TEHRAN — Over 100 days have passed since the missiles struck. Over 100 days of grief that does not diminish, of mothers holding schoolbooks of their martyred children, of small graves that should never have been dug.

Over 100 days have bled away, and the Pentagon’s sham “investigation” has produced not one shred of accountability. It has yielded only a polished monument of silence.

The dust in Hormozgan has settled, the bodies have been identified by names hastily written on bloody notebooks, but Washington remains a fortress of denial.

On February 28, Tomahawks were unleashed on the Shajareh Tayyebeh primary school in Minab. There are 155 martyrs: 73 boys, 47 girls, 26 teachers, seven parents, one school bus driver, and one pharmacy technician.

Imagine you are the father or mother of Makan Nasiri. Over 100 days have passed; for you, it has been over 100 years. No remains have been found. Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

All you have left of your little boy, the apple of your eye, is a crumpled blue sweater and a single shoe found in the schoolyard.

Or imagine you are the parent of one of the 47 martyred girls. You sit beside a symbolic grave, knowing the men who did this will never see a courtroom. “What was their crime?” you ask. “What was their crime?”

Naming the machinery

This slaughter was executed by the political architects of the American war machine. Donald Trump made the decision to wage a genocidal campaign of aggression against Iran. The campaign has been known as Trump’s “war of choice.”

He has proved his bloodlust by threatening to “destroy the Iranian civilization” and bomb Iran “back to the stone ages,” declarations that left no room for doubt that his war has deliberately consumed the innocent.

Trump’s weak gaslighting, claiming the strike was done by Iran despite clear Tomahawk missile wreckage in the rubble, was a malicious attempt to cover up a massacre.

Behind him stands Pete Hegseth, the “War” Secretary who dismantled civilian harm reduction frameworks, demanding “maximum lethality” over tepid legality. He provided the bloodthirsty moral license to shrug off a primary school.

CENTCOM Commander Brad Cooper went before Congress to insult the memory of the dead. He hid behind the clinical label of a complex investigation, claiming the school sat on an active cruise missile base.

Satellite data from a decade prior proves the school had been physically walled off and operating purely as an educational institution since 2016.

At sea, Leigh R. Tate and Jeffrey E. York sat in an air-conditioned combat information center, ordering the Tomahawks to fire. They oversaw a triple tap strike, ensuring children seeking refuge in the school’s yard and prayer room were vaporized.

Yet the guilt does not end with the American uniform or the executive office. The roster of the complicit extends to the Israeli regime, for obvious reasons.

The military-industrial giants, Raytheon which manufactured the Tomahawk missiles that shredded children’s bodies alongside corporate titans such as Boeing and Lockheed Martin whose quarterly earnings swelled with every new war, are drenched in the blood of Minab.

So too are the self-proclaimed Iranian “opposition” figures in Western capitals, the diaspora mercenaries who lobbied feverishly for U.S.-Israeli strikes on their own homeland, proving their blind loyalty to foreign regimes that merely used them as useful idiots and discarded them like dirty tissues once their purpose was served.

Add to them the European governments that mouthed “grave concern” while refusing to condemn the massacre, the paralyzed United Nations Security Council, and the Western press corps that have systematically laundered the Pentagon’s lies. All are accomplices. All will be remembered.

A psychology of dissociation

How do the killers sleep at night? How does the weapons officer close his eyes without seeing their faces? How does the captain who gave the launch command kiss his own children without tasting the ashes of Minab on his lips?

They sleep because the empire has perfected a psychology of dissociation.

The kill chain fragments responsibility. The Tampa analyst sees a pattern of life. The lawyer checks boxes. The sailor executes a command. Each link tells themselves the system did it.

But the system is made of human beings. They sleep because patriotic mythology teaches them that killing Iranians is valor. They are told they are sheepdogs, when they are all wolves.

The modern My Lai

History proves this was a structural blueprint. On March 16 of 1968, American soldiers slaughtered over 500 unarmed civilians under the pretext of clearing a Viet Cong stronghold.

Over half a century later in Minab, the same framework was deployed. The blueprint is identical. The military denies the event, blames the victims as human shields, opens an internal investigation to exhaust public memory, and grants absolute immunity.

Sleep does not equal peace. The murderer’s slumber is stitched together by denial and patchworked with rationalizations.

One day, those stitches will tear. History is littered with the bones of empires that thought they could kill without consequence.

The blood spilled in Minab cannot be washed away by bureaucratic delay, nor can it be isolated from the wider sea of slaughter that has defined this aggression.

The 155 lives stolen from that primary school are part of a staggering, bloody ledger; in total, more than 3,400 people have been martyred in the recent war on Iran, of whom approximately 1,460 are civilians, innocent women, men, children, and the elderly.

These thousands of stolen breaths now haunt the clinical hallways of the Pentagon and echo in the cold sonar pings of the warship hulls that engineered their execution.

The murderers cannot erase these stains or escape the cumulative weight of a justice that history is already preparing for the courtroom of eternity.