Sanctioned but Not Stalled: Creativity and Ingenuity inside Iran’s Resistance Economy

Sanctioned but Not Stalled:
Creativity and Ingenuity in Iran’s Resistance Economy

By Kat Ulrike

In the corridors of isolation, ingenuity grows. In the absence of permission, creativity becomes necessity. And in a nation besieged by sanctions, embargoes, and diplomatic strangulation, survival itself becomes a laboratory for innovation.

This is the story of Iran’s Resistance Economy—an economic doctrine born not of privilege or expansionism, but of siege. Yet under the pressure of systemic exclusion from the global order, Iran has not collapsed. It has adapted. And more than that: it has created.

The Birth of the Resistance Economy

The term “Resistance Economy” (اقتصاد مقاومتی) was not born in a vacuum. It emerged as a strategic and ideological response to the suffocating reality of sanctions, isolation, and asymmetric economic warfare waged primarily by the United States and its allies. At the center of this economic doctrine is Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, Iran’s Supreme Leader, who formalized and championed it as both a national survival strategy and a paradigm shift in economic thought.

In a landmark statement in February 2014, Khamenei unveiled the “General Policies of the Resistance Economy” (Siyasat-ha-ye Kolli-ye Eqtesad-e Moqavemati), a 24-point roadmap aimed at building an economy resistant to external shocks. The document was not just administrative—it was philosophical. In his accompanying speech, Khamenei declared:

“This is an economy that can continue and thrive even under pressure… An economy that reduces dependency, empowers production, and uses knowledge-based companies and domestic capacities. This is the economy of dignity.” 

— Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, Tehran, 2014 

This doctrine calls for inward-looking strength: reducing reliance on oil exports, diversifying income sources, localizing technology production, strengthening knowledge-based industries, and promoting a culture of thrift, efficiency, and strategic patience. In other words, a deliberate pivot from consumerist dependency on global capitalism toward an indigenous, mobilized economy that can function even when isolated.

The backdrop of this doctrine was clear: years of economic siege, intensified after the 2010–2013 nuclear-related sanctions, which targeted Iran’s banking, petrochemical, and trade sectors. These sanctions were designed to paralyze Iran’s economy by cutting off its access to SWIFT (global banking), limiting oil revenues, and isolating its industries from Western investment and parts. 

Yet, rather than buckle under the weight, Iran—guided by Khamenei’s vision—sought to transform scarcity into strategy. The Resistance Economy was to be the answer not just to sanctions, but to structural dependence itself. 

 “If we become dependent on the outside, they can threaten us. If our economy is rooted in our people, they cannot shake it with a storm of sanctions.” 

— Khamenei, Nowruz Address, March 2015

Importantly, this was not framed as austerity, but as dignified resilience. It drew deeply from Iran’s Islamic-Revolutionary ethos: the idea that self-reliance is a religious virtue and that economic independence is part of istiklal (sovereignty). Thus, the Resistance Economy was never just about GDP—it was about survival with sovereignty.

Over time, what emerged was not mere self-sufficiency, but innovation under pressure. The inability to import advanced machinery, pharmaceuticals, or even airplane parts compelled domestic scientists, engineers, and technocrats to develop local alternatives. What would have been a vulnerability became an incubator of creativity.

Khamenei explicitly encouraged this shift:

“Sanctions should be seen as an opportunity. They forced us to wake up, to activate our talents, and to innovate. Our youth and our scientists have turned sanctions into strength.” — Speech to the Assembly of Experts, March 2016

In essence, the Resistance Economy is not about economic nationalism in the Western sense. It is a post-sanction logic: a system of economic governance where innovation arises from isolation, and where the state fosters grassroots ingenuity in science, agriculture, defense, and even the arts.

The blueprint has become a live document, updated through policy guidance, five-year plans, and state-sector investments in knowledge-based firms (danesh-bonyan) and cooperative networks. It is embedded in Iran’s 2025 Vision Plan, and even the National Development Fund is now tasked with supporting the infrastructural goals of the resistance framework. 

From Constraints, Creativity

Iran’s innovation did not emerge despite constraints—it emerged because of them.

Sanctions, embargoes, and exclusion from global markets have often been framed by Western analysts as mechanisms to induce collapse or regime change. But in Iran, these very constraints have instead catalyzed a distinctive form of innovation: resourceful, frugal, deeply localized, and often experimental. Denied access to critical Western technologies, capital, and partnerships, Iran was forced to cultivate a culture of self-reliance and adaptive creativity.

This didn’t happen in isolation. Iranian universities, research centers, and informal engineering collectives were tasked—explicitly or implicitly—with replicating, reverse-engineering, and eventually improving upon technologies and systems that were no longer available through traditional channels.

Some of the most significant examples of this innovation under pressure include:

• Defense and Aerospace
  
  
  Perhaps the most dramatic arena of constrained innovation is in military and aerospace technology. Iran, under heavy arms embargoes, developed one of the most advanced domestic drone programs in the Middle East. The Shahed-129 and Mohajer series drones—designed for surveillance, precision strikes, and asymmetrical warfare—are entirely homegrown, integrating repurposed components, open-source avionics, and Iranian-made guidance systems.
  
  
  Iran’s ballistic missile technology, including the Fateh, Shahab, and Sejjil systems, has evolved from reverse-engineered Soviet and North Korean designs into distinctly Iranian platforms with improved range, mobility, and accuracy. These are not legacy weapons—they are adaptive responses to deterrence needs in a post-sanction environment.
  
  
  The space program, too, reflects this drive. Satellites like Omid, Rasad, and Noor were designed, built, and launched by Iranian engineers, despite restrictions on access to high-grade materials and launch platforms. In effect, Iran’s defense innovation has blurred the lines between civilian ingenuity and strategic deterrence, often relying on repurposed academic talent.

• Pharmaceuticals and Biotechnology
  
  
  In the health sector, Iran’s biomedical innovation has been no less impressive. With international pharmaceutical companies barred from doing business, Iran had no choice but to build a vertically integrated domestic pharma industry. Today, over 90% of essential medicines are produced domestically, covering a vast spectrum from generics to complex biologics.
  
  
  Iran is also a regional leader in biotechnology, with institutions like the Pasteur Institute of Iran and Barakat Pharmaceutical Group driving research in oncology, vaccines, and antiviral treatments. Notably, during the COVID-19 pandemic, Iran developed COVIran Barekat, a domestically produced vaccine that symbolized the country’s commitment to biomedical self-sufficiency—even under extreme pressure.
  
  
  This innovation has not just been about replication; it has involved genuine scientific advancement in fields like stem cell therapy, nanomedicine, and biosimilars, often under the radar of international biomedical forums.
  
