Part II: Was Iran Invited Only to Discuss Israel?
If the first question raised by the event was why ordinary Iranians seemed absent from a discussion dedicated to understanding their country, the second question emerged naturally from the first. If Iranians themselves were not occupying the center of the conversation, then who was speaking in their place?
The question may appear simple, but it reaches to the heart of a much deeper problem. For more than four decades, discussions about Iran have often been conducted through the voices of governments, diplomats, journalists, academics and political commentators. These perspectives can be valuable, and no serious observer would deny their importance. Yet there is a profound difference between analyzing a country and speaking on behalf of its people. The two are not the same thing. One attempts to understand. The other assumes authority. As the discussion progressed, I increasingly felt that the aspirations, motivations and political choices of ordinary Iranians were being interpreted from the outside rather than taken seriously on their own terms. The Iranian people appeared less as active participants in their own history and more as subjects to be explained by others.
This became particularly apparent when Ramita Navai referred dismissively to Crown Prince Reza Pahlavi as "a bit of a joke." The remark was delivered casually and appeared to pass through the room without significant challenge. Yet for many Iranians, whether they support Reza Pahlavi or not, the statement revealed something important about the assumptions underlying the discussion.
One does not need to support the restoration of the monarchy to acknowledge a simple political reality. Millions of Iranians inside and outside the country regard Reza Pahlavi as a legitimate opposition figure. Some support him because they associate his family name with a period of modernisation before the revolution. Others see him as a unifying figure capable of bringing together a fragmented opposition. Others simply regard him as one of the few internationally recognized alternatives to the Islamic Republic. Equally, some Iranians disagree with him. They favor republican models, secular democratic movements or entirely different visions for Iran's future.
The point is not whether one supports Reza Pahlavi. The point is whether the political judgement of millions of Iranians deserves to be treated seriously.
Throughout the discussion, governments were granted complexity. Militias were granted complexity. Foreign powers were granted complexity. The calculations of regional actors were analyzed in detail and their motivations carefully examined. Yet the political choices of millions of Iranians appeared capable of being dismissed with a joke. What struck me was not the criticism itself but the imbalance. Disagreement is healthy. Mockery is something else. To ridicule a figure supported by millions is ultimately to ridicule the political judgement of those who support him.
The same pattern emerged in subtler ways throughout the discussion. There appeared to be an assumption that Iranian aspirations required explanation from external sources. At one stage, as the discussion turned towards younger generations, Ramita Navai suggested that Iranian youth looked towards successful Western societies and China and that their demands for freedom emerged partly from those comparisons. The remark may have appeared harmless to many in the audience. To me, it revealed a deeper misunderstanding.
The desire for liberty did not arrive in Iran through social media. It did not arrive through satellite television. It did not arrive through exposure to Europe, America or China. Long before the Islamic Republic existed, Iranians were debating constitutional government, representation, political accountability and the rule of law. Long before the current generation was born, Iranians were struggling over the same questions that continue to shape the country's future today.
The Constitutional Revolution was not imported. The movement for national sovereignty under Mossadegh was not imported. The countless struggles for dignity, representation and freedom that have shaped modern Iranian history were not imported. They emerged from within Iranian society itself.
To suggest that contemporary Iranian demands for freedom originate primarily from observing successful foreign societies is to diminish a century of political struggle. It transforms active participants in their own history into passive imitators. It implies that liberty is something Iranians discovered elsewhere rather than something they have pursued, debated and sacrificed for across generations.
What made this particularly striking was that the discussion seemed willing to grant historical depth and complexity to almost every subject except the aspirations of ordinary Iranians themselves. Regional conflicts were situated within historical context. Foreign policy decisions were situated within historical context. Governments were analyzed through the lens of history. Yet when it came to Iranian demands for freedom, there appeared to be far less interest in the long intellectual and political traditions from which those demands emerged.
The consequence of this approach is subtle but significant. If freedom is understood as something borrowed from elsewhere, then Iranian resistance begins to appear derivative rather than authentic. If opposition movements are treated as objects of ridicule, then their supporters become easier to dismiss. If Iranian political aspirations are constantly interpreted through external frameworks, then the people themselves gradually lose ownership of their own story.
Perhaps this is why so many discussions about Iran leave ordinary Iranians feeling unseen. We enter these conversations expecting to hear our country discussed and instead find ourselves listening to explanations of what we supposedly think, why we supposedly act and how we supposedly understand our own circumstances. The result is a peculiar inversion in which those who have lived the reality become less authoritative than those who analyze it. The issue is not that journalists, historians or commentators should remain silent. The issue is that expertise should not become a substitute for listening. Knowledge about Iran is not the same thing as understanding Iranians. The ability to analyze a country is not the same thing as recognizing the agency of its people. This distinction matters because one of the most persistent narratives surrounding Iran is the idea that ordinary Iranians are somehow passive observers of their own history. Yet the evidence points in precisely the opposite direction.
For decades Iranians have protested, organized, resisted, criticized and challenged the system imposed upon them. They have filled prisons. They have lost careers. They have endured exile. They have risked their lives. Entire generations have repeatedly demonstrated their desire for political and social change despite extraordinary personal cost.
To understand Iran requires taking those aspirations seriously. It requires recognizing that Iranian demands for freedom do not need validation from the West, approval from foreign governments or explanation from outside observers. They possess their own history, their own legitimacy and their own roots within Iranian society. As the discussion continued, I found myself increasingly convinced that the problem was no longer simply that Iranians were absent from the conversation. The deeper problem was that others increasingly appeared willing to speak on their behalf. Their motivations were explained. Their political choices were judged. Their aspirations were interpreted. Yet rarely were they allowed to stand as political actors in their own right. The question therefore became larger than any individual remark or any individual speaker. It was no longer merely a question of understanding Iran.
It had become a question of who possesses the authority to define Iran itself.
And that question would become even more important as the discussion moved towards Israel, regional conflict and the narratives that have dominated international conversations about Iran for decades.
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Part IV: Who Speaks For Iran?
The deeper question raised by this series is not whether Iran is misunderstood. The deeper question is who benefits from that misunderstanding. As ordinary Iranians struggle to make their voices heard above the noise of geopolitics, ideology and competing narratives, a simple question remains unanswered: who has the right to speak for a nation they do not have to live in?
Part III: The Narratives That Replace Iran
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Part I: The Country That Disappeared From the Conversation
Some countries disappear long before they cease to exist. Their cities remain crowded, their people remain alive and their history remains intact, yet somewhere between politics, ideology and international narratives, the nation itself begins to fade from view. This chapter explores how Iran, one of the world's most discussed countries, has become a place spoken about endlessly while its people are heard less and less.