The illusion of an imminent fall by Fahad Kline

To expect the Iranian regime to collapse because of demonstrations and internal weaknesses, by comparing it similar authoritarian regimes of the region of the past, is a dangerous miscalculation. It is comforting even seductive, to believe that history moves in neat patterns, that popular anger inevitably topples entrenched power, that corruption hollows out any state beyond repair, that fear eventually dissolves in the face of courage. But Iran is not Iraq and the Islamic Republic is not merely another brittle dictatorship waiting for the right push. It is something far more deeply embedded, far more entangled with the daily life, psychology and social structures of its people.

The comparison with Saddam Hussein’s Iraq is particularly misleading. Saddam ruled through naked coercion, tribal alliances and a military machine that ultimately depended on loyalty bought with money and fear. When that machine cracked, the state collapsed with it. The Iranian system, by contrast, is not just a government; it is an ecosystem. It has spent more than four decades weaving itself into education, welfare, religion, business, media and even private morality. It does not merely govern society. It inhabits it.

The ayatollahs did not build a regime that floats above the population like a foreign object. They cultivated one that sinks roots into neighborhoods, mosques, charities, universities and families. The Basij is not only a paramilitary force; it is also a social ladder for the rural poor, a source of identity for young men with few alternatives and a gateway to jobs, loans and respect. State-linked foundations distribute food, housing and scholarships. Clerical networks mediate disputes, arrange marriages and provide a sense of moral order. For millions of Iranians, the regime is not an abstract oppressor but the system through which daily life is navigated.

This does not mean the system is loved. It is resented, mocked and cursed with impressive creativity. It is blamed for inflation, isolation, corruption and the slow suffocation of personal freedom. Protest slogans have become bolder, angrier, more explicit. The courage of young Iranians, especially women, is undeniable. Yet resentment is not the same as revolutionary capacity. A society can be deeply unhappy and still profoundly constrained, fragmented and risk-averse.

One of the Islamic Republic’s greatest strengths is its mastery of controlled pluralism. It allows just enough debate, factionalism and ritualized dissent to release pressure without surrendering power. Reformists, conservatives, pragmatists, hardliners, these labels give the impression of choice and motion, while the core remains untouched. Elections are staged not to transfer authority, but to periodically renew the illusion that authority can be negotiated with. The result is a population trained to hope narrowly, complain loudly and act cautiously.

There is also the matter of fear, which in Iran is not crude but calibrated. The state does not need to terrorize everyone all the time. It only needs to make examples, unpredictably and selectively. Prison sentences, disappearances, sudden executions, the quiet destruction of families through blacklisting and social exclusion, these are enough to discipline millions. The message is subtle but clear: protest is possible, resistance is admirable but survival is mandatory.

Unlike Saddam’s Iraq, Iran also possesses an ideological spine that still holds, however crookedly. The revolution of 1979 is not ancient history. It is a living myth, retold in schools, commemorated in murals, revived every year in ceremonies and speeches. The regime presents itself not just as a state, but as the guardian of a cosmic narrative, resistance against Western domination, Shiite martyrdom against injustice, dignity against humiliation. Even those who reject this story are forced to speak its language. It defines the grammar of political life.

Economic misery alone will not undo this architecture. Sanctions, inflation and unemployment erode legitimacy but they also deepen dependence. When the private sector collapses, state-linked institutions expand. When opportunities shrink, ideological loyalty becomes currency. Hardship does not always radicalize; it often exhausts.

This is why predictions of imminent collapse resurface every few years and are proven wrong every time. Outsiders see the crowds, the slogans, the viral videos and mistake visibility for momentum. They underestimate how thoroughly the regime has learned to absorb shock. It bends, retreats tactically, sacrifices a few officials, adjusts the volume of repression and then resumes. Like a seasoned boxer, it knows how to lean into the punch.

None of this means the system is eternal. It is aging, sclerotic, riddled with corruption, and increasingly disconnected from the aspirations of its own youth. Its religious authority is thinner than it once was. Its economic model is unsustainable. Its succession question looms like an unspoken storm. But decay is not collapse and stagnation is not surrender.

Real change in Iran, if it comes, is more likely to be slow, messy and internal, a transformation of the system rather than its sudden demolition. It will emerge from generational shifts, elite fractures, economic reconfiguration, and the gradual erosion of ideological faith. It will not look like Baghdad in 2003 or Tehran in 1979. It will be quieter, more ambiguous, and far less cinematic.

To believe otherwise is to misunderstand the nature of the Islamic Republic and, more importantly, the reality of those who live under it. Hope is not analysis. Anger is not strategy. And history does not repeat itself simply because we wish it would.