
As US-Israeli attacks intensify, Iranians speak about what daily life is like
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Jamie Bartlett
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hello. Today, projectiles hit several tankers in the Strait of Hormuz this week. We hear how the conflict with Iran is being seen in Doha. Ukraine's military expertise has become a much sought after asset. We hear how Gulf states turned to Kyiv for advice on Iran's Shahid dawn drones. We're In Delaware, where U.S. soldiers killed in the U.S. israeli conflict were returned in the presence of Donald Trump and their families. And in Nepal, a former Kathmandun mayor and rapper sweeps to victory in the general election in a shake up of the political landscape. But first, US Israeli attacks on Iran have intensified this week, and although both governments say they are targeting military sites and government buildings, those are large, largely situated in crowded residential areas. The US Administration has also come under intense scrutiny over an attack on a school in the Iranian city of Minab, which Iranian officials say killed 168 people. U.S. military investigators believe American forces were likely to be responsible but have not reached a final conclusion. The Pentagon said it is still investigating. For people on the ground in cities under bombardment, it's not clear how this war will end or indeed whether the outcome will lead to greater freedoms for Iranian people. The appointment of the ayatollah's son Mujtab as the new leader suggests a continuation of the status quo. More than 1200 have so far been killed, according to human rights groups. BBC Persian's Sarah Namjoo has been speaking to people in Iran.
BBC Persian Reporter Sarah Namjoo
I want the children to wake up to the smell of cake in the house. I want them to have a moment of normality after a long night of heavy bombardment. Negor not her real name, gave up her only chance to sleep in order to bake cakes for her children and fill her home with a small sense of hope. She lives with her two young children in central Tehran. Negar says they are living in fear. Not only fear of the Israeli and American bombs, but fear of an unknown future, she tells me she keeps writing down her thoughts because it is the only thing that helps her maintain her sanity for the sake of her children. Hearing her story took me back to my own childhood. I was a young girl during the Iran Iraq war. I still remember my mother's anxious face each time the air raid sirens sounded. We lived in a four story building on Tavanira street in northern Tehran, close to the country's main electricity company offices, an area considered a potential target for Iraqi strikes. Whenever the sirens went off, my mother would grab me and we would run to hide under the staircase. One memory is especially vivid after a nearby explosion. The blast wave shattered our doors and windows. Broken glass covered the floor of our flat. Those memories have stayed with me for years. Now I find myself wondering how today's children will remember what they are living through and how they will carry those experiences with them in the years to come. To write this report, I sent messages to several people, but only a few were delivered. For many people inside Iran, simply connecting to the Internet has become a daily struggle. Access has been severely restricted in what many believe is an effort by the authorities to control the flow of information within the country and to the outside world. Some say they are paying large sums for virtual private networks, VPNs, hoping to get online even for a few minutes. It's driving me crazy, sahar, a woman in her 50s, told me. She lives in Gorgon in northern Iran. We are paying so much money for VPNs, she said. But even then there is no guarantee they will work. The restrictions have also deepened a sense of unease. She says many people feel they are being watched. Speaking openly has become increasingly risky. Three days after the strike that killed the supreme leader, Sahar went to a grocery store and told the shopkeeper that she was celebrating his death. She told me that since then she has received threatening calls. A female voice on the other end told me, we heard you were happy about the death of the supreme leader. Be careful, we are watching you, she said. Even before this war, Iranian society was already in turmoil. Human rights groups reported that many thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of people were killed across the country during two days of anti government protest in January. I spoke to one woman whose young brother was among those killed. When I asked her what she thinks about the war in the aftermath of the Iranian states crackdown, her voice was firm. After what happened in January, people want to topple a regime they feel powerless against. They know the authorities have no limits when it comes to killing. Ordinary people have no means to protect themselves against the government, she went on. They don't want war. All they want is to live freely, to have a normal life. Many cannot even afford bread and eggs anymore. Iranians just want to feed their families. She acknowledged the diversity of opinion across the country, acknowledging the people who are still supporting the regime. I know Iran is a big country and people see things differently, she said. But after those mass killings, I understand why some people were cheering Khamenei's death. Since the war began, she added, security forces have been patrolling the streets, shouting and chanting in an attempt to intimidate citizens. The fear is palpable, she said, a constant presence in everyday life.
