Author: Ayatoilet

Americans tend to think of the Persian Gulf primarily as an energy story. When war breaks out, we ask what will happen to the price of gasoline, whether the Strait of Hormuz will remain open, and how much oil Saudi Arabia or the United Arab Emirates can bring to market. These are important questions, but they may no longer be the most important ones. The Persian Gulf is not simply an oil reservoir. It has become one of the great reservoirs of global liquidity, and if that liquidity suddenly begins flowing home rather than outward, America’s next financial crisis may begin thousands of miles from Wall Street.

For decades, the economic bargain was relatively straightforward. The Gulf states sold oil and gas to the world, accumulated enormous dollar surpluses, and recycled a significant portion of those surpluses into American government debt, equities, private-equity funds, real estate, technology companies and financial institutions. The United States provided security, access to its markets and the world’s dominant reserve currency. The Gulf provided energy and capital. It was never a formal treaty, but it became one of the hidden financial foundations of the modern global economy.

That foundation is now under pressure.

The war with Iran has exposed a vulnerability that markets have largely ignored. The Gulf monarchies may possess enormous assets, but assets and liquidity are not the same thing. A sovereign wealth fund can be worth hundreds of billions of dollars while much of its portfolio remains tied up in private companies, infrastructure, real estate, long-term development projects and investments that cannot be sold quickly without taking losses. A country can therefore be extraordinarily wealthy on paper and still face an immediate shortage of usable dollars.

The Gulf states entered this period with sovereign wealth funds controlling trillions of dollars, but they also entered it with enormous domestic obligations. Saudi Arabia is financing ambitious development programs, expensive megaprojects and a major economic transformation. The United Arab Emirates and Qatar have made large commitments to infrastructure, artificial intelligence, logistics, aviation and global investment. Across the region, governments must support currencies, banking systems, public-sector payrolls, subsidies, defense spending and social stability. Even before the present conflict, Saudi Arabia was running substantial fiscal deficits, while its Public Investment Fund and state-linked companies had accumulated obligations that extended beyond the government’s most visible debt figures.

Now add war.

A prolonged interruption of shipping through the Strait of Hormuz would not simply raise the world price of oil. It could prevent Gulf producers from selling enough of their own oil and gas to benefit fully from those higher prices. Export terminals, pipelines, refineries, desalination plants, power systems, airports and financial centers would all face increased risks. Insurance costs would rise, foreign investment could slow, tourism could weaken, and governments would have to spend heavily on defense, repairs, alternate export routes and domestic economic support.

Reuters has reported that the disruption could reduce Gulf oil revenue by roughly $183 billion and cause cross-border investment from the region to decline by approximately one-third. The significance of those numbers goes far beyond the Gulf. For years, global markets have relied on what might be called the “Gulf put”: the expectation that oil surpluses would eventually return to London, New York and other financial centers as investment capital. That flow has supported private-equity deals, technology valuations, commercial real estate, infrastructure funds and government borrowing. A Gulf state that suddenly needs money at home does not merely stop making new investments. It may begin selling old ones.

This is where the Persian Gulf crisis becomes an American financial crisis.

The United States is already borrowing on an enormous scale. It must continually refinance maturing debt while issuing additional debt to finance continuing deficits. The Treasury therefore depends upon a deep and constant pool of buyers. Gulf countries are not the largest holders of U.S. government debt, and their direct Treasury holdings alone are not large enough to determine America’s fate. The majority of Treasury securities are held by American investors and institutions, while Japan, the United Kingdom, China and other financial centers remain larger reported foreign holders. But official Treasury data also understate some Gulf exposure because securities held through custodians in London, Luxembourg, the Cayman Islands and other financial centers may be attributed to those jurisdictions rather than to their ultimate owners.

More importantly, the danger is not that Saudi Arabia or the UAE will deliberately dump Treasury bonds as an act of political retaliation. The more credible danger is forced repatriation. Gulf governments may need dollars to defend currency pegs, stabilize banks, compensate businesses, rebuild infrastructure, finance military operations and maintain domestic confidence. Their sovereign funds may be instructed to redirect money toward national priorities, sell liquid foreign assets, reduce new overseas commitments or borrow against existing portfolios. Sovereign funds worldwide are already moving toward investments driven by national strategy, domestic infrastructure and technological security rather than purely financial returns.

The first effect would probably not be a dramatic, cinematic collapse. It would be something more subtle and, in some ways, more dangerous: the disappearance of a marginal buyer.

Financial markets are priced at the margin. The last buyer does not have to own most of an asset to influence its price. If Treasury demand weakens while federal borrowing remains high, yields must rise until other investors are persuaded to absorb the supply. If private-equity funds lose Gulf commitments, they must raise money elsewhere, reduce acquisitions or sell assets. If Gulf investors pull back from American technology, artificial intelligence, real estate and infrastructure, valuations can fall even though the underlying companies remain operational.

The United States would then face a chain reaction. Higher Treasury yields would raise federal interest expenses. Higher government borrowing costs would influence mortgages, corporate bonds, municipal finance and consumer credit. Falling asset prices could weaken bank and nonbank balance sheets. Private-credit funds, which have expanded rapidly while remaining less transparent than conventional banks, could encounter liquidity problems. Refinancing would become more expensive just as investors were becoming more risk-averse.

The European Stability Mechanism recently modeled a scenario in which a renewed Middle East conflict coincided with a major repricing of American assets. In that combined shock, U.S. Treasury yields rose by more than 50 basis points, American equities fell by nearly 20 percent and European equities declined even more sharply. That was not a prediction, but it demonstrated how an energy shock, an asset-price correction and concerns about U.S. fiscal sustainability could reinforce one another rather than occur separately.

The irony is that Washington could find itself being asked to rescue some of the wealthiest countries in the world.

Reports have indicated that the United States has discussed possible emergency dollar liquidity arrangements with Gulf governments if war-related disruption persists. The UAE alone has enormous sovereign assets and substantial central-bank reserves, yet dollar liquidity can still become scarce when banks, corporations, governments and investors all seek cash at the same time. The Federal Reserve and Treasury possess mechanisms that could provide liquidity against high-quality collateral, including facilities through which foreign official institutions can temporarily exchange Treasury securities for dollars rather than selling them into the market.

