Perspective
The N-Factor
Iran’s nuclear journey did not begin in the shadows but under the warm glow of American partnership.
The nuclear world is like a schoolyard: Five kids own AK-47s capable of bringing down airplanes. They tell the rest, “Don’t bring sharp pencils to class. It’s dangerous.” One nerdy kid builds a pencil sharpener. The bullies surround him, saying, “If you sharpen that... we’ll call it aggression.” He asks, “Then how come you carry guns in your school bags?” “That’s different. We’re responsible bullies.”
This bitterly sarcastic anecdote offers more than just humour—it lays bare the duplicity of global nuclear diplomacy. The so-called “responsible bullies” are the five recognized nuclear weapon states under the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons (NPT)—the United States, the United Kingdom, France, Russia, and China. These states not only possess the most destructive weapons ever created but also reserve the exclusive right to regulate who else may even dream of acquiring them.
Within this absurd asymmetry lies the story of Iran—a country labeled defiant and dangerous for daring to sharpen its metaphorical pencil in a world dominated by nuclear AK-47s.
Iran’s nuclear journey did not begin in the shadows. It began under the warm glow of American partnership. In the 1950s, the United States launched the “Atom for Peace” initiative, designed to share nuclear technology for peaceful purposes with allied nations. Iran, under Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, was an eager participant. With direct U.S. assistance, Iran received its first research reactor from the American firm General Atomics in 1967. Iranian scientists were trained in American laboratories. Washington even envisioned Iran as a potential nuclear energy hub for the Middle East.
At that point, Iran’s nuclear aspirations were neither hidden nor feared. Tehran had plans to build over twenty nuclear reactors, with contracts signed with West German and French firms. What followed, however, altered the entire trajectory.
The 1979 Islamic Revolution transformed Iran from a Western-allied monarchy into a theocratic republic fiercely opposed to American influence. Washington’s reaction was swift and unforgiving. Nuclear cooperation stopped. Contracts were canceled. What had once been a Western-endorsed energy programme suddenly became a threat.
The eight-year-long Iran-Iraq War (1980–1988) further deepened Tehran’s distrust. Iraq, supported by Western and Arab powers, unleashed chemical weapons on Iranian troops with minimal international condemnation.
This trauma was pivotal. Iran realized it could not rely on international norms or treaties for its survival. As the only non-nuclear country among regional rivals (Israel, Pakistan, and India), Iran began to think not just in terms of scientific progress, but national security. The seeds of nuclear deterrence were planted—not in secrecy, but in betrayal.
In 1968, long before its ideological rupture with the West, Iran signed the NPT and ratified it in 1970. The Treaty was supposed to be a grand bargain: non-nuclear states agreed not to pursue nuclear weapons, and in return, nuclear states promised disarmament and peaceful cooperation in nuclear energy. But the bargain was, and remains, flawed. While Iran upheld its obligations under the NPT—submitting to inspections and declarations—it witnessed the five nuclear powers expand, modernize, and harden their arsenals.
Meanwhile, Israel never signed the Treaty and is widely believed to possess a substantial nuclear arsenal, aided by Western ambiguity. To Iran, the NPT began to resemble a contract written in invisible ink. It constrained the weak while rewarding the powerful. Its core premise—that disarmament and fairness would follow compliance—was belied by the actions of its own architects.
The specter of Israel looms large in Iranian nuclear calculus. Israel’s policy of nuclear opacity—neither confirming nor denying its arsenal—serves as both deterrence and deception. Supported politically, economically, and militarily by the U.S, Israel is considered an unspoken exception to the rules.
Iran sees this as nuclear apartheid. If a state has nuclear weapons and Western friendship, it is “responsible.” If it seeks the same power but lacks that friendship, it becomes a “rogue.”
Israel, unlike Iran, has never allowed IAEA inspectors into its facilities. It has not signed the NPT. Yet it is not subject to sanctions, threats, or military pressure.
This asymmetry deepens Iran’s sense of injustice and existential insecurity. Why must it be the only state in the region legally bound to remain vulnerable?
In recent years, tensions between Iran and Israel—and by extension, the United States—have escalated. Covert assassinations of Iranian nuclear scientists, cyberattacks like the Stuxnet virus, and targeted airstrikes on Iranian positions in Syria all form part of an undeclared shadow war. Israel has repeatedly warned that it will not allow Iran to become a nuclear-armed state. The U.S., under different administrations, has oscillated between diplomacy and coercion. The Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA), signed in 2015, was an attempt to limit Iran’s nuclear programme in exchange for sanctions relief. But the Trump administration unilaterally withdrew from the deal in 2018, reigniting tensions and pushing Iran towards nuclear brinkmanship.
