TEHRAN – During my visit to Evin Prison in Tehran, alongside around 15 other journalists, I toured three heavily damaged buildings. Each structure held its own story, but the emotions sticking out in the background were all the same: grief, disbelief, and anger. 

Evin Prison was struck by eleven Israeli missiles on June 23, a day before the war between Iran and Israel came to a halt. Israel termed the act – a war crime under international law – a "symbolic attack" and a form of liberation (whatever that’s supposed to mean). The attack proved to be the deadliest strike on Iran during the war, leaving 110 dead, hundreds physically injured, and countless others grappling with psychological trauma.

Our first stop on that hot, sunny day was the prison's visiting area. One of the workers accompanying us mentioned that the area had been "cleaned up," a comment that hung in the air as we stared at collapsed walls, heaps of rubble, and faint hints of what was once likely a source of joy for those confined within the prison walls. "The attack hit around noon, prime visiting time, packed with families," the worker recalled with a heavy voice. He had told the story several times, but it appeared it hadn't become easier for him. "I remember one inmate asking for flowers; his wife and young daughter were coming. There were hopes that he would be released and attend his court sessions for finance-related crime from home." He continued, "When the missiles rained down, I rushed some of the inmates to the basement. That prisoner, clutching those flowers, wouldn't stop crying. After the dust settled, he searched for his family, and eventually found their burned bodies. His daughter's doll lay amidst the wreckage until just a few days ago," he said, pointing to a heap of debris that marked what was once the building's entrance.

The worker requested that a guard, who was standing with construction workers a short distance away, join the group and share his experience of the attack. The guard initially hesitated, but ultimately agreed to speak after journalists persisted. "I haven't slept well since that day. Every time I close my eyes, I see the face of the soldier who was under my command." The soldier he referred to was Alireza Vafayi, a young man in his early twenties fulfilling his mandatory military service after earning his bachelor's degree. He was to join the workforce and start a family with the girl he liked after completing his service. "Alireza was very close to one of the impact zones. I was in a different section of the prison that day. When I went to check on his guard tower, I only found his head hanging from the remaining wall. His body had been thrown into that apartment unit," the guard stated, gesturing towards two large buildings with shattered windows. The buildings were located at the bottom of a hill, at least 500 meters from the prison. The guard tower where Alireza had been stationed wasn’t there anymore. 

As we walked towards the second location, silence fell over the group. Reading about the Evin Prison attack online and in newspapers was one experience, but witnessing the devastation firsthand and hearing accounts from men struggling to hold back tears was entirely different. I remember feeling a sense of numbness, as if the reality of a destructive force operating unchecked in our region, without intervention from any international body, had truly sunk in.

We spent a short time near the second location, unable to enter due to the building's precarious state. This building, an administrative one, housed social workers and office staff. "Eleven female social workers died here," one of the prison’s office members said. He had been waiting for us near the site.  "One of my colleagues had brought her five-year-old son to work that day; I believe he was sick, and she wanted to keep an eye on him," the man recounted. The social worker he referred to, Zahra Ebadi, was well-regarded in her field, known for her tireless efforts to secure prisoners' release and help them reintegrate into life after their sentences. "After the attack, a large crowd gathered outside the complex. I was standing with the crowd, trying to calm them, when my slain colleague's sister recognized me and approached. She kept asking about her sister and nephew. I knew they were dead, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her." Zahra and her son's bodies were recovered from the rubble two days after the attack. Her husband identified her by her wedding ring. Her son was found in the arms of another female colleague.
 
The third location we visited was the prison's hospital. It was as severely damaged as the other sites, but here we also saw bloody handprints on the walls, left by those fleeing the building after the attacks. By the time we arrived at this final location, I was exhausted and despondent. I wanted to end the tour and process my thoughts after some time to recover. However, the story I heard there made me realize that despite this tragedy, and all the others Iranians have endured for thousands of years, we continue to persevere as a firm nation. 

Once again, a worker described the strikes and the atmosphere to us. His account was horrifying, but also, to some extent, inspiring. "When the regime struck the hospital, it was full of doctors, nurses, and prisoners. The scene here was chaotic. Body parts and blood were everywhere," he recounted. He then expressed his opinion that the Israeli regime was "stupid." "I think Israel attacked Evin Prison to incite social unrest. What they didn't expect was that even the prisoners here wouldn't react the way they wanted. We are all Iranian, and when our country is under attack, Iran becomes the only thing that matters." Prison staff spoke about the assistance prisoners provided to guards and aid workers in the aftermath of the attacks. "Israel probably thought prisoners would flee. But only a very small number did, mostly out of fear. Most of the prisoners stayed and helped us move bodies. I remember one female doctor whose hand was severed; prisoners found her hand and began assembling an ice bucket to preserve it." The doctor was unable to save her hand. However, she later shared on social media how the prisoners had saved her life and how the country stands united against its enemies.