Iran’s next opposition will come from inside its shrinking regime

There is, in Iran’s political discourse, a pair of concepts known as “Khodi” (insiders) and “Ghair-Khodi” (outsiders). The distinction has never been a mere matter of words. Since the founding of the Islamic Republic, it has been a key instrument for defining the regime’s identity, protecting its boundaries and regulating the political arena from within.

The Iranian regime has grounded its authority not only in the constitution, elections or the doctrine of Wilayat Al Faqih – which holds that clergy should have authority over the state – but also in a deeply entrenched circle of loyalty that determines who may legitimately dissent from within, and whose dissent is deemed a threat to its very existence.

In this sense, the Khodi is not simply a state official, a lawmaker or a government minister; rather, someone who accepts the limits of the revolution as defined by the leadership and the hard-power centres. The Ghair-Khodi, by contrast, is not necessarily an opposition figure abroad or an open adversary of the Islamic Republic. Such a figure may come from within the regime itself, yet stray into territory it permits no one to approach: prioritising the state over the revolution, society over security, politics over doctrine or compromise over mobilisation.

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And so the line between them is not fixed but a shifting circle that expands or contracts according to the regime’s needs and fears. It widens when the regime must mobilise domestic support, and narrows when the threat comes not from the street or abroad but from those once regarded as part of its inner circle. Khodi/Ghair-Khodi has never been merely a vocabulary of exclusion; it is a mechanism of governance.

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In the rhetoric of the late supreme leader Ali Khamenei, the concept policed the boundary between commitment to the revolution and questioning its foundations. The Khodi embraced Wilayat Al Faqih, affirmed the revolution’s centrality and accepted the regime’s primacy above all else. The Ghair-Khodi was anyone whose criticism could, in the authorities’ eyes, evolve into a challenge to the very foundations of the Islamic Republic.

The war, Khamenei’s death and the turbulent transfer of power that followed ushered the concept into a new phase. The question is no longer who stands with the regime and who against it. Rather, it is who now has the authority to define the regime itself, and to determine who qualifies as Khodi after the disappearance of the figure who balanced the competing centres of power – the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), the Office of the Supreme Leader, the presidency, the judiciary, parliament and the religious establishment.

For decades, Khamenei was Iran’s ultimate arbiter, granting the IRGC extensive influence yet remaining the final authority that set its limits. With his absence, the challenge has shifted from replacing an individual to replacing a function. The real question is not who occupies the office, but who can perform the balancing role Khamenei once fulfilled, at a time of war, economic strain and social vulnerability.

The rise of Mojtaba Khamenei is significant here. His selection was not the dynastic succession one would expect a revolution to forbid, but a security-driven solution to an extraordinary crisis. The power centres needed a figure who could confer legitimacy without constraining their flexibility – a name preserving continuity without replicating his father’s leadership. The IRGC played the decisive role, not as a subordinate to the new leadership, but as the actor best placed to define the terms under which it would operate.

Khodi/Ghair-Khodi has never been merely a vocabulary of exclusion; it is a mechanism of governance

A delicate bargain is now taking shape. The new Supreme Leader derives legitimacy from his name, religious standing and the institution itself, yet depends even more heavily on the IRGC. The IRGC has no need to diminish the office; its aim is to redefine its function. The new leader may sit at the apex of the system, but increasingly as a source of political and religious legitimacy rather than the sole decision-maker. At this juncture, the concept of Khodi undergoes a fundamental transformation – from loyalty to the revolution into loyalty to the centre of security power.

Those who remained within the system after the war do not form a single bloc, and no longer carry equal weight. The greater the costs of war, the external pressure and the domestic anxiety, the more authority gravitates towards institutions capable of enforcing obedience rather than formulating policy. Khodi in the post-war era becomes a far narrower concept. It is no longer enough to belong to the regime or profess loyalty; one must embrace the logic of war as the test of legitimacy and treat the IRGC as the principal gateway to survival, not merely another institution of the state.

