Editor’s Note: Mohammad Mazhari is a Ph.D. student in sociology at Texas Woman’s University. He previously served as editor-in-chief of the Arabic desk at Mehr News Agency (2013–2020) and worked as a journalist for the Tehran Times from 2020 to 2021. He has written for Stimson in the past on the impact of domestic politics on Iranian foreign policy.

By Middle East Program Team

In an old video, the late Iranian sociologist Ehsan Naraghi compared the foreign policies of two Iranian prime ministers during the Pahlavi era: Mohammad Mossadegh and Ahmad Qavam al-Saltaneh. Mossadegh, Naraghi argued, was known as a national hero after he nationalized Iran’s oil industry and stood up to Britain but was eventually overthrown in a 1953 coup. Qavam, by contrast, achieved an important diplomatic success during the 1946 Azerbaijan crisis, forcing the withdrawal of Soviet troops, yet he never earned a similar place in Iran’s collective memory.

One does not have to agree with Naraghi’s judgment to see why the comparison matters. It raises a question that has followed Iranian foreign policy for generations: Should a statesman be judged by the moral power of resistance or by the practical results he delivers?

That question feels especially relevant after the U.S. and Israeli wars with Iran and as Iranian negotiators put forward stiff conditions for the reopening of the Strait of Hormuz, which the Trump administration is eager to achieve to alleviate high oil prices.

Starting in June 2025, when the U.S. and Israel attacked Iran’s nuclear sites and other military installations, the Islamic Republic has tried to blend revolutionary Shi’ism with Iranian nationalism to shore up popular support. Religious imagery appeared next to symbols from pre-Islamic Iran. Patriotic poetry entered official religious ceremonies. Figures such as Arash the Archer and ancient Persian kings became more visible in public discourse.

The attack produced a brief rally-around-the-flag effect as Iranians put internal differences aside, and anger over inflation, compulsory veiling, political repression, execution of political dissents, and social restrictions was pushed into the background by the more immediate question of defending the country.

Opposition to the regime returned in full force in late December 2026 when thousands of Iranians protested declining economic conditions and were brutally suppressed by the state. Many younger Iranians no longer expect meaningful dialogue with the government. Some have moved toward openly anti-regime currents, including monarchism. Others have withdrawn from organized politics altogether, having come to the conclusion that the system cannot be reformed.

This generational shift also matters for foreign policy, according to Navid Kalahrudi, an Iranian political analyst.  Young people are more likely to ask practical questions. Will this policy reduce sanctions? Will it create jobs? Will it make travel, education, technology, and access to the global economy easier?

Recent polling has found broad support for a nuclear agreement with Western powers and for normalized relations with the United States. That does not necessarily mean young Iranians admire Washington or welcome foreign domination. It may simply mean they no longer see permanent confrontation as a meaningful national mission.

The contrast between Qavam and Mossadegh offers a useful way to understand this shift.

For much of Iran’s modern history, the country found itself caught between stronger powers, especially Russia and Britain. Iranian leaders repeatedly faced the same dilemma: Was independence best protected through negotiation and tactical compromise, or by refusing concessions to foreign powers?

Qavam represented pragmatic balancing.

During the 1946 Azerbaijan crisis, Soviet troops remained in northern Iran, Moscow supported autonomous movements, and the Soviet government sought an oil concession. Qavam negotiated directly with the Soviets while also benefiting from American pressure and Iran’s appeal to the United Nations.

He conditionally accepted negotiations over a joint oil company but made any final agreement dependent on parliamentary approval. The strategy bought time. Soviet troops withdrew, the central government reestablished control over Azerbaijan, and the Majlis later rejected the oil concession.

Qavam’s approach combined negotiation, ambiguity, conditional commitments, international pressure, and tactical retreat. His success was not his alone. American pressure, the United Nations, Soviet calculations, and the emerging Cold War all mattered. But he showed how a weaker state could use rivalry among stronger powers to defend its territorial integrity.

Mossadegh followed a different path. His doctrine of negative equilibrium rejected the idea that Iran should balance one foreign concession by granting another to a rival power. Iran should not give the Soviet Union oil rights in the north simply because Britain already enjoyed major privileges in the south.

That principle shaped both his opposition to Soviet oil demands and his leadership of the movement to nationalize the British-controlled oil industry. Mossadegh’s goals went beyond oil. He wanted to strengthen parliament, limit royal power, and tie national independence to popular sovereignty.

Mossadegh left the deeper mark on Iranian political thought. Sovereignty, control over natural resources, and resistance to foreign interference became lasting elements of Iran’s political language. But his government failed to turn oil nationalization into a stable economic and diplomatic settlement. The U.S. and Britain reinstalled the Shah, whose pro-Western tilt and autocratic policies ultimately led to the 1979 revolution that ushered in the Islamic Republic.

On the narrow question of crisis management, Qavam appears to have been more successful. On the broader questions of sovereignty, constitutionalism, and historical legacy, Mossadegh was more important.

Qavam saw diplomacy mainly as the management of unequal power. Mossadegh saw it as an expression of national and democratic sovereignty.

Beyond Official Nationalism

The Islamic Republic has often described its foreign policy as anti-imperialist. But Mossadegh’s anti-imperialist nationalism was tied to parliamentary sovereignty, constitutional accountability, and the rule of law. The Islamic Republic has largely separated resistance to foreign domination from democratic accountability, while using anti-imperialism to justify centralized power, regional intervention, and domestic restrictions.

It is risky to assume that younger Iranians will automatically respond to the government’s use of national symbols, or even to the legacy of Mossadegh. Parts of Iranian society seem to have moved beyond not only revolutionary Islamism and state-centered reformism, but also a populist nationalism built around heroic resistance, martyrdom, and endless sacrifice.

That is why the comparison between Qavam and Mossadegh reveals something important: The standards by which foreign policy is judged are changing.

In Mossadegh’s tradition, sovereignty and resistance to foreign privilege stood at the center of politics. In Qavam’s diplomacy, flexibility, conditional compromise, and the use of great-power rivalries mattered more. A significant part of Iranian society may now judge both traditions primarily by their results.

Younger Iranians may defend Iran when it is attacked without transferring that loyalty to the Islamic Republic. They may value sovereignty without supporting permanent confrontation. For them, patriotism may be less about producing the most heroic story and more about protecting the country while limiting the costs imposed on ordinary people.

The question is whether a battered regime that has twice been subjected to war and that is plagued by factionalism will be able to find a suitable compromise or will strive to remain in power over a poorer and poorer nation.