Power Is Not Inherited: A January 16 Reflection on Authority and Responsibility
Yvette Hovsepian Bearce, PhD
January 16 occupies a distinctive place in Iran’s modern political memory. It is commemorated in sharply divergent ways: for the Islamic Republic and its supporters, it symbolizes the “dawn of victory” and the end of monarchy; for monarchists, it represents the loss of monarchy and what they view as a rupture in Iran’s historical continuity—a departure from a long and proud civilizational lineage, from ancient Persian kingship to modern statehood, replaced by clerical rule that, in their eyes, reversed Iran’s historical trajectory.
There is also a third space, inhabited by many Iranians who stand neither with the Islamic Republic nor with monarchist restoration. They search for something new. They reject inherited power in both of its forms and question the moral foundations of both systems.
Behind all of these competing narratives lies a deeper analytic question—one that remains relevant regardless of where one stands on the regime question:
What makes political authority legitimate, and what does responsible leadership require when a state enters a moment of existential transition?
The anniversary of the Shah’s departure invites that inquiry precisely because it exposes a recurring dilemma in Iranian politics: authority is often treated as inherent—attached to lineage, clerical status, revolutionary credentials, or historical destiny—rather than as a public trust that must be continuously earned through accountability and service.
Authority as Inheritance
Iran has lived through multiple systems that justified authority as inheritance in one form or another.
Under monarchy, legitimacy was rooted in dynastic continuity and the state’s claim to embody national modernization. Under the Islamic Republic, legitimacy is rooted in a revolutionary theology of guardianship and a sacralized narrative of resistance. In both cases, authority has tended to be defined as something that belongs to the ruler or the ruling class—by bloodline, by divine mandate, or by revolutionary history—rather than as something delegated by citizens and constrained by law.
In the Islamic Republic, this inheritance is not merely political; it is theological. Under Ayatollah Khamenei, authority is presented not only as continuity of the revolution but as divinely sanctioned guardianship. Human power is wrapped in sacred language. Yet when a ruler claims divine mandate to justify unlimited authority, accountability is displaced by immunity. Faith is not honored; it is instrumentalized. Political theology becomes a shield against moral responsibility. What appears as humility before God becomes a substitution for accountability to society.
This distinction is not abstract. It shapes political behavior at precisely the moments when societies are most vulnerable—during mass mobilization, polarization, and institutional breakdown. When authority is imagined as inherent, leaders are less likely to accept limits, less likely to submit to transparent accountability, and more likely to interpret dissent as illegitimate by definition.
January 16 as a Test of Responsibility
Leadership is not ultimately evaluated by how it narrates itself, but by how it carries responsibility under pressure. In moments of upheaval, the central question is not whether a leader is admired or rejected, but whether the leader’s decisions protect the public from political freefall.
That is why January 16 is analytically significant. The Shah’s departure, regardless of how one interprets his motives, became an emblematic rupture: power left the state before a credible, legitimate, and publicly accepted transfer of authority had been secured. The consequence was not merely regime change. It was the exposure of ordinary people to a struggle among organized forces competing to define the new order.
Iran was left politically orphaned. And like all orphans, it became vulnerable—exposed to those who were organized, determined, and prepared to seize authority in the absence of protection. The vacuum was not merely ideological; it was institutional and moral. In such moments, societies are shaped not only by visionaries, but also by those willing to exploit fragility.
The lesson is not that “staying” is always morally superior or that “leaving” is always morally culpable. The lesson is that transitions are not only about who wins; they are about what happens to the public in the space between the old order and new authority. In that space, politics becomes exceptionally susceptible to coercion, mythmaking, and violence—especially when institutions have already been hollowed out or delegitimized.
The Contemporary Echo
On this anniversary—January 16, 2026—Reza Pahlavi delivered remarks calling for international support for Iran’s protesters and outlining immediate policy reversals for a “free Iran,” including rapid foreign-policy realignments and sweeping security measures. Supporters hear clarity and decisiveness. Critics hear entitlement and pre-commitments made on behalf of a nation without demonstrated mandate. Both reactions are understandable.
