The attacks by the United States and Israel on Iran have been presented as an inevitable strategic move. However, the last 20 years have shown that, while wars can be won quickly, achieving subsequent political stability is much more challenging. The situation in Iraq in 2003 remains the clearest example of this. Will Iran repeat this pattern?
The US and Israeli attack on Iran was presented as a rational intervention intended to restore balance and neutralise an imminent threat. However, invoking necessity automatically implies taking responsibility for the consequences, and recent history has already shown that this fragile claim reflects excessive strategic optimism at best.
We will temporarily suspend the question of whether the intervention in Iran was legitimate and look at what would need to work for the war to have a stable outcome. The expected military victory can only be the beginning of a broad restructuring process, in which the evolution of state institutions and the reaction of regional actors will determine whether the initial success consolidates into a new political order or paves the way for a prolonged crisis.
The situation in Iraq in 2003 remains one of the most relevant precedents for understanding this dynamic. The collapse of Saddam Hussein’s regime quickly revealed structural vulnerabilities that authoritarianism had long kept under control. With institutions weakened or dismantled, Iraqi society fell victim to sectarian divisions. In the absence of functional state structures, security became fragmented between militias and local actors.
To understand whether the current conflict risks repeating this pattern, we must first consider how the offensive was presented to the public and how it unfolded in the early hours of the operation.
What was said
On 28 February 2026 at 01:15 EST, American and Israeli forces launched an unprecedented assault. US President Donald Trump announced the offensive not in a speech to the nation, but via a post on Truth Social at 02:00 EST.
The first wave of the US-Israeli offensive targeted several Iranian cities, including Tehran, Isfahan, Qom, Karaj, and Kermanshah. In a coordinated operation, the strikes combined Tomahawk cruise missiles launched from US ships with munitions dropped from bombers and fighter jets, constituting the largest US military action in the region in decades.
A few hours after the initial attacks, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu presented the operation in language typical of Israeli strategic discourse, emphasising the elimination of an “existential threat.”
In Washington, the official explanation invoked several reasons almost simultaneously: Tehran’s nuclear programme, the development of ballistic missiles, and support for an extensive network of proxy organisations active throughout the region. The manner in which these justifications were formulated and repeated in the public sphere is indicative of the nature of the moment. Some analysts have described the government’s wavering as an indication of the true complexity of the Iranian issue. Others consider them to be the prerogative of an administration that is still trying to define what success should mean in an ongoing conflict.
What happened
On the first day of the conflict, the war quickly escalated beyond the scenario of a limited pre-emptive strike. Israeli sources announced that Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei had been killed in the initial bombings (information later confirmed by Iranian authorities), triggering an uncertain succession at the top of the regime.
Iran responded by launching ballistic missiles and drones against Israel and US bases in Gulf states, thereby spreading the conflict throughout the region.
At the same time, the civilian death toll rose rapidly. One of the worst incidents occurred in the city of Minab, where a missile destroyed a girls’ primary school, killing over 100 children and sparking international condemnation.
As expected, diplomatic reactions followed predictable lines: some Western governments expressed support or caution, while Russia and China denounced the attacks. Protests and demonstrations by the Iranian diaspora broke out in several capitals, signalling a world beginning to polarise around a new major conflict.
Interpreting the signals
The campaign was given two official names: the Pentagon called the offensive “Operation Epic Fury”, while Israel acted under the code name “Operation Roaring Lion”, which was personally chosen by Benjamin Netanyahu after the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) had initially used another name internally.
In his speech announcing the operation, Netanyahu referred to the Purim holiday and a prophetic verse (“The lion has roared, who will not fear?”), placing the conflict within a historical and religious narrative about Israel’s survival. The image of the lion resonates strongly in both biblical tradition and the symbolism of the Israeli state, where the “Lion of Judah” represents national power and survival. At the same time, such religious language also has resonance in conservative American politics, where support for Israel is often expressed in biblical terms.
Therefore, the way in which the offensive was communicated to the public became a political signal in itself. Donald Trump’s announcement on Truth Social came after Congress had only been informed through a restricted briefing of the so-called “Gang of Eight,” a procedure which quickly sparked criticism on Capitol Hill. Several senators, including Bernie Sanders, described the action as a “premeditated and unconstitutional war,” invoking the limits of presidential powers as set out in the US Constitution.