This creates an extraordinary reversal. For decades, the Gulf helped finance America. In a crisis created or intensified by American military policy, America might have to provide emergency dollars to the Gulf so that Gulf institutions would not be forced to liquidate American assets and destabilize American markets.

That is not an ordinary bailout. It is the circular logic of a financial empire under strain.

The United States protects the Gulf. The Gulf accumulates dollars. The dollars return to American markets. American asset values rise. The federal government borrows more cheaply. The financial system becomes increasingly dependent on abundant global liquidity. Then war disrupts the Gulf, the liquidity begins flowing backward, and Washington must provide even more dollars to preserve the very system the war has endangered.

America would not technically go bankrupt. A government that issues debt in its own currency does not fail in the same way that a household or corporation fails. The Federal Reserve can create liquidity, purchase securities and prevent disorderly market dysfunction. But creating dollars does not create real resources, eliminate inflation, restore confidence or guarantee low interest rates. The United States can always produce more currency. It cannot guarantee what that currency will buy or what interest rate investors will demand.

That is the real danger.

America’s vulnerability is not one foreign creditor, one sovereign wealth fund or one shipment of oil. It is the accumulation of obligations resting on the assumption that the world will continue supplying the United States with cheap capital regardless of its deficits, political instability or foreign-policy decisions. Gulf liquidity has helped sustain that assumption. So have European savings, Asian trade surpluses, offshore dollar markets and the belief that U.S. assets will always remain the safest and most liquid destination in the world.

But financial systems rarely collapse because one pillar disappears. They collapse when several pillars weaken at the same time.

Imagine a prolonged Gulf war that restricts energy exports, raises inflation, forces sovereign wealth funds to repatriate capital, reduces demand for American assets and increases defense spending. Now combine that with an already overvalued equity market, stress in commercial real estate, opaque private-credit exposure, enormous federal deficits and a Treasury that must refinance trillions of dollars at higher interest rates. Each problem is manageable by itself. Together, they could become a systemic crisis.

The Persian Gulf states still possess considerable financial strength. The IMF expected Gulf hydrocarbon growth to accelerate in 2026 as previous production cuts were reversed and new gas capacity came online, particularly in Qatar. Gulf sovereign funds have also continued making major investments despite the conflict, including in the United States, India and artificial intelligence. This is therefore not an argument that the region has already run out of money. It is an argument that war is steadily converting long-term wealth into short-term obligations and redirecting capital from global investment toward domestic survival.

The question is not whether the Gulf states are rich. They are.

The question is how much readily available liquidity they possess, how quickly they may need it, and what they will have to sell, postpone or stop financing to obtain it.

Wall Street has spent years celebrating Gulf money as though it were permanent. American officials have treated the Gulf as both a military protectorate and an inexhaustible source of investment. Private-equity firms, technology companies, universities, sports organizations, property developers and government borrowers have all benefited from the recycling of Gulf surpluses. Yet almost no one has seriously prepared for the possibility that the flow could reverse.

America’s next financial crisis may therefore not begin with a failed bank in California, a collapsing hedge fund in Connecticut or a mortgage company in Florida. It may begin when a finance ministry in Riyadh, Abu Dhabi, Doha or Kuwait City decides that the money invested abroad is suddenly needed at home.

The first warning may not be an explosion.

It may be a sell order.

Wars are rarely won by brute force alone. They are won by overwhelming an opponent’s ability to respond faster than events unfold. If Washington were ever to decide that diplomacy had failed and regime change had become the objective, it is unlikely to rely on a single axis of attack. The more plausible military concept would be to create simultaneous crises on multiple fronts, stretching Iranian command, logistics, intelligence, and decision-making until the system becomes saturated.

That is why Iran should be thinking carefully about what could become a five-pronged campaign rather than a single conventional assault.

The southern front would be the obvious center of gravity. America’s naval power, supported by Israel’s air capabilities, could focus on Iran’s critical oil and gas infrastructure while attempting to establish control over key coastal areas. A landing force, supported by Marines and naval assets already operating in the broader region, would not necessarily aim to occupy the country. Its initial objective could instead be to seize strategic energy assets, establish logistics hubs, and create a platform from which forces could move north while denying Tehran access to its principal source of national revenue.

To the north, Azerbaijan would inevitably become an area of enormous strategic importance. Whether it became an active participant, a logistical corridor, or simply territory whose geography shaped military operations, pressure from Iran’s northern border would force Tehran to divide attention and resources that would otherwise reinforce the south.

Western Iran presents another potential vulnerability. Kurdish regions have long been an arena of competing political and security interests involving multiple regional actors. Any instability there—whether generated internally or encouraged externally—could create another front demanding military resources precisely when they are needed elsewhere.

At sea, the Strait of Hormuz would become the world’s most consequential piece of water. A multinational maritime coalition could seek to secure shipping lanes while simultaneously restricting Iran’s own operational freedom. Control of the Strait has always been one of Tehran’s greatest strategic bargaining chips. Neutralizing that leverage would fundamentally alter the military balance.

The final front would not be geographic at all. It would be internal. Every modern conflict is fought inside the opponent’s institutions as much as on the battlefield. Cyber operations, electronic warfare, intelligence networks, sabotage, psychological operations, and covert assets can paralyze communications, disrupt command structures, and generate confusion long before conventional forces arrive. Various opposition groups, including the MEK, have been alleged over the years to possess networks inside Iran, although the extent of any current capabilities is not publicly known. If such networks existed, they would almost certainly become active during any major conflict.

The objective of such a strategy would not be merely to defeat Iranian forces one battle at a time. It would be to force Iranian leaders to confront simultaneous crises that compete for the same limited military resources. Every commander understands that five moderate threats occurring at once are often more dangerous than one overwhelming threat.

It is impossible to know from publicly available information whether such a campaign is actually being planned. Military planners routinely develop contingency plans for a wide range of scenarios, many of which are never executed. But if history teaches anything, it is that modern wars increasingly combine conventional force, cyber operations, intelligence, economic pressure, and information warfare into a single integrated campaign.

