Vance, Ghalibaf back diplomacy as US, Iran strikes continue

The petition, hosted on the Iranian platform Karzar, calls on prominent Paydari figures, including lawmakers Hamid Rasaei and Amirhossein Sabeti, to travel to the southern cities of Sirik and Bandar Abbas, where residents have faced repeated attacks during the conflict.

Its authors said such a visit would help the politicians "better understand the realities on the ground" and avoid decisions that could endanger civilians.

Challenge to hardline rhetoric

The petition says residents of southern Iran have lived under "direct and around-the-clock threats" while military personnel and civilians alike face fears of further attacks and damage to critical infrastructure.

It argues that politicians who have called for a wartime posture should experience those conditions themselves, saying a field visit could lead to "more realistic decision-making" and greater solidarity with local communities.

The Paydari Front is one of Iran's most hardline political factions and has been among the strongest opponents of negotiations with the United States. Its lawmakers have repeatedly criticized President Masoud Pezeshkian, Parliament Speaker Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf and Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi over diplomacy with Washington.

Earlier this week, parliament removed two of the bloc's most outspoken critics of negotiations from senior positions on the National Security and Foreign Policy Committee, reflecting growing tensions within Iran's conservative establishment over the handling of the conflict.

• 

  The Paydari Party: Iran’s ultra-hardliner powerhouse explained

Southern anger

The petition has coincided with growing criticism on Persian-language social media over the burden borne by southern Iran, where much of the fighting has been concentrated.

In a video posted on Instagram, a comedian and influencer from southern Iran accused officials of downplaying attacks on the region. He said that when Tehran and other parts of the country came under attack, authorities described them as missile and drone strikes, but now that the south was bearing the brunt of the fighting, incoming rockets were being referred to simply as "projectiles."

"They've sanitized the language," he said. "It's as if a four- or five-year-old neighbor's child has thrown a stone at someone." He added: "You may not have the courage to call it what it is, but at least have some humanity. Don't treat southerners differently from everyone else."

Journalist Azadeh Mokhtari wrote on X that southern Iran was "the beating heart of Iran's economy," saying its ports were vital to imports, cargo handling and supplying much of the country.

• 

  Who are the Islamic Republic’s ‘Super-Revolutionaries’ challenging Tehran

Another X user argued that the Islamic Republic had turned large parts of the southern coastline into military zones and missile sites while residents continued to struggle with poverty despite the region's strategic importance and natural wealth.

A third wrote that Iranians should not pretend there was no war simply because the attacks were concentrated in the south. "Southern Iran is an inseparable part of this country," the post said. "Its pain is the pain of all Iran."

Unity message meets political divisions

The petition emerged as Iran's Press Supervisory Board instructed media outlets not to highlight political or factional disputes, urging them instead to avoid content it said could harm national cohesion or amplify social divisions.

The guidance told outlets to avoid "highlighting political and factional differences," "reproducing internal disputes" and publishing material that could undermine public unity.

Iran ranks among the world's lowest countries for press freedom, according to Reporters Without Borders, which says state repression continues to weigh heavily on independent journalism.

The document, titled "What Iran Wants" and obtained by IranWire, was written by Ali Rabiei, a former intelligence ministry official and government spokesman who now advises President Masoud Pezeshkian on social affairs. It is built on a survey conducted in April and May by the ARA research center and was circulated among senior officials in June.

Its timing matters. The survey was taken in the aftermath of the January protests, in which security forces killed tens of thousands of demonstrators within days, and during a war with the United States that has already claimed the life of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei. Through all of it, state television has filled its evenings with images of packed squares and chants of revenge.

The report is the government's private mirror, and it shows something else entirely. Given four options for the country's future, only nine percent of respondents chose keeping things as they are; the rest split between reform, deep reform, and changing the system outright.

The document discloses no methodology, and official polling in Iran is conducted among respondents who have every reason to fear giving an honest answer to a state questionnaire.

Sociologist Saeed Paivandi, who reviewed the full report for IranWire, called its findings broadly plausible despite those gaps. In practice, that means each figure below is best read as a floor, not a ceiling. Whatever the government's own instrument records, the reality is unlikely to be milder.

The angriest country ever measured

The report's starkest finding is a number without precedent. Gallup's global emotions index has never recorded a national anger rate above 47 percent, a figure that belonged to Chad. Rabiei's survey puts Iran at 63.6 percent, up twelve points since December, the month before the massacre.

The document itself acknowledges the record, placing Iran above every country Gallup has measured for both anger and grief.

Iran had appeared in those global rankings before, alongside war-scarred states like Iraq and Afghanistan. It has now left them behind.

No war, no surrender

On the confrontation with Washington, the surveyed public fits neither of the stories told about it: the nation baying for battle that state television broadcasts, or the one ready to capitulate that some in Washington count on.

