What is common between the one who, following the experience of the crackdown and defeat of the 2026 nationwide protests in Iran, looks to Trump to save Iran, and the one who, following consecutive defeats of the regional proxy groups backed by the Iranian government, asks Imam Mahdi (the 12th and absent religious leader of Shia Muslims), “Why won’t you come?” Politically speaking, almost nothing. One could see the savior in an imperialistic figure, while the other sees him in the promised religious figure of the end times; one hopes for a foreign military intervention, while the other expects the arrival of the last Imam. But both forms of expectation cannot be understood in isolation from the historical contexts in which they develop: moments of failure, loss, and an experience of extreme inability to change the status quo, within which a desire for redemption can gradually appear. Hence, if we, for a moment, neglect the manifest content of these two forms of expectation and examine the way through which a subject relates to the figure of the “savior” in both narrations—one being more associated with the Iranian opposition while the other is more related to the Iranian state’s ideological apparatus—a rather unsettling similarity begins to emerge: both subjects are in a situation in which freedom from a perceived unbearable condition is projected onto an external agent; an agent perceived as bearing the power to do something which the subject itself feels unable to do—at least in its own mental experience. Here, then, the issue is not about the similarities or differences between Trump and Imam Mahdi as two prominent savior figures for two groups of Iranians, but rather about why seemingly conflicting and oppositional political subjects place an Other in a savior position following different yet deeply shattering experiences in order to deal with their own feelings of helplessness. Perhaps what approximates these two political positions—far from having a common ideology—is a common mental grammar: “I am unable to change my situation, but you are able to do that; then why have you not saved me yet?”
In the beginning, let’s not simply equate helplessness with powerlessness here. A subject might actually be powerless to change its situation, and the political structure, suppression, war, sanctions, economic breakdown, or power imbalance may critically limit its choices. This actual powerlessness cannot be explained away using individual psychology and may not be simply reduced to a subject’s weakness or failure. The problem lies elsewhere: from the instance when an objective limitation of power turns into a permanent feeling of “I am unable to do anything” at the level of mental experience. Here, helplessness is no longer a description of the current condition, but rather a way of a subject relating to the situation. The subject, then, is not only confronted with a world that is difficult to change, but experiences itself in a position in which the power for effective action essentially lies on the outside. And this is precisely the point at which the Other gradually fills the void of agency: if I am unable, then the Other should be able; if I see no way out, then there must be someone who opens the way. Therefore, the difference between real powerlessness and perceived mental helplessness must be borne in mind while examining this phenomenon. The former is about a limitation of power, while the latter regards the relationship of the subject with its own limitation of power. Therefore, while powerlessness can be an actual and relative phenomenon about which the subject can still do something, helplessness can be said to be a psychological and emotional experience of a situation in which the subject feels itself to be essentially lacking any power to act. This distinction allows us to ask—without denying the real limitations and violence—how it is possible for an experience of helplessness to be transformed into a fantasy of handing over agency to the Other in a situation in which the possibility of action is really narrowed down; and also to ask whether there could be an alternative to this form of thinking or not.
When the experience of helplessness is established, the desire to be rescued is no longer a mere reaction to a specific threat or crisis; it rather becomes an organizer of the relation between the subject and its future. Instead of merely asking, “what can I do in this situation?” the subject then gradually starts asking, “who can rescue me from this situation?” This seemingly small change brings about a major transformation in the position of agency. The problem is no longer about finding various possibilities for action, but about finding the right agent to act on behalf of the subject; an agent that crystallizes power, decisiveness, initiative, and responsibility for rescue. In this way, the Other appears as a figure who is not only more powerful than the “helpless” subject, but is deemed to be responsible for its rescue as well. The subject remains expectant, interprets signs, follows promises, and experiences every delay as a moral problem: why has the one who is able to do something not done so yet? Here—that is, in the experience of helplessness—the rescue fantasy works at two levels simultaneously: on the one hand, it retains the possibility of hope, for the status quo is no longer seen as the final possible condition and an external agent is imagined as capable of changing it. On the other hand, the same figure takes away agency from the subject, because the more power for rescuing is assigned to the Other, the longer the subject remains in a situation of waiting. Here lies the paradox: the rescue fantasy may apparently be a response to helplessness, but at a deeper level reproduces the same helplessness. In order to free itself from helplessness, the subject hands over its agency to the Other; and this very act then makes its helplessness a permanent experience.
