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

Lyse Doucet: Under Fragile Ceasefire, Iranians Reflect on US Deal Prospects

On the rolling hills of Iran’s northwest, where snow-laden peaks frame the landscape, the arrival of spring has sparked a soft bloom across almond groves. Meanwhile, a tenuous pause in hostilities has led to a noticeable uptick in road traffic, as more citizens return to their homes after months of conflict. A weathered businessman recounts his experience: “I spent a month with my son in Turkey, where the cold winter snow has kept temperatures low. In my northern city, the Israeli and American air strikes primarily targeted military installations, sparing residential areas and civilian facilities.” His account captures five weeks of devastation, interrupted by a two-week truce set to expire soon.

At a border checkpoint, an older woman, her head wrapped in a scarf, voices her anxieties. “I’m a bit frightened,” she says, her expression marked by deep concern. She speaks of the toll on Iranian youth, from the explosive impact of shells on densely populated neighborhoods to the ever-present threat of the Basij militia patrolling the streets. “It’s all in God’s hands,” she adds softly, gazing upward as if seeking reassurance.

“Of course, the ceasefire won’t last,” declares a young woman draped in a red puffer jacket and a knitted hat. “Iran will never surrender its grip on the Strait of Hormuz.”

As we navigate through Turkish customs and into Iran, a man nearby shares his view: “Trump will never let Iran rest; he wants to consume us whole.” The thought of the U.S. president lingers during the 12-hour drive to Tehran, the only viable route since airports remain closed. Along the way, every bridge that spans the road glints under the spring sun, a stark contrast to the president’s threat that “we could destroy every one of their bridges in an hour,” including power plants. Yet, he insists, “we don’t aim to do that.”

The main bridge connecting Tabriz to Tehran via Zanjan collapsed under missile fire last week, forcing vehicles onto narrow, winding roads. The targeting of civilian structures has drawn sharp legal scrutiny, with experts citing potential breaches of international humanitarian law and accusations of war crimes. While the U.S. and Israel claim to focus on military objectives, the ruins of an IRGC barracks near Tabriz stand as a testament to the damage. A tattered flag draped over its broken pillars resembles concrete teeth, a haunting image of the conflict’s impact.

As we pause at a roadside restaurant—once a centuries-old caravanserai with vaulted stone ceilings and stained-glass windows—the remnants of Iran’s ancient civilization are evident. Yet, the nation’s modern identity is equally visible: some women wear veils, while others, across all ages, opt for bare heads. This cultural contrast is a legacy of the 2022-2023 Woman Life Freedom movement, which continues to inspire resistance against strict modesty laws and harsh penalties.

Iran’s theocracy now faces more immediate challenges. New banners line highways, featuring portraits of the country’s three supreme leaders since 1979: Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei—assassinated in the war’s opening attacks on February 28—and his son Mojtaba Khamenei, who was seriously injured in the same strike and has remained out of public view. Despite this, Mojtaba is said to be working on shaping a new political and security strategy amid the war’s destruction and ongoing negotiations with its longtime rival over nuclear agreements and control of the crucial Strait of Hormuz.