Iran’s streets have filled with protests in recent weeks over economic pressures and political grievances.
Security forces have responded with force, according to human rights organisations monitoring the situation. From abroad, Donald Trump warned Tehran and stated the United States was considering its options.
The exchange revived older fears that Iran’s cultural landmarks could once more become bargaining chips in a wider confrontation. For a country holding one of the world’s richest archaeological landscapes, the dual pressure creates an uncomfortable precedent.
Warnings From Washington and Tehran
Trump has a record of including culture in his threats. In January 2020, following the killing of Iranian General Qassem Soleimani, he wrote that the United States had identified 52 Iranian targets, “some at a very high level and important to Iran & the Iranian culture,” if Tehran struck American assets.
Legal experts pointed out that attacking cultural sites would breach the 1954 Hague Convention for the protection of cultural property. On 9 January 2026, Trump told reporters the U.S. was “locked and loaded” regarding Iran, and the Wall Street Journal reported he was briefed on options including military strikes.
Inside Iran, officials often speak of protecting “public property” during unrest. Security bodies frame protests as foreign-backed plots and promise to defend state and religious sites. Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei stated on 3 January that order must be maintained.
In practice, both types of rhetoric place monuments, mosques and museums in the line of argument, even before they face physical danger.
A Landscape of Vulnerable Treasures
Iran holds 28 sites on the UNESCO World Heritage List as of 2025.
Persepolis, the ceremonial capital of the Achaemenid Empire built around 515 BCE, draws visitors from across Europe and the Middle East. Pasargadae contains the tomb of Cyrus the Great. Isfahan’s Naqsh-e Jahan Square, constructed between 1598 and 1629, remains one of the largest public squares in the world.
The Tabriz Historic Bazaar Complex, dating to the Silk Road era, still functions as a commercial centre. The Armenian Monastic Ensembles of Iran, inscribed in 2008, represent centuries of Christian presence in the region. Takht-e Soleyman, with its Zoroastrian fire temple and Sasanian palace, speaks to pre-Islamic traditions.
These places sit inside a heavily securitised state. When protests or regional tensions rise, access can shrink overnight. For many Iranians, cultural sites are woven into daily life: a square used for evening walks, a shrine visited with family, a caravanserai turned into a modern bazaar. Protecting them means keeping shared public space open in hard times.
Lessons from Mosul, Palmyra and Beyond
The past decade has shown how quickly cultural loss can follow political collapse.
In 2015, Islamic State fighters destroyed parts of Palmyra in Syria, blowing up the Temple of Bel and the Arch of Triumph, structures that had stood for nearly 2,000 years. They filmed themselves smashing statues in Mosul’s museum in Iraq, calling them idols.
The Mosul museum held Assyrian reliefs, Parthian statues and Islamic manuscripts. Much of it turned to rubble in minutes. UNESCO estimated that IS looted or destroyed around 10,000 artefacts across Iraq and Syria between 2014 and 2017.
Elsewhere, looters emptied archaeological stores during moments of chaos. Cairo’s Egyptian Museum was broken into during the 2011 uprising, with around 50 objects stolen or damaged. Tripoli’s archaeological sites suffered looting in 2014 as rival militias fought for control. Each case began with unrest that was not mainly about culture at all.
These examples matter for Iran. They show that once a security crisis starts, it becomes difficult to separate the defence of people from the defence of places. Both need planning long before the first slogan or threat.
The Hague Convention and Its Limits
International law already offers some tools.
The 1954 Hague Convention and its protocols call on states to mark and register important sites, train military units and avoid using monuments for military purposes. Iran ratified this framework in 1959 and often promotes itself as a careful guardian of ancient remains.
Yet the Convention struggles when threats come from multiple directions. External military strikes, internal security operations and opportunistic looting during chaos all pose different risks that require different responses. A site marked with the Blue Shield—the cultural equivalent of the Red Cross—may deter one type of attack but not another.
Syria demonstrated this complexity. The Syrian government, opposition groups, foreign militaries and extremist factions all operated near heritage sites at various points. Each claimed to protect culture whilst accusing others of endangering it. The result was widespread damage regardless of intent.
What European Institutions Can Do
European museums and universities already cooperate with Iranian partners on conservation and digital recording.
The British Museum, the Louvre and German archaeological institutes have worked on joint projects at sites like Persepolis and Susa. Expanding that work, and sharing secure copies of site records, can reduce the risk that knowledge disappears even if buildings suffer.
After the destruction in Mosul, UNESCO and partner organisations used 3D scans and photographs to create digital reconstructions. The Arch of Triumph in Palmyra was recreated using similar methods. These projects cannot replace original structures, but they preserve memory and allow future restoration.
For Iran, such cooperation faces political obstacles. Western sanctions complicate funding and equipment transfers. Trust between governments remains low. Nevertheless, cultural diplomacy has sometimes survived when other channels close. Keeping those links open matters now more than during calmer periods.
People First, Then Stones
For people living in Iran, the first demand is simple: safety and the ability to voice grievances without facing violence. Protecting art and archaeology sits beside that, not above it. This hierarchy matters because it clarifies priorities when choices must be made under pressure.
Cultural sites become more vulnerable when civilians cannot move freely, when hospitals and schools are damaged, and when basic infrastructure breaks down. Stabilising daily life is the best protection for monuments, even if it does not appear in heritage guidelines.
At the same time, loss of cultural landmarks compounds human suffering. They are not luxuries to protect after everyone is safe; they are part of what makes safety meaningful. The squares, shrines and bazaars shape identity and memory. Losing them changes communities in ways that outlast immediate crises.
Threats Without Hierarchy
The current situation places Iranian heritage under pressure from external threats, internal security operations and the general chaos that follows when order breaks down. Each source of danger demands different responses, yet they interact in unpredictable ways.
Trump’s rhetoric about military strikes, even if never acted upon, shifts how Iranian authorities think about protecting sites. Security forces operating during protests, even if their stated goal is maintaining order, can damage structures through heavy-handed tactics. Opportunists who exploit confusion to loot or vandalise need no ideology beyond profit.
Keeping cultural treasures safe in this environment requires more than slogans about civilisation, whether shouted in Persian or English. It means treating them as part of civilian life, not as symbols to wave in a political contest. It means recognising that the best defence is a society stable enough that people can visit a historic square without fear, not one where armed guards surround every monument.
Iran’s heritage does not belong only to Iranians. Persepolis and Pasargadae, the Armenian monasteries and the Zoroastrian temples, are part of shared human history. That truth creates both responsibility and complication.
Everyone has a stake in their survival, yet no one outside Iran can protect them when internal and external pressures converge. What remains is the hope that all parties, however little they agree on, might at least agree that some things should not be bargaining chips.
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