The Iran Cease-Fire Has Only Divided the War
TEHRAN—In Iran's capital, the initial news about a cease-fire started as a rumor, grew into anticipation, and soon felt almost like a celebration. People quickly gathered in Enghelab Square. Families stood together, waving Iranian flags. Young men held a large banner across the square, its colors moving above them while cars circled, horns blaring and patriotic songs playing from speakers.
For days, Iranians had been expecting things to get worse, not better. Earlier Tuesday evening, as the midnight deadline imposed by U.S. President Donald Trump approached, anxiety in Tehran kept growing. My phone started buzzing with messages from my wife in Doha, Qatar. She was scared. Friends kept calling, one after another. Everyone was worried.
TEHRAN—In Iran’s capital, the initial news about a cease-fire started as a rumor, grew into anticipation, and soon felt almost like a celebration. People quickly gathered in Enghelab Square. Families stood together, waving Iranian flags. Young men held a large banner across the square, its colors moving above them while cars circled, horns blaring and patriotic songs playing from speakers.
For days, Iranians had been expecting things to get worse, not better. Earlier Tuesday evening, as the midnight deadline imposed by U.S. President Donald Trump approached, anxiety in Tehran kept growing. My phone started buzzing with messages from my wife in Doha, Qatar. She was scared. Friends kept calling, one after another. Everyone was worried.
As night fell over the city, people noticed something strange: The lights on Milad Tower were off. For perhaps the first time since it was built, one of Tehran’s most visible landmarks was completely dark. The skyline looked different, as if the city was preparing for something.
But as news of a possible cease-fire spread, the mood started to change. In western Tehran, particularly in Shahrak Gharb, the symbolism expanded beyond Iran itself. Alongside Iranian flags were those of Lebanon’s Hezbollah, Yemen’s Houthis, and Iraq’s Popular Mobilization Units. Songs in support of Iran’s so-called Axis of Resistance echoed through the streets from large speakers.
Some people talked as if the war was already over, but not everyone felt the same way. Some people in the crowd watched carefully, trying to make sense of quotes from Iranian officials saying they would accept only a full end to the war, not just a cease-fire. While few voiced open criticism, a current of skepticism was unmistakable.
Many people explained their doubts as a matter of trust. Earlier talks between Iran and the United States had ended with more conflict, not solutions. The worry was not about diplomacy itself but that it could be used as another way to fight.
The cease-fire’s weakness is clear on closer look. This weakness comes from deep mistrust between Iran and the United States, decades-old disputes that started the conflict, and outside pressure from regional players with their own interests. Both sides doubt the other will keep its promises, and neither has made real concessions on key issues. Regional allies and rivals also add problems, so the cease-fire feels more like a shaky pause than a real step toward lasting peace.
The agreement announced by Washington and Tehran is not a real settlement. Talks are expected to start in Pakistan within days, and mediators hope a broader agreement can be reached in about two weeks. But the same issues that have blocked diplomacy in recent years, especially the last year, are still on the table.
Among them is the question of uranium enrichment. U.S. officials, including Vice President J.D. Vance, have revived the demand that Iran accept zero enrichment. This demand has long been a major stumbling block. In previous negotiations, such as those surrounding the 2015 nuclear deal and talks in the years since, breakdowns have consistently occurred when enrichment was brought to the table.
Iran has viewed any push for zero enrichment as an attempt to strip it of sovereignty and technological progress, while U.S. officials have argued it is essential for nonproliferation. For Tehran, that is politically impossible. Iranian officials have repeatedly said they will not accept under wartime pressure what they refused during times of relative calm.
Beyond enrichment lies the question of Iran’s stockpile of highly enriched uranium, ballistic missiles, and the future of its regional network of allies. All of these issues are complicated. Together, they are at the heart of the conflict between Iran and the United States.
None of these problems can realistically be solved in just two weeks. Still, the cease-fire assumes they might be, although Iran’s Supreme National Security Council left open the chance for an extension. This mismatch between diplomatic urgency and strategic reality is one of the reasons skepticism is growing in Tehran.
Another reason is mistrust. For many Iranian analysts and officials, memories of past talks are still fresh. Negotiations moved forward, hopes went up, and then conflict returned. Some now see talks not as a way out of conflict but as just another part of it. The worry is not whether diplomacy can work but whether it is being used as a “deception” to prepare for more fighting.
The contradiction became visible almost immediately. From Tehran’s perspective, any cease-fire had to apply across all fronts. Iranian officials repeatedly emphasized that Lebanon was not a separate theater but part of the same war. Pakistani Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif appeared to confirm that understanding when he announced that the cease-fire applied “everywhere including Lebanon.”
Events on the ground quickly challenged that idea. Israeli airstrikes intensified across Beirut. Entire areas of the capital were hit, not only the southern suburbs but other parts of the city as well. Lebanese friends on the ground said the scale of the bombardment resembled moments not seen since Israel’s invasion of Lebanon in 1982.
At nearly the same time, Trump told reporters that Lebanon had never been part of the agreement, calling it a “separate skirmish.” That position exposed the central contradiction of the cease-fire. Washington appears to see the deal as a bilateral pause between the United States and Iran. Tehran has built its entire regional strategy on the assumption that its conflicts cannot be separated so easily.
Lebanon was the first place where these two views clashed. This creates a problem for Iran that is bigger than just the fighting on the ground. Hezbollah entered the war as part of a broader confrontation in which Iran was already engaged. It opened a front to relieve pressure on Tehran.
Now that front is under heavy attack while Iran is effectively in a pause. If Iran does not respond, it risks signaling that its deterrence model is conditional. If it responds, it risks collapsing the cease-fire before securing any diplomatic gains.
Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi framed the issue hours after the escalation in Lebanon in a post on X. “The Iran–U.S. ceasefire terms are clear and explicit: the U.S. must choose—ceasefire or continued war through Israel. It cannot have both,” he wrote. He also said the world was watching to see if Washington would keep its promises as Israeli attacks on Lebanon grew stronger.
The message was directed outward. But it also reflected a debate unfolding inside Iran itself. Throughout the conflict, Iranian officials had insisted that Tehran would not accept a cease-fire, only a comprehensive end to the war. Now they are supporting a temporary pause, but no one knows how far it will go.
This has created a quiet debate inside the country. Some analysts think the pause is a tactical move toward a bigger agreement. Others worry that if Israel keeps weakening Hezbollah while Iran stays in a pause, the balance in the region could change. Iran might emerge from the talks with less influence. In that sense, the cease-fire does not represent an endpoint, rather what seems to be a bitter transitional moment for Iran and its allies.
The cease-fire between Washington and Tehran has been described as the start of de-escalation. But in reality, it might be something different. It is a pause that splits the war instead of ending it, dividing it between negotiations and fighting elsewhere. If talks break down again, the conflict could return, even bloodier and more complicated than before.
This post is part of FP’s ongoing coverage. Read more here.
Ali Hashem is a journalist and researcher covering wars, diplomacy, and political transformations across the Middle East. He is a correspondent with Al Jazeera and a research fellow at the Centre of Islamic and West Asian Studies, Royal Holloway, University of London. X: @alihashem
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