If God wills it, other weapons will be incorporated into the training
Em meio a negociações diplomáticas que se desfazem e a memória de um líder morto em combate, o governo iraniano convoca seus cidadãos — homens, mulheres e crianças — para aprender a empunhar fuzis nas praças públicas de Teerã. O que a televisão estatal transmite ao vivo não é ficção: é a transformação sistemática de uma população civil em força de reserva ideológica e militar. Quando o luto se converte em treinamento e a espiritualidade se funde com a mecânica das armas, uma sociedade revela até onde está disposta a ir — e o mundo é obrigado a perguntar para onde isso conduz.
- A morte do aiatolá Khamenei em fevereiro não encerrou o conflito — ela o internalizou, transformando o luto coletivo em combustível para uma mobilização civil sem precedentes.
- Nas praças centrais de Teerã, guardas revolucionários ensinam civis sem qualquer formação militar a montar, desmontar e disparar fuzis Kalashnikov, com filas voluntárias que incluem mães e seus filhos.
- A linguagem oficial não disfarça o objetivo: 'cultura do martírio', 'vingar o sangue do líder' — o treinamento é ao mesmo tempo prático e doutrinário, fundindo preparo bélico com imperativo religioso.
- No front diplomático, as negociações entre Irã e Estados Unidos estagnaram desde abril; Trump cancelou um ataque no último momento, mas reservou o direito de retomá-lo, enquanto Vance admite que o plano alternativo é reiniciar a campanha militar.
- O programa de treinamento está em expansão — oficiais já sinalizam que outras armas serão incorporadas — enquanto civis comuns declaram, com serenidade perturbadora, que usarão o que aprenderam se receberem ordens.
Na televisão estatal iraniana, uma apresentadora disparou um fuzil ao vivo dentro do estúdio. Não era encenação. Era uma demonstração de como manusear um Kalashnikov — transmitida a uma nação sendo sistematicamente preparada para a guerra.
Por mais de duas semanas, o governo iraniano vinha instalando oficinas de treinamento em praças públicas de Teerã. Na Praça Haft-e Tir, no coração da capital, um oficial da Guarda Revolucionária dedicava quase meia hora a ensinar fundamentos: tipos de munição, montagem e desmontagem de fuzis de assalto. Homens e mulheres compareciam voluntariamente. O oficial Nasser Sadeghi descreveu o comparecimento como extraordinário — e o que mais o impressionava não era o número, mas o comprometimento.
O objetivo declarado era preparar civis para uma eventual retomada dos combates contra Israel e os Estados Unidos. Mas a linguagem usada ia além do pragmático: Sadeghi falava em promover uma 'cultura do martírio' e em vingar o sangue de Ali Khamenei, o Líder Supremo morto nos primeiros ataques americanos e israelenses em 28 de fevereiro — os mesmos que deflagraram a guerra. O treinamento, nesse enquadramento, era ao mesmo tempo prático, ideológico e espiritual.
Entre os participantes, nenhum tinha formação militar. Fardin Abbasi, funcionário público de quarenta anos, falou sobre o dia em que poderia usar o fuzil contra uma agressão inimiga — não como hipótese distante, mas como expectativa concreta. Fatemeh Hossein-Kalantar, de quarenta e sete anos, levou os filhos para assistir e aprender, declarando que aguardavam ordens para ir ao combate. Uma mãe de trinta e nove anos, sem nome citado, foi direta: nas circunstâncias impostas pelos Estados Unidos — que não poupam mulheres, crianças nem idosos —, aprender a atirar havia se tornado um dever.
No plano diplomático, o cenário era igualmente tenso. As negociações diretas realizadas em Islamabad em abril fracassaram. Trump anunciou ter cancelado um ataque ao Irã no último momento, mas manteve a ameaça de retomá-lo. O vice-presidente Vance disse que as conversas avançavam, mas deixou claro que o plano alternativo era reiniciar a campanha militar. A janela diplomática permanecia aberta — mas estreitava-se. E nas praças de Teerã, civis continuavam aprendendo a carregar e disparar.
On Iranian state television, a presenter fired a rifle inside the studio. It was not theater or simulation—it was a live demonstration of how to handle a Kalashnikov, broadcast to a nation being systematically prepared for war. The shot echoed through the broadcast as part of a larger initiative by the Iranian government to teach its citizens, men and women alike, the mechanics of armed combat.
