“If you don’t remember history, you are condemned to repeat it.”

Are we on the verge of repeating it once again?

The drumbeat between the United States and Iran has grown louder in recent weeks. American carrier strike groups have repositioned in the Persian Gulf. Additional air and missile defense systems have been deployed across the region. Iranian-backed militias have intensified proxy activity from Iraq to Syria. Israeli strikes on Iranian assets have escalated, and Tehran has responded with threats of retaliation against not only Israel but also American interests throughout the region.

What once simmered now risks boiling over.

President Donald Trump has signaled that if Iran’s clerical leadership refuses to abandon its nuclear and advanced missile ambitions, force remains on the table. The rhetoric has hardened. The deadlines are sharper. The warnings became more public.

The stakes could not be higher — not only for the Middle East but also for the credibility and judgment of American power itself.

Only months ago, it was declared that coordinated action had crippled Iran’s nuclear trajectory. Yet Iran’s program appears resilient and regenerative, like the hydra of Greek mythology. Cut off one head, another emerges. Targeted strikes may delay capacity, but they rarely eliminate intent. Meanwhile, internal crackdowns have intensified. Protest movements have not blossomed into regime fracture. External pressure often strengthens internal hardliners.

Empty ultimatums do not intimidate hardened theocracies. They test resolution on both sides.

But the deeper question remains: What exactly are we trying to accomplish?

No serious Iranian protest movement is demanding unilateral nuclear surrender at the insistence of foreign powers. Iran’s political culture is shaped by centuries of foreign interference: partitioned by British and Russian influence, destabilized by outside manipulation, and economically constrained by sanctions. National sovereignty in Tehran is not theoretical; it is emotional. It is historical memory.

We should remember Vietnam. The Vietnamese prevailed not because they were militarily superior but because they were fighting for their homeland. We were not.

America’s report card on regime change should give any serious policymaker pause.

In 1953, the United States helped overthrow Iran’s elected prime minister, Mohammad Mosaddegh, reinstalling the Shah. This action led to repression that fueled the rise of Ayatollah Khomeini and the 1979 hostage crisis. In 1961, the Bay of Pigs debacle fortified Fidel Castro’s grip on Cuba for generations.

In 1963, we acquiesced in the removal of South Vietnam’s President Ngo Dinh Diem. Instability ensued, followed by collapse in 1975. The 2001 war in Afghanistan ended 20 years later with the Taliban restored to power. The 2003 invasion of Iraq removed Saddam Hussein but unintentionally expanded Iranian influence in Baghdad, destabilizing the region for decades.

Libya in 2011? Muammar Gaddafi fell. The state fractured.

Time and again, we have mastered the mechanics of overthrow. We have not mastered managing the aftermath.

Regime change is the easy part. Nation-building is not. Civic institutions — courts, legislatures, civil society — cannot be imposed at the point of a missile strike. They require culture, continuity and consent.

Before asking how to confront Iran, we must ask why.

Is Iran an imminent threat to the American homeland? Or are we allowing regional rivalry, nuclear anxiety and political posturing to edge us toward a wider war that could engulf the Strait of Hormuz, spike global energy markets, and pull in great powers?

Even if Iran were to cross the nuclear threshold, would it invite annihilation by striking the United States directly? Deterrence, for all its cold logic, has prevented nuclear war among adversaries far more volatile. The Soviet Union and the United States avoided it. North Korea understands it.

This does not mean Iran is benign. It is not. Its proxy networks destabilize neighbors. Its rhetoric toward Israel is incendiary. Its human rights record is deeply troubling.

But prudence demands proportionality.

A foreign policy that magnifies every regional escalation into existential confrontation risks miscalculation. When military assets concentrate, when ultimatums narrow diplomatic space, and when domestic political pressure intersects with global rivalry, accidents become catalysts.

Wars often begin not with a grand design but with incremental escalation.

Prudence is not weakness. Skepticism is not appeasement. Strength is measured not solely in ordnance but in judgment.

Before America once again embarks on the perilous road of regime change or drifts into war through accumulated escalation, we would do well to remember history not as an abstraction but as a warning.

The past is not distant.

It is prologue.

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