The setting is suitably dramatic. Germany’s economy is wheezing along, its once-formidable industrial engine sputtering in a way that suggests not a temporary hiccup but something more structural. Words like “deindustrialization” have entered polite conversation. Factories are nervous, energy costs remain awkward, and the old export model looks increasingly like a fond memory rather than a reliable plan.

Into this scene rides Merz, not with a toolkit of cautious reforms, but with something much grander: a narrative. Germany, he suggests, is not merely in economic trouble, it is in mortal danger. A familiar danger, in fact. One that requires urgency, unity, and, most importantly, a significant expansion of military capability.

And here is where things begin to tilt, ever so slightly, into the realm of comedy.

Because the threat that underpins this entire transformation, invoked repeatedly, insistently, is Russia, looming like a permanent storm cloud on the eastern horizon. Not a complex geopolitical actor to be managed, or as a potential partner to help correct economic ills, but as a near-mythic adversary that justifies everything from reintroducing conscription to pouring vast sums into defense spending. Questioning the scale of this threat is treated less as analysis and more as a character flaw.

It is, in other words, a story. And Merz tells it with the conviction of someone who has heard it many times before.

Before returning to politics, he spent years in finance, including a stint as head of BlackRock in Germany. A useful background, one might think, for navigating economic decline. And yet, there is a small but curious detail that refuses to go away: BlackRock is the largest institutional investor in Rheinmetall, Germany’s leading arms manufacturer. Which, if we were of a cynical mind (which of course we are not) would give the whole “we must urgently expand defense production” argument a faintly… self-referential quality. But perish the thought.

Meanwhile, Merz’s popularity remains at the bottom of the European leaders’ board. No mean feat considering Keir Starmer and Emmanuel Macron are competitors in the race to the bottom in popular approvals. But this, too, fits the script. After all, if the public is not entirely convinced, perhaps it is because they have not yet grasped the seriousness of those awful, dreadful, menacing windmills.

Don Quixote did not set out to be ridiculous. He is, in his own mind, deadly serious, a man who has read too many tales of chivalry and can no longer distinguish them from reality. Giants are everywhere, if only one looks with sufficient conviction. The problem is not dishonesty; it is “framing”.

Merz’s equivalent reading material is less medieval romance and more late-20th-century strategic doctrine. Decades of Cold War thinking, absorbed and internalized, have a way of leaving deep grooves. The world is divided, threats are clear, and the appropriate response is strength, visible, measurable, and preferably expensive.

So when Germany’s real problem presents itself, economic stagnation, industrial decline, structural inertia, Chinese competition, the solution is reframed. Not “how do we rebuild a competitive economy?” but “how do we mobilize for a looming conflict?” Steel mills become potential tank factories. Budget constraints become unpatriotic. Conscription, once abandoned, is suddenly back on the table, like an old prop rediscovered in the attic.

And thus, our knight errant Herr Merz, lance in hand, prepares to charge forward at the windmills.

The humor, if one can call it that, lies in the mismatch. Around him are the very real, very unglamorous problems of a modern economy losing momentum. Ahead of him, at least in his telling, are towering threats demanding heroic action. The two do not quite align, but the charge continues regardless, powered by conviction and a well-rehearsed script.

There is also, inevitably, a historical undertone that makes the whole spectacle less comfortable than it might otherwise be. Germany is not a country that can lightly indulge in narratives of decline, rearmament, and national urgency without raising a few eyebrows, especially when even biographical footnotes, such as Merz’s maternal grandfather’s involvement in the Nazi Party, hover awkwardly in the background. What stories of glory and frustration were heard sitting on grosspater’s knee?

Still, Merz presses on, tilting at his chosen adversaries, reorganizing policy around their presumed scale and immediacy. Defense budgets rise, industrial priorities shift, and the argument circles back to where it began: the danger is real, the response is necessary, and hesitation is not an option.

Which leaves us with a slightly absurd image: the dour lawyer and Chancellor as a latter-day knight-errant, charging not because the giants are unmistakable, but because the story demands that they be.

And, as with all good comedies, the audience is left with a familiar closing line:

We’ve seen this plot before.

What could possibly go wrong?

It has been estimated by multiple sources that literally all of the US growth in the past year has been due to the AI boom, specifically, due to AI data center builds. Without this ,US growth would be flat, potentially even negative. Even without the Iran war and rising energy costs, data center construction in the U.S. is currently facing significant headwinds, resulting in delays and escalating costs. The primary driver is the strained supply chain, impacting the availability of critical components like switchgear, generators, and specialized cooling equipment. Lead times for these items have stretched considerably, pushing project timelines back by months, if not quarters.

There are other factors for the slow down, especially chip and labor shortages, regulatory hurdles, and the increasing costs of infrastructure. This isn’t the place to delve into all of the factors, but the point is this vital sector for the US economy is in an extremely fragile state. One small push and it can come tumbling down.

And it turns out that whether this sector continues to keep the US out of recession or not is entirely in China’s hands. Forget chips as the vital factor, especially as other US allies control most of the chip production. Just as real a bottleneck is in Chinese electrical components. There is currently a backlog of several years for many of these. Sure, potentially in the long run, there can be many sources for these components. But not tomorrow. Or the day after.

With just the flick of a switch, China stop exporting these components and the AI boom dies almost instantly. And with it, any hopes for real growth in the US economy over the coming months or years.

I obviously don’t know how China will react, or what measures it will enact, if the US navy does go through with its blockade tomorrow. What I outline here is just one of many potential levers the Chinese can pull (rare earths, pharma base ingredients, T-Bills, …)

But don’t expect the US blockade to impact China too severely any time soon.

This model has defined negotiations from Cold War arms reduction treaties to more recent nuclear frameworks. It allows talks to proceed even between adversaries, because neither side is required to fully trust the other at the outset. Instead, verification substitutes for trust. The process is forward-looking: promises first, proof later.

But that was before Trump.

Such a model depends on a baseline adherence to norms, both written agreements and unwritten rules of diplomatic conduct. When those norms are violated, the distinction between verifiable and verified becomes more than semantic; it becomes foundational. If one party demonstrates a willingness to break agreements, disregard diplomatic protections, or act unpredictably during negotiations themselves, then promises about future verifiability lose credibility.

This is the altered landscape shaping the talks in Islamabad between the United States and Iran. Unlike prior negotiation frameworks, the process now seems to be at least partly shifting away from future-oriented assurances toward immediate, tangible actions. The underlying reason is straightforward: accumulated breaches of trust have rendered traditional mechanisms insufficient.

Speaking more plainly, only a fool would believe any promises or assurances given by Trump, Vance, Kushner or Witkoff.

Prior experiences have demonstrated to Iran that agreements labeled as “verifiable” may still be abandoned or undermined before verification mechanisms can even function. Actions such as withdrawing from agreements, imposing new sanctions mid-process, escalating militarily during periods of negotiation, or even assassinating the opposing negotiating team, have eroded confidence not only in outcomes, but in the process itself. Under such conditions, accepting promises contingent on future verification becomes strategically untenable. As I wrote previously, where once the US was “only” considered non-agreement capable, they have now upped their game to the next level and are now “non-negotiation capaable”.

Nonetheless talks at some point must happen. Therefore, Iran appears to be adopting a different approach, insisting on verified steps before proceeding further. The establishment of a ceasefire in Lebanon and the reported release of $7 billion in Iranian assets prior to high-level engagement are indicative of this shift. These are not promises of future compliance; they are concrete developments already realized. They represent a recalibration of negotiating posture: proof first, discussion second.

This approach fundamentally alters the structure and tempo of diplomacy. It raises the threshold for engagement, slows the pace of negotiations, and increases the burden on all parties to demonstrate sincerity through action rather than rhetoric. At the same time, it may create a more stable foundation for any eventual agreement. If each stage is built on verified realities rather than anticipated compliance, the risk of collapse due to mistrust is reduced.

The distinction between “verified” and “verifiable” thus reflects more than a technical nuance. It captures a shift in diplomatic philosophy under conditions of total distrust. Where once the international system relied on verification mechanisms to sustain fragile agreements, under the impetus of Trump and his team, it may now be moving toward a model that demands hard evidence before engagement and agreement. Whether this approach will yield more durable outcomes remains uncertain, but it undeniably marks a departure from the conventions that have long governed high-stakes negotiations.

It is also noteworthy that, contrary to Trump’s usual bombastic and bullying style, he has in fact accepted to take the verified steps outlined above. This would seem to clearly indicate which side has more leverage in the talks in Islamabad, or in Trump parlance, who has the cards.