  
• Agriculture and Water Management
  
  
  In the face of both climate change and import restrictions, Iran’s agricultural sector had to innovate or perish. Harsh water scarcity, worsened by sanctions on irrigation equipment and desalination technology, led to grassroots solutions that combined traditional knowledge with scientific insight.
  
  
  Iranian engineers revived and modernized the qanat system—ancient underground aquifers—and integrated them with modern drip irrigation and hydroponics. Smart greenhouse systems, designed to operate with minimal water input, are now deployed from Kerman to Mashhad. Researchers in Isfahan and Yazd have developed drought-resistant crops using genetic adaptation, allowing cultivation in previously barren zones.

This is not simply improvisation. It is sustainability born of necessity—the kind of innovation that arises when the global market is inaccessible and nature itself is a constraint.

What foreign observers often mislabel as black market improvisation is, in reality, the emergence of a parallel Research and Development ecosystem: decentralized, iterative, and adaptive by necessity. These are not corporate labs or venture-backed startups—they are university spin-offs, informal cooperatives, military-linked think tanks, and even basement workshops, all working under the radar of formal recognition.

This innovation culture is built not on patents, IPOs, or shareholder value, but on survival and sovereignty. It doesn’t prioritize scalability or exportability—it prioritizes functionality under pressure. If it works, it is good enough.

There is no better example than Iran’s automotive sector, which continues to design and produce cars domestically—even with sanctions on parts, engines, and raw materials. Companies like SAIPA and Iran Khodro keep production lines open through circular manufacturing (recycling used components), localized fabrication, and internal R&D that relies heavily on engineering students and retirees.

This decentralized innovation model mirrors, in some ways, the open-source movement—where solutions evolve communally, not hierarchically, and knowledge circulates through informal channels rather than academic journals.

In Fostering a Culture of Adaptive Engineering, Iran’s approach is not about copying Western systems. It is about building a different kind of innovation ecosystem, where constraints define the design process itself. Instead of innovation for profit, there is innovation for resilience. Instead of luxury products, there are minimum viable solutions to maximum existential threats.

This ethos resonates with Ayatollah Khamenei’s directive that:

 “Sanctions have taught us to trust in our domestic potential. They have forced us to awaken the power of our youth and scientists, and to rely on what is ours.” — Khamenei, April 2017

From drone laboratories in Qom to cancer research labs in Shiraz, from water-saving greenhouses in Yazd to nanotech workshops in Tehran, Iran’s economy is not merely resisting—it is redefining what innovation looks like under siege.

In a world that often measures creativity by venture capital raised or global market share gained, Iran presents a counter-model: where creativity emerges from isolation, and where constraint is not a weakness—but the very condition for radical ingenuity.

The Innovation of Scarcity

Iran’s innovation narrative is not forged in the abundance of Silicon Valley venture capital or the sleek laboratories of Zurich, Seoul, or Tokyo. Instead, it arises from scarcity: the scarcity of access, trust, dollars, and global platforms. If necessity is the mother of invention, then Iran is a case study in necessity weaponized into systemic innovation.

This is not the world of blue-sky research and billion-dollar IPOs. It is “jugaad” innovation—a term popularized in South Asia to describe frugal, resourceful, and makeshift problem-solving, often operating outside formal systems. Iran’s economic and technological progress over the last two decades mirrors this ethos but elevates it to a strategic doctrine.

• A Parallel Digital Ecosystem 

Blocked from much of the Western internet by both sanctions and domestic policy, Iran has undertaken what few nations have: the creation of a sovereign internet architecture, sometimes referred to as the National Information Network (NIN) or “halal internet.” 

 

This digital parallelism includes: 

• Search Engines like Yooz and Parsijoo, aimed at offering domestic alternatives to Google.  

• Video platforms such as Aparat, Iran’s version of YouTube, which had over 13 million monthly active users as of recent years.  

• Messaging apps like Bale, Soroush, and Eitaa, intended to replace WhatsApp and Telegram, especially after Telegram was banned in 2018. 

Despite accusations of censorship and surveillance, these platforms reflect more than just information control. They represent digital self-sufficiency—the capacity to manage data flows, content production, and communications infrastructure in an age of cyber sanctions and global tech bifurcation. 

 

Reports from the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) and Freedom House note that while Iran’s “internet sovereignty” strategy limits civil liberties, it has also created a domestically viable digital economy, employing thousands of developers and content creators, and buffering the country against platform-dependency blackmail.

• Energy Systems under Embargo 

As one of the world’s largest holders of oil and gas reserves, Iran’s challenge has not been access to energy—but access to the tools and technologies to monetize and refine it. 

 

Under successive rounds of U.S. and EU sanctions, Iran has been denied essential refinery components, pipeline systems, and even software for energy management. In response, it invested in the domestication of the entire hydrocarbon value chain, from petrochemical engineering to onshore and offshore platform design. 

 

But more striking has been its quiet pivot to renewables, particularly solar and wind energy. 

The Renewable Energy and Energy Efficiency Organization of Iran (SATBA) reported that by 2022, Iran had installed over 800 MW of renewable energy capacity, with plans to scale this to 10,000 MW by 2030. 

• Yazd Province hosts one of the country’s largest hybrid solar-thermal power stations, integrating solar concentrators with natural gas to mitigate intermittency.  

•  In Qazvin, wind farms operate with turbine systems developed by domestic engineering groups, compensating for the absence of Western turbine suppliers.

These moves have not gone unnoticed. A 2023 IRENA (International Renewable Energy Agency) report acknowledged Iran as a “quiet but persistent regional actor” in clean energy transition, despite its oil-centric global image. This is scarcity innovation: pivoting toward sustainability not as virtue, but as compulsion.

• Cryptocurrency and Grey-Zone Finance 

Cut off from the SWIFT banking system, and subject to secondary sanctions that penalize any foreign financial institution doing business with Iranian counterparts, Iran has had to innovate in financial infrastructure. 

 

Enter cryptocurrency. In 2021, Iran officially recognized cryptocurrency mining as an industrial activity, with over 50 licensed mining farms operating across provinces like Kerman and Semnan. These farms use excess electricity from Iran’s grid to mine Bitcoin and Ethereum, which are then used in sanctions evasion trade. 

 

According to a 2022 report from Elliptic, a blockchain analytics firm, 4.5% of all global Bitcoin mining occurred in Iran, potentially generating hundreds of millions in alternative hard currency revenues annually. The Central Bank of Iran has also experimented with smart contracts and crypto-barter mechanisms, using blockchain transactions to pay for imports from countries like Russia and China. 

