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The Precision Strike Missile has never before been used in combat by the US military.
As experts and investigators analyze one of the first strikes carried out in the US-Israeli war on Iran, mounting reports point to a ballistic missile that had never been used before by the US military in combat—but which may have struck a residential area, a sports hall, and a school in the southern city of Lamerd.
Along with being accused of bombing a school in Minab, killing more than 160 children and teachers, the US reportedly attacked several facilities and civilian areas near an Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps facility in Lamerd, killing an additional 21 people, including children.
While analysts have found a US Tomahawk cruise missile was used in the Minab attack, munitions experts interviewed by the BBC and The New York Times in recent days said footage of the attacks and images of the targets after they were struck suggest a short-range ballistic missile called a Precision Strike Missile (PrSM) was used to bomb a sports hall, school, and residential neighborhood in Lamerd.
The missiles are newly developed and are designed to detonate just above a target and propel small tungsten pellets into the surrounding area.
As the Times reported, the PrSM is manufactured by Lockheed Martin and has the capability to hit targets at a 400-mile range, "but additional details about the weapon, including its expected accuracy and the quantity of explosives it carries, remain unknown to the public."
The Times reported that munitions experts had analyzed footage of a weapon in flight over a residential area about 900 feet from the sports hall and school, showing the missile erupting "in a large fireball midair."
Another video showed an explosion in midair just above the sports hall and nearby school, and photos of the aftermath showed the sites with numerous holes, presumably from the tungsten pellets.
The Times also verified a video that showed a plume of smoke rising in an area close to the other strikes at the same time, and local media reports said a cultural center had been hit in that attack. The target couldn't be independently verified.
Late last week, the BBC also reported that the PrSM was likely used on residential buildings in Lamerd on the first day of the war.
Experts at the defense intelligence firm Janes and at McKenzie Intelligence told the BBC that the shape, length, and size of the explosions created in verified footage they analyzed indicated the weapons were likely PrSM missiles.
"US Central Command has admitted to using PrSM in strikes from the desert of an unnamed Gulf country against Iran in the early phases of the conflict," McKenzie Intelligence emphasized.
Joint Chiefs of Staff chairman Dan Caine also celebrated the use of the PrSM in a press conference on March 13, reported the BBC, saying the US military had "made history" and carried out attacks with "precision and determination that comes from relentless training and trust in each other and in their weapon systems."
But a spokesperson for US Central Command on Saturday told the Times that Pentagon officials are "aware of the reports and are looking into them," and claimed US forces "do not indiscriminately target civilians."
The US has also not officially taken responsibility for the attack in Minab that happened on the same day as the ones in Lamerd, but fragments of a Tomahawk missile that were found at the site are among the mounting evidence pointing to the Trump administration as the perpetrator.
The sports hall in Lamerd was reportedly being used by a children's volleyball team at the time of the strike; fourth grader Helma Ahmadizadeh and fifth grader Elham Zaeri were among those killed while at volleyball practice, according to an Iran-based journalist, Negin Bagheri.
Zaeri's father "described her as an avid volleyball player, who would always turn up to the sports hall 20 to 25 minutes early," the BBC reported.
The outlet also said the youngest victim of the suspected PrSM strike was two years old.
At Drop Site News, Mahmoud Aslan reported on the attack on the sports hall shortly after it took place, before analysts linked the bombing to the PrSM.
Hossein Gholami told Aslan his 16-year-old daughter, Zahra, had been training in the facility when he "noticed a strange gathering of people at the corner of the street leading to the sports hall."
“The screaming was rising from a distance," said Gholami. "A colleague ran toward me, waving his arm, and said in a shaken voice: ‘Zahra, the hall, there has been an explosion.'"
“The continuous screaming of the injured mixed with the sounds of secondary explosions," said Gholami, whose daughter was killed in the attack. "The ground was covered in debris and shattered glass. It was difficult to move with all the rubble. Ambulances arrived after about twenty minutes, but most of the injured were in critical condition. The smell of blood and burns covered everything."
“Every time I close my eyes," he said, "I see her face, her smile, and I hear the sound of the explosion."