BBC Correspondent
Sara Namjoo Next, we're in the Qatari capital, Doha. Qatar is among several Gulf states that have faced Iranian strikes on military and civilian sites since the U.S. israeli attacks began. As a major oil and gas exporter, it's also reliant on the Strait of Hormuz, through which a fifth of world's daily oil and liquefied natural gas normally passes. Numerous attacks on tankers along the strait and surrounding ports during the current conflict have led to a halt in oil and gas shipments, one of the most serious disruptions to energy supply ever suffered. Barbara Plet Usher has been in Doha.
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We arrived in Doha on the Thursday before the war, thinking that it might start Saturday night. This was our third trip to Qatar since January, each time scrambling to get here after warning signs that the bombs might start falling. This time, they did. But on Saturday morning, taking us all by surprise, the Israelis had seen a target of opportunity with a gathering of the senior Iranian leadership. I was taken by surprise, too, at the scale of the offensive. We'd spent weeks parsing the clues as to what war aim President Trump might settle on. Surely not regime change. But yes, Trump's speech announcing the beginning of airstrikes laid out the maximum goals. Iran was now being attacked ferociously by the US And Israel, which had been pushing Trump for this option. But Tehran responded by attacking its neighbors, even though they had tried to stop this war and didn't join it. In Qatar, we were alerted to wave after wave of incoming missiles and drones, our phones screeching, the warning followed by the sound of explosions as the Qatari Air defenses shot them down. It was a terrifying experience for many people here, accustomed to the safe, stable, prosperous and business friendly climate that has become the brand of the Gulf states. One 12 year old boy was filming the salvos on his iPhone. He showed me the videos later. There were bombs exploding above our building, he said. We were really scared. We were afraid any moment one could hit our building. The same thing was happening all over the Gulf. The Iranians making good on their vow to target US Military bases scattered around the region if they were attacked. But it was more than that. Civilian infrastructure like airports was hit. So was energy infrastructure. The Qataris shut down production after two of their natural gas sites were struck by drones. So did the Saudis when an oil refinery was attacked. Crucially also, Iran's neighbors were forced to close their airspace and thousands of flights were canceled. The Gulf global travel hub went quiet. One day I came down from my hotel room to see a long line of people winding around the reception area. Stranded travelers checking in. For days, the hotel was buzzing with unexpected guests, some frustrated at the delay, a few actually enjoying the unexpected extension of their holiday. Many discussing whether to wait for a flight or take the overland trip to Saudi Arabia to catch a plane. That conversation was more urgent in the United Arab Emirates, which has borne the brunt of Iran's attacks on Gulf states. The national airlines in the region did, however, rebound fairly quickly, helping the exodus. But regular air travel from international airlines hasn't. The past week has been surreal. One woman told me, a Canadian whose husband works in the oil industry, you hear the alarm and then you hear the explosion. But at the same time, life is normal. So I ask myself, am I dreaming? Is it for real? She's right. I had just heard an emergency alert and looked up to see the smoke from the explosions of the missiles being intercepted. I don't know if anyone else did. The pace of attacks has decreased as the US Israeli campaign takes out Iran's launchers and missiles. But they're still coming. And a lot of the projectiles are drones. Cheaper and easier to launch. The material damage is limited, but the strategic harm is enormous. That seems to be partly what's happening in the Strait of Hormuz, that strategic waterway on Iran's coast, normally the world's busiest route for oil exports. The Americans have destroyed Iran's regular navy. It's at the bottom of the Persian Gulf, they say. But the Iranians are still attacking ships, some say, including with naval drones, disrupting shipping and keeping the strategic passage closed. This conflict has renewed attention on the growth of drone warfare. I thought the UN's humanitarian chief, Tom Fletcher, summed things up well. We are seeing an increasingly deadly alliance of technology and killing with impunity, he said. Whatever the damage inflicted on Iran, and it seems to be epic, it's clear the Iranians are doubling down on frankly, quite a successful strategy of increasing the economic costs for the US and its allies. Despite the confident statements from the White House and the Pentagon in the Gulf, there is great anxiety about where this is heading. I met a woman named Bari in a supermarket. She's a teacher who's had to move her classes online. The early days of attacks were a disaster. We were so scared, she says now her bigger fear is about the future and the world changing. It's not just missiles, she says. It's a major issue. We can feel it's something very big coming on the way. Some. Something like changing the map of the Middle East.