One critical detail often omitted from official speeches is that Oman’s foreign minister, Badr Al-Busaidi—the mediator of the Iranian–American nuclear negotiations—had announced just hours before the attacks began that Iran had agreed to zero stockpiling of enriched uranium and to full verification by the IAEA. Al-Busaidi had been in Washington on Friday, meeting with Vice President Vance and describing the progress as promising. He said he was “dismayed” by the attacks, stating that escalation does not serve American interests. Oman had scheduled a second round of negotiations in Geneva for the following week.
An analysis by the Washington Institute noted that Trump described the campaign as an exclusively American operation without mentioning Israel, whereas Netanyahu characterised it as a joint operation—a significant difference in interpretation.
Iran was not stable before the attacks
To understand what followed after 28 February, it is first necessary to consider Iran’s internal context. In late 2025 and early 2026, the country was rocked by the most widespread protests in decades. Demonstrations broke out in Tehran on 28 December and quickly spread to dozens of cities, fuelled by a deep economic crisis and the collapse of the national currency. The rial had already lost much of its value in a rapid decline that amplified inflation and dramatically eroded purchasing power.
The movement began symbolically in the Grand Bazaar in the capital, a place that has often served as a barometer of political stability in Iran’s history. It quickly attracted students, workers, and large sections of the urban middle classes. As the protests spread to nearly every province, the authorities responded with brutal repression. Amnesty International described January 2026 as the bloodiest period of repression in Iran in recent decades, with security forces using live ammunition and carrying out mass arrests.
The exact scale of the tragedy remains disputed. While the Iranian government has acknowledged more than 3,000 deaths, human rights organisations have reported much higher figures, with some estimates putting the number of victims of the crackdown at tens of thousands. At the same time, the authorities imposed an almost total internet blackout, starting on 8 January. This measure was later condemned by the UN Human Rights Council for preventing the documentation of abuses.
Beyond the immediate violence, the protests reflected a deeper crisis. Years of sanctions, chronic inflation, and currency depreciation had created an economy in which stagnation and declining living standards had become everyday realities for much of the population. By mid-January 2026, the regime had suppressed the uprising by using its security forces and the loyalty of the Revolutionary Guard. However, the structural causes of discontent, centring on a lack of political reform and international isolation against a backdrop of economic crisis, remained intact.
In theory, the collapse of an authoritarian regime marks the beginning of a new political order. In practice, however, the experience of recent decades suggests that when a state becomes destabilised, its structural vulnerabilities often come to the fore with the greatest force. To understand how a quick military victory can turn into a protracted regional crisis, it is worth looking at the closest precedent: Iraq in 2003.
Iraq in 2003
On 20 March 2003, a coalition led by the United States invaded Iraq under the pretext of eliminating weapons of mass destruction—weapons which were ultimately never found. The military campaign ended quickly. The Iraqi army was defeated and Saddam Hussein’s regime collapsed in less than three weeks. The battlefield victory was clear. However, problems would arise afterwards.
In the first weeks of the occupation, the Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA), the civil administration of the occupation, issued two orders that would define Iraq’s future. The first, issued on 16 May 2003, banned the Baath Party and launched a policy of “de-Baathification,” removing party members from public administration. The second order, issued on 23 May, dissolved the Iraqi army and state security structures.
The consequences were immediate. Around 400,000 military personnel were made redundant overnight, many of them armed and resentful following the collapse of the regime they had served. Critics would later argue that these decisions destroyed the institutions capable of maintaining order in an already fragile state.
The result was a power vacuum that fuelled insurgency, sectarian polarisation, and political fragmentation in Iraq. Rather than a swift transition to political equilibrium, the country descended into a decade of violence and conflict between armed groups. It was from this unstable landscape that the organisation known today as the Islamic State would emerge a few years later.
Iraq’s experience suggests that the collapse of state institutions is only part of the equation. The other variable, which is often less predictable, is how society reacts to this violent change in the balance of power.
Iran—between survival instinct and external pressure
Iran in 2026 raises the same question as Iraq in the 2000s: how will a society under external attack react when already experiencing internal tensions?
The literature on international relations describes two possible directions of evolution. The first interprets external intervention as an opportunity to challenge the regime. Military strikes may be perceived by some in the population as a sign that the state’s coercive apparatus is weakening, and foreign leaders’ messages are sometimes deliberately constructed along these lines. For example, Benjamin Netanyahu addressed Iranian citizens directly, suggesting that the moment of confrontation with the regime was approaching. Reactions from the Iranian diaspora partly reflected this interpretation; in cities such as Berlin, London, and Los Angeles, groups took to the streets to celebrate the news of the attacks, perceiving them as the beginning of political change.
