oh, we got great numbers on that.”

Kamran pulled up his tablet. “27,000 impressions. Very high engagement.”

“How much did we spend?” Sean asked.

“$1,200,” Shadi answered.

“And how much did we raise?”

Kamran scrolled. “$180. Four donations.”

Silence. The fluorescent lights above them hummed.

Sean stood. The chair rolled back behind him. He walked to the monitor, docked his laptop, and stepped away from it. “You spent $1,200 to raise $180.”

“But the impressions—” Shadi started.

“Were mostly bots.” He pointed back at the screen without looking at it. “Forty percent of digital ad impressions are fraudulent. Fake accounts. Software. You paid Instagram to show your ad to robots.”

Kamran frowned at his tablet. “The report said—”

“The report Instagram sent you.” Sean clicked to the next slide. “When was the last time you watched an ad on there?”

Kamran chuckled. “I usually skip ’em.”

“Everyone skips them,” Shadi laughed.

“Right.” Sean let that sit. “So why would anyone watch ours?”

“If it’s good?” Shadi offered.

“Maybe.” Sean pulled up an article. “But here’s the best part. Meta suppresses content about Iran. Automatically. Their algorithm flags it as politically sensitive.”

Roya sat up. “They censored us?”

“Shadow suppression. You paid them $1,200 to show your posts to fewer people than if you’d posted organically for free.”

“That’s—” Shadi looked at Kamran. “Can they do that?”

“They’re Meta.” He moved on.

Roya rubbed her temples. “So what do we do? Try TikTok?”

“No.”

“Facebook?”

“Every platform does this. They take from both sides and deliver nothing. That’s their business model.”

“Then what’s the alternative?” Roya asked.

Sean clicked to his next slide. “Make something people actually want to share.”

He walked them through it. Organic content. Trending sounds. Hashtags. Platform-specific formatting. Real work.

Roya didn’t blink. “And who is making these videos?”

“We ask younger volunteers,” he said. “The diaspora community. People who understand these platforms. We treat it as real volunteer work. Help them build marketing skills.”

Roya looked at Kamran. Kamran looked at Shadi.

“Let’s pause on ads,” Roya said. “We’ll start recruiting next month. Shayan, thank you for your research.”

Kamran closed his tablet. “Yes. Merci, Shayan.”

The meeting moved to budget review.

Sean closed his laptop. Unplugged it from the monitor.

His hand moved toward his pocket. Stopped.

She helped him win that. And she’d never know.

Meanwhile, that same morning

Iranian Relief Fund board meeting. Sean was checking his phone under the long conference table. No notifications.

Roya, their director, looked tired. “Donations are down again.”

“OFAC,” Kamran said. “The sanctions. Banks won’t process transfers to Iranian organizations.”

“They’ve frozen so many accounts,” Shadi added.

Sean looked up. Leaned forward. “What about Bitcoin?”

Kamran laughed. “You and your Bitcoin.”

“It’s censorship-resistant. No bank can block it—”

“It’s a scam, Shayan.”

“It’s not—”

“It’s internet money for criminals.”

“It’s decentralized—”

Roya held up her hand. “Shayan. We’re not doing cryptocurrency. Too risky. Next item.”

Sean sat back. Nodded once.

Fine.

“Actually,” he said, like he’d been waiting for his turn. “While we’re on fundraising. The Instagram campaign from last quarter?”

Shadi perked up. “Oh, we got great numbers on that.”

Kamran pulled up his tablet. “27,000 impressions. Very high engagement.”

“How much did we spend?” Sean asked.

“$1,200,” Shadi answered.

“And how much did we raise?”

Kamran scrolled. “$180. Four donations.”

Silence. The fluorescent lights above them hummed.

Sean stood. The chair rolled back behind him. He walked to the monitor, docked his laptop, and stepped away from it. “You spent $1,200 to raise $180.”

“But the impressions—” Shadi started.

“Were mostly bots.” He pointed back at the screen without looking at it. “Forty percent of digital ad impressions are fraudulent. Fake accounts. Software. You paid Instagram to show your ad to robots.”

Kamran frowned at his tablet. “The report said—”

“The report Instagram sent you.” Sean clicked to the next slide. “When was the last time you watched an ad on there?”

Kamran chuckled. “I usually skip ’em.”

“Everyone skips them,” Shadi laughed.

“Right.” Sean let that sit. “So why would anyone watch ours?”

“If it’s good?” Shadi offered.

“Maybe.” Sean pulled up an article. “But here’s the best part. Meta suppresses content about Iran. Automatically. Their algorithm flags it as politically sensitive.”

Roya sat up. “They censored us?”

“Shadow suppression. You paid them $1,200 to show your posts to fewer people than if you’d posted organically for free.”

“That’s—” Shadi looked at Kamran. “Can they do that?”

“They’re Meta.” He moved on.

Roya rubbed her temples. “So what do we do? Try TikTok?”

“No.”

“Facebook?”

“Every platform does this. They take from both sides and deliver nothing. That’s their business model.”

“Then what’s the alternative?” Roya asked.

Sean clicked to his next slide. “Make something people actually want to share.”

He walked them through it. Organic content. Trending sounds. Hashtags. Platform-specific formatting. Real work.

Roya didn’t blink. “And who is making these videos?”

“We ask younger volunteers,” he said. “The diaspora community. People who understand these platforms. We treat it as real volunteer work. Help them build marketing skills.”

Roya looked at Kamran. Kamran looked at Shadi.

“Let’s pause on ads,” Roya said. “We’ll start recruiting next month. Shayan, thank you for your research.”

Kamran closed his tablet. “Yes. Merci, Shayan.”

The meeting moved to budget review.

Sean closed his laptop. Unplugged it from the monitor.

His hand moved toward his pocket. Stopped.

She helped him win that. And she’d never know.