BBC Correspondent
Barbara Pletasher Next Gulf nations have turned to Ukraine for help with navigating drone strikes. Ukraine's expertise and technology for intercepting low flying drones are considered top class after four years of defending the country against Russian aggression. To that end, teams of Ukrainian drone experts arrived in Qatar, the uae, Saudi Arabia and Jordan. James Landale, the BBC diplomatic correspondent, has been in Kyiv where he noted a marked shift in morale in a nation that's now recognized for its considerable military acumen.
Jamie Bartlett
I've just walked into the smartest of supermarkets. It's a vast emporium dedicated to gastronomic luxury. There is surely nothing you could not buy here. There's fresh meat, fish and bread, food and wine from across the world, rows of choices. One could, I suppose, do an expensive weekly shop here, but one could also spend some serious cash. There are pots of caviar worth more than 300 pounds, a Jeroboam of champagne worth 800 pounds, and if you're feeling particularly flush, a bottle of whisky dating back to 1950 worth, I kid you not, £62,000. Hold that thought while I tell you this supermarket is is in Kyiv. Yes, war torn Kyiv. The Kyiv that endures repeated Russian airstrikes. The Kyiv that has just shivered through a brutal winter of power cuts and minus 20 degree temperatures. Yet here at the Goodwine supermarket, there is still a different world, one of wealth and excess. Outside there are Porsches and Mercedes in the car park. Inside, women sports designer jackets, handbags and pouting lips. The men wear black T shirts and trousers with countenances to match. Now every society has its uber wealthy. Ukraine is no exception. But this cathedral of consumption is an illustration of something else, namely that Ukraine is not just surviving, but in places also thriving. Yes, there is a war on. Yes, life is hard for many. But normal life, especially here in the capital, also goes on. Ukraine's economic supply chains are astoundingly resilient. Whenever I come here, I eat better, cheaper and more varied food than I do in London. The coffee is nicer, the service economy more efficient. Pizza is delivered as promptly during an air raid as it is at any other time. Compared to its analog allies, Ukraine is a digital pioneer. Here there is an app for almost everything, even one that allows partners separated by war or geography to get married over the Internet. This is a picture of Ukraine that sometimes struggles to be seen outside its borders. A modern nation state, a vibrant European country, not some underdeveloped post Soviet territory, but a military and technology powerhouse. This is why Ukraine senses a strategic opportunity. Ostensibly, the war in Iran is not good for Kyiv. Rising oil prices feeding Russia's war economy. A global scarcity of air defence missiles. But the fighting has also brought the world hammering on Ukraine's door, asking for help. Gulf countries in particular are desperate for Ukraine's expertise, defending against cheap but deadly Iranian designed drones. Suddenly, the tables are turned. After years asking for military support, Ukraine is now a giver as well as a taker. That President Zelenskyy says is a good feeling and gives Ukraine some good cards to play. Ukrainian interceptor drones are considered among the best available. They reflect a world class military technology sector that is dynamic and creative. The drones are constantly adapted in response to real time data straight from the front. And now the world wants a slice of that action. Victoria, an analyst at a military think tank who also serves as an army medic, tells us this is a big stepping point for Ukraine. Allies are finally realizing, she says, just how much they can learn from us. And that is such a change in attitude. Of course, Ukraine still has many structural problems. A post Soviet culture of bureaucracy that can smother innovation. A persistent legacy of corruption that that leaves some investors reluctant to trust Ukraine's legal system. It's a cash economy with widespread poverty. I ask Serhiy, an old friend and defence contractor, to explain this paradox between the high tech military sector and sluggish old school economy survival. He laughs. There's nothing like the threat of a Russian drone to drive efficiency. So as this war drags on into its fifth bloody year, Ukraine is hoping that its image is changing. No longer just a victim of Russian aggression, but also a helpful ally. Not just an object of sympathy for Western states, but also a security actor in its own right, a model of resilience against a long term threat from which many others can learn. I think of all this as I stroll down the aisles of the Goodwine supermarket and wonder at the price of truffle oil. Yes, there is some wealth in Ukraine, but its wealth of experience is perhaps more valuable, a richness to which the world is perhaps only now coming to understand.
