The Merciless Blade of War

Wounds shaping a city and the lives of its people: Bandar Abbas, Iran
As is my daily habit, I follow the news from Iran—once in the morning and again at night. I do
this day as well. My eyes fall upon yet another report of death and killings in my for-ever
homeland, tragedies that, in recent times, have become disturbingly routine, recurring practically
every few days.
“The Martyrdom of a Woman Who Ascended to the Heavens at Allah Akbar Hill”
“Maryam Heydari was martyred during the fourth wave of America’s disgraceful attack on the
Allah Akbar Hills in Bandar Abbas on July 19, while holding her two-year-old son, Miran, in her
arms. The United States launched four separate attacks, firing a total of eighteen missiles at the
communications tower atop the Allah Akbar Hills. The strikes claimed the lives of three people
and left eight others wounded.”
I submerge in thinking: Again? How many more times are these atrocities going to happen? Until
when?

Every other day—or every few days—another attack in one place or another. Most recently,
across southern Iran, in the cities lining the Persian Gulf shores, from Chabahar to Bandar
Abbas. The airport control tower in Chabahar was destroyed not in a single assault, but through
repeated attacks. This came after the killing of seventy-three young boys and forty-seven little
girls at an elementary school in Minab—an atrocity for which, even after many months, the
perpetrators have yet to acknowledge responsibility. And now the latest devastation in Bandar
Abbas. Not one building, nor merely a handful.
For the destruction in other coastal cities, I have no trusted eyewitness or informed source close
at hand to get some real firsthand news. Bandar Abbas, however, is different. There I have a
young colleague and a friend—an urban planner, a researcher of urban discourse, and a doctoral
candidate in urban planning. I want to understand, through a knowledgeable and reliable
observer, not only the scale of physical destruction and material losses but, above all, the impact
of this profoundly unjust war on the lives of ordinary people.
Bandar Abbas is a city that has lived in my memory for decades, a place where at times I spent
meaningful periods of my life, even though some of those formerly sharp recollections have
faded into the haze of passing decades. But now the most recent memories of Bandar Abbas
come back to me more than half a century the last time I visited this important city, the municipal
capital of the Hormozgan province.

For what has just happened in Bandar Abbas I crave to get the eyewitness news, but I am not
seeking another ordinary news report. I want a careful, analytical account—one that I can, in
turn, share with others. I want to tell them, those who care to listen, as best I can, what has
happened to the people of one city as an epitome of what has become of my homeland—not
merely the headlines, but the details; not simply the figures, but the deeper realities that an
inquisitive mind seeks amid the shadows and flames of war.

I immediately come to the conclusion in my mind that the ideal person to prepare such an
account is Mona Takhti, the valued researcher of urban discourse and my friend and colleague
who I have come in contact with just a mere year and half ago when she approached me via the
Internet requesting that I become her PhD dissertation advisor. Thousands of miles away, I reach
out to her in a heartbeat. Ms. Takhti readily accepts the invitation and the responsibility. And she
does that rather quickly and in respectable manners.
As I read what she has reflected upon, written, and shared, I realize what she did is precisely the
kind of account you had hoped for.
Ali Kiafar
Bandar Abbas: The Story of a City Living in the Shadow of War
Mona Takhti*

Ali Kiafar**
What follows is a narrative born of a synthesis: the field report prepared by Mona Takhti,
interwoven with additional reflections, interpretations, and editorial contributions by Ali Kiafar.

It is an effort to illuminate some of what has unfolded in this vibrant city under the relentless
military fire of foreign aggression.

Bandar Abbas is a city whose heartbeat is synchronized with the sea. Life is defined by the
relentless heat and humidity, the movement along its waterfront boulevards, the bustle of its
markets, the sound of traffic, and the daily presence of families throughout its neighborhoods.
For its residents, the city is far more than a collection of streets, buildings, and infrastructure; it is
an inseparable part of their collective memory. Its shoreline, bazaars, schools, familiar
commuting routes, and even the heavy warmth of summer afternoons have, over the years,
become enduring markers of life in Bandar Abbas. Yet war disrupts the ordinary rhythm of a city
long before its scars become visible on walls and streets.
In Bandar Abbas, alongside military attacks and growing concerns over damage to critical
infrastructure, schools and universities shifted to online instruction. Classrooms that had once
drawn meaning from the physical presence of students, face-to-face dialogue, and the routines of
daily attendance are now reduced to the screens of mobile phones and laptop computers.
Although the ceasefire that was put in place after days of bombardment has allowed portions of
university education to resume in person, examinations—particularly the final examinations for
students who had endured months of virtual learning—continue to be held off campus. For many
families, this has created an uneasy coexistence between the necessity of continuing education
and the persistent anxiety and uncertainty brought about by war.
For the citizens of Bandar Abbas, this war has been neither a distant headline nor a fleeting
image on a television screen. It is experienced through recurring power outages, concerns over
the continuity of essential public services, the growing difficulty of planning ordinary travel, and
the pervasive anxiety that overshadows even the smallest decisions within a household. During
the days when the city endured bombardment, events such as the national graduate entrance

