“Can things get worse than this?”
It seems they can. Woe to the days ahead.
— Shahrokh Meskoob, Days on the Way (is there an original translation?)
This war has not saved one human being from terror or from the unspeakable agonies of extinction. Then, why do we permit this blasphemy to persist, expand, and explode our body politic as well as the entire Middle East? I grieve the sorrow roar, the sorrow sob. I grieve the monstrous consequences of this war…
— June Jordan, speech against the First Gulf War, 1991
More than three weeks have passed since the beginning of the joint military assault by Israel and the United States on Iranian cities. A war that lingered for decades as a looming threat over the inhabitants of this land has now turned into a horrifying reality.
Years of living under the authoritarian grip of the Islamic Republic—years in which hope for reform and civil resistance has been repeatedly crushed by bloody suppression of street protests, each time giving way to a deeper, accumulating rage at ever-intensifying repression—have led some to believe that military intervention might create an opportunity to transition from this dictatorship toward a democratic society.
Some, faced with this political deadlock and helplessness, might say: “No one likes war, but what is the alternative?” Or argue: “We all know Israel and the U.S. pursue their own interests—but is there any other option left?” Without moral purism and with attention to the costs of war so far, this text attempts, empathetically, to engage with and critically examine this difficult question.
1.
On the first day of the war, Ali Khamenei was killed, and amid fear and bombardment, hope for transition beyond the Islamic Republic grew. Perhaps this appeared to be the first “blessing” of war for those seeking freedom: the 86-year-old dictator, long seen as responsible for decades of suffering, was gone.
Yet with his death, the possibility of holding him accountable in a fair and public trial also vanished. Among the possible scenarios of his removal from power, he did not fall as a weakened old man, nor as a captured criminal before revolutionary justice, but—as state officials framed it—was elevated to “martyrdom.”
It also became clear that the Islamic Republic, at least for now, continues without him. No real rupture in power has appeared, and for those seeking justice, this transfer of power has not delivered it.
But it is not only Khamenei and high-ranking officials and IRGC commanders who have died. Alongside them, more than 1,400 innocent civilians have been killed—at least 200 of them children. Even military casualties likely include conscripts forced into service.
Thousands of homes, businesses, and civilian infrastructures have been destroyed. The destruction of housing has led to the forced displacement of millions. And in the absence of a government grounded in social justice, the burden of rebuilding falls on people who had already lost everything.
As always, the costs of war are distributed unequally, with the most vulnerable bearing the heaviest burden.
One of the most devastating images of the past three weeks is the aerial view of rows of small graves belonging to preschool and primary school children in the under-resourced city of Minab. More harrowing still: these children had taken shelter after the first missile struck their school, waiting for their parents to take them home—when a second missile hit.
Children and infants from evacuated orphanages, now placed in temporary care, are more vulnerable than ever. The cost to young people is not limited to those killed or orphaned: school closures, unstable internet, and disrupted education have collectively deprived students of learning. At least 120 schools—key infrastructures for education and cultural development—have been targeted.
While some have fled major cities, most cannot afford rent elsewhere or lack relatives in safer areas. Elderly people cannot relocate. Others must continue working despite the war. Hospital patients, aid workers, and those buried under rubble all testify to this compounded pressure.
The working class has thus far gained nothing from this war but death, poverty, and unemployment: from night-shift laborers killed in factories, such as night-shift workers in a flour and starch factory in Naqadeh, to the deaths of manufacturing workers in Isfahan bombings, to construction workers killed in attacks, such as the attack on the Assembly of Experts building, to the complete destruction of a concrete factory in Qom. Power plant workers and workers in Assaluyeh, who had staged widespread strikes even before the war, are now forced to work under threat of bombardment.
Many businesses have shut down in an economy already crushed by inflation and unemployment. Women and queer individuals—already economically precarious—face even greater instability. One account tells of a lesbian woman who had gained financial independence from her traditional family, but after losing her income under wartime conditions and the impossibility of returning home, she attempted to take her own life. Research also shows that during crises, especially war, domestic violence increases due to restricted mobility, reduced access to support networks (family, friends, legal systems), and worsening mental health conditions.