BBC Correspondent
James Landale
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Next to a U.S. air Force base in Delaware, where the bodies of six U.S. soldiers killed in a drone strike at a command center in Kuwait were returned last week. Weekend. President Trump, Vice President J.D. vance and top military officials were on the tarmac as they arrived alongside their families. It was a moment of quiet solemnity amid a week where the US President has oscillated as to what the war goals are in Iran, even claiming this week that the war would end very soon. Bernd de Bussmann was in Delaware.
Bernd de Bussmann
There was heavy silence on the long, dark Runway of Dover Air Force Base, with the quiet only occasionally broken by the sounds of birds flying through an overcast sky or by the shudders of photographers. To my right and left, about 50ft in front of me, stood US President Donald Trump, clad in a navy blue suit, bright red tie and white baseball cap with USA and gold stitching across the front. Critics, including some Republicans, later said this informality was disrespectful. Beside him were his wife, Melania, Vice President J.D. vance and his wife Usha, and some of the most senior figures in US government. To my left stood a massive gray C17 military transport aircraft, its back ramp open and lowered Inside were the remains of the first six US soldiers killed in the war with Iran, aged between 20 and 54. And to my right, blocked from the view of the media, stood three busloads of family members who would not see their loved ones again. The event we were repeatedly and brusquely worn by US Military personnel was not a ceremony. It's what is known in US Military parlance as a dignified transfer, marking the moment Americans killed in overseas conflicts returned to the US It's a tightly choreographed and well rehearsed process, and one that's all too familiar to Americans of my generation who grew up during the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, when the return of dead American military personnel was all too frequent. For the next 45 minutes or so, we watched as an honor guard of uniformed soldiers slowly marched in unison back and forth to the aircraft, each time carefully carrying a flag draped metal transfer case carrying one of the dead past a long line of officials, some including Trump, Vance and those in uniform, were saluting, staring ahead quietly. Civilian officials, including Attorney General Pam Bondi and White House Chief of Staff Susie Wiles in a white coat and reflective sunglasses, put their hands over their hearts. The closest thing to visible emotion came from Vance, who crossed himself at the beginning of the process as he was led to the aircraft. The entire process was conducted in total silence, broken only by the command of present arms by a senior officer to prompt Trump and the others to salute. Not far from the back ramp of the C17, each of the bodies was slid into the back of two Mortuary affairs vehicles. Each of these had images of saluting soldiers on its back doors. I had been traveling with President Trump the day before the war began, unbeknownst to the press pool in the back of Air Force one. At exactly 3:27pm that day, Trump had made the decision to send U.S. bombers into Iran. As we flew from Washington to Texas, it was a word that most thought was a matter of when, not if. Standing in a port warehouse in the town of Corpus Christi less than an hour after Trump made the call, I asked him how close was he to a decision? I'd rather not tell you, trump said, turning in my direction and smiling. You would have had the greatest scoop in history, right? In retrospect, his wording was telling, although it would be some hours and a string of pre dawn phone calls before it was confirmed, he'd already given the go ahead. By the time I traveled with him again last weekend, U.S. forces had struck thousands of targets throughout Iran. The country's supreme leader, Ayatollah Khamenei lay dead, as did much of Iran's senior leadership. But questions remained about Trump's who would run Iran? How long would this take? How many more dead Americans could the US Public expect? His position on all these questions has fluctuated. We peppered