In my youth, I read “The Terrible Tehran” by Iranian author Morteza Moshfegh Kazemi. From that time on, an image of the city filled with fear and mystery had remained in my mind. When I set out for Tehran, I asked myself: how much does the Tehran described in that book resemble the Tehran of today?

On the way from the airport to the city center, photographs of war victims along the roadside caught my attention. Behind each picture lay a family, a destiny, and a sorrow. It was there that I felt the reality of war not through statistics and numbers, but through the eyes of human beings.

Yet Tehran surprised me in another way as well. It is a modern metropolis, with broad streets, a vibrant urban life, and people moving about in haste. Although the country has lived under sanctions for nearly forty years, life continues. I realized that impressions formed from a distance do not always match reality.

The next morning, I looked out of the hotel window. The streets were crowded. Thousands of people carrying placards and photographs were making their way toward a mourning ceremony. Alongside grief, I could see firmness and resilience on their faces.

We then visited Sharif University of Technology. Seeing the destroyed classrooms, shattered windows, and dust-covered books, I came face to face with the true nature of war. Founded in 1966, the university is considered one of Iran’s most respected academic institutions. It was deeply painful to witness the marks of war in a place that had once been a center of scientific and intellectual achievement.

At that moment, I understood that war does not destroy only buildings; it also destroys dreams. The future of a student, the efforts of a scientist, and the hopes of a human being can all become targets of war.

We worked alongside journalists from different countries. Our languages were different, and our perspectives were not identical, yet we all agreed on one truth: war has no winners.

It is not without reason that our people say, “Where there is peace, there is blessing,” and “No land prospers through war.”

In Tehran, I saw a determination that could not be broken. A people who, throughout thousands of years of history, have made major contributions to science, literature, and world culture are still continuing with their lives today.

When I left Tehran, I carried home only one truth: buildings can be destroyed, but the will of a nation cannot. In my memory, Tehran will remain not as a war-torn city, but as the city of a people who, despite all their trials, have preserved their resilience and still have much to say to the world.

AM