National Vengeance: Iran Through an Arab Lens

What made Mustafa Kemal Atatürk a unique figure was his ability to forge a republic and a nation-state out of the collapsed Ottoman Empire, as Western powers were carving up the Sultanate’s remains. At a time when Anatolia seemed destined for foreign domination, Atatürk managed to balance rupture and continuity. He reimagined a national subject by synthesizing the legacy of the Sultanate with a modern identity leaning toward Western ideals.

This birth, however, would not have been possible without one critical factor: war, and more specifically, victory. Nation-making is, almost by definition, a martial process. War imposes strict social discipline, mobilizes people and resources, and forges a national narrative. It constructs a collective myth of the self and other.

Iran, by contrast, took a different path. Its national reconstitution emerged through a popular revolution against monarchy, led by a different historical figure: Imam Khomeini. The revolution deliberately sought to sideline nationalism in favor of Islamic universalism. But the Iran-Iraq war quickly pulled the revolution back toward national mobilization, reviving Iran’s sense of nationhood. Despite that, the revolution’s universalist thrust was never erased. It was institutionalized through Khomeini’s transnational vision of anti-imperialism and Islamic unity. This is what places him in the pantheon of global revolutionary figures, beyond the narrow bounds of nationalism.

Over the past four decades, Iran has remained suspended in a dialectical tension between revolutionary universalism and national identity. Both have left their imprint on state institutions and political, military, and social lives, depending on which worldview is dominant at a given time. A persistent challenge lies in the internal exclusivity of this universalist Islamic vision, which has been rooted in a social class whose aspirations are shaped through a conservative Islamic lens and whose sense of duty is framed by the transnational obligations of the Ummah.

Yet generational change reshaped this equation. The revolutionary class gradually infused its Islamic identity with Iran’s rich cultural and national heritage. Political pressures and popular expectations have driven this evolution. Pride in Iran’s scientific, economic, and military achievements became a vessel for expressing broader national aspirations.

From this backdrop emerged a central question for revolutionary Iran: how can the revolution’s exclusive symbols become collective ones, capable of shaping a national identity across generations? How can it represent all Iranians, not just a segment, with endurance and depth? Again, war returns as a key factor. The aggression led by Zionist and US forces is seen as a war on Iran’s achievements: its sovereignty, its nuclear and missile program, independence, and its very dignity – all foundational elements of nationhood.

Anyone following Iran’s domestic discourse in recent decades will notice the growing presence of nationalist rhetoric. Supreme Leader Imam Khamenei does not simply acknowledge this shift, he directs it. As a son of the revolution’s founding generation, he carries its legacy. But he also guides its development with calculated patience, unlike the reformist trend that often seeks rushed transformations.

This is what makes Sayyed Khamenei a pivotal figure in Iranian modern history, on par with Imam Khomeini. As Iranian scholar Dr. Fatima Al-Samadi notes, he is “the last of the revolutionaries in Iran.” At the same time, he is a symbol of national pride, embodying the country’s collective consciousness.

Today, he is widely seen as the commander of Iran’s battle to defend its national interests. Martyr commanders, in turn, are viewed as guardians of the people’s achievements, scientific, military, economic, and social. As Dr. Abdelilah Belkeziz puts it, they protect “the nation’s path of progress.” The current Zionist war is thus understood in Iran not only through the adopted political slogan “National Revenge,” but as a real, lived moment of national evolution.

Ironically, it is the enemy that has accelerated this transformation. Figures like Netanyahu and Trump expose their colonial ignorance through their arrogance. Trump, rather than dismissing Iran as a mere “mullah regime,” called it an “empire,” an implicit acknowledgment of Iran’s deep historical and cultural legacy, which adds to its symbolic stature rather than detracting from it.

Netanyahu, repeating the Zionist mistatke of relying solely on military force, imagined he could trigger an Iranian uprising by destroying its infrastructure. Instead, he appeared pathetic, begging for unrest and clinging to the illusion of an ancient bond between Iranians and the “Jewish people.” His fantasy reflects the wider Zionist delusion, one trapped in ancient mythologies and disconnected from modern realities. He failed to see that identity in the region is no longer shaped by biblical nostalgia, but by geography, resistance, memory, and the struggle against colonialism. Worse, he assumed the Iranian people would cheer the bombing of their country, as some Arab Spring activists once did.

And so we turn to the Arab perspective on Iran. We, too, are faced with the question of national identity. How can we build a sovereign Arab state rooted in our unique context? At the same time, we must grasp the revolutionary and anti-Zionist essence that binds us to Iran. This is not about mimicry, but solidarity, about shared blood and a common cause in the Levant’s liberation from Zionist colonialism.

That is why it is essential to maintain autonomous pride when engaging with the revolutionary and national experiences of our neighbors. This becomes especially important in light of the Arab world’s political, social, and intellectual collapse, which has driven many toward the illusion of finding refuge in Turkish or Iranian national projects. We see the symptoms of this collapse in fragile attempts to forge religious or sectarian affiliations in hopes of belonging to something greater, imagining these national projects as transborder sectarian identities to which we must surrender. As if watching a Turkish historical drama or chanting a Persian elegy could somehow erase the pain of the Zionist and American devastation of our homelands.

The historical irony is that this Arab position, torn between Iranian and Anatolian geography, has repeated itself across centuries, from the Ghassanids and Lakhmids to the rivalry between the Safavid and Ottoman states.

As an Arab, if you find yourself admiring the dignity with which Iranians honor their martyrs, your first question must be: how do we attain that same dignity and zeal? How do we stop playing our historical role of simply dying in numbers? Revolutionary paternalism from others will not deliver us, especially when it is used to excuse intellectual laziness or, worse, justify surrender. As if all our crises would vanish if Arabs merely rallied behind Iranian power and clapped along.

Our reading of Iran, and of this war, must instead push us to seriously theorize and envision our own project; our own vision. This is where the promise of the Levant and the Global South lies: in nations that uphold one another, bound by the self-evident truth that our security is tied to that of our neighbors, just as theirs is tied to ours.

This is the essence of Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah’s political legacy: an Arab leader who articulated and embodied a model of our distinct identity. Not as a follower, but as a partner and contributor to the shared trajectory of liberation for both us and Iran.

And this brings us back to war. If war is what birthes independence, selfhood, pride, and a path toward national progress, then we Arabs are presented with a profound opportunity, and a tremendous responsibility. It is offered to us by the leaders and martyrs of the Palestinian resistance. They have laid before us an epic of historic proportions, a deluge of meaning, and the possibility of national liberation. A war of pride, dignity, security, and national identity. A war to finally break the cycle of inherited slaughter.

This is an edited translation of an article originally published in Arabic.