When Iran became the Islamic Republic in 1979, one of its first acts was to redesign the national flag. Gone was the Lion and Sun, an emblem with centuries of history. In its place appeared a stylized “Allah,” where one of the letters forms a sword.

Overnight, the regime declared to its people — and the world — that it was a state built not on protection, but on the threat of force.

That sword has defined the Islamic Republic ever since.

What does it represent? A warning to enemies? A tribute to the Prophet’s conquests? A nod to Imam Ali’s legendary double-edged blade, a symbol of both faith and ferocity? Whatever the interpretation, the message is unmistakable — power through offense, not defense.

And 46 years later, Iran still clings to the sword — while leaving its people without a shield.

We saw this contrast play out during the recent war, when Iran unleashed waves of ballistic missiles on Israel. The attacks were indiscriminate, designed to hit densely populated areas and rack up civilian casualties. If not for Israel’s layered missile defense — the Iron Dome, Arrow, David’s Sling, bomb shelters in the vast majority of civilian buildings — those strikes would have killed tens of thousands, or even more.

That’s the difference between a state that invests in defense and one that idolizes martyrdom. Israel’s national emblem is the Shield of David — a fitting symbol for a country that prioritizes civilian protection. Iran, by contrast, boasts a sword on its flag, and acts accordingly.

Iran’s rulers pour billions into missiles, drones, and proxy militias from Yemen, to Gaza, to Lebanon. They brag about offensive power. But what about defense? Where are the shelters, the warning systems, the plans to protect 85 million people from the wars their leaders keep inviting?

Iran insists that its nuclear ambitions are peaceful. But before the recent war, the regime already had all the materials and uranium it could need for peaceful purposes. It also refused (and refuses) to accept civilian nuclear fuel from other nations. Combined with the regime’s obsession with “resistance,” martyrdom, and slogans like “Death to America” and “Death to Israel,” the truth is clear: the atomic bomb is the ultimate sword.

Meanwhile, the shield is nowhere to be found. A country that regards nuclear enrichment as a national imperative is currently reeling from unprecedented water and electricity shortages, primarily caused by the government’s own mismanagement.

I grew up in Iran during the war with Iraq feeling unsafe and vulnerable. Back then, we told ourselves that the absence of bomb shelters was because the country was caught off guard. Saddam Hussein’s invasion came early in the regime’s life; maybe Iran wasn’t ready.

That excuse doesn’t work anymore. After four decades in power, Iran still has no civil defense strategy. It has built underground bunkers — but they are for its leadership, not for its people.

During the recent war, civilians relied on WhatsApp messages and satellite TV to figure out where missiles might land. The government issued vague instructions: go to mosques, schools, subway tunnels. But when civilians sought shelter, some were locked out. Some people in the shelters demanded bureaucratic permission slips — during an air raid. And when Iran cut its Internet access, people couldn’t get basic information about how to stay safe (despite warnings from Israel).

The regime not only failed to protect civilians from the Israeli strikes — but is going even further and entrenching that policy with new legislation that will interrupt Internet access during wartime to prevent the spread of “false information” that could benefit the enemy during military conflict. But that’s not the real story.

The legislation has been widely criticized because it will prevent civilians from accessing vital information regarding warnings and communications with their loved ones. Iran is putting its people in direct danger — because it values victory over their lives.

Evidently Iran’s leaders have a clear message: You’re on your own.

This isn’t incompetence. It’s a choice.

The Islamic Republic thrives on victimhood. It wants to be seen as besieged, heroic, and sacrificial. High civilian casualties aren’t a bug — they’re a feature. A bloodied population strengthens the regime’s narrative of resistance, and invites international sympathy.

So instead of building shelters, the regime builds slogans. Instead of enhancing their warning systems, it invests in propaganda.

When Iran changed its flag in 1979, it wasn’t just art — it was policy. The sword in the center declared that this state would not be a fortress, but a weapon. Four decades later, that choice still dictates strategy.

Iran could learn something from the country it calls its enemy. Israel’s greatest innovation isn’t its missiles — it’s its shields. Technology can save lives, but so can the decision to value life over death.

Until Iran makes that choice, its people will remain exposed — sacrificed on the altar of a regime that prizes the sword and martyrdom.

Born and raised in Iran, Marjan Keypour Greenblatt is a human rights advocate and an Iran analyst.