 

Beyond crypto, Iran has expanded offshore trade zones (e.g., Kish Island, Chabahar) and embraced barter trade, currency swaps, and bilateral clearing arrangements with sanctioned or neutral partners like Venezuela, Syria, and India. 

 

This is not financial evasion—it is financial creativity under siege, crafting new circuits of value exchange in a system designed to deny it.

• Black Market or Grey Innovation? 

Many Western analyses reduce these efforts to the language of smuggling, shadow economies, and circumvention. But such terms obscure the reality: these are not signs of collapse—they are signs of adaptation. 

 

When 40 years of embargo isolate a country, when replacement parts for passenger jets or MRI machines are banned, survival becomes a creative act. In that space between legality and necessity, Iran has produced what economists call “systemic redundancy”: alternate circuits of trade, tech, and value that ensure continuity despite disruption. 

 

It is in this sense that Iran’s scarcity-driven innovation resembles a form of strategic improvisation, where every constraint is treated as a design problem, and every embargo becomes a call for substitution.

Iran’s innovation under scarcity offers a counter-narrative to dominant models of technological progress. It does not fit the Silicon Valley mold, nor the state-capitalist model of China. Instead, it is fractured, resilient, hybrid, and decentralized.

This model is hard to replicate—but vital to study. In a world increasingly defined by supply chain fragility, energy disruption, and digital decoupling, Iran’s experience is not just a footnote of resistance—it is a prototype of what technological survival might look like in the 21st century.

Culture, Not Just Economics

The Iranian resistance economy is not simply an economic framework—it is a cultural project, a psychological transformation, and a moral repositioning. It is designed not just to endure sanctions but to redefine what it means to live, produce, and thrive under siege. It is an attempt to embed economic resilience into the national character, making self-reliance not only a policy but a virtue, and austerity not only bearable but dignified.

At the heart of this cultural transformation lies a vocabulary drawn from Iran’s Islamic and revolutionary tradition. Key among these terms are:

• خودکفایی (khodkafai) – self-sufficiency, not merely in production but in worldview. It is a call to produce what you consume, rely on your own, and disconnect from dependency. It has deep roots in both Shi’a theology and revolutionary doctrine, linking economic sovereignty with spiritual autonomy.
  
  
• توکل (tawakkul) – trust in God, especially in moments of scarcity. This spiritual framing transforms material hardship into an opportunity for moral refinement, drawing from Quranic motifs of divine provision despite adversity.
  
  
• صبر (sabr) – patience, steadfastness, and moral endurance. More than passive waiting, sabr in this context becomes a resistance ethic, a national posture toward hardship: enduring not with resignation, but with discipline, faith, and purpose.

This ideological framework, actively cultivated through state media, Friday sermons, school curricula, and cultural festivals, reinforces the notion that resistance is not reactive but creative and righteous. It casts economic self-reliance as an ethical duty, not just a pragmatic one.

A Grassroots Culture of Ingenuity 

 

Yet the cultural foundations of Iran’s innovation are not solely top-down or state-scripted. Beneath and alongside the official discourse is a vibrant, often rebellious culture of youth-led creativity, technological improvisation, and localized experimentation. Especially in urban centers like Tehran, Isfahan, Mashhad, and Tabriz, a parallel ethos has taken root—one that fuses nationalist pride with subversive ingenuity. 

 

In these cities, a startup culture has flourished—not despite the constraints, but because of them. Here are some of the forms it takes: 

• Hackathons and codefests, where young developers collaborate to solve problems ranging from traffic congestion to payment gateways—often using open-source tools and limited infrastructure. 

• Makerspaces and fab labs, often operating semi-legally in university basements or rented garages, where engineers repurpose parts to build drones, 3D printers, water filters, and even prosthetics. 

• Startup accelerators like Avatech, Finotech, and Dmond Group, some of which receive quiet state backing, others fueled by diaspora support and venture philanthropy. 

• Informal design clusters—especially in fashion, architecture, and graphic design—where artists reinterpret Persian and Islamic aesthetics in contemporary, globally resonant styles.

This innovation culture exists in tension with the state, often pushing the boundaries of permissible expression, gender norms, and global connectivity. Yet the state, recognizing the utility of this creativity, tolerates and sometimes co-opts it, creating a hybrid space where control and freedom negotiate with one another in real time.

Gender and Innovation: Silent Contributions 

 

Women, in particular, play a critical but often under-acknowledged role in the culture of resistance-driven innovation. Despite limitations on mobility, attire, and visibility, Iranian women dominate university STEM fields, comprise nearly 60% of Iran’s university graduates, and play central roles in biotech labs, coding hubs, and design collectives. 

 

Their contributions often come through quiet leadership: leading research teams, developing new AI algorithms, designing wearable medical devices, or launching e-commerce platforms that cater to a female demographic in a conservative environment. 

 

This is cultural innovation as subversion—reshaping roles from within, not through overt protest but through creative navigation of constraints.

Art, Film, and Subcultural Expression 

 

The cultural dimensions of the resistance economy also find voice in Iran’s rich film, art, and underground music scene. Directors like Asghar Farhadi, painters like Aydin Aghdashloo, and countless underground musicians have used constrained conditions to craft works of global acclaim—often dealing with themes of alienation, endurance, dignity, and fractured sovereignty.

Here, too, constraint becomes a creative condition. Limited sets, sparse budgets, and censorship rules have led Iranian filmmakers to develop a minimalist, metaphor-driven aesthetic that resonates globally precisely because of its emotional precision and moral weight. 

 

This is the poetic edge of the resistance economy: where the same scarcity that drives biotech startups also drives cinematic expression, binding economic survival and artistic vision into a shared sensibility.

Everyday Life and the Aesthetic of Sufficiency 

 

On the street, the resistance economy is not abstract. It’s visible in the resurgence of bazaar-made goods, local craft revivals, DIY household fixes, and a new aesthetic of sufficiency: living well within limits. 

 

Television programs promote home-based businesses; clerics preach the value of “halal labor” and “simple living” (زندگی ساده); Instagram influencers blend traditional Iranian cooking with new self-reliant farming techniques like home hydroponics. There is a widespread cultural meme: “buy Iranian, be Iranian.” 

 

The aesthetic is one of pride in the local, of dignity in restraint—not unlike wartime cultures of rationing, except here it is perpetual, stylized, and reframed as identity rather than exception.

What emerges is the realization that the resistance economy is not simply a policy—it is a culture. A lived, felt, narrated way of being. It mixes pride and pressure, religion and rebellion, state ideology and youthful imagination. It is a culture in which innovation is not a luxury, but a moral obligation; where every act of self-production, from software to soap, is framed as a contribution to national survival.

