ALL ARE IRANIANS RIGHT-WING MANIACS?

When Reza Pahlavi told European journalists that tens of thousands of Iranians had sacrificed their lives for democracy, he wasn’t simply making a political claim—he was pointing to a historical pattern that resists easy categorization. Iran does not fit neatly into the ideological boxes that dominate Western political language. And yet, much of the global conversation about Iran insists on forcing it into those boxes anyway.

This mismatch begins with a flawed assumption: that political identities are universal and transferable. In Europe and North America, terms like “right-wing” and “left-wing” are rooted in specific historical experiences—industrialization, class struggle, liberal democracy, and secularization. But Iran’s political consciousness has been shaped by entirely different forces: monarchy, foreign intervention, religious authority, revolution, and long-term resistance. To interpret Iranian society through Western ideological binaries is not just inaccurate—it actively distorts reality.

Consider the Iranian Revolution. It is often framed externally as a reactionary, religious uprising—a “right-wing” turn. But this interpretation overlooks the coalition that made the revolution possible: secular intellectuals, Marxists, nationalists, and religious groups united not by ideology, but by opposition to authoritarianism. What followed was not the inevitable expression of a single ideology, but the consolidation of power by one faction among many. To reduce that moment—or its legacy—to a simple left-right label is to erase the diversity of voices that shaped it.

The same complexity defines contemporary Iranian society. Many Iranians advocate for democratic governance, freedom of expression, and secular law—positions often associated with liberal or left-leaning politics in the West. At the same time, some express support for national sovereignty, cultural identity, or even geopolitical stances that might be labeled “right-wing” elsewhere. These combinations are not contradictions; they are the result of lived experience in a system where survival, resistance, and identity are intertwined.

Take, for instance, the Mahsa Amini protests. These demonstrations were not organized around a conventional political ideology. They were driven by something more fundamental: dignity. The demand was not for a specific party or doctrine, but for the right to exist freely within one’s own society. Women removing compulsory veils, students chanting against authoritarianism, workers striking—these are not inherently “left” or “right” actions. They are human actions, rooted in a desire for agency.

So why, then, does the mislabeling persist? Part of the answer lies in cognitive convenience. It is easier to interpret unfamiliar political landscapes using familiar frameworks. Labeling Iranians who oppose the current regime as “right-wing” or “extremist” allows observers to place them within an existing narrative, even if that narrative is fundamentally flawed. But this simplification comes at a cost: it strips individuals of their context, their history, and ultimately, their humanity.

There is also a deeper philosophical issue at play. Political labels are not neutral descriptors; they carry moral weight. To call a movement “far-right” or “extremist” is not just to categorize it, but to judge it. When such labels are applied without understanding, they can delegitimize genuine struggles for freedom. In the case of Iran, this means that a population that has endured decades of repression—and, as Pahlavi emphasized, significant loss of life—is sometimes viewed through a lens of suspicion rather than solidarity.

To humanize Iranian politics is to move beyond abstraction. It is to recognize that behind every slogan, every protest, every political statement, there are individuals navigating a complex reality. A young woman in Tehran who demands bodily autonomy is not thinking in terms of Western ideological spectra. A student calling for free speech is not aligning themselves with a predefined political camp. They are responding to immediate conditions, drawing on a cultural and historical memory that is uniquely their own.

This does not mean that Iran is devoid of ideological divisions, nor that all Iranians share the same views. It means that those divisions cannot be cleanly mapped onto external frameworks. The Iranian political landscape is not a mirror of the West; it is its own terrain, with its own logic.

If there is one lesson to take from this, it is a simple but often overlooked principle: understanding requires humility. To engage with another society’s political reality is to accept that your own categories may be insufficient. It is to listen before labeling, to observe before judging.

And perhaps most importantly, it is to remember that when a nation has paid such a high price in its pursuit of freedom, the least it deserves is to be understood on its own terms—not reduced to someone else’s vocabulary.