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

On the rugged plains of Iran’s northwest, where snow-capped peaks frame the landscape, springtime triggers almond trees into a frothy bloom. A tenuous truce has begun to restore movement along roads, drawing more people back to the country. At a Turkish border checkpoint, a grey-haired banker recounts his time in Turkey: “I spent a month with my son there. In my northern city, the strikes mainly targeted military sites, not homes or civilian buildings.” This summary reflects five weeks of turmoil, interrupted by a two-week pause that faces expiration soon.

Meanwhile, an elderly woman in a headscarf shares her anxieties, her expression etched with concern. “Of course, the ceasefire won’t last,” asserts a young woman in a bright red puffer jacket and knitted hat. “Iran will never relinquish control of the Strait of Hormuz.” Her words echo a broader sentiment, as others speak of the toll on young Iranians—victims of shelling in densely populated areas and the ever-present threat from Basij forces patrolling the streets.

On the long drive to Tehran, the capital, the US president’s warnings hang heavily. With airports closed, the only route to the city now forces vehicles down winding rural roads. The main bridge between Tabriz and Tehran, via Zanjan, collapsed under missile fire last week, prompting detours. This collapse underscores the targeting of civilian infrastructure, a move met with mounting criticism from legal experts who highlight breaches of international humanitarian law.

“We could take out every one of their bridges in one hour,” Trump declared on Fox Business News. “We don’t want to do that.” His threat, delivered on Wednesday, amplifies the sense of looming conflict. Yet, the same day, new details emerged from a secret 21-hour meeting in Islamabad between a US delegation led by Vice-President JD Vance and Iranian officials, including Parliamentary Speaker Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf.

As the journey continues, the remnants of war are visible. A flattened barracks of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps lies in ruins, its pillars draped with a tattered flag. Other military and police installations, alongside factories, bore the brunt of recent attacks. The specter of Trump’s apocalyptic warning—on 7 April, that “a whole civilisation will die tonight”—resurfaces, casting a shadow over the current calm.

The Iran of today blends ancient and modern. At a roadside restaurant, a centuries-old caravanserai with vaulted ceilings and stained-glass windows, the contrast is stark. Some women wear veils and scarves, while others, of all ages, appear bare-headed—a legacy of the 2022-2023 Woman Life Freedom protests. Despite strict modesty laws and harsh penalties, women now resist reversing progress, even as theocracy prioritizes other concerns.

Along highways, banners now display portraits of the three supreme leaders since the 1979 revolution: Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, and his son Mojtaba Khamenei. The latter, reportedly seriously injured in the war’s initial strikes on 28 February, has remained in the background. Yet, he is said to be shaping a new political and security strategy amid the devastation and renewed efforts to mend relations with its long-standing adversary over the nuclear program.