Original subtitles

This programme contains some scenes

which some viewers may find upsetting.

Hello and welcome to Global Eye.

Every week, we bring you the very best of the BBC World Service,

from ground-breaking investigations

to remarkable stories of hope and resilience.

I'm Nawal Al-Maghafi, and this week we're in Iran.

It's a conflict that has sent shock waves across the Middle East

and the global economy, with deadly attacks from both sides,

but there's still no sign of a lasting peace deal in sight.

Has this war weakened or empowered the regime?

And how are people here feeling about their future?

And later in the programme, we'll be heading to Balochistan,

where the knock-on effects of the war in Iran

have given new life to an old smuggling route.

BBC Eye has gained exclusive access to bike riders

who risk their safety to carry flammable fuel

on the long and highly dangerous journey

across Pakistan's poorest province.

This is Minab in southern Iran.

It was here, during the opening salvos of the war,

that, according to multiple independent investigations,

a missile strike killed 156 people, including 120 children.

The US government hasn't accepted responsibility

and says it's still investigating the incident,

but it was one of a series of seismic events

that would shape the conflict's opening days.

The deaths of Iran's Supreme Leader, Ali Khamenei,

and its security chief, Ali Larijani,

deprived the regime of two of its most powerful men.

Yet, months later, it remains firmly in power.

I've travelled across the country to see how it emerged from this war

and how that has affected its people.

We're starting a 25-hour rail journey through Iran.

The route cuts through some of Iran's most strategic landscape,

from Tehran, via nuclear sites Natanz and Fordow,

to Bandar Abbas on the Strait of Hormuz.

On the train are people from every corner of Iranian society,

each with their own story.

Azadeh is a lawyer,

Sepideh a beautician.

They were cautious to speak to us in public,

but agreed to an interview in their cabin.

You know, we saw before this war a lot of young people,

a lot of people across Iran, go out and protest.

There were a lot of people that had hope

that this war would mean a big change would happen in Iran.

What do you think about that,

and how do you feel about how things have played out?

I'll start with Azadeh first. Have a think about it.

She doesn't want to answer.

She doesn't want to answer this? No. No, that's fine, that's fine.

Tensions are high, and talking about politics makes people nervous.

In January, years of crippling sanctions,

soaring inflation and anger at Iran's leadership

pushed people onto the streets.

Hundreds of thousands joined protests

demanding the regime's downfall.

Speaking out against the government can come at a heavy cost,

so we've gathered some anonymous testimony.

SHOUTING AND GUNFIRE

Then came a communication blackout across the country,

imposed by the regime.

Truckloads of bodies arrived to open-air morgues like this one.

The full death toll has never been independently verified.

Several thousand were killed and many more forcibly disappeared.

On February 28th, after weeks of threats,

the US and Israel launched a military campaign

and President Trump made this statement.

The United States military

is undertaking a massive and ongoing operation

to prevent this very wicked, radical dictatorship

from threatening America and our core national security interests.

He said Iran could never be allowed to obtain a nuclear weapon

and called on Iranians to seize the moment.

America is backing you with overwhelming strength

and devastating force.

Now is the time to seize control of your destiny

and to unleash the prosperous and glorious future

that is close within your reach.

Within 24 hours, Iran's Supreme Leader, Ali Khamenei,

was killed in a joint US-Israeli strike.

HE SOBS

A few doors down, a football team.

Aref and Abdollah are heading back home to Minab.

On the first day of the war, Abdollah's home town of Minab

became the scene of one of the conflict's defining tragedies.

Almost two hours away from the train station in Bandar Abbas is Minab,

known for its vast date palm groves,

which have sustained the small city for centuries.

Wherever you go, there are reminders of what this city has lost.

Pictures of the children killed in the attack are everywhere.

We're on our way to the Shajareh Tayyebeh school.

This attack has become the regime's case to the world -

their way of saying,

"This is the true cost of America and Israel's campaign on Iran."

Five months on,

and they're still searching for the remains of one young boy.

It looks like he wants to show me something.

Did you just get this from the rubble?

A student. Maya Salari.

He's just found a little girl's notebook in the rubble.

Salari? Maya Salari. Maya?