These were not combatants. They were not militants. They were children seated at their desks, pens in their hands, notebooks open before them, studying, whispering to classmates, and imagining futures that stretched decades ahead.
In an era when images can circle the globe in seconds and newsrooms claim to uphold universal humanitarian principles; one might expect the killing of 165 schoolgirls inside a primary school to dominate international headlines. One would expect emergency debates, moral outrage, and relentless coverage. Yet in the southeastern Iranian city of Minab—where Israeli-American strikes obliterated classrooms filled with children—the world’s most influential media institutions have responded with something far more revealing than condemnation: they have responded with silence.
These were not combatants. They were not militants. They were children seated at their desks, pens in their hands, notebooks open before them, studying, whispering to classmates, and imagining futures that stretched decades ahead. In seconds, that ordinary school day turned into a massacre. Desks became splintered wreckage, classrooms collapsed into dust, and rows of coffins replaced rows of pupils.
Yet the names of these girls—165 lives extinguished before they truly began—barely entered the global conversation.
This omission is not the product of oversight. It reflects something far more structural: the hierarchy of victims that governs much of the contemporary information order. In theory, modern Western media institutions present themselves as defenders of human rights and guardians of moral accountability. In practice, their editorial priorities often mirror geopolitical interests with striking precision.
When the deaths of children generate outrage in one context but indifference in another, the moral language surrounding human rights begins to lose its integrity.
When tragedies reinforce established narratives about adversarial states, they are amplified, dramatized, and transformed into global moral spectacles. But when tragedies expose the human cost of the military actions carried out by Western powers or their closest allies, they are quietly displaced from the front page—if they appear at all.
The massacre in Minab illustrates this logic with devastating clarity.
The deaths of 165 Iranian schoolgirls do not fit comfortably within the dominant geopolitical storyline that portrays Israel and its strategic partners as defenders of stability and order in a turbulent region. Acknowledging such an atrocity would inevitably raise difficult questions: about the legality of strikes on civilian infrastructure, about the ethics of military escalation, and about the widening humanitarian toll of ongoing Israeli-American attacks across the region.
It is therefore far easier to look away.
But Minab is not an isolated tragedy. Across Lebanon, relentless bombardments have repeatedly struck civilian neighborhoods, reducing homes and streets to rubble. Across Palestine, entire communities have endured cycles of destruction that claim the lives of children whose only battlefield was the ground beneath their feet. Hospitals, schools, and residential blocks have all entered the expanding geography of devastation.
These events do not occur in a vacuum. They form part of a broader pattern in which military power operates alongside narrative power. Missiles shape the physical battlefield, while selective reporting shapes the battlefield of perception.
What emerges is not merely a media bias but a form of narrative engineering. Certain victims are elevated as symbols of universal suffering, while others—often far more numerous—are rendered invisible. Compassion itself becomes curated, distributed unevenly according to political convenience.
For Western audiences accustomed to believing in the neutrality of their information systems, this selective visibility should provoke serious reflection. The credibility of humanitarian discourse depends on consistency. When the deaths of children generate outrage in one context but indifference in another, the moral language surrounding human rights begins to lose its integrity.
The girls of Minab deserved the same recognition afforded to any victims of violence anywhere in the world. They deserved to have their stories told, their lives acknowledged, and their deaths confronted with the seriousness such an atrocity demands.
Instead, they encountered a second form of erasure.
First came the missiles that ended their lives. Then came the silence that followed.
For Western audiences accustomed to believing in the neutrality of their information systems, this selective visibility should provoke serious reflection.
In the contemporary information age, propaganda rarely announces itself openly. It often operates through absence—through the stories that never reach the front page, the victims whose names remain unspoken, and the tragedies that disappear before the world has time to notice.
The massacre in Minab therefore stands as more than a local catastrophe. It exposes a deeper crisis in the global information order—one in which the value of human life appears disturbingly contingent on political context.
And if the deaths of 165 schoolgirls in their classrooms fail to trigger universal outrage, the question is no longer about geopolitics alone.
It becomes a question about the credibility of the moral system that claims to defend humanity itself.
Ninety percent of the more than 6,000 killed by landmines last year were civilians, and half of them were children. There can be no justification for weapons such as these.
