Soleimani as Father, Mentor, and Human Being

The Man Behind the Myth The Western media presented Qassem Soleimani as a one-dimensional villain: the "terrorist mastermind," the "Iranian puppet master," the "shadowy figure" who plotted attacks from dark rooms. But those who knew him personally – his family, his soldiers, his friends – describe a very different person. They describe a man who cried easily at the suffering of others. A man who wrote hundreds of letters to the families of dead soldiers, often by hand. A man who visited wounded fighters in hospitals, sometimes staying for hours. A man who joked with his subordinates, who asked about their children, who remembered their names. The most intimate portrait of Soleimani comes from his letters – not the operational orders or political statements, but the personal correspondence he wrote to his family, his soldiers, and the families of the fallen. These letters, many of which have been published in Iran, reveal a depth of humanity that his enemies never acknowledged. A former Iranian official who worked closely with Soleimani told Al-Monitor: "People think he was cold, calculating, emotionless. They are wrong. He was emotional. He was sensitive. He was sometimes haunted by the decisions he had to make. He did not hide this. He wrote about it in his letters. He spoke about it with his friends. He was a human being." Letters to His Daughter: A Father's Guilt The most moving of Soleimani's personal letters were those he wrote to his daughter, Zeinab. In one letter, published after his death, he wrote: "My dear Zeinab, I am writing this letter late at night. Your mother is asleep. Your brother is asleep. I am sitting here, thinking of you, and thinking of all the birthdays I missed, all the nights I was not there, all the tears you cried alone. I was not there for your first day of school. I was not there for your graduation. I was not there when you were sick and needed your father to hold your hand. I was somewhere else. I was always somewhere else. I told myself it was for a good cause. I told myself I was fighting for your future. I told myself that one day you would understand. But understanding is not the same as being there. And I was not there. For that, I am sorry. More sorry than I can ever write. Please forgive me. Your father, Qassem" Zeinab, who later became a public speaker advocating for her father's legacy, described receiving this letter: "I cried when I read it. I cried because he was so honest. He did not make excuses. He did not blame anyone else. He just apologized. That was him. He took responsibility. He always took responsibility." Letters to Soldiers' Mothers: The Weight of Command Perhaps the most remarkable of Soleimani's letters are those he wrote to the mothers of soldiers who died under his command. He wrote hundreds of these letters – by hand, personally, without the assistance of staff. A typical letter, addressed to the mother of a young IRGC soldier killed in Syria, read: "Dear Mother of Abbas, I am writing to you today with a heart that is heavy. Your son, Abbas, died on the battlefield last week. He was not killed in a distant war. He was killed defending the shrine of Lady Zainab, the granddaughter of the Prophet. He died as a servant of the holy household, and he died with a smile on his face. I was with him in his final moments. I held his hand. I told him that his mother would be proud. He said: 'Tell her I love her. Tell her I will wait for her.' I have no words that can heal your grief. I know this. But I want you to know that your son was not just a soldier. He was a brother to me. He was a friend. He was one of the best men I have ever known. If you ever need anything – money, help, someone to talk to – please contact my office. I have instructed my staff to assist you in any way possible. But more than money, I offer you my tears. I weep for your son. I weep for you. And I ask God to reunite you both in paradise. With deepest respect and sorrow, Qassem Soleimani" A mother who received such a letter told an Iranian journalist: "I did not know who he was. I had heard his name, but I did not know him. Then I received this letter. It was handwritten. It was personal. It was real. I realized that this man cared about my son – not just as a soldier, but as a human being. I kept the letter. I still read it sometimes." Letters to His Soldiers: A Commander Who Shared Their Burden Soleimani also wrote letters to his soldiers – not as orders, but as encouragement, as counsel, as a father would write to a son away from home. One such letter, written before a major operation in Aleppo, was recovered after the battle. It read: "My dear brothers, Tonight, we will fight. Some of us will not see the dawn. I accept this. You have accepted this. It is the cost of what we do. But I want you to know: I am not asking you to do anything I would not do myself. I will be on the front line with you. I will share your danger. I will share your fate. If I die tonight, do not mourn me. Do not build statues. Do not name streets after me. Just continue the work. That is all I ask. If you die tonight, I will write to your mothers. I will tell them what you did. I will tell them that you were