Her name is Maya Salari.

She was eight years old.

Her mother had just arrived to collect her and her brother, Ali.

He was in the first grade. They were all killed in the attack.

I meet one of the teachers, 33-year-old Amaineh Nademi.

She taught in the school for six years.

These hallways once echoed with the sound of children,

but now the classrooms have gone quiet.

Experts say the evidence indicates it was a US strike

that hit the top floor of the school that day,

collapsing the girls' classrooms into the boys'.

Independent investigations into the strike

also questioned whether the school was hit

because of its proximity to a site

used by Iran's Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps,

which is a major military, political and economic force in the country.

These are the faces of those killed in the attack.

Maykel, who was nine years old and in year three.

Fatemeh, who dreamed of becoming a doctor.

Samira was killed in the attack.

Her brother, Sadra Malahi, survived.

And this is seven-year-old Mahdis,

seen leaving for school with her father for the last time.

Reza was one of the first emergency responders at the scene.

I remember that I came here and saw one of my relatives.

He was begging, "Just find my child...

"..find my son." And it was very hard.

And I know that there is no-one alive.

And I couldn't tell her that your son is not alive and...

When I close my eyes, even nowadays,

I just remember these things that I have seen here.

It's very hard for me.

For many of those who welcomed foreign intervention,

Minab changed everything.

At the cemetery in Minab,

siblings growing up beside the graves of brothers and sisters

whose lives were cut short.

Masoumeh lost her nine-year-old daughter, Setayesh, in the attack.

Like many of the parents here,

her grief has become intertwined with anger.

Bandar Abbas and Minab are two places

that tell very different stories about this war.

Minab is shaping the government's narrative of this conflict.

But here is where it projects its power.

Bandar Abbas is the gateway to the Strait of Hormuz.

For months, this waterway has been a global bottleneck.

Iran hasn't sealed the strait entirely,

but by carrying out unpredictable attacks,

it's become too dangerous to cross without their permission.

We are right at the heart of the Strait of Hormuz,

and behind me is an international ship

that's been captured by the Iranians,

and there are many more that are waiting to get through.

It's easy to forget how vital what they're carrying is

for day-to-day life - things like fuel and fertiliser -

and when they're being held, prices go up for all of us.

In peacetime, more than 100 ships pass through these waters every day.

Now only a handful are willing to make the crossing.

Bandar Abbas is home to the conventional Navy

and the IRGC Navy, making it a key target.

Heavy strikes have hit the city.

An Israeli strike targeted key naval commander Alireza Tangsiri

in this residential building.

Three other people were also killed.

Fatima's business was destroyed.

For some, this war hasn't achieved what they'd hoped for.

During a brief pause in the fighting,

Tehran prepares for the Supreme Leader's funeral.

His presence is felt throughout the capital.

PRAYERS RECITED OVER TANNOY

Millions of Iranians have made the journey to pay their respects,

four months on from his death,

in what is a carefully choreographed show of unity to the world.

CHANTING

We have a message for Bibi Netanyahu,

for the madman in the White House,

and for anyone who wants to see the people of Iran on their knees.

We will not back down.

We will never, ever let this country down.

Just days after the funeral, the ceasefire collapsed.

Iran is no stranger to political friction.

The tensions between Tehran, Tel Aviv and Washington

have been decades in the making,

but they are only now playing out on the battlefield.

And as both sides compete to shape the legacy of this war,

its impact is being felt across the world.

About 2,000km in that direction is Balochistan,

a rugged, mountainous region on Iran's border with Pakistan.

Two months into the war with Iran,

a series of videos from Balochistan went viral on TikTok.

They showed thousands of motorcyclists

massing at the border, some as young as 15.

They're fuel smugglers,

risking their lives transporting highly flammable cargo

across a long, dangerous route through the lawless terrain.

The World Service has gained

rare and exclusive access to these riders,

revealing how the war in Iran

has led to a new and deadly fuel smuggling boom.

Pakistan's southwestern province of Balochistan

is a remote, mountainous region

plagued by armed insurgencies and entrenched smuggling networks.

Around half the population belong to the Baloch ethnic group,

who also live across Iran and Afghanistan.

