Lyse Doucet: Under fragile ceasefire, Iranians wonder if US deal can be done

Lyse Doucet: Under Fragile Ceasefire, Iranians Question U.S. Deal’s Feasibility

Amid the rolling hills of Iran’s northwest, where snow-capped peaks frame the landscape, springtime triggers almond trees into a profuse bloom. A tenuous pause in hostilities has begun to ease movement along roads, drawing more Iranians back to their homeland. At a Turkish border checkpoint, a grizzled financial professional shares his experience, recounting a month spent with his son in Turkey amid harsh winter conditions. “In my northern city, the Israeli and American strikes mostly targeted military sites, not residential areas or civilian facilities,” he summarizes, reflecting on five weeks of conflict interrupted by a two-week truce set to expire soon.

“I’m a bit scared,” confesses an elderly woman in a hijab, her expression etched with concern. She laments the toll on young Iranians, from the shelling of densely populated neighborhoods to the intimidation by Iran’s Basij militia, which patrols the streets with vigilance. “It’s all in God’s hands,” she whispers, gazing upward.

Contrasting this sentiment, a young woman in a vibrant red puffer jacket and knitted hat declares, “Of course, the ceasefire won’t last. Iran will never relinquish control of the Strait of Hormuz.” As vehicles navigate through Turkish customs and enter the Islamic Republic, a fellow traveler remarks, “Trump will never let Iran be alone; he wants to consume us entirely!”

The journey to Tehran, a 12-hour trek, feels inescapably tied to the U.S. president. With airports closed, the route now detours through rural, winding paths due to the collapse of a critical bridge linking Tabriz to the capital via Zanjan. This bridge, destroyed by missile fire last week, symbolizes the fragility of the truce. Trump’s apocalyptic warning on 7 April—“a whole civilisation will die tonight”—echoes as the group pauses at a centuries-old caravanserai, its stone arches and stained-glass windows a relic of Iran’s ancient heritage.

“We could take out every one of their bridges in one hour,” Trump told Fox Business News, adding, “we don’t want to do that.”

The targeting of civilian infrastructure has sparked scrutiny from legal experts, who cite potential breaches of international humanitarian law. Despite U.S. and Israeli claims of focusing on military objectives, the flattened barracks of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) near Tabriz stands as a testament to the collateral damage. Other facilities, including police stations and industrial plants, were also struck in the region.

Iran’s theocracy grapples with more immediate concerns. New banners line highways, displaying portraits of three supreme leaders since the 1979 revolution: Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, who was killed in the war’s first attacks on 28 February, and his son Mojtaba Khamenei, reportedly injured in that assault and absent from public view since. Yet, Mojtaba is believed to be shaping a new strategy to address the war’s aftermath and mend ties with its long-standing rival over nuclear issues, alongside maintaining dominance of the vital Strait of Hormuz.

Meanwhile, the Iran of today is evident in the mix of traditional and modern attire. Some women wear veils, while others, across generations, choose to go uncovered—a legacy of the 2022-2023 Woman Life Freedom protests. Though modesty codes and strict penalties endure, many insist on progressing forward. The current political climate, however, remains focused on survival and strategic repositioning amid the war’s relentless toll.