Tariq Saeedi
As I watch the conflict grind into its second week, it becomes clearer every day that this war was launched without the kind of planning that history demands.
There was no widely accepted justification that could withstand scrutiny, and no set of measurable objectives that could be ticked off as achieved or abandoned. In their absence, what accumulates is simply more death and destruction—painful, bilateral, and seemingly without end. — The war itself now feels like a living organism, constantly sprouting new dimensions while others quietly recede, reshaping the battlefield in ways the planners never anticipated.
One dimension that was meant to expand has instead begun to shrink. Early rhetoric and a handful of suspicious incidents suggested a deliberate effort to draw regional states into active participation against Iran.
False-flag suspicions circulated after drones reached Turkish airspace and struck near Azerbaijan’s Nakhchivan exclave. Yet the so-called Arab Street has shown remarkable restraint; no government has committed forces or even offered more than cautious statements. Public sentiment across Arab capitals has stayed cool, focused on economic fallout rather than joining a broader crusade.
Turkey’s response has been notably measured. President Erdoğan spoke by phone with Iran’s leadership and stated that Ankara was conducting a thorough investigation into the incidents on its territory. His tone was constructive, even suggesting the possibility of external manipulation behind the events. That conversation stood in contrast to the sharper exchanges of previous days and signaled that Ankara has no interest in escalation.
Azerbaijan has gone further in the other direction. Just days after the Nakhchivan episode, President Ilham Aliyev personally oversaw the dispatch of a large humanitarian convoy—trucks loaded with food, medicine, and relief supplies—crossing the border into Iran. The gesture marked a swift pivot from earlier frustration to practical solidarity, quietly closing off another avenue for the conflict to widen.
The regional front, in short, is receding, at least for now.
The same pattern appears in the maritime domain. Only a week ago President Trump declared that the Strait of Hormuz would be kept open for international shipping. That assurance has now evaporated.
The current American position is that U.S. forces will not assume responsibility for escorting or protecting commercial vessels through the waterway. Tankers remain anchored or rerouted, insurance premiums have tripled, and the promised freedom of navigation has quietly slipped from the agenda.
Elsewhere, expectations have also failed to materialize. Appeals to Kurdish factions on both sides of the Iran-Iraq border were met with polite but firm refusals. No significant Kurdish units have moved against Iranian positions. The calculation that internal fractures would widen under pressure has not borne out.
Even among long-standing partners, second thoughts are audible.
Gulf states that host major American bases are beginning to question the reliability of that security umbrella. When facilities in several of those countries came under fire and the response was limited, the realization dawned that protection might prove more illusory than advertised. Should that perception take root, it could quietly reshape investment flows, defense contracts, and long-term business confidence across the region.
On the other side of the globe, American decision-makers appear to be shifting assets—drawing down certain capabilities from South Korea and possibly from support lines in Ukraine—to reinforce positions closer to Israel. Whether coincidence or consequence, the Korean Peninsula has seen an unusual softening of rhetoric in recent days. For two nations that were once one people, the moment may yet open a narrow window for dialogue that was unthinkable only months ago.
The most striking new dimension is the renewed attention to asymmetrical warfare. The high-cost Patriot and THAAD systems, long regarded as the gold standard of air defense, have struggled to deliver the decisive results expected against waves of low-cost, slow-moving Shahed drones. Those noisy, inexpensive platforms—flying at speeds that once seemed laughably vulnerable—have forced a reassessment of what modern conflict actually requires.
Meanwhile, Iran’s more sophisticated missiles continue to enter the theater, but it is the early impression left by the humble Shahed that has begun to rewrite doctrinal textbooks.
Even the economic signals refuse to behave predictably. Oil prices swing wildly on the smallest shift in perceived risk—one day climbing toward triple digits, the next falling back as traders reassess. The volatility raises uncomfortable questions about the models and algorithms supposedly governing these markets.
At the same time, inside Iran itself, something almost counterintuitive is occurring: the rial, which had been in near-free fall for months, has begun to stabilize and even strengthen modestly. Early indicators suggest inflation is easing rather than spiraling. The resilience of the domestic economy under sustained pressure defies every conventional forecast.
Each of these shifts—some expanding, others contracting—illustrates how an ill-conceived campaign can take on a momentum of its own.
What began as a calculated strike has become a dynamic process, reshaping alliances, military thinking, and economic assumptions in real time. The only constant is the accumulating cost in lives and stability.
As these dimensions continue to emerge and recede, the central challenge remains unchanged: finding a way to impose reason on a conflict that was launched without it. /// nCa, 12 March 2026