Reports from prisons indicate severe shortages of food and medical care. The government refuses to release or relocate prisoners—even under existing laws. Meanwhile, bombings of police stations, courts, and detention centers endanger detainees, many of whom are themselves political dissidents who have long resisted the regime; individuals who have already paid a heavy price and who would be essential in shaping a post–Islamic Republic future. Israel’s attack on Evin prison during the 12-day war is a stark reminder of the danger threatening these human resources.
From historical landmarks to hospitals, schools, infrastructure, factories, power plants, public squares, highways, schools, parks, stadiums, pharmaceutical and rehabilitation centers, Red Crescent facilities, emergency services, and even ambulances, destruction has been widespread. Attacks on pharmaceutical supply chains and medical infrastructure worsen an already fragile system strained by sanctions. Factories producing glass (Qazvin), concrete (Qom), paper (Malayer), and heating/cooling equipment (Isfahan), steel (Isfahan, Ahvaz and Mobarakeh) have been damaged or destroyed. Water desalination facilities in Qeshm, a pediatric hospital in Ahvaz, a dialysis clinic in Karaj, and refineries in Asaluyeh and South Pars have also been targeted. In Andimeshk, the city’s only hospital was bombed. Attacks on power plants—should Trump’s threats materialize—could lead to widespread electricity and water outages, with severe consequences such as the collapse of sewage systems and outbreaks of disease. These are the very foundations of social life.
Due to greater repression and limited access, fewer images and reports emerge from non-Persian regions. Yet cities such as Mahabad, Sanandaj, Marivan, Bukan, and Naqadeh have been heavily bombed by the U.S. and Israel, while the Islamic Republic has attacked Kurdish party bases in Iraq. Accusations of “separatism”—not only from the regime but even from some opposition media—have once again been used to justify further repression of Kurdish cities and opposition groups. It is concerning that in the aftermath of war, given unequal distribution of national resources and the possible continuation of the Islamic Republic, fewer resources will be allocated to rebuilding these areas.
Environmental consequences are also severe. Bombings have caused toxic air, acid rain, and the risk of nuclear catastrophe. War contributes significantly to global emissions, and in a region already facing extreme climate stress and water scarcity, such destruction could trigger long-term ecological disaster.
Following the bombing of an oil reservoir in Tehran, acid rain has fallen on war-stricken residents, stray cats, and the spring blossoms of the capital. Breathing—already difficult—has become even harder, and access to treatment for cancer and respiratory patients has worsened. The strike on the Bushehr nuclear power plant has led to speculation about potential attacks on nuclear facilities—raising the possibility of an environmental catastrophe that could affect generations.
Undoubtedly, continued conflict risks triggering an environmental war—not just within Iran but across the Middle East. Studies show that the world’s militaries are responsible for about 5.5% of global greenhouse gas emissions—equivalent to the fourth-largest emitter if considered a country. The Middle East, where temperatures are rising at nearly twice the global average and which holds only 1% of the world’s freshwater resources, cannot tolerate such destruction. In a country like Iran, where around 97% of the land is affected by drought, any war could catastrophically intensify water crises, ecosystem collapse, and climate instability.
2.
Some may argue that life under the Islamic Republic was already unbearable, and that—through a utilitarian lens—these costs might be justified if they lead to its overthrow. But that is a very big “if”, and an even bigger one is whether such a transition would result in a desirable society.
Ironically, Trump and members of his cabinet have repeatedly stated that their goal is neither democracy nor even regime change. While urging people to take it to the streets, Israeli officials privately professed that such a revolt during wartime would result in the “slaughter” of civilians.