For Iran, the lesson is straightforward. The greatest danger may not be the strength of any single attack, but the cumulative effect of multiple, synchronized pressures designed to overwhelm decision-making before an effective response can be organized. That possibility deserves careful analysis—not because it is inevitable, but because prudent strategy requires preparing for the most demanding scenarios rather than the most comfortable ones.

The Age of Assassination and the Death of Safe Diplomacy

There is something profoundly unsettling about watching the world’s most powerful leaders become afraid to appear in public.

Think about how much has changed in such a short period of time.

For decades, political assassination was associated with coups, terrorist organisations, failed states or isolated acts of violence. Today, governments openly discuss “decapitation strikes.” Intelligence agencies search for opportunities to eliminate political leaders rather than simply defeat armies. Leadership itself has become a military target.

Once that line is crossed, it is almost impossible to uncross.

The consequences are already becoming visible. Public appearances are becoming rarer. International travel is increasingly dominated by extraordinary security arrangements. Major public events are scrutinised not simply for political significance but for assassination risk. Leaders who once mingled with crowds now move through carefully controlled environments, conscious that the precedent established against one country’s leadership may eventually be applied to their own.

The irony is striking. Those who believed assassination would create greater security may instead have created a world in which no leader truly feels secure.

The images from Tehran may one day come to symbolise this new reality.

Three of Mojtaba Khamenei’s brothers stood beside the coffins of their father, their mother and other members of their family. Yet the man who had inherited leadership of Iran was absent.

Not because he chose not to mourn.

According to multiple reports, security officials believed that attending his own father’s funeral created too great a risk that he, too, would be assassinated.

Pause and think about what that means.

A son unable to bury his father.

A husband unable to stand beside the coffin of his wife.

A father unable to mourn his daughter.

Whatever anyone thinks of the Islamic Republic, that image should give us pause.

There is another dimension to this story.

According to published reports citing informed sources, Mojtaba himself survived the strike that devastated his family but suffered severe injuries, including major facial disfigurement and serious injuries to his legs. Whatever the precise extent of those injuries, the picture that emerges is of a man who has not simply inherited power but has experienced war in the most personal way imaginable.

Imagine the psychology of such a leader.

He has lost much of his immediate family.

He carries permanent physical scars.

He cannot even attend the funeral because he may himself become the next target.

Does anyone seriously believe such a man emerges from that experience trusting those he believes responsible?

Or is it far more likely that he emerges convinced that survival depends upon strength, deterrence, and never allowing such vulnerability again?

This is where the strategic calculation appears to have fundamentally backfired.

If the objective of assassinating Iran’s senior leadership was to weaken the Islamic Republic, the political consequences so far suggest something very different.

The old guard has largely disappeared. In its place has emerged a younger leadership forged not by decades of relatively stable government but by war, survival and profound personal loss. Their legitimacy is no longer rooted primarily in the Revolution of 1979. It is rooted in sacrifice, survival and resistance.

History suggests that leaders shaped by such experiences rarely become more conciliatory. More often they become more disciplined, more security-conscious and considerably harder to intimidate.

Nor has the transformation been confined to the leadership.

Before the war, Iran was a deeply divided society. Millions openly criticized their government over corruption, economic hardship, inflation, political repression and social restrictions. The gap between state and society was substantial.

External attack changes political psychology.

History repeatedly shows that populations subjected to foreign military attack often rally around their governments, however unpopular those governments may previously have been. National identity begins to outweigh domestic political differences. Citizens who yesterday protested against their leaders frequently conclude that internal disputes should not be settled under foreign bombs.

That does not mean every Iranian suddenly supports every government policy.

It does mean that nationalism is an extraordinarily powerful force, one that outside powers have repeatedly underestimated throughout history.

If that dynamic has taken hold in Iran, then the campaign has achieved almost precisely the opposite of its intended purpose.

Instead of isolating the leadership, it may have strengthened its bond with much of the population.

Instead of weakening the state, it may have reinforced it.

Instead of creating political fragmentation, it may have encouraged greater national unity.

Instead of producing a more moderate Iran, it may have accelerated the emergence of a leadership that is considerably more militant, considerably more hardline and considerably less willing to place its trust in diplomacy than the one it replaced.

That should concern everyone.

The leadership that ordered or supported these assassinations may now find itself facing an adversary with far less to lose than its predecessor. Leaders forged through grief and survival rarely forget the circumstances that brought them to power. Whether one agrees with their ideology or opposes it entirely, one is unlikely to approach the future with the assumptions or caution of the generation that came before.

Yet perhaps the most profound consequence lies beyond Iran altogether.

For centuries, civilisation has tried to move beyond assassination as a means for nations to settle their differences. That is why diplomacy exists. That is why embassies exist. That is why negotiators have traditionally been afforded special protection, even between bitter enemies. It was never an act of generosity. It was an acknowledgement that nations at war still need a way to talk, to exchange prisoners, to avoid misunderstandings and, eventually, to find a path back to peace.

That understanding now appears to be eroding.

If political leaders themselves become legitimate military targets wherever they travel, diplomacy inevitably changes. A leader who cannot safely attend his own father’s funeral is living in a different world from the one most of us have known. If public ceremonies become opportunities for assassination, and if those travelling to negotiations begin wondering whether the journey itself has become part of the battlefield, then diplomacy is no longer simply difficult. It has become physically dangerous.

Reports and allegations that even aircraft carrying negotiators could become potential targets, if true, point in the same troubling direction. Whether every report ultimately proves accurate is almost secondary. The fact that such scenarios are now considered plausible tells us how much the rules of international conduct may already have changed.

This is why the consequences extend far beyond Iran or Israel. Every government is watching. Every security service is drawing lessons. Leaders who once travelled with confidence will increasingly travel with hesitation, surrounded by ever-greater layers of protection and ever-greater isolation. The very people charged with resolving conflict will find it harder to meet one another, harder to build trust and harder to engage in the informal conversations that have so often prevented wars from becoming even worse.

That is the paradox. A strategy intended to eliminate danger may instead have institutionalised it. The prison built for one leader becomes a prison for all leaders. The fear intended for one adversary becomes a permanent feature of international politics.

