TEHRAN - The police pull the trigger, a politician offers encouragement, and a 37-year-old mother collapses to the ground—this is not fiction, but a real scene in the United States. The question now is this: if the very same image had been broadcast from Iran, how would the world have judged Iran? And what kind of media storm would Western outlets have unleashed against it?

Reni Nicole Good, a 37-year-old woman and the mother of a six-year-old child, was killed by direct fire from U.S. immigration officers despite being unarmed and posing no attack on the police. Her only “crime” was protesting and failing to comply with a stop order. A killing that Donald Trump described as the “right of the police” is, when applied to Iran, labeled a “violation of human rights.”

The release of the first images of this American woman killed by U.S. police confronted public opinion with a serious question: if this incident had occurred in a country other than the United States, how would Western media and politicians have reacted?

The answer is clear—the same narrative that has for years been repeated about Iran. This time, however, the crime scene is on U.S. soil, and the victim is an American woman.

At a time when American police pull the trigger with ease and politicians issue orders to arrest protesters, those same figures adopt a language of threats and feigned concern toward Iran. This double standard is not an occasional mistake; it is the core structure of American policy—a policy that does not reject violence, but manages it.

In response to this killing, Donald Trump, instead of offering accountability or expressing regret, openly defended the police’s actions. This stance is not a verbal slip but a precise reflection of the dominant outlook within the American power structure—an outlook that defines order through force and considers security guaranteed by bullets.

Double standards as doctrine

In the American political lexicon, “protest” is a fluid concept, dependent on geography. Protest on U.S. soil is framed as a threat to public order and national security, but the same protest, if it occurs in Iran, becomes a “popular movement” and a “cry for freedom.” This distinction is neither accidental nor emotional; it is part of an established doctrine in Washington’s foreign policy.

The killing of Reni Nicole Good is a clear example of this double standard. An unarmed woman who, even according to the police’s own official account, posed no immediate threat, lost her life to direct gunfire. Yet the official U.S. narrative focuses not on the life lost, but on her “failure to comply with police orders”—as if verbal disobedience were a license for death.

When Trump calls police gunfire against such an individual “legitimate self-defense,” he is in fact defending an unwritten principle: power creates legitimacy. Yet the same politician preemptively condemns any security measure taken by Iran, regardless of circumstances, threats, or the nature of unrest.

This duality has long been evident in U.S. behavior. American police forces are among the most heavily armed and deadly law enforcement bodies in the world. The annual number of people killed by U.S. police—particularly among minorities and protesters—exceeds that of many countries. Nevertheless, this reality has no place in Washington’s official narrative or in the mainstream Western media.

By contrast, Iran is placed in the dock even before the dimensions of any incident are clarified. The default assumption of Western media is that Iranian security forces are always “repressive” and protesters always “innocent”—an assumption detached from on-the-ground realities and serving purely political purposes.

Security for oneself, instability for others

Mike Pompeo’s remarks about “unrest in dozens of Iranian cities” and his explicit references to the role of foreign forces inadvertently reveal an old truth: the United States views instability in rival countries not as a threat, but as an opportunity. In this worldview, chaos is a tool of pressure, and protest—if it weakens independent governments—is considered valuable.

Within this framework, the killing of an American citizen by the police is portrayed as a domestic issue that can be justified, while any security response in Iran, even in the face of armed unrest, is elevated to a global crisis. The United States considers security its unquestionable right, but defines it as a conditional privilege for others.

From Washington’s perspective, protest is not a natural or social phenomenon; it is a geopolitical instrument. If this instrument weakens an adversary, it is legitimate. If the same instrument threatens domestic order in the United States, it must be suppressed by the harshest means. The outcome of this logic is what is visible on American streets: batons, tear gas, and bullets.

The case of Reni Nicole Good can be analyzed precisely within this framework. Her life was not lost due to an individual error, but as a product of a structural approach to security—one that deems human beings expendable in the face of a predefined order.

Media narratives and the engineering of public opinion

Western media play a central role in reinforcing this double standard. In the United States, media focus on the “suspicious behavior of protesters” and the “threat to police.” Narratives are crafted in a way that portrays police gunfire as the last and most unavoidable option—even when the victim is an unarmed woman and a mother.

By contrast, the media narrative about Iran is written in advance. Images, headlines, and analyses all fit into a fixed framework: a repressive security force, a victimized protester, and a government with no right to defend public order. This narrative engineering directs global public opinion not on the basis of reality, but according to political interests.

The killing of Reni Nicole Good is described in Western media as an “incident” or a “clash,” but had the same event occurred in Iran, headlines would have spoken of “state ???” and “crimes against humanity.” The difference lies not in the nature of the incident, but in its geography.

In such an environment, even images and videos are not neutral. A single scene, depending on where it occurs, can generate two entirely different interpretations. The media do not reflect truth; they reproduce policy.

Human rights: A tool of pressure, not a universal value

If human rights were truly universal, their standards would remain constant. What is observed in practice, however, is the instrumental use of this concept. The United States employs human rights not to defend people, but to pressure non-aligned governments. In this view, human rights are not a moral language; they are a political tool.

This logic explains why the killing of a 37-year-old woman and mother of a six-year-old child in the United States is considered “legitimate self-defense,” while any security measure in Iran—even those aimed at protecting lives and national stability—becomes an international crisis. The criterion is not human life; it is the political standing of countries.

What emanates from Washington today is not a defense of freedom, but a defense of interests. The United States speaks the language of human rights with one hand and pulls the trigger with the other. This contradiction is not a mistake; it is the essence of American policy—a policy that demands order for itself and chaos for others.

“American human rights” are not an ethical principle, but a political project—a project in which a bullet can be sanctified and protest, depending on geography, can be either a virtue or a crime. In this equation, truth becomes the casualty, and what remains is the preservation of dominance and hegemony—even if it rests on a trigger.