Another dynamic describes a different reflex frequently observed during international conflicts. As early as 1970, political scientist John Mueller conceptualised the phenomenon known as “rally-around-the-flag,” which is the tendency of citizens to temporarily rally around their state leadership when a major external threat is perceived by society. At such times, internal disputes are suspended, national symbols become points of political cohesion, and support for the leadership may increase temporarily.
However, social reality rarely follows a single scenario. Comparative research shows that the population’s reaction to interstate conflicts largely depends on how the conflict is interpreted in the public sphere, and on the dominant political narrative. In other words, the perception of external aggression can trigger a reflex of solidarity, even in societies where there is widespread dissatisfaction with the regime, while the perception of the power apparatus weakening can stimulate civic mobilisation and political contestation.
An additional dimension to this equation is the economy. The 2025–2026 protests already reflected a society marked by economic fatigue and the belief that the decline in living standards was permanent. A prolonged conflict could accentuate this state of collective exhaustion, especially in the event of additional sanctions and possible disruption to energy exports through the Strait of Hormuz, through which approximately one-fifth of the world’s oil supply passes. Under such conditions, social reactions may evolve in different ways, such as civic mobilisation, national solidarity, political radicalisation, or withdrawal from public life through emigration.
The direction in which Iranian society will move remains deeply uncertain. Beyond its immediate reaction, another unknown factor concerns the ability of intervention to generate a more sustainable order than the instability it triggers.
Five conditions for a positive effect
In an optimistic scenario, political stability could emerge if several structural conditions were met simultaneously.
The first condition is clarity and limitation of objectives. Experience in Iraq has shown that missions that are extended create strategic ambiguity and make implementation impossible. Current statements by Netanyahu and Trump suggest that regime change is already an explicit objective, considerably increasing the complexity of the mission. If the objective remains limited to degrading nuclear and ballistic infrastructure, however, the chances of stabilisation increase. However, if regime change becomes implicit without a credible political plan, the risk of chaos increases exponentially.
A second dimension concerns the political architecture of the post-intervention period. Iraq has demonstrated that the collapse of state structures without a functional alternative creates a power vacuum. In the case of Iran, it would be crucial to establish open diplomatic channels and a defined framework for negotiations, while also avoiding the disintegration of essential institutions. If intervention only weakens the coercive apparatus without providing a framework for transition, the likely consequence will be fragmentation rather than reform.
The third and most fragile condition is that Iranian society should not rally around the regime in response. The rallying effect discussed by Feinstein is neither automatic nor guaranteed. It occurs when citizens perceive that their leaders’ actions protect national honour. Mitigating this risk would require low civilian costs and public discourse that avoids national humiliation, but these are unlikely circumstances in a conflict of this scale.
Avoiding regional escalation would also tip the balance in favour of Iran’s internal political stability. However, the first days of confrontation already indicate that escalation has begun.
A final condition is avoiding the collapse of the Iranian economy. An intervention that would trigger additional sanctions or major energy disruptions would hit the civilian population directly, without creating any perception of tangible political or social benefits. And the historical lesson is clear: extreme economic pressure does not automatically produce democratization.
Who should take responsibility?
The question I deliberately left unanswered at the beginning of this text is ultimately worth revisiting. Beyond strategic calculations, there is a problem that no military analysis can avoid: When is armed intervention legitimate? The tradition of political ethics offers a relatively stable framework for answering this dilemma. According to the theory of just war, the legitimacy of the use of force depends on several classic criteria: the existence of a just cause, the proportionality of the response, the exhaustion of diplomatic alternatives, and a reasonable probability of success. These criteria are intended to limit the use of violence in international relations.
However, applying these principles to Iran in 2026 remains highly controversial. Destroying a regime and building something better are two fundamentally different operations requiring different instruments, actors, and time horizons. The CSIS (Center for Strategic & International Studies) warns that Operations Epic Fury and Roaring Lion “are likely the start of a prolonged conflict with Iran” and that “the US–Israel coalition has moved beyond proliferation targets and is seeking to destroy the Iranian government entirely,” with no public documents revealing what is intended to happen after this stage.
The true moral measure of the intervention will be what remains in five or ten years’ time: a safer region and a freer Iranian society, or a new generation raised in the shadow of instability? The lesson is already written in blood on the sands of Iraq.