A two-week ceasefire between the US and Iran was reached on April 8, shortly after Donald Trump posted a tweet threatening that ‘‘a whole civilisation will die tonight.’’
But recent history — especially repeated ceasefires in Gaza — shows us how fragile these agreements are, and how often they are broken. Israel still has many unresolved objectives across Iran, Lebanon, and the wider region.
The US and Israel attacked Iran on February 28. Since then, their justifications have constantly shifted: from dismantling Iran’s ballistic missile programme, to destroying its nuclear capability, to pursuing regime change, or working with ‘‘friendly’’ actors inside the country.
At times, the strikes are framed as ‘‘proactive defence.’’ Occasionally, Iran’s human rights record is brought up — as invading powers often do when it suits them — while international humanitarian law is being breached at the same time. It is telling that there has reportedly been no human rights component in Trump’s 15-point ceasefire plan.
History shows that powerful, nuclear-capable states do not spend billions on war unless they expect returns well beyond what they invest, but the reality of this war is much darker than the justifications offered.
The ceasefire does not erase the dehumanising language used by Trump towards the people of Iran — threats to send the country ‘‘back to the Stone Ages where they belong,’’ to bomb power plants, water facilities and bridges. Critical infrastructure, including bridges and energy facilities, has already been struck, while the international response has remained limited and muted.
This kind of language comes from the dehumanisation of an entire people — reducing us to an abstract ‘‘other’’ instead of recognising our full humanity. We are treated as a single, homogenous group, stripped of our diversity and complexity — just another group of ‘‘brown Muslims.’’
Some try to distance themselves from this imposed identity, hoping that aligning with certain narratives or powers will bring acceptance, but in reality, this rarely changes how we are seen.
If Trump saw us any differently, he would not have banned Iranian nationals from entering the US or deported some back to Iran. He chose to insult Iran’s ancient civilisation, fully aware of how deeply Iranians value it.
There is also a tendency to fall back on the history of the Persian Empire — such as offering refuge to Jews under Cyrus the Great — as a source of pride. That history matters, and it is something to be proud of, but it should not be used to justify uncritical support for modern political agendas or wars.
Iran has not only suffered external aggression. Since the 1979 people’s revolution was hijacked, the country has lived through decades of internal oppression under a theocratic, patriarchal, authoritarian regime.
This is not the first war in our history. The Iran-Iraq war of the 1980s still lives in the memories of many of us — not just for the fear, but for the deep sense of alienation it created between people and the state.
A painful thought has crossed my mind: back then, it felt as though our lives mattered more. There were sirens to warn civilians to take shelter. None of that exists today.
Those of us who opposed the regime felt conflicted about the army defending the country. That sense of alienation, especially for women living under severe oppression, is something many Iranians still carry today.
Years later, I learned about the sacrifices made to recapture Khorramshahr. The chance to feel pride in that moment was stolen from us. I also learned darker truths: children sent to clear minefields, given plastic keys said to open the door of heaven after their martyrdom.
Khomeini later described accepting a United Nations peace deal as ‘‘drinking a cup of poison.’’
These memories echo in disturbing ways today. There are reports of recruitment campaigns inviting ‘‘volunteers’’ as young as 12 to defend the homeland — something that would amount to a war crime. At least one child has already reportedly been killed.
Wars are driven by patriarchy, ego, and the need to project strength. They create cycles of retaliation and make de-escalation very difficult. This is why ceasefires are so often broken.
History, from Gaza to Ukraine, has shown us that wars cannot be neatly controlled or contained, no matter what we are told.
There is another dark truth: those with power also have the means to shape the narrative. Trump’s tweets and Netanyahu’s videos circulate widely, amplifying pro-war voices, while the names of civilians and children killed are rarely spoken. Their lives disappear into silence.
Civilian lives should matter equally — whether the harm comes from external forces or internal repression. No life is less worthy because of nationality, race, or who carries out the violence.
What we are witnessing in Iran is already catastrophic. A few examples make this clear:
• On the first day of the war, the Shajareh Tayyebeh Elementary School in Minab was bombed, killing at least 168 people, most of them children. With all the advanced targeting technology we are told exists, this raises serious questions. There must be an independent investigation and accountability.
• On April 2, the Pasteur Institute of Iran, an institution with over a century of scientific and medical contribution, was bombed. The damage has rendered it unable to provide health services, disrupting vaccine supply, disease surveillance, and public health both inside and beyond Iran. More than 20 healthcare sites have reportedly been targeted since March.
• The bombing of the Mobarakeh Steel plant in Isfahan, one of the country’s largest employers, left thousands without jobs. Hundreds of dependent businesses were forced to shut down, pushing families into financial hardship. Similar impacts have followed strikes on other industrial sites, including Khuzestan Steel.
Historical and Unesco-protected sites have also been damaged — places like Golestan Palace in Tehran, Chehel Sotoun in Isfahan, and prehistoric sites in the Khorramabad Valley.
These are not just Iranian treasures; they belong to the world.
Women have carried a disproportionate burden — through job loss, increased domestic violence, and continued state repression and exclusion from decision-making. They are not at the tables where decisions about bombing and retaliation are made.
The environmental and economic costs of this war are beyond comprehension. Rising energy prices and instability will hit the most vulnerable the hardest — both in New Zealand and globally.
Another tragedy of this war is its devastating impact on Iran’s struggle for freedom.
It has set civil society back by years. The progress made during the Woman, Life, Freedom uprising has been deeply undermined. We are now seeing growing sympathy for the regime — both inside and outside Iran — which, whether we like it or not, is a predictable response to foreign aggression.
Regime flags are appearing at anti-war rallies across the globe, symbols of oppression for many of us, now reframed as resistance.
The regime is increasingly being portrayed as a victim of imperialism, making it harder to challenge its narratives. At the same time, internal repression has hugely intensified. Executions of political prisoners have surged under the cover of war, while the world’s attention is elsewhere.
This is exactly what human rights activists have been warning about.
Opposing this war does not mean ignoring the Islamic Republic’s long record of abuse: criticising the regime does not justify bombing civilians. Both forms of violence must be confronted at the same time.
What is needed from our government is a clear, principled stance by our government: accountability for all violations, and meaningful support for the Iranian people and their civil society. Ordinary lives must be placed at the centre — not state interests, not political agendas, and not narratives that make human suffering invisible.
• Aida Tavassoli is a former National Council of Women board member and a founding member of the Iranian Solidarity Group Aotearoa New Zealand.
