The criminal war that has been ongoing for four weeks has placed ordinary people in Iran, Israel, and countries of the region under pressure in many ways. A collapsed economy, displacement, loss of security, and dozens of other visible and hidden hardships. But among all this, it can be said with certainty that children are the most vulnerable victims of this war, victims who had no role in starting it, no voice to protest, and no ability to escape.
War, before it is defined in the language of politicians and commanders, is seen in the frightened eyes of a child; in their trembling hands, in waking up at midnight to the sound of explosions, in clinging to their mother, and in the simple and painful question heard alike from Iranian, Israeli, Iraqi, and Lebanese children: “Are we going to die too?”
Beyond psychological harm, this war also takes children’s lives. We have not forgotten the Minab tragedy; 160 schoolchildren who were targeted in the first wave of bombardment, and it has now been revealed that this crime was carried out with an American missile. These were children sitting in their classrooms. On the other side of the borders as well, Israeli and Lebanese children have been wounded or killed under missile fire whether launched by the Islamic Republic or in response to it. The Islamic Republic has also not refrained from using children as human shields. The placement of military facilities within residential areas, near schools and hospitals, are all examples of crimes currently taking place.
For children who survive, this war means fear. It means insecurity. It means the disruption of everything that makes up childhood. Home and school become unsafe; play, peaceful sleep, laughter, and a sense of security are removed from a child’s life.
A child should see the world as a place to explore, play, and grow. But this war turns the world into something dangerous and uncertain. A child who sees anxiety on their parents’ faces every day, who jumps at the sound of explosions, who hears of a neighbor’s death or a classmate’s absence, no longer looks at the world the same way. A part of their childhood is taken from them far too soon.
One of the most painful effects of this war is the wound it leaves on children’s minds, a wound that is not always visible but is deep and lasting. Children in Tehran, Haifa, Beirut, and Baghdad may have nightmares at night, fear the dark, become withdrawn and silent, or, on the contrary, aggressive and restless. Some develop bedwetting. Some fall into silence. Some stop laughing. Even when war does not wound a child’s body, it harms their spirit.
Children’s suffering is not only psychological. When electricity is cut, water becomes scarce, medicine is unavailable, and hospitals are overwhelmed, it is children who suffer the most. An infant who depends on medical equipment, a child who needs specific medication, a malnourished child, or a sick child whose treatment is interrupted all are exposed to dangers that may be lost in official statistics but are deeply significant in human reality.
War also takes school away from children. School is not only a place for learning; it is part of a child’s life, friendship, hope, and daily structure. When education is disrupted, a child does not only fall behind academically; they fall behind in life. They are removed from a safe space where they could grow and are instead faced with anxiety and instability.
The economic pressure caused by this war also breaks families. When a family is burdened by inflation, unemployment, shortages, and insecurity, this pressure is directly transferred to children. The table becomes smaller, and adequate nutrition becomes difficult. A child who should grow under the protection of a family is forced to carry the weight of crisis.
And perhaps most bitter of all is that war can normalize violence for children. A child who constantly sees images of death, explosions, displacement, and fear gradually becomes accustomed to a violent world. This is not only a tragedy of today; it is a wound that will remain with society tomorrow. A generation that grows up with fear will carry that fear for years and reproduce it in relationships, politics, and culture.
Every bomb that falls does not only destroy a building; it destroys a part of a child’s childhood. Every day this war continues means more children who sleep in fear, wake in anxiety, and become familiar with suffering far sooner than they should. Their voices “from Minab, southern Lebanon, cities of Iran, and Israel, growing up under the shadow of missiles” are the strongest condemnation of this war, a condemnation that no political or ideological justification can diminish.