This was not an isolated moment. Across Tehran, in public squares and gathering places, the government had established training workshops with a single purpose: to ready the civilian population for the possibility of renewed fighting against Israel and the United States. In Haft-e Tir Square, in the heart of the capital, a member of the Revolutionary Guard spent nearly thirty minutes walking through the fundamentals. He showed different types of ammunition. He demonstrated, with the aid of explanatory panels, how to assemble and disassemble an assault rifle. People watched. They asked questions. They volunteered to learn.
The workshops had been running for just over two weeks when the television broadcast occurred. Nasser Sadeghi, a Revolutionary Guard officer stationed at Haft-e Tir Square, spoke to the cameras about the response. Both men and women were showing up, he said. The participation was entirely voluntary. The turnout, he insisted, was extraordinary. What struck him most was not the numbers but the commitment—the sense that people understood what was being asked of them and why.
The stated objective was unambiguous: to prepare civilians for an eventual resumption of hostilities. But the language used to frame it went deeper. Sadeghi spoke of promoting what he called a culture of martyrdom, of avenging the blood of their leader. He was referring to Ali Khamenei, the Supreme Leader of Iran, who had been killed in the first American and Israeli strikes on February 28th—strikes that had ignited the war itself. The training, in this framing, was not merely practical. It was ideological. It was spiritual. It was a form of collective mourning transformed into collective preparation.
For now, the workshops focused on Kalashnikov rifles. But Sadeghi made clear this was only the beginning. If God willed it, he said, other weapons would be incorporated into the training as authorities deemed appropriate. The implication was that this was a program in expansion, not conclusion.
Among those attending were people with no military background whatsoever. Fardin Abbasi, a forty-year-old civil servant, participated in one of the courses. When asked about the purpose, he spoke of a day when he might use the rifle against enemy aggression—a conditional statement that carried the weight of genuine expectation. Fatemeh Hossein-Kalantar, forty-seven years old, brought her children to watch and learn. She spoke of waiting for orders from their guide, their most beloved leader, at which point they would go to combat. The hostilities, she believed, should continue until their leader's blood was legitimately avenged.
A thirty-nine-year-old mother, unnamed in the reporting, articulated the logic differently but arrived at the same conclusion. In the current circumstances imposed by the United States—circumstances that, she noted, spare neither women nor children nor the elderly—learning to shoot and handle a weapon had become a duty. If necessary, she said, they would use it. This was not bravado. This was a statement of readiness, of acceptance, of a population being woven into the machinery of potential conflict.
Meanwhile, the diplomatic track was deteriorating. Iran and the United States had conducted direct negotiations in Islamabad on April 11th, after a ceasefire took effect. The talks had failed. Since then, the two countries had exchanged proposals for a lasting agreement, but nothing had moved forward. Yesterday, President Donald Trump announced he had canceled a planned attack on Iran at the last minute, claiming Tehran was begging for a deal while reserving the right to strike again. Today, Vice President JD Vance told reporters that conversations were advancing, but he made clear that the American backup plan was to restart the military campaign. The window for diplomacy remained open, but it was narrowing. And in Tehran's squares, civilians were learning how to load and fire.
Citas Notables
The response of the population, both men and women, is extraordinary. Participation is entirely voluntary.— Nasser Sadeghi, Revolutionary Guard officer
Whenever our guide, the most beloved to us, gives the order, we will go to combat.— Fatemeh Hossein-Kalantar, 47-year-old workshop participant
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why would a government broadcast something like this? What's the strategic purpose of showing civilians learning to shoot on state television?
It's not really about the tactical training—most of these people will never fire a shot in combat. It's about signaling resolve. It's about telling your own population, and the world watching, that you're serious. That you've moved past diplomacy into preparation.
But doesn't that make negotiations harder? If you're publicly arming your civilians, doesn't that close off the diplomatic exit?
Exactly. It does. Which suggests they may not believe an exit exists anymore. Or they're trying to make one impossible, to force their own hand.
The language about martyrdom and avenging their leader—that's not just military training language, is it?
No. It's religious and political. It's saying this isn't just defense. It's saying this is sacred. That changes what people are willing to do, and what they're willing to sacrifice.
Women and children are in these workshops. Are they expected to actually fight?
Some may. But more importantly, they're being incorporated into the narrative. They're being told they have a role. That matters psychologically, whether or not they ever see combat.
What happens if the negotiations suddenly succeed?
Then you have a population that's been told for weeks that war is coming, that it's their duty, that it's sacred. You have to convince them to stand down. That's its own kind of difficult.