Israel and the United States attacked Iran on 28 February. Three days later, I met a friend whose wife is Iranian. By then, reports of the killing and martyrdom of the supreme leader was confirmed by both sides respectively.
I asked how she was doing. His in-laws were safe so far. His wife was worried, but also quietly hopeful. She had always been fiercely anti-regime. Now she felt that, with the Ayatollah gone, the regime might finally fall.
I knew the regime would not fall under bombing and her disappointment would be worse. My friend pushed back. How could I be so sure? Especially after what we had seen in Bangladesh during the July revolution of 2024, when a mass uprising brought down a long-entrenched regime. The prime minister and most of her ministers fled the country.
According to UN reports, around 1,400 people were killed and over 20,000 injured. Hundreds lost their eyesight; many more lost limbs. The government claimed even higher numbers. If such a regime could fall in Bangladesh, why not in Iran?
What the July revolution taught me
My answer came from that same experience. For seventeen years in Bangladesh, there had been repeated moments when it seemed the regime might collapse. Each time, massive protests erupted. Each time, they were crushed.
There was always resistance—but also always a counterweight. A significant portion of the population supported the regime. The institutions—the police, the judiciary, the bureaucracy—remained loyal. As long the struggle was ideological — secular versus Islamic — the regime held.
The July revolution changed that dynamic. Suddenly, the conflict was no longer between competing ideologies. It became something else: regime versus people. That shift was what made the difference.
Why Iran is different
In Iran that shift has not happened. The divide still runs along ideological lines: Islamist and nationalist factions on one side, Western-oriented secular groups on the other. If this divide persists, the regime will retain a base—enough to survive.
There is another difference too. In Bangladesh, economic hardship was largely driven by internal corruption. There were no external sanctions. Growth figures looked impressive, but the benefits flowed mainly to those aligned with the regime.
In Iran, the situation is more complicated. Much of the economic pressure comes from external sanctions. The hardship is real—but its causes are not entirely internal. That matters, because it changes how people assign blame.
Sanctions are not neutral tools. As openly stated by U.S. treasury secretary recently, they are often designed to trigger financial distress and, eventually, domestic unrest. But distress alone does not guarantee unity.
The structure of ideological regimes
There is another layer that outsiders often miss. Ideology-based systems—whether secular or religious—sit somewhere between liberal democracies and absolute monarchies. Power is concentrated, but legitimacy comes from adherence to a particular worldview.
In such systems, participation is conditional. If you subscribe to the ideology, you belong. If not, you become peripheral—an outsider within your own country. China is one example. Iran is another, though with its own complexities.
In Iran, elections exist, but candidates are vetted. The electorate chooses between variations within the system—moderates versus hardliners—not between fundamentally different visions.
This creates a paradox. To truly change the system, one must step outside it. But stepping outside often means losing the ability to participate meaningfully at all. That is why such regimes can be both resilient and repressive at the same time.
The missing point in the Western narrative
The Western narrative often frames these systems simply as “authoritarian.” But that label, while not entirely wrong, is incomplete.
These regimes are not sustained by coercion alone. They also draw legitimacy from vast segments of their population—often those who feel excluded or threatened by liberal, urban elites.
They present themselves as protectors:
- of identity,
- of tradition,
- of dignity against perceived Western dominance.
Meanwhile, liberal elites—both internal and external—are often seen as detached, corrupt, or culturally alien.
This dynamic is not unique to the global south. The rise of populist movements in the West—Trump, Brexit—has shown that similar divisions exist there as well. Social media has simply made these silent majorities more visible.
The two faces of a country
In 2017, when around 700,000 Rohingya fled Myanmar into Bangladesh, many of my Australian colleagues praised our government’s generosity. And it was, undeniably, a humanitarian act.
But to me, the same government had already turned authoritarian. Opposition leaders were jailed, exiled, or executed. Dissident media had been silenced. The constitutional safeguards for fair elections had been dismantled.
The international face of the country was admirable. The domestic reality was very different. Most nations live with this duality.
External power and internal change
Western citizens often see the world through their own experience: liberal democracies where dissent is protected. They also see people from the global south migrating to their countries and wonder: if these people want to live in the West, why do they criticize it?
What is often missing is the role of Western foreign policy. Support for authoritarian allies, resource extraction by multinational corporations, selective interventions—these shape realities on the ground. The critique is not of liberal democracy itself, but of its double standards.
Consider situations where leadership changes under external pressure, but underlying power structures remain intact (i.e., recent event in Venezuela). Who ultimately benefits? And who continues to bear the cost?
What it means for Iran
For many Iranians, the situation seems deeply layered. They may oppose the regime. They may also distrust foreign intervention. They remember their history: the overthrow of an elected government, the control of national resources by external actors, and decades of geopolitical pressure. Many also carry a strong sense of civilizational identity and solidarity with broader regional causes especially Palestinian issues.
Without a unifying internal movement that transcends ideological divides, external pressure alone is unlikely to bring meaningful change. It may weaken the system. It may deepen suffering. But it does not automatically create the conditions for transformation that most Iranians want for themselves.
The uncomfortable conclusion
My friend understood my argument. I could see it in his face. But he did not want to believe it. I know that feeling. During every wave of protest in Bangladesh, we were the same. Hope made us cling to possibilities long after reality had already taken shape.
Convincing arguments are not always comforting. Sometimes, they do the opposite. They force us to see the reality between what we wish for and what is likely. The two are often far apart.
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