By contrast, the new Ghair-Khodi need not be an opposition figure, a radical reformist or an agent of foreign interests. It may be a president who believes the state needs a settlement, a diplomat convinced the costs of confrontation are too high, or a technocrat speaking of economic management and public welfare while the establishment rallies for war.

Within this context, President Masoud Pezeshkian is the clearest case. He is a product of the system, not an outsider, and cannot be portrayed as an external adversary. Yet the tension around his position amid the ascendance of the IRGC’s political logic – and the speculation about his resignation, despite official denials – illustrates the shrinking role of civilian politics in a system evolving towards a more security-oriented order. Mr Pezeshkian may be Khodi in an institutional sense, but not according to the IRGC’s emerging definition.

This distinction matters. In normal times, the presidency has latitude over the economy, public services and domestic tensions. In war and succession, however, it is reduced to managing burdens rather than shaping strategic choices. Domestic costs fall to the presidency, while the critical portfolios – war, deterrence, negotiations and strategic corridors – remain with the IRGC. The president stays within the circle, but no longer defines its boundaries.

Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi is another test case. When diplomacy advocates keeping the Strait of Hormuz open, only for the IRGC to qualify or override it, the issue is not one of conflicting statements but of who holds final authority over national security. A diplomat is acceptable so long as he translates the decisions of the security services into diplomatic language, but constrained once he carves out an autonomous sphere of influence. In post-war Iran, it is precisely this autonomy that the hardline establishment fears.

Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf illustrates a different dimension. He is neither a purely civilian politician nor an active military commander, but a hybrid figure useful to the regime in periods of uncertainty. He gives the hardline establishment a political face, lends parliament a security-oriented character and bridges the IRGC with state institutions. Yet holding a prominent post in Iran does not always mean holding real power; it may be merely one of its instruments.

In this sense, there is a civilian Khodi who manages domestic affairs, a diplomatic Khodi who buys time abroad, a parliamentary Khodi who furnishes legitimacy and a Revolutionary Guards-affiliated Khodi who controls the weapons, the operational arena and the ultimate definition of the national interest. After the war, it is this last category that is evolving from one component of the system into the criterion by which the system defines itself.

This may be the most significant transformation in the Islamic Republic’s trajectory. The regime is not necessarily moving towards an overt coup or the abolition of its institutions. Rather, it is undergoing a managed contraction: facades remain intact, decision-making grows more centralised, the IRGC’s influence expands and the new Supreme Leadership becomes a source of legitimacy more than a centre of authority. The presidency, foreign ministry, parliament and judiciary will keep their roles – but only so long as none becomes an independent source for defining the supreme national interest.

The emerging Ghair-Khodi will not resemble the opposition of the past, confined to exiles, street protesters, the press or the reformist camp. It may emerge from within the regime itself, dividing those who believe preserving the Islamic Republic requires calibrated de-escalation, external diplomacy and economic reform from those who regard any accommodation as the first crack in its defensive wall. The conflict is therefore not one between loyalty and rebellion, but between two competing strategies of survival: one of controlled openness, the other of security-driven closure.

The balance of power does not appear neutral. War favours those who command force; fear of disorder lets the security establishment define what counts as a threat; and the former supreme leader’s death leaves the incoming leadership dependent on those who can guarantee its survival. The IRGC need not proclaim its dominance. It has a more effective mechanism: reshaping the system from within while presenting the transformation as a continuation of the revolution rather than a departure from it.

The dichotomy is no longer a boundary between the regime and its opponents but an instrument for redistributing power within it: a narrower, more security-oriented and IRGC-centred circle of Khodi, and a new Ghair-Khodi of those who once belonged but no longer fit.

The war, then, is not merely a military event but a defining political moment. Its significance lies not in its material costs, its implications for the Strait of Hormuz or its bearing on talks with Washington. It has revived the Islamic Republic’s most fundamental question: what, ultimately, is the regime – the Supreme Leader, the Revolutionary Guards, the formal institutions of the state, or the revolution itself? The narrower the answer, the narrower the circle of Khodi, and the greater the likelihood that the regime’s next generation of adversaries will emerge from within its own ranks.