examination acquired an entirely different significance. Candidates were compelled not only to
confront the normal pressures of a highly competitive examination but also to endure the
psychological burden of wartime conditions and the disruption of everyday life. The disconnect
between the realities experienced by the city and the rigid uniformity of educational schedules
and examination policies further intensified both psychological and practical hardships.
In such circumstances, war has affected far more than physical infrastructures. It has diminished
students' ability to concentrate, unsettle family life, erode children's sense of security, and
reshape citizens' perceptions of whether a normal life will be possible.
From the perspective of the phenomenology of place, a city cannot be understood merely
through maps or geographic coordinates. Place emerges through the intimate relationship
between human beings, memory, lived experiences, social relationships, and meanings. For its
inhabitants, Bandar Abbas is not simply a point along the Persian Gulf coastline. It is where they
grew up, worked, sent their children to school, gathered with friends and relatives, and
constructed the individual and collective memories that define their lives.
When war cast its shadow over the city, this relationship between people and place was
fundamentally altered. Even where familiar places remain physically intact, they no longer
necessarily evoke the same feelings of comfort, security, or belonging.
Such transformations become most immediately visible in public spaces. The waterfront,
traditionally a place for walking, meeting friends, and escaping the pressures of daily life—has
grown quieter, and those who still visit do so with caution and apprehension. Markets, parks, and
pedestrian streets may appear outwardly unchanged, yet the experience of inhabiting these
spaces has been transformed. People linger less. Their movements have become shorter, more
deliberate, and dictated by necessity. Places once associated with leisure are now traversed with a
different emotional awareness. These seemingly modest changes have profound consequences
for the quality of urban life and for citizens' sense of belonging.
Attachment to place inevitably acquires a more complex meaning during wartime. One may
remain deeply devoted to one's city while simultaneously fearing for its future. Within the
theoretical framework of place attachment, the relationship among individuals, place, and social
processes forms a dynamic whole. War places all three dimensions under extraordinary strain.
Individuals confront anxiety and uncertainty; familiar places lose, or at least transform, their
former meanings; and social relationships oscillate between solidarity, mutual care, caution, and
withdrawal. And these have come to Bandar Abbas.
Despite these conditions, life in Bandar Abbas has not come to a standstill. In keeping with the
enduring continuity of urban life, families strive—however difficult it may be—to preserve the
routines of everyday existence. Children continue to need opportunities to play, maintain
friendships, and experience stability, while parents do everything within their power to safeguard
their emotional well-being. Neighborhoods, despite pervasive concern and uncertainty, remain
places where people continue to encounter one another.

This persistence in sustaining ordinary life constitutes the city's first and perhaps most profound
expression of resilience. Such resilience does not arise from denying fear but from the capacity
of ordinary people to care for one another, adapt to adversity, and preserve their bond with the
city they call home.
War has transformed Bandar Abbas has been not only through damages to its buildings and
infrastructure but also through its effects on human relationships, neighborhood interactions, and
everyday patterns of living. In some instances, wartime conditions have fostered isolation and
greater social distance; in others, they have strengthened small yet meaningful networks of
mutual support and care. Checking on elderly neighbors, looking after children, attending to the
needs of nearby families, and remaining attentive to those enduring greater hardship have all
become expressions of social capital whose significance has grown immeasurably under the
pressures of war.
In a single sentence, Bandar Abbas has emerged from this profoundly unequal war no longer the
city it had been for generations. Across its avenues, neighborhoods, and public spaces, the
merciless blade of war has left wounds that continue to shape both the city and the lives of its
people.
Note
The second part of this essay will examine life in Bandar Abbas during the ceasefire and
explores strategies for restoring urban security, rebuilding public confidence, and enabling both
the city and its residents to reclaim a life no longer overshadowed by fear, war, and destruction.