History has a habit of punishing those who normalise extraordinary measures, because once the rules are abandoned, they rarely remain abandoned by only one side. They become the new rules for everyone.

Perhaps that is the greatest strategic miscalculation of all.

Diplomacy was humanity’s attempt to replace violence with conversation. Once diplomacy itself ceases to be safe, conversation inevitably gives way to suspicion, distance and fear. Recovering from that may prove far harder than winning any single war.

When leaders become prisoners, it is not only leaders who lose their freedom.

It is the world.

Imagine being unable to attend your own father’s funeral.

Not because you are ill.

Not because you are imprisoned.

But because your security advisers believe there is a very real chance that Israel will try to finish what it started.

Now imagine that your wife is being buried at the same funeral.

Your daughter too.

Your mother.

Your entire immediate family, wiped out in a joint American-Israeli bombing campaign.

And all you can do is watch from a bunker, knowing that if you appear in public, you may be next.

This is the reality Mojtaba Khamenei now lives with.

According to multiple reports, he survived the strike, but only just. His face was left permanently disfigured. He suffered devastating injuries to his legs, with reports from people close to his inner circle saying he may have lost one of them. He has also reportedly undergone surgery to his hand and continues to recover months later.

Whether you agree with his politics or despise everything he represents is almost irrelevant.

The point is that wars create memories that outlive the wars themselves.

Every scar on his face reminds him who bombed his family.

Every step he takes—or struggles to take—is a reminder of the country that changed his life forever.

Every empty chair at the dinner table reminds him of the wife, daughter, mother and father who are no longer there.

And Washington believes this is the man with whom it can simply negotiate a new beginning.

History suggests otherwise.

The West has not created a grateful adversary. It has almost certainly created a leader whose entire life has become a monument to loss, vengeance and survival.

That is the strategic consequence of believing military victory automatically produces diplomatic opportunity.

Sometimes it produces the opposite.

Sometimes you don’t destroy your enemy.

You forge him.

Every great power eventually makes a strategic mistake so profound that future generations struggle to understand how it happened.

Britain underestimated the American colonies.

Napoleon invaded Russia.

Hitler invaded the Soviet Union.

The United States invaded Iraq.

Each decision made perfect sense to its advocates at the time. Each promised security. Each promised victory. Yet each ultimately left the country making the decision in a weaker strategic position than before.

I believe history may add another example to that list.

The decision to abandon the JCPOA in 2018, followed by the policy of maximum pressure and ultimately the war of 2026, may come to be remembered not as Israel’s greatest strategic victory, but as America’s greatest strategic blunder of the twenty-first century.

Why?

Because the objective was to isolate Iran. The outcome was to isolate America from Iran.

There is a difference.

For more than four decades, the public narrative suggested that Iran and the United States were irreconcilable enemies. Yet history tells a more complicated story. Behind the rhetoric, there were repeated moments when both countries quietly cooperated because their interests happened to align. Iran assisted after the invasion of Afghanistan. Both countries benefited from the removal of Saddam Hussein. The Iran-Contra affair demonstrated that even during periods of intense hostility, channels of communication remained open. It was never a relationship based on trust, but it was one that preserved options.

The JCPOA was important not simply because it addressed Iran’s nuclear program. It mattered because it kept those options alive. It acknowledged an uncomfortable reality that experienced diplomats have always understood: countries do not have permanent friends or permanent enemies. They have permanent interests.

That principle was abandoned in 2018.

Israel had argued for years that the agreement legitimized Iran and should be dismantled. President Trump accepted that argument and withdrew the United States. Whether one believes that the decision was right or wrong is almost secondary today. The more important question is what happened next.

Iran did not collapse. Its government survived. Its regional influence evolved rather than disappeared.

Most importantly, Iran concluded that if accommodation with the West was no longer possible, it had little choice but to deepen its relationships with Russia and China.

That may prove to be the real strategic legacy of the past decade.

Look at a map.

Iran is not simply another Middle Eastern state. It is the geographic bridge between the Persian Gulf, the Caucasus, Central Asia and the Indian Ocean. It borders some of the world’s most important energy corridors and possesses enormous reserves of oil and natural gas. It occupies territory that every major empire has regarded as strategically indispensable for centuries.

Now ask a simple question.

If the greatest long-term challenge facing the United States is managing competition with Russia and China, why would America pursue policies that encourage one of the world’s most strategically important countries to align more closely with both?

That is the question remarkably few people are asking.

Instead, we continue debating whether individual military operations succeeded or failed, whether sanctions were sufficiently tough, or whether another round of bombing might produce a different result.

Those are tactical questions. Strategy asks something entirely different.

Who is stronger today than they were ten years ago?

Russia has expanded its strategic relationship with Iran.

China has deepened its economic and energy partnership with Tehran.

Iran, having lost confidence that meaningful accommodation with Washington is possible, has invested heavily in eastern partnerships that will likely endure long after today’s political leaders have left office.

Whether this alignment becomes permanent remains to be seen. Nations ultimately pursue interests, not friendships. But there is little doubt that rebuilding trust between Washington and Tehran will now be far more difficult than it was before 2018.

That should concern every American strategist, regardless of political party.

Supporters of abandoning the JCPOA argue that the agreement failed to address Iran’s missile program, regional activities, and long-term nuclear ambitions. Those are legitimate concerns, and any honest assessment must acknowledge them.

But strategy is measured by outcomes, not intentions.

If the long-term consequence of American policy has been to accelerate cooperation between Iran, Russia, and China, then it is fair to ask whether the United States solved one problem only to create a much larger one.

History has a habit of asking uncomfortable questions. This may become one of them.

Israel succeeded in persuading America to confront Iran more aggressively. But if that confrontation ultimately strengthened the geopolitical position of Russia and China while permanently pushing Iran into their orbit, then historians may conclude that Israel won the argument in Washington—but America lost something far more valuable.

It lost strategic flexibility to shape the future of one of the world’s most important nations.

