A trembling ceasefire has brought a pause to what had become the familiar sounds of explosions over Tehran. I was born in 1988, a year before the Iran-Iraq war came to an end. For my generation, war was something that belonged to the past – an impossible event, until this summer.
For 12 days, we lived in the capital under incessant Israeli attacks, and what we saw has changed us for good: dead neighbours, buildings gutted and worry – endless, deep-etched worry – on the faces of people.
There is comfort in speaking of “the Iranian people” as though we are one unified bloc. But like most societies, Iranians hold divergent views. When fighting first broke out, there were people who were glad to see a foreign power targeting the widely disliked Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) top brass, at least in the beginning. But others – though dissidents themselves – deeply resented the idea of foreign invasion. Some hardliners saw this war as a messianic mission to be carried through to the bitter end; others were numb to what was happening.
But as the news filled with footage of civilian casualties, and the attacks grew harsher and less targeted, different social factions began to unite around the notion of watan, homeland. Patriotism gained new currency, and national pride was on most lips. Scenes of solidarity – whether lasting remains to be seen – abounded: landlords cancelling rent in light of the crisis; people outside Tehran hosting those fleeing the capital; no rush to grocery stores, no chaos, no panicked evacuations.
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