him with questions on the flight out of Dover and at a subsequent press conference in Miami two days later. At one point, one of my colleagues on the plane asked him if watching the dignified transfer made him view the war differently. This is a divisive war. Polls show more Americans opposed than support it. No, we're winning by a lot, he responded, seemingly annoyed by the question. We decimated their whole evil empire. It will continue, I'm sure, for a little while, but I'm very proud of the people, he went on. But those questions and his answers seemed very far off. As we stood on the Runway in Dover, a uniformed Mortuary affairs officer put it plainly. This is not about anything, he said, except families having the worst day of their lives.
BBC Correspondent
Bernd de Bussmann and finally to Nepal, which has witnessed an historic election this week. 35 year old rapper turned politician Balendra Shah is said to be Nepal's next prime minister. He campaigned on a platform of reform and job creation after anti corruption protests led by young Nepalese last year led to the resignation of the former Prime Minister, K.P. sharma Oli. More than 77 people died during those protests, some shot by police. This marks the first time in decades that a single party has won a majority. Our South Asia correspondent, Azadeh Mushiri has been in Nepal.
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I huddle over four yellow plates of momos Nepalese dumplings in Kathmandu with five young Nepalis, I flagged down the group of friends in Durbar Square, one of the busiest areas of the capital, which is filled with jewelry sellers, coffee shops and momo stands. Put it this way, 24 year old Bijina tells me about 95% of the old government's time was spent on corruption and 5% of it doing work. The new government will probably become corrupt too, but most of their time will be spent actually helping us a less corrupt government. It doesn't seem like a cause for celebration, but Bijina and her friends still seem elated. See, like the momos, she asks me. It's Nepal's recent history that makes this moment feel monumental to the voters I've met across the country. The elections have put an end to decades of the same three political parties ruling Nepal, bargaining for power in a revolving door of fragile government, coalitions and it didn't come easy. Bagina and her friends all took part in the Gen Z protests in September against years of perceived arrogance and corruption. When the first gunshot was fired, Avarsh remembers, it became violent, he says. Our team visited a hospital in the capital to meet Rakesh Mahto, also 24, who is one of those who paid a very steep price for this new political era in Nepal. Rakesh comes out of the building to meet us in a hat and hoodie and in a wheelchair. A few of my friends were shot, he tells me. I was trying to save one of them from behind a barricade. Then I was also shot. More than five months later, he's still in recovery. He says his physiotherapy has been helping him slowly regain the power of mobility, but that he didn't have the money to leave the hospital and travel to vote. I would have voted for Balin. If the country still doesn't change, then I don't know what will work, he says. I kept hearing these high expectations as our team traveled across Nepal on the campaign trail. People of all generations are desperate for change. That was reflected in the election results. It was a landslide victory for the Rastra Swatantra Party, Also known as RSP. 4 years old and made up of many fresh faces, 35 year old Balendra Shah is one of their senior leaders and beat the former prime minister KP Sharma Oli in his own constituency. Previously a stronghold for oli with just 3 years experience serving as the mayor of Kathmandu, Balin is known here for his trademark black suits and sunglasses and his rap lyrics that took aim at Nepal's political elite. The words he's like us were often repeated by the young Nepalese I met. They see him as their voice, someone who will hold the powerful accountable for years of corruption and the violence last year. Balin and his party have promised they'll form a commission to investigate the assets of powerful politicians dating