Editor’s Note: While the Stimson Center rarely publishes anonymous work, the author of this commentary is a Tehran-based analyst who has requested anonymity out of legitimate concern for their personal safety. The writer is known to appropriate staff, has a track record of reliable analysis, and is in a position to provide an otherwise unavailable perspective.
By Barbara Slavin, Distinguished Fellow, Middle East Perspectives Project
The early hours of June 13, 2025, shattered any lingering illusions of diplomatic respite in the Middle East. Israel’s Operation Rising Lion—a meticulously coordinated assault on Iranian nuclear facilities, military bases, and leadership targets—killed top commanders, including the highest-ranking General Mohammad Bagheri, and scientists critical to Tehran’s strategic programs.
The timing was audacious: precisely 61 days after President Donald Trump’s public two-month ultimatum to Iran to accept a deal ending all uranium enrichment, revealing what appeared to be a choreographed pressure campaign between Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.
As missiles struck Isfahan’s enrichment sites and Tehran’s command centers, the attack exposed a grim reality: diplomacy had collapsed, replaced by a war never formally declared but one that now Iran had no choice but to fight. Netanyahu framed the strikes as a “preemptive defense” against an “imminent nuclear threat,” yet to Iranians, their execution amid what were anticipated to be continuing U.S.-Iran negotiations suggested a darker aim—sabotaging any path to détente. Some analysts speculated and Netanyahu himself hinted that the ultimate Israeli objective was regime change in Iran, especially as the Israeli attacks widened to include oil depots, offshore gas fields, and other economic targets. However, far from weakening the Islamic Republic, the attacks initially provided its leadership with tools to consolidate power.
In Tehran, the response was visceral and instantaneous. Within hours, the schisms that had defined Iran’s politics—reformists versus hardliners, dissidents versus loyalists—vanished beneath a tidal wave of nationalism. State television replaced mourning graphics with the national flag, while Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei appointed Admiral Habibollah Sayari, a figure beloved by most Iranians for naval heroics during the tanker wars of the 1980s during the Iran-Iraq conflict, as Bagheri’s temporary successor. This was more than symbolism; it was a masterstroke of crisis management. Sayari’s promotion signaled that Iran’s survival now trumped ideological purity. Across social media, hashtags like #ایران_را_پاس_میداریم (“We guard Iran”) surged, echoing calls from figures as disparate as dissident Mehdi Karoubi – who spent more than a decade under house arrest after fraud-tainted 2009 elections — and hardline militias in Qom. Even Tehran’s graffiti-scarred walls bore fresh stencils of Persian lions—a silent oath of resistance.
The speed with which this reaction appeared stunned observers. For years, Iran’s civil society had been fractured: student activists demanding freedoms, ethnic minorities decrying repression, women resisting the mandatory hijab and a middle class crushed by inflation. Yet Israel’s aggression transformed dissent into solidarity. This cohesion, however, was laced with unease. As Reza Alijani, a journalist in Paris, noted: “The regime’s incompetence invited this strike. But today, blaming them feels like handing victory to Netanyahu.”
Behind the scenes, what looked to many Iranians like a strategic deception orchestrated by Trump and Netanyahu unfolded with chilling precision. Trump’s public theatrics—a leaked call insisting “no attack on Iran while talks continue,” followed by a televised denial of imminent strikes—lulled Tehran into complacency. Persian-language analyses dissected this “grand deception,” noting how Trump’s ultimatum had always been Netanyahu’s deadline. “Trump played the dove so Netanyahu could play the hawk,” argued one former diplomat to this author. The duplicity extended beyond rhetoric. According to Israeli intelligence leaks, Mossad agents had spent months embedding guided munitions near Iranian air-defense sites, exploiting gaps in radar coverage along the Zagros Mountains. When the first missiles hit, they struck not just facilities but the psyche of a nation already reeling from years of U.S. sanctions.
