The Diplomacy of Existential Dread
Diplomacy is rightly celebrated when it prevents war. Yet for nations living under the shadow of a potential existential threat, the prospect of negotiations may produce not reassurance but profound anxiety.
This is the paradox confronting Israel—and, to varying degrees, several Gulf states—as the United States pursues negotiations with Iran. For Washington, diplomacy is an instrument of foreign policy. For Israel, it is a question of survival: can diplomacy reliably prevent the Iranian regime, which has repeatedly called for Israel’s destruction, from acquiring the ultimate means to realize that objective?
The distinction is not political. It is existential.
Geography shapes diplomacy. The United States negotiates from the security of distance, protected by unmatched strategic depth. Israel lives within missile range of Iran and its regional proxies. The same agreement is therefore viewed through fundamentally different strategic lenses. What may appear to Washington as an acceptable diplomatic risk may appear to Jerusalem as an unacceptable existential gamble.
An American administration understandably seeks to reduce regional tensions, avoid another Middle Eastern war, and achieve a diplomatic breakthrough. Israel seeks something more fundamental: confidence that diplomacy will not merely postpone an existential threat but permanently eliminate it.
History offers reason for caution. The experience of North Korea casts a long shadow over contemporary diplomacy. Decades of negotiations, agreements, inspections, sanctions, and international engagement ultimately failed to prevent Pyongyang from becoming a nuclear-armed state. Whatever conclusions one draws from that history, it demonstrates a sobering reality: diplomacy alone does not guarantee strategic success.
For Israeli policymakers and the public alike, the North Korean precedent is more than a historical analogy; it is a strategic warning that cannot be dismissed. It remains a stark reminder that diplomatic engagement—however extensive, well-intentioned, or internationally supported—does not necessarily prevent nuclear proliferation. If decades of negotiations, sanctions, inspections, and international assurances ultimately failed to prevent one determined regime from acquiring nuclear weapons, Israelis are entitled to ask why the Iranian regime should prove to be the exception.
This concern is reinforced by the nature of the negotiations themselves. The Iranian regime has repeatedly demonstrated strategic patience, ideological consistency, and a willingness to negotiate over years rather than months. Democratic governments, by contrast, often negotiate within electoral cycles and under pressure to demonstrate visible diplomatic achievements. One side may view negotiations as an instrument of a long-term strategy; the other may seek an immediate diplomatic accomplishment. That asymmetry should not be underestimated.
Israel and several Gulf states are not merely interested observers. They are the states most likely to bear the consequences if diplomacy fails. Their security calculations differ fundamentally from those of Washington. The United States may conclude that an imperfect agreement is preferable to military confrontation. Israel must ask a different question: what if the agreement merely delays, rather than eliminates, the threat?
Supporters of renewed negotiations make a serious and legitimate case. They argue that even an imperfect agreement may be preferable to unconstrained escalation or another devastating regional war. That argument deserves careful consideration. But the central issue is not whether diplomacy is preferable to war. It almost always is. The real question is whether diplomacy that leaves existential risks unresolved can genuinely be called a strategic success.
This asymmetry of risk explains the diplomacy of existential dread. The same agreement may generate optimism in one capital while deepening anxiety in another—not because one side prefers conflict, but because the consequences of failure are profoundly unequal. For the United States, a failed agreement would represent a serious foreign policy setback. For Israel, it could fundamentally alter the strategic balance of the Middle East for generations.
Diplomacy ultimately depends on trust. Yet trust cannot rest solely on signatures or optimistic expectations. It must be supported by credible verification, effective enforcement, and a realistic assessment of strategic realities. Agreements that reduce immediate tensions while leaving fundamental security questions unresolved may purchase time, but they do not necessarily purchase confidence.
History is littered with agreements once celebrated as diplomatic triumphs and later remembered as strategic illusions. Whether a future agreement with Iran belongs to the first category or the second will not be determined on the day it is signed, but in the years that follow. For Israel, the ultimate measure of diplomacy is neither applause nor optimism. It is whether future generations inherit security instead of regret. Diplomacy should aspire not merely to prevent today’s war, but to ensure that tomorrow’s generation never has to fight it.
When the stakes are existential, diplomatic success is measured not by the agreements we sign, but by the catastrophes we prevent.