Asked the best course in the current crisis, 44.3 percent chose preserving the ceasefire and continuing negotiations, roughly double the share that favored ending the talks and preparing for war.

• 

  As Tehran debates, Iran's south lives the war

Barely one in ten would accept all American conditions, and about two-thirds oppose a complete shutdown of uranium enrichment.

Yet this is not trust in the men at the table. Fewer than a third of respondents expressed high confidence in Iran's new negotiating team, and nearly half the country reports serious fear of another round of war.

What emerges is a population that rejects both another war and a capitulation, and trusts neither the diplomats nor the generals conducting either.

A society in freefall, and the myth of the rallying nation

The emotional data reads like a casualty report. Half the country reports hopelessness, up eight points since December.

Nearly 48 percent report sadness and depression, 45 percent chronic fear and anxiety. Despair runs highest among the young and the educated, the very people a state would need to rebuild anything.

• 

  Hardline rallies turn Iran’s streets into pressure front against US talks

The same pages quietly dismantle the leadership's central wartime claim: that the nation has closed ranks behind it.

By the government's own count, 47 percent of Iranians never attended a single one of the nightly wartime rallies that state television presents as proof of unity. In Tehran, 61 percent stayed away.

Rabiei concedes that a much-promoted volunteer registration drive for national defense underperformed, and attributes the reluctance to people's fear of being judged.

It is an official admission that even gestures of patriotism have become politically fraught. The report's own data explains why: Iranians overwhelmingly separate defending their country, which a majority say they would do if attacked again, from defending the Islamic Republic.

• 

  Iran faces region’s harshest mix of wartime contraction and inflation

Proud, secular, and packing

The most quietly radical section concerns who Iranians say they are. National pride is rising. More than 85 percent express pride in being Iranian, and the share who identify first as "Iranian" rather than "Iranian Muslim" has grown since the war, most sharply among the young.

Religious observance, the Islamic Republic's ideological foundation, is collapsing under the same roof.

In 1975, four years before the revolution, 79 percent of Iranians said they fasted through Ramadan. By 2023 it was 42 percent. This year it is roughly 30.

And the pride does not translate into staying. A third of Iranians say they would emigrate if they could, including nearly half of everyone under thirty and half of the university-educated. People are not leaving Iran, the report effectively concludes; they are leaving its future.

A manual for management

What makes the document remarkable is less its data than its purpose. Rabiei's recommendations to the leadership contain no political change at all.

Officials should do a better job convincing people that sanctions, not mismanagement, caused their misery; state television should show a more inclusive face; the ration cards should continue. This, even as the report's own respondents name official incompetence, ahead of sanctions, as the main cause of their problems.

One recommendation stands out: state bodies should avoid policies that put them in confrontation with society.

That instruction has a visible form on Iran's streets, where enforcement of the small rules of daily life has gone relatively quiet. Many Iranians read the leniency less as tolerance than as triage, a state conserving its strength for a collision it can see coming.

Independent surveys suggest the private picture is, if anything, generous. The Netherlands-based GAMAAN institute, polling Iranians beyond the reach of official questionnaires, has found large majorities opposed to the Islamic Republic's continuation altogether.

Rabiei reaches for an older vocabulary to describe what his numbers show: a society trapped in the present, unable to desire its past or picture its future. The term he borrows, "presentism," was coined by an Iranian scholar to describe the national mood in 1975.

Four years later, that society produced a revolution.

Iran's parliament had not held regular public sessions since the outbreak of the recent war, with the suspension reportedly ordered by the Supreme National Security Council.

The legislature reconvened on Monday after briefly meeting in late May to elect its presiding board, when Ghalibaf secured a seventh consecutive term as speaker.

During the committee's internal leadership election on Monday, Mahmoud Nabavian lost his position as first deputy chairman, while Ebrahim Rezaei was removed as spokesperson.

Both are among parliament's most outspoken opponents of engagement with Washington and frequent critics of Ghalibaf.

The outcome shifted the committee's balance toward lawmakers seen as more supportive of diplomacy, triggering an angry reaction from the hardline camp.

The IRGC-affiliated Fars News Agency questioned the legitimacy of the vote on Tuesday, describing the election as "shrouded in ambiguity." It quoted an unnamed committee member as saying a fresh ballot would be held to determine whether Alaeddin Boroujerdi or Ebrahim Azizi would chair the committee.

The reform-leaning Rouydad24 news website described the result as "a sign of a shift in the balance of power in one of parliament's most important committees," saying it was likely to influence parliament's approach to foreign policy and national security in the coming months.

It added that parliament's reopening had restored an important platform for critics of President Masoud Pezeshkian's government and opponents of negotiations with Washington, allowing them once again to use speeches, questioning sessions, impeachment motions and legislative initiatives to challenge government policy.