One step can be the difference between life and death in many communities around the world. Srey Neang, a young girl living in rural Cambodia, ran outside to play in her uncle’s backyard, and her life was upended in a moment when she stepped on a landmine. She was rushed to the hospital, where her leg was amputated at only four years of age. Her story—like so many others—shows that even decades after conflict ends, the threat of these weapons never does.
Every year, thousands of civilians, particularly children, are injured or killed by landmines and cluster munitions. The use of landmines and cluster munitions had been on the decline since the signing of the Mine Ban Treaty in 1997 and the Convention on Cluster Munitions in 2010.
But despite progress, we are seeing more countries return to the use of landmines and cluster munitions as security concerns rise globally. Some will argue that these weapons make countries safer, but that’s faulty thinking. Security can’t come at the expense of innocent lives. Nor do these weapons actually provide meaningful military advantage; they leave behind contamination that destabilizes communities, limits economic recovery, and threatens peacekeeping forces long after conflicts end. You can’t be safe from a weapon that can’t distinguish between a soldier and a child.
The 2025 Landmine Monitor, out today, reports that more than 6,000 people were killed or injured by landmines and explosive remnants of war in 2024—the highest annual figure since 2020, and a 9% increase from the previous year. Ninety percent of those victims were civilians, and half of them were children. The 2025 Cluster Munition Monitor, published on September 15, also revealed that all reported casualties from this weapon in 2024 were civilians. New uses by countries like Russia, Myanmar, and Syria challenge the treaty. Lithuania’s withdrawal from the Convention, effective March 2025, sends a dangerous message to other countries in the region.
As these findings are released, there is a growing need for clear analysis and public understanding. On December 3, I’ll be joining fellow experts for a virtual briefing hosted by the US Campaign to Ban Landmines—Cluster Munition Coalition to discuss the latest Monitor reports, the human cost of these weapons, and the role US leadership must play at this pivotal moment. Bringing these insights directly to policymakers and advocates is essential to strengthening global norms and advancing effective solutions.
Despite never joining either treaty, the United States has long been one of the world’s largest supporters of mine clearance and victim assistance, helping make former battlefields safe for farming, economic investment, and community life. These investments are among the most cost-effective and high-impact uses of US international assistance, directly saving lives and restoring livelihoods.
The case for action is both moral and pragmatic. Every mine removed or cluster bomb destroyed reopens land for cultivation, enables displaced families to return home, and prevents future casualties. These are tangible, measurable outcomes that support U.S. foreign policy priorities: stability, economic recovery, and the protection of civilians in conflict.
Humanity & Inclusion, which has worked in mine action for more than 40 years, witnesses the human toll daily, as seen in the case of Srey and her family in Cambodia. The organization where I work, Humanity & Inclusion, supported Srey, now 13, in receiving a new prosthetic leg, which allows her to ride her bike to school, help take care of her family, and play soccer, one of her favorite hobbies.
Srey’s story and those of many others are reminders that behind every statistic is a person whose future depends on the choices policymakers make today. US leadership has always mattered. When the United States aligns its policies, funding, and diplomacy toward a humanitarian goal, the world follows. The US has made progress in recent years. In 2022, the Biden administration restricted US landmine use to the Korean Peninsula and reaffirmed the goal of ultimately joining the Mine Ban Treaty. But the transfer of US cluster munitions to Ukraine in 2023 and landmines in 2024, undercut those commitments and send mixed signals to the world.
US leadership in aligning policy with the Mine Ban Treaty and the Convention on Cluster Munitions, and in sustaining robust funding for mine action, comes at a critical time. Washington can once again set the global standard for protecting civilians and strengthening international law.
In a time of never-ending partisan fights, this is a place where both sides can come together and agree on the right steps forward. This is not an abstract debate. It’s about whether children can walk to school safely. Whether farmers can plant crops without fear. Whether communities emerging from war can build futures on land that no longer hides deadly remnants of the past. Eliminating landmines and cluster munitions aligns with American values, advances security, and reflects our nation’s enduring commitment to human dignity.
The world doesn’t need new reasons to fear these weapons. Instead, we must take the kind of step that brings hope rather than harm. If we lead with courage now, our next steps can help ensure that every step, everywhere, is safe.