Iranian civil society’s reaction blended defiance with sober critique. Ardeshir Amir-Arjmand, a noted dissident and former advisor to Mir Hossein Mousavi, the 2009 Green Movement leader who remains under house arrest, described the attack as “a violation of territorial integrity and a crime against humanity.” He wrote: “Iran and Iranians will not bow to aggression. The struggle against internal despotism should not justify aggression against our country.” Amir-Arjmand ended his message with “Long live Iran.” Opposition groups like the Union of the Nation Party condemned the strikes as a “violation of international law” but warned against reckless retaliation. “Attacking U.S. bases or Israeli civilians would turn NATO into Tel Aviv’s bodyguard,” cautioned party leader Azar Mansouri. Her pragmatism contrasted with monarchist exiles, who view the regime’s vulnerability as a catalyst for a new revolution. Diaspora outlets like Iran International TV amplified Israeli narratives—framing the strikes as “liberating Iran from theocracy.” Exiled analyst Ali Afshari countered: “Israel’s attack is aggression, not legitimate defense. Hailing Israeli attacks as legitimate is treason.”
For veteran reformists like Mohammad Tavassoli—a key figure in Iran’s 1979 revolution who later criticized theocratic overreach—the strikes demanded a delicate balance. Tavassoli framed defending Iran as a “civic duty transcending politics,” yet indicted the regime’s isolationist policies. “When we closed our embassies in the 1980s, we didn’t realize we were locking out the world while letting enemies study our locks,” he said. His metaphor underscored a reformist consensus: national unity need not mean silence on governance failures.
The Freedom Movement of Iran, a supporter of the 1979 revolution that was later marginalized by the ruling clerics, explicitly warned that escalation would “destroy infrastructure and deepen poverty,” while dissident Ghasem Sholeh-Saadi noted that “hoping for Israel to topple the regime is like welcoming locusts to save crops.” Prominent journalist Ahmad Zeidabadi, imprisoned before and during the Green Movement, mourned General Bagheri’s death as “a loss to Iran’s institutional memory” but condemned intelligence lapses: “A state that spends billions surveilling its youth yet misses drones over Isfahan has betrayed its primary mandate—protection.” Activist Mohammad Ali Abtahi echoed: “Iranians experience their most united moments when defending Iran against foreign attacks.”
This moral clarity—distinguishing between the Iranian nation and its rulers—became a quiet manifesto for reformists. Mohammad Fazeli, whose lifetime of works criticized the Islamic Republic’s governance and who faced university expulsions, declared: “In the face of foreign enemy attacks, only Iran, Iranian life, Iran’s assets, and national unity matter. Iran must remain so we can strive to build it from within. #Iran_you_remain, our home.”
The regime’s vulnerabilities, long obscured by propaganda, glared under missile fire. Israel’s intelligence penetration—exposed by the precision targeting of General Bagheri’s safe house and nuclear scientists’ homes—laid bare catastrophic security failures. “How can a regime monitoring journalists’ phones miss drones flying into Tehran?” one economist said on condition of anonymity. For many, this highlighted a deeper rot: a military-intelligence apparatus designed to crush internal dissent, not thwart external threats. Former President Mohammad Khatami put it succinctly in a comment that was later deleted. “Israel’s success is our disgrace…Today, we stand with Admiral Sayari. Tomorrow, we demand answers.”
Jailed human rights lawyer Nasrin Sotoudeh echoed this duality: “We defend Iran’s soil, not its rulers’ mistakes.” Her words hinted at a future reckoning: once bombs stop, Iran’s unity may fracture anew, with demands for justice against both the regime and its foreign attackers.
Above all, fear festered. Internet blackouts sparked panic as families struggled to locate loved ones, and roads clogged with residents of Tehran fleeing the capital. Economic collapse loomed; the long-declining rial plummeted 30 percent overnight, and breadlines swelled. “We survived Saddam’s chemicals,” a retired teacher said on condition of anonymity. “We’ll survive this, but the regime must change.”
For now, Israel’s war forged an unspoken pact between Iran’s people and their rulers: survive today, settle scores tomorrow. But in a land where history weighs like mountains, this fragile unity may be structural change’s final act—or its prelude.
Iran’s path to democracy hinges on organic evolution—not external shocks. True transformation requires Iranians to defend their sovereignty while demanding reform—a task no foreign missile can achieve. So far, the regime endures, shielded by crises it helped create.