Israel has never officially declared its nuclear arsenal, but it has tacitly admitted its existence through decades of signals, leaks, and strategic ambiguity. This is not a secret; it is a policy choice. That choice was always predicated on one assumption: that the United States would provide the conventional shield allowing Israel to keep the nuclear sword sheathed. That assumption is now breaking. Even with full American support, Israel cannot defeat Iran. The Islamic Republic’s depth, dispersal, and asymmetric capabilities render a decisive conventional victory impossible. And without American support, Israel does not merely struggle, it faces a significant defeat. This is the new reality

.We will use the word “negotiations” for the recent circus/charade/delusion in Islamabad for lack of a better name. These negotiations have further exposed Trump’s desperation. It is not that he flipflopped after a few hours, that is to be expected (and presumably the Iranians did expect it) but rather the almost bipolar, mad, shrieking tone in which he did so. Perhaps he is aware that this war will be his legacy. And that legacy will not be pretty. At this point he is left with three options:

1) Boots on the ground - the recent Isfahan debacle would suggest he is not too keen on that just yet

2) Follow through on the “bomb Iran to the stone age” threat

3) Start distancing himself from Bibi and the war

Were the “mixed signals” around the recently announced (and quickly broken) ceasefire an attempt by Trump to distance himself from Bibi and the war? This would of course have multiple ramifications, but perhaps the most important is how Israel would react in terms of strategy. Without full US backing, clearly Israel would consider it’s position in the war to be far closer to existential.

After seven weeks of sustained Iranian missile and drone attacks, Israeli air defense interceptors are running low. Replenishment requires US logistics, political will, and industrial capacity, all of which could be questioned. Iran’s underground facilities, mobile launchers, and proxy networks have proven resilient. Israel cannot bomb its way to victory. Therefore, if conventional options exhaust themselves, the logic of the Samson Option might become seductive: if the state cannot win by fighting, it can ensure its enemies do not survive.

This calculus is not tempered by ethical hesitation. The idea that Israeli leaders agonize over the morality of nuclear use misunderstands their worldview. In Gaza, Israel has demonstrated a willingness to inflict catastrophic destruction on civilian infrastructure. Iran is framed not as a rival state but as Amalek, the biblical enemy commanded to be erased from memory. When Israeli leaders invoke Amalek, they are not speaking in metaphor. They are invoking a mandate for total war. The restraint on Israeli nuclear use has never been conscience; it has been consequence, specifically, the fear of losing American political, military, and diplomatic cover. If that cover has been withdrawn or reduced, the reason for restraint is gone.

Christian Zionist allies in Washington amplify this dynamic. For them, the current conflict is not a tragedy to be ended but a prophecy to be fulfilled. Apocalyptic narratives frame escalation as divine necessity, not strategic error. This external validation can subtly shift the moral weight of escalation, making the unthinkable feel ordained. When American officials influenced by this theology occupy key positions, including in the Pentagon, the threshold for accepting Israeli escalation lowers. So even if, in general, the US were to take a step back, very important elements of the US system would still be fully onboard with maximalist Israeli demands and actions.

The danger is not that Israel will “go rogue” in a fit of irrationality. The danger is that its leadership will make a cold, calculated decision: if the United States is pulling away, if conventional defeat is imminent, and if Iran is Amalek, then using nuclear weapons is not madness, it is strategy. The Samson Option was designed to ensure that Israel would never face extinction alone. But its very existence creates a perverse incentive: the more Israel appears cornered, the more likely it may lash out with everything it has.

There is another strategic variation on this as well. Israel will have ensured that America knows that Israel might go nuclear if cornered. In theory this would be a factor that binds America to Israel, to make sure Israel doesn’t go too rogue. But, as we have seen, there are elements in America who may desire a nuclear attack on Iran, but perhaps don’t want to have their hands too dirty - much better to have Israel take the blame.

This is not a scenario of rational actors weighing options in a vacuum. This is a scenario where ideology, theology, military desperation, and political abandonment converge. If Israel uses nuclear weapons, it will not be because it has lost its mind. It will be because it concluded, “rationally” (I emphasize the quotation marks), that survival required the destruction of its enemy, and that the world would ultimately accept it as a “fait accompli”. The taboo against nuclear use has held for eighty years not because leaders are virtuous, but because the consequences were too horrible to contemplate.

In the Middle East, it may be that some are getting ready to contemplate the unthinkable as we speak.

Christian Zionists are predominantly evangelical Protestants who believe the modern state of Israel is the fulfillment of God’s covenant with Abraham. Their numbers are staggering. Estimates suggest there are between 50 to 80 million evangelicals in the United States, with a core of 20 to 50 million identifying as Christian Zionists. This bloc vastly outnumbers the Jewish population in America and possesses significant political mobilization capacity. Organizations like Christians United for Israel (CUFI), led by Pastor John Hagee, claim millions of members and wield lobbying power comparable to AIPAC.

Their beliefs are rooted in dispensationalism, a framework that divides history into distinct eras culminating in the End Times. Central to this theology is the Rapture, the belief that faithful Christians will be elevated to heaven before a seven-year Tribulation. For the Rapture to occur, specific conditions must be met: the Jewish people must be gathered in Israel, and the Temple must be rebuilt in Jerusalem. Consequently, supporting Israel is not just a policy preference; it is a spiritual imperative. Genesis 12:3 (”I will bless those who bless you”) is interpreted as a divine contract: US prosperity depends on unconditional support for the Jewish state.

This theology is no longer confined to pulpits; it occupies the White House and the Pentagon. Fifteen months into Donald Trump’s second term, his administration is staffed by figures who align closely with this worldview. Mike Huckabee, serving as Ambassador to Israel, has long denied Palestinian nationhood on biblical grounds. Mike Pompeo, in a key advisory role, has openly discussed prophecy regarding Israel’s borders. Crucially, Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth stands as a primary conduit for these beliefs within the military chain of command. Hegseth has publicly framed support for Israel as an existential defense of Western civilization and has expressed belief in the prophetic significance of Jerusalem. With Hegseth controlling the levers of war, theological considerations would seem to be increasingly influencing target selection and rules of engagement.

Initially, the US war plan was predicated on a short, successful campaign to decapitate the regime leading to a popular uprising. That obviously didn’t (and was never going to) happen. Instead, the conflict has become a strategic humiliation. American power projection has faltered: all US bases in the Persian Gulf are now evacuated under fire, and the Strait of Hormuz is closed, choking global energy flows. These setbacks have placed Trump in a situation where he must decide whether to go forward, to escalate, or whether to lick his wounds and withdraw. The Christain Zionists play an important role in this decision process.

These military failures have not dampened Christian Zionist enthusiasm; rather, it has intensified it. In the secular view, these are disasters. In the dispensationalist view, they are validations. The closing of Hormuz and the withdrawal of US forces are seen not as defeats, but as the narrowing of the path toward the prophesied climax.

This brings us to the theological interpretation of the war itself. For Christian Zionists, the conflict raging for the past 40 days is a checklist. They point to Ezekiel 38, which describes a coalition led by “Gog” attacking Israel, with “Persia” (modern-day Iran) listed explicitly as a key ally of the aggressor. In this interpretation, Iran’s missile strikes and the subsequent chaos are not signs of diplomatic failure but of prophetic fulfillment. The war is seen as the prelude to the Battle of Gog and Magog, where God will supernaturally destroy Israel’s enemies, vindicating His people and clearing the path for the Second Coming. The evacuation of US bases is interpreted as the removal of human protection, forcing reliance on divine intervention.

This worldview is exceptionally dangerous for three reasons. First, it removes the incentive for de-escalation. If war is divinely ordained to bring about salvation, then peace treaties are not victories; they are obstacles to God’s plan. Diplomacy becomes synonymous with disobedience.

Second, it changes the calculus of nuclear weapons. In a secular framework, nuclear escalation is a catastrophe to be avoided at all costs. In a dispensationalist framework, catastrophic war is a prerequisite for redemption. If the destruction of Persia is promised in scripture, then using overwhelming force, including tactical nuclear weapons, may be viewed as assisting divine judgment rather than committing a war crime. With Hegseth at Defense, the threshold for employing such weapons lowers when framed as fulfilling prophecy.

Third, it creates a feedback loop of inevitability. When political leaders believe they are actors in a divine drama, rational deterrence fails. You cannot deter someone who believes their destruction is actually their glorification. As the Gulf conflict intensifies and US conventional power recedes, the risk is not just miscalculation, but intentional escalation driven by the belief that the Apocalypse is not something to fear, but something to hasten.

The Christian Zionists are clearly not the only ones who can influence Trump. And arguably they may have lost some credibility given how the war has not been the walk in the park that many expected. But there is no question they have Trump’s ear.