‘A coup’

Hardline activists have portrayed the parliamentary suspension and committee reshuffle as part of Ghalibaf's effort to sideline the ultraconservative Paydari Front.

Despite its vocal presence, the Paydari Front remains a minority even within the conservative-dominated parliament. In May's election for parliament's presiding board, the faction's candidate received just 29 votes against Ghalibaf's 235.

International relations researcher Abolfazl Bazargan criticized the reshuffle, writing that the committee changes were "not a strategic disaster but a soft coup against the country's security."

The vote also prompted a wave of criticism on social media. One user on X wrote: "Parliament reopened twice—once for him to become speaker again, and once to remove his opponents. You're the dictator."

More say on Hormuz

The committee reshuffle came as lawmakers sought to assert parliament's role in negotiations with Washington and policy toward the Strait of Hormuz.

On Tuesday, parliament received a bill titled the Strategic Action for Ensuring Security and Sustainable Development of the Strait of Hormuz and the Persian Gulf. Backed by 180 of the 290 lawmakers, it would tighten parliamentary oversight of the government's diplomatic decisions.

Lawmakers also called for the immediate establishment of a special committee to review negotiations with the United States and oversee implementation of conditions set by Supreme Leader Mojtaba Khamenei.

Committee chairman Ebrahim Azizi, who retained his post and is regarded as close to Ghalibaf and the traditional conservative camp, defended the initiative on X.

"The Islamic Consultative Assembly stands firm on the country's red lines, especially the management of the Strait of Hormuz," he wrote. "This is only the first step. The next measures will keep our enemies awake at night."

Foreign policy analyst Fereydoun Majles told the Fararu news website that the proposal should be viewed primarily as a political signal.

"The parliamentary initiative should be analysed mainly as a political message," he said. "It seeks to demonstrate that Iran still possesses important geopolitical tools and that regional equations cannot be designed without taking Tehran's interests into account."

"Hard power and soft power complement one another; they are not substitutes," he concluded.

Watching explosions on television and social media from hundreds of kilometers away, many see the confrontation with the United States as another familiar cycle of pressure that may yet give way to negotiations.

Fatemeh Rajabi, the news anchor who first reported the U.S. strikes on ports and military sites in southern Iran on the YouTube program Hasht-e Shab, says many in the capital find it difficult to grasp that a war is unfolding along the northern shores of the Persian Gulf — the region they casually refer to as “down under.”

Reporter Ali Pakzad, who visited the area during the strikes, says missiles hit targets from Abadan near the Iraqi border to Chabahar and Saravan near Pakistan.

He described damaged fishing vessels, battered ports and communities whose livelihoods have been shattered by attacks documented in the program’s footage.

That contrast lies at the heart of an investigative report by journalist Mira Ghorbanifar in Toseh Irani, titled The South in the Fire of War and Ashes of Ceasefire.

Ghorbanifar writes that explosions now puncture the dawn along Iran’s southern coast. Smoke rises from damaged docks, charred dhows lie abandoned, and fish markets once full of noise now speak only of “a war for which no one has yet chosen a definite name.”

While officials speak of “understandings,” “ceasefires” and “crisis management,” she argues, people in Iran’s south are grappling with damaged infrastructure and disrupted shipping, trying to adapt to what increasingly resembles a war of attrition.

She also asks whether the so-called Islamabad Understanding still exists. Is the fighting along Iran’s southern coast part of the same hundred-day conflict, or the start of a new phase of controlled escalation? And can both sides return to negotiations before crossing a point of no return?

The concerns extend well beyond independent journalists.

Government-aligned newspapers have increasingly questioned whether Iran can sustain a prolonged confrontation while struggling to protect civilians and critical infrastructure.

Moderate daily Sharq describes the country’s predicament as “structural and accumulated,” arguing that damaged infrastructure, naval disruption and collapsing logistics have left even minor shocks capable of triggering major crises.

Centrist Etemad warns that public trust has eroded while the state remains unprepared for cascading emergencies.

Economic newspapers have echoed those warnings.

Jahan Sanat argues that Iran’s deterrence is steadily weakening under sustained pressure, while Donya-ye Eghtesad says military decisions are increasingly driven by political necessity rather than strategic advantage, leaving the country more vulnerable in a prolonged conflict.

Washington-based analysts Mohammad Ghaedi and Farzin Nadimi have voiced similar concerns in interviews with Persian-language media abroad.

Ghaedi argues that Iran’s governing system “has repeatedly refused to learn from past mistakes,” pointing to what he sees as a widening disconnect between insulated decision-makers and citizens bearing the costs of conflict.

Nadimi says Iran is confronting the United States at “a moment of maximum structural fragility,” with deterrence eroding and escalation driven more by political necessity than strategic advantage.