Prioritizing Israel’s concerns over Iran is a huge mistake.  Israel is a small nation of 7 million people, at constant war with its neighbors and with an unstable government and virtually no natural resources. Iran, on the other hand, has a huge industrial base, massive natural resources, and a population of 100 million. Iran holds the key to Central Asia, i.e., a massive market with 300 million people – and a vital strategic position. Control of Central Asia also provides a massive land mass from Moscow to Tehran to Beijing, which will dominate the next century.

It’s truly a huge strategic mistake. We have basically foregone our global leadership to an evil regime in Israel.

Israel’s regime, we know from first-hand experience, meddles in US politics, has active espionage rings operating in the US, operates nefarious programs – and its government conducts genocidal operations and is hated across the world! It’s a shit partner. It’s a shit ally. Israel is a liability. How can their strategic goals be associated with the United States and dictate our policies and priorities?

Before this article is accused of Trump-bashing, I want to make it clear that these decisions to prioritize Israel have been bipartisan decisions with the full support of many long-standing members of government. Joe Biden did not rejoin the JCPOA. Joe Biden did not prosecute Jeffrey Epstein or Ghislaine Maxwell! Joe Biden never prosecuted Donald Trump for his blatant constitutional violations. Israel’s genocide in Gaza started during Joe Biden’s administration. Everyone in government over the last 10 years has been responsible for this mistake.

And this is the kind of mistake history rarely forgives.

There is an old saying that every politician has a political base. Some build theirs on economic prosperity. Others on social reform. Some on hope.

I believe Benjamin Netanyahu has built his on fear – on purpose.

That is a serious accusation, and one that many Israelis would reject. His supporters see him as Israel’s indispensable guardian in a dangerous neighborhood, a leader confronting enemies who genuinely seek Israel’s destruction. They point to decades of terrorism, regional instability, and threats from Iran and its allies as evidence that his security-first approach reflects reality rather than political calculation.

I understand that argument.

I simply do not believe it tells the whole story.

When I step back and examine Netanyahu’s political career over three decades, I see a recurring pattern. Every period of heightened insecurity has reinforced his image as the one leader capable of protecting Israel. Every crisis has strengthened the narrative that extraordinary dangers require extraordinary leadership. Every escalation has made it more difficult for political opponents to argue about ordinary issues such as governance, corruption, economic inequality, or democratic institutions.

Fear simplifies politics.

Fear transforms elections into questions of survival.

Fear elevates the leader who promises security above every other consideration.

Whether every crisis was deliberately engineered is almost beside the point. What matters is that Netanyahu’s political fortunes have repeatedly flourished in an atmosphere of permanent emergency. When politics becomes organized around existential threats, compromise begins to look like weakness, diplomacy appears naïve, and military confrontation becomes the default language of statecraft.

That, in my view, has become the defining feature of his leadership. Which leads to an uncomfortable question.

If peace with Iran were genuinely achieved—if diplomatic relations normalized, regional tensions eased, proxy conflicts diminished, and Israelis gradually ceased living under the constant expectation of war—what would become of the political identity that has defined Netanyahu for decades?

What happens to “Mr. Security” when security is no longer the overriding issue?

That question has profound implications.

Because lasting peace changes politics. It shifts public attention toward housing, education, healthcare, judicial reform, inequality, economic opportunity, and governmental accountability. It weakens the emotional power of fear and forces governments to compete on their domestic performance rather than on existential warnings.

Peace changes the conversation.

For that reason, I believe Netanyahu has had little political incentive to pursue a comprehensive and durable accommodation with Iran. That does not mean every conflict has been chosen or every diplomatic opportunity deliberately rejected. History is more complicated than that. But I do believe that a permanent settlement would fundamentally alter the political environment from which his leadership has long drawn its greatest strength.

His defenders would argue exactly the opposite. They would say Iran has never offered a trustworthy basis for peace, that Israel cannot ignore security risks, and that any agreement must be judged by whether it genuinely protects Israeli lives. Those are serious arguments that deserve to be considered.

Yet leadership is ultimately judged not only by the threats it confronts, but by the future it creates.

After decades in office, one must ask whether Israel is closer to a stable regional order than when Netanyahu first assumed power. Has the cycle of confrontation become less frequent? Has trust increased? Has the prospect of long-term coexistence become more realistic?

My answer is no.

Instead, I see a region trapped in recurring crises, where each confrontation reinforces the political narratives that justified the last one.

This is why I believe the greatest illusion surrounding Benjamin Netanyahu is not his image as a calm, experienced statesman. It is the assumption that perpetual conflict and perpetual security are somehow the same thing.

They are not.

Security is what nations seek so that peace can flourish.

Perpetual conflict is what prevents peace from ever arriving.

History will ultimately judge whether Netanyahu was the indispensable defender of Israel or whether his politics became inseparable from the continuation of regional instability. My own conclusion is clear.

A lasting peace between Israel and Iran would transform the political landscape of the Middle East. It would also remove the permanent state of emergency that has defined Netanyahu’s political career.

That is why I have come to believe that peace is not simply difficult while Benjamin Netanyahu remains at the center of Israeli politics – it is impossible. Peace completely undermines his brand and his political strategy.

Peace is fundamentally at odds with the political model that, in my opinion, has sustained his leadership for so long.

Is America Quietly Preparing for a Ground War?

One of the enduring paradoxes of international diplomacy is that the most serious negotiations often take place while military preparations continue in the background. Nations rarely negotiate from a position of complete vulnerability. Instead, they seek to maximize their leverage, reassure their allies, deter their adversaries, and prepare for the possibility that diplomacy may fail. That is certainly how Washington would describe its current posture in the Middle East. Yet history also explains why many observers, particularly outside the United States, remain skeptical whenever negotiations coincide with a substantial military buildup. They point to instances in which diplomatic engagement has coexisted with preparations for military action and argue that, whether intended or not, this has created a reputation that shapes how America’s adversaries interpret its actions today. Perception, after all, is often as important as reality in international affairs.

