Qom, Al-Azhar and a fractured language of unity

The statement issued by Al-Azhar in mid-March, condemning what it described as “Iranian attacks” on several Arab and Islamic countries, reverberated through the hawza in the holy city of Qom. Its weight lay not only in the rebuke, but in its source: an institution long regarded in Iran—religiously and politically—as a bridge for rapprochement between Islamic schools of thought.

In Tehran, religious and political actors do not treat Al-Azhar as a conventional Sunni institution. They see it as a partner in a broader effort to ease sectarian strain and narrow doctrinal distance. Within this frame, Grand Imam Ahmed Al-Tayeb holds a distinctive place. He has been among the few willing to unsettle the rigid Sunni-Shiite binary, insisting that the dispute is intellectual rather than theological, and that the Twelver Shiite school is a valid path of practice alongside those recognized by Al-Azhar.

A reproach among allies

For that reason, the reproach from Qom was measured to the regard held for both the Grand Imam and the institution he leads. In a statement signed by Ayatollah Alireza Arafi, head of Iran’s seminaries, the hawza spoke not to an adversary, but to a trusted partner known for its “notable positions in defending the rights of the Palestinian people and calling for Islamic unity.” That standing, it argued, obliges Al-Tayeb to reconsider his position in light of “overarching truths that cannot be overlooked in any legal, political or moral judgment.”

The statement pairs appreciation with clear reproach. It also carries what reads as “genuine disappointment” in Al-Azhar’s position, which it says “overlooked many key facts,” focusing on condemning “the Iranian response” while ignoring “the original aggression” by the United States and Israel.

It frames the confrontation as “one episode in a protracted civilizational struggle with a Western-American colonial project seeking to redraw the region’s map in line with its interests, and to protect the Zionist entity as the spearhead of that project.”

The clerics’ statements sharpen a set of questions about Al-Azhar’s stance. Why does the latest statement diverge from its earlier position? Why omit condemnation of US–Israeli attacks on Iran while denouncing Iran’s strikes on neighboring Arab and Islamic countries?

When Iran came under direct attack last June from the United States and Israel, the Grand Imam condemned the aggression. He warned against dragging the region into a wider war and against Israeli efforts to plunge it into chaos and turn it into an open arena for conflict.

In a statement released then in Persian, Al-Tayeb said the systematic assaults and ongoing recklessness of this “usurping, aggressive Israeli occupation” aimed to push the region to the brink—igniting a war in which the only winners would be merchants of blood and arms. By late February, that scenario had taken shape, as the US–Israeli offensive drove the region into sweeping disorder.

Self-defense or escalation?

From a military standpoint, what is unfolding was hardly unforeseen. For years, Iran has warned that any attack on its territory would be met by targeting US interests across the region. Because those interests are concentrated in military bases in Gulf states, turning those bases into targets amounts to executing a declared deterrence doctrine—not an arbitrary escalation.

Multiple American and Western reports point to the use of these bases in military and intelligence operations against Iran. This reinforces Tehran’s claim that the territory of some Gulf states has, whether by choice or necessity, become a launchpad for operations directed against it.

From this vantage point, the central question tightens: can the “Iranian response” be separated from the conditions that produced it?

Many analysts argue that the explicit US and Israeli aim of toppling the Iranian regime has placed Tehran before an existential equation. In response, it has edged toward what strategic literature calls the “Samson option”—a willingness to deploy its full capabilities, even at the cost of widening the conflict, or, as the idiom goes, “if I fall, I take my enemies with me.”

At this juncture, US bases in the Gulf are no longer merely military installations. They are part of an open battlefield—and, for those under attack, legitimate targets. The paradox is stark: states that hosted these bases as a protective umbrella now find themselves directly exposed to the fire they were meant to avoid.

This returns the discussion to what many Arab analysts identify as the root of the crisis: the American military presence in the region. For decades, it was framed as a guarantor of security. At the first serious test, it showed another face. It neither prevented war nor protected host states. It made them immediate targets and drew them into a conflict they neither initiated nor control.

More troubling still, it imposes a harsh equation: that defending foreign military bases on national soil is tantamount to defending sovereignty itself.

From this perspective, condemning outcomes while ignoring causes yields an incomplete reading. The issue exceeds action and reaction; it sits within a security architecture that has served, above all, Israel’s security before that of any other actor.

Al-Azhar, by virtue of its stature, is not required to adopt a political alignment. It is, however, held to a higher standard in maintaining a balance of justice—as the hawza’s statement underscores. Justice, at its simplest, requires a full view and answers to the basic questions before any position is taken: who initiated the conflict, when, why, how it evolved, and what responsibility rests upon the global Muslim community.

In the end, many may differ over Iran’s conduct, the limits of its response, or the cost of its choices. What is harder to deny is that the region continues to pay the price of Israeli violence, American alignment, and the absence of a coherent Arab project capable of offering both protection and an alternative path forward.