back to the 90s and act on a report into the protests. But while there's much hope placed on the party, for some it's too early to celebrate. The RSP and its members are an untried generation in a system used to favors and political patronage. One constitutional expert I met worried that with a weak opposition, perhaps these new politicians will develop the same old habits. They all come from different walks of life and might develop their own ambitions very quickly, bipinadi Kari tells me. He says one hope is that a free press could keep the government in check. So far, the signs aren't that encouraging, Balin is known for mostly avoiding journalists. Even as mayor, I've run up to him multiple times in different cities and he's always stormed past me and other media. Local journalists are worried this will continue once he's in office. But Nepalis feel that years of the same familiar faces have delivered very little for their country. Youth unemployment is at about 20%, among the highest in South Asia. Millions of Nepalese have to seek work abroad. And despite some worries about the future Gen Z, Nepalis have proven they can change their country. As in Bangladesh, it's their generation that overthrew a government and triggered historic elections. As an Iranian covering both these events in South Asia, I couldn't help but think of Iran, another country where young people have kept rising up and been met with devastating consequences. Here in Kathmandu, one 18 year old first time voter texted me after the polls saying simply, gen Z are the decision makers now. Many of the Nepalis I've met have fought and earned something coveted around the world.
BBC Correspondent
Hope Azadeh Mushiri. And that's all for today. We'll be back again next Saturday morning. Do join us.
Jamie Bartlett
I'm Jamie bartlett and for BBC Radio 4, I'll be looking at how fakery took over the world. No, no, hang on, hang on. Sorry, you're not Jamie Bartlett. I'm Jamie Bartlett. Oh, really? Well, who am I then? I'm afraid you're not real, pal. You're just an imitation chatbot I created to help me make this series on
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modern fakery and why it's everywhere.
Bernd de Bussmann
Sounds good.
Jamie Bartlett
What's going to be in it?
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Jamie Bartlett
1980s professional wrestling, dodgy academics, AI psychosis, COVID vaccine, skeptics. What's it called? Everything is Fake and Nobody Cares. With me, Jamie Bartlett and me, Jimmy Botlett. Listen first on BBC Sounds.
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Jamie Bartlett
Spring is calling weddings, patio sessions, barbecues. And you want that drink vibe without sacrificing tomorrow. That's RK zero proof. As the world's first zero proof spirits brand, RK created the warm molecule, giving you the smooth kick of whiskey or tequila with zero alcohol. Zero calories, zero sugar, and all the peace of mind you need to enjoy every moment. Step into the zero proof season at rk0zeroproof.com.
Host: Kate Adie
Key Correspondents: Sarah Namjoo, Barbara Plett Usher, James Landale, Bernd de Bussmann, Azadeh Mushiri
This episode provides on-the-ground insights into the intensifying conflict in Iran and its ripple effects throughout the region and beyond. BBC correspondents report from Iran, Qatar, Ukraine, the US, and Nepal, highlighting the human toll of war, the shifting dynamics of military technology, and political upheaval in distant lands. The tone is vivid and personal, blending analysis, human stories, and direct quotes to paint a nuanced picture of events beyond the headlines.
Reporter: Sarah Namjoo, BBC Persian ([03:00]–[07:39])
Reporter: Barbara Plett Usher ([07:39]–[13:07])
Reporter: James Landale, in Kyiv ([13:07]–[18:43])
Reporter: Bernd de Bussmann, Delaware ([19:50]–[24:46])
Reporter: Azadeh Mushiri, Kathmandu ([24:46]–[30:00])
The episode maintains the thoughtfulness, vivid scene-setting, and deeply human perspective characteristic of "From Our Own Correspondent." The correspondents relate global, high-stakes events through the experiences and emotions of individuals on the ground, delivering news analysis that’s personal, poignant, and rich in local color.