Fire and the Strait

The Third Gulf War: Anatomy of a Conflict with No Clear Outcome

Some wars surprise us with their suddenness. This one surprised no one—or almost no one. For years, analysts, retired diplomats, and intelligence officers turned consultants had been warning: sooner or later, the confrontation between Iran and the American-Israeli bloc would erupt. On February 28, 2026, at dawn, “sooner or later” became “now.” Hundreds of American and Israeli fighter jets entered Iranian airspace. Tehran was burning. Isfahan was burning. Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, 86, the living embodiment of the Islamic Revolution since 1989, was dead in the first hours of the strikes. A page of Middle Eastern history had just been turned—in chaos and bloodshed.

What is striking, in retrospect, is less the brutality of the assault than the cold precision of its preparation. The operation, dubbed “Epic Fury” by the Americans and “Roaring Lion” by the Israelis, was not a rash act: it was the logical culmination of a spiral of escalation that began in April 2024, accelerated by the Twelve Day War in June 2025, and precipitated by Iran’s economic collapse in the fall. Understanding this war means first understanding how we got to this point.

A WAR FORETOLD

The long history of this confrontation dates back to 1979. The Islamic Revolution broke the alliance between Iran and Israel, transforming one of the few non-Arab states in the Middle East into an existential enemy of the Jewish state. Since then, Tehran has never abandoned its rhetoric of eliminating Israel—an ideological stance that Benjamin Netanyahu has consistently used as justification for maintaining maximum pressure.

What changed in the 2020s was the convergence of three factors. First, the maturation of Iran’s nuclear program: by 2025, Iran possessed 400 kilograms of uranium enriched to 60%, technically within military range. Second, the gradual collapse of the “Axis of Resistance”: the fall of the Assad regime in Syria at the end of 2024, and the severe weakening of Hezbollah and Hamas, deprived Tehran of its network of proxies that served as a form of delegated deterrence. Finally, the return of Donald Trump to the White House in January 2025, with a “maximum pressure” policy even more aggressive than during his first term. The Twelve Days War in June 2025 was a first dress rehearsal. Israel struck Iranian nuclear sites; the United States followed with Operation Midnight Hammer, dropping GBU-57 penetrating bombs on Fordow and Natanz. A ceasefire ended the episode after 24 days. But none of the underlying causes had been resolved. Worse: Iran had changed its doctrine, officially shifting from a defensive to an offensive posture. The die was cast.

What has been happening in the Gulf since February 2026 is not sudden chaos; it is the culmination of a long-standing rift. The winter of 2025-2026 provided the pretext—or the context—for the final escalation. The collapse of the Iranian rial, the massive protests that followed, and the regime’s brutal repression—resulting in several thousand deaths according to NGOs—convinced the Trump administration that a window of opportunity had opened. On February 13, 2026, Trump publicly stated that regime change would be “the best thing that could happen.” Two weeks later, he put his words into action.

THE ANATOMY OF A STRIKE

On February 28, 2026, at dawn, the joint operation was launched with surgical precision. The first waves targeted Iranian air defenses, before B-2 Spirit bombers, taking off from Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean, dropped their bombs on the most deeply buried targets. Tomahawk missiles launched from submarines in the Arabian Sea completed the picture. Tehran, Isfahan, Qom, Karaj, Kermanshah: a map of the Islamic Republic illuminated by explosions.

Among the first to die were Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, National Security Council Secretary Ali Shamkhani, and the Defense Minister. Iranian media also reported the deaths of Khamenei’s family members. Within hours, the Islamic Republic had lost most of its strategic leadership—a decapitation reminiscent, on a far larger scale, of the killing of General Soleimani in January 2020. The Iranian response was immediate and of a magnitude that Washington had clearly underestimated. Hundreds of drones and ballistic missiles were launched not only at Israel, but at all American bases in the region: Jordan, Kuwait, Bahrain, Qatar, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates. Tehran’s strategy was clear: maximize the pain, widen the circle of belligerents, and force the Gulf monarchies—hosting tens of thousands of American troops—to pay the price for their alignment with Washington.

Missile defense systems absorbed the bulk of the attacks. In the United Arab Emirates, the Ministry of Defense recorded 174 tracked ballistic missiles and 689 detected drones in just a few days—the vast majority intercepted, but with enough impact to produce shocking images in capitals whose modernity had seemed to shield them from war.

THE STRAIT AS A WEAPON

Perhaps the most consequential decision made by Tehran was the closure of the Strait of Hormuz. This 33-kilometer-wide waterway, through which approximately 20% of the world’s oil passes, is the economic linchpin of the planet. Iran has made it its primary weapon—not military, but systemic.

