Maroc - EURASIAREVIEW.COM - A la une - 22/Mar 01:52

The Mirage Of Decisive Force – Analysis

How the U.S.-Israel Campaign Against Iran Rewrote the Rules of Modern War It began with the thunder of massed sorties and the silence of decapitated command centers. The most sophisticated air armada in history — American stealth aircraft, Israeli precision munitions, naval carrier groups in the region — struck Iran in a campaign designed to be decisive, surgical, and short. It was none of those things. What followed was something more sobering: a demonstration of the limits of technological supremacy when faced with strategic depth, asymmetric resolve, and the simple mathematics of attrition. The United States and Israel launched what planners hoped would be a war-ending campaign: simultaneous strikes against Iranian leadership, nuclear infrastructure, missile sites, and command networks. The opening phase moved with stunning precision. Targets were hit. Command nodes went dark. The world held its breath. Then Iran answered. And the war truly began. Saturation and Scale Military planners in Washington and Tel Aviv had long prepared for this scenario. Iran would retaliate. Missiles would fly. Integrated missile defense systems — Iron Dome, David’s Sling, THAAD — would absorb the blow. In theory, the architecture was sound. In practice, it was overwhelmed. No missile defense system is designed to intercept everything. Iran understood that from the outset. Its strategy was not sophistication but saturation: ballistic missiles, cruise missiles, and one-way attack drones designed not to defeat defenses one-for-one, but to exhaust them. Interceptor stockpiles are finite. Production timelines are slow. Launch enough weapons, and some will get through. Then launch again. The psychological effect mattered as much as the physical damage. The image of Israeli cities taking hits — even limited ones — punctured the aura of invulnerability that modern air defense had cultivated. Deterrence is not only a question of capability; it is a question of perception. Once perception cracks, the strategic cost rises faster than the material one. Iran understood that instinctively. Its adversaries underestimated it. Hormuz as Weapon If the air campaign exposed the limits of precision dominance, Iran’s closure of the Strait of Hormuz exposed something more alarming: a state under existential pressure can wield a chokepoint as an economic weapon of global reach. Roughly one-fifth of the world’s oil supply moves through that narrow corridor each day, along with critical liquefied natural gas shipments bound for Asia and Europe. Iran does not need to control the sea lanes permanently to destabilize them. Mines, small-boat swarms, shore-based missiles, and persistent harassment are enough to raise shipping costs, spike insurance rates, and inject fear into global markets. This was not desperation. It was strategy. Iran widened the battlefield from the military to the economic domain. Every tanker became a political variable. Every delay became leverage. Every day of closure forced the war’s costs onto audiences far beyond Washington and Tel Aviv — including Beijing, Tokyo, Seoul, Berlin, and Paris. In asymmetric warfare, this is the higher form of the art: not matching your adversary ship for ship, but making every barrel of oil a negotiation. The Decapitation Fallacy The initial strikes reflected a familiar theory of war: remove the leaders, and the system collapses. History rarely confirms that belief. States are not always brittle hierarchies. Ideological regimes, especially those embedded in institutional depth, often survive leadership losses by design. The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps is not just a military body. It is a parallel state with its own intelligence apparatus, economic interests, patronage networks, and ideological mission. When senior commanders fall, succession does not end; it activates. New leaders emerge, often more hardened and less politically constrained than the ones they replace. External attack can also consolidate domestic legitimacy. Iran’s political memory includes the Iran-Iraq War, an eight-year catastrophe that did not produce regime collapse. It produced national cohesion and a durable narrative of sacrifice under siege. The more the country is framed as under attack, the easier it becomes for the state to present itself as the vessel of resistance. Decapitation kills commanders. It rarely kills causes. Alliance Geography When President Trump turned to Europe’s major NATO powers — France, Germany, the United Kingdom, and Italy — and pressed them to join the effort to secure Hormuz and expand the campaign, the refusal was quick and predictable. NATO is a collective defense alliance built around North Atlantic territory. Its commitments do not extend by default to the Persian Gulf. That is not a legal technicality; it is a political reality. European governments may sympathize with Washington’s concerns, but they do not share an automatic obligation to convert them into war. Germany’s postwar political culture makes offensive military action especially difficult. France prizes strategic autonomy. Britain, despite its close relationship with the United States, remains constrained by public fatigue after Iraq and Afghanistan. The result is not betrayal but divergence. The deeper lesson is that the United States has repeatedly tried to treat NATO as a global instrument of power projection. It is not. It never was. Europe’s security interests and America’s Middle East commitments are not the same thing. The war made that difference impossible to ignore. Strategic Depth For decades, successive American administrations have debated how to deal with Iran and often settled on containment. The assumption was that Iran was dangerous but manageable — sanctionable, deterrable, and perhaps internally vulnerable. The campaign has forced a harder reading. Iran’s geography favors defense. Its terrain is vast, mountainous, and well suited to dispersal and concealment. Its military infrastructure has been hardened for exactly this kind of conflict. Its proxy network — Hezbollah in Lebanon, militias in Iraq and Syria, and the Houthis in Yemen — extends its reach far beyond its borders. That network gives Iran strategic depth that no single bombing campaign can neutralize. It also has something more important than hardware: political endurance. A population that has been taught for decades to interpret external pressure as existential threat may not rally around every policy of its rulers, but it can still rally around the idea of sovereignty. That is especially true under bombardment. The United States is now confronting a familiar problem: military superiority does not automatically produce strategic success. Iran is not trying to defeat America in a conventional sense. It is trying to outlast the political will required to keep fighting. No Theory of Victory Of all the failures the campaign exposed, the most important came before the first strike: the absence of a clear end state. What counts as victory? A destroyed nuclear program? A reopened Strait of Hormuz? Regime changes in Tehran? A new regional order? These are not interchangeable goals. They require different means, different timelines, and different levels of commitment. If a campaign does not define the political outcome it seeks, it tends to expand by default. That is how wars begin to outgrow the plans that launched them. Domestic support erodes. Allies hesitate. Costs accumulate. The military can continue to strike, but strikes without a political destination become a mechanism of pressure without a theory of resolution. Sun Tzu warned that the general who does not know his objective before battle has already lost much of the war. Modern states keep relearning that truth. What the War Teaches The war against Iran has become a strategic lesson for everyone watching. It shows that saturation can defeat sophistication when cost asymmetry favors the defender. It shows that decapitation is a tactic, not a strategy. It shows that Hormuz is not just a chokepoint but a lever against the world economy. It shows that NATO is not a global expeditionary force on demand. And it shows, above all, that military power is not a substitute for political judgment. Iran is not a model for governance, nor is it free of grave dangers. Its nuclear ambitions and regional behavior remain serious threats. But the campaign has clarified something its opponents hoped was not true: a determined state with strategic depth, asymmetric doctrine, and a population prepared to absorb punishment can survive the full weight of American and Israeli force and remain coherent. The question now is not whether escalation is possible. It is. The question is what escalation accomplishes, at what cost, and toward what end. Those are political questions. They always were. In war, the side that answers them first — clearly, honestly, and with discipline — shapes what comes next.