It is against this backdrop that the current negotiations between the United States and Iran should be viewed. While diplomats continue exploring ways to stabilize what remains a fragile ceasefire and reduce tensions surrounding the Strait of Hormuz, the United States has quietly assembled one of its largest military concentrations in the Middle East since the invasion of Iraq in 2003. Whether this represents prudent military planning, a deliberate attempt to strengthen America’s negotiating position, or preparation for a broader conflict is ultimately known only to those making decisions inside the White House and the Pentagon. Nevertheless, the scale of the deployment warrants closer examination, as military logistics often reveal capabilities long before political leaders reveal intentions.

The most visible element of this buildup has been at sea. Three carrier strike groups are now operating in or near the region, representing an extraordinary concentration of American naval power. Together, they comprise approximately 18,000 to 22,000 sailors, more than two hundred combat aircraft, numerous guided-missile cruisers and destroyers, attack submarines, and an arsenal of cruise missiles capable of striking targets throughout the region. Military analysts have estimated that close to forty percent of the Navy’s deployable surface combatants are now committed to the Middle East, an allocation that reflects the strategic importance Washington currently assigns to this theater.

Supporting this naval presence is an equally impressive logistical effort in the air. The U.S. Air Force’s Air Mobility Command has been conducting a sustained strategic airlift using C-17 Globemaster III aircraft and the much larger C-5M Super Galaxy, aircraft specifically designed to move the heaviest elements of American military power across continents. These transports carry far more than personnel. They move Patriot missile batteries, engineering equipment, armored vehicles, helicopters, precision-guided munitions, communications systems, medical facilities, and the enormous quantity of spare parts required to sustain high-intensity military operations. Accompanying this effort has been the deployment of additional KC-135 and KC-46 aerial refueling aircraft, allowing American fighters to operate continuously over vast distances and dramatically extending the reach of U.S. air power throughout the region.

The reinforcement has not been limited to aircraft and logistics. Two Marine Expeditionary Units, totaling roughly five thousand Marines, have also been deployed aboard amphibious assault ships. Their presence has inevitably attracted attention because Marine Expeditionary Units occupy a unique place within American military doctrine. They are not designed to invade and occupy large countries; rather, they are highly mobile formations capable of responding rapidly to a wide variety of crises. Their missions include reinforcing embassies, evacuating civilians, conducting raids, securing ports and airfields, establishing temporary beachheads, and introducing combat power ashore before heavier Army units arrive if circumstances require. Their deployment does not necessarily indicate that a ground campaign has been approved, but it unquestionably provides political leaders with military options that would not otherwise exist.

This distinction is important because much of the current public debate has tended to frame the issue as though there are only two possibilities: either there will be no ground operations at all, or the United States is preparing another Iraq-style invasion. Modern warfare is rarely so binary. Between those two extremes lies an enormous range of military operations that require relatively modest ground forces supported by overwhelming naval and air superiority. Amphibious assaults against strategic facilities, temporary seizure of islands, protection of commercial shipping, raids against missile sites, rescue operations, and special forces missions all fall within that spectrum. The force currently assembling in the region would be well suited to such operations, even though it remains far smaller than the force required to invade and occupy a country the size of Iran.

Perhaps the most significant lesson emerging from the recent conflict is not the size of the American deployment but the reason for it. Reports from numerous defense analysts suggest that Iranian missile and drone attacks inflicted substantially greater damage on American facilities across the Gulf than many initially appreciated. Military installations in Bahrain, Qatar, Kuwait, and elsewhere reportedly suffered extensive damage, with reconstruction costs estimated in the billions of dollars. More important than the financial losses, however, was the realization that fixed bases, once regarded as secure anchors of American power, have become increasingly vulnerable in an era of precision ballistic missiles and long-range drones. Facilities built over decades can now be threatened within minutes, fundamentally changing the strategic calculus for military planners.

It is therefore unsurprising that reports have emerged suggesting the Pentagon is examining whether some command functions should be dispersed, hardened underground, or relocated outside the Gulf. Israel has reportedly been discussed as one possible location for certain high-value capabilities, although no final decisions have been announced publicly. Regardless of whether such relocations ultimately occur, the discussion itself illustrates that the United States is adapting to a strategic environment very different from the one that existed only a few years ago.

Does all this mean America is preparing for a ground war?

The answer depends entirely upon what one means by that phrase. If the question is whether the United States appears to be assembling the enormous force required for a full-scale invasion and occupation of Iran, the evidence available in the public domain does not support such a conclusion. An operation of that magnitude would require several hundred thousand troops, multiple armored divisions, vast sealift operations, months of logistical stockpiling, field hospitals, engineering brigades, and an immense support infrastructure that is not presently visible.

If, however, the question is whether Washington is deliberately positioning itself to possess credible military options involving limited ground operations should negotiations fail, then the answer appears considerably less ambiguous. The combination of carrier strike groups, Marine Expeditionary Units, strategic airlift, expanded missile defenses, reinforced air power, and continuous logistical activity provides capabilities extending far beyond simple deterrence. It gives American policymakers the flexibility to respond across a broad spectrum of contingencies while simultaneously strengthening their negotiating position.

Whether that flexibility ultimately helps preserve the peace or becomes the foundation for a wider conflict is impossible to know. History reminds us that military strength has sometimes prevented wars by convincing adversaries that the costs of conflict were too great, while at other times the very existence of overwhelming military capability has made its eventual use politically irresistible. What can be said with confidence is that the current buildup is neither symbolic nor routine. It reflects a deliberate strategic decision to ensure that the United States enters the next phase of this crisis with the broadest possible range of military options. As always, the decisions that determine whether those options remain instruments of deterrence or become instruments of war will ultimately be made not by generals, but by politicians.

There is an old saying among detectives, prosecutors and investigative journalists: follow the money.

When governments explain why they go to war, they almost never ask you to follow the money. They ask you to follow the rockets, the speeches, the threats and the headlines. They speak of national security, deterrence and self-defence. Those concerns may be entirely genuine, but they are rarely the whole story.

If you want to understand why nations fight over a particular piece of land, begin by asking a simple question.

What is that land actually worth?

Southern Lebanon is not an empty buffer separating two hostile states. It is one of the richest pieces of real estate in the eastern Mediterranean.