Will he be seduced by “the trumpet call of God”?

Following the birth of Islam in the 7th century, Arab armies expanded rapidly, absorbing vast territories across the Middle East and North Africa. The Rashidun, Umayyad, and Abbasid caliphates brought much of the region under Arab political and linguistic influence. Yet even as Persia became a core province of these early Islamic empires, it retained something remarkable: its language, its literary tradition, and its distinct cultural identity. While Arabic became the language of religion and administration, Persian survived, re-emerged, and eventually flourished again as a language of high culture, poetry, and statecraft. This resilience, maintaining a coherent national identity even under centuries of Arab imperial rule, stands in contrast to many other conquered regions that were more thoroughly Arabized. Iran’s ability to absorb Islam while preserving its pre-Islamic heritage remains a cornerstone of its modern identity.

That self-conception is deeply shaped by religion, specifically by the Shiite branch of Islam, which differs from Sunni Islam in foundational ways. The original schism emerged 1,400 years ago over the question of succession after the Prophet Muhammad: Sunnis held that leadership should follow consensus and merit, while Shiites believed it should remain within the Prophet’s family, specifically through his cousin and son-in-law, Ali. Over centuries, Shiite theology developed distinctive features, including an emphasis on justice, resistance to illegitimate authority, and the spiritual significance of martyrdom. The martyrdom of Imam Hussein at Karbala in 680 CE is not just a historical event for Shiites; it is a living narrative of sacrifice against oppression, commemorated annually in Ashura. This ethos of redemptive suffering and defiance informs Iran’s strategic culture today, lending ideological weight to its willingness to endure sanctions, isolation, and military pressure.

That willingness was forged in fire during the Iran-Iraq War (1980–1988). Saddam Hussein’s invasion, supported by Arab states and Western powers, aimed to exploit Iran’s post-revolutionary turmoil. Instead, Iran mobilized a society steeped in the rhetoric of martyrdom and resistance. The war cost over a million lives, featured chemical weapons attacks against Iranian troops and civilians, and ended in a stalemate that felt like a betrayal to many Iranians. The memory of that war, of international abandonment, of Arab states backing Iraq, of Western silence on chemical attacks, still rankles deeply in Iran’s strategic psyche. It is a primary reason Tehran distrusts diplomatic guarantees and prioritizes self-reliance in defense. Donald Trump’s repeated betrayals only reenforce this deep distrust.

Iran’s self-reliance extends to its military doctrine, clear for all to see in the current conflict between Iran and the USA and Israel. Despite the huge gap in firepower the Arabic Gulf states and Israel are still being hit by Iranian missiles and drones, as attacks on Saudi oil facilities, UAE infrastructure, and shipping lanes have demonstrated. Iran’s asymmetric strategies. This includes not only a vast arsenal of precision-guided missiles and combat drones but also the construction of seemingly impregnable underground facilities. These “missile cities” and drone bases, carved into mountains and fortified against aerial bombardment, allow Iran to preserve its strike capabilities even under intense attack. They represent a strategic depth that conventional Arab militaries, reliant on exposed airfields and ports, struggle to counter.

This military asymmetry is compounded by demographic and political realities within Arab states themselves. Shiite minorities form significant portions of the population in several key countries: Bahrain, where Shiites are a majority but ruled by a Sunni monarchy; Iraq, where Shiites form the demographic core; Lebanon, where Hezbollah wields substantial power; and eastern Saudi Arabia, where the Shiite population resides atop the country’s richest oil fields. The presence of these communities creates both vulnerability and leverage. For Iran, they represent natural allies and potential pressure points; for Arab governments, they represent a fifth-column risk that complicates internal security and regional strategy. When Iranian-backed groups threaten oil infrastructure in the Eastern Province, the economic stakes become existential for Riyadh, and Shiite militias in Iraq have already pushed the Americans out of much of the country.

Adding to these tensions is the discrete alignment between some Arab leaders and Israel. For Gulf monarchies facing a common Iranian threat, cooperation with Israel on intelligence, technology, and security might seem like it makes strategic sense. Yet this alliance (can we call it that?) undermines their credibility with the broader Arab street, where public opinion remains strongly sympathetic to the Palestinian cause and skeptical of normalization with Israel. This gap between elite realpolitik and popular sentiment creates a legitimacy deficit that Iran can exploit through media and proxy networks, portraying itself as the true defender of Muslim dignity against both Western imperialism and Arab collaboration.

Finally, there is the question of external patronage. For generations, Arab Gulf states have relied on the United States for security guarantees, hosting American bases and purchasing advanced weaponry. But the inability of American forces to subdue Iran, after the relatively poor showing of US-backed forces in Yemen and the chaotic withdrawal from Afghanistan could have already raised doubts about the reliability of this partnership. The current state of the war, in which Iran, while suffering devastating strikes, is still more than holding its own, only reenforces this feeling. And domestically in America, these factors are also leading to a wider feeling about whether the US commitment to the Middle East is militarily sustainable or worth the cost. Should the United States reduce its footprint or shift its strategic focus, Gulf Arab states could find themselves exposed, probably not to a conventional invasion, but to Iranian tutelage in the region. He who controls the Strait of Hormuz effectively controls the Gulf. And Iran very firmly controls the Strait.

This combination of Iranian historical resilience, ideological cohesion, military innovation, demographic leverage, and geographic coherence forms the backdrop to the current conflict in the Gulf. While Arab states possess greater financial resources and potentially more advanced conventional hardware, Iran has cultivated a strategy of endurance and indirect power projection. The balance of power has shifted with Iran effectively controling the flow (and price!) of oil. In the Gulf, this control of oil, translates to Iran effectively controlling the Gulf, its security, its economy, and ultimately, its choices.

Above all, stands the absolute conviction of most Americans, but especially the ruling class, that America is divinely graced, on this earth to lead humanity towards prosperity and light. Chosen by God! Even amongst the (admittedly few) American atheists, the idea of a divine, messianic mission is still present, albeit coached in terms of morality, common sense and the inevitability of the triumph of American capitalism and culture. American liberalism as “The End of History”, and American foreign policy as working for the good of mankind, missionary work.

The first tenet of America the Messiah nation is the sanctity of capitalism, the prevailing belief that the free market is the greatest economic engine ever devised, and that regulatory constraints, even if occassionally necessary, are inherently suspect. This narrative conveniently ignores the historical record. The United States, the United Kingdom, and the Asian Tigers, all rose to prominence through heavy protectionism and state intervention. Yet, the American mythos insists that laissez-faire purity is the only path to prosperity, treating historical statecraft as an aberration rather than the rule. This belief dictates domestic policy, framing any social safety net as an impediment to freedom rather than a foundation of stability. But it also reigns supreme in the international organizations dominated by the US including the IMF and World Bank.

The second tenet concerns governance. Western-style democracy is viewed not merely as one option among many, but as the only valid model for civilized society. All other systems are dismissed as primitive, rule by “despots”. This binary thinking erases nuance. It assumes that any deviation from the western blueprint is a moral failing rather than a result of cultural or historical differences. It justifies interventionism because it frames foreign policy as a mission to save people from themselves, rather than a pursuit of strategic interests. This mindset prevents Americans from understanding why their exported democracy often fails to take root in soil prepared differently.

The third tenet links economic dominance to moral superiority. When America leads the global economy, it is proof positive of the system’s virtue. However, the goalposts shift when a rival rises. When China achieves economic success that is seen to be eclipsing America, it is not proof of their system’s efficacy, but evidence of cheating, theft, or unfair practices. Success is virtue when achieved by the West; it is suspicion when achieved by anyone else. This cognitive dissonance allows Americans to maintain a sense of superiority regardless of actual economic metrics.

What makes this framework so resilient is its invisibility. American liberals, even those who vehemently despise Trump or criticize foreign wars, often operate within these same parameters. They may argue for social safety nets or diplomatic restraint, but they rarely question the underlying assumption that American capitalism is fundamentally superior, that American democracy is the ultimate endpoint of history, or that American economic power is inherently benevolent. They critique the players, but never the game. They view themselves as globalists, yet their globalism often assumes the rest of the world should simply evolve to match American standards. This cultural osmosis ensures that the empire’s logic survives even when its leaders change.

This subconscious adherence limits genuine progress. As long as these tenets remain sacred, policy debates are merely adjustments around the edges of an empire that believes that ultimately it is on a divine mission, even if occassionaly there have been “mistakes”. Each new adventure, such as now in Iran, is treated as proof of America’s strength and virtue even amongst many of those who would admit that Iraq, Afghanistan or Vietnam were tragic blunders.

