From Friesland to Tehran
Why Recognition Matters More Than Uranium
I was born in Haarlem — a true Hollander. But I’ve been living in Friesland for years now. I'm not Frisian myself, but I understand Frisian culture because I see it, feel it, and hear it every day — up close. And time and time again, I notice something that’s hard to put into words but always present. A sense of pride. A quiet strength. And at the same time: an undercurrent of friction with "the Hollanders," with the Randstad, with The Hague. Not hatred — but a constant feeling of: “You don’t really understand us.”
That feeling — the longing to be recognized as a people, a culture, a belief — is not something unique to Friesland. I see it across the world. And especially in the conflict between Iran, Israel, and the West.
It's not just about uranium
When you read the news or watch the headlines, the conflict with Iran seems to revolve around nuclear weapons. Enriched uranium levels, missile capabilities, IAEA inspections, and hidden bunkers. And yes, all of that matters.
But beneath that surface lies something deeper — something human. Iran is more than a state with nuclear ambitions. It's a civilization with thousands of years of history, a religious identity, a deep sense of pride — and a wounded ego. Much like many smaller peoples or regions, it feels misunderstood, cast as dangerous, barbaric, or hostile. And just like the Frisian culture here in the Netherlands, it doesn’t want to be dominated or dismissed. It wants to exist — as itself.
The danger of the corner
Sun Tzu wrote in The Art of War that you must always leave your enemy an escape route. If you drive someone into a corner with no way out — no room to breathe or preserve dignity — they will fight with everything they have. Not because they want to, but because they must. A cornered cat makes strange moves. And a powerful nation backed into a corner... might just build a bomb.
That’s why it’s a dangerous game to systematically isolate Iran, to humiliate it, and to deny it any form of recognition. Because whether we mean to or not, we may be creating the very conditions for the conflict we claim to want to prevent.
From person to person
When I talk with Frisians, I notice: it doesn’t take much to show respect. A few words attempted in Frisian, a sincere effort to listen, to withhold judgment — and you can see the faces soften. What would happen if we tried that on the world stage? If we stopped labeling countries as an “axis of evil,” and instead said: “We understand that your beliefs are different. That’s okay. Let’s talk.”
Because maybe, just maybe, peace doesn’t begin with treaties or weapons.
Maybe peace begins with the courage to say: “You have the right to exist.”
