Part I: The Country That Disappeared From the Conversation
The Dalkey Book Festival asked a simple question: who are the Iranians? An afternoon spent on the Revolutionary Guards, Israel and regional power left little room for the people themselves.
Some countries disappear long before they cease to exist. Their mountains remain where they have always stood. Their rivers continue flowing towards ancient seas. Their cities remain crowded, their markets remain busy and their people continue waking each morning to the ordinary demands of life. Yet somewhere between politics, ideology and international narratives, the country itself begins to fade from view. Its people become secondary characters in stories told by others. Their lives are reduced to footnotes beneath strategic calculations, military analyses and geopolitical theories. The nation remains physically present while gradually disappearing from the conversation.
Iran has lived in this strange condition for much of the past half century. Few countries are discussed more frequently. Governments debate it. Journalists analyze it. Academics write about it. Activists invoke it. Diplomats negotiate over it. Yet despite the endless attention directed towards Iran, there remains a remarkable distance between the country being discussed and the lives of the people who inhabit it. The world has become remarkably skilled at discussing the Islamic Republic, its ambitions, its enemies, its allies and its strategic importance, while often displaying far less curiosity about the eighty million human beings whose daily lives are shaped by the realities of living beneath that system.
For decades Iran has existed simultaneously as a nation and as an idea. The nation consists of workers, teachers, pensioners, students, mothers, fathers and young people attempting to build lives within increasingly difficult circumstances. The idea consists of nuclear negotiations, proxy conflicts, sanctions, regional power struggles and endless debates about security and influence. The tragedy is that the idea frequently overshadows the nation. The more the world talks about Iran, the less visible Iranians themselves often become.
These thoughts accompanied me to an event entitled Understanding Iran at the Dalkey Book Festival. The discussion took place in the Fitzpatrick Castle Hotel overlooking Killiney Bay, one of the most beautiful stretches of coastline in Dublin. Outside, the sea stretched towards the horizon beneath the summer light while visitors moved between literary events in one of Ireland's most celebrated cultural festivals. It was a setting associated with reflection, curiosity and the exchange of ideas. The festival program itself posed a simple but important question: Who are the Iranians?
It was precisely the question that needed to be asked. Who are the Iranians beyond the headlines? Who are they beyond uranium enrichment, sanctions, proxy organizations and regional conflicts? Who are they beyond the image of the Islamic Republic that dominates so much international discussion? For those of us who have spent years watching our homeland reduced to geopolitical arguments, the possibility of genuine understanding carries an undeniable appeal. One hopes that somewhere beyond the strategic analyses there might finally be space for the people themselves. One hopes that somebody will speak about the workers whose wages disappear beneath inflation, the pensioners whose savings no longer sustain them, the women risking arrest for demanding control over their own lives, the students filling prison cells for speaking freely and the families carrying the burden of repression, exile and uncertainty across generations.
The panel brought together Ramita Navai, Sally Hayden, Avi Shlaim and Alan Shatter under the moderation of Colm O'Regan. Between them sat decades of experience in journalism, history and political commentary. The discussion opened with questions concerning the resilience of the Islamic Republic, the role of the Revolutionary Guards and the reasons military pressure had failed to produce regime collapse. Much of the analysis was informative. Any serious discussion of contemporary Iran must acknowledge the extraordinary power accumulated by the Revolutionary Guards and the extent to which they have embedded themselves throughout the political, military, intelligence and economic structures of the state.
Yet even during these opening exchanges something felt absent. The machinery of power was being described in considerable detail, but the people living beneath that machinery remained largely invisible. The discussion focused upon institutions, strategy and regional dynamics, yet very little was said about the daily reality experienced by ordinary Iranians. As the conversation progressed, this absence became increasingly difficult to ignore because what followed was not so much a discussion about Iran as a discussion about the forces surrounding Iran.
At one point Avi Shlaim introduced himself as a historian. Naturally, I expected that introduction to lead towards Iranian history, Iranian society and the forces that have shaped the country's modern condition. Instead, much of his contribution focused upon Israel, Israeli policy and Israeli ambitions within the region. Again and again the discussion returned to Israel and Palestine. Israeli actions were examined in detail. Palestinian suffering received extensive attention. Regional conflicts occupied increasing amounts of the conversation. Yet with every return to those subjects, the Iranian people seemed to recede further into the background. This was not because those subjects were unimportant. Human suffering deserves attention wherever it occurs, and the tragedies of war should never be dismissed. The problem was one of proportion. An event called Understanding Iran seemed increasingly preoccupied with understanding everyone except the people whose name appeared in the title.
The irony became increasingly difficult to ignore. Israel was discussed. Palestine was discussed. Lebanon was discussed. American foreign policy was discussed. Military strategy was discussed. Regional alliances were discussed. Yet the mothers waiting outside Iranian prisons remained invisible. The workers struggling beneath economic collapse remained invisible. The pensioners watching inflation consume their savings remained invisible. The students imprisoned for demanding freedom remained invisible. The women risking arrest for rejecting compulsory veiling remained invisible. The deeper the discussion moved into geopolitical territory, the more I felt that Iran itself was disappearing. Perhaps what troubled me most was that I felt, the Iranian people were discussed rather than heard. Their motivations were explained rather than explored. Their aspirations were analyzed rather than taken seriously on their own terms.
As the afternoon progressed, another pattern became increasingly difficult to ignore. Criticism of Israel was not merely present in the discussion; it became one of its dominant themes. Israeli actions were examined repeatedly and in considerable detail. Palestinian suffering received extensive attention and emotional engagement. The audience was encouraged to think deeply about the consequences of Israeli policy and military action. Yet remarkably little energy was devoted to examining the consequences of the Islamic Republic's actions for the people of Iran.
There was little sustained discussion of political prisoners. Little discussion of executions. Little to no discussion of censorship, forced confessions, internet blackouts or the systematic repression that has shaped Iranian life for decades. There was little discussion of the pensioners struggling to survive, the workers crushed beneath inflation or the young people who increasingly see no future for themselves inside their own country.
The discussion appeared capable of immense moral clarity when examining the suffering of others, yet strangely hesitant when confronting the suffering of Iranians themselves. By this stage, the original question posed by the festival program had acquired an almost tragic quality. Who are the Iranians? The answer seemed increasingly elusive, not because the question was difficult but because the people themselves had largely disappeared from view. Iran remained present as a geopolitical subject, a strategic concern and a regional actor, yet the human reality of Iranian life had been pushed steadily towards the margins.
As I listened, I began to realize that the problem extended far beyond this particular event. What was unfolding in that room reflected a broader habit that has shaped international discussions about Iran for decades. The regime is discussed. Its enemies are discussed. Its allies are discussed. Its ambitions are discussed. Yet the people trapped beneath its rule are repeatedly treated as secondary figures in a story that belongs first and foremost to them.
The festival program had asked a simple question: Who are the Iranians?
By the end of the discussion, I found myself asking a different one.
If an event called Understanding Iran can spend hour discussing almost everything except the lived reality of Iranians themselves, then who exactly is being understood?
Because the deeper problem is not that the world knows too little about Iran.
The deeper problem is that it has become accustomed to discussing Iran without Iranians.
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