Recovery and Uncertainty: Reflections from a Journey Through Iran

From Our Correspondent

Editor’s Note: This blog was written before the recent wave of attacks and counterattacks by Iran and Israel began on June 7, 2026.

Iran is currently experiencing a wet year - what scientists describe as a pluvial period - after almost a decade of drought. Lake Urmia, once reduced to a fraction of its former size, is rippling once again. During wetter years, the lake’s surface area covered between 5,000 and 6,000 square kilometres. Although recent reports estimate it at about 3,160 square kilometres, the expanse of water is now large enough to float boats, rafts, and small yachts. Residents and a modest wave of domestic tourists have returned, and dozens of love songs celebrating the Azerbaijani Turkish language are being shared across Instagram.

Similarly, the Karaj Dam west of Tehran, the principal water source for the province, is showing signs of recovery. While it remains about 28 percent below full capacity, its storage level has reached 72 percent, holding 130 million cubic metres of water in reserve - a 75 percent increase compared to the same time last year.

However, this encouraging environmental news is overshadowed by other developments. I recently saw a report on a Turkish television channel about an oil pollution incident unfolding near Shidvar Island - an uninhabited protected wildlife refuge in the Persian Gulf, located east of Lavan Island in Hormozgan Province.

Seeking insight, I telephoned an environmental expert, whose identity I must withhold for safety reasons. I asked him how the oil spills resulting from recent attacks on tankers whether attributed to Iran, the United States, or the Houthis - compare to the deliberate firing of Kuwaiti oil wells during the 1991 Gulf War in terms of scale and international concern.

“Nature possesses its own quiet army of restoration,” he replied. “Oil-degrading bacteria in the Persian Gulf have been working for decades to repair the damage left by human conflict. Following the 1991 Gulf War, they helped cleanse waters contaminated by vast quantities of oil, and they continue their work today. We owe a measure of respect to these unseen organisms, which tirelessly repair wounds inflicted by human actions. Alongside them, phytoplankton and zooplankton drifting across the world’s oceans sustain the cycles of life and support the recovery of ecosystems after disasters. Together, these microscopic forms of life remind us that nature often carries within itself the means to heal the scars of war.”

I then asked how Iran, regardless of its political system, should manage this wetter climatic cycle to sustainably restore ecosystems in a largely arid country.

“To make better use of increased rainfall, we need to reduce the runoff coefficient and expand wetlands and watershed management wherever possible,” he explained. “The more we increase water infiltration through these projects and encourage subsequent vegetation growth, the more effectively we will replenish underground water reserves for future generations.”

With these thoughts in mind, I set off on a train bound for Sari, the capital of Mazandaran Province, hoping to find fresh air and greenery amid Tehran’s broken clouds and intermittent rain. Along the route, the train passed beneath the Veresk Bridge, a remarkable engineering landmark built more than eighty years ago.

My compartment companion was an engineer who owned a factory in Ahvaz that manufactured overhead cranes, slug catchers for oil fields, steel structures, and industrial production lines. For the past year, however, he had halted production entirely, surviving only by selling raw materials stored in his warehouses. He had laid off all his workers, keeping only a three-shift security team to protect the facility.

“Was your factory damaged during the war?” I asked.

“Not directly,” he replied. “But a nearby garrison was hit, and its missile launchers and drone storage facilities were destroyed. Now, they keep their remaining drones and launchers under camouflage.”

“So they might be targeted again?”

“Possibly. The launcher operators now park their personal cars in my factory yard, next to the warehouses. If I didn’t allow them to do so, they might just park the launchers themselves inside my raw-material warehouses, as they’ve done elsewhere. That is precisely why some civilian factories were struck during the war.”

“So you can’t really refuse. Your choice is between hosting their cars or hosting their launchers?”

“Exactly,” he nodded. “Look around this very train heading north. You will struggle to find anyone openly defending the theocratic system. Yet, after dark, pro-government gatherings still appear in the squares of northern cities. Why? Because the ruling establishment still has the upper hand when it comes to organizing and mobilizing its supporters. As for manufacturers like me, we have completely stopped producing. Until further notice, we have become middlemen and traders in raw materials rather than industrial producers.”

His bleak assessment of the country’s paralyzed industry was underscored almost immediately. Just after midnight on Saturday, news broke that military attacks had been carried out on the ports of Qeshm, Khark, and Sirik. In swift retaliation, the IRGC launched strikes against Kuwait, Bahrain, and several other locations. The quiet resilience of nature may be hard at work, but the cycle of human conflict is clearly far from over.