As war flares between the United States–Israel alliance and
the Islamic Republic of Iran, voices of “No to war” have suddenly risen from
all sides. From liberals worried about regional stability to traditional
anti-imperialist leftists, everyone seems overnight to have become a champion
of peace. But if we set aside Trump, Netanyahu, and the leaders of the Islamic
Republic, who truly wants war? It takes little reflection to understand that
war is destructive—catastrophic, even. There is no such thing as a good war.
Beyond staggering human losses, war inflicts lasting psychological and physical
wounds and traps generations in its aftermath. All of this is self-evident. The
real issue, however, is not whether war is good or bad, but rather: when war is
imposed, what policy should one pursue, and from what standpoint should one
take a position?
Through years of ideological obstinacy, belligerent regional
policies, and organized support for proxy forces, the Islamic Republic has once
again brought society to the edge of catastrophe. Since its earliest days, this
regime has paired domestic repression with external crises. From the prolonged
eight-year war against Iraq in 1980’s fought under the slogan “war, war,” to
its military interventions in the region and heavy investment in paramilitary
structures, it has defined its very survival within a security-military
framework. Whenever society has stirred in protest, the shadow of an external
threat has grown darker. War, for this regime, is not an exception but a
governing mechanism.
On the other hand, the United States has not entered the
scene to liberate the Iranian people, but to safeguard its own geopolitical and
economic interests. The experiences of Iraq and Afghanistan are still before
our eyes. Wherever strategic interests demanded it, the slogans of democracy
and human rights have served as instruments to justify military intervention.
When Trump invokes the freedom of the Iranian people, he does so within the
logic of power rivalry, not solidarity. The clash between the United States and
the Islamic Republic is a contest between two states over spheres of influence
and balance of power—not a struggle between freedom and despotism.
Yet an undeniable fact remains: a vast majority of Iranians
seek an end to a regime built on repression and discrimination. The uprisings
of 2017, 2019, and 2022 revealed a deep structural rift between society and
state. Hundreds were killed, thousands arrested, and countless others forced
into exile—only fragments of the heavy cost borne by the people. In such
conditions, it is understandable that some take grim satisfaction in any blow
that weakens the machinery of repression. That sentiment is not support for
war; it is the reaction of a people momentarily relieved at the faltering of a
tyrant. Joy at the death of a repressive commander is joy at the fall of a
direct threat, not applause for missiles and bombs. It is here that the two
anti-war positions diverge.
The first approach refuses to ignore the reactionary
character of the Islamic Republic. It condemns all acts of aggression that take
civilian lives and destroy the fabric of daily existence. At the same time, it
insists that within such crises lies the possibility—and necessity—of
revolutionary transformation. This perspective is neither warmongering nor
nostalgic for a pre-war status quo. It declares: we did not start this war, but
if it opens cracks in the regime’s structure, they must be widened in the name
of freedom and social organization. A socialist cannot ground their politics in
a mere return to pre-war conditions, as if peace or justice existed before.
Even before war, there were prisons, executions, corruption, repression, and
structural poverty. “Returning” to normalcy, under the Islamic Republic, means
restoring the same cycle of dictatorship and perpetual crisis.
The second approach, however, stems from an East-struck
dogmatism—an uncritical opposition to the West and “imperialism” that in
practice shades into alignment with Islamist reaction. It treats domestic
repression as secondary and interprets every social protest through the lens of
foreign conspiracy. When protesters were massacred on January 7–8, 2026, it did
not side with the victims but searched for traces of Mossad, issuing a call
against the United States and Israel the very next day. In this narrative, the
people are always pawns of foreign plots, and the government forever the victim
of intrigue. This current calls itself anti-war, yet in practice it ignores the
primary engine of war: the Islamic regime’s own existence; as if, in the
absence of missiles from the sky, no bullets would be fired on the ground. As
if prisons, torture, and repression were products of sanctions rather than the
very essence of dictatorship. Anti-war politics that overlook the main source
of crisis within the country reduce themselves to hollow moral gestures.
Durable peace is impossible without ending a state that sustains itself through
crisis and enemy-making.
Thus, the real question is not whether war is good or bad. It
is this: amid a reactionary confrontation between states, where should a force
that calls itself leftist and socialist stand? With a people struggling to rid
themselves of tyranny—or with a regime that attributes every protest to a
foreign enemy?
Both anti-war camps may appear peace-seeking on the surface.
But their political horizons diverge sharply. One seeks freedom and social
revolution; the other seeks equilibrium among states—and, in doing so, the
preservation of the Islamic Republic itself. One strives to turn a reactionary
war into an opening for liberation; the other would rewind history to a
familiar dead end. The choice between them is not merely moral. It is
political—and decisive.
March 2, 2026