Iran’s culture of innovation is therefore not linear, not frictionless, not utopian. It is complex, plural, and shot through with contradictions. But it is alive—dynamic, resilient, and in constant conversation with its constraints.

Challenges and Contradictions

No narrative of the resistance economy is complete without confronting its costs, limits, and paradoxes. For all its celebrated resilience and ingenuity, Iran’s resistance economy remains entangled in structural contradictions, political constraints, and social grievances. Its triumphs often mask the heaviness of survival, and its innovations can coexist with deep dysfunction.

The Sanctioned Burden: Poverty, Isolation, and Trade-Offs 

 

The first and most visible challenge is material deprivation. While sanctions have pushed Iran to innovate, they have also pushed millions of Iranians deeper into poverty. 

 

The World Bank and UN reports estimate that over one-third of Iranians now live under or near the poverty line, with inflation exceeding 40% annually since 2018 and food prices skyrocketing in working-class districts. While the state promotes self-sufficiency, many Iranians experience this not as empowerment, but as chronic economic stress, intensified by a currency collapse and persistent unemployment among youth and graduates. 

 

Innovation under siege is rarely efficient. Homegrown pharmaceuticals may exist, but the absence of global supply chains often compromises quality control, slows regulatory approval, and limits access to cutting-edge technology. Domestic manufacturing often lacks the economies of scale necessary to compete internationally, while reverse-engineered technology can lag behind global standards by a generation.  

 

Even in Iran’s celebrated sectors—biotech, defense, nanotech—the lack of integration with global science ecosystems means many breakthroughs remain isolated, untested by peer institutions, or ignored in global citation indexes. Iranian scientists face travel bans, publication hurdles, and embargoes on accessing international equipment. The country’s scientific ecosystem, while creative, is semi-sealed—a greenhouse unable to fully interact with the climate outside.

The Bureaucratic Ceiling: Control vs. Creativity 

 

A second contradiction lies in the tension between state control and grassroots creativity. While the state encourages domestic innovation, it often smothers the very forces it needs: independent thinking, open collaboration, and bottom-up experimentation. 

 

Iran’s bureaucratic environment—particularly in technology transfer, business registration, and import/export licensing—is notoriously rigid. Red tape, favoritism, and state monopolies in key sectors (like oil, telecoms, and banking) block market entry for young innovators and funnel resources into politically loyal entities. Many promising startups flounder not from technical failure, but from administrative suffocation. 

 

Corruption compounds the problem. State contracts and subsidies often go to semi-state conglomerates or parastatal organizations tied to the IRGC or bonyads (religious foundations), leaving genuinely innovative but unaffiliated entrepreneurs without access to capital or scaling infrastructure. Innovation becomes performative in some circles—rewarded for loyalty, not utility. 

 

This dynamic hollows out the resistance economy’s promise: instead of democratizing development, it recentralizes it around protected elites, many of whom are immune from the austerities they prescribe to the public.

The Dissonance of Narrative: Dignity vs. Discontent 

 

Perhaps the most profound contradiction is narrative dissonance. The state frames the resistance economy as a source of national dignity—a heroic story of self-reliance, Islamic perseverance, and post-colonial pride. But to many Iranians, especially in urban middle classes and peripheral regions, this narrative feels alien, even weaponized. 

 

For those facing food insecurity, brain drain, or surveillance for dissent, the call to “resist” sounds like a demand for silent suffering, often from those exempt from its cost. The state’s valorization of poverty as resilience risks moralizing hardship, turning what should be temporary survival strategies into permanent ideologies. 

 

This has bred a deep cultural tension: one part of society celebrates innovation as patriotism; another sees it as survival despite the system, not because of it. 

 

Protests in cities like Khuzestan, Mashhad, and Tehran in recent years—often sparked by water shortages, inflation, or fuel hikes—are as much about economic conditions as they are about reclaiming the right to define dignity. The resistance economy, for some, has become a state-imposed narrative that erases dissent, co-opting creativity to justify authoritarian durability.

A Fragile Social Contract 

 

In the long term, the resistance economy’s success will depend not only on technological self-sufficiency but on restoring trust—between state and society, between producers and regulators, between innovators and institutions. 

 

Currently, this social contract is fragile. Brain drain continues, with thousands of engineers and scientists emigrating each year. Public sector stagnation undermines morale. And rising inequality—especially between state-connected economic actors and the informal working class—threatens to undermine the moral legitimacy of the entire resistance framework. 

 

As one Iranian economist noted in a 2023 Shargh Daily editorial:

“We have taught ourselves to survive. But we have not yet learned how to share that survival fairly.”

Iran’s resistance economy is a double-edged creation. It has cultivated ingenious, adaptive innovation, built a uniquely self-reliant infrastructure, and produced models of localized development under some of the harshest geopolitical conditions on earth.

But it also carries the weight of internal paradox: it demands creativity while restricting freedom, calls for unity while tolerating inequality, and celebrates self-sufficiency while sometimes punishing self-expression.

To understand Iran’s resistance economy is to grasp this tension. It is not a clean model. It is a contested terrain—an innovation forged not only in labs, but also in protests, quiet refusals, and whispered workarounds.

It is real. It is resilient. But it is not without cost.

Conclusion: Innovation as Defiance

Yet one truth remains: Iran has not collapsed.

For over four decades, it has faced one of the most comprehensive and enduring regimes of economic warfare in modern history—crippling sanctions, diplomatic isolation, technological embargoes, and strategic encirclement. And yet, the Islamic Republic has endured. Not unchanged, not unscathed—but unbowed.

In a world where economic punishment has become the weapon of choice for powerful states—where sanctions are sieges, and development is permissioned—Iran’s survival is more than a political defiance. It is epistemological. It is a refusal to accept the premise that modernity, innovation, and progress can only flow from the capitals of global capital. It says: we will not only survive, we will create—on our own terms, under our own constraints, with our own hands.

A Hidden Architecture of Creativity

This creativity is not always visible to the outside world. It does not wear the aesthetics of Western innovation—the glass towers of Shenzhen, the pitch decks of Palo Alto, or the sterile efficiency of Berlin research parks. Instead, it hides in backyard machine shops, encrypted code repositories, repurposed textile factories, and hand-assembled solar panels on desert rooftops.

It is a creativity that whispers rather than shouts. That hacks rather than scales. That iterates not for shareholders, but for survival. It is found in:

• A student in Shiraz building open-source medical devices from contraband parts.
• A biochemist in Qom who invents a cancer drug in a lab short of reagents.
• An app developer in Isfahan who codes a domestic navigation system to replace Google Maps.
• A farmer in Yazd who designs a low-cost drip irrigation system using salvaged materials.

