Iran International
Iran’s revamp of a top national security body signals a ruling system in decline, former US State Department official Len Khodorkovsky told Eye for Iran, calling it “pure theater” and likening it to “rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.”
“We’re seeing the leadership desperate and flailing away in various ways to try and preserve its control and its hold on power,” he said. “Whether you stand up the defense council, whether you change the name of the currency ... the ship is still sinking.”
Khodorkovsky served as Deputy Assistant Secretary of State during the first Trump administration, working closely with the Special Representative for Iran on the administration’s “maximum pressure” campaign.
Born in the Soviet Union, he emigrated to the United States as a child after experiencing life under the communist system. From abroad, he watched the country of his birth unravel — a collapse that, he says, offers lessons for Iran today.
His prediction rests on a convergence of forces the leadership cannot reverse: an economy in freefall, a public that has lost faith in the system, and leaders resorting to cosmetic moves to mask deep structural decay.
Drawing on the lessons of the Soviet collapse, he argued that once cracks appear in an authoritarian system, its fall can come faster than expected.
Iranian officials framing: “Wartime necessity”
Iranian state media has portrayed the council — approved August 3 by the Supreme National Security Council (SNSC) under Article 176 of the constitution — as a crucial wartime measure.
Chaired by the president, it includes the heads of the judiciary and parliament, senior military commanders, key ministers, and two representatives of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei.
Veteran lawmaker Alaeddin Boroujerdi called it “necessary given the current wartime situation,” saying it would allow military and defense decisions to be made “in a concentrated manner” during critical moments. Esmaeil Kowsari, a former Revolutionary Guards commander, said it would speed the chain of command and “with timely strikes, suppress threats.”
The revival of such a body — last active during the 1980–88 Iran–Iraq War — follows a 12-day war with Israel in June, during which Iranian military and nuclear facilities were hit by Israeli and US strikes.
Larijani’s return: rebrand, not reboot
Two days after the council’s creation, President Masoud Pezeshkian appointed Ali Larijani as SNSC secretary.
Khamenei quickly followed, naming Larijani his personal representative to the body. A political veteran, Larijani previously served as SNSC secretary from 2005 to 2007, was speaker of parliament for over a decade, and has long been an adviser to the Supreme Leader.
Khodorkovsky said Larijani’s appointment will not change the system’s trajectory. “They’re trying to look strong externally, but internally the system is rotting,” he said. “The personnel changes are cosmetic — the fundamentals are the same.”
Mounting internal strain
Iran’s ruling system is buckling under severe economic pressure. The rial has collapsed—dropping from around 300,000 per USD in 2020 to over 1 million in early 2025—losing more than 80 percent of its value. Inflation remains among the highest in the world.
A nationwide truckers’ strike began on May 22, 2025, in Bandar Abbas, a key southern port city on the Persian Gulf, spreading within days to more than 155 cities across all 31 provinces by June 1.
The strike brought key transport routes to a halt and drew public sympathy as a flashpoint of economic and social discontent.
Since the June war with Israel, Iran has seen no major uprisings — only scattered strikes and protests amid a heavy security presence.
Authorities have intensified arrests of activists, expanded surveillance, and deployed security forces in restive provinces to deter gatherings.
Against this backdrop, the truckers’ strike has been the most visible form of unrest, reflecting deep and widespread grievances across the population.
For Khodorkovsky, these are the real forces eroding the state’s foundations — and they cannot be reversed by councils or reshuffles.
“You can change the faces, you can change the names, you can create new institutions,” he said, “but when the people have turned away and the economy has collapsed, the end is only a matter of time.”
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Most people I see in Tehran feel suspended in uncertainty, struggling with daily water and electricity outages while fearing the return of United Nationas sanctions and another war. They want change, but can’t see it on the horizon.
Worst of all, they feel they can’t express their concerns and thoughts.
“These days, you have to declare your political stance before you can say anything. And what you say must fit the dominant binaries, even if it’s about the price of beef.”
Shahriar is 36. He was laid off from his HR job just after the Iran-Israel ceasefire. He now delivers food while looking for work.
“There’s no voice that represents us,” Shahriar says. “And by us, I mean those who hate the Islamic Republic but don’t want to see the country destroyed by war. The atmosphere of accusation, labeling and hate online is so intense that I stopped posting on X and Instagram two weeks ago.”
That hostility, he says, has spilled beyond the screen.
“I’ve seen this toxicity enter friendships and family gatherings. If you criticize the war, people assume you support the regime—even though that same regime has imprisoned anti-war activists. Even supporters of the regime can’t tolerate anti-war views.”
Pick a side
Since the widespread protests of 2022, many activists have been calling for unity between those who want to see fundamental change in Iran. But solidarity remains fragile and elusive. A coalition of six high-profile opposition figures offered a glimmer of hope. But the effort quickly collapsed, widening divides and deepening mistrust.
“There’s this illusion that only two camps exist. Either you follow a scripted, militant vision of regime change or you’re a regime collaborator,” says Shiva, a civil society activist in Tehran.
The polarization, she believes, has erased nuance and pushed those like her out of conversations.
“Say Israel committed crimes, and one group calls you a regime apologist. Say the same thing to the other side, and they’ll ask why you’re silent about Iran’s military achievements. You find yourself defending your integrity instead of your argument. Constantly. It’s exhausting—and sad.”
Repeat the line
A recent study by LifeWeb, an analytics group operating under restrictions in Iran, offers a partial window into online activity during and after the Iran-Israel war.
The report says the hashtag #جانم_فدای_ایران (“My life for Iran”)—promoted by former foreign minister Mohammad Javad Zarif—was used in over 514,000 posts generated by only 17,000 users. That’s an average of 30 posts per user, suggesting coordinated repetition rather than broad engagement.
Likewise, in the final three days of the war, the Trump-associated hashtag #MIGA (Make Iran Great Again) appeared more than one million times from just 30,000 users—again averaging 30 posts each. This peak came during a nationwide internet blackout in Iran, raising further questions about the campaign’s authenticity.
While not conclusive, such patterns underscore how coordinated efforts can dominate digital narratives, often overshadowing the quieter voices who oppose both war and authoritarianism.
Silence yourself
This “distortion” shapes perception, says Navid, a 28-year-old MBA student.
“These campaigns make it seem like most Iranians supported the Israeli strikes. But around me, most people saw war as a dangerous way to bring change. Sure, some defend it—but when the majority stays silent, the loud minority becomes the dominant voice.”
Navid believes this dynamic makes people fear expressing their views, feeling isolated in their beliefs. His friend Sina nods as he speaks before jumping in to vent his frustration at “losing” the only space he had to talk.
“Social media is the one platform most of us have to express our views. And it has been taken over by aggressive minorities and pressure groups.
“How can we reach a shared understanding, a shared purpose, when all we do is attack and cancel each other,” he asks. “The worst bit is we don’t even know if those shutting us up are real people or bots and cyber mercenaries.”
In 1980, months after Islamists took over what appeared to be everyone’s revolution, Iran’s renowned poet Ahmad Shamlou wrote one of his most recited lines to describe the repression: “They sniff your mouth, lest you’ve said ‘I love you.’”
It’s chilling to hear that line whispered again, not in defiance of power, but in fear of each other.
