Over the past month, three major news stories have dominated the Iranian landscape globally: First, the conviction of Hadi Matar by an American court. Matar, who was involved in the attack on British novelist Salman Rushdie several months ago and was reportedly influenced by the notorious 1988 fatwa issued by Ayatollah Khomeini, the former Supreme Leader of the Islamic Revolution in Iran, was sentenced to 25 years in prison.
The second story concerned leaked negotiations between the United States and the Iranian regime, with Iran reportedly expressing willingness to dismantle its nuclear and ballistic missile programs. Meanwhile, economic indicators pointed to a sharp decline in electricity production in Iran, from 58 kilowatts to 43 kilowatts, threatening to paralyse thousands of factories and economic units, and potentially pushing hundreds of thousands more Iranians out of the labour market.
Contrary to how they may initially appear, these three developments are closely intertwined. One cannot isolate them from one another, whether in Iran or any similar system.
Political regimes that derive their legitimacy, discourse, and strategic vision from a blend of ideology, extremism, and theatrical posturing, while simultaneously stockpiling arms and violent tools, ultimately end up in ruin. No matter how vast their ideological or military arsenals, such regimes fail to sustain themselves or achieve long-term stability.
However, why do such regimes rush so openly and persistently toward self-destruction, despite full awareness of the inevitable misery they will eventually face?
Khomeini’s fatwa against Indian-British novelist Salman Rushdie came just one month after Iran emerged from its devastating eight-year war with Iraq, a conflict that had stripped the country of whatever glory it once had.
At that moment in history, Iranian society needed everything except fatwas of that nature. The edict served no constructive purpose. It represented nothing but reckless zeal, a calculated move to isolate Iran from the outside world, and the manufactured rise of extremist values for which there was no necessity.
What concern is it of the Iranian state or its people whether a literary novel offends the beliefs of some? Is the proper response to provocative literature violence and incitement, or greater advocacy for dialogue, intellectual engagement, and cultural discourse?
This same critique applies to Iran’s nuclear and ballistic programs, which have drained tens of billions from the Iranian public treasury over the years. These programs led to waves of international sanctions and heightened distrust between Iran and its regional neighbours, none of whom, Israel included, had any military doctrine explicitly hostile toward Iran.
This phenomenon is not unlike the tales told by mothers in impoverished households, stories meant to soothe hungry children at night by distracting them from the relentless harshness of daily life.
The Iranian national drama, like several others before it, rests on a jarring contradiction: the dissonance between the Iranian people’s everyday realities and the grandiose myths, narratives, and burdens their political system fabricates for them. The system draws them into this elaborate performance, inundating them with imagined missions and crises that serve no purpose other than to deepen their daily suffering.
Alongside North Korea and to a lesser extent Cuba, Iran stands as one of the last remaining practitioners of this “National Drama.” This is due to the stark contrast between the political, economic, and symbolic aspirations of its people and the deep, persistent misery imposed by a regime that cloaks failure in myths of grandeur.
