MINAB, Iran - More than two months after a deadly U.S. strike on an elementary school in southern Iran, grieving families have expressed rage at what appears to have been a strike by the U.S. military.
Nearby, scorched walls, twisted desks and children's belongings half-buried in rubble stand as stark reminders of a tragedy that killed 155 people, including at least 120 children, while young survivors continue to endure severe burns, amputations and deep psychological trauma.
Kyodo News on Wednesday became the first major overseas media organization granted access to the devastated Shajareh Tayyebeh Elementary School in Minab, which stood roofless, shattered and damaged beyond recognition.
Kyodo's Tehran bureau was granted permission for coverage in late April, as required for reporting by international media in rural regions in Iran, and conducted interviews on location in the Minab region on May 6. There were no moves by Iranian authorities to limit coverage or intervene.
The site remained silent and deserted, with countless photographs of the deceased, tied to a memorial for the victims, fluttering in the wind.
Among those who lost their children was Abutaleb Makkizadeh, whose 9-year-old daughter Zeynab was killed in the Feb. 28 strike.
On the day of the tragedy, the 47-year-old had left his home in the morning to go to a bank.
At around 11:20 a.m., he was rattled by the sound of a massive explosion and a tremor that "shook the entire city," before learning in a phone call from his wife, Tayyebeh Haghdoost, 43, that their daughter's school had been targeted in an attack.
Makkizadeh quickly made his way to the site and was met with devastation -- pools of blood, body parts believed to be those of the pupils scattered everywhere and parents screaming for their children.
Despite joining an overnight search with emergency personnel, Makkizadeh was unable to find his daughter.
He received confirmation of her death the next day when he received a phone call from a family member who was at a hospital with Haghdoost to identify a body.
He could hear Haghdoost's voice on the other side, pleading to be allowed to hold their daughter -- a spirited girl who loved skating and cycling and had installed exercise equipment at home, and who dreamed of becoming a dentist.
Haghdoost said she had to inspect body bags one by one in search of her daughter, confronting the shattered remains of many small children. "I recognized my daughter by the color of the school uniform I had sewn for her," she said. "Her face had changed."
"How can we forgive the United States? We had every right to see our daughter grow up happy," Makkizadeh said in anger.
Haghdoost added, "Trump stole her from us, a child who knew nothing about nuclear negotiations or war."
Iranian state television initially reported 168 casualties in the attack on the school, but the number was later revised down to 155 by judicial authorities. Confirmed fatalities included 73 boys and 47 girls, as well as teachers. One boy remains missing.
On March 13, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth told reporters that the Pentagon would take as much time as necessary to investigate the incident amid reports by U.S. media that the school was erroneously targeted based on outdated maps.
But the Pentagon has yet to release any information gathered from its analysis, while UNESCO, Human Rights Watch and other organizations have called the action a violation of humanitarian law.
Hoda Soltani, an 11-year-old girl who was trapped under the debris for hours, was among the survivors. She suffered a compression fracture of the chest as well as burns across her body, but regained her mobility after a month in hospital.
"I'm not in pain anymore, but everything itches," she said, revealing the keloids on her hands. Her 8-year-old younger brother, Ahmad, and 8-year-old cousin Mohammad Shahdoosti were killed in the strike.
Although Soltani puts on a brave face in front of her family, her mother confessed that she sometimes suddenly breaks into tears.
"The United States dropped a bomb on my school. They killed my brother and friends," Soltani said.
Homa Shahdoosti, 38, Hoda's mother, who also lost her 8-year-old son in the strike, said she ran barefoot toward the school after hearing it had been hit, only to be met by a horrifying scene of children's body parts scattered across the grounds.
"The school was on fire and covered in smoke," she said. "I tried to move the rubble with my bare hands to find my daughter and my son, but the stones were too heavy. I was in shock."
She found no trace of her children at the site -- only Hoda's schoolbag in the hands of a rescue worker.
"I asked him, 'Where is Hoda?'" Homa recalled. "He said, 'I don't know -- maybe the hospital.'"
She rushed to a hospital in Minab, where the dead and wounded had been taken. Inside an intensive care unit, she saw a child wrapped in bandages from head to toe, but did not realize it was her daughter.
"Her hair had been shaved, her body was burned, and she was completely covered in bandages," Homa said. "I looked at her twice, but I could not recognize her -- until later that night, when she opened her eyes and told the nurses, 'I'm Hoda, fifth grade.'"
More than two months later, children in Minab are still counted in two places -- among rows of small graves and among the living who survived carrying scars -- while at dusk, the cemetery fills with the quiet cries of parents whispering to the dead, "Wake up, my baby. You deserved life, not death."