This experience of helplessness, however, does not only make the subject seek a savior; it also ignites in it a feeling of moral entitlement: if I am in a situation that I am unable to change, then why should I still be responsible for its outcomes? And if the Other is powerful enough to do what I am unable to do, then why can’t they be said to be responsible for doing that for me? Here, helplessness moves from a mental state to a basis for moral demand. The subject does not only claim that “you can save me”; it gradually starts saying, “you can, therefore you should save me.” From this perspective, such moral entitlement is basically another form of transferring agency. The subject not only assigns the power to change the situation to the Other, but even determines how and for what exact purpose this power should be utilized. And right here, the possibility of entitlement, blaming, and a sense of betrayal appears: if the Other is assigned the responsibility for rescue, then its failure is no longer just a failure; it can be experienced as a breach of a promise that is assigned to it by the subject.
In a part of the oppositional discourse—associated with opposition groups—in Iran, this mental structure (perceived helplessness turning into a fantasy of a savior and a moral entitlement to it) could be seen in the expectation of foreign powers that followed the experience of the crackdown and defeat of the January 2026 protests and the extreme limitations on the possibilities of political action. In this discourse, Trump no longer appears merely as a foreign politician, but—in some popular opinions—is elevated to the position of a savior. In January 2026, The Washington Post reported that some Iranians had expected Trump to order a military strike after his repeated promises of intervention. Hadis, a Tehran resident, recalled: “Our eyes were fixed on the sky, like something will happen. He’ll hit now.” Another interviewee, Aanahita, described the predicament in explicitly helpless terms: “I kept thinking about how helpless we are that we have to pray for another country to attack us for our salvation and freedom” (Torbati & Mekhennet, 2026). In a separate report that month, ABC News quoted an Iranian woman using a pseudonym, Maryam, who said: “Everyone is waiting for Trump to take action. Trump is our only hope.” She added: “Iranians need outside help to overthrow this dictatorship. The people of Iran, with bare hands, cannot fight a criminal regime that has shown no mercy even to its own people” (Rollason, 2026). These reports, of course, do not provide reliable data for assessing the prevalence of such beliefs within Iranian society, and expressions of support for intervention may reflect strategic judgments about an extreme situation rather than a generalized psychological disposition. Their importance lies elsewhere: they document a form of political expectation in which foreign intervention is imagined as the necessary route to freedom. In this displacement, Trump—in the political imagination of some people who oppose the Iranian state—becomes an agent who is supposed to do something that the subject, in its helpless experience, feels itself unable to do: changing the status quo and opening a way out.
This structure is intensified when the failure of the savior to rescue does not lead to a reclaiming of agency by the subject, but again ends in the amplification of its demand from the Other. In this sense, the failure of the Other, instead of changing this relationship, is used to reestablish the same structure: “why didn’t you do anything?” In such a situation, the blame is apparently pointed at the Other, but in a deeper sense still holds the Other as the agent responsible for changing the subject’s current conditions and reproduces the mental state upon which the fantasy of rescue was built in the first place. The subject keeps seeing itself as someone lacking any possibility to decide its own fate; the only difference at this level is that now its helplessness is covered by a layer of anger and self-entitlement. From this perspective, entitlement can form a mediatory link between helplessness and an expectation of rescue: “I have suffered, so I am entitled to be rescued; you were able to save me, so you are responsible for doing so; and if you didn’t, it is your failure.” Thus, with a transference of the responsibility to change the situation to the Other, every possibility for the agency of the subject itself is constantly postponed. Every failure by every savior to rescue the subject—which is doomed to happen anyway because no one can replace the subject’s own agency on its behalf—is then interpreted as another signal proving that “nobody is ever going to rescue us,” which then itself leads to “we are helpless,” which in turn reproduces a need for another savior. The cycle is thus completed: helplessness produces a demand for rescue; the demand for rescue transfers agency to the Other; the failure of the Other leads to a feeling of betrayal and blame; and this blame—instead of handing agency back to the subject—can reproduce and affirm the initial helplessness. In this sense, the fantasy of rescue is not only a way to tolerate helplessness; it actually serves as a mechanism for its perpetuation.