Until the mass of Americans recognize that their exceptionalism is a constructed narrative rather than an objective truth, their understanding of the world will remain distorted by faith rather than shaped by reality. Given the absolute dominance of media and culture by those with the strongest vested interest in maintaining the fiction of American exceptionalism, the cycle of misunderstanding and overreach will continue until reality applies a cold hard shock. What this shock will be remains to be seen.

A military defeat? There have already been many.

An econmomic collapse? Something approaching collapse has been ongoing for the lower and middle classes for at least a generation.

Cultural decline as described in what we might call the “documentary” Idiocracy? Could be.

But looming defeat in Iran and a seemingly unavoidable once in a generation recession, both emceed by Donald Trump as superstar in his own reality TV show suggest we may be seeing all three scenarios coming together at the same time.

For London, the stakes are particularly high. The city has long served as the center for global maritime insurance, for most the words Lloyds of London mean maritime insurance in general. But when the conflict escalated, major Western underwriters withdrew war-risk coverage for ships entering the Persian Gulf and that decision has left a vacuum, one that Hong Kong-based insurers are now filling. By offering coverage to Chinese-flagged vessels at significantly lower rates, they are not just capturing new business; they are challenging London’s centuries-old dominance in a core financial service. Every policy written in Hong Kong instead of London represents a quiet but steady erosion of Western influence.

This shift also exposes the fragility of one of the West’s key geopolitical tools in the conflict with Russia: the concept of the “shadow fleet.” Western sanctions against Russia have heavily relied on targeting vessels deemed part of this fleet, but in practice, that label just means “not insured by a Western company.” The reality is more nuanced. Russian-backed insurance is entirely legitimate within its own legal and financial framework. These policies pay out claims, cover liabilities, and meet the operational needs of vessel owners. They are simply not recognized by Western governments. As more maritime insurance capacity migrates east, the distinction between “legitimate” and “shadow” coverage becomes less about substance and more about geography. A tanker insured in Hong Kong or Moscow isn’t operating in a legal void; it’s operating outside the Western system. That doesn’t make it illegitimate, it just makes it inconvenient for those who once held a monopoly on defining the rules.

Western shipping companies are starting to feel the pinch as well. Without affordable Western-backed insurance, their vessels will face prohibitive costs or be forced to sit idle. Meanwhile, there will be a deep asymmetry: goods and energy resources can move eastward from the Gulf with relative ease, especially aboard Chinese or Hong Kong-registered ships that benefit from both diplomatic clearance and locally underwritten protection. Westbound shipments, however, face higher hurdles, costly premiums, restricted access, and growing uncertainty. This imbalance isn’t just a temporary glitch; it will reshape routing decisions and supply chain strategies in real time.

Two critical industries, maritime insurance and commercial shipping, are now visibly pivoting eastward. This follows ship building itself with China, Japan and Korea building almost all of the world’s commercial ships. Hong Kong’s ability to underwrite war-risk coverage for the Chinese fleet, coupled with regional diplomatic arrangements, creates a self-reinforcing loop: more ships fly flags aligned with Eastern powers, more insurance is written in Asian financial hubs, and more logistical expertise concentrates in the region. This isn’t merely about cost savings; it’s about building a parallel infrastructure that operates outside traditional Western frameworks.

As this dynamic deepens, Western companies may find themselves with little choice but to partner more closely with Chinese shipping lines, even for routes where China is not a port of call. When reliability, affordability, and access are on the line, commercial pragmatism often overrides geopolitical preference. If a Chinese carrier can move goods, especially through a contested zone, with lower insurance costs and fewer delays, global firms, including those based in Europe or North America, will take notice.

This trend unfolds against a backdrop of existing Chinese dominance in global shipping. Combined with Hong Kong, China controls the world’s most valuable commercial fleet by asset value. The current crisis isn’t creating Chinese maritime power, it is just making it much more visible, and accelerating its integration further into the core of global trade.

The broader implication is clear: the Gulf conflict is acting as a catalyst. Each disruption to Western-controlled systems creates space for alternatives to take root. What we are witnessing is not just a rerouting of cargo, but a reorientation of economic architecture. London’s financial clout, Western shipping hegemony, and the insurance-based tools of statecraft are all being tested, not by ideology, but by the practical demands of moving goods in an unstable world. As Eastern hubs demonstrate resilience, the momentum behind this eastward shift gains force. The war in the Gulf may end up being contained geographically, but its economic consequences accentuate the move towards the east as the center of gravity in world trade.

January 30^th, 1968, Tet, the Vietnamese lunar new year. On that day and the next North Vietnamese and Viet Cong forces launched coordinated attacks on over 100 cities, and hundreds more rural sites, across South Vietnam. It was not merely a surprise attack, but a fundamental inflection point. The Viet Cong struck everywhere at once, proving they were not a ragtag insurgency, peasants in sandals, but a coordinated, disciplined force with sophisticated low-tech commincation and coordination networks. They eventually lost the battles, yes, but they shattered the myth of American invincibility. The psychological blow was irreversible. Public trust collapsed. The war wasn’t lost on the battlefield that week; it was lost first on the 6 o’oclock news, and then in the American mind.

That is the lesson we miss when we reduce Tet to just a “surprise.” It was the moment the trajectory of American power bent. Not because the U.S. stopped winning battles, but because the world, and Americans themselves, realized victory was not just a question of firepower, and was not inevitable.

Today, we seem to be approaching a similar inflection point in the Gulf. Not a repeat of 1968, but a parallel unraveling. American power projection, naval dominance, air superiority, deterrence credibility, is being tested in real time. The contemplated land operations, Kharg Island, Hormuz, wherever, carry the same hubris that marked early Vietnam: assumptions in the Trump administration of quick success, underestimation of adversary resolve, and overreliance on technology against an enemy that thrives in ambiguity and asymetric warfare.

The difference now is the psychological context. In 1968, many Americans doubted the war’s morality, but no one doubted their nation’s raw power. Today, social media and fragmented news mean more people see the cracks: stalled initiatives, diplomatic friction, asymmetric losses. Yet for many leaders, and for the archetype of the “average American” still shaped by post-Cold War triumphalism, the idea of a swift, visible military debacle remains unthinkable. Despite Vietnam. Despite Iraq and Afghanistan. Despite the American helicoptors in Iran in 1979 or “Black Hawk Down”.

The new Tet moment has not yet arrived. In the American mind, all of the above failures were somehow due to individual failures, lack of resolve or coordination, the hippies, Carter or Biden’s weakness, …

It hasn’t arrived yet, but all indications are that the next Tet is approaching very fast. A military disaster is already unfolding but it is gradual, there are no headlines (yet?) saying “TODAY WE LOST”. A large military operation in the Gulf involving thousands of troops could well be that moment. Geography, logistics, fighting spirit, and for once possibly even technology, all favor the Iranians. Drones, missiles, mines. Lack of air defense. Shore versus ship. Improvisation and lack of detailed planning. An American command structure without real experience in modern warfare. It all adds up. Hegseth’s 10,000 targets as the modern version of MacNamara’s body counts.

The coming days or weeks could deliver this new Tet moment. A failed operation. A strategic miscalculation that exposes limits. An outcome that cannot be spun. In a hyper-connected age, the perception shift would be instantaneous. The already threadbare myth of omnipotence would fracture not over months of coverage, but in hours of viral footage.

If January 30, 1968 marked the peak before the long decline of American unquestioned authority, then the Gulf today may be where that curve bends again. Not because America is now weak, but it is unquestionably weaker. And the world has changed, adversaries have learned and adapted. The question isn’t whether the U.S. can win a battle, the coming operations might even initially be successful, it’s whether the American psyche can absorb a strategic setback without overreacting.

We may be days or weeks from that pivot. Not a surprise, but a culmination. Tet didn’t create the American crisis in Vietnam; it revealed it. The Gulf’s Tet will fully reveal the limits of the old America-centric world order. And when that moment comes, it remains to be seen whether America can face the new reality without losing its bearings.

For decades, there was no table. There was only a throne. The United States sat alone at the head of the global order. Everyone else stood below - either as vassals secured by American protection or as enemies targeted by American power. There were no peers, only subjects and adversaries. But that hierarchy is crumbling. Look at the Philippines. For decades, a treaty ally, a strategic outpost in the American empire. Now, in light of developments in the Persian Gulf, Manila is in direct talks with Beijing to co-develop gas fields in the South China Sea. This isn’t hedging. It’s a recognition that the throne is, if not vacant, certainly vacillating. When a vassal starts negotiating with the hegemon’s rival over disputed territory, it’s not because the protection is “insufficient.” It’s because the hegemon can no longer fully enforce the hierarchy.

