The slogan “nuclear energy is our absolute right” emerged in the early 2000s, as tensions over Iran’s program escalated and international pressure mounted. It was printed on official banners and chanted in state-sponsored rallies.
But it was never a grassroots demand.
“I want to throw up when I hear the phrase nuclear energy,” says Babak, a software engineer in his mid-forties. “Everyone I know feels the same—it reminds them of high prices and empty pockets.”
It’s easy to see that the grudge runs far deeper and wider than the nuclear program.
“This nuclear standoff has made the wall between us and the rest of the world much taller. Every time (Foreign Minister Abbas) Araghchi says ‘non-negotiable’, he triggers a collective trauma: the lives we’ve lost to his ilk’s stupid posturing.”
They showed some reason with the 2015 deal, Babak says, but it was all undone when President Donald Trump pulled the U.S. out.
The chants about nuclear rights died out with that agreement. The term ‘enrichment’ crawled back to technical reports where it belongs.
Now, amid talks with the United States, the government is reviving it, calling enrichment “a non-negotiable right of the Iranian nation.”
Pride, what pride?
But the message holds little weight for many Iranians who increasingly feel their interests and those of Iran’s rulers are mutually exclusive.
“How am I benefiting from this technology, this so-called right?” my neighbour Sonia asks as she breastfeeds her baby in stifling afternoon heat during the daily power cut.
“Isn't one supposed purpose of nuclear energy generating electricity? Why are we having more power cuts with every passing year, then? Why is the share of nuclear power in our grid a literal zero?”
Sonia’s questions are rarely, if ever, discussed in Iran’s media. The nuclear program is a source of national pride, we’re told, and not being proud of it is a crime.
The disconnect between rulers and ruled is nearly complete—so is the gap between official claims and lived experience.
“Their contempt for us people is unreal. And it’s matched by ours for them,” Sonia concludes, her baby now fast asleep. “It’s gotten to a point where many oppose a deal that might improve their lives, because it would benefit the Islamic Republic far more.”
It’s about them, not us
Not everyone is so antagonistic toward the government. Some—more among the older generations, in my experience—are equally critical of regional and world powers.
Retired chemistry teacher Kazem is one of them. He’s the only one of four friends playing chess in the park who is willing to talk to me.
“The Americans first said low-level enrichment would be ok,” he says, “but then changed their position to ‘zero enrichment’, perhaps under pressure from hawks or (Israeli prime minister) Netanyahu.”
“I dislike most of what the government does, but on this one I think it’s the others in Europe and America who are being unreasonable and blocking a potential path forward.”
Kazem’s friends shake their heads in disagreement. One murmurs something to the effect that no sane man believes a word that “this bunch”, Iranian officials, say.
The distrust, in my view, is at the heart of every position that most ordinary Iranians take in relation to those who rule the country.
“The idea of peaceful nuclear energy is a total lie. Yes, it does have many applications—in medicine, for example. But show me just one hospital that’s benefiting from what’s being done in Natanz and Fordow.”
Reza is a technician at a private hospital in Tehran. He says he agrees with the official line about nations’ right to peaceful nuclear energy.
“But this has nothing to do with the nation,” he says, voice rising. “It’s about them, (supreme leader) Khamenei, the (Revolutionary) Guards and the leeches sucking Iran dry and sending the riches to their brood in Canada.
“If it was about the nation, the nation would have been consulted about it. Has anybody ever asked you if you’d rather have centrifuges or a decent car?”