This logic found a very objective form during the 40-day war between Iran, Israel, and America. From the beginning of the war, a part of the Islamic Republic opposition saw the American and Israeli attacks not only as a military campaign, but also as a possibility for regime change and freedom from the current state—waiting for a savior named Trump to accomplish that. However, after about forty days of attacks and subsequently a ceasefire, the Islamic Republic did not fall, and the main power structure remained intact. The reactions of some people opposed to the government show that the failure of the rescue operation did not necessarily lead to a rethinking of their relationship with agency. In a report published after the ceasefire, Le Monde described the bitterness of Iranians who saw the war end without a fundamental change in the country’s political structure. Shadab, a Tehran resident opposed to the regime, summarized the disappointment as follows: “All this charade for nothing.” She added that many people were deeply saddened that “it’s all been destruction and nothing has truly changed,” despite statements by the American president boasting of having brought about regime change. The report noted that, despite the death of the former Supreme Leader and several senior political and military figures, the Iranian power apparatus remained intact (Golshiri, 2026). Here, the disappointment of those who had hoped for a savior is not merely about the result of the war; it also raises the question of what remains when military intervention does not produce the political transformation that some had expected.
There were other reactions illustrating the link between expectation, a sense of betrayal, and blaming the savior. In June 2026, The Guardian reported on Iranians’ reactions to a possible peace deal between Washington and Tehran. Mina, a Tehran-based screenwriter who opposed the Iranian government and supported Reza Pahlavi’s return as a transitional leader, said: “I hate the regime, and I hate that [Donald] Trump betrayed us.” She continued: “With Trump, we really have been stabbed in the back” (Parent, 2026). Such statements do not establish that all or even most opponents of the Iranian government expected Trump to liberate Iran. They do, however, document the language of betrayal in which the perceived failure of an external power is interpreted as the failure of an agent who had been expected to deliver a different outcome. The importance of these reactions—and other similar ones—is that the failure of the rescue operation can still be viewed from within a relationship with a savior: the complaint is not only that “we failed,” but also that the powerful Other failed to accomplish what was expected of it.
Examples reported by other media also elucidate this link between expectation, a sense of betrayal, and blaming the savior. The Guardian reported that some Iranians who had initially looked toward foreign intervention felt that Trump had betrayed them, while others were increasingly skeptical that foreign powers would act in their interests (Parent, 2026). Le Monde, meanwhile, documented the bitter sense that, after forty days of war, “nothing has truly changed” (Golshiri, 2026). These reports describe different people and moments; they should not be read as evidence of a single, uniform opposition position. Their relevance here is narrower: they show that, for some people, disappointment with the outcome of intervention is expressed through a language of betrayal and failed expectations.
In such reactions, the failure of the rescue operation, instead of bringing about the question of “what possibility of action is left for us now with no saviors?” can be turned into another question: “why couldn’t or didn’t the savior want to accomplish what it was expected to do?” This displacement is delicate yet important. The subject keeps maintaining the Other in the position of the principal agent of change; the only difference is that now, following its failure to rescue, the relationship has shifted from expectation to blame, and from hope to a feeling of betrayal. The savior has failed, but its position has remained intact.
The political outcome of this transference of agency becomes clearer when we take a look at the “next day” problem. If regime change is essentially assigned to the power and decision of a foreign agent, then the problem is not only that the savior might fail, but that the subject itself might not have an independent action plan for the moment of the savior’s failure. In a part of the Iranian opposition, this void became visible following the ceasefire. The expectation of American/Israeli intervention was intertwined with waiting for the collapse of the Islamic Republic, but when the war ended in a ceasefire without a regime collapse, the opposition was finally faced with the problem of “what can we do now without any saviors?”; and this time it was finally obvious that without any savior fantasies, there was actually no solution to that in the real world. In other words, the failure of foreign intervention was not merely a military or geopolitical defeat for the opposition; for some, it also meant the disappearance of the source that was supposed to bring about change, without there being an independent and internal capacity to replace it. This is exactly the point at which the experience of helplessness can return as a cycle: the subject, having transferred the agency for change to the outside, is now, after the failure of the savior, faced with its own lack of agency, which in turn leads to an experience of helplessness anew. Therefore, here the fantasy of rescue is not only a failed hope; it can actually deplete the capacity for political imagination and organizing action, which leads back to a feeling of helplessness.