The lesson is being written in fire as we speak in the Gulf. The Gulf monarchies, all hosts to American forces, are being pummeled, not despite the bases, but because of them. US air defenses could not stop it all. The message was brutal: alignment with Washington doesn’t always buy safety. It can buy a target. The security umbrella has holes. The guarantee is no longer valid. For now, the Gulf states are sticking with USA, but for how long?

So, who sits at the new table? The United States, China, and Russia are already seated. They have the nuclear arsenals, the economic mass, the global reach. They are poles by default, by history, by capability. But multipolarity demands more than three. It demands regional centers of gravity that can shape their neighborhoods without asking permission.

Enter Iran. Iran isn’t asking for a seat. It is taking one. Through active war, it is proving the criteria. A pole isn’t defined by GDP or population alone. It is also defined by will, resilience, and reach. Can you absorb a blow and strike back? Can you project power beyond your borders without a patron? Can you impose costs on a superpower that make escalation politically unsustainable? Iran, under direct attack, has done all three. It has kept its missile forces operational, activated proxy networks across the region, and triggered the largest global energy shock since the 1970s by closing the Strait of Hormuz. That is leverage. That is pole behavior. Iran looks likely to emerge from the chaos in the Gulf as the regional superpower. A compariuson can be made to Prussia in the 19^th century - smaller population and economy, but its punching power meant it was a full player in the concert of European nations of the time.

And speaking of them, what of Europe? The UK, France, Germany, Italy - the EU as a whole? Europe is an economic titan, a regulatory superpower, a cultural beacon. But is it a pole? France has nuclear weapons and expeditionary ambitions, but it is overextended and domestically constrained. Germany has industrial might but remains a military lightweight, dependent on American security. The UK talks of “Global Britain” but lacks the resources to back the rhetoric. The EU can set standards for smartphones, but it cannot agree on a unified response to a war on its doorstep. Europe has wealth, but not unity; capability, but not will. It remains within the American orbit, even as that orbit weakens. Can we say it is a stakeholder, but not entirely a sovereign actor? If the need is a new USB connector, Europe is the first to get the call. But resolve a geopolitcal issue? Until and unless the current crop of leaders are replaced, Europe might get invited to the dinner, but they will only be allowed into the building through the servant’s entrance.

Now consider who else doesn’t get a seat, despite their wealth or alliances. Japan is an economic giant, a technological powerhouse, a key US ally. But it remains a protectorate, not a pole. Its military is constitutionally constrained; its foreign policy echoes Washington’s. It has influence, but not autonomy. The Arab states, Saudi Arabia, the UAE, Egypt, have petrodollars and ambition. They broker deals, invest globally, and posture as regional leaders. But when the missiles flew, their US-backed defenses faltered. Wealth without will, or weapons without independence, does not earn a seat. They are customers, not architects.

Then there is Turkey. Ankara desperately wants in. It plays all sides: NATO member, buyer of Russian systems, mediator in Ukraine, power broker in the Caucasus. But no one fully trusts it. Its ambitions outpace its reliability. In a world where poles must be predictable to their allies and formidable to their adversaries, Turkey’s volatility keeps it on the periphery. It is a swing state, not a center of gravity.

And Africa? For politeness, for the optics of inclusion, South Africa or Nigeria might be invited to the multipolar dinner. They have populations, resources, and regional voices. But at a global scale, they remain observers. Neither can project power beyond its subregion, nor shield its neighborhood from external intervention. They are important, but not yet indispensable. Their time may come. But the table being set today is not waiting.

Which brings us to the other contenders. Brazil and Indonesia have massive populations, growing economies, and regional influence. They speak loudly at BRICS and the G20. But influence is not the same as imposition. A pole can set the rules in its neighborhood; a regional power often negotiates them. Can Brazil prevent external powers from intervening in South America if they choose? Can Indonesia deter great-power coercion in Southeast Asia? Currently, they remain arenas where the big three compete, not independent centers of gravity that can dictate terms. They are waiting for an invitation. But at this table, invitations aren’t sent. Seats are taken.

Then there is India. The wildcard. It has the raw materials: a booming economy, a large military, strategic location. It practices autonomy, buying Russian oil while partnering with the US on technology. But true pole status requires more than balance. It requires the capacity to enforce regional stability without outside help. India is moving in that direction, but it remains cautious, hesitant to fully shoulder the burdens of leadership. It is watching, calculating. But in a world where power is proven in real time, hesitation can cost you a seat. For now India is at the table, but as the junior member, whose major leverage is as swing state, not center of power.

So, what actually makes a pole? Iran’s example clarifies the test. It is less about raw totals and more about three things: resilience (can you take a hit and keep fighting?), reach (can you project influence beyond your borders?), and will (are you willing to pay the price for autonomy?). Economy, population, and military strength are the entry fee. But the seat is earned by how you use them under pressure.

By that measure, Iran has earned its place. Japan and the Arab states have the wealth but not the will. Turkey has the ambition but not the trust. Africa has the potential but not the projection. Brazil and Indonesia are still preparing their applications. India is in, but not really a fully consolidated member. Europe assumes it will have a place of honor at the table, but that requires that the others respect it, even if grudgingly. Does Europe currently have that respect?

The old rules no longer apply. In this new order, autonomy is the ultimate currency - and it is earned, not given. The question isn’t who wants a seat. It’s who is willing to do what it takes to claim one. The table is being set. The chairs are limited. And the world is watching to see who stands, and who finally sits.

Gallipoli was born of overconfidence. The Allied powers, boasting superior naval technology and industrial might, assumed the Ottoman Empire would crumble under a naval bombardment followed by an amphibious landing. They were wrong. The geography of the Dardanelles turned the Allied advantage into a liability. The narrow strait allowed a numerically inferior force to concentrate fire, mine the waters, and utilize the high ground to devastating effect. The result was a bloody stalemate, massive casualties, and a humiliating withdrawal.

The parallels to the Strait of Hormuz are hard to miss.. Like the Dardanelles, Hormuz is a maritime chokepoint, narrow, shallow, and flanked by land that can be fortified. But where the Ottomans relied on artillery and mines, Iran has, over the last 30 years at least, built a layered, modern asymmetric arsenal designed specifically to exploit this geography. Iran’s advantage isn’t in aircraft carriers or stealth fighters; it’s in the sheer density and dispersion of its missile and drone forces.

Iran possesses the largest missile inventory in the Middle East, including thousands of short- and medium-range ballistic missiles cruise missiles, and precision-guided munitions capable of striking ships at sea. Many of these systems are mobile, hidden in tunnels, or dispersed among civilian infrastructure, making them exceptionally difficult to neutralize in a first strike. Complementing the missiles is Iran’s drone fleet: the Shahed-136 and other loitering munitions that are cheap, hard to detect, and effective in swarms. In a confined space like Hormuz, a swarm of slow, low-flying drones can saturate a warship’s defenses, forcing it to expend precious interceptors or risk being overwhelmed. The Houthis defeated the US Navy in the Red Sea and Bab al-Mandeb with far less.

This is the modern iteration of the Gallipoli lesson: a force perceived to be less advanced, fighting on home terrain, can use asymmetric tools to negate a superior adversary’s edge in firepower. The Ottomans used the high ground and narrow waters to blunt Allied naval power. Iran will use coastal missile batteries, underwater mines, and drone swarms to turn the strait into a contested kill zone. The U.S. Navy is unquestionably more powerful, but power means little if it cannot be brought to bear without unacceptable cost.

Differences, of course, exist. Modern precision weaponry allows for strikes that were impossible in the era of biplanes and battleships. Yet defense has also evolved. In WWI, mines were contact-based; today, they are sophisticated, influence-activated, and difficult to clear. Furthermore, the stakes are different. Gallipoli was a theater of war; Hormuz is the throat of the global economy. A blockade or prolonged engagement there triggers immediate worldwide recession, adding a layer of pressure the Allies never faced in the Aegean.

History offers other grim comparisons. Operation Market Garden in WWII and the battle for Gostomel Airport in Ukraine both illustrate the perils of assuming an enemy will collapse under the shock of a rapid airborne assault. In both cases, planners underestimated the defender’s ability to regroup and strike back. And both failed because the armor couldn’t reach the paratroopers, underscoring the danger of betting on shock over substance. Even if the American paratroopers were to create a beachhead in Hormuz, the operation would fail without naval support and successful landing of the marines, just as in Market Garden, where Arnhem was “A Bridge Too Far”.

Then there is Iwo Jima. While an American victory, it serves as a cautionary tale regarding fortified defenses. The Japanese forces, dug into volcanic rock, inflicted massive casualties on the Marines despite overwhelming U.S. air and naval superiority. The underground tunnels of Iwo Jima find their modern equivalent in Iran’s buried missile silos, drone launch sites, and command centers. You cannot bomb what you cannot find, and it is difficult to occupy terrain that is designed to deny you footing.

