The Moral Geography of Protest: Why U.S. Activism Rightfully Focuses on American Complicity 

The article argues that American students are not hypocritical for focusing their protests on U.S. complicity in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict rather than demonstrating against the Iranian government, because effective activism primarily targets the policies of one’s own nation, where citizens possess direct political agency and moral responsibility. While both regimes commit severe human rights abuses, the U.S. actively funds, arms, and diplomatically shields Israel, making it complicit in those atrocities, whereas regarding Iran, the U.S. is already in a state of hostile opposition through sanctions and cyber warfare, leaving no comparable “support” to withdraw and risking dangerous escalation if more U.S. action is demanded. Thus, the most ethical and strategic form of solidarity is to first halt the crimes financed and enabled by one’s own taxes and foreign policy, rather than performing outrage over distant injustices over which one has no practical leverage and which may be co-opted by imperial agendas.

The Moral Geography of Protest: Why U.S. Activism Rightfully Focuses on American Complicity 

A critique of performative outrage and a defense of strategic, responsible solidarity. 

The Accusation: A Litmus Test of Hypocrisy 

In early 2026, as a brutal crackdown in Iran sparked global horror, a familiar chorus rose from certain media and political commentators. Figures like Piers Morgan, Ian Bremmer, and Gerard Baker issued a pointed challenge to American activists, particularly those vocal about Palestine: Where are your protests for Iran? The implication was clear—this perceived selectivity revealed a moral failing, perhaps even an antisemitic bias, as Baker crudely suggested. The charge weaponizes the very real suffering of the Iranian people to score domestic political points, attempting to paint progressive activism as inherently hypocritical or misdirected. 

On its face, the question seems to have a ruthless logic. If the principle is opposition to state violence and authoritarian repression, shouldn’t it apply universally? Shouldn’t the quad be filled with students chanting for the women and dissidents of Iran? Yet this superficial reading collapses under the weight of historical context, political agency, and the fundamental question of what protest is actually for. 

The Flawed Analogy: Why We Protest Our Leviathan 

The most potent rebuttal lies in a simple role reversal. As Nathan J. Robinson notes, we do not interrogate Iranian dissidents about why they aren’t organizing against U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement raids or drone strikes. Soviet refuseniks were not tasked with condemning the Vietnam War. The reason is intuitive and morally sound: people have the greatest responsibility, and the most direct agency, to confront the injustices perpetrated or enabled by their own nation. 

Protest, at its most effective, is not a generic performance of empathy broadcast to the world. It is a targeted political tool aimed at shifting the policy of the entity over which the protesters hold some democratic leverage—their own government. An American citizen’s primary channel of political influence runs through Washington, D.C., not Tehran. This creates a hierarchy of obligation. The crimes you fund with your taxes, arm with your industry, and legitimize with your diplomacy demand your first attention. 

Complicity vs. Opposition: The Stark Policy Dichotomy 

This is where the false equivalence between Palestine and Iran, in the context of U.S. policy, completely unravels. 

In the case of Israel-Palestine, the United States is not a bystander; it is the essential enabler. It provides the bombs, the diplomatic cover at the UN, and the military aid that makes the ongoing campaign possible. As Robinson underscores, when human rights organizations document what is being done, they document actions powered by American support. Therefore, a U.S. activist’s demand is concrete, actionable, and directed inward: Stop the funding. Stop the arms sales. Enforce the Leahy Law. Withdraw diplomatic protection for violations. Movements like BDS offer a clear theory of change: exert economic and political pressure on our own institutions to force a change in our foreign policy, thereby altering the reality on the ground. 

In the case of Iran, the U.S. government is already, and has long been, in a state of maximum hostility. It levies crushing economic sanctions, engages in cyber warfare, and has a history of threatening military intervention. There is no “support” to withdraw. Demanding the U.S. “do something” is not a clear ask; it is dangerously vague. Historically, U.S. “action” in the region has brought chaos and suffering, from the 1953 coup to the destruction of Iraq. The most likely form of increased U.S. involvement would be military, a prospect that should terrify anyone genuinely concerned with Iranian lives, given the catastrophic results of American interventionism in the Middle East. 

The U.S. strategy, as noted, has been one of collective punishment via sanctions—a policy explicitly designed to inflict misery on the civilian population to foment unrest. To protest for “more” U.S. action is to risk advocating for an escalation of this brutal calculus or for outright war. 

The Danger of Imperial Co-optation 

This gets to the heart of the matter: the U.S. foreign policy establishment does not care about democracy or human rights in Iran. Its record proves it allies comfortably with far-right authoritarians in Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and beyond when it serves strategic or economic interests. The Trump administration’s rhetoric about supporting Iranian protesters was always in bad faith, a cudgel to beat a geopolitical rival, not a genuine embrace of popular sovereignty. 

For American activists to uncritically take up the banner of “regime change” in Iran is to risk having their moral outrage co-opted by the very imperial forces that have destabilized the region for decades. It aligns them with figures who see the Iranian people not as agents of their own destiny, but as pawns in a great game for oil and regional dominance. True solidarity means listening to what Iranian civil society actually wants, which often includes an end to U.S. sanctions and threats, not an escalation of them. 

Toward an Ethics of Grounded Solidarity 

This is not an argument for silence on Iran. It is an argument for a specific, responsible form of solidarity: 

• Amplification, Not Appropriation: Use platforms to share the work and voices of Iranian journalists, artists, and dissidents, centering their analysis and their demands. 

• Oppose Sanctions and War: Advocate for policies that alleviate, rather than compound, the suffering of ordinary Iranians. This means campaigning against economic sanctions (which are a form of siege warfare) and against reckless military posturing. 

• Draw Connections, Not Equivalencies: Highlight the global playbook of authoritarianism—how regimes in Iran, Israel, Russia, and indeed the U.S., use similar tactics of labeling protesters “terrorists,” shutting down communications, and employing disproportionate violence. This frames the struggle as a universal one against state repression, while acknowledging distinct contexts. 

The call for Americans to protest every global injustice is not a call for moral consistency; it is a call for moral exhaustion and strategic impotence. It diffuses energy and directs outrage away from the levers of power that can actually be moved. The most principled stand an American can take is to relentlessly confront their own government’s crimes—to halt the endless flow of weapons, to close the black sites, to end the forever wars, and to dismantle the architecture of sanctions that strangles civilian populations. 

As James Baldwin famously observed, “I can’t believe what you say, because I see what you do.” The commentators chiding students would have more credibility if their own records showed consistent outrage against U.S.-backed atrocities. Their sudden concern for Iranian protesters, juxtaposed against their silence or support for U.S. and allied violence, reveals their critique not as a moral standard, but as a political weapon. 

American students focusing on U.S. complicity are not failing a global test. They are passing the fundamental test of civic responsibility: holding their own house accountable first. In a world saturated with suffering, that is not an evasion of duty, but its most essential and difficult form.