Three months after the war with Israel, Tehran projects an air of calm. The scars are visible—collapsed floors in the north, missile strikes downtown, a damaged state broadcaster. Yet in the streets, silence reigns. People have learned to keep quiet: out of fear, resignation, and the knowledge that open words can be dangerous. The regime dictates what may be remembered and what must be forgotten. The message is simple: pretend life is normal, move on, forget.
Beneath this façade lies trauma. The war exposed the regime’s vulnerability. Israel dominated the skies at will, striking targets in the capital, even threatening senior officials and nuclear scientists. Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei has scarcely appeared in public since—an unmistakable sign of insecurity at the top.
Tehran’s answer has been a shift in rhetoric: less Islamist, more nationalist. It is now Iran against the West, Iran against Israel. But the bravado masks fear. No one in the leadership wants another war. The imbalance of power is simply too great.
That fear is evident in Tehran’s hypersensitivity. When German Chancellor Friedrich Merz called Israel’s airstrikes “dirty work” for the West, the remark echoed loudly in Iran. Weeks later, Foreign Ministry spokesman Esmail Baghaei still seethed over the phrase. To him, it sounded like confirmation that Germany had politically sanctioned Israel’s bombardments. With that, Berlin was no longer a credible mediator.
The outrage is revealing. Only a weak regime reacts so fiercely to words. Baghaei’s polished smile is not a sign of confidence but of desperation: Tehran needs Europe back at the negotiating table—preferably without the Germans.
At the heart of the talks lies, once again, Iran’s nuclear program. In 2015 Tehran pledged to cap enrichment at 3.67 percent, far below weapons-grade, in exchange for lifted UN sanctions. Three years later Donald Trump tore up the deal. Since then, Iran has pushed enrichment far beyond the agreed limits—today reaching 60 percent, just one step away from a bomb.
Still, the regime insists its program is peaceful. It is the familiar double game: projecting strength to its people while professing openness to Europe. Yet the facts are stark. No other non-nuclear state produces uranium at such levels. Believing Tehran requires willful self-deception.
Now, as summer wanes, Europe faces a deadline. By triggering the “snapback mechanism,” the old sanctions could return in full. Everything depends on whether France, Britain, or Germany take the step at the UN. The deadline expires at the end of August.
Europe’s dilemma is obvious. It knows Tehran makes concessions only under pressure. Yet it fears the consequences: renewed escalation, open war, even the collapse of the regime. With its restless youth, fragile economy, and deep social fractures, Iran is a powder keg. Sanctions might destabilize it further—or push the regime into even harsher repression.
Political scientists like Ebrahim Mottaghi read the situation plainly: Iran is on the defensive. Another war with Israel would be suicidal; even Khamenei’s own life would be at risk. But that very defensiveness makes the regime unpredictable. Without concessions to Europe, it might gamble on escalation. Violence, as Mottaghi puts it, is a “catalyst.” Another war could transform the country—perhaps even create a power vacuum.
The spectacle of normality in Tehran must not obscure reality. The regime is weakened but far from finished. It is buying time, cloaking weakness in diplomacy. Europe must resist being drawn into yet another deal that postpones, rather than resolves, the real danger.
If Europe wants to be taken seriously, it cannot act as a naïve partner. Violations must carry consequences. Pressure is the only language the regime understands; anything less will be read as weakness.
Silence may be enforced in Tehran’s streets. But for Europe, silence is not an option.