In just a few days, oil tanker traffic had plummeted by 70%. More than 150 ships had anchored outside the passage. Qatar suspended its LNG exports and declared force majeure on its gas contracts. Japan, which relies on the Strait of Hormuz for 70% of its oil imports, released its strategic reserves. Brent and WTI crude prices climbed above $100 a barrel. In less than a week, the regional conflict had become a global economic crisis.

The Strait of Hormuz is the economic linchpin of the world. Iran has made it its primary weapon—not a military one, but a systemic one.

The situation was further complicated by a troubling reality: according to US intelligence sources, Iran had lost track of some of the naval mines laid in the strait, making a complete reopening technically impossible even if the political will existed. The blockade became partially uncontrollable—a weapon its user no longer fully controls.

For Washington, reopening Hormuz quickly became the central operational objective, even surpassing nuclear considerations. Trump, pragmatic above all, understood that the American economy—and global financial markets—could only withstand a certain number of weeks of oil disruption. It was on this point that negotiations were based.

THE GEOGRAPHY OF THE ABSENT ALLIES

One of the major lessons of this war is the relative isolation of the main belligerents. The United States and Israel acted without a true coalition. The Gulf monarchies, despite hosting American bases, refused access to their airspace for strikes against Iran—fearing immediate retaliation. NATO remained cautiously aloof, with the exception of France, which deployed the Charles de Gaulle aircraft carrier in support of a “defensive” coalition to protect the Strait of Hormuz. Iran, for its part, is fighting in even deeper isolation. Russia, exhausted by the Ukrainian conflict and embarrassed by its parallel commitments, has limited itself to mere rhetoric. China has adopted a calculated wait-and-see approach: it has no interest in seeing Iran collapse, but even less in seeing its oil imports from the Gulf cut off—yet these same Gulf countries that Iran is bombing are its primary suppliers of hydrocarbons. Beijing is observing, taking note of American military doctrines, and letting both sides exhaust themselves.

Turkey has closed the Bosphorus Strait to warships. Azerbaijan has announced reprisals after being hit by debris. Pakistan, for its part, has seized a rare diplomatic opportunity: to position itself as a credible mediator between Washington and Tehran, thereby enhancing its international standing.

This geography of absent or passive allies reveals something essential about the nature of this conflict: neither side is sufficiently legitimate in the eyes of the international community to mobilize a broad coalition. The United States acted unilaterally—along with Israel—without any UN mandate. Iran strikes third-party countries without a declaration of war. In this vacuum of legitimacy, diplomacy floats in an uncomfortable limbo.

THE LABYRINTH OF NEGOTIATIONS

On April 8, 2026, just hours before the expiration of a Trump ultimatum, a two-week ceasefire was announced. Iran agreed to partially reopen the Strait of Hormuz; the United States agreed that the Iranian ten-point plan would serve as a “basis for discussion” in future negotiations. A global relief, immediately tempered by the reality of the conditions set by both sides.

Because the Iranian list—demanding a complete cessation of operations, the withdrawal of American forces from the region, a guarantee of non-aggression, and an end to the fighting in Lebanon—represented, according to an analysis by the Geopolitical Studies Group, a position that would place Iran in a better geopolitical position than before the start of the war if it were accepted in its entirety. The American proposal, on the other hand, demanded the abandonment of the nuclear program, the surrender of enriched uranium stockpiles, and an end to support for proxies. Two incompatible visions of the post-war world.

On April 11, negotiations opened in Islamabad—a historic event in itself: for the first time since the 1979 Islamic Revolution, American and Iranian delegations negotiated directly at such a high level of representation. JD Vance, Steve Witkoff, and Jared Kushner met with Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf and Abbas Araghchi, in the carefully controlled silence of the Pakistani capital. Twenty-one hours of talks. And failure.

The Iranian Foreign Minister accused ‘maximalism, changing positions, and the blockade’ of preventing an agreement that, according to him, was only inches away.

Vance left Islamabad looking exhausted, declaring that he had made “the final and best possible offer.” Araghchi spoke of an agreement “inches away.” Trump immediately threatened a total naval blockade. Oil prices rebounded by 8%. The window had opened—and closed again. The ceasefire, meant to last until April 22, remains suspended, violated only marginally by both sides, maintained by a kind of shared exhaustion rather than genuine will.

EXIT SCENARIOS

At this stage of the conflict—two months of war, thousands dead, a destabilized global economy, and stalled negotiations—what outcomes are conceivable?

The first scenario, and the most likely in the short term, is that of a minimal agreement: economic peace without a political resolution. Washington and Tehran agree to reopen the Strait of Hormuz in exchange for a lasting suspension of strikes and a freeze on operations. The fundamental issues—nuclear weapons, proxies, the American military presence—are deferred to later negotiations which, as is often the case in the Middle East, could last for decades. This would be a “Korean” peace: technically still at war, practically stabilized. Imperfect, but livable.