The idea of leveraging foreign war for domestic liberation is tempting—but history, including that of Iran, repeatedly shows that external powers rarely allow people to determine their own fate, especially in geopolitically strategic regions. It must be remembered that Trump, amid his contradictory statements, has said that Iran’s map might change after such a war, and elsewhere has threatened that they could cause such destruction that no one would be able to rebuild Iran. The leaders of the United States and Israel in this war are not considered democratic forces even within their own societies, and their records include ethical and financial corruption. If the system were to collapse, given the history of these powers and their leaders, it is naïve to think they would allow people in Iran—a country of immense geopolitical importance and rich in nonrenewable resources—to determine their own future as they wish. The history of this land has repeatedly proven otherwise.
Moreover, can a war-torn society—already exhausted who has now seen something even darker than life under the deadly shadow of the Islamic Republic —recover and bring about a popular revolution in the near future? While the answer is not certain, it is not encouraging.
Post-war, resources and energy will be consumed by caring for war victims and rebuilding what has been destroyed—from homes and businesses to public infrastructure.
War would push the achievements of revolutionary movements and popular struggles backward, reducing the collective will for revolution. If previously there was hope for a split among repressive forces, or for parts of the ruling establishment to defect and join the people—something often decisive in revolutions—this now seems unlikely.
War may also strengthen nationalism and consolidate internal power structures. The presence of a “foreign enemy” —no longer an abstract concept in official discourse but a tangible reality visible in destruction across the country— often unifies factions, at least temporarily, including between the state and segments of the population. In social studies, war and the rise of nationalism it brings are recognized as unifying factors—not only among different factions of a government but also between rulers and the people. The Islamic Republic, relying on wartime conditions and an apocalyptic atmosphere, has managed to draw some segments of society back toward itself. Even some opponents of the regime may align with it under the banner of anti-imperialism, anti-colonialism or patriotism. At the same time, international law violations by the U.S. and Israel and their unlawful attack have, paradoxically, helped repair the Islamic Republic’s political image and improved the regime’s legitimacy in parts of global public opinion.
Returning to the central question: What is the alternative to military intervention, given the unchecked violence of the Islamic Republic? Rejecting a dangerous and costly strategy does not require having a ready-made alternative. The ability to criticize a high-risk strategy should not be suspended until a better solution is found. The alternative is neither quick nor simple, nor the product of the imagination of a few individuals. Claiming to have a ready solution reflects either hypocrisy or naivety—even if this truth may initially feel discouraging. For instance, promises of foreign assistance to protesters during the bloody protests of January 2026 (Dey 1404), or the collapse of the regime through foreign attack and Khamenei’s death, did not materialize.
Real transformation emerges from collective struggle—from popular struggle and sustained resistance shaped by specific historical conditions.It will arise at the moment when these capacities break through the rigid wall of power and create a rupture with the past. In fact, in times of crisis such as war, totalitarian systems further constrict political and social space, limiting the emergence of such demands and revolutionary actions. The Islamic Republic, under the pretext of preventing chaos, has increased checkpoints, carried out mass arrests, deployed forces in the streets—in effect imposing a form of martial law—and has made free access to information nearly impossible. Over the past 47 years, its response to external pressure has consistently been increased internal repression, as current reports from Iran also indicate. This has included severe crackdowns that have curtailed widespread civil disobedience against mandatory hijab—one of the most significant achievements of the “Woman, Life, Freedom” movement.
This does not mean that replacing military intervention with popular struggle is equivalent to gradual reform. Revolutions are the result of a continuous yet transformative and widespread process that becomes concrete at the moment of the old system’s collapse. Revolution does not follow the logic of reformism—meaning change within the framework of existing laws and institutions by individuals within the system. Revolutions are not instantaneous events but long processes grounded in mass participation, resilience, and solidarity.
Indeed, our revolution has been underway for years. One of its earliest clear manifestations may have been the slogan “Reformist, conservative—the game is over,” during the protests of Dey 1396, when a diverse collective consciousness moved beyond the Islamic Republic (though many had reached this conclusion even earlier). This revolution has shown itself at various critical junctures up to Dey 1404. This is a revolution “in the making”—one that cannot be delivered by bombs.