Entering Balochistan,

bikes and trucks carrying smuggled fuel are everywhere.

These videos, obtained exclusively by the BBC,

show where that fuel has come from.

They were filmed inside Iran in May 2026.

Hundreds of plastic containers are loaded onto trucks

bound for one of the unofficial crossing points along the border.

Balochistan is one of these areas

where communities straddle multiple borders,

generations and generations have been involved in smuggling

as a means of survival.

In relation to the oil trafficking from Iran,

the main traffickers, we believe,

are either part of or closely linked to the Iranian regime.

You then have their link to the courier network,

and these are low-level couriers,

and they're connected by familial ties or by history.

They're the ones that take the most risk.

On both sides of the border, you've got authority activity,

either turning a blind eye,

either directly involved, or profiting from the trade itself.

This is very, very clear that this activity is ongoing,

it's ramped up,

and it's an absolutely essential survival network,

both for the Iranian regime,

but also for the communities on both sides of the borders.

Once the smuggled fuel enters Pakistan,

it's taken by bike - or trucks called Zambads - to fuel depots.

From there, it's transported to markets

and unofficial petrol stations across Balochistan.

It also goes deeper into Pakistan,

to places like Sindh and Punjab,

and even over the border into Afghanistan.

600km from the border with Iran, in Mastung,

is one of Pakistani Balochistan's biggest open air fuel markets,

locally known as Mandi.

The work is illegal, so we have changed their names.

Mazaar is one of almost 2.4 million people

who rely on fuel smuggling for their livelihoods,

according to a leaked intelligence report.

He started smuggling fuel only a few months ago.

Balochistan's severe water scarcity has pushed farmers like Mazaar

into this dangerous trade.

People are certainly profiting from the illegal oil trade,

but not couriers like Mazaar.

Mazaar's profits have gone down because his sale price is fixed,

but the war has pushed up his purchase price.

Other things are also getting more expensive.

Like Mazaar, Irfan has also had to turn to smuggling fuel.

Irfan's disability leaves him at risk on the roads,

so he only transports diesel.

Mazaar is getting ready to leave.

His worn-out motorbike is loaded

with hundreds of litres of flammable fuel.

Accidents like these are common and often deadly.

But this is Pakistan's poorest province,

and, due to the decades-long insurgency,

there are few other job opportunities in Balochistan.

Mazaar has a 12-hour journey on risky roads ahead of him

to reach the border with Pakistan's Sindh province.

There is no reliable data on the scale of this trade,

but according to a Nikkei Asia report

quoting a leaked 2024 Pakistani intelligence document,

more than $1 billion of smuggled Iranian fuel

enters the country via Balochistan every year.

In June 2026,

Pakistan's oil companies warned the government

that so much fuel was coming into the country

via unregulated supply channels

that official fuel sales had hit their lowest in 27 years.

They also estimated this decline in sales

was costing the government 16 billion Pakistani rupees,

more than £40 million, in lost tax revenue every month.

The local authorities deny smuggling is on the rise,

but admit it's an industry which is hard to control.

Fida Hussain says the unofficial fuel trade

is vital to the region's economy.

Mazaar is ready to leave, but he's had a costly setback.

And you can watch the full-length version

of Fuel Smugglers Of Balochistan on BBC iPlayer

or the BBC World Service YouTube channel.

Some more standout content from the World Service this week

comes from our colleagues in India.

Pictures of Rhiya Ahir standing in front of a police van in Mumbai

has become one of the defining images of India's youth protests.

But who is she, and why did she take a stand?

In an interview with BBC News India,

Rhiya recounts what happened at a solidarity protest in Mumbai,

where demonstrators gathered

in support of the Cockroach Janta Party,

a youth-led movement that began online

and has since spread across India,

delivering the biggest challenge to Prime Minister Narendra Modi

since he came to power 12 years ago.

You can watch BBC India's interview on YouTube

and access a wealth of content

on the Cockroach Janta Party Gen Z protests

on BBC socials, online and on BBC Sounds.

Thank you for joining me in Iran. We want your feedback.

Let us know what you think using the hashtag #bbcglobaleye.

See you next week. Goodbye.