Even in the brutally violent Middle Ages, warfare sought to defeat rulers politically rather than eliminate them physically, recognising that killing kings invited chaos, martyrdom and cycles of revenge. That such logic was grasped centuries ago makes today’s reliance on decapitation as a deliberate strategy all the more bewildering. It suggests either a regression in strategic thinking or a redefinition of objectives.
The assassination of Iran’s Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, is the latest instance of decapitation, or the killing of political leaders, being treated as a viable strategy – even though it is prohibited under U.S. Code § 1116 and by Executive Order 11905, which bans political assassination, and despite abundant historical and empirical evidence that it breeds instability. Its persistence shows how short term political incentives, technological overconfidence and a poor grasp of how power functions in complex political systems has overtaken military wisdom.
Medieval leaders treated rulers as valuable assets, not as disposable targets. Killing a king or emperor could trigger political chaos, ignite succession disputes and create martyrs whose legacies inspired rebellion. In the words of Obi-Wan Kenobi, “if you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine”.
It could also unleash cycles of revenge that destabilised entire regions. By contrast, capturing, humiliating or exploiting a ruler preserved leverage and control. The Seljuk Turks’ victory at the Battle of Manzikert in 1071 in Eastern Anatolia illustrates this logic. After defeating the Byzantines, the Seljuk leader captured Emperor Romanos IV, paraded him in chains, and then released him with gifts and public humiliation. This tactic maintained pressure over Byzantium without toppling its political system, allowing the Seljuks to extract concessions rather than unleash uncontrollable chaos.
Similarly, when the Central Asian chieftain Timur confronted the Ottoman Sultan Bayezid I, he chose to keep him alive rather than execute him. Though Bayezid languished in captivity, his survival prevented immediate turmoil across Ottoman territories and reinforced Timur’s dominance.
This reasoning was not limited to Byzantium or the Ottoman sphere. European and Middle Eastern powers alike recognised the value of fallen rulers as instruments of leverage. Guy of Jerusalem, taken by the Kurdish general Salah al-din Al-Ayyubi, or Saladin, at the Battle of Hattin, was released under terms that reinforced Saladin’s regional dominance without plunging the kingdom into chaos. Even Richard the Lionheart, held captive in Europe, became a source of wealth and influence through negotiated ransom.
Louis IX of France, captured by the heirs of Saladin, the Ayyubid dynasty during the Seventh Crusade in Egypt, was ransomed in exchange for major concessions that reshaped political and military calculations. In each case, monarchs served as bargaining chips. Their survival stemmed further bloodshed, preserved channels of negotiation and prevented political collapse.
Warfare was a means to recalibrate power relationships, not to erase the political system itself.
There were exceptions to this strategy, however. The Order of the Assassins, a Shia Ismaili network founded by Hassan-i Sabbah in 1090 and based in the Iranian mountain fortress of Alamut, waged an asymmetric warfare against both the Sunni Seljuk Empire and the Crusader states. Through targeted assassinations, they eliminated high-ranking figures such as the vizier Nizam al-Mulk and the Crusader Conrad of Montferrat, seeking to destabilise enemies without conventional armies. Their objective was precisely decapitation – that is, to induce political paralysis and psychological shock. (They also inspired the popular video game franchise “Assassins’ Creed,” created by Montreal-based Ubisoft.)
It was only the Mongols under Hulagu Khan, grandson of Genghis Khan, who was able to destroy the Assassins' mountain strongholds after they tried to assassinate him. He captured Alamut between 1256 and 1257 and executed the last Grand Master, Rukn al-Din Khurshah. He then attacked Baghdad in 1258, killing the Abbasid Caliph al-Mustasim by wrapping him in a carpet and trampling him with horses, sending shockwaves across the Islamicate world as they killed its spiritual leader. Notably, this spectacular act did not bring stability. Hulagu’s Ilkhanate dynasty in Iran lasted only 80 years.
Today, what were once rare, destabilising exceptions have increasingly been normalised, as medieval wisdom is eclipsed by the allure of decapitation as a decisive strategy. Advances in precision weaponry, drones and surveillance create the seductive illusion that eliminating a single individual can collapse an entire regime.
Swift, high visibility strikes promise symbolic victories, media spectacle and domestic applause, all of which can translate into electoral capital. The attempted decapitation strike against Saddam Hussein in 2003 opened with what America described as its “shock and awe” campaign, marking the start of the invasion of Iraq. Coupled with a persistent oversimplification of complex political systems, these pressures have produced a pattern repeated from Iraq and Libya to Afghanistan, Gaza and now Iran.
The consequences of this approach are painfully evident. Decapitation campaigns often lead to fragmentation, radicalization, civil war and regional spill over, often exacerbating the very problems they sought to resolve.
Even when technology and politics make decapitation tempting, its effectiveness depends on the underlying structure of the targeted system. It stands a chance at success only in highly centralised regimes where power is tightly concentrated and institutions revolve around a single, charismatic individual.
By contrast, in decentralised or networked systems, decapitation almost invariably backfires. As power is dispersed across institutions, militias, clerical bodies and economic networks, killing the figurehead can trigger succession struggles, embolden radicals and multiply centres of violence.
In Iran, for instance, authority is distributed across the Islamic Revolution Guards Corps (IRGC), the clerical establishment, intelligence agencies and sprawling economic patronage networks. Removing Supreme Leader Khamenei may take away a symbolic figurehead, but it leaves the system’s levers of power intact, and likely more chaotic.
The repeated turn to decapitation, despite decades of evidence showing its failure, raises a more unsettling possibility. Perhaps the goal has never been to end wars or resolve conflicts at all. It is worth asking whether destabilisation itself has become the objective. In this light, the repeated failures of decapitation are not blunders and may, in fact, be a deliberate embrace of disorder as policy.
Ibrahim al-Marashi is associate professor of Middle East history, visiting faculty at The American College of the Mediterranean, and the Department of International Relations at Central European University. His publications include Iraq’s Armed Forces: An Analytical History (2008), The Modern History of Iraq (2017), and A Concise History of the Middle East (2024).
Tanya Goudsouzian is a Canadian journalist who has covered Afghanistan and the Middle East for over two decades. She has held senior editorial roles at major international media outlets, including serving as Opinion Editor at Al Jazeera English.
Follow Ibrahim on X: @ialmarashi
Follow Tanya on X: @tgoudsouzian
Have questions or comments? Email us at: editorial-english@newarab.com
Opinions expressed in this article remain those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The New Arab, its editorial board or staff.