Why bombs don’t break Iran

The unpredictable trajectory of the Iran war proves that observers had severely underestimated the resilience of the Iranian regime. From a psychological perspective, the US has struggled in this conflict largely because it failed to account for one of humanity’s most primal instincts: tribalism.

Even before the latest external escalation, Iran was already grappling with deep internal pressures: prolonged stagflation and sharp currency depreciation, recurrent debates over redenominating the rial (removing four zeros from the currency), and widespread informal dollarisation. Social tensions have also been rising, reflected in periodic strikes, shop closures, and sustained contestation over compulsory hijab laws, with visible shifts in compliance among some urban populations.

External pressure binds what was fractured

Against this backdrop, the Islamic Republic remains politically fragmented, shaped by competing internal factions and an enduring environment of mutual intelligence activity and allegations of infiltration involving the US and Israel.

Has anyone stopped to consider why a country so fractured, with its military capabilities severely weakened and its leadership dealt heavy blows, has nonetheless managed to resist the world’s most powerful country with such tenacity?

Had there been no external conflict, such a system might well have unravelled under internal pressure, or even collapsed altogether. That is precisely why the US and Israel chose to strike at this moment: they were highly confident that they could bring about regime change.

But history has repeatedly shown that once an external enemy intervenes, everything reverses. Especially when the conflict involves civilian casualties or the bombing of schools, a once-divided society will rapidly recast into an “us versus them” dynamic. 

Under pressure, a fragmented structure can become more unified instead. This is not simply a political issue; it is a psychological one.

The power of identity

Our desire for freedom and democracy is far less steadfast than we like to imagine, but the obsession over “who we are” is etched into our DNA. There may be exceptions at the individual level, but it is almost always the case for groups.

I once had an epiphany during an activity I enjoy. While watching a live football match, a series of questions suddenly crossed my mind: why am I cheering for this city’s team? Why does their victory make me happy? This team simply happens to be based in the same city as me. Objectively speaking, shouldn’t it be enough to appreciate whichever team plays better?

At that moment, I realised that, logically, the whole thing was in fact absurd. Yet for most fans, it is also as real as it gets.

Humans are primates, and almost all primates possess a deeply ingrained sense of group boundary. In many cases, these boundaries are even artificially constructed and entirely irrational.

Take for example the Rwandan genocide. At its core, it was shaped in part by colonial powers imposing crude classifications, formally dividing populations that were in reality highly similar into distinct ethnic groups, a process that later contributed to catastrophic outcomes.

Another example is the American Civil War. From a historical perspective, slavery was indeed the central conflict, but what also drove people to the battlefield was not the institution alone, but identity itself: “Am I a Southerner, or a Northerner?” shaped in turn by the politics and social divisions of the era.

What Abraham Lincoln truly understood — and where his brilliance lay — was precisely this. At Gettysburg, he did not attempt to persuade through complex policy arguments. Instead, he elevated the narrative to a higher level: that a nation “of the people, by the people, for the people” should not perish from the earth. In essence, Lincoln was invoking a larger “we” to subsume the opposing “we”. 

The US’s development since has in fact been a continuous process of strengthening this overarching sense of unity.

The price of belonging

In contrast, the UK was once an empire on which the sun never set, yet it has since retreated to its home territory. Rationally speaking, for a relatively small country, it might seem preferable to remain unified. The integration of resources, a single market, stronger national security, and greater international influence, all of which tend to be better achieved under unity.

The problem is that humankind does not live purely according to what is more “worth it”. Why does Scotland continue to push for independence? Because the constitutional structure of the UK has, from the outset, been that of a “united kingdom” rather than a fully internalised, unified national identity. 

The narrative of “we have historically been a separate kingdom; we were never the same” has never disappeared. As long as that narrative persists, the impulse towards fragmentation will not vanish even if unity is economically more advantageous.

Singapore presents a similar case. Founding Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew understood that, rationally, a unified Malaysia would have been stronger: a larger market, more abundant resources, and greater developmental capacity. However, the political structure of Malaysia at the time was unable to fully accommodate a Singapore with such a huge Chinese population.

From a rational standpoint, unity benefits both sides; but in terms of identity, you and I were never the same. This is also why the US has repeatedly struggled in the Middle East and Afghanistan. It is not because US military power is weak, nor because it lacks financial resources or institutional design capacity. The problem is that, while the US can destroy a regime, train an army, or build an institutional framework, it is difficult to reshape the sense of “we” within a people’s collective identity in a short time.

Afghanistan’s return to Taliban rule was not because the US military was unable to fight, but because the state narrative built by the US never truly took root in the hearts of the local population.

Flaw in the US’s strategy

Many of the US’s failed military occupations follow a similar pattern: initially, the old order is dismantled by the overwhelming military superiority, giving the impression of effortless victory; next, efforts are made to establish a new order, with costs rising steadily; and eventually, it becomes clear that the real challenge is not winning the war, but persuading the local population of who “we” are; left unresolved, the US ultimately has no choice but to disengage.

In the end, one arrives at a somewhat harsh realisation: many positions we assume to be “rational choices” are, in fact, merely extensions of “which side we belong to”. As the saying goes, “Those who are not of our kind are bound to think differently”.

This article was first published in Lianhe Zaobao as “美国为什么打不垮伊朗？”.

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