Living Peace 12: Letters of Wars and Peace
21. 3. 2025 | Politics
At the end of 2022, we at the Peace Institute, started organizing a series of public events entitled Thinking Peace as a response to the multitude of armed conflicts around the world. Since the world has been spiralling into dangerous global militarization, we wanted to rethink what is war, what is peace, and more importantly how to ensure a stable peace which would not be quickly engulfed in new conflicts and wars.
We want to expand on the Thinking Peace cycle and add new dimensions to imagining peace. With the help of amazing individuals worldwide, we are beginning a new series of public letters written by people whose lives were interrupted by war or who found themselves in a recent armed conflict. We have titled this series of letters as Living Peace to emphasize how important peace is and that people often only realize this importance when facing the brutality of war. We want to illustrate how people from Palestine, Ukraine, Rwanda, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Serbia, Syria, Sudan, Afghanistan, Congo, Yemen and elsewhere think publicly about peace. How do the inhabitants of these regions face wars and military conflicts? What lessons can we learn from their intimate experiences and existential fears?
While opinions of world leaders who justify or even defend wars, dominate today’s media spheres, we want to amplify the voices that defend peace, reject violence and recognize equal rights for all. Having experienced war, they understand why it is essential to live in peace.
The 11th letter we are publishing was written by Payman from Iran:
When Iraq began attacking Tehran, my life was never the same. We had to stay underground to protect ourselves from the rockets and bombings. My city, once vibrant and beautiful, was no longer recognizable. Many houses were destroyed, along with hospitals. The streets were filled with people, some half-dead, others fully dead. Our school was closed and turned into a makeshift hospital. The city that had once been so lively and full of joy now felt ugly and sad.
The war lasted for eight long years. Nearly 40 years have passed since then, but the trauma still lingers. Whenever I see news of war in places like Gaza or Lebanon, it brings back all the painful memories and trauma from that time.
It is my dream to see a world of peace—a world without war, without madness. I cross my fingers and pray that one day, peace will reign on our planet.
LETTER BY PAYMAN FROM IRAN
My name is Payman, and I’m from Iran. This is my story, one shared by many others who have had similar experiences since 1987. I was born in Tehran, the capital city of Iran.
Tehran was a beautiful and vibrant city, full of life and culture. The air was always filled with the tempting scent of food, and the city was growing more modern with each passing day. We had many parks, cinemas, and attractions for tourists. While we weren’t wealthy, we had everything we needed for a comfortable life. As a child, I was happy and content with my life. But within a few months, sadness and fear took hold of us.
For many people, “living in peace” might mean having plenty of money, a nice car, a good job, and living in a comfortable neighborhood. They believe they’re at peace, experiencing serenity in their lives because they’ve never had to face war. When we see images of war on the media or on TV, we feel sorrow and sympathy for those affected. However, we can never truly understand or feel the weight of war until we experience it firsthand.
When I was eight years old, I was sitting in class when a lot of new students joined us. Our teacher informed us that we were at war with Iraq. These new students came from a city near the border, where Iraqi forces had attacked their homes and taken over their cities. As a child, I didn’t fully grasp the situation, and, of course, I was happy to make new friends.
A few weeks later, our relatives from the western part of Iran came to stay with us. They had fled their homes as well. They shared their stories of losing everything, yet they were still grateful to be alive. With tears in their eyes, they told my father that they had no other choice but to come to us, as they had no money and barely enough clothing to survive the winter. Hearing their stories and seeing their hopeless faces, I began to understand what war truly meant.
After a few months, the situation worsened, and people struggled to get the basic necessities to survive. There were severe limitations on what we could buy. For example, my family of five was only allowed to purchase two loaves of bread a day. Only the wealthy families could afford to buy meat and chicken. We had to rely on coupons to buy essential food, and we also had to turn to the black market to get items, which were often overpriced and out of reach for many people.
Winter made things even worse. We had to wait in long lines to get oil for heating, often just to last a few days. To conserve energy, our entire family would stay in one room to save oil for the rest of the winter.
Many men and young people joined the war, and many of them never returned. Some went missing, while others were taken hostage by the Iraqi army. Every day, countless families lost their loved ones because of the war. My teacher, too, joined the war, and a few months later, we learned he had been killed. That was my first experience with grief. I felt an overwhelming sadness and found myself wondering what I would do if I lost my parents. As a child, I felt unsafe, and fear became a constant companion in my daily life.
When Iraq began attacking Tehran, my life was never the same. We had to stay underground to protect ourselves from the rockets and bombings. My city, once vibrant and beautiful, was no longer recognizable. Many houses were destroyed, along with hospitals. The streets were filled with people, some half-dead, others fully dead. Our school was closed and turned into a makeshift hospital. The city that had once been so lively and full of joy now felt ugly and sad.
The war lasted for eight long years. Nearly 40 years have passed since then, but the trauma still lingers. Whenever I see news of war in places like Gaza or Lebanon, it brings back all the painful memories and trauma from that time.
It is my dream to see a world of peace—a world without war, without madness. I cross my fingers and pray that one day, peace will reign on our planet.