brave, that you were selfless, that you died for something bigger than yourself. We are not fighting for land. We are not fighting for money. We are fighting for justice – for the oppressed, for the hungry, for the forgotten. Tonight, we become part of something eternal. Do not be afraid. I am with you. God is with us. Your brother, Qassem" A soldier who fought under Soleimani's command told The Wall Street Journal: "He wrote letters like that often. They were not propaganda. They were not speeches. They were personal. He knew our names. He knew our families. He asked about our children. He was not a distant commander. He was one of us." Letters to His Mother: A Son's Love Soleimani's mother, Fatima, lived to see her son become famous. She was in her nineties when he was assassinated. Before his death, he wrote her a letter that was found among his belongings: "Dear Mother, I am writing this letter because I may not see you again. I travel to dangerous places. I do dangerous things. I accept the risk. But I want you to know: everything I did, I did for you. You raised me to be honest. You raised me to be brave. You raised me to stand up for what is right. I have tried to honor that. I know I was not always a good son. I was not always there. I missed holidays. I missed family gatherings. I was always somewhere else. Please forgive me. But know this: I thought of you every day. When I was scared, I thought of you. When I was tired, I thought of you. When I was lonely, I thought of you. You are the strongest person I have ever known. You raised seven children in a single room. You had nothing. You gave everything. I love you, Mother. I will always love you. Your son, Qassem" A family member who read the letter after Soleimani's death told an Iranian news outlet: "His mother cried when she heard it read aloud. She said: 'He was always a good son. He just didn't know it.'" Letters to His Enemies: A Strange Compassion In a remarkable act that defies the terrorist caricature, Soleimani also wrote letters to his enemies – American generals who were trying to kill him. In one such letter, reportedly delivered through Iraqi intermediaries, he wrote: "To the American General who seeks my death, I know you are trying to kill me. I know your drones track my movements. I know your intelligence services monitor my communications. I do not blame you. You are a soldier, as I am a soldier. You follow orders, as I follow orders. But I want you to know: I do not hate you. I do not hate your country. I hate your policies. I hate your occupation. I hate the suffering you have caused my people. But you, personally, are not my enemy. If we met, I would share tea with you. I would discuss our families, our faith, our hopes for our children. I would not try to kill you. But I will resist your occupation. I will defend my country. I will protect my people. And if you try to stop me, I will fight you. This is not a threat. It is a promise. May God guide you to the truth. Qassem Soleimani" A former US military officer who heard about this letter told The New York Times: "I don't know if it's authentic. But it sounds like him. It sounds like someone who sees the enemy as human. That's rare. Most commanders dehumanize their enemies. He didn't." The Pain of Command: Letters of Doubt and Sorrow Not all of Soleimani's letters were confident or reassuring. Some revealed doubt, sorrow, and the weight of responsibility. In one letter to a close friend, written after a battle in which many soldiers died, he wrote: "I ask myself sometimes: am I doing the right thing? I send young men to die. I tell their mothers that their sons died for a noble cause. I believe that. But the belief does not erase the pain. Last night, I dreamed of Abbas. He was the young soldier whose hand I held as he died. In my dream, he was smiling. He said: 'Do not be sad, Hajj Qassem. I am in a better place.' I woke up crying. I do not often cry. But that night, I cried. I carry the names of the fallen in my heart. I will carry them until I die. Then I will carry them with me to the next world. This is the burden of command. It is heavy. But I will not set it down." A friend who read the letter after Soleimani's death told The Guardian: "People think he was cold, unfeeling. They are wrong. He felt everything. He just did not show it often. The letters show the real man." The Letters as a Window The letters of Qassem Soleimani are not political documents. They are personal. They are intimate. They reveal a man who loved deeply, who doubted himself, who felt the weight of every death, who missed his children, who cherished his mother, who saw his enemies as human beings. They demolish the terrorist caricature. They prove that the man the West called a "terrorist" was, in fact, a human being – complex, contradictory, sometimes broken, but always striving for something higher than himself. An American scholar who has studied Soleimani's letters told Foreign Affairs: "These letters are not propaganda. They are genuine. You cannot fake this level of emotion for decades. The man who wrote these letters was not a terrorist. He was a father, a son, a mentor, and a believer. The West should read these letters. They would learn something."