The world teeters on the edge—Russia and Ukraine locked in carnage, Israel and Gaza in endless bloodletting, Syria a graveyard of revolution, Yemen a forgotten hellscape, Libya in ruins, North Korea snarling behind its barbed veil, and yes, even the United States, the self-proclaimed beacon of order, sinking into its own rot. Amid this global delirium, I think of Iran—my first home, the land of my birth, and now, a place I know only through memory and mourning. I fled one dying country for another, only to watch both decay from different diseases. To lose a homeland is a wound; to lose two is a kind of death. And yet, through this double exile, I have seen clearly. Strangely, it is Iran, not America, that now stirs my hope. I see in its suffering the flicker of something new—something worth believing in.

In just half a century under the Pahlavi dynasty, Iran leapt from a fractured, feudal past into the modern world—an astonishing transformation by any measure. Roads, schools, industry, women’s rights, secular law—it was as if the country had fast-forwarded through centuries. And yet, all that progress bred its own discontent. Corruption festered. Dissent was crushed. Islamists, communists, liberals—each had their grievances. When the crowds swelled and the chants grew louder, the Shah—ironically a believer in democratic ideals—chose exile over bloodshed. The revolution was largely peaceful. The aftermath was not. Power quickly coalesced around the Islamists, and the people, near-unanimously, chose an Islamic Republic. What followed was not what many had imagined. Retribution came swift and brutal, dissent was silenced again—this time in the name of God. And for fifty years now, the regime has endured: through war, sanctions, uprisings, economic collapse, and global isolation. The air is choking, the currency collapsing, the youth restless—but the system, somehow, stands.

The opposition, both at home and in exile, endlessly chants the mantra of democracy—as if saying the word enough times will summon its spirit. Even the crown prince, once heir to a throne, now claims he desires nothing more than a free vote. But here’s the paradox: Iran is already a democracy, in its own way. The people—nearly all of them—chose this Islamic Republic in 1979. They continue to vote, albeit within a narrow, curated field. It may not be Western-style democracy, but it is theocratic democracy, the only kind that can exist in a nation still almost entirely Muslim, still overwhelmingly Shia, and still deeply conservative. The hard truth, rarely spoken, is that in a fully free election today, with no disqualifications, no censorship, no restrictions—Ali Khamenei might still win. Perhaps not because he is loved, but because no secular rival has earned the people’s trust. And so the opposition fights, dreams, protests—hoping not for democracy, but for a democracy that would produce a different outcome. What they truly seek, then, is not just a new system, but a new people.

So what future awaits Iran? The menu is bleak. A secular democratic revolution that suppresses the religious majority isn’t democracy—it’s a reversal of tyranny, not its end. A new Shariati, a progressive Islamic thinker who bridges faith and freedom, would be ideal—but idealism is rare, and Shariati is dead. A military coup? Unlikely. The Islamic Revolutionary Guard doesn’t just guard the regime—it is the regime. Chaos like Afghanistan or Iraq? Not out of the question, especially if collapse comes faster than consensus. Most likely, though, is what we have now: slow, suffocating continuity. The regime survives, bruised but unbroken, inching toward reform only when absolutely necessary. Change may come—but not through revolution. Through erosion.

This is where I come in. A voice of one, carrying a view so unconventional it’s almost unspeakable. But if I can break through—even just a crack—this may be the only real path forward for Iran, and perhaps a model for the world. If realized, it could restore Iran to the dignity and leadership it once held for centuries, through dynasties that shaped civilization. I ask my fellow countrymen: put aside the cynicism, the pride, the certainty—just for a moment. Listen not with suspicion, but with open minds and open hearts. I know it’s a long shot. I know most won’t. But still—I have to try. So here it is.

The modern world was built on a bipolar dream—a race between two grand ideals: democracy and communism. On paper, both were irresistible. Who could argue against liberty or equality? The world divided and took sides, each convinced it stood on the right side of history. Compared to these bold visions, everything else—monarchy, dictatorship, theocracy—felt like relics of a darker time. The future belonged to the newcomers. Young Iranians, too, split into these camps—idealists chasing modernity—but religion never quite let go. It remained the third leg of a crooked stool. Even the Shah, firmly aligned with the democratic West, saw himself as a modernizer, a friend of America, a believer in progress. How could anyone oppose that? In this high-stakes race, the U.S. and USSR reached for the stars, unlocked the atom, and unleashed a tidal wave of scientific advancement. But this was no endless ascent. It would end with a winner—or with fire.

