Civilian harm in Iran and the test of International law
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Dipak Kurmi
They must have had nicknames whispered by parents and teachers, favourite foods that made them smile after a long day at school, and songs they hummed imperfectly without ever remembering all the words. They must have been put to sleep with lullabies and bedtime stories invented on the spot by loving voices. Yet those ordinary details of childhood now belong to memory alone. Their small bodies lie buried beneath rows of fresh earth after a targeted bombing of an Iranian school carried out in a military operation attributed to Israel and the United States. The images of children killed in this strike circulate across screens around the world, only to be followed by the familiar pattern of public reaction. There is grief first, then outrage, and soon after a numbing silence as the global news cycle moves on. But if grief is genuine, it must become something firmer than tears. It must become a sustained moral and legal interrogation of the world that allowed such an act to occur.
Each time children die in armed conflict, whether in Iran, Gaza, or any other troubled region, the same haunting questions return. What does it mean for a global order that claims to be governed by law ? Modern international law is not silent on the protection of children in war; in fact, it speaks with remarkable clarity and emphasis. The Geneva Conventions and their Additional Protocols established foundational principles of international humanitarian law, most notably the principles of distinction and proportionality. Distinction requires that combatants differentiate between military targets and civilians. Proportionality forbids attacks in which the expected civilian harm would be excessive in relation to the anticipated military advantage. These rules also obligate all parties in a conflict to take feasible precautions to minimise civilian casualties. Children, by definition, fall squarely within the category of protected civilians. Their presence in a school building should be among the clearest signals that a site is not a legitimate military target.
The legal protection afforded to children extends even further. The Convention on the Rights of the Child recognises children not merely as dependents but as individuals possessing rights that States are obligated to respect. Even in the midst of war, Governments must ensure that international humanitarian law applicable to children is upheld and that special measures are taken to guarantee their safety and care. This framework is reinforced by the Rome Statute, the treaty that established the International Criminal Court. Under its provisions, the intentional targeting of civilians and attacks directed against buildings dedicated to education constitute war crimes. The Rome Statute moves beyond abstract declarations of State responsibility by establishing the possibility of individual criminal liability for commanders and political leaders who authorise or carry out such acts.
On paper, therefore, the legal architecture appears robust and morally compelling. The rules exist, the conventions are widely recognised, and international Courts have been created to enforce accountability. Yet law alone cannot function without acceptance and political will. International humanitarian law rests upon a fundamental moral assumption that even in war there must be limits. These limits are the product of a long civilisational struggle to restrain violence and prevent conflict from descending into complete barbarism. The protection of children stands at the centre of this moral vision. Children represent the future of every society, the promise of continuity and renewal. To harm them is not merely to violate a legal rule but to undermine the ethical foundations upon which those rules were built.
Despite this legal and moral clarity, the world is confronted with a recurring and disturbing pattern. Schools, hospitals, residential neighbourhoods, and refugee shelters are repeatedly struck in modern warfare. The justifications offered afterward often follow a predictable script. Governments speak cautiously of “concerns” or call for restraint on all sides while avoiding direct condemnation. Diplomatic language is carefully calibrated to preserve alliances and strategic partnerships. Leaders shake hands with those who authorised the attacks and later speak solemnly to their own citizens about values, international order, and respect for law. This selective rhetoric represents a form of political cowardice that disguises itself as diplomatic prudence. Meanwhile, the graves of children continue to be dug in silence.
The persistence of such tragedies also reflects deeper debates within international relations theory. Realist thinkers have long argued that states operate primarily according to calculations of power and survival. From this perspective, moral rules and legal constraints are secondary to national interests. Civilian casualties, including those of children, become tragic but predictable byproducts of military operations. In the harsh logic of strategic competition, military advantage often outweighs humanitarian considerations. Critics of international law frequently point to this reality and argue that expecting legal rules to restrain powerful states is an exercise in idealism.
Yet other schools of thought offer a more hopeful interpretation. Liberal institutionalism suggests that international norms and institutions, even when imperfectly enforced, shape the behaviour of states over time. The existence of conventions, courts, and monitoring mechanisms creates expectations of conduct and generates reputational consequences for those who violate them. Civil society organisations, human rights advocates, and investigative journalists play an essential role in this process. By documenting violations, publicising evidence, and demanding accountability, they contribute to a gradual internalisation of humanitarian standards. Even the most powerful governments feel compelled to justify their actions in the language of law. This need for justification itself reveals the continuing moral authority of international humanitarian norms.