The lesson for any modern planner looking at Hormuz is not to doubt American firepower, but to respect the defender’s will, the terrain’s tyranny, and the multiplying effect of asymmetric technology. Gallipoli taught us that a narrow strait favors the shore over the ship. Iran has spent decades learning that lesson and building a force to exploit it. Market Garden and Gostomel taught us that speed and surprise do not guarantee success. Iwo Jima taught us that fortifications, and the determination behind them, multiply defensive power exponentially.

The Dardanelles remains a graveyard of ships and reputations. To ignore the lessons of that campaign while eyeing the Strait of Hormuz, especially while underestimating the disruptive potential of drones, missiles, and mines, is to invite a catastrophe not of capability, but of imagination. The map has not changed, even if the weapons have. And in a naval chokepoint, always bet on the shore over the ship.

Today, we are witnessing a role reversal in real time. Iran, long subjected to Western pressure and sanctions, is employing a parallel strategy regarding the Strait of Hormuz. Much of the west is not entirely enamoured of Trump’s Iran strategy but is afraid to openly challenge America. The closing of the Strait is economically catastrophic for most US allies and they are caught between a rock and a hard place - a vindictive Trump demanding support to open the Strait, and economic hardship.

In steps Iran with its own “divide and conquer” strategy, now reportedly negotiating with individual Asian and European countries a sort of Hormuz toll to allow tankers from these allied countries to pass through. And of course, they would each be required to not support the the US Navy if it attempts to open Hormuz. These discussions would be regarding tolls, security guarantees, and bilateral arrangements that would circumvent a collective response.

This approach carries significant strategic implications. If key U.S. allies secure individual agreements ensuring their energy shipments, the incentive to support a unified, potentially confrontational effort to keep Hormuz open is dead in the water.. Why risk escalation when a separate deal preserves economic interests? This dynamic could gradually erode the cohesion of Western alliances. Imagine Japan, Korea or Germany putting their national interests ahead of America’s! Unthinkable just a few weeks ago.

Iran’s maneuvering reflects a calculated understanding of coalition politics. By offering tailored terms, Tehran exploits the very real economic dependencies that different nations have on Persian Gulf oil flows. A country like Japan, facing immediate energy shortfalls, may prioritize short-term access over long-term strategic solidarity.

The irony is substantive, not merely rhetorical: a regional power taking advantage of a strategy historically used to extend Western influence, now being adapted to counter that same influence. Traditional western asymmetric power dynamics being used against the west.

If Iran successfully institutionalizes a system of bilateral tolls or passage agreements, it could reshape regional power structures and perhaps challenge the precedent of freedom of navigation under international law. However, this development also exposes the conditional nature of the “rules-based order” itself. When international norms align with western strategic interests, they are vigorously defended; when they become inconvenient, exceptions are quietly made. The interesting aspect here, is that for once, the exception is used against the USA.

In the end, this is power politics, plain and simple. Iran is using the tools available to it, geography, energy dependence, and diplomatic patience, to turn a strategic vulnerability into leverage. The West built much of its influence by splitting opponents; now it faces the same tactic applied in reverse. One would expect that states would always seek national advantage where they find it, but that has often not been the case for “junior” members of the western alliance in the last 30 or 40 years.

This is just another step towards a multipolar world where the west is seeing its own playbook used against it, where alliances and coalitions may be less static, and where national interest may be considered more important than following the diktats of a hegemon or a bloc leader.

Turn around is fair play and America and the west will need to get used to the idea that other countries, here Iran, can both play hardball and use divide and conquer strategies.

I am not sure Donald Trump will quite understand the significance of this moment.

Plan A, is still of course JD Vance and Marco Rubio. The perfect political remix. Vance, Peter Thiel’s man, the antichrist’s apprentice we might say. This is a man who once called Trump a “cultural heroin” addict, and is now peddling the Trump brand with a straight face and a better tailor. And Rubio, little Narco Marco, the neocon’s man in the White House. Together, they’re the perfect palatable pill for the suburbs, a promise of normalcy for a base that still yearns for change. Of course, this ticket only launches if the Iran situation wraps up neatly (because nothing boosts approval ratings like a tidy conflict), and if the Epstein case politely evaporates into nothingness.

But should the winds shift, should Iran continue to be “complicated” or Mr. Epstein refuses to completely die, then we pivot to Plan B. A Republican Obama, a Trump 2016 Redux, but with a new triumverate. Back to MAGA, but real MAGA this time! Trust us!

Tucker Carlson, the free-agent prophet of populist rage, broadcasting directly to the faithful from the virtual bunker. We can ignore that his dad was CIA and he applied there as well. Nope, he’s legit anti-establishment! And has the online viewers (and revenues) to prove it.

Marjorie Taylor Greene, desperate to be the hero MAGA always wanted, pure Trump’s bane! Nothing like a well timed resignation and a sojourn in the metaphorical desert to establish one’s rep. But now every day with just a tiny bit more exposure, she’s on the rise, tweeting her way back to relevance.

A formidible couple perhaps, especially if things go sour in MAGA land. But there was something missing…

THE WAR HERO!

Enter Joe Kent, stage left. With an even louder resignation than MTG and the perfect patriotic CV. And the cherry on top, the wife killed in a terrorist attack in the Middle East leaving him with two small boys! The boys in Marketing can fly to Jupiter with those credentials.

The genius is in the flexibility. If the world demands suits, we offer Vance/Rubio, nodding solemnly at institutions. If the world burns, we offer Carlson/MTG/Kent, handing out gasoline and matches with a wink. It’s not inconsistency; it’s brand management. “MAGA” (aka the right wing donors) win either way. The core product, power, remains unchanged. Only the packaging adapts.

A successful foreign policy adventure and a conveniently amnesiac media? Tick the Vance/Rubio box. Scandal, setback, or general tumult? Simply slide over to the “Chaos Coalition” column. The only thing not up for debate is the endgame. Whether the message is delivered in a calm baritone promising glorious continuity, or furious shouts of “America First, no more wars!”, the destination is the same.

We were always at war with Eurasia. Or was it Eastasia? Either way, the show must go on, and the donors win no matter which way the wind is blowing.

If Epstein is gone, gasoline is back to $2.50, and not too many body bags in Iran, then great, we’re ready.
But if it is 1776, and “One if by land, two if by sea”, well, that’s just fine too.

It also means you surround yourself with yes men. People who are chosen, not for their competence, most have very little or none, but for their unthinking loyalty and willingness to accept whatever foolishness Trump decides on today.

And we have all seen the obsequiousness of allies (AKA vassals) required to maintain this illusion. Each trekking to Mar-a-Lago, swallowing diplomatic pride, and bending before the Most Benevolent Master. Japan’s Prime Minister, the leaders of France, Germany, UK, the EU, all smiling uncomfortably while the Donald pontificates and raises tariffs on them or demands more spending on American weapons. They all leave with concessions they didn’t need to make, simply to stop the noise. They learned quickly: if he yells, you lower your head and say “Yes, Bwana”. If you cower, he stops yelling. It is operant conditioning on a global scale, reinforcing the belief that volume equals victory.

His methodology is consistent. If yelling doesn’t work, he smashes something. A norm, a treaty, a phone, a country. Once the debris settles, the object is handed over. He thinks this is how the world works. It is a charmingly simplistic view of geopolitics. As charming as a New York mafia deal.

Unfortunately, a few on the international stage missed the memo. China, Russia and Iran are not terrified of a temper tantrum. They behave like tired adults watching a spoiled child scream in a supermarket aisle. Putin maintains his goals in Ukraine with the stubbornness of a glacier, ignoring American mood swings. He does not cower; he waits. Similarly, Iran does not give in because the pressure becomes capricious. Xi simply shakes his head in wonder, how could such a character be President of America, and knowing he holds the cards. They all look at the threats with calm indifference. They know the child will eventually get tired, or distracted by something shinier.

But this is where the fantasy becomes lethal. Public policy based on capriciousness is not just embarrassing; it is deadly. When negotiations are replaced by impulses, thousands of people die in prolonged conflicts because strategy is abandoned for spectacle. Inflation spikes not just because of supply chains, but because investors wonder if a tweet will start a trade war before lunch. Currency values fluctuate based on his morning mood. Small businesses buckle under tariff whiplash. Farmers wait for bailouts instead of stable trade deals.

