By any sober assessment, as a New Year (Nowruz) begins in the Persian calendar, the Third Gulf War is escalating, possibly beyond the control of the US President who initiated it. What began as a demonstration of resolve now risks becoming a demonstration of limits – of power, of planning and of political judgement. It may already have passed the point at which “victory” retains any coherent meaning.
None of this should surprise those familiar with Iran’s modern history or with the pattern of previous Gulf conflicts. The Islamic Republic has proved repeatedly that it is neither brittle nor easily coerced. The “12 Day War” last June, as well as the earlier Gulf Wars, offered ample evidence of how quickly escalation can outpace intention. Within policy and intelligence circles, these lessons were well understood. As British Ambassador in Yemen immediately following the Arab Spring and then later in Libya during the civil war of 2019-20, I and my staff were acutely conscious of the ongoing destabilisation across the whole region that resulted from the 2003 invasion of Iraq and its chaotic aftermath. That these hard earned lessons appear not to have shaped Washington’s decision-making before launching the current conflict is as troubling as it is perplexing.
There is no satisfaction to be drawn from having anticipated this trajectory (as I did in the New Statesman on the first day of the war). The prevailing emotion, rather, is sorrow and regret: that warnings went unheeded, and that the damage now being inflicted – on American credibility, on regional stability, and on the Iranian people and humanity’s cultural heritage in that country – might have been mitigated, perhaps even avoided.
The White House response has done little to reassure. Donald Trump, by his own admission, may or may not have a plan. What has emerged instead is a pattern of reactive decision-making, driven by an apparent faith that overwhelming force can compensate for strategic ambiguity. It rarely does.
In Washington, frustration appears to be turning outward. Allies are chastised, adversaries threatened and the narrative shifts by the day.This unpredictability is a liability, not a strategy. It invites miscalculation, not only in Tehran but across a region already primed for it. Past US presidents, chastised unfairly by Trump for not having dealt decisively with Iran, understood that.
What, then, should we expect next? Four scenarios suggest themselves, none especially reassuring:
The first is a declaration of victory by President Trump untethered from reality. Such moments are not without precedent. They rely on a temporary suspension of disbelief –domestically and internationally – and tend to unravel quickly under scrutiny. For instance, President Trump himself declared after bombing Iran’s nuclear facilities last June that Iran’s nuclear threat had been completely dealt with. Given that he felt the need to start this war just eight months later, clearly that was not the case.
The second is a continuation of the current trajectory: escalating strikes on infrastructure without a ground invasion. This would likely produce an inconclusive outcome within one to two months, leaving both sides diminished. It is, in many ways, the path of least resistance – and least resolution. President Trump’s latest declaration that he would extend the deadline for Iran to re-open the Straits of Hormuz and not bomb its oil infrastructure for another five days, though seemingly a positive move, fits with this scenario.
The third involves a more hazardous escalation: a limited ground operation, possibly centred on Kharg Island and its vital oil infrastructure, combined with taking control of the shoreline on the Straits of Hormuz. Such a move might achieve short-term tactical gains but would risk entangling US forces in a protracted and unsustainable occupation of Iranian territory, however limited its scope. History offers little encouragement that such ventures end cleanly.
The fourth and most alarming – though I’m glad to say the least likely – is the possibility of a limited nuclear strike by Israel. The consequences do not bear thinking about. Regional alliances could harden overnight; nuclear thresholds, once crossed, are not easily re-established. Saudi Arabia might look to its security arrangements with Pakistan, while Iran might seek to acquire a nuclear deterrent or create a dirty bomb. Escalation, in this scenario, would acquire a momentum of its own.
In each of these scenarios, one constant remains: the eventual necessity of negotiation. Wars of this kind do not conclude through military means alone. They end, if they end at all, through dialogue – often after avoidable costs have been incurred. That is why it is to be welcomed that President Trump has claimed that talks are now taking place with Iran. If true – and the Iranians deny it – then this might offer a glimmer of hope that the US President is preparing to de-escalate the war.
It is tempting to ask whether this realisation has come too late, and whether it is possible avoid an inconclusive outcome that simply leads to a further outbreak of hostilities in due course. There were, by most accounts, diplomatic openings that might have led to a different result: a gradual evolution within Iran catalysed by economic engagement – especially a game-changing lifting of US primary sanctions –and cautious reintegration. Such an approach would have required patience and a tolerance for ambiguity – qualities not much in evidence today.
Instead, the limited “regime change” effected thus far appears to have strengthened the most hardline elements within Iran’s leadership. This is a familiar paradox: external pressure consolidating internal rigidity. It makes the prospect of a negotiated settlement more distant, not less.
One is left to wonder who, precisely, is shaping American strategy. The US is not short of expertise on Iran. Yet expertise only matters if it is heeded. The tone and substance of recent communications suggest otherwise.
There is, at times, an unsettling dissonance between the gravity of events and the language used to describe them. Military operations are presented with a breezy confidence more suited to simulation than reality. War, however, has a way of resisting simplification.
The internal dynamics of the US administration remain opaque. Traditional centres of influence – diplomatic, military, congressional – appear muted or absent. In their place, other voices, less constrained by institutional caution, seem to carry disproportionate weight. This imbalance rarely produces measured outcomes.
The prospect of deploying ground forces illustrates the point. Even a limited insertion of US Marines – securing key facilities or strategic chokepoints – would raise immediate and difficult questions. What is the objective? What constitutes success? And, perhaps most importantly, how does one leave?
Such questions are not academic. They go to the heart of whether this conflict remains containable or becomes, in effect, a third full-scale Gulf War.
Meanwhile, the economic consequences are already being felt. Energy markets have responded predictably, with prices rising sharply amid uncertainty over the security of shipping through the Straits of Hormuz. Should disruption persist, the global impact will deepen, testing political resilience far beyond the region.
In the end, the greatest risk may not be a single catastrophic decision, but the accumulation of smaller misjudgements – each one manageable in isolation, collectively transformative. That is how conflicts expand, and how they outgrow those who initiate them.
There is still time, just, to alter course. But doing so will require a clarity of purpose and a willingness to engage diplomatically that have so far been in short supply. Without them, the US risks finding itself not only in a protracted conflict, but on the wrong side of history – a position from which it is neither easy nor quick to recover.
[Further reading: Nina Schick: “This is the first AI war”]
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