“Iran is not in a position to manage a prolonged conflict,” he warns, adding that every new attack “burns away another part of Iran’s deterrent capability.”

Even hardline media have shown hints of concern. Resalat recently urged Iran to “rebuild its defensive capacity” after recent military losses — a rare acknowledgement from a conservative newspaper that the country’s deterrence has been weakened.

For now, the divide remains striking. In Tehran, politicians and commentators continue to debate negotiations, ceasefires and diplomatic understandings.

Along the southern coast, many residents have already stopped asking what to call the conflict. They are simply living through it.

When the whistle blows for halftime at MetLife Stadium on Sunday, July 19, football's first-ever World Cup halftime show will begin – an 11-minute spectacle curated by Coldplay's Chris Martin, headlined by Madonna, Shakira, Justin Bieber, BTS and Burna Boy, with conductor Gustavo Dudamel and the PS22 Chorus.

And if the past week's frenzy in the Persian-speaking world is to be believed, somewhere in that lineup will stand Bijan Mortazavi, the Iranian violin virtuoso, with his famous white violin.

The story first surfaced through Persian-language music outlets, which reported that FIFA had selected Mortazavi for a live performance during the final's interval.

Skepticism followed almost immediately. FIFA's official announcements listed the marquee names but made no mention of the 68-year-old Iranian, and veteran music journalists would only call it the closest rumor to reality.

Then Mortazavi himself all but ended the debate. He posted a photograph alongside Chris Martin and Gustavo Dudamel, describing an "excellent and fruitful" first rehearsal with the New York Philharmonic, an image Coldplay fan accounts quickly carried around the world.

FIFA has yet to publish his name. But artists do not rehearse with the show's musical director and its conductor by accident, and reports say he will perform one of his instrumental works, with a solo passage on the white violin that has been his visual signature for three decades.

The news set Persian social media alight. Posts declaring "It's confirmed" drew hundreds of thousands of views within hours, and the pride quickly turned pointed.

Users contrasted an artist whose albums are still denied release permits inside Iran standing on the world's biggest stage, while the officials who ban his music watch from a country at war and in crisis. Others noted the bitter symmetry: Iran's team went home; Iran's music reached the final.

That symmetry stings because the national team's bond with its own public has frayed. After the side's elimination – three draws in three games – many Iranians described the failure less as a sporting loss than as a verdict on players seen as siding with the government during the nationwide protests, with defender Ramin Rezaeian's name recurring most often.

• 

  Iran’s lion-and-sun flag at center of FIFA row before 2026 World Cup

• 

  Iran bows out of World Cup amid flags, Pride and protest

Unlike past tournaments, the matches drew few public gatherings inside Iran, and some openly welcomed the exit. When Shoja Khalilzadeh's late goal against Egypt was ruled offside by five centimeters, users linked it mockingly to his past pledge to dedicate goals to the Supreme Leader.

For millions of Iranians, representation has quietly migrated from the federation's badge to individuals in the diaspora, and Mortazavi embodies that shift.

Born in Sari in 1957, he began violin at three, trained in Tehran under masters including Parviz Yahaghi, and – in a fitting twist – played as a youth goalkeeper, part of Iran's junior national football setup, before music won out.

He left Iran after high school, studied in England, moved to the United States in 1979 and settled in California, where his blend of Persian melody and Western pop made him the best-known Iranian violinist in the world. In 1994 he became the first Iranian artist to headline Los Angeles' Greek Theatre.

• 

  Can Iranians cheer Team Melli without cheering the state?

• 

  Citizens tell Iran football team it lost the public long ago

He may not be the only Iranian at MetLife on Sunday. Alireza Faghani – born in Kashmar and the first man to referee at four men's World Cups – is widely reported as FIFA's leading candidate to take charge of the final itself.

Faghani left Iran for Australia in 2019, a move linked to his support for the protest movement, and now officiates under the Australian flag. State media in Tehran has attacked him – even censoring footage of him receiving his 2025 Club World Cup final medal – while many Iranians claim him proudly as their own.

No World Cup has ever had a halftime show. Shakira's "Waka Waka" in 2010, Ricky Martin's "La Copa de la Vida" in 1998 and Jung Kook's Qatar 2022 performance all belonged to the ceremonies, never to the final's interval. 

Which means that if Mortazavi walks out on Sunday, he will not just be the first Iranian on a World Cup final stage. He will be part of the first such stage ever built.

• 

  Thumbs up: Iranian football referee's pose alongside Trump stokes ire

If FIFA's final appointments hold, Sunday could end with an Iranian raising a violin at halftime and another raising the whistle for kickoff – two men who left, on the one stage the country's team could not reach.

Millions inside Iran will likely watch them the way they watch most things now: on any screen but state television's.