Allies lose trust, conflicts drag on, and the economy goes to hell in a handbasket because markets cannot price in unpredictability, most notably if Trump starts a war in the Middle East that removes over 20% of the world’s petroleum. Or that might lead to nuclear Armageddon.

Running a superpower requires more than threats and holding your breath until you turn blue. But when war and peace, even the nuclear code, are treated with the same emotional volatility as a cancelled television show, the consequences are measured in bodies and bankruptcies. Sometimes, the world just lets you faint, and then carries on without you, while the bill for the broken china comes due. The adults in the room, in China, Russia, Iran, are no longer listening; they are just watching the clock, waiting for child to take a nap. Or his good friend Jeffrey to come take him away.

The operational impact of these killings on Iran’s war machine is likely far less than Israeli planners anticipate. The assumption that removing key figures paralyzes a decentralized, ideologically driven network is a recurring miscalculation. As seen with Hamas and Hezbollah, the removal of leaders rarely eliminates the threat; it often metastasizes it. The Iranian security apparatus, particularly the Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), is built with deep redundancy. Mid-level commanders are trained to step into vacuums instantly, and the strategic doctrine is ingrained in the institution, not just the individuals. The Iranian response to the February 28 assassination of the Supreme Leader demonstrated this resilience clearly: the regime launched massive, coordinated retaliatory strikes almost immediately, proving that the chain of command remains robust even when the apex is severed.

However, the true significance of these events lies in the specific manner of the deaths, which aligns perfectly with the Shiite concept of martyrdom. This was not a case of leaders caught unaware in bunkers; it appears to be a conscious embrace of fate. Just two days before his elimination, Ali Larijani posted on social media reflecting on the glory of martyrdom. More telling is the report that he chose to remain in his daughter’s ordinary home rather than retreating to a fortified bunker, despite knowing he was a high-value target. This was not negligence; it was a statement. In the Shiite narrative, seeking safety when destiny calls can be seen as a lack of faith. By staying in a civilian setting and accepting the risk, Larijani and potentially others transformed their assassinations from tactical losses into powerful spiritual victories.

This dynamic fundamentally alters the psychological impact of the strikes. Rather than cowing the Iranian public or sowing fear within the regime, these deaths serve as potent fuel for the “culture of martyrdom” that underpins the state’s identity. The image of a senior official choosing a simple home over a bunker, knowingly walking toward death for the cause, is electrifying for the base. It validates the regime’s narrative of sacrifice and resistance. Far from demoralizing the population, such acts tend to trigger a massive rally-around-the-flag effect, silencing internal dissent and galvanizing a populace that views these figures as saints who chose honor over survival. The operational friction caused by their deaths is temporary; the ideological boost they provide is enduring.

Diplomatically, the situation is dire. The “unrestricted hands” doctrine announced by Israel to freely target Iranian officials without seeking approvals, effectively burns the bridges of negotiation. By targeting the very officials responsible for security strategy and intelligence, backchannels are incinerated. But beyond the logistics of diplomacy, the theological elevation of these men makes compromise politically far more difficult for any surviving Iranian leader. To negotiate after such martyrs have fallen would be seen as betraying their sacrifice.

Finally, this atmosphere of sacred sacrifice likely increases the likelihood of the anti-nuclear fatwa being revoked. The fatwa, which forbids nuclear weapons, was a policy choice made in a context of strategic calculation. And let us not forget, this was a choice made by the assassinated father of he who is currently deciding whether to revoke the fatwa. When the leadership perceives the conflict through the lens of existential holy war, perhaps exasperated by personal loss, where martyrdom is embraced and the enemy shows no restraint, the religious prohibition may be reinterpreted as a luxury the state can no longer afford. If the prevailing mood is one of ultimate sacrifice, then acquiring the ultimate deterrent - a nuclear weapon - may be framed not as a violation of faith, but as a necessary duty to protect the community of believers from annihilation. The blood of these “martyrs” may well wash away the religious barriers to the bomb, driving Iran toward weaponization not out of aggression, but out of a desperate, sanctified need for survival.

This trajectory perhaps leads Israel into its own most dangerous calculus. If the assassinations have indeed pushed Tehran toward embracing the bomb, the Israeli hardline establishment may not view this as a failure of strategy, but as the final justification for a preemptive first strike. For decades, Israeli doctrine has maintained that a nuclear-armed Iran is an existential threat that cannot be contained by deterrence alone. Should intelligence confirm that the remaining Iranian leadership is moving to revoke the fatwa and weaponize, the pressure on Jerusalem to act will become overwhelming. The logic is that if diplomacy is dead, albeit killed by the Israelis themselves, and the enemy is rushing toward the threshold, the only remaining option is a massive military campaign to obliterate Iran’s nuclear infrastructure before it becomes operational.

This then raises the possibility that the recent wave of assassinations was never intended to degrade Iran’s conventional warfighting ability or coerce the regime into submission. Instead, these strikes may have been a deliberate provocation, a calculated mechanism to force Iran’s hand. By elevating the conflict to an existential holy war, Israel may have sought to create a scenario where Tehran feels compelled to pursue nuclear weapons openly. This would, in turn, provide Israel with the internationally palatable pretext to launch the very first strike it has long contemplated. In this grim reading, the deaths of Soleimani, Larijani, and Khatib were not the endgame, but the opening gambit in a final, high-stakes bid to destroy the Iranian nuclear program once and for all, regardless of the regional conflagration that would inevitably follow.

Senator Marco Rubio and the influential Miami exile community are pushing hard for renewed confrontation with Cuba. For them, the island represents unfinished business, a chance to deliver a political victory that can be sold to a weary American public. The logic is simple, and this administration likes simple: after the perceived success of maximum pressure in Venezuela, Cuba appears to be the next logical target. The island is viewed as weakened by decades of economic sanctions, its people struggling under hardship, many disillusioned with the status quo. Washington calculates that Moscow and Beijing, preoccupied with their own global challenges, are unlikely to intervene decisively in what they see as America’s backyard. And the opinions of other Latin American nations? Frankly, they carry very little weight in this calculus.

But beneath this tidy narrative lie dangerous assumptions. First, revolutionary spirit is not so easily extinguished. Economic hardship does not automatically translate into a desire for foreign-imposed regime change. Many Cubans, despite their frustrations, remain fiercely proud and resistant to outside intervention. A new act of aggression would further cement, for much of the world, the image of the United States as a rogue superpower, bullying smaller nations to score domestic political points. Though this perception carries real costs: eroded diplomatic capital, strengthened anti-American alliances, and a more volatile hemisphere, it is unlikely the Trump administration would take all this into account or possibly even understand its significance.

And the ghost of 1961 still haunts. The Bay of Pigs invasion was predicated on nearly identical assumptions: a weakened regime, a discontented population, minimal international backlash. Intelligence suggested the Cuban people would rise up. They didn’t. The result was a humiliating disaster that emboldened adversaries, damaged American credibility for a generation, and pushed Cuba closer to the Soviet Union. This is history every Cuban knows, but is likely forgotten in Washington.

The temptation for a quick foreign policy win is understandable, especially when domestic political pressure mounts. But Cuba is not a simple checkbox. The risks of miscalculation are not trivial. What if sanctions tighten and the population rallies around the flag instead of revolting? What if a botched operation triggers a refugee crisis that spills onto Florida’s shores? What if regional allies, even those not overly fond of Havana, view overt aggression as a red line? Death and destruction (and failure) in Iran, on the other side of the world, is easier to mask or swallow, than it would be only 90 miles away by boat from Florida.

It would not be surprising for the Trump administration to double down on a playbook that assumes weakness equals opportunity. Trump and the rest of his team are fundamentally bullies, and in the current moment, are in desperate need of a quick win against a country they can push around. Headlines that distract from the situation in the Gulf are urgently needed.

So the question isn’t just whether Cuba is next. It’s whether Trump and America are ready to weigh the ego satisfying appeal of a short-term win against the enduring costs of yet anther act of aggression, and even possibly another foreign policy gambit gone wrong.

If Iran was the distraction from the depravities of Little Saint James, aka Epstein Island, then an operation against Cuba could serve to distract from the strategic miscalculations of the Iran distraction. In a world already shaking with instability, will Trump attempt another “misdirection” and throw the dice once more?

The Iran adventure isn’t working out and ”Epstein” doesn’t seem like he is going to die anytime soon, therefore the world’s attention must be grabbed yet again. Venezuela and the kidnapping of Maduro worked to keep everyone busy for a week, so why not go back to the winning formula of beating up on a small Caribbean nation?