But the point is larger than any one figure. When a political actor claims that a “bond” to leadership exists “since birth,” or implies that a call to govern flows naturally from lineage and historical memory, that is not merely rhetoric. It is a political theory—one that places authority prior to consent.
If the stated goal is democracy, then the language of inheritance itself becomes a contradiction. Why retain royal symbolism? Why allow the title of “Shah” to circulate? Why not insist, clearly and publicly: I am Reza Pahlavi. Period.
Democracy begins with the renunciation of inherited entitlement, not its preservation.
In modern democratic theory, legitimacy is not a private asset. It is a public relationship. It must be demonstrably granted, continually renewed, and institutionally constrained. Without that, “leadership” becomes indistinguishable from personal ambition—whether expressed as dynastic restoration or revolutionary permanence.
The American Contrast: Power as Contract
Here the American example is analytically useful—not as moral triumphalism, but as a contrasting model of political design.
In America, power is not a possession. It is a contract. It can be revoked. It must be renewed. It demands work, humility, and service. That is why inherited authority—whether royal or clerical—feels morally hollow to an American civic imagination.
I write this not as someone born into American political culture, but as a naturalized citizen shaped by migration across three systems of authority: monarchy in Iran, clerical theocracy after the revolution, and constitutional democracy in the United States. I was born in Iran, displaced through Germany as a refugee, and have made America my home for four decades. My understanding of power is not theoretical; it is lived.
Under monarchy and theocracy, authority was presumed, sacralized, or inherited. In America, I encountered a system in which leaders are temporary, institutions are questioned, and power must justify itself again and again. That framework makes both royal inheritance and clerical absolutism feel ethically incomplete.
The American system is far from perfect, and American politics is hardly immune to polarization or institutional stress. Yet its core premise remains instructive: authority is legitimate not because it is inherited, but because it is bounded by law, scrutinized by public accountability, and rooted—however imperfectly—in the consent of the governed.
This matters for Iran not because Iran must imitate America, but because Iran’s central political problem has long been the sacralization of authority—turning rule into destiny rather than responsibility.
A Question, Not a Prescription
One can oppose the Islamic Republic without endorsing alternative forms of unaccountable authority. One can desire regime change without normalizing inherited leadership. And one can be morally committed to Iran’s liberation while still asking what kind of political imagination that liberation requires.
January 16 need not be reduced to partisan commemoration—celebrated by some, mourned by others. It can also be read as a reminder that replacing rulers is never enough if the political logic that renders rulers inevitable remains untouched.
Perhaps the more enduring question is not who should rule Iran, but what kind of authority Iranians—and those who speak about Iran from abroad—are willing to recognize as legitimate.
Power is not inherited.
It is carried on behalf of others and sustained through accountability.
Without that responsibility, authority loses its moral legitimacy.
Today’s events show that the core dilemma remains unchanged: authority cannot disappear without consequence, ideology cannot be erased by force, and political order cannot be rebuilt without structure. Revolutions may dismantle rulers, but they do not automatically create legitimacy. And foreign intervention, no matter how forceful, cannot substitute for political responsibility within society itself.
Political order is not rebuilt by force, and it is not sustained by slogans. It cannot be rebuilt without people being allowed to participate in shaping their own future. Without institutions that truly belong to them and answer to them, no transition can bring lasting peace. Otherwise, power simply shifts from one group to another, domination is spoken in new language, and the moral structure of authority remains unchanged.
And so the question that remains open—for Iranians, and for the international actors who claim a voice in Iran’s future—is this:
When we speak about Iran’s future, what kind of authority are we truly willing to defend—
authority that is inherited and symbolic,
or authority that is earned through accountability and responsibility?
Author’s Note:
This article was written on the anniversary of January 16, 1979, and in response to remarks delivered by Reza Pahlavi on January 16, 2026, in Washington, D.C., following his news conference calling for stronger action by the United States against the Iranian regime. It engages the broader question of political authority, responsibility, and legitimacy raised by both historical memory and contemporary political discourse.
