The Iran protests and the deafening sound of silence

2. Cui bono If the Iranian regime falls, three protagonists will deserve the credit. The first is the courageous Iranian people themselves, who have endured decades of repression, corruption, and cruelty from a regime that cannot provide reliable electricity, clean water, or economic opportunity.  The courage of Iranians who protest while knowing the costs deserves our admiration and support. The other two protagonists are far less convenient: Donald Trump and Bibi Netanyahu. The strategic weakening of Iran was hastened by decisions taken in Jerusalem and Washington by governments that much of the Western commentariat despises. The bold strikes on Iranian nuclear facilities, which the same commentators told us were bad, or dangerous, or ineffective, or any manner of excuses to avoid giving credit. The systematic destruction of Iranian proxies across the region. A willingness to treat Iranian power as something to be constrained rather than accommodated. All of these decisions inverted the appeasement of the Obama/Biden administrations, and may yet yield Tehran’s demise. To acknowledge this would require admitting that some of the world’s most controversial leaders made consequential choices that reshaped the region for the better. For many, that concession is intolerable. 3. The story does not sell the right morality play We were told, repeatedly, that the obsession with Gaza reflected deep humanitarian concern. That the marches, the coverage, and the public anguish were motivated by compassion for suffering civilians. If that were true, Iran would dominate the headlines. Here is a population living under a regime that jails women for refusing to cover their hair, executes dissidents, crushes free expression, and diverts national wealth into foreign terror campaigns while its own people suffer. Even regime officials admit huge numbers of civilian casualties, which means the true number is likely far higher. If human suffering were the metric, this would be an irresistible story. Instead, it barely registers. It seems like not all suffering is equally marketable. Stories that complicate the preferred narrative do not travel as far. Sympathy has become a tool of politics rather than a response to injustice. 4. Silence is easier than moral consistency For years, Western leaders have assured us that hate has no place in our societies. The phrase is repeated endlessly, as though its recitation were itself an act of governance. Declarations have replaced action. Moral language has become a substitute for moral courage. Supporting the Iranian people would require consistency and clarity about tyranny, about humanitarian disasters, and about human suffering. It would require acknowledging that some regimes are evil and deserve to fall. That is harder than chanting. Harder than posting. Harder than pretending that saying the right words absolves us of responsibility. 5. If the Ayatollahs fall, Israel is the winner After three years of hate, our media, campus activists, and opinion shapers aren’t interested in a resounding Israeli victory. They don’t know what to do with it. The Iranian regime is one of the most aggressively antisemitic forces on the planet. Its demise would benefit Israel more than any other country by weakening the terror infrastructure aimed at Jewish civilians. For activists whose politics have hardened into obsession, that alone is reason enough to look away. That its collapse would also benefit the Sunni Gulf states is no solace. These are the same high-growth, increasingly pragmatic regimes that are normalizing relations with Israel and quietly aligning against Tehran. Their cooperation with Jerusalem represents one of the most consequential regional realignments in a generation. Solidarity, not silence The people of Iran deserve better than this. They deserve solidarity that is not contingent on ideological convenience. They deserve attention that does not depend on whether their freedom embarrasses Western activists. And the rest of us deserve a public discourse capable of recognizing that the fall of a brutal regime is good news, even when it disrupts a cherished narrative. The silence is deafening because it reveals what this moment is really about. It is not about justice or peace or humanity. It is about the preservation of a story that can no longer survive contact with reality.