The region is fed by the Litani River, Lebanon’s largest river, stretching more than 170 kilometres from the Beqaa Valley to the Mediterranean Sea. Its watershed covers approximately one-fifth of Lebanon’s territory. The river irrigates thousands of hectares of fertile farmland, generates hydroelectric power, and sustains an agricultural economy built on olives, citrus orchards, bananas, vineyards, vegetables, and tobacco. In a country suffering one of the worst economic collapses in modern history, southern Lebanon remains one of its most productive agricultural regions.

Fresh water in the Middle East has become almost as valuable as oil.

Then there is the coastline.

Offshore, beneath the eastern Mediterranean, lies the Levant Basin, one of the world’s significant recent hydrocarbon discoveries. Israel has already developed major gas fields, including Tamar, Leviathan and Karish, transforming itself from an energy importer into an exporter. Lebanon’s offshore blocks remain largely unexplored, but geological assessments suggest they may contain between 12 and 25 trillion cubic feet of recoverable natural gas, together with hundreds of millions of barrels of prospective oil. If those estimates prove accurate, they could fundamentally reshape Lebanon’s economy for generations.

In 2022, Israel and Lebanon reached a landmark maritime boundary agreement that divided offshore exploration rights. Israel retained the Karish field while Lebanon obtained rights to explore the Qana prospect under agreed royalty arrangements. Officially, the maritime dispute was resolved.

Yet maps rarely separate land and sea as neatly as lawyers do.

Control of southern Lebanon provides strategic depth, overlooks critical transportation routes, influences coastal access and places military forces adjacent to the infrastructure needed to protect offshore energy development. Fertile farmland, fresh water, commanding terrain and nearby natural gas resources are not separate strategic assets. They are parts of the same geopolitical equation.

Today, a new U.S.-brokered framework proposes that the Lebanese Armed Forces eventually replace Hezbollah in southern Lebanon. At the same time, Israel has stated that its forces will remain until Hezbollah has been completely disarmed. Since Israel effectively determines when that condition has been met, there is no defined timetable for withdrawal.

Israeli officials argue that this is a purely security-driven decision designed to prevent Hezbollah from rebuilding its military capabilities. That explanation deserves to be taken seriously.

Critics see something different. They argue that military necessity has become the political justification for establishing long-term control over one of Lebanon’s most strategically valuable regions. They point to history, where temporary occupations have repeatedly evolved into permanent realities, not because they were originally intended to do so, but because strategic assets become increasingly difficult to surrender once they are under military control.

No one can prove what ultimately motivates a government’s decisions. States almost never operate for a single reason. Security, politics, economics, and geography usually reinforce one another rather than compete.

That is precisely why the old investigative principle remains so powerful.

When politicians tell you to follow the rockets, it is worth following the resources as well.

Follow the Litani River.

Follow the fertile farmland.

Follow the eastern Mediterranean gas fields.

Follow the infrastructure.

Follow the strategic geography.

And yes, follow the money.

You may not find every answer there. But history suggests you will often find far more than the official explanation alone.

One of the great tragedies of modern Iran is that every genuine movement for political reform eventually finds itself trapped between two powerful forces: an authoritarian state determined to preserve itself and foreign governments eager to exploit instability for their own strategic objectives. Whether those external efforts are real, exaggerated, or merely perceived often matters less than the political consequences they produce. Once a protest movement becomes associated with outside powers, its legitimacy inside Iran begins to erode.

This is not simply a question of propaganda. It is rooted in Iranian history.

Iranians carry a long collective memory of foreign intervention, from the Anglo-Russian competition over Persia, to the 1953 coup against Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadegh, to decades of regional competition in which Iran has repeatedly found itself the object of outside influence. That history has left many Iranians deeply suspicious of any political movement that appears to benefit foreign strategic interests.

This became particularly important during recent waves of protest. While millions of Iranians had legitimate grievances over economic conditions, corruption, political freedoms, women’s rights, and government accountability, the protests quickly became the subject of competing narratives. Iranian authorities argued that foreign intelligence services were attempting to manipulate events. Opposition groups insisted the demonstrations were overwhelmingly indigenous. Various former intelligence officials and commentators have since argued that certain violent incidents displayed characteristics consistent with covert provocation, while others reject those claims as unsupported or speculative.

Regardless of which interpretation proves correct, one political reality is difficult to ignore: violence transformed the public perception of the protests.

Peaceful demonstrations seek to build legitimacy. Once buildings burn, security forces are attacked, firearms appear, or organized sabotage becomes part of the story, the political calculation changes dramatically. Governments gain justification—whether deserved or not—to respond with force, while many ordinary citizens who might otherwise support reform become fearful of chaos.

History offers countless examples where peaceful protest movements lost public support after violence entered the equation.

Some analysts have suggested that particular incidents during the unrest—including attacks on emergency vehicles, the appearance of armed individuals, or coordinated acts of sabotage—deserve greater investigation to determine who organized them and for what purpose.

Former US intelligence operatives have listed a number of actions that must have been Israeli-engineered, which in the end led to the delegitimization of the movement. 1. Fire company trucks were blown up first, before buildings were set on fire. This is a well-established Mossad technique. 2. Armed operatives penetrated the protestor movement, to shoot at the police, forcing the police to shoot back. This could explain the large number of casualties from the protests. 3. Israeli operatives pretended (and wore uniforms) of Iranian security forces and started shooting at protestors to provoke violent reactions. 4. Kurds were armed and prepared for an invasion during the protest movement (clearly with an intention to use the destabilization of Iran to splinter the country).

The Kurdish regions likewise became the focus of considerable security attention. Tehran repeatedly claimed armed separatist organizations were preparing to exploit instability, while opposition groups argued these accusations were exaggerated to justify repression. Untangling those competing claims requires careful evidence rather than political assumptions.

The broader strategic question is larger than any single incident.

If a foreign intelligence service were ever to infiltrate a democratic protest movement—not to strengthen it but to radicalize it—the greatest victim would not necessarily be the government. It would be the reform movement itself. Once a movement becomes associated with foreign manipulation, many ordinary citizens withdraw their support. Nationalism begins to outweigh demands for political reform.

Iran’s own revolutionary history illustrates this danger.