A similar structure—albeit with a totally different content—can be seen in the pro-Islamic Republic camp as well. The consecutive defeats of the Iranian proxy groups and allied states during 2024–2025 were not merely a collection of military and political developments; they gradually made the political/religious imagination of the Islamic Republic face an experience of limitation and helplessness. The assassination of Hassan Nasrullah and a large part of the Hezbollah leadership, the severe weakening of its power against Israel, the killing of Yahya Sinwar, and then the fall of Assad in December 2024 signified the loss of several major regional sources of support for the Islamic Republic in a short period of time. Several political analysts described these events as a weakening or collapse of a major part of “the axis of resistance” (the label that the Islamic Republic uses for its proxy groups and allied states) (Gambrell, 2024; Vakil, 2024). In such conditions, the subject, previously imagining itself in a situation of historical power and victorious resistance, faced a sequence of losses and defeats to which no simple political explanation was found. If the resistance had to continue, and if “a historical victory” was in sight, and if the Islamic Republic saw itself as one of the determining elements in this process, then consecutive defeats brought about this question: now, who or what is supposed to lead this movement towards its end? This is the same point at which helplessness may provide the basis for a fantasy of a savior. In other words, instead of accepting the defeat—which would open the path for alternative forms of political imagination and action—the pro-government forces could fall into a cycle resembling that of their oppositional counterparts.
The answer to the aforementioned question can be conceptualized in an apocalyptic form. In the political-religious imagination of some pro-government currents, military escalation and regional upheaval are not necessarily interpreted as defeats; they can be read as signs of the approaching arrival of Imam Mahdi. A June 2026 report in the German newspaper taz described how apocalyptic Mahdist ideas had become increasingly influential among some actors close to the Iranian regime, including currents that interpret war with the United States and Israel as a necessary condition for the return of Imam Mahdi. The report quoted a believer who described the war as necessary for the fulfillment of these prophecies and discussed hardline ideologues who regard escalating conflict as a way of accelerating the Mahdi’s return (La Marca, 2026). Similarly, Euronews reported in March 2026 that some religious currents were interpreting the war between Iran, Israel, and the United States within the framework of prophecies concerning the end times and the arrival of the Mahdi (Euronews, 2026). These sources do not establish that the fall of Assad was specifically interpreted by Raefipour or a particular channel as a sign of the imminent arrival of Imam Mahdi; that narrower claim is therefore not retained here as a verified example. What they do document is a broader interpretive framework in which military and political events can be incorporated into a narrative of apocalyptic expectation.
Such reactions are important here because they show how a political-military defeat—instead of catalyzing an internal dialogue focused on detecting problems and fixing them—might actually turn into raw material for constructing a fantasy of a savior when it is experienced as deep helplessness. Here, a defeat is no longer just a defeat; rather, it becomes a “sign.” A loss is not merely a loss, but it becomes a part of the path of arrival. And more importantly, the current helplessness is compensated with the promise of a future power brought by a savior: what is lost now is supposed to return in the future in a more perfect form at the moment of arrival. Thus, helplessness is tied to an expectation, and expectation in turn is tied to a savior.
But this Mahdi-fantasy—just like the Trump-fantasy—is doomed to face a problem: the savior either won’t arrive, or, even if he does, the consequences of his arrival will not necessarily match expectations. Here, too, the failure of the savior does not necessarily lead to the taking back of agency. To the contrary, the language of waiting for the Twelfth Imam can also be expressed as a direct demand addressed to him: “So when will you arrive?” “Why won’t you arrive?” “We are tired already.” A post published on the religious website 313m.ir on September 7, 2026, addresses Imam Mahdi in precisely this register: “Agha, why don’t you come?” and “Agha, by God, we are tired.” The same post says, “Agha, we’re waiting for you” (313m.ir, 2026). This is a verifiable example of a language of exhaustion, reproach, and expectation directed toward the absent savior. It does not, by itself, establish how widespread such expressions are among government supporters, nor does it demonstrate that the post was a response to the defeat of proxy groups. Its significance for this argument lies in the form of address itself: the absence of the savior is met not by abandoning the expectation, but by renewing the demand for his arrival.