By 53 BC, the Roman Republic was already in advanced decay. The Senate had devolved from a deliberative body into a private club for oligarchs, where laws were mere suggestions and corruption was the standard operating procedure. It was a society defined by moral decline, where public service had been replaced by personal enrichment. Into this vacuum stepped Crassus, the richest man in Rome. He sought military glory to validate his status, much like a modern tycoon seeks political office to cement a legacy. There is a specific, dangerous hubris in believing that wealth insulates one from the harsh realities of geography and logistics, yet both Crassus and Trump seem to have operated under this exact assumption.

Crassus looked East toward Parthia, modern-day Iran, putting himself at the head of the Roman legions, seeing a venue for triumph. But he underestimated the enemy, assuming that Roman heavy infantry could dominate the open steppe. The result was the Battle of Carrhae, a masterclass in catastrophic miscalculation. Crassus deployed his legions in classic Roman fashion, tight, static squares, relying on discipline and heavy shields. It was a formation designed for close-quarters smashing against European rivals, but was utterly useless against the Parthians in the open steppe.

The Parthians did not engage in what a Roman would have considered a fair fight. Thousands of horse archers circled the Roman formations, unleashing volleys of arrows so dense they reportedly blocked out the sun. The Romans stood there, heavy and slow, getting picked apart from a distance. Their shields splintered; their armor failed. It was an utter destruction. Seven legions vanished. Twenty thousand men died; another ten thousand were captured. It wasn’t a battle; it was an execution. The Roman desire to conquer Mesopotamia died right there in the dust, choked by arrow fire.

This dynamic feels suspiciously familiar today. The Parthian arrow volley is the ancient ancestor of Iran’s current missile and drone strategy. The logic remains identical: why engage a superior heavy force head-on when you can rain death from afar? The US, like Rome, possesses overwhelming conventional power, yet finds itself bogged down in the Middle East, bleeding resources against asymmetric threats that refuse to stand still and fight a “proper” war.

Regarding the fate of the protagonists, the divergence is theatrical, though the thematic resonance may hold. Crassus died gruesomely; legend says the Parthians poured molten gold down his throat, a final, ironic commentary on his greed. Donald Trump is unlikely to face a cup of liquid gold, mostly because modern warfare lacks that level of poetic justice. However, one could argue he is suffering a different kind of demise. The chaotic unraveling of his foreign policy ambitions and the fracturing of his political coalition mirror the strategic bankruptcy of Carrhae. It was a political death, a moment where the illusion of invincibility shattered, leaving behind a wreckage of broken norms and confused supporters. And stretching the metaphor just a bit, we might consider the damage to the dollar’s standing in the world that will likely result from this fiasco as the modern equivalent of the throatful of molten gold.

The aftermath of Carrhae was a real catalyst for Rome’s transformation. Crassus’s death broke the First Triumvirate, removing the buffer between Pompey and Caesar. The Republic, already rotting from within due to corruption and moral decline, could not survive the shock. The disaster abroad accelerated the collapse at home, paving the road for Caesar, civil war, and the eventual birth of the Empire.

So, we are left with a post modern Hollywood remake of Cecille B. Demille proportions. A wealthy outsider seeks glory in west Asia. The military machine stalls against an enemy that refuses to play by the rules. The domestic political order, already frayed by decadence, perhaps begins to tear apart. Whether this leads to a new Caesar or just a prolonged period of dysfunction remains to be seen. But if history is any guide, betting against the arrows, or the drones, is a losing strategy, no matter how much money you have in the bank.

But, fortunately or unfortunately, there is already emerging an alternative to these nuclear weapons, but it has not yet been publicly announced. Cheap, mass-produced, and smart drones could very well become non-nuclear WMDs. While they cannot yet replace strategic nuclear warheads, tactical ones can: by sending several thousand (even tens of thousands) drones to a military airfield/base or industrial facility (for example, an oil refinery) at the same time, the effect of detonating tactical nuclear charges will be achieved, but without radioactive contamination of the area, indiscriminate and large-scale casualties among the civilian population, and damage to neighboring infrastructure.

The introduction of drone control using AI will further optimize the process of destroying large area targets. In fact, drones will become highly accurate WMDs.

China, for example, produces more than 1 million commercial drones per year (!) and is fully capable of converting production to military needs and increasing this figure many times over. At present, no state is able to repel a simultaneous attack of a thousand drones (or even tens of thousands). Such an attack could completely suppress any existing air defense system and also lead to the destruction of all key state objects (military, energy, logistics, telecommunications).

The situation will be exacerbated by the possibility of equipping drones with a special warhead with a small nuclear charge, pathogenic strains, or chemical weapons.

According to the Russian Ministry of Defense, yesterday (March 14-15), Ukraine used 605 kamikaze drones. In the future, with the support of its allies, it will be able to launch several thousand drones per day, and with accumulation, the attack could reach tens of thousands. Russia and Iran have similar, or even greater, capabilities.

In this non-nuclear WMD scenario, the taboos towards their use become meaningless. In these conditions, the question of the presence of effective “small” air defense against drones in the near future will determine the ability of states to exist independently.

The historical precedent is Vietnam. The U.S. entered that war believing its industrial output and air superiority were decisive factors. It treated the conflict as a math problem where American firepower multiplied by time equaled victory. North Vietnam, however, possessed a resilience that defied American calculus. They did not need to defeat the U.S. military in the field; they only needed to survive long enough for the American public to lose the will to continue. Every escalation by Washington, from bombing campaigns to troop surges, was met not with collapse, but with a hardened resolve that turned American strength into a liability. The U.S. became trapped by its own momentum, unable to stop escalating without admitting defeat, yet unable to escalate enough to break an enemy that viewed survival as victory.

Today, the war between the United States and Iran is exposing the same fatal flaw in real-time. The Trump administration, operating on the assumption that Iran’s regime was fragile and desperate to avoid direct confrontation, initiated a campaign of strikes intended to decapitate the leadership and crush nuclear ambitions. The expectation was a quick, surgical display of dominance. The reality has been an (unsurprising) shock to the system. Iran did not fold. Instead, it unleashed a missile and drone arsenal far more sophisticated, numerous, and accurate than U.S. intelligence had predicted. These were not the ragtag weapons of a failing state; they were a coordinated, high-volume barrage that overwhelmed defense systems and struck with precision.

The damage has been tangible and severe. U.S. bases across the Middle East, previously considered safe havens, have taken direct hits, resulting in significant casualties and infrastructure destruction that Washington struggled to downplay. Simultaneously, Israel, the U.S.’s primary regional ally, has faced unprecedented bombardment, stretching its Iron Dome to the breaking point and forcing a realization that its own deterrence had been overestimated.

Crucially, the threat to close the Strait of Hormuz looms not as a bluff, but as an imminent lever of global economic strangulation. Iran has made it clear that if pushed to the brink, it will choke the world’s oil supply, turning a regional war into a global depression. This capability adds a layer of complexity that brute force cannot solve. The U.S. can sink ships, but it cannot instantly reopen a choked artery of the global economy without catastrophic cost.

The conclusion is not a vague hope for diplomacy, but a grim acknowledgment of a strategic blunder. The escalation trap has snapped shut because the U.S. assumed it could control the intensity of the conflict. It cannot. Iran has demonstrated that it possesses both the will and the way to make the cost of victory prohibitively high. The U.S. is now stuck in a war against an adversary that does not need to win militarily to succeed; it only needs to ensure that the price of continuing becomes too high for Washington to bear. The “all-powerful” nation finds itself bleeding from bases it thought were secure, facing an enemy it thought was broken, and realizing too late that some traps are designed specifically for those who think they are too strong to be caught.

One of the enduring consequences of this disaster will be the hard, bitter pill of geopolitical humility America must now swallow. For decades, Washington operated under the comforting delusion that smaller nations were merely pieces on a chessboard, moving only when the superpower allowed it. This conflict has shattered that illusion, forcing a reluctant acknowledgment that other nations possess genuine agency. Iran has demonstrated that it is not a puppet waiting for strings to be pulled, but an independent actor with its own red lines, strategies, and capacity to dictate terms. While not wholly true, the U.S. has long assumed that its will is synonymous with destiny. No more. In trying to prove its dominance, America has inadvertently proven the autonomy of its adversaries, revealing a world where the “unipolar moment” is dead, and where even the mightiest hegemon can be checkmated by a skillful player operating with resolve.

The poem captures the emotional texture of our times: the feeling that the world is spinning beyond control, that the structures meant to guide and stabilise us are weakening. When Yeats writes that “things fall apart; the centre cannot hold,” he expresses exactly how most of us feel; that the systems and certainties we rely on are failing miserably.

Disorientation. Desperation. Confusion. Chaos. That something unknown seems to be approaching from the darkness.
The apocalypse. Or the second coming.

The Second Coming by WT Yeats:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?