TEHRAN - As public attention in Tehran centers on the massive new mural erected in Enghelab Square, a wall-sized tribute to the Iranian children killed during Israel’s 12-day military aggression, recent comments by Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu have reignited deep collective mourning and fierce anger within Iranian society.

On July 21, Netanyahu repeated his now-familiar claim distinguishing between the Iranian government and its people, stating: “There is no chance for peace with the current regime in Iran, but with the people who want to overthrow the regime, yes, maybe.”

His statement coincided with the sorrowful unveiling of the children’s portraits, painted alongside their own childhood drawings, under the poignant message:

“We build the Iran you dreamed of.”

Civilian casualties

Official statistics compiled by the Iranian Ministry of Health, corroborated by multiple relief organizations, estimate the Iranian death toll in the 12-day offensive at 1,062, with at least 276 identified as civilians. Of these victims, 102 are women and 38 children, with Tehran Province reporting the highest casualties. More somber estimates suggest total civilian deaths could reach as high as 436, nearly half of them women and children. The assault caused severe damage to civilian infrastructure, including residential neighborhoods, several schools, and at least two hospitals in the capital.

Many independent monitors and international observers have highlighted the catastrophic impact on children and families, with the images of child victims dominating headlines both at home and abroad.

I visited Enghelab Square on an unusually hot afternoon as the late July temperatures have soared well beyond typical levels, compelling many to avoid lingering outside. The square, normally lively year-round due to its proximity to Tehran University and cultural venues, presented a starkly different scene. The heat had thinned the usual crowds, leaving only pockets of intermittent foot traffic.

I arrived midday and first took a few moments to settle into a small patch of shade near the mural, observing the environment and passersby. Most people were on the move, pausing only momentarily to use the ATM or to glance at a small stall run by an elderly street vendor hawking miniature handicrafts from various Iranian cities, his soft voice threading through the still air.

The sweltering heat dampened the square’s usual vibrancy but could not stifle the quiet gravity surrounding the mural.

Mourning, defiance, and voices from Enghelab Square

The first person who drew me in for an interview was a young woman, around my age. Her radiant smile, untouched by the heat, invited me over. Introducing myself as a reporter, I asked for her thoughts on the mural and its message. Despite a companion waiting nearby, she willingly shared her feelings, revealing grief mixed with a subtle resolve.

Shortly after, a man withdrawing money nearby asked about my line of questioning. Once I explained, he volunteered his perspective too, adding layers to the public sentiment.

As I paced under the hot, sparse shade, watching for expressions and the pace of passersby, I gently requested brief moments for conversation—always apologizing beforehand for asking anyone to stop in such oppressive heat.

“Peace with the people, not the regime”

In his latest remarks, Netanyahu insisted that Israel’s military operations target only Iranian state and nuclear infrastructure, not citizens, framing the war as:

“There is no chance for peace with the current regime in Iran, but with the people who want to overthrow the regime.”

Calling the act of aggression “Operation Rising Lion,” he emphasized the goal is to neutralize Iran’s missile and nuclear capabilities. He portrayed the evil act as essential for Israel’s security and that of the world. He further suggested these operations might provide “an opportunity” for Iranians to rise against their government.

Throughout the escalation, Netanyahu has persistently cast himself as an ally to the “people of Iran,” a rhetorical strategy to justify military action and encourage internal dissent.

A chorus of rejection and grief

In groupings beneath the mural, a symbol of unity in grief, Iranians from varying ages, backgrounds, and beliefs voiced unanimous rejection of Netanyahu’s statements.

Ms. Khanlou, 45, a child educator, expressed a sentiment widely shared:

“If this war isn’t with Iranians, why are children dying? Why are their faces on this wall?”

She called the attacks “genocide,” drawing parallels between the suffering of Iranian families and Palestinian mothers, adding:

“Hijab or no hijab, we stand as one people now.”

To her, Netanyahu's claims were “absurd and meaningless.”

Raha, 38, underscored the innocence of the child victims, saying: “These children had no part in any conflict or politics.”

Giti, 52, a mother described Netanyahu as a devil incarnate who only must be fought.

She also ridiculed hopes for negotiations:

“You don’t talk peace with someone who bombs children.”

Her words reflected a wider erosion of trust not only toward Israel but its Western allies.

A mother in her early 40s described the attacks as “crimes against humanity,” admitting:

“Seeing images of the young victims, as a mother, is more than I can bear.”

Another woman voiced a categorical rejection of violence, regardless of instigator:

“War is never beautiful, no matter who begins it—Iran, Israel, or the U.S.”

A man in his mid-40s dismantled Netanyahu’s division between state and citizen, saying:

“We see our leaders as part of ourselves. Pretending there is a difference is a lie.”

He insisted such rhetoric served only to justify regime change, not protect anyone. For many Iranians, every loss wounds the nation collectively.

Habib, a middle-aged driver, concluded somberly:

“It’s always people who suffer most, not officials. The cost of this war is borne by children and families.”

Words meet reality

Despite the repetition of Netanyahu’s message separating regime from people, these words resonate little within Iran. Interviews reinforced a widespread perception that such rhetoric merely masks military escalation and serves as a pretext for regime change. Evidence of civilian casualties, especially among women and children, stands in stark contrast to claims the war spares the Iranian populace.

Familiarity with similar past rhetoric deepens public disgust, fostering not division but stronger national unity.

Collective grief and steadfast solidarity

Netanyahu’s overtures to the “people of Iran” have neither softened the anger nor alleviated the pain visible on Tehran’s streets. Instead, grief and outrage have hardened resolve and strengthened a unity bridging generations, genders, and classes.

As Iranians gather beneath the mural depicting lost children, the gulf between political rhetoric and reality has never been more apparent. The message from Tehran is clear: Solidarity will outlast sorrow, and unity will persist despite foreign pressure.

As one citizen poignantly summarized:

“We are mourning, but we remain unbroken.”