In a 2007 interview, retired General Wesley Clark revealed that the Pentagon had a plan to “take out seven countries in five years”—Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, and Iran. Over the following two decades, the first six were bombed, destabilized, or collapsed into civil war. Only Iran remains standing—resistant to Western central banking, culturally hostile to global usury, and guarding some of the world’s most ancient archeological sites.
Now, major media outlets such as Fox News and the Independent warn of a looming cyberwar, and we’re told to brace for a potential Iranian cyberattack on the US or its allies, aimed at critical infrastructure such as power and water systems. But rather than ask how to defend against it, we should ask something more: Is Iran really the culprit? Or is it the designated scapegoat for an event designed to advance elite control both abroad and at home?
Recent history provides a clear pattern: When crises erupt, state and corporate power rapidly consolidate. After 9/11, the US government ushered in the Patriot Act, warrantless surveillance, and indefinite detention, all in the name of security. The 2008 financial collapse delivered historic bank bailouts and accelerated economic consolidation. In 2020, the covid pandemic normalized lockdowns, QR-code health passes, and calls for digital identity systems tied to medical records. In the wake of the Capitol riot, proposals exploded for increased censorship, AI-powered surveillance, and policing of online speech. As the author Naomi Klein outlined in her seminal work, The Shock Doctrine, elites routinely exploit crises to fast-track policies that populations would otherwise reject.
The current cyber panic fits the mold. If a catastrophic digital event were to hit—disabling hospitals, banks, or energy systems—the solution being quietly preloaded into public discourse is the rollout of global “Digital ID” infrastructure. The World Economic Forum has explicitly highlighted how global digital IDs for people and objects are essential for trade digitization and establishing a global digital economy. In its Digital Identity Blueprint, the WEF outlines a framework linking online activity, financial services, travel permissions, and even behavioral data to a single identity. But what’s sold as “security” is, in fact, the foundation of a technocratic control grid.
If implemented, Digital ID would function as a master key to everything: your money, health records, online access, and even your ability to travel. In time, it could merge with carbon quotas and social credit scoring systems like those piloted in China. An algorithm, not a constitution, would govern your rights. One wrong opinion, and you risk being shut out of society, not by police, but by code. In a world where social media mobs enforce ideological purity, public humiliation becomes the new policing mechanism. You self-censor, you self-surveil, and eventually, you self-govern—on someone else’s terms.
But there’s a core problem with the “Iran did it” cyberattack narrative: Iran lacks the capability. Iran’s cyber warfare infrastructure is far less sophisticated than that of the US, Israel, Russia, or China. The Harvard Belfer Center’s National Cyber Power Index places Iran low in its global rankings. While Iran may be able to execute nuisance-level hacks, it is not in a position to disable critical US infrastructure. So if a major cyberattack does occur, blaming Iran may serve a political purpose—not reflect reality.
Iran is a convenient villain, but there are deeper reasons why it is a strategic target for regime change. It remains one of the few nations that has long resisted integration into the Western-led financial system. In 1983, Iran converted its entire banking system to comply with sharia law, meaning interest (riba) is officially banned. Unlike other Muslim-majority countries that broadly follow AAOIFI standards, Iran enforces its own system, diverging significantly from global Islamic banking norms.
Like Gaddafi’s Libya—which was invaded after proposing a pan-African currency backed by gold—Iran represents a break from IMF-led global monetary policy. Moreover, its Islamic banking system bans charging interest on loans—a core feature of Western debt finance.
Iran is also home to some of the oldest archeological sites on earth, including Persepolis and Elamite ruins that predate much of recorded history. When the US invaded Iraq in 2003, within weeks, the Iraq Museum was raided and over 15,000 artifacts vanished—many never recovered. Some believe these invasions are not just about oil or politics but about seizing control over ancient artifacts.
A war with Iran would serve two goals simultaneously. On the foreign front, it would install a Western-aligned central bank, crack open Iranian markets, and gain access to cultural and historical treasures. At home, a cyberattack blamed on Iran would be used to justify Digital ID rollouts, tighter control of online spaces, and the erosion of civil liberties—all in the name of “security.” This dual agenda mirrors what happened with Libya, Iraq, and even post-9/11 America: a foreign enemy is defeated, and domestic populations quietly lose more freedom.
Iran may not launch a cyberattack; it may not even want to. But if such an attack occurs, and the media rushes to blame Tehran, we should look deeper. Who truly benefits? Who has the capability? Who’s been laying the groundwork for decades?
The real question isn’t, will Iran hack us? It’s this: Will you surrender your freedom when they say Iran did?
