By Jacob EDI
Going by the dynamics of international politics, wars are hardly what warring nations claim. Two fighting nations claim victory, using their propaganda machinery. Similarly, the language of war is almost always spoken in moral terms to indicate freedom against tyranny, civilisation against barbarism and defence against aggression among others.
Yet beneath that public rhetoric lies the ruthless arithmetic of power. States rarely fight merely to defeat an enemy. They fight to shape the strategic environment in which future power will be exercised.
It is in this context that the unfolding confrontation in the Middle East must be understood.
At first glance, the tensions involving Iran appear to fit the familiar script of a regional rivalry between Israel and its adversaries. But that interpretation only scratches the surface. Beneath the explosions, diplomatic accusations, and ideological slogans lies a far larger strategic contest, one that is quietly redrawing the power architecture not only in the Middle East but in the global order itself.
Like Ukraine in its war with Russia, Iran has proven to be far more resilient than many initially imagined. Predictions of quick collapse have repeatedly collided with notorious historical realities, geography, and political will. Iran is not an easy prey, and the belief that it could be subdued swiftly has always been more wishful thinking than serious strategy.
But the deeper truth is that the contest was never primarily about destroying Iran.
The real game is larger.
One of the most important pieces in this strategic puzzle is the Abraham Accords, signed in 2020 under the administration of Donald Trump. At the time, the agreements appeared to many observers as just another diplomatic initiative in a region apparently overcrowded with treaties that promised peace but often delivered little more than temporary calm.
Yet the accords represented something much more consequential.
Relations between Israel and several Arab states were normalised starting from, the United Arab Emirates and Bahrain, and later, joined by Morocco and Sudan.
Of course, this seemed like a diplomatic breakthrough on its face value. But, in reality, it signposts the quiet dismantling of one of the longest-standing assumptions in Middle Eastern politics: the rigid Arab–Israeli divide.
For decades, the Palestinian question served as the organizing principle of regional diplomacy. Arab governments positioned themselves as guardians of that cause, while Israel existed in a state of perpetual strategic isolation. That framework defined the political psychology of the region for generations.
But geopolitics, unlike ideology, rarely remains frozen in time.
The 21st century has introduced a new set of power calculus. Several Arab governments began to conclude that their most immediate strategic concern was no longer Israel but Iran. The rise of Iranian influence across the region, from Lebanon to Iraq and Yemen, created a shared anxiety among states that previously defined their foreign policy through hostility toward Israel.
Economic considerations reinforced this shift.
Israel’s reputation as a global hub of technological innovation, particularly in cybersecurity, agriculture, water management, and defence systems, made cooperation increasingly attractive to states seeking to diversify their economies beyond oil.
Thus ideology quietly yielded to pragmatism.
What emerged was a new geopolitical logic in which former adversaries began to see one another as partners in managing a common strategic challenge.
From Tehran’s perspective, however, this realignment looked less like diplomacy and more like gang-up. To compound matters, the ideological foundation of Iran’s revolutionary identity leaves little room for accommodation with Israel. Within that worldview, Israel is not simply another state but a symbol of what the revolution defines as illegitimate Western influence in the region.
The result is a deepening rivalry that shows little prospect of genuine reconciliation.
But expecting Iran to crumble under pressure would be a incalculable misunderstanding of the nature of power in the Middle East. Iran has one of the region’s oldest civilizational identities, a sophisticated political system capable of absorbing internal shocks, and an extensive network of strategic partners and proxies across the region, all based on the principles of theocracy.
Sadly, it is not 2003.
And not Saddam Hussein’s regime that collapsed within weeks under the weight of a US backed foreign invasion.
Iran has spent decades preparing precisely for the kind of strategic pressure it now faces. Its military doctrine is built around asymmetric warfare, proxy alliances, and regional influence that allows it to project power without relying solely on conventional military confrontation.
In other words, Iran was never likely to fall easily.
But here lies the crucial point. If the total collapse of Iran was the strategic objective of this war, then Washington needs a rethink. It is indeed doubtful if it is the central objective of America’s strategy.
For those conversant with America’s ways, washington’s strategic priority is far calculated. Washington’s goal has largely been to prevent Iran from becoming the dominant power in the Middle East. Weakening Iran’s influence, limiting its regional reach, and ensuring that no single hostile actor controls the region’s strategic landscape is often sufficient from a geopolitical perspective.
So, if Iran remains contained rather than defeated, that objective may already be considered a success.
For Israel, the arithmetic is equally grim. Since its creation in 1948, Israel has existed in an environment where survival has depended on maintaining overwhelming strategic vigilance. The country’s national security doctrine is built on the assumption that threats must be neutralised early and decisively.
The game is to stop Tehran’s advancement and the possibility of it at all costs.
Thus the interests of Israel and the United States converge on a shared strategic principle: Iran must not be allowed to dominate the regional balance of power.
Yet even this explanation captures only part of the story.
Behind the manoeuvres of Middle Eastern diplomacy lies a far larger geopolitical contest, one that increasingly defines the strategic imagination of American policymakers: the rise of China.
For Washington, the twenty-first century’s defining competition is not unfolding in the deserts of the Middle East but across the Indo-Pacific. China’s economic expansion, technological ambition, and growing military presence have created a strategic challenge unlike any the United States has faced since the Cold War.
In that context, the Middle East represents both a distraction and a necessity.
Stabilising the region through new alliances allows Washington to reduce its long-term military burden there while redirecting strategic attention toward Asia. The Abraham Accords can therefore be seen not only as a regional peace initiative but also as part of a broader strategy designed to reorganise American global commitments.
This larger calculation also sheds light on the sometimes puzzling diplomatic posture surrounding the war in Ukraine and the cautious engagement with Vladimir Putin in certain strategic contexts.
Great powers rarely fight on only one front at a time. Strategic patience in one theatre often serves a larger objective elsewhere.
Interest is a key determinant on this diplomatic chessboard.
What we are witnessing, therefore, is not merely a regional conflict but a gradual restructuring of the global balance of power.
These developments also expose the growing limitations of the international institutions created after World War II. Chief among them is the United Nations, founded in 1945 with the objective of not repeating the pitfalls of the League of Nations, and ultimately preventing another global catastrophe.
Yet the world that produced that institution has changed beyond recognition.
The United Nations Security Council, dominated by veto powers held by a small group of states, often finds itself paralysed by the very rivalries it was meant to manage. Major crises from the Middle East to Eastern Europe frequently produce endless debate but little decisive action. And even the few cases of decisions appear inconsequential and impotent.
And ipso facto, the comparison with the League of Nations, which failed to prevent the outbreak of the Second World War, has become increasingly difficult to dismiss.
The emerging technological revolution, driven by artificial intelligence and digital networks, is already reshaping diplomacy, warfare, intelligence gathering, and economic competition. In such a world, the architecture of global governance may eventually require fundamental redesign.
Regional security frameworks, technology-driven conflict monitoring systems, and broader participation by middle powers may become essential components of future international cooperation.
The Middle East, with its volatile mixture of ideology, technology, and strategic rivalry, is becoming a laboratory where many of these transformations are already unfolding.
At the moment, dynamics at play is appearing like just series of unrelated crisis but when viewed together, those crises reveal a deeper pattern.
The global system created after World War II is gradually entering a period of transition. Alliances are shifting, institutions are struggling to adapt, and technology is transforming the foundations of power itself.
The confrontation involving Iran is therefore not simply another Middle Eastern conflict.
It is one episode in a much larger story about how the international order is being renegotiated.
And in that unfolding story, the real question is not who wins a particular battle.
The real question is who shapes the rules of the next global system.