The psychoanalytic significance of this language is that the absence of the savior may lead to an amplification of this position instead of removing it: the more salvation is postponed, the more the necessity of the arrival of the one who is supposed to redeem is highlighted. In such a structure, even defeats of proxy groups can be reinterpreted within a framework in which present losses are incorporated into the signs of an anticipated arrival, instead of questioning the limitations of one group’s power, decisions, and individual responsibilities leading to those failures. As a result, blaming and complaining about the continued absence of the savior does not necessarily lead to a retaking of agency, but can reproduce the same helplessness and waiting. So here again, the same cycle starts to appear that we saw on the other side of the political spectrum, albeit with apparently contradictory content: helplessness leading to a savior fantasy and an entitlement to being rescued. The savior appearing or not appearing both then lead to unwanted consequences, which in turn can end in blaming the savior and a return to a position of helplessness. In both cases, the failure of the savior does not erase the position of the savior. The subject can complain about the savior, get tired of his lateness, and even ask him “why won’t you come?” instead of asking a more fundamental question: “if he won’t come, or if he fails, what am I going to do with my own agency?”
Eventually, the issue is not which savior is real and which is false, or which political camp is right to accuse the other of being messianistic. The real issue is how the experience of helplessness can enter the subject into a relationship with the Other in which the Other is not only more powerful, but also becomes responsible for its rescue. When this rescue fails, the relationship does not necessarily end; instead of looking at it as a chance to return to its own agency and do something towards its own freedom, the expectation might lead to entitlement and blame, and hope turns into betrayal; while through all these transformations, the position of the Other as the bearer of agency is preserved.
From this perspective, the return to helplessness is not the end of the cycle, but becomes a part of the cycle. The subject who handed over its agency to the savior may take the savior to be responsible for its own helplessness. Therefore, the savior fantasy, while promising an escape from helplessness, may actually preserve the mental condition for its continuation. So the important question on both sides of this political rift might not be “who will save us?” but “what happens when the subject no longer expects a savior?”
Works Cited
313m.ir. (2026, September 7). آقا گریه نکن تو رو خدا گریه نکن [Agha, please don’t cry, for God’s sake, don’t cry]. https://313m.ir/283/آقا-گریه-نکن-تو-رو-خدا-گریه-نکن/
Euronews. (2026, March 12). جنگ ایران چطور به باورهای آخرالزمانی دامن زده است؟ [How has the Iran war fueled apocalyptic beliefs?]. https://parsi.euronews.com/2026/03/12/how-has-iran-war-fueled-apocalyptic-beliefs
Gambrell, J. (2024, December 8). Analysis: Collapse of Syria’s Assad is a blow to Iran’s ‘Axis of Resistance’. Associated Press. https://apnews.com/article/iran-mideast-proxy-forces-syria-analysis-c853bf613a6d6af7f6aa99b2e60984f8
Golshiri, G. (2026, April 10). Iranians express bitterness at war: ‘The jailer hasn’t changed, my friends, and we are all in line for death’. Le Monde. https://www.lemonde.fr/en/international/article/2026/04/10/iranians-express-bitterness-at-war-it-s-all-been-destruction-and-nothing-has-truly-changed_6752275_4.html
La Marca, T. (2026, June 4). Iran und Religion: Endzeitstimmung in Iran [Iran and religion: Apocalyptic mood in Iran]. taz. https://taz.de/Iran-und-Religion/!6184115/
Parent, D. (2026, June 16). ‘Everyone is angry for different reasons’: scepticism in Iran as peace deal nears. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2026/jun/16/iran-reaction-peace-deal-agreement-us-trump
Rollason, B. (2026, January 30). As Donald Trump weighs up actions, Iranians send the US a message to ‘please help’. ABC News. https://www.abc.net.au/news/2026-01-30/iranians-begging-donald-trump-intervention/106278760
Torbati, Y., & Mekhennet, S. (2026, January 19). Trump promised Iranians the U.S. would rescue them. Some feel betrayed. The Washington Post. https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/2026/01/19/iran-trump-attack-protesters-killed/
Vakil, S. (2024, December 13). The fall of Assad has exposed the extent of the damage to Iran’s axis of resistance. Chatham House. https://www.chathamhouse.org/2024/12/fall-assad-has-exposed-extent-damage-irans-axis-resistance