This is vernacular innovation, informal R&D, and low-infrastructure science. It is born not from freedom, but from necessity. And yet, it is no less intelligent, no less inventive, no less human.

The Paradox of Siege 

 

Resistance is not the ideal incubator of innovation. It compresses freedom, increases hardship, and often distorts priorities. But paradoxically, in Iran, resistance has become the mother of invention—not as a romantic ideal, but as a material condition.

What Iran’s experience reveals is the birth of a new kind of innovation doctrine—not one driven by profit, but by principle; not by global markets, but by sovereign need. Instead, it is a path laden with contradictions:

• Where dignity masks deprivation.
• Where creativity lives under censorship.
• Where sovereignty competes with suffocation.

But in those contradictions lies a kind of tragic clarity: Iran is not merely innovating despite sanctions—it is innovating because of them. And this, perhaps, is the final act of defiance: to create under constraint, and to claim creation itself as resistance.

In the global imagination, innovation often means acceleration: faster, bigger, richer. But Iran teaches another lesson: that innovation can also mean staying alive, making do, rethinking from below, and refusing collapse on one’s knees.

Its model may not be replicable. Its costs are real. Its future remains contested. But what cannot be denied is this: even in the long shadow of siege, Iran is still inventing. Still resisting. Still imagining alternatives.

And in that slow, stubborn creativity lies both the tragedy—and the profound, unfinished triumph—of a nation still making its own future under pressure.

***

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When Peace Without Sovereignty Is Not Peace: Resistance as Assertion of Peace in the Age of Siege

When Peace Without Sovereignty Is Not Peace:

Resistance as Assertion of Peace in the Age of Siege

By Kat Ulrike

Introduction: The Line Between Survival and Surrender

In the unfolding tragedy of Gaza, the very architecture of life is being unmade. This is not merely the destruction of buildings or infrastructure—it is the systematic dismantling of a people’s capacity to exist with dignity. Brick by brick, meal by meal, breath by breath, the material and psychological basis for Palestinian life is being eroded through blockade, bombardment, displacement, and calculated deprivation.

Gaza today is not a battlefield—it is a siege zone. Food convoys are shot at. Hospitals are bombed. Water and electricity are used as bargaining chips. The civilian is not spared by mistake, but targeted by policy. Under these conditions, to speak of “negotiation” without acknowledging the structural asymmetry involved is to engage in political fiction. Dialogue requires the presumption of equality; occupation nullifies that possibility by design.

The international community, for its part, has perfected the art of procedural sympathy. Statements are issued, resolutions are drafted, and “humanitarian pauses” are negotiated, all while the basic conditions of oppression are left intact. Temporary truces, framed as progress, often function as recalibrations of control. “Humanitarian corridors” become containment zones, where aid is distributed only under surveillance, and life is permitted only on the condition that it not resist.

As George Habash once warned:

“We do not want peace. We want justice. And there can be no peace without justice.”

In this context, the binary of war versus peace is no longer meaningful. What is at stake is not the cessation of hostilities, but the terms of existence. The real opposition is between survival with dignity and surrender under erasure. To accept the current international consensus is to accept one’s own political nullification—to be fed, perhaps, but never heard; to be moved, but never to return.

Resistance—yes, even armed—is not a deviation. It is the final expression of life in a space designed to extinguish it. It is not rooted in hatred, but in memory. Not in nihilism, but in continuity. Leila Khaled once said:

“Our struggle is not for revenge. It is for the return, for the right to live in our land, to breathe its air, to touch its trees, and to raise our children there in freedom.”

Such resistance must not be romanticized—but neither can it be reduced to criminality. It is born not from ideology alone, but from the collapse of all other avenues. When the right to protest is banned, when international courts are deferred, when solidarity movements are criminalized—what remains?

Yasser Arafat addressed the United Nations in 1974 with both clarity and forewarning:

“Today, I have come bearing an olive branch and a freedom fighter’s gun. Do not let the olive branch fall from my hand.”

That branch has fallen many times—by no fault of those who carried it.

To ask a people to lay down arms while they are denied even the right to stand is not peacebuilding; it is capitulation by another name. And when that demand is enforced by drones and sieges, it becomes clear that what is being negotiated is not peace—but obedience.

The persistence of resistance in Gaza, then, is not a mystery. It is the logic of survival under a regime that would prefer their disappearance. It is the voice that remains when all microphones have been shut off. And it is the political presence of a people who refuse to become a humanitarian file.

In the end, the question is not why resistance continues. The question is how long the world will expect a besieged nation to go silently into erasure. 

The Siege as a System: Starvation in Place of Sovereignty

Since May 2025, Gaza has undergone not only the destruction of its basic infrastructure but a systematic subjugation of two million people through siege warfare imposed with bureaucratic precision. The blockade has turned essential needs—food, water, medicine—into political instruments. The result is not incidental suffering, but the engineered erosion of sovereignty.

According to a recent United Nations report confirms that 798 Palestinians have been killed along aid-distribution routes and at food hubs since late May—615 near sites run by the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation (GHF) and 183 along other convoy routes. These were not combatants or demonstrators, but civilians attempting to feed themselves and their children, often targeted by gunfire. According to the U.N. spokesman Ravina Shamdasani:

“Most of the injuries are gunshot injuries… We’ve raised concerns about atrocity crimes having been committed where people are lining up for essential supplies such as food.”

UNRWA Commissioner-General Philippe Lazzarini described Gaza as “a graveyard of children and starving people,” stating that Palestinians were faced with “two deaths: starvation or being shot at” when attempting to reach aid.

Meanwhile, in Rafah, Defense Minister Israel Katz has proposed a “humanitarian city” to house displaced Palestinians—an enclave that critics warn resembles a modern concentration camp. Under this plan, hundreds of thousands—including upward of 600,000 initially—would be confined to a monitored zone, screened at entry and barred from exit, while Israeli military control remains intact. Legal experts label it a “blueprint for crimes against humanity”.

UNRWA has explicitly warned that such a plan would create “massive concentration camps,” urging that any forced displacement be immediately halted, and that aid deliveries be restored.

The current aid system—centered on the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation rather than the U.N.—has been militarized. The GHF’s four distribution hubs are heavily guarded, fenced, and operate under IDF oversight, often near active military operations. Within weeks of its launch in late May, more than 600 people were reported killed at GHF-affiliated sites alone, spurring calls from over 170 humanitarian organizations for a return to U.N. coordination.

