A fragile ceasefire looms over Iran and Israel, brokered in a dramatic late-night push by U.S. President Donald Trump with Qatari mediation, ending 12 days of airstrikes, missile barrages and civilian terror. While diplomats debate the future of the region, ordinary Iranian-Armenians and Persians alike are left to pick up the pieces, their lives upended by a war that, for many, has changed everything.
The announcement came swiftly: a “complete and total” ceasefire, with both sides agreeing to halt attacks after a final window to complete ongoing operations. For many in Tehran, the news brought a mix of relief and disbelief.
“People still don’t believe the ceasefire will hold,” said Armine*, a 48-year-old Iranian-Armenian from Tehran, in an interview with the Weekly. With internet access in the city severely disrupted, she’s been relying on patchy calls and fragmented messages to stay connected. She remains in Tehran with her son and elderly parents. “They think it will take at least a week before life returns to normal.”
Armine’s family depends on her small handmade crafts business for income, but for nearly two weeks, shops have been shuttered and daily routines completely disrupted.
Armine’s story is typical of many in Tehran’s Armenian community—a minority with deep roots in the city. The Iranian-Armenian community is one of the oldest Armenian diasporas, with a long history of preserving its language, culture and traditions despite being a minority. Mostly concentrated in Tehran and a few other cities, many maintain strong ties to Armenia, their ancestral homeland.
She describes a city transformed: “They targeted military sites, but civilians suffered too. They hit police stations, government offices, prisons, but mostly barracks and infrastructure. People were desperate, afraid. They only bought food and medicine—nothing else.” Even as the bombs fell, she couldn’t risk moving her elderly parents the long way to Armenia, forced instead to wait out the violence in the capital.
During the war, many residents fled Tehran for safer cities that were not under bombardment. Thousands crossed the country’s land borders, with some making their way to Armenia.
Now, even after the ceasefire, the city remains tense. “Some people have returned to Tehran, but most shops remain closed. There are checkpoints between the major streets. People are glad the war is over, but sad too—the regime hasn’t changed.”
“Many hoped this would be the end, but it wasn’t,” she added.
At Armenia’s Agarak border crossing, the impact of war is etched on every face: families with foreign passports, young mothers with infants and students—many with plans to continue onward to Germany, Canada, Australia and other destinations.
Amir, a 42-year-old Iranian-Australian, had traveled to Tehran for his mother’s birthday when the war erupted. After a week under bombardment, he left for Armenia—his mother choosing instead to relocate to a safer city in Iran. “Iranians have seen worse wars; they will endure,” Amir told the Weekly, while trying to explain his mother’s decision. “No one wants their country bombed—not by Israel or the U.S. Iranians don’t want foreign intervention in their internal affairs.”
Among those who crossed into Armenia was Aramazd Vardanyan, a 58-year-old jeweler who arrived via the Meghri land border to join his daughter, a student in Yerevan. His decision was driven by a mix of concern, hope and uncertainty as the war unfolded in Iran.
Reflecting on the conflict, he said, “The nature of the war has changed. Now, machines fight machines…. Israel bombs with drones, and Iran responds. Often civilians also suffer, like the Alik newspaper building, one of the oldest Armenian newspapers in Tehran. Thankfully, the staff were unharmed.”
Finding safety came at the cost of leaving behind his home and livelihood. “There were many people trying to cross into Armenia,” he recalled. “I came by my own car, but those without vehicles had to pay large sums to Armenian drivers to reach Yerevan. People are anxious and fearful. Many remain stuck at the border, surrounded by military and security forces,” he described.
Vardanyan spoke of the resilience of the Iranian people, amid decades of hardship and conflict. “The Persian people are a nation forged by difficult and trying times,” he explained. “If they see Iran’s territorial integrity threatened, they will put aside their grievances and unite. Perhaps that is something we Armenians lack—the ability to unite in the face of danger.”
Vardanyan acknowledged the deep concerns among those in Armenia about potential escalation along the Azerbaijani border. While recognizing the threat posed by cooperation between Israel and Azerbaijan to both Armenia and Artsakh, he cautioned against oversimplifying the situation: “The idea that all Azerbaijani Turkic-speaking communities in Iran will side with Azerbaijan is far from reality. Despite linguistic differences, Iranians carry a strong tradition of statehood—it’s not something easily broken,” he said.
He also shared his opinions on the motivations behind Iran’s nuclear ambitions: “Iran’s uranium enrichment is not just about power—it’s about survival and deterrence. They believe their strength lies in their ability to defend their country and maintain regional balance. This is why they persist despite international pressure and damage to their facilities.”
For now, Vardanyan waits patiently for a lasting peace. “I am waiting for the ceasefire to become long-term and stable, so I can return to Iran, resume my jewelry work and reopen my shop.”
The war’s scars run deep—hundreds of civilians killed, thousands injured and countless displaced from Tehran and beyond. Yet, while Vardanyan clings to hope of returning home, many Iranian-Armenians see a different future. Armine, among them, believes this conflict will be a turning point. “This war will be decisive for many Iranian-Armenians. Many will move to Armenia permanently,” she says.
*Name has been changed to protect her identity.
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