The Iranian regime has planted its proxies in more than one Arab country to the point of eclipsing the state itself. The objective was to dominate the region. The Houthis, meanwhile, have attacked neighboring countries and disrupted the global economy in support of that goal. So who is the aggressor, and who is the victim?
In the current conflict, those who light the fire also seek to monopolize the truth. They choose the starting point that suits their narrative and then demand that the audience condemn the side that was struck.
Should anyone challenge this version of events, they are quickly moved from the category of "dissenter" to that of "conspirator." The slogan was "Death to America, Death to Israel," yet the world eventually discovered a Houthi pledge not to target either Israeli or American ships.
It is a scene we have seen before. In the 1950s and 1960s, during what became known as the "Arab Cold War," radio stations handed out certificates of patriotism and divided Arabs into "progressives" and "reactionaries."
It is time to ask the advocates of that ideology: What did you do for people's lives?
I believe this similarity stems from two different schools of thought regarding the modern state and its relationship with its surroundings. The first is revolutionary. It imagines itself as carrying a divine mission that gives it the right to reshape neighboring countries by force.
The second is developmental. It believes that a state's success begins with improving people's lives and engaging constructively with the world. This helps us understand the nature of the current conflict. Most supporters of the theocratic narrative belong to the revolutionary wing of political Islam, wherever they may be.
The revolutionary current draws selectively from tradition to serve its authority. It presents its interpretation of religion as if it were religion itself, and treats the leader as sacred because he supposedly speaks on behalf of God. It shields itself behind a "holy mission."
From there, it becomes easy to claim guardianship over others and extend influence beyond national borders. A neighbor's sovereignty becomes an obstacle, and refusing to interfere in other countries' affairs becomes evidence of hostility toward the sacred cause.
The developmental school, on the other hand, starts with questions that are closer to people's daily lives: How are our children educated? Where do they work? How do they receive medical care? It seeks a state whose environment allows planning, whose laws reassure citizens, and which engages with the world in a healthy and constructive way.
This is why the two narratives are fundamentally at odds. The advocates of the revolutionary expansionist project need to keep the public in a state of ignorance and attached to myths, because awareness opens the door to long-postponed questions, such as: Why are people's living conditions deteriorating?
By contrast, the developmental project requires peace and relationships that do not collapse every morning.
What one side sees as an opportunity to widen confrontation may be viewed by the other as a waste of resources that could have gone to a university or a hospital. Iran spent on its proxies what, if invested at home, could have made it a second South Korea, as Faezeh Rafsanjani said and Mohammad Javad Zarif suggested.
Ironically, supporters of the revolutionary discourse sometimes appear more active than defenders of stability. They have a ready-made accusation, a clear enemy, and a single answer that explains everything.
Others tend to believe that achievements speak for themselves. That attitude must change.
Advocates of peace and development need people who can explain their choices and articulate their arguments. The public sphere should not be left to those who raise their voices and turn concern for human lives into a charge against others. Nor is it enough to counter the revolutionary narrative with self-congratulation. A convincing defense of development and stability requires a voice that speaks without apology.
The flaw in the revolutionary project runs deeper than its inflammatory rhetoric. It seeks to force diverse societies into a supernatural interpretation of reality in a world whose progress is built on science. As a result, it has little tolerance for citizens who ask questions, protest, or compare their living standards with those of others.
And when argument fails to persuade people to embrace the revolutionary, quasi-mystical project, accusations of treason emerge, and even violence and assassination can follow.
Violence is its specialty. Here, violence serves to protect the monopoly on truth and prevent people from testing grand promises against the poverty and oppression they experience every day.
Nor should we confuse possession of modern tools with possession of a modern project. The use of drones and missiles does not change the nature of a system that regards the ideal citizen as a silent one. Modernity is not reflected in weapons; it is reflected in the place of the individual within society, not in the sophistication of the weapon used to enforce obedience.
This is why confronting the revolutionary narrative requires a counter-narrative that presents the facts and asks: Who made the decision for war in Iran and Yemen? Who bears its costs?
Do citizens in either country have the right to oppose it? Slogans must not be allowed to obscure these questions, nor should the aggressor be transformed into a victim.
In conclusion: the strongest response to advocates of revolutionary politics is to expose the distance between two competing projects: one that ignites wars, and another that builds nations.
