Lyse Doucet: Under fragile ceasefire, Iranians wonder if US deal can be done
Lyse Doucet: Under fragile ceasefire, Iranians wonder if US deal can be done
As the arrival of spring has spurred almond trees into bloom, the northern plains of Iran see a tentative return to normalcy, with a fragile truce easing traffic along highways and drawing more Iranians back to their homeland. A grey-haired banker, standing in the departures hall at a Turkish border crossing, shares his experience of staying with his son in Turkey for a month. He notes that in his northern city, Israeli and American airstrikes primarily targeted military sites, sparing civilian homes and infrastructure. This personal account captures five weeks of war, interrupted by a two-week pause set to end within a week.
“I’m a bit scared,” an elderly woman in a headscarf confesses, her expression etched with concern. She laments the toll on young Iranians, from the destruction of crowded residential areas by falling shells to the intimidation tactics of Iran’s Basij paramilitary forces. “It’s all in God’s hands,” she murmurs, gazing upward.
Meanwhile, a young woman in a vibrant red puffer jacket and knitted hat asserts, “Of course, the ceasefire won’t hold. Iran will never relinquish control of the Strait of Hormuz.” As we traverse through Turkish customs and enter the Islamic Republic of Iran, a man beside us reacts to the calm, declaring, “Trump will never leave Iran alone; he wants to swallow us!”
The long drive to Tehran, the only accessible route since airports remain closed, brings the US president’s presence to mind. Every bridge spanning the road glints under the spring sun, a reminder of the devastation threatening to follow. On 7 April, Trump warned of an apocalyptic strike, claiming he could destroy every bridge in Iran within an hour, alongside all power plants. Yet, he emphasized, “we don’t want to do that.”
The main bridge between Tabriz and Tehran, via Zanjan, collapsed under missile fire last week, forcing vehicles onto winding rural roads. This disruption underscores the targeting of critical civilian infrastructure, which has sparked growing criticism from legal experts. They argue that such actions may breach international humanitarian law and even constitute war crimes. Despite the US and Israel’s insistence that they focus on military targets, the ruins of an IRGC barracks near Tabriz speak otherwise. A large flag hangs over its broken pillars, resembling concrete teeth.
Across the region, military bases, police stations, and factories have also been struck. The sight of a centuries-old caravanserai—its stone ceilings and stained-glass windows a testament to Iran’s ancient heritage—stirs reflection. Nearby, the country’s modern identity is equally evident, with women choosing to wear veils or scarves, while others, regardless of age, walk bare-headed. This diversity is a legacy of the 2022-2023 Woman, Life, Freedom protests, which women refuse to let fade despite ongoing strict modesty rules and harsh penalties.
Amid these challenges, Iran’s theocracy grapples with urgent priorities. New banners along highways display portraits of the three supreme leaders since the 1979 revolution: Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, who was killed in the war’s opening days on 28 February, and his son Mojtaba Khamenei, reportedly injured in the attack and absent from public view since. He is believed to be shaping a new political and security strategy in response to the war’s toll and the historic efforts to mend relations with the US over Iran’s nuclear program, as well as its control of the strategic Strait of Hormuz.
Behind closed doors in Islamabad, a US delegation led by Vice-President JD Vance spent 21 hours in tense negotiations with Iranian officials, including Parliamentary Speaker Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf, a hardline representative.
