Do you remember when we were young, and our mothers would tell us stories, not just to get us to sleep but also to keep us indoors, especially during the summer afternoons? These stories often featured scary characters, carefully crafted to make us stay inside. By the time we realised that they were simply stories meant to guide our behaviour, we had already grown into our teenage years.

Now, let’s go back to the time of the Bush presidencies, both the father and the son. In many ways, they played a similar role, using carefully constructed stories to achieve political goals and ensure the world followed their version of events. We all remember the phrase “weapons of mass destruction,” which was repeated so often that it became permanently lodged in the public’s mind. It was followed by the term “axis of evil,” which George W. Bush used in his January 2002 State of the Union address, naming Iran, Iraq, and North Korea as countries seeking weapons of mass destruction and threatening global peace.

These words became powerful. They painted Iran, in particular, as not just a regional rival, but as the very embodiment of evil. The more these terms were repeated, the more the public was conditioned to believe that Iran had both the intention and the capability to threaten the world with its nuclear and missile programs. But the facts weren’t as simple as those slogans made them seem.

While Iran was being labelled as part of the “axis of evil” and later treated in political discussions as the main source of global danger, the IAEA never confirmed that Iran possessed nuclear weapons. In fact, their 2015 report found no credible evidence that Iran had been involved in developing nuclear explosives after 2009, and no credible evidence that nuclear materials were being diverted for military purposes.

At the same time, talks and negotiations continued, while sanctions and economic isolation weakened Iran’s economy and pushed it further into isolation. In July 2015,the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action, JCPOA, which was supported by UN Security Council Resolution 2231, was framed as an agreement to ensure that Iran’s nuclear program would be peaceful and to help restore normal economic relations.

Then, of course, came the War on Terror, a moment that didn’t just spark wars, but completely changed the way the world talked about politics, security, and moral responsibility. After the attacks on September 11, 2001, the United States framed its response as a global campaign against terrorism, one that would reshape international relations, security policies, and even civil liberties for decades. The official story was that al-Qaeda planned the attacks, and hijackers turned commercial planes into weapons. But over the years, many critics have questioned not just the broader political narrative but also the way the tragedy was used to justify widespread surveillance, military interventions, and an era of constant war. In this way, it became another story not told by a mother to discipline a child, but by a father-like superpower to discipline the entire world.

This is how modern power often works: not just through armies, sanctions, or missiles, but also through stories. These stories are repeated so often that they eventually harden into something the public accepts as truth. Like the stories mothers used to tell to keep their kids inside, these political stories weren’t just meant to inform; they were designed to create fear, shape consent, and build enemies that the world was expected to believe in.

But there’s one major difference between the stories our mothers told and those told by modern powers. When our mothers frightened us with imaginary dangers, their goal was protective. They wanted to keep us safe, away from the sun, the streets, and places they believed could harm us. Their stories might have been exaggerated, but they came from a place of care.

The stories we’re talking about here are very different. They don’t protect, they put people in harm’s way. In these stories, children, young boys, and girls aren’t kept away from danger. Instead, they’re placed right in the path of bombs, missiles, and weapons. In March 2026, U.N. experts expressed deep concern about an attack on the Shajareh Tayyebeh girls’ school in Minab, Iran. Reuters later reported that U.S. investigators were likely pointing to U.S. responsibility for the attack, which resulted in the deaths of 168 children. Investigators were looking into whether outdated targeting data played a role in this tragedy.

This is the real difference. Our mothers told stories to protect us, while the powerful leaders of today often tell stories that pave the way for destruction. Our mothers wanted to keep us safe, while those in power, using rhetoric and strategy, too often place the children of others directly in harm’s way.

But even here, things have changed over time, both the storytellers and the listeners. Neither are the mothers the same, nor are the generations. Mothers have become wiser and found better ways to guide their children, while Generation Z is much less willing to believe in stories that are manufactured and passed off as truth. The old tricks don’t work as well as they used to. Fear still spreads, propaganda still travels, and power still tries to disguise its motives in moral language. But the new generation is watching closely, questioning more, and believing a lot less. Perhaps that’s where hope now lies.

Zahid Maqsood SheikhThe writer is a former technocrat, writing regularly with a focus on socio-economic analysis and global affairs.

© The Nation