Parents of 168 children killed in Iran’s Minab school strike write to Pope Leo XIV, urging peace, justice, and an end to violence.
Newsroom (20/04/2026 Gaudium Press ) From the ruins of a shattered school in southern Iran, a letter begins with trembling hands. It is not written in the language of diplomacy, nor in the measured tone of politics, but in the raw vocabulary of grief. The signatories identify themselves simply: the fathers and mothers of 168 children who are no longer alive.
According to a report by Iran-based Press TV, these parents—whose children were killed in the February 28 strike on Shajareh Tayyebeh Elementary School in Minab—have addressed their message to Pope Leo XIV. They write from what they describe as “the ashes and ruins” of their city, a place where the ordinary rhythms of childhood have been replaced by mourning.
“Instead of embracing the warm bodies of our children,” the letter reads, “we press their burned bags and bloody notebooks to our chests.”
Minab, a city in Hormozgan province along the Persian Gulf, has become the center of a tragedy that has drawn international attention. Amnesty International reports that at least 110 of the victims were children between the ages of seven and twelve. The dead also include 26 teachers and four parents who rushed to the school after the first missile strike, only to be killed by a second.
Among them was nine-year-old Mikail Mirdoraghi. His grandfather recalled the child’s fear of darkness. “Mikail was afraid of the dark. We always slept beside him,” he said. “I don’t want him to be alone here at night.”
The parents’ letter moves between anguish and gratitude, anchored by repeated references to statements made by Pope Leo XIV. In the midst of what they describe as a world deafened by explosions, they say his words offered rare consolation.
“When the terrible sound of explosions closed the ears of the world to our cries,” they write, “the echo of your peaceful words became a balm for our endless wounds.”
They cite three core themes from the pontiff’s public appeals: a call for global powers to reduce violence and bombings, an insistence on protecting civilians and upholding international humanitarian law, and a broader moral argument that peace cannot be imposed through force.
The line that resonates most deeply for them has taken on the character of a creed: that lasting peace comes “not through force and weapons, but through the path of dialogue.”
For these families, the Pope’s stance is not abstract theology. It is a rare alignment of moral authority with their lived catastrophe. They describe his words as efforts “to save children and awaken consciences” in a world they see as increasingly shaped by hatred and violence.
The letter also contains a direct appeal. The parents ask Pope Leo XIV to continue using his voice and influence to ensure that no other families endure what they now face. They speak of a future that has already been denied to their children, but which might yet be preserved for others.
“No parent anywhere on the planet,” they write, should be forced “to hum a lullaby over the cold stone of their child’s grave.”
Their message has been routed through the Islamic Culture and Communications Organization, with plans for delivery via Iran’s Interfaith Dialogue Policy and Coordination Council.
The Minab school strike has triggered widespread condemnation, particularly among religious leaders. Pope Leo XIV has been among the most vocal, describing war as “tragic” and condemning leaders who pursue it. In stark terms, he has said that “God rejects the prayers of leaders who wage war and whose hands are stained in blood,” while criticizing the allocation of vast resources toward destruction.
He has also warned that the world is “being destroyed by a handful of tyrants,” underscoring his broader critique of modern warfare and political leadership.
For the parents in Minab, such statements are more than rhetoric. They represent recognition—an acknowledgment that their children’s deaths are neither invisible nor acceptable.
“Our children will never return home to build a brighter future,” they write. Yet even within that finality, their appeal remains outward-looking. They urge the Pope to be “the voice for our voiceless children,” and to help create a world where such losses are no longer possible.
The letter closes as it began: with grief, but also with intention. In the aftermath of devastation, these families have chosen to speak—not only to mourn, but to ask that their loss carry meaning beyond the borders of their city.
- Raju Hasmukh with files from Press TV and Letters From Leo Substack
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