Lyse Doucet: Under fragile ceasefire, Iranians wonder if US deal can be done
Lyse Doucet: Under Fragile Ceasefire, Iranians Reflect on US Deal Prospects
Amid the rolling hills of northwest Iran, where snow-draped mountains frame the landscape, the arrival of spring triggers a burst of floral life, coaxing almond trees into a soft, white blossom. A tenuous pause in hostilities has since restored a semblance of movement along the roads, drawing more Iranians back to their homeland after months of turmoil. Yet the fragile truce, set to expire in days, casts a shadow over the nation’s hopes for a lasting resolution.
As we wait in the departure area of a Turkish border crossing, a grey-haired banker shares his experience of fleeing to Turkey. “I stayed with my son there for a month,” he says, his voice tinged with the chill of winter’s lingering grip. “In my city, the strikes mostly targeted military installations—homes and civilian buildings were spared.” His account encapsulates five weeks of war, interrupted by a two-week truce that now faces imminent collapse.
Voices of Concern
Another traveler, an elderly woman in a headscarf, expresses unease about the current calm. “I’m a bit scared,” she admits, her wrinkled face reflecting worry. Her words underscore the toll on young Iranians, who have endured the devastation of shells falling into densely populated areas and the looming presence of Basij paramilitary forces. “It’s all in God’s hands,” she murmurs, gazing upward as if seeking reassurance.
Contrastingly, a young woman in a vibrant red puffer jacket and knitted hat voices a more pragmatic outlook. “The ceasefire won’t last,” she declares. “Iran will never relinquish its grip on the Strait of Hormuz.” Her statement hints at the deep-seated national pride tied to the strategic waterway, a symbol of geopolitical influence.
Trump’s Threats and Strategic Priorities
On the 12-hour drive to Tehran—necessitated by closed airports—the focus shifts to the US president’s rhetoric. Trump’s warning to dismantle Iran’s infrastructure, including every bridge, echoes in the mind as vehicles navigate detours through winding rural roads. The main Tabriz-Tehran bridge, shattered by missile fire just days prior, stands as a stark reminder of the stakes.
Meanwhile, the Iranian theocracy grapples with immediate concerns. Banners draped over highways now feature portraits of the nation’s supreme leaders since the 1979 revolution: Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, and his son Mojtaba Khamenei, who remains unseen since a missile strike on February 28. The elder Khamenei’s assassination during the war’s opening days has thrust his successor into the spotlight, as he seeks to shape a new political and security strategy amid the crisis.
Legal scholars have voiced alarm over the targeting of civilian sites, citing potential breaches of international humanitarian law. While the US and Israel insist they focus on military targets, the flattened barracks of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps in Tabriz—its remnants marked by a tattered flag—tell a different story. Other facilities, including factories and police stations, have also been hit, amplifying the human cost.
As we pause at a roadside restaurant, a centuries-old caravanserai with its stone arches and stained-glass windows, the imagery of Iran’s ancient civilization contrasts with the modern war. The same roads now carry both the remnants of conflict and the resilience of a people navigating a complex geopolitical crossroads. Amid this, the struggle for women’s rights endures, with some donning veils and others defiantly bare-headed, a legacy of the 2022-2023 Woman Life Freedom movement.