The IDF announced new “lessons learned” protocols—adding signage, fences, and new routes—but stopped short of withdrawing military personnel from aid zones.

This is not a breakdown of humanitarian logistics—it is a deliberate strategy of control. The blockade—operating since late 2023—has reduced electricity, water, and medical supply access to critical thresholds: 90 % drop in power, closure of 27 of 35 hospitals, and acute malnutrition surging among children, who are now 146% more likely to suffer severe malnutrition compared to February levels.

Meanwhile, humanitarian pauses and ceasefire proposals—widely touted as progress—function defensively. They suspend aid access only ro maintain the blockade’s overall structure, leaving Gazans to wait in areas under direct military oversight.

Collectively, these dynamics demonstrate that Gaza is not undergoing a temporary crisis—it is the site of an active, administratively enforced siege designed to suppress political and existential sovereignty. Starvation has become policy; silence has become condition; survival now demands resistance.

In this environment, compromise does not signal peace—it signals extinction. When food becomes a weapon, water becomes a bargaining chip, and displacement becomes containment, armed resistance is not an eruption of violence but a predictably rational, if tragic, assertion of political being. 

Historical and Legal Legitimacy of Armed Resistance

The claim that armed resistance in Gaza is “unlawful” cannot be separated from the broader context of occupation and international jurisprudence. International law—in both practice and precedent—recognizes the right of peoples under foreign occupation to resist, including through armed actions.

1. ICJ Advisory Opinion on Occupation (July 19, 2024)
   
   
   On 19 July 2024, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) issued a formal advisory opinion declaring Israel’s continued presence in the Palestinian territories (West Bank, East Jerusalem, Gaza) unlawful under international law. The Court stated that Israel “is under an obligation to bring to an end its unlawful presence”, must cease settlement activity, and must provide full reparations to affected Palestinians.
   
   
   This set clear legal parameters: occupation as a temporary legal status cannot transform into permanent annexation. 
   
   
2. Obligations of Third-Party States
   
   
   The ICJ also held that all states and international bodies are legally bound not to recognize the illegal occupation as lawful, and must neither provide aid nor assistance that contributes to its persistence.
   
   
   This places legal responsibility not only on Israel, but also on its geopolitical supporters and institutional enablers. 
   
   
3. Right to Armed Resistance under Self-Determination
   
   
   International legal instruments explicitly uphold armed struggle in the context of decolonization and occupation:
   
   
   • UN General Assembly Resolution 38/17 (1983) affirms the legitimacy of liberation struggles “by all available means, including armed struggle”.
   
   
   • Protocol I of the Geneva Conventions recognizes “wars of national liberation” as part of the laws of war, and defines armed resistance against foreign occupation as lawful under customary international law. 
   
   
4. China’s ICJ Statement: Inalienable Right to Armed Struggle
   
   
   On 22 February 2024, Ma Xinmin, on behalf of China’s delegation to the ICJ, declared:
   “Palestinian people’s use of force to resist foreign oppression and complete the establishment of an independent state is an inalienable right… including armed struggle against colonialism, occupation, aggression… should not be considered terror acts.”
   
   
   This was reaffirmed by other Chinese representatives, stating that the right of self-defence lies more with the Palestinians than with the Israelis under ongoing occupation.
   
   
5. Comparison with Anti-Colonial Precedent
   
   
   These legal foundations place Palestinian resistance within a broader lineage:
   
   
   • The struggle for Algerian independence, Vietnam’s liberation movement, and South Africa’s anti-apartheid mobilization were all initially labeled “terrorist” before gaining international legal recognition.
   • By the same logic, armed resistance against occupation retains legal validity so long as it remains targeted and proportional. 
   
   
6. Criminalization of Resistance vs. Tolerance of Occupation
   
   
   To criminalize resistance while upholding occupation is a stark inversion of justice.
   
   
   International law condemns both the use of force against protected civilians and the ongoing policies of occupation, expropriation, and structural oppression. When one is enforced and the other is denied legal consequence, neutrality becomes complicity.   

To criminalize Palestinian resistance while excusing occupation is not balance; it is the enforcement of power under legal veneer. That international law explicitly affirms both the illegality of the occupation and the legitimacy of resistance underlines that the latter is neither extremist nor unlawful—but entirely consistent with the historical and legal trajectory of decolonization.

Resistance When All Else Is Broken

What is left to a people when every political avenue is sealed off, every voice is silenced, and every act of nonviolent resistance is met with force or criminalization? The answer, throughout history and across continents, has been the same: resistance does not emerge from ideology alone—it arises when all other doors have been shut.

Palestinians have participated in nearly every form of protest available within international norms: peaceful demonstrations, labor strikes, hunger strikes, legal appeals, and mass civil disobedience. They have testified before the United Nations, signed onto international treaties, participated in elections, and built civil society institutions under siege. And still, they are told that they must wait—wait for the occupier to change, wait for donor states to act, wait for justice that never comes.

Over the past year, the erosion of political space has accelerated. University student sit-ins and encampments in North America, Europe, and even the Global South have faced mass arrests, funding threats, and disciplinary sanctions for expressing solidarity with Palestine. Peaceful protesters are doxxed, fired, banned from travel, and labeled antisemites or extremists. Activist organizations have had their bank accounts frozen, their visas revoked, their gatherings surveilled.

In the United Kingdom and Germany, pro-Palestine rallies have been banned under vague charges of “glorifying terrorism.” In France, police forcibly dismantled Gaza solidarity protests under emergency powers, while in the U.S., numerous governors have threatened to defund universities for allowing such protests at all.

These measures do not merely repress dissent—they delegitimize the very idea of nonviolent solidarity.

The repression extends to institutions that should be impartial. UN Special Rapporteurs on Palestine, including Michael Lynk and Francesca Albanese, have faced immense political pressure, including travel restrictions, funding threats, and media vilification. When Albanese described Israel’s campaign in Gaza as “a starvation campaign” and warned of genocide in late 2024, several Western states moved to censure or isolate her work. Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, and even Doctors Without Borders have been accused of bias and penalized for reporting what is plainly visible on the ground.

This is the architecture of enforced silence: a system that represses not only resistance itself, but the description of resistance. A system where speech, advocacy, and humanitarianism are criminalized if they fail to align with dominant geopolitical narratives.

In this context, the emergence of armed resistance is not a celebration of violence—it is the inevitable result of exhaustion. It is the last language spoken when all others have been rendered mute.

