Reflections on a War-Torn Childhood and Iran’s Struggles

I grew up during the war in Tehran, a time filled with turmoil. As a child, I would hide under my mother’s wooden bed, surrounded by her medical textbooks, convinced they would shield me from the blasts of Iraqi bombs. Those explosions were just part of life, a constant reminder of the chaos outside. Anyone who’s faced such horrors knows that war is not something to be glorified; it leaves deep, lasting scars.

For nearly fifty years, the Islamic Republic has painted itself as a victim of outside forces, as if the conflict were entirely imposed upon it. It’s a compelling narrative but also one that obscures a long history of decisions that have led to this strife.

From its inception, the regime reshaped Iran through a blend of force and ideology. Over time, elections became mere performances. Dissent was systematically criminalized, journalists faced imprisonment, and protesters were met with violence. Even though the government may close all avenues for reform, the pressure from the populace continues to rise.

This tension has been simmering for decades in Iran.

The impacts of these pressures are most acutely felt by everyday Iranians, who endure censorship and intermittent internet blackouts. Women find themselves under oppressive laws that control their bodies and deny them equal rights.

Ethnic minorities like the Kurds, Baluchis, and Arabs suffer from systemic discrimination, while religious minorities, especially the Baha’is, face substantial barriers to education and opportunities. The judiciary often acts as an arm of the state security, where dissent may lead to severe consequences. This situation reflects not only governance issues but a deeper conflict between the nation and its own society.

The regime has also expanded its conflicts beyond its borders, investing years in establishing proxy networks across the Middle East and backing militant organizations in countries like Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, and Yemen, including groups such as Hamas. This pattern of hostility has consistently defined its international posture, from storming the U.S. embassy in Tehran to assaults on U.S. interests in Beirut.

Conflicts don’t arise spontaneously; they stem from a series of choices. The present conflicts didn’t emerge out of nowhere.

But the costs of these decisions aren’t borne by those in power. Instead, they are shouldered by ordinary Iranians, dealing with sanctions, isolation, inflation, and a plummeting currency. The toll manifests as lost opportunities, pushing many to leave the country in search of a future elsewhere.

I count myself among them.

Outsiders often forget that Iranians aren’t passively waiting for foreign rescue. There’s no belief that freedom will come from external forces. Many are beginning to understand that a weakened regime, particularly one where its vast security network falters, might allow for changes once deemed impossible.

It’s crucial to distinguish between Iran as a historic, culturally rich nation and the Islamic Republic as a restrictive political regime. The two are not synonymous, and conflating them only deepens misunderstandings.

In today’s Iran, fear and hope coexist. People brace themselves for the outcomes of conflict, holding on to the belief that something positive may arise from it.

When peaceful avenues for change are closed off, the alternatives can grow more perilous. The yearning for change doesn’t disappear; instead, it seeks out more unstable paths. In such an environment, power can begin to appear less like a choice and more like a consequence of a system that limits all other possibilities. That’s not ideal, though, it’s understandable.

It’s a misconception to label those who recognize these realities as “pro-war.” Anyone who has lived through war doesn’t desire more conflict. What they truly seek is a way to avert an inevitable war.

This discussion isn’t about continuous conflict but seeks clarity. Peace shouldn’t simply mean the absence of war; it should involve a system that operates without repression at home or aggression abroad. Until such a system is established, genuine peace remains elusive.

I left Iran long ago, but I still carry its memory with me. I hold tightly to a vision of a country characterized not just by its struggles but also by its resilience, creativity, and immense potential.

That’s what makes Iran worth fighting for, even if that isn’t the image the world perceives today.