Editor’s Note: While the Stimson Center rarely publishes anonymous work, the author of this commentary is a Tehran-based analyst who has requested anonymity out of legitimate concern for their personal safety. The writer is known to appropriate staff, has a track record of reliable analysis, and is in a position to provide an otherwise unavailable perspective.
By Barbara Slavin, Distinguished Fellow, Middle East Perspectives Project
The early hours of June 13, 2025, shattered any lingering illusions of diplomatic respite in the Middle East. Israel’s Operation Rising Lion—a meticulously coordinated assault on Iranian nuclear facilities, military bases, and leadership targets—killed top commanders, including the highest-ranking General Mohammad Bagheri, and scientists critical to Tehran’s strategic programs.
The timing was audacious: precisely 61 days after President Donald Trump’s public two-month ultimatum to Iran to accept a deal ending all uranium enrichment, revealing what appeared to be a choreographed pressure campaign between Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.
As missiles struck Isfahan’s enrichment sites and Tehran’s command centers, the attack exposed a grim reality: diplomacy had collapsed, replaced by a war never formally declared but one that now Iran had no choice but to fight. Netanyahu framed the strikes as a “preemptive defense” against an “imminent nuclear threat,” yet to Iranians, their execution amid what were anticipated to be continuing U.S.-Iran negotiations suggested a darker aim—sabotaging any path to détente. Some analysts speculated and Netanyahu himself hinted that the ultimate Israeli objective was regime change in Iran, especially as the Israeli attacks widened to include oil depots, offshore gas fields, and other economic targets. However, far from weakening the Islamic Republic, the attacks initially provided its leadership with tools to consolidate power.
In Tehran, the response was visceral and instantaneous. Within hours, the schisms that had defined Iran’s politics—reformists versus hardliners, dissidents versus loyalists—vanished beneath a tidal wave of nationalism. State television replaced mourning graphics with the national flag, while Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei appointed Admiral Habibollah Sayari, a figure beloved by most Iranians for naval heroics during the tanker wars of the 1980s during the Iran-Iraq conflict, as Bagheri’s temporary successor. This was more than symbolism; it was a masterstroke of crisis management. Sayari’s promotion signaled that Iran’s survival now trumped ideological purity. Across social media, hashtags like #ایران_را_پاس_میداریم (“We guard Iran”) surged, echoing calls from figures as disparate as dissident Mehdi Karoubi – who spent more than a decade under house arrest after fraud-tainted 2009 elections — and hardline militias in Qom. Even Tehran’s graffiti-scarred walls bore fresh stencils of Persian lions—a silent oath of resistance.
The speed with which this reaction appeared stunned observers. For years, Iran’s civil society had been fractured: student activists demanding freedoms, ethnic minorities decrying repression, women resisting the mandatory hijab and a middle class crushed by inflation. Yet Israel’s aggression transformed dissent into solidarity. This cohesion, however, was laced with unease. As Reza Alijani, a journalist in Paris, noted: “The regime’s incompetence invited this strike. But today, blaming them feels like handing victory to Netanyahu.”
Behind the scenes, what looked to many Iranians like a strategic deception orchestrated by Trump and Netanyahu unfolded with chilling precision. Trump’s public theatrics—a leaked call insisting “no attack on Iran while talks continue,” followed by a televised denial of imminent strikes—lulled Tehran into complacency. Persian-language analyses dissected this “grand deception,” noting how Trump’s ultimatum had always been Netanyahu’s deadline. “Trump played the dove so Netanyahu could play the hawk,” argued one former diplomat to this author. The duplicity extended beyond rhetoric. According to Israeli intelligence leaks, Mossad agents had spent months embedding guided munitions near Iranian air-defense sites, exploiting gaps in radar coverage along the Zagros Mountains. When the first missiles hit, they struck not just facilities but the psyche of a nation already reeling from years of U.S. sanctions.
