From ummah to nationalism: The Islamic Republic’s identity shifts under airstrikes
In June 2025, after Israeli and U.S. airstrikes targeted Iranian nuclear sites and civilian areas, the Islamic Republic stopped short of a full military response. But it didn’t remain silent. Its reply came not just through rhetoric or missiles, but through symbols—religious, national, and increasingly fused.
For decades, Iran’s rulers viewed nationalism as a divisive, Western import—a colonial tool designed to fracture the Islamic ummah. But the strikes seem to have reshaped that narrative. Today, the same leaders who once championed pan-Islamism now promote a fusion: Shi’a symbolism woven into nationalist pride. It’s not the first time these elements have overlapped—but this time, the message is louder, clearer, and more intentional.
A ceremonial shift with political overtones
One of the clearest signs of this shift came during Ashura in early July. In Yazd, official mourning ceremonies featured the anthem Ey Iran—a patriotic song long missing from state events. Religious sermons spoke of defending “our Iran,” not the broader Muslim ummah. The change in tone was unmistakable.
Ayatollah Khomeini built the Islamic Republic on a vision that placed Islam above the nation. He condemned nationalism as an imperialist poison. This wasn’t just rhetoric—it was core doctrine. As Khomeini famously declared:
“Islam has come to eliminate these nonsensical ideas. Nationalist people are of no use to us; Muslim people are. Islam is opposed to nationalism. Nationalism means we want the nation, we want nationalism, and we don’t want Islam.”
The early Islamic Republic followed this line strictly: pre-Islamic symbols were erased from schoolbooks, and foreign policy revolved around solidarity with the Muslim world. After the 1979 revolution, national identity took a back seat to religious universality.
Today, that framework is shifting. This isn’t just political adjustment—it’s a reset of how the Islamic Republic presents itself. By blending patriotism with religious ritual, the regime now presents itself as more than a revolutionary project. It is a nation under attack—and it wants Iranians to rally behind that image.
A public caught in-between
Inside Iran, the airstrikes triggered both outrage and reflection. Civilian casualties—like those in the strike on Tajrish Square—provoked anger that crossed political lines. While many inside the country remain sharply critical of the regime, another kind of resentment has grown—this time aimed at parts of the Iranian diaspora who openly cheered the strikes.
This double-edged anger has created space for the regime to reposition itself. With public trust eroding, the government is trying to reframe nationalism as a source of unity. State-aligned media has seized the moment, framing the strikes not as attacks on the Islamic Republic—but on the Iranian people themselves.
Whether this repositioning will last is unclear. But for now, it gives the regime a powerful rhetorical shield—against both outside threats and internal dissent.
A narrative of unity—but exclusion remains
But this new narrative has limits. Iran is home to a diverse society—Kurds, Baluchis, Arabs, Turks—many of whom have long been excluded from state rhetoric and policy. Calls for unity under the national flag may resonate for the moment.
But symbols—no matter how powerful—don’t fix deep-rooted inequalities. If national unity becomes a slogan without reform or inclusion, it risks deepening the very divisions it pretends to heal. In that sense, the post-strike embrace of nationalism looks more like a performance—one that covers cracks without addressing them.
Khamenei’s return and the symbolism of Ashura
On 5 July, Ayatollah Khamenei appeared in public for the first time since the June strikes. He attended a high-profile Ashura ceremony at Tehran’s Imam Khomeini Mosque. Before him, the crowd chanted slogans of loyalty—many with clear nationalist tones. The message was calculated: the Supreme Leader stood not just as a religious figure, but as a symbol of national defense.
This fusion is no accident. In moments of crisis, blending symbols projects strength—without requiring policy change. By merging nationalist and religious imagery, the regime is building emotional legitimacy—without ceding an inch of political control. It’s a tactic Iran used before—during the Iran–Iraq War, when Shi’a martyrdom and nationalist slogans were used to rally the public. But even then, the costs were steep: dissent was crushed, youth were sent to die in the name of religion, and daily life became consumed by war and sacrifice.
The unresolved crisis beneath the slogans
Despite the renewed wave of patriotic messaging, Iran’s core problems remain unresolved. The economy is battered. Inflation is high, unemployment persistent, and everyday life increasingly unaffordable. For many—especially young people and political activists—exclusion from the system is not new; it’s the norm.
Symbolic politics can stir emotions—but it doesn’t fix broken systems. Among students, workers, and much of the urban poor, the regime’s new narrative may feel hollow. The slogans have changed. The lived reality hasn’t.
Perhaps Israel and the US believed the strikes would shake the regime—or spark dissent from within. Instead, Iran’s leaders turned the attacks into political fuel. By casting the state as the defender of Iran itself—not just the Islamic Republic—they crafted a narrative meant to neutralise both foreign enemies and domestic critics.
But this recalibrated identity will soon face a test. If the regime continues to silence dissent and resist reform, the unity forged under fire may prove short-lived. Nationalism, without inclusion or justice, doesn’t bind—it breaks.
For now, the Islamic Republic has found a compelling story: a nation under siege, drawing strength from its faith and history. And in moments of crisis, words can hold people together. But if repression deepens and reforms never come, no anthem—religious or national—will be enough to keep Iran from fracturing.
The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.