The liberal international order offers resistance only one legitimate form: nonviolence under supervision. But nonviolence without an ear to hear it is not peace—it is containment. And when containment is reinforced by hunger, fences, and drones, the demand for nonviolence becomes not an ethical stance, but a disciplinary measure.

To ask the occupied to always choose restraint, when the occupier is never restrained, is not a moral demand—it is an imperial one.

What is rarely acknowledged is that the status quo is already saturated with violence. The denial of food, the bulldozing of homes, the jailing of children, the banning of books and flags—these are acts of aggression as decisive as any armed confrontation. They are quieter, slower, more procedural—but no less lethal.

When rockets are condemned but blockades are not, when resistance is criminalized but occupation is tolerated, the moral center collapses. To speak of “both sides” is to equate the act of breaking free with the act of caging.

In such a moral void, resistance by force is not excess—it is remainder. It is the political residue of a people who have been stripped of representation but not of will. It is the cry of a nation that has exhausted every other channel of speech.

As Frantz Fanon wrote in The Wretched of the Earth:

“The colonized man is an envious man… The colonized man will first manifest this aggressiveness which has been deposited in his bones against his own people… But the real leap consists in introducing invention into existence.”

Today, in Gaza, resistance—armed or otherwise—is precisely that leap: an act of invention in a world that has tried to erase it.

In the vacuum left by the failure of diplomacy, the destruction of civil society, and the criminalization of peaceful resistance, the turn to arms is not triumph—it is tragedy. But it is also clarity. It reflects the simple truth that no people, anywhere, will accept eternal silence as their final inheritance.

And so, when every other method is denied, when every protest is vilified, and when every act of truth-telling is sanctioned—the only remaining communicative act becomes one that cannot be ignored.

Resistance. 

The Question of Moral Equivalence

Dominant Western discourse frequently employs moral equivalence—a rhetorical device that treats all violence as equally wrong, regardless of context, intent, or power asymmetry. This framing masks structural violence with superficial symmetry. As Fairness & Accuracy in Reporting (FAIR) underscored:

“Media coverage … misrepresented events … by suggesting that Israel is acting defensively, presenting a false equivalency between occupier and occupied”.

Rockets launched from Gaza are promptly labeled “terrorism,” while mass killings at food queues serve as mere “security enforcement.” This selective moral lens refuses to ask why violence erupts in the first place, erasing the conditions under which resistance becomes conceivable.

To quote Israeli intellectual Yeshayahu Leibowitz:

“Occupation breeds rebellion; rebellion breeds terrorism … Anyone who truly opposes this unfolding tragedy … must recognize this: the only way to avert disaster is through the complete and unconditional end of the occupation”.

This statement underlines that moral clarity requires acknowledging causality—occupation and structural violence give rise to resistance. Yet, mainstream narratives often reduce the moral argument to single violent acts, abstracted from decades of dispossession.

Sam Harris, commenting on the moral hierarchy of violent acts, noted:

“Counting dead bodies is not a way of judging the moral balance here. Intentions matter.”

But condemnation of Palestinian violence rarely considers intentions or broader context. It remains fixated on the act itself, ignoring the structural framework within which it occurs.

This moral flattening also masks domination. The sustained violence of a nuclear-armed state—the destruction of hospitals, blockade-induced famine, targeted killing—is internalized as policy rather than aggression. As historian Omer Bartov lamented:

“There was actually a systematic attempt to make Gaza uninhabitable… This is a total moral, ethical failure by the very countries that claim to be the main protectors of civil rights … around the world.”

In this discursive framework, resistance is treated as the seed of violence, while occupation is naturalized. But moral scrutiny isn’t symmetrical. The Western moral objection to Palestinian rockets contrasts sharply with the indifference to structural erasure. The Guardian observed:

Western reaction “revealed underlying biases in how violence against Palestinians versus Israelis is perceived.”

What is described as a “conflict” is, in truth, a system: a one-sided apparatus of control, periodically disrupted by resistance. Those disruptions—whether armed or symbolic—are costly and tragic, but they never occur absent provocation.

Moral clarity therefore demands a shift: not just condemning violence, but interrogating who wields structural power. Who controls land, resources, mobility, and institutions? Whose actions create the conditions that precipitate resistance?

Until this inversion is corrected, the discourse of “both sides” will continue to legitimize domination. True justice requires more than moral equivalence—it requires asymmetric accountability.

Resistance as a Form of Peace‑Building

Armed resistance cannot be reduced to the antithesis of peace. Instead, it represents a stark reminder: peace must embody real substance—sovereignty, rights, dignity—not merely the absence of immediate conflict. Without these elements, calls for peace risk becoming calls for submission.

In circumstances where negotiation has been replaced by extermination, arms serve as a demand for genuine dialogue on equitable terms. Historical resistance movements have not simply rejected violence; they rejected erasure.

1. Warsaw Ghetto Uprising (1943)
   
   
   This uprising was not a formal military campaign. It was a deliberate, dignified act of refusal. As survivor Sonia Klein recalled:
   “When you are drowning and you see a straw, you hang onto the straw… it may not save you, but the touch of hope may.”
   
   
   Marek Edelman, commander of the Ghetto resistance, emphasized:
   “Dying with arms was more beautiful than without arms. … It was the logical outcome of four years of resistance… a final blow struck at the barbarism and on behalf of the preservation of dignity.”
   
   
   Or, as a ghetto wall proclamation declared:
   “If we are to survive, then we shall only survive as free people, and if this is not possible, then we shall die as free people.”
   
   
   Here, resistance was not about winning a war—it was a confirmation of human existence, refusing to die like animals. The ethical power of that statement transcended military defeat.
   
   
2.  African National Congress (ANC) in South Africa
   
   
   During apartheid, the ANC’s shift to armed struggle marked a similar institutional refusal to accept the false moral frameworks imposed by the oppressor. Nelson Mandela, in his “I Am Prepared to Die” speech (1964), argued:
   “I did not plan [violent actions]… because I have any love for violence. I planned it as a result of a calm and sober assessment … after many years of tyranny… The government which uses force to support its rule teaches the oppressed to use force to oppose it.”
   
   
   Indeed, the ANC’s military wing, Umkhonto we Sizwe, emerged only when legal, nonviolent dissent was met with repression, such as the Sharpeville massacre. Mandela explained:
   “The time comes … when there remain only two choices – submit or fight. … We chose to defy the law.”
   
   
   Despite being branded terrorist by the apartheid state, the ANC eventually became the governing party—not as extremists, but as national liberators.

These historic cases illustrate a consistent pattern: liberation movements are cast as threats until power shifts. The Warsaw fighters were condemned before they became symbols of dignity. The ANC was once vilified, until apartheid collapsed and they became stewards of freedom. In Algeria, Vietnam, South Africa, and elsewhere, movements labeled “terrorist” became pillars of post-colonial sovereignty.