The second scenario is that of uncontrolled escalation. If the ceasefire collapses, if Trump enforces his naval blockade, if Iran responds by further mining Hormuz or striking Saudi oil infrastructure, the global economic crisis will ignite. Countries like Japan, South Korea, and India, dependent on Gulf oil, would face shortages. Financial markets, already weakened by the US-China trade war, could collapse. This scenario is not the most likely, but it is the most feared.

The third scenario is regime change—Washington’s unstated but obvious objective. Khamenei’s death decapitated the system. His son, Mojtaba Khamenei, considered his likely successor, lacks his father’s charisma and revolutionary legitimacy. The Revolutionary Guards, whose true supreme command is now unclear, are both the guardians of the regime and its potential gravediggers. Popular demonstrations are resuming in major Iranian cities, fueled by anger over a war perceived as pointless and catastrophic economic repression. An internal rupture is possible—but revolutions are unpredictable, and a post-Islamist Iran would not necessarily be more stable.

The fourth scenario, finally, is that of a protracted quagmire. Iran, despite its losses, is far from being militarily destroyed. Its ballistic capabilities, its network of residual agents and proxies, and its ability to disrupt maritime trade provide it with a lasting asymmetry. The United States, for its part, has neither the will nor the means for a ground occupation. Trump, whose domestic popularity depends on the return of peace and low gas prices, cannot afford a protracted war. The history of American wars in the Middle East—Afghanistan, Iraq—argues for caution.

WHAT THIS WAR REVEALS

Beyond the military outcome and operational maps, the Third Gulf War reveals several truths that the international order preferred not to confront.

First, it reveals the failure of non-proliferation. Forty years of pressure, sanctions, cyber sabotage, and the assassinations of scientists have not prevented Iran from approaching the nuclear threshold. The war destroyed the facilities—temporarily. Human skills, however, cannot be erased by bombs. Iran will rebuild. The question is whether it will do so under a regime more or less hostile to the rest of the world.

It then reveals the limits of air power. The United States and Israel possess overwhelming technological superiority. But no airstrike, however precise, solves a political problem. Destroying a nuclear program is one operation; preventing its reconstruction is another, infinitely more complex.

Finally, it reveals the paradox of the Gulf: these monarchies, which welcomed tens of thousands of American soldiers to protect themselves from Iran, now find themselves on the front line of Iranian reprisals because of that very same American presence. Dubai, Doha, Abu Dhabi, Riyadh—these 21st-century metropolises discovered their profound vulnerability in just a few nights. The security model outsourced to Washington is showing its limitations.

No airstrike, however precise, solves a political problem. For the region and for the world, one thing is certain: even if an agreement is reached tomorrow, nothing will be the same. Post-Khamenei Iran will be different—more fragile or more radical, depending on the outcome of its internal struggles. Israel has demonstrated its power projection capabilities but has also reinforced its diplomatic isolation. The United States has displayed its power and exposed its limitations. And the Gulf states, caught in the middle, understand that they will one day have to build their own security architecture—without waiting for Washington or Tehran to decide their future for them.

EPILOGUE

On this morning of April 15, 2026, the Strait of Hormuz remains tense. Negotiations are suspended; the ceasefire holds only by the grace of mutual exhaustion. Somewhere in the archives of world diplomacy, future historians will search for the precise moment when this war could have been avoided. Perhaps in 2015, when the JCPOA nuclear agreement was signed, then torn up by Trump in 2018. Perhaps in June 2025, when the Twelve Day War ended without a political settlement. Perhaps on February 27, 2026, the day before the strikes, when the Geneva negotiations failed to produce an agreement. The Gulf Wars are unique in that they rarely end in clear victories. The first, in 1991, drove Iraq out of Kuwait but left Saddam Hussein in power. The second, in 2003, toppled that regime and ushered in twenty years of instability. The third, in 2026, may have brought an end to the Islamic Republic as it had existed since 1979—or perhaps only to one of its incarnations, before another, more hardline or more flexible, takes its place from the ashes.

The outcome of this war will not be decided in the air, nor on the waters of the Strait of Hormuz. It will be decided in the streets of Tehran, in the closed offices of Washington, in the palaces of Riyadh and Abu Dhabi. It will be decided by the capacity—or incapacity—of the men and women of this region to imagine an order different from the one that inevitably led them to that cursed February 28th. It is, fundamentally, a political question. And bombs have never been a very good answer to political questions.

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You can follow Professor Mohamed Chtatou on X: @Ayurinu