BEIKI: When elephants fight: Africa’s moral lens on the Iran conflict

From the ancient Persian world to the Swahili coast of Africa, the story of Iran is not merely political—it is civilisational. The current conflict therefore raises questions not only about power, but about history, justice and humanity itself.

In East Africa, a well-known proverb captures a timeless truth: “When two elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers.”

Across Kenya and the wider African continent, this saying reminds us that when powerful actors collide, it is ordinary people—families, children and communities—who bear the greatest cost.

Today, as tensions escalate across West Asia and military strikes attributed to the United States and Israel target Iran, the world is witnessing a confrontation that extends far beyond the calculations of geopolitics.

To strike Iran is not merely to confront a modern state. It is to challenge one of the oldest living civilisations on Earth—a civilisation whose cultural, intellectual and spiritual influence has shaped vast regions of the world for more than three thousand years.

Long before the modern geopolitical map of the Middle East existed, the Iranian plateau had already produced organised states, complex administrative systems and vibrant intellectual traditions.

From the Achaemenid Empire of Cyrus the Great to the flourishing cultural centres of Shiraz and Isfahan, Persian civilisation helped shape literature, science, philosophy and political thought across the Mediterranean world, Central Asia and the Indian Ocean basin.

Unlike many later imperial powers whose expansion relied on colonisation, resource extraction and the brutal transatlantic slave trade, Persia’s historical influence travelled largely through knowledge, trade and cultural exchange.

This legacy of interaction links Iran not only to Asia but also to Africa.

Centuries before European colonial powers partitioned the African continent, Persian merchants were already sailing the monsoon winds of the Indian Ocean toward the Swahili coast.

They arrived not as conquerors but as traders, scholars and cultural intermediaries.

From present-day Somalia to Mozambique, Persian traders established networks of commerce and intellectual exchange with the Swahili city-states. Maritime knowledge, architecture, poetry and urban culture travelled across these routes alongside textiles and spices.

The interaction was never one-sided. African societies reshaped and integrated these influences into their own traditions, creating a distinctive Afro-Asian cultural synthesis that still characterises the region today.

Even the Kiswahili language, rooted in Bantu linguistic traditions, reflects centuries of interaction with Persian and other Indian Ocean cultures.

In this sense, the story of Iran is not distant from Africa—it is intertwined with it.

In 1979, Iran once again became the stage for a unique historical transformation.

The Islamic Revolution did not attempt to erase Iran’s ancient past. Instead, it sought to frame a deeply rooted civilisation within a moral vision centered on justice, independence and the defense of the oppressed.

Imam Ruhollah Khomeini, the founder of the Islamic Republic, articulated a political philosophy that placed the protection of the mustazafin—the oppressed and marginalised—at the heart of the revolution’s mission.

One of the most enduring expressions of this principle was his declaration of the last Friday of Ramadan as International Quds Day, inviting people around the world to remember the plight of the Palestinian people.

This ethical perspective continued under the leadership of Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, who consistently framed the Palestinian question not merely as a geopolitical dispute but as a matter of moral responsibility and global justice.

For many observers, this unwavering support for Palestinian rights remains one of the central sources of tension between Iran and its adversaries.

From the perspective of religious scholarship, Jerusalem—known in Arabic as Al-Quds—occupies a unique place in the spiritual geography of humanity.

It is sacred not only to Muslims but also to Christians and Jews.

Within its ancient walls stand some of the most revered sites of the Abrahamic traditions: Al-Aqsa Mosque, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Western Wall.

For scholars of comparative religion, Jerusalem represents not an exclusive possession but a shared spiritual heritage.

The respected Christian leader Archbishop Desmond Tutu once captured this moral principle in words that resonate across faith traditions:

“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”

Against this historical and moral background, the present conflict raises difficult questions.

Reports from the early days of the war describe devastating strikes, including the bombing of an elementary school in which 168 children between the ages of eight and twelve reportedly lost their lives.

Such tragedies challenge the conscience of the international community.

Under what interpretation of international law can the killing of children be justified? Under which definition of human rights can such actions be normalised?

History already offers troubling precedents. In Gaza, years of conflict have resulted in the deaths of thousands of civilians.

Yet beyond statistics lies a simple human question.

If the Pope were assassinated in the Vatican, or if your own home were attacked and your father killed before your eyes, would any society remain silent?

Nations, like families, possess a natural instinct for self-defence. When confronted with aggression, the desire to resist is not extremism—it is dignity.

The implications of this confrontation are unlikely to remain confined within Iran’s borders. History repeatedly shows that conflicts ignited in one part of the Middle East rarely remain geographically contained.

Military escalation against a major regional power such as Iran risks widening an already fragile landscape of instability across West Asia.

When the sovereignty of states can be openly violated and civilian infrastructure becomes a battlefield, the consequences rarely stop at a single frontier. They ripple outward—affecting regional security, global diplomacy and the fragile hopes of societies already burdened by decades of conflict.

For Africa, these questions are not abstract. The continent carries its own deep memory of colonial domination, resistance and the struggle for dignity.

Former South African leader Nelson Mandela expressed this moral connection clearly: “We know too well that our freedom is incomplete without the freedom of the Palestinians.”

Mandela’s words remind us that justice is indivisible.

From Johannesburg to Nairobi, from Tehran to Jerusalem, the principle remains the same: when a people stand against oppression, they defend not only territory but human dignity.

The writer is a cultural counsellor at Embassy of the Islamic Republic of Iran, Nairobi