Indeed, modern warfare is almost always accompanied by legal arguments crafted by government lawyers and military advisers. Military operations are publicly defended through complex discussions of proportionality, necessity, and permissible targets. Experts debate whether a particular strike met the required legal thresholds or whether commanders exercised sufficient caution. While these debates do not always produce justice for the victims, they demonstrate that the legal framework still exerts a powerful influence over public discourse. The language of humanitarian law has become the vocabulary through which the legitimacy of war is assessed.
However, the credibility of this system has been severely damaged in recent years. Many observers argue that Western powers have undermined their own moral authority by practising selective enforcement of humanitarian principles. Certain conflicts are scrutinised intensely, while others are shielded by geopolitical alliances. When international law is applied unevenly, it begins to resemble a political instrument rather than a universal standard. The perception of double standards erodes trust in global institutions and fuels the belief that powerful states operate beyond accountability. In such circumstances, the promise of a rules-based international order appears increasingly fragile.
The protection of children in armed conflict therefore serves as a crucial test for the legitimacy of the international system itself. Law alone cannot transform geopolitics or eliminate war. Yet it provides a moral framework within which actions are judged and boundaries are established. The attack on a school in Iran, resulting in the deaths of children who had no connection to military operations, suggests that these boundaries are often treated as optional rather than binding. When the killing of children becomes a calculated risk within military planning, the distinction between lawful warfare and indiscriminate violence begins to collapse.
The international system does not need to become utopian in order to remain ethical. It requires only consistency and the recognition that certain values must remain non-negotiable. Among these values, the protection of children occupies a unique and sacred position. The question facing the global community today is not whether humanitarian law is flawed but whether governments possess the courage to apply it impartially. If the law is invoked only when convenient and ignored when politically inconvenient, its authority will gradually disappear.
History will eventually record the moral choices made in moments like this. It will remember which governments spoke clearly and which preferred ambiguity. It will remember those who recognised injustice yet remained silent because trade agreements, diplomatic alliances, or strategic calculations seemed more pressing than the lives of children. The children who died in that Iranian school cannot wait for history’s judgment. Their deaths demand a response in the present.
The world’s leaders must therefore move beyond cautious diplomatic language and confront the reality before them. International humanitarian law was written precisely for moments when war threatens to erase the boundaries of human decency. Its principles represent the collective effort of humanity to impose limits on violence and to protect those who cannot protect themselves. For all its imperfections, it remains the only shared moral language that nations have created to regulate war. If that language is abandoned now, the cost will be measured not only in legal credibility but in the lives of the most vulnerable among us.
The writer can be reached at [email protected]
They must have had nicknames whispered by parents and teachers, favourite foods that made them smile after a long day at school, and songs they hummed imperfectly without ever remembering all the words. They must have been put to sleep with lullabies and bedtime stories invented on the spot by loving voices. Yet those ordinary details of childhood now belong to memory alone. Their small bodies lie buried beneath rows of fresh earth after a targeted bombing of an Iranian school carried out in a military operation attributed to Israel and the United States. The images of children killed in this strike circulate across screens around the world, only to be followed by the familiar pattern of public reaction. There is grief first, then outrage, and soon after a numbing silence as the global news cycle moves on. But if grief is genuine, it must become something firmer than tears. It must become a sustained moral and legal interrogation of the world that allowed such an act to occur.
Each time children die in armed conflict, whether in Iran, Gaza, or any other troubled region, the same haunting questions return. What does it mean for a global order that claims to be governed by law ? Modern international law is not silent on the protection of children in war; in fact, it speaks with remarkable clarity and emphasis. The Geneva Conventions and their Additional Protocols established foundational principles of international humanitarian law, most notably the principles of distinction and proportionality. Distinction requires that combatants differentiate between military targets and civilians. Proportionality forbids attacks in which the expected civilian harm would be excessive in relation to the anticipated military advantage. These rules also obligate all parties in a conflict to take feasible precautions to minimise civilian casualties. Children, by definition, fall squarely within the category of protected civilians. Their presence in a school building should be among the clearest signals that a site is not a legitimate military target.
The legal protection afforded to children extends even further. The Convention on the Rights of the Child recognises children not merely as dependents but as individuals possessing rights that States are obligated to respect. Even in the midst of war, Governments must ensure that international humanitarian law applicable to children is upheld and that special measures are taken to guarantee their safety and care. This framework is reinforced by the Rome Statute, the treaty that established the International Criminal Court. Under its provisions, the intentional targeting of civilians and attacks directed against buildings dedicated to education constitute war crimes. The Rome Statute moves beyond abstract declarations of State responsibility by establishing the possibility of individual criminal liability for commanders and political leaders who authorise or carry out such acts.