As it turned out, the communists blinked first. The West claimed victory, the Cold War ended, and with it came the triumphant delusion that history itself had reached its final, enlightened chapter. Liberty had prevailed, the future was secured—or so we were told. But reality had other plans. Democracy, so long idealized, faltered across the globe: Russia reverted to authoritarianism, China doubled down on dictatorship with capitalist flair, Iran dug deeper into theocracy, Afghanistan and Iraq collapsed under the weight of forced freedom, the Arab Spring wilted into winter, and even Europe now teeters on the edge of its own illusions. Instead of global unity under liberal ideals, the world splintered, recoiled, regressed. The experts shrug. Theories fail. No one can quite explain how the dream unraveled. And while we debate the ruins, the planet itself begins to die—oceans rising, forests burning, air thickening. The promised utopia never came. Instead, we are sleepwalking toward extinction—not in nuclear fire, but in heat and drought and silence. What happened? What is happening?

Here’s what really happened. The Cold War was framed as a binary—a grand ideological duel between democracy and communism. And when communism collapsed, the world drew a lazy conclusion: democracy had won, therefore democracy was right. It’s a classic logical fallacy—a false dichotomy. Just because one side fails doesn’t mean the other is correct. Maybe both were flawed. Maybe one just took longer to unravel. But who dares suggest that? Pride won’t allow it. Vanity clouds the view. The West, high on victory, couldn’t imagine its system might be decaying from within. And yet, look around. What’s happening in the United States isn’t so different from the Soviet collapse—only more chaotic, because democracy comes with noise. We are drowning in debt, paralyzed by dysfunction, unable to govern ourselves with even a shred of discipline. We can’t pass budgets, can’t solve basic problems, can’t agree on reality. The only thing keeping us upright is the global dollar, and that’s a sandcastle at high tide. Like the USSR before us, we’re coasting on momentum. And yet, somehow, no one sees it. No one says it. I tried to, once. I laid out the frustration, the delusion, the hopelessness (Beyond Lunacy). But I get it now. When you’ve spent your whole life believing democracy is sacred, when you’ve defeated your great enemy and declared yourself exceptional—it’s almost impossible to admit how far you’ve fallen. And once the vote is in the hands of every idiot, there’s no getting it back. Like giving candy to children and realizing—too late—they’re the ones running the house.

But Iran is different. Iran can be fixed. Fifty years ago, no one could blame the Shah for embracing democracy—it looked like the future. Who, back then, could have argued otherwise? But today? Today, only the blind still preach that gospel. How can any rational person advocate for democracy when it’s collapsing in its own birthplace? Enter the crown prince—poster child for squandered privilege. His grand vision? Win back the country, then throw it back into the same broken ring, let the factions tear each other apart again: conservatives, seculars, moderates, city elites, rural traditionalists, Western sympathizers, Russian or Chinese loyalists, religious minorities—all fighting for dominance. Is this his idea of progress? It’s idiotic. At some point, we must wake up to the truth: democracy is a fool’s errand. It doesn't unite—it fractures. So we must choose something else. And let’s not pretend we have infinite options. We don’t. The real menu is short: a constitutional monarchy, a military-led state, or a reformed but inclusive Islamic system. That’s it. Those are the options. Anything else is fantasy.

But whichever path we choose—monarchy, military, or Islam—none of it matters without one higher imperative: truce and reconciliation. If Rwanda, torn apart by genocide, could forgive and rebuild, then so can we. We must. No matter what the monarchists did to the communists, or what the Islamists did to both—none of it justifies our continued hatred. We are Iranians first. If we can’t live with each other, we will die by each other’s hands. That’s the simple truth. Fundamentalist Muslims, liberal Muslims, non-Muslims, seculars—none are going anywhere. We must accept this reality, not fight it. Coexistence is not a dream—it is a requirement. Without it, there is no nation, no system, no future. Just more blood, more ruin. So before anything else, we must make peace. Not just politically, but in our hearts. Otherwise, we are lost.

The opposition must do what it has never done before: unite—and extend a hand. A final offer to the Islamic regime. Make peace with all Iranians. Allow religious freedom, not as a gesture, but as law. Remain Islamic if you must, but make room for those who choose another faith—or none at all. In return, we will end our opposition. We will stop the protests, the campaigns, the exile politics. We will come together, all of us, to build one country, under one regime, for all Iranians. But if that offer is refused—if oppression remains the rule—then the path becomes clear. A regime that denies freedom of conscience must be resisted, and if necessary, defeated. And in that case, we must find someone worthy of leading that fight—not a puppet, not a prince, but a strong and just leader. One who rules with both mind and heart, and who sees all Iranians—religious, secular, believer, skeptic—as his own.

My challenge to my fellow Iranians, whether inside the country or abroad, is this: open your eyes to the false idol of democracy—a hollow promise that has delivered more division, chaos, and despair than unity or justice. Look around. The very nations that preached it are unraveling under its weight. It is not the salvation we were led to believe—it is a trap. Renounce it. Let go of this borrowed dream that never fit our history, our culture, or our soul. Reclaim what is ours—our dignity, our sovereignty, our identity. We must cut the strings of foreign influence—American, Russian, European—and stand on our own terms. Only then can we begin the hard work of building a system rooted in our reality, not in imported ideals. The time for mimicry is over. The time for rebirth is now.