The 1979 revolution brought together liberals, nationalists, leftists, clerics, students, workers, and millions of ordinary citizens who sought change. Yet after the Shah fell, the coalition rapidly fragmented, and the clerical establishment ultimately consolidated power. Different historians continue to debate the roles of domestic factions and foreign governments during that period, but there is broad agreement that many original participants were politically marginalized as the revolution evolved.

That experience left a lasting lesson for many Iranians: political movements can be captured after they begin.

Whether by domestic extremists or foreign actors, once a movement loses its independent identity, it risks losing the very legitimacy upon which democratic reform depends.

This is why many Iranians today insist that meaningful political change must emerge from within Iranian society itself. Sustainable reform cannot be imported, engineered, or directed from abroad. It must retain its credibility among ordinary citizens across the country’s diverse political, ethnic, and religious communities.

Outside governments frequently claim to support democracy. Yet history repeatedly shows that geopolitical interests often take precedence over democratic principles. Whenever foreign states become visibly associated with domestic opposition movements, they risk doing those movements more harm than good.

The lesson is therefore straightforward.

If Iran is ever to achieve lasting democratic reform, that reform must remain unmistakably Iranian. It must reject violence, reject foreign sponsorship, reject attempts to exploit ethnic divisions, and reject strategies designed to provoke civil conflict. Otherwise, every legitimate demand for accountability risks being overshadowed by questions of national security, foreign interference, and sovereignty.

For any democratic movement, legitimacy is its greatest asset. Once that legitimacy is compromised—whether through actual foreign interference or simply the widespread belief that such interference exists—it becomes far more difficult to unite a nation behind peaceful political change. It also makes support for future protests unlikely – further compromising Iran’s democratic opposition.

History is often remembered through wars, revolutions, and treaties. Yet sometimes the seemingly insignificant moments, a sporting event, an insult, an act of perceived injustice, become the sparks that ignite something far larger. The story of Iran’s national football team may ultimately become one of those moments.

Football is not simply a sport in Iran. It is one of the country’s great national passions. The nation has produced generations of exceptional footballers, fills enormous stadiums with devoted supporters, and follows its national team with an intensity that few countries can match. Football represents one of the rare institutions capable of uniting Iranians across political, ethnic, religious, and economic divisions. Governments come and go. Political movements rise and fall. The national team belongs to everyone.

When Iran became the first nation to qualify for the World Cup, it was a moment of enormous national pride. Qualification symbolized discipline, talent, and international recognition. Few imagined that only months later, the country would find itself engulfed in a devastating military conflict following joint American and Israeli strikes that killed senior Iranian leaders during a period when diplomatic contacts were still underway. For many Iranians, regardless of their political opinions, those attacks represented not merely an assault on a government but an assault on the country itself.

This distinction is often poorly understood outside Iran.

Many Iranians have long criticized their own political leadership. They debate corruption, economic hardship, social restrictions, and political freedoms with remarkable intensity. Yet criticism of one’s own government is fundamentally different from accepting foreign military intervention. Across history, external attacks have frequently strengthened national unity rather than weakened it. Citizens who oppose their governments often rally around the nation itself when foreign powers begin dropping bombs.

Many Iranians, therefore, viewed the bombings as violations of Iranian sovereignty rather than acts of liberation. They feared civilian casualties, damage to infrastructure, and the possibility that military intervention would produce chaos rather than democracy. Whether one agrees with this perspective or not, it is an important part of understanding how public opinion evolved.

Against this backdrop came the World Cup.

Sport is supposed to provide a neutral ground. The Olympic movement and the World Cup are founded upon the principle that athletes compete as representatives of their nations rather than as participants in political disputes. Many Iranians, therefore, expected that whatever disagreements existed between governments would remain outside the stadium.

Instead, many supporters believed the Iranian team was treated differently from other national squads. The team’s accommodation arrangements, travel requirements, and match logistics became the subject of widespread criticism within Iran. Decisions made during matches were likewise viewed by many Iranian supporters as unfair. Whether those perceptions reflected objective reality or the emotional lens through which supporters naturally watch sport, they became part of a much larger narrative already taking shape inside the country.

That narrative did not begin with football.

Many Iranians argue that their civilian nuclear program was originally developed with Western assistance and technology purchased in good faith decades ago. From their perspective, the same countries that once encouraged Iran’s nuclear development later imposed sanctions and restrictions on similar technologies. Whether others agree with that interpretation or not, it forms an important component of how many Iranians understand their relationship with the West.

Consequently, events surrounding the World Cup were interpreted by many not as isolated sporting controversies but as additional evidence of a broader pattern of exclusion, unequal treatment, and humiliation.

Perception, in international politics, often matters as much as objective fact.

Governments do not mobilize populations solely through ideology. They mobilize them through stories. Every perceived insult, every disputed referee decision, every diplomatic slight, and every military strike can become another chapter in a larger national narrative.

Reports over the weekend suggest that military confrontation between the United States and Iran has once again intensified, with renewed American strikes inside Iran followed by Iranian attacks against U.S. military installations in Bahrain and Kuwait. If these reports signal the collapse of the recent ceasefire, the region may once again enter a dangerous cycle of retaliation.

Should the Strait of Hormuz become seriously disrupted, the consequences would extend far beyond the Middle East. A substantial share of global energy supplies passes through this narrow waterway. Significant interruption would affect oil prices, inflation, shipping costs, financial markets, and economic growth across every continent. Major powers with competing strategic interests could find themselves increasingly drawn into the conflict, not necessarily because they seek war, but because their economic and security interests become impossible to ignore.

History rarely begins with a single dramatic event. It is usually the accumulation of grievances—large and small—that changes how societies think about themselves and about one another.

The World Cup will not cause a world war.

But if millions of ordinary people come to believe that even the world’s greatest sporting competition is no longer neutral—that national pride itself is being singled out for unequal treatment—then another layer of resentment is added to an already combustible political environment.

Wars are ultimately fought by governments. They are sustained by public opinion.

And public opinion is often shaped not only by missiles and diplomacy, but by the quieter moments when ordinary citizens conclude that they are no longer being treated with fairness or respect.

Iranians feel robbed. Sometimes history turns not on battlefields, but on football pitches.