The Battle of al-Qadisiyyah: Echoes for America and Iran Today
By: M. Burhanuddin Qasmi
Editor, Eastern Crescent, Mumbai
History teaches a lesson that empires are often too arrogant to learn. Wars are not won merely by numbers, technology, or the spectacle of power. They are won—or lost—by resolve, adaptability, legitimacy, and the moral stamina of those who fight.
The Battle of al-Qadisiyyah (636 CE) remains one of the most striking examples. A small, disciplined Muslim force confronted the combined might of the age’s superpowers and prevailed. Today, as the United States–Israeli–European alliance tightens pressure around a sanction-hit Iran, the echoes of that ancient battlefield grow louder and harder to ignore.
At al-Qadisiyyah, in present-day Iraq, the Muslims numbered barely 30,000—modestly equipped, with limited cavalry and little exposure to imperial warfare. Facing them was the colossal Sassanian Empire, supported by Byzantine strategic interests, elite professional troops, advanced weaponry, and terrifying armored war elephants—the ultimate symbols of dominance in that era. These elephants were meant to crush morale even before combat began.
Yet history records something extraordinary: the weaker side learned faster. Tactical adaptation—targeting the elephants’ eyes and legs, cutting their harnesses, disrupting formations, and sustaining morale—turned imperial arrogance into collapse. The overwhelming power of the imperial army became a liability in the face of ingenuity and conviction. The result was not merely a battlefield victory, but the beginning of the end for both the Sassanian and Byzantine empires.
Fast-forward to the present. Iran today stands largely alone, confronting a formidable alignment of American military power, Israeli intelligence and strike capability, and European political, economic, and logistical backing. This alliance commands aircraft carriers, stealth bombers, cyber arsenals, sanctions regimes, and a powerful global media narrative.
On paper, the imbalance appears overwhelming. Yet power dynamics in the real world are rarely static. Like the war elephants of al-Qadisiyyah, modern symbols of dominance—carrier strike groups, precision air power, and economic coercion—can become liabilities if an adversary learns how to offset them creatively.
Iran’s strategic doctrine is not built on matching the West ship for ship or jet for jet. Instead, it emphasizes asymmetric warfare: missile saturation, drone swarms, dispersed command structures, regional depth, and psychological endurance.
Hypersonic missiles and low-cost drones are not merely weapons; they are equalizers, designed to exhaust superior platforms and expose vulnerabilities in logistics, air defense, and political will. The world already witnessed a glimpse of this reality during the 12-day war of June 2025, when Iran demonstrated—openly and unmistakably—its missile and drone capabilities against American and Israeli interests. That brief but intense confrontation shattered many myths about absolute deterrence and uncontested supremacy.
There is also a broader geopolitical reality that Washington often prefers to understate. Iran may appear isolated, but it is not strategically abandoned. Russia, China and Turkey while avoiding direct military confrontation, have strong incentives to see unchecked American power constrained. Energy security, regional influence, and the future shape of the global order all factor into their calculations.
Indirect support—diplomatic shielding, intelligence cooperation, economic channels, and technological assistance—can quietly but decisively reshape outcomes.
History offers a powerful parallel: during the Soviet–Afghan war (1979–1989), it was not American soldiers who defeated Moscow, but sustained indirect support to Afghan fighters that bled a superpower dry. The USSR entered with overwhelming force, convinced of a swift victory. Instead, it faced a war of attrition that drained its economy, fractured its society, and accelerated systemic collapse.
Mikhail Gorbachev, who ultimately ordered the withdrawal, did not lose merely a war; he inherited the consequences of imperial overreach. The Afghan conflict became a symbol of decline and contributed directly to the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991. Superpower status, once eroded, is not easily restored.
A prolonged or miscalculated confrontation with Iran carries similar risks for the United States. Endless escalation, spiraling costs, regional destabilization, and global economic shock could steadily erode American credibility. Allies may remain aligned publicly, but domestic pressures in Europe and deep political divisions within the U.S. itself could weaken long-term resolve.
Empires rarely fall in a single dramatic moment; they decline through accumulated misjudgments. Yazdegerd III did not realize he was the last Sassanian king when he faced al-Qadisiyyah—history revealed that truth only afterward.
None of this argues for inevitability or glorifies war. It argues for humility and historical awareness. Iran is not Venezuela, and this is not a conflict that can be settled by sanctions, intimidation, or spectacle alone. A nation that believes it is fighting for survival, sovereignty, and dignity draws strength from places beyond technology.
The 30,000 Sahaba (companions of the Prophet [saws]) under the leadership of Sa‘d ibn Abi Waqqas (ra) at al-Qadisiyyah were ordinary men, but they carried extraordinary conviction. Empires fall when they underestimate such resolve.
If history has any relevance at all, it is this: power that ignores lessons becomes blind. The United States and its allies would do well to study not only their military manuals, but the deeper currents of history. Otherwise, today’s elephants may once again be defeated—not by greater force, but by greater understanding. And Donald Trump may well be remembered as both the last king of a modern-day Sassania and the final autocorrect of the USSR—for the superpower USA.
