Words: Urvi Goyal (she/her)
Cultural landmarks should be treasured, not treated as disposable goods allowed to survive only in photographs or memory; mementos of a nation destined to fade and fragment with time.
‘For me, ancient monuments are as important as human lives. Because they connect me to my past, and their destruction means that my memory is destroyed. The lost life of a citizen cannot be rebuilt.’ – Mojtaba Najafi, Iranian scholar and citizen.
What does it mean to claim “liberation” while dismantling the cultural foundations of a nation? In the case of the recent US and Israeli airstrikes on Iran, the answer is becoming increasingly difficult to reconcile. The damage inflicted on the Golestan Palace, a landmark of Tehran’s rich and layered history and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, cannot be reduced to collateral impact. It stands as a visual reminder of the carelessness of modern warfare, where military strategy overrides international law and cultural protections.
Despite UNESCO communicating the coordinates of the Palace to all governments involved, and its protection under the 1954 Hague Convention, shockwaves from Israeli bombings on March 2nd 2026 severely damaged the site. The destruction of the Talar-e Ayaneh (Mirror Hall) represents not only an architectural loss, but the fracturing of historical continuity. The Golestan Palace is more than a building, it is the ‘most complete’ souvenir of Iran’s Qajar era. Not only is it a monument of culture but a former administrative hub, a fountain of political and cultural permanence. In the wake of these strikes, the intricate tiles of a nation’s past now lie scattered amongst the rubble of war. These fractured mosaics represent more than decoration, they are the souvenirs of the destruction of collective memory.
The disfiguring of the Golestan Palace is not incidental; it reflects a contradictory military logic that preaches freedom while practising spoliation. When a campaign justified in the name of liberation contributes to the erosion of globally recognised heritage, it becomes clear that ‘liberation’ is not its true goal.
As stated by UNESCO, the Palace is protected under the Law for the Protection of National Heritage (1930), designed to preserve sites of ‘historical, architectural, traditional, artistic, or archaeological interest.’ The reckless endangerment of such a site thus traverses into a breach of international norms. The laws the US and Israel have violated are not only meant to protect physical sites, but cultural identity too.
The stated objective of these interventions as being ‘liberation’ from authoritarianism rests on the premise that external forces can enable political renewal. Yet by destroying protected cultural sites, the US and Israel have destabilised the social edifice essential for that renewal. Heritage sites such as the Golestan Palace are not merely trivial keepsakes; they are a cherished collective memory made tangible. They are not the equivalent of a bus ticket or restaurant receipt, but something far more enduring: a nation’s souvenir of its culture and history. Their loss weakens the very fabric upon which any future political system must stand.
The strikes have not only damaged cultural locations, but educational institutions as well. As schools crumble, future generations – the living, breathing souvenirs of the nation are lost with them. According to The New York Times, on February 28th 2026, US missiles struck the Shajarah Tayyebeh primary school, killing over 175 children. A subsequent statement claimed a Tomahawk missile was misfired, a justification that feels trivial against the scale of civilian loss. In an operation framed as liberation, such casualties are difficult to reconcile with humanitarian intent.
If the aim is to stabilise the region, the current strategy seems at best counterproductive, at worst a grim facade. Rather than creating conditions for reform, Iranians are left to dig graves for their loved ones, confronting not only the loss of life but the erasure of their future alongside their past.
As Isfahan’s governor, Mehdi Jamalinejad, stated, “This is a declaration of war on a civilisation.” His speech was made in relation to the destruction of buildings in Isfahan, where damage risks altering the foundation of the cultural landscape. Buildings, despite being marked with Blue Shield protections, have not been spared. The rubble left is not only remains of architecture, but the remnants of love, care, labour, and identity embedded within them.
If these attacks continue, Iran’s precious architectural history will find itself reduced to plumes of smoke and dust encroaching over the city. Cultural landmarks should be treasured, not treated as disposable goods allowed to survive only in photographs or memory; mementos of a nation destined to fade and fragment with time.
Iran risks becoming a place where souvenirs are no longer objects to remember by, but remnants of survival: a broken tile, or mosaic, gravestones of a nation shaped by loss rather than its rich and vibrant history.