As of now, Iran’s uranium enrichment has crossed 60%, dangerously close to weapons-grade. Tehran insists it has no intention of building a bomb—but the world remembers North Korea’s quiet exit from the NPT, followed by a successful nuclear test. Can Iran legally withdraw from the NPT? Yes. Article X of the Treaty allows any party to withdraw if it decides that extraordinary events have jeopardized its supreme interests. Iran needs to give only a three-month notice. But withdrawal is not emancipation—it is invitation. Invitation to isolation, economic ruin, international suspicion, and possibly, pre-emptive military strikes.
North Korea’s path shows the price of withdrawal: severe sanctions, diplomatic exclusion, and persistent threats of war. Unlike Pyongyang, Iran sits in a region where nuclear development will set off a geopolitical earthquake. A formal Iranian exit from the NPT would likely provoke:
1. Israeli Reaction: Possibly a unilateral strike on Iranian facilities.
2. U.S. Intervention: Sanctions, covert operations, and perhaps even direct action.
3. Arab Gulf States: Acceleration of their own nuclear ambitions.
4. Nuclear Proliferation: A cascade of nuclear interest in the Middle East.
Thus, Iran remains in the NPT not out of faith, but out of strategy. The Treaty offers a diplomatic shield, however flawed. Its exit would mark not liberation, but confrontation. What lies at the heart of nuclear diplomacy is not law but power. The NPT, in theory, is about disarmament. In practice, it is about control. The five nuclear powers regulate access. They determine legitimacy. They preach restraint but modernize their arsenals. They speak of peace while designing warheads with names like “Minuteman” and “Trident.” Iran’s sin is not in what it has done, but in who it is. A state outside the favoured circle. A country whose nuclear ambition is seen not as a right, but as a threat.
As one Iranian diplomat once put it: “It’s not about what you build. It’s about who’s watching while you build it”.
Iran’s nuclear journey is a study in irony, hypocrisy, and survival. From being a protégé of American atomic idealism to becoming its most scrutinized adversary, Iran’s path reveals much about the dysfunction of global nuclear governance.
The N-Factor—the nuclear factor—is not merely a matter of uranium and centrifuges. It is about equity, sovereignty, and the politics of fear. Ultimately, Iran’s nuclear ambition may not be about war—it may be about preventing one. Iran seeks a deterrent, not a detonator, in a region bristling with instability. But as long as the nuclear world remains a schoolyard of selective justice—where bazookas and AK-47s are tolerated in the hands of some and pencils are banned in others—the dream of non-proliferation will remain a far cry.
Based in Lahore, the writer is a historian and a critical analyst. He can be reached at arslan9h@gmail.com
Very nice article written in clear & concise way. An Excellent work explained in great depth & detail.
Mr. Muhammad Arslan Qadeer, your article The N-Factor is an outstanding piece of analysis that blends sharp wit with deep scholarship. The opening analogy of the schoolyard is both humorous and piercing, setting the tone for a brilliant critique of nuclear hypocrisy. You have managed to present a complex subject—the asymmetry of nuclear diplomacy—in a way that is accessible, thought-provoking, and deeply engaging. I admire how you traced Iran’s nuclear journey from its beginnings under American partnership to its present-day struggles, revealing not only historical facts but also the layers of irony and betrayal that shaped its path.
Your ability to highlight the double standards of the global nuclear order is truly commendable. The juxtaposition of Iran’s obligations under the NPT with Israel’s unacknowledged arsenal is a powerful reminder of the inconsistencies that fuel insecurity in the region. You also demonstrate great balance—acknowledging Iran’s agency while situating it within the broader politics of power and control. The article is not just about Iran; it is a critique of a world system where rules are applied selectively and justice is compromised by geopolitics.
What makes your work particularly impactful is that it is not merely academic—it carries a moral voice. It asks the reader to consider fairness, equity, and the dangers of a world where nuclear weapons remain tools of dominance rather than deterrence. The clarity, precision, and courage with which you have written ensure that this article will resonate with both scholars and general readers alike. In short, The N-Factor is a brilliant and necessary contribution to the conversation on nuclear politics, and you have done a remarkable job in presenting it.