On paper, therefore, the legal architecture appears robust and morally compelling. The rules exist, the conventions are widely recognised, and international Courts have been created to enforce accountability. Yet law alone cannot function without acceptance and political will. International humanitarian law rests upon a fundamental moral assumption that even in war there must be limits. These limits are the product of a long civilisational struggle to restrain violence and prevent conflict from descending into complete barbarism. The protection of children stands at the centre of this moral vision. Children represent the future of every society, the promise of continuity and renewal. To harm them is not merely to violate a legal rule but to undermine the ethical foundations upon which those rules were built.
Despite this legal and moral clarity, the world is confronted with a recurring and disturbing pattern. Schools, hospitals, residential neighbourhoods, and refugee shelters are repeatedly struck in modern warfare. The justifications offered afterward often follow a predictable script. Governments speak cautiously of “concerns” or call for restraint on all sides while avoiding direct condemnation. Diplomatic language is carefully calibrated to preserve alliances and strategic partnerships. Leaders shake hands with those who authorised the attacks and later speak solemnly to their own citizens about values, international order, and respect for law. This selective rhetoric represents a form of political cowardice that disguises itself as diplomatic prudence. Meanwhile, the graves of children continue to be dug in silence.
The persistence of such tragedies also reflects deeper debates within international relations theory. Realist thinkers have long argued that states operate primarily according to calculations of power and survival. From this perspective, moral rules and legal constraints are secondary to national interests. Civilian casualties, including those of children, become tragic but predictable byproducts of military operations. In the harsh logic of strategic competition, military advantage often outweighs humanitarian considerations. Critics of international law frequently point to this reality and argue that expecting legal rules to restrain powerful states is an exercise in idealism.
Yet other schools of thought offer a more hopeful interpretation. Liberal institutionalism suggests that international norms and institutions, even when imperfectly enforced, shape the behaviour of states over time. The existence of conventions, courts, and monitoring mechanisms creates expectations of conduct and generates reputational consequences for those who violate them. Civil society organisations, human rights advocates, and investigative journalists play an essential role in this process. By documenting violations, publicising evidence, and demanding accountability, they contribute to a gradual internalisation of humanitarian standards. Even the most powerful governments feel compelled to justify their actions in the language of law. This need for justification itself reveals the continuing moral authority of international humanitarian norms.
Indeed, modern warfare is almost always accompanied by legal arguments crafted by government lawyers and military advisers. Military operations are publicly defended through complex discussions of proportionality, necessity, and permissible targets. Experts debate whether a particular strike met the required legal thresholds or whether commanders exercised sufficient caution. While these debates do not always produce justice for the victims, they demonstrate that the legal framework still exerts a powerful influence over public discourse. The language of humanitarian law has become the vocabulary through which the legitimacy of war is assessed.
However, the credibility of this system has been severely damaged in recent years. Many observers argue that Western powers have undermined their own moral authority by practising selective enforcement of humanitarian principles. Certain conflicts are scrutinised intensely, while others are shielded by geopolitical alliances. When international law is applied unevenly, it begins to resemble a political instrument rather than a universal standard. The perception of double standards erodes trust in global institutions and fuels the belief that powerful states operate beyond accountability. In such circumstances, the promise of a rules-based international order appears increasingly fragile.
The protection of children in armed conflict therefore serves as a crucial test for the legitimacy of the international system itself. Law alone cannot transform geopolitics or eliminate war. Yet it provides a moral framework within which actions are judged and boundaries are established. The attack on a school in Iran, resulting in the deaths of children who had no connection to military operations, suggests that these boundaries are often treated as optional rather than binding. When the killing of children becomes a calculated risk within military planning, the distinction between lawful warfare and indiscriminate violence begins to collapse.
The international system does not need to become utopian in order to remain ethical. It requires only consistency and the recognition that certain values must remain non-negotiable. Among these values, the protection of children occupies a unique and sacred position. The question facing the global community today is not whether humanitarian law is flawed but whether governments possess the courage to apply it impartially. If the law is invoked only when convenient and ignored when politically inconvenient, its authority will gradually disappear.
History will eventually record the moral choices made in moments like this. It will remember which governments spoke clearly and which preferred ambiguity. It will remember those who recognised injustice yet remained silent because trade agreements, diplomatic alliances, or strategic calculations seemed more pressing than the lives of children. The children who died in that Iranian school cannot wait for history’s judgment. Their deaths demand a response in the present.
The world’s leaders must therefore move beyond cautious diplomatic language and confront the reality before them. International humanitarian law was written precisely for moments when war threatens to erase the boundaries of human decency. Its principles represent the collective effort of humanity to impose limits on violence and to protect those who cannot protect themselves. For all its imperfections, it remains the only shared moral language that nations have created to regulate war. If that language is abandoned now, the cost will be measured not only in legal credibility but in the lives of the most vulnerable among us.
The writer can be reached at [email protected]