Iranian civil society’s reaction blended defiance with sober critique. Ardeshir Amir-Arjmand, a noted dissident and former advisor to Mir Hossein Mousavi, the 2009 Green Movement leader who remains under house arrest, described the attack as “a violation of territorial integrity and a crime against humanity.” He wrote: “Iran and Iranians will not bow to aggression. The struggle against internal despotism should not justify aggression against our country.” Amir-Arjmand ended his message with “Long live Iran.” Opposition groups like the Union of the Nation Party condemned the strikes as a “violation of international law” but warned against reckless retaliation. “Attacking U.S. bases or Israeli civilians would turn NATO into Tel Aviv’s bodyguard,” cautioned party leader Azar Mansouri. Her pragmatism contrasted with monarchist exiles, who view the regime’s vulnerability as a catalyst for a new revolution. Diaspora outlets like Iran International TV amplified Israeli narratives—framing the strikes as “liberating Iran from theocracy.” Exiled analyst Ali Afshari countered: “Israel’s attack is aggression, not legitimate defense. Hailing Israeli attacks as legitimate is treason.”
For veteran reformists like Mohammad Tavassoli—a key figure in Iran’s 1979 revolution who later criticized theocratic overreach—the strikes demanded a delicate balance. Tavassoli framed defending Iran as a “civic duty transcending politics,” yet indicted the regime’s isolationist policies. “When we closed our embassies in the 1980s, we didn’t realize we were locking out the world while letting enemies study our locks,” he said. His metaphor underscored a reformist consensus: national unity need not mean silence on governance failures.
The Freedom Movement of Iran, a supporter of the 1979 revolution that was later marginalized by the ruling clerics, explicitly warned that escalation would “destroy infrastructure and deepen poverty,” while dissident Ghasem Sholeh-Saadi noted that “hoping for Israel to topple the regime is like welcoming locusts to save crops.” Prominent journalist Ahmad Zeidabadi, imprisoned before and during the Green Movement, mourned General Bagheri’s death as “a loss to Iran’s institutional memory” but condemned intelligence lapses: “A state that spends billions surveilling its youth yet misses drones over Isfahan has betrayed its primary mandate—protection.” Activist Mohammad Ali Abtahi echoed: “Iranians experience their most united moments when defending Iran against foreign attacks.”
This moral clarity—distinguishing between the Iranian nation and its rulers—became a quiet manifesto for reformists. Mohammad Fazeli, whose lifetime of works criticized the Islamic Republic’s governance and who faced university expulsions, declared: “In the face of foreign enemy attacks, only Iran, Iranian life, Iran’s assets, and national unity matter. Iran must remain so we can strive to build it from within. #Iran_you_remain, our home.”
The regime’s vulnerabilities, long obscured by propaganda, glared under missile fire. Israel’s intelligence penetration—exposed by the precision targeting of General Bagheri’s safe house and nuclear scientists’ homes—laid bare catastrophic security failures. “How can a regime monitoring journalists’ phones miss drones flying into Tehran?” one economist said on condition of anonymity. For many, this highlighted a deeper rot: a military-intelligence apparatus designed to crush internal dissent, not thwart external threats. Former President Mohammad Khatami put it succinctly in a comment that was later deleted. “Israel’s success is our disgrace…Today, we stand with Admiral Sayari. Tomorrow, we demand answers.”
Jailed human rights lawyer Nasrin Sotoudeh echoed this duality: “We defend Iran’s soil, not its rulers’ mistakes.” Her words hinted at a future reckoning: once bombs stop, Iran’s unity may fracture anew, with demands for justice against both the regime and its foreign attackers.
Above all, fear festered. Internet blackouts sparked panic as families struggled to locate loved ones, and roads clogged with residents of Tehran fleeing the capital. Economic collapse loomed; the long-declining rial plummeted 30 percent overnight, and breadlines swelled. “We survived Saddam’s chemicals,” a retired teacher said on condition of anonymity. “We’ll survive this, but the regime must change.”
For now, Israel’s war forged an unspoken pact between Iran’s people and their rulers: survive today, settle scores tomorrow. But in a land where history weighs like mountains, this fragile unity may be structural change’s final act—or its prelude.
Iran’s path to democracy hinges on organic evolution—not external shocks. True transformation requires Iranians to defend their sovereignty while demanding reform—a task no foreign missile can achieve. So far, the regime endures, shielded by crises it helped create.