Gaza stands within this lineage. Armed resistance there echoes the demands of those who resisted entrenched power structures. It is not an alternative to peace—but a necessary condition for the emergence of meaningful dialogue.

Armed resistance is not final. It is a threshold—a last resort to affirm existence when erasure is the alternative. It signals that peace without structural justice is empty. When a people are told to disarm before defeat, they are told to disappear.

Only when their rights are recognized—political, territorial, human—can arms be laid down without fear of re-erasure. Until then, resistance remains the voice of a people refusing to vanish from history.

Conditions for De-escalation: A Practical Program

Calls for de-escalation, if they are to be more than rhetorical gestures, must begin not with demands placed upon the occupied, but with the dismantling of the structural conditions that produced the conflict. Violence in Gaza does not emerge in a vacuum—it is generated by siege, perpetuated by occupation, and licensed by a global order that has normalized permanent exception for the Palestinian people.

If the question posed is: “How do we stop the violence?”, then the answer cannot lie in asymmetrical truces, demilitarized corridors under military watch, or externally dictated “peace plans” that ignore the source of the conflict. The answer must begin with structural reversal, not superficial appeasement.

A viable political horizon for de-escalation must include, at minimum, the following core pillars:

• The immediate and unconditional lifting of the siege on Gaza:
  Including restoration of free movement, unimpeded humanitarian access, and reconstruction under Palestinian civil control—not under the supervision of occupying or proxy authorities.
  
  
•  Full withdrawal of Israeli military forces and the dismantling of all instruments of extraterritorial control:
  This includes remote-controlled watchtowers, drone surveillance networks, the targeting algorithms used in strike operations, and the naval blockade off the Gaza coast.
  
  
• The right of return for all displaced Palestinians:
  This is not a historical footnote but a living right, recognized under UN Resolution 194, and reaffirmed in international law. Refugees cannot be expected to accept peace without homecoming.
  
  
• The release of all political prisoners and civilian hostages on all sides:
  Including Palestinian detainees held under administrative detention without charge, as well as all civilians captured during military operations. Human dignity must not be traded as bargaining leverage.
  
  
• Binding international legal accountability for war crimes and crimes against humanity:
  Including collective punishment, targeted civilian killings, starvation as a weapon of war, and the use of disproportionate force. The International Criminal Court must be permitted full jurisdiction to prosecute without political obstruction.

These are not maximalist demands. They are the foundational steps required to create a framework where peace is not merely the absence of resistance, but the presence of justice. Only under such conditions can armed resistance transition from a survival imperative to a historical memory.

Until then, to demand the renunciation of arms without dismantling the conditions that necessitate them is to ask a people to renounce their right to live.

Conclusion: Resistance Is Not a Crime

In an era where state violence has become routinized, where occupation is shrouded in diplomatic euphemism, and where starvation is repackaged as a form of “security policy,” resistance is not the breakdown of order—it is the final defense of human dignity against the architecture of annihilation.

This is not rhetorical flourish. It is the daily, embodied reality for millions who live under siege. In Gaza, bread is no longer a right—it is a battleground. Medical treatment is no longer a social service—it is a question of permission slips from military bureaucracy. The mere act of drawing water, charging a phone, or retrieving a body from rubble becomes an act of defiance. Under such conditions, resistance is not merely justified—it is inevitable.

And yet, the dominant global discourse continues to criminalize resistance while institutionalizing occupation. Entire populations are rendered suspect. Resistance fighters are branded as terrorists, while the occupying army that bombs refugee camps is rationalized as “defensive.” This inversion of justice is neither accidental nor novel—it is the strategic language of power preserving itself.

The right to resist—particularly against colonialism and foreign domination—is enshrined in international law. Article 1(4) of the Additional Protocol I to the Geneva Conventions affirms that peoples “fighting against colonial domination and alien occupation” have the status of combatants and enjoy the protections of international humanitarian law. UN General Assembly Resolution 37/43 (1982) reaffirmed “the legitimacy of the struggle of peoples under colonial and foreign domination and racist regimes… by all available means, including armed struggle.” These are not theoretical luxuries. They are codifications of what oppressed peoples have always known in practice: that liberation cannot be requested—it must be asserted.

This assertion is not new. It is part of a continuum that stretches across continents and centuries. From the fighters of the Warsaw Ghetto who refused to be herded silently to their deaths, to the rice paddies of Vietnam where the colonized defeated a global superpower, to the jungles of Angola, to the prison cells of Robben Island—resistance has been the grammar of survival when speech was outlawed.

To equate the violence of the colonizer with the counterviolence of the colonized is to strip history of memory, law of substance, and morality of meaning. It is to pretend that a drone strike on a hospital and a homemade rocket are born of the same logic, when in fact they emerge from opposite poles of power. One seeks to preserve domination; the other demands its end.

The Palestinian resistance belongs to this lineage. It is not a pathology—it is a response. It is not a rejection of peace—it is a rejection of subjugation masquerading as peace. As Frantz Fanon observed:

“When the colonized man takes up arms… he is affirming that he is not an object to be acted upon. He is declaring that he, too, makes history.”

This declaration echoes in the words of those who came before:

George Habash, founder of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, wrote:

“When the masses lose everything, they lose fear. And when they lose fear, they resist.”

Leila Khaled, whose image has been both vilified and iconized, made it clear:

“We are not lovers of death… we are lovers of life. But we are forced to fight for the life of our people.”

And Yasser Arafat, speaking to the Palestinian National Council in 1970, asserted not just a right but an inevitability:

“Our revolution is not merely a cry against injustice; it is the forging of a new reality… We do not fight to die, we fight so that our people may live in dignity.”

These are not calls to nihilism. They are calls to recognition. They are not celebrations of violence. They are acknowledgments that peace without justice is not peace at all—it is a lull in domination, a managed quiet that conceals the ongoing machinery of subjugation.

The world must reckon with this truth: that resistance, when born of total disenfranchisement, is not the crime. The crime is the condition that makes it necessary. The crime is not the improvised weapon, but the system that has denied the tools of peace.

Until justice walks instead of tanks—until the right of return is honored not delayed, until sovereignty replaces rationed survival—resistance will persist. It will persist not as a choice, but as a verdict: that a world which denies one people their freedom can never claim to be secure in its own.

Because peace without justice is not peace.

Because silence under occupation is not order—it is erasure.

And because resistance, in the face of extinction, is not terrorism.

It is the last form of memory that refuses to be deleted.