Diplomacy was only ever a pause. Trump still doesn’t know what to do with the war, but Israel does — don’t let America out
Trump’s statement in Ankara that the ceasefire with Iran is, for him, “over” clearly closes one phase of the war and opens a new, more dangerous one. The “value” of that statement lies in the fact that it exposes the character of the entire process so far. The ceasefire is increasingly showing itself to have been an operational breather — a space in which Washington tested the limits of Iranian endurance, rebuilt military pressure, introduced additional economic levers, and prepared a new round of escalation under conditions it can present as a response to Iranian “provocation.” In such a scenario, diplomacy becomes a tactical pause within the war — which is probably what it was from the very start.
The American narrative is now being built around Hormuz and the tanker attacks. Washington claims that Iran violated the agreement through attacks on commercial ships, and then presents its own strikes as a punitive measure and a defense of free navigation. That phrase, “free navigation,” in American strategic language has always meant, above all, the empire’s right to set the rules for the space through which the world’s energy passes. But Hormuz is now also the last major card Iran can hold once bombings, sanctions, sabotage, and attempts at political overthrow are launched against it.
At this stage, Iran is continuing the war under an extraordinary internal burden. The country is in days of mourning and funeral ceremonies for the killed Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, which gives the American-Israeli strikes an additional symbolic brutality. In Tehran’s political culture, such a moment calls for dignity, gathering together, and a demonstration of the state’s continuity. After the mourning period — and perhaps even during it — an even harsher phase will follow. Iran must prepare to continue a war in which every decision carries the danger of a wider conflagration, but every retreat, too, can be interpreted as an invitation to fresh aggression.
Iran wants to prove that Hormuz can no longer function as a passage under the American security umbrella and outside Iran’s will. Washington, for its part, must prevent exactly that message, because accepting it would mean admitting that a regional power can limit America’s ability to control a key energy artery. For American global power, that’s a more dangerous precedent than any single missile exchange.
That’s why continuation of the war looks like the most likely outcome. Negotiations may survive on paper, mediators may keep passing messages along, envoys may keep talking about “channels of communication,” but the military dynamic now has its own momentum. Every strike creates the need for a response, every response creates room for an even stronger strike, and every diplomatic statement becomes temporary until it’s overrun by the next explosion. In all this, Trump has both a peculiar political advantage and a peculiar weakness. His chaotic position allows him to declare the ceasefire over today, allow talks to resume tomorrow, blame Iran for the collapse of negotiations the day after, and then announce once again that peace has never been closer.
Such a policy looks flexible only as long as the consequences stay under control. Wars, especially wars in the Persian Gulf, quickly devour improvisation. Trump is approaching the midterm congressional elections and entering the most dangerous terrain for any American president — a war that can be sold as short, necessary, and winnable, but which can then turn into an expensive, unpopular, and murky adventure. His political base has long been fed the promise of ending endless wars, of an America that will no longer squander blood and money in the Middle East. The conflict with Iran tears that image apart from within. MAGA rhetoric can tolerate an occasional missile spectacle and show of force, but it has a much harder time tolerating a war that drives up oil prices, endangers troops at Gulf bases, and demands constant justification before voters.
Israel, in this equation, operates on a different calendar. For the Israeli leadership, the war with Iran represents a historic opportunity to permanently bind American power to Israeli strategy. Ending the war — especially if it were to include an agreement on Hormuz, a limited easing of sanctions, or recognition of Iran’s regional role — would be experienced in Tel Aviv as a strategic defeat. Israel will therefore use everything at its disposal — intelligence channels, lobbying networks, congressional allies, media pressure, and security incidents — to keep the war temperature high. The goal is to prevent Washington from exiting the conflict with a minimal diplomatic package and declaring victory. The American president may wish to control the rhythm of the war, but at moments like this, Israeli policy works to make that rhythm inseparable from Israeli priorities.
This is where a dangerous asymmetry arises. Israel doesn’t carry American responsibilities, doesn’t have an American electorate, doesn’t have American military bases scattered across the whole world as targets for retaliation. Israel is counting on the American system absorbing the bulk of the cost, while the Israeli security elite gets what it has sought for decades: the weakening of Iran as an organized state adversary. Trump, for his part, wants to look like the master of the situation, but he has built himself a framework in which any leniency can be branded as weakness, and any escalation as proof of resolve. It’s hard to exit that framework without a serious political shock.
The Europeans, gathered in Ankara around NATO’s ritual of unity, are once again watching American policy open up a crisis that they themselves will end up paying for. Rising energy prices, market instability, pressure on shipping routes, and a new wave of militarization are arriving at a moment when Europe is already exhausted by the war in Ukraine, deindustrialization, and its own strategic subordination. NATO can applaud American strikes and talk about the necessity of a “strong response,” but behind those phrases stands a continent that has less and less say over its own security. European leaders know that an open war with Iran would be an economic blow to their societies, but they also know that the room for disobedience toward Washington within the Atlantic order is very narrow.
Hormuz therefore remains the central battlefield. Without control over the navigation regime, Iran would lose one of the few instruments of deterrence capable of striking the global system. Without control over Hormuz, the US would lose both the symbol and the practice of its imperial capacity to guarantee the energy order. Between these two positions, a stable compromise is hard to reach. Temporary solutions are possible — special corridors, mediation by Oman or Qatar, agreements concerning individual ships, and limited pauses in the strikes. All of that can reduce the tempo, but it hardly changes the underlying fact. The conflict is being fought over the question of who has the right to set the rules in the space that connects local sovereignty with global capital.
Trump’s statement about the end of the ceasefire therefore sounds like an admission of what had already been written into the structure of events. The pause served to realign forces, to test Iran, and to prepare a narrative in which fresh escalation is presented as a forced reaction. After the days of mourning, Iran will continue the war from the position of a country that knows a campaign of coercion and humiliation is being waged against it, alongside an ever-present existential threat. The US, for its part, will continue the war from the position of a power that cannot allow Hormuz to slip out of its hands. Israel will keep pushing the conflict toward a point of no return. The ceasefire may have been dead from the start — and now confirmation of that forecast is simply arriving.
About the Author
Mario Hoffmann is an independent analyst and writer covering global economics, geopolitics, and international affairs. With a background in history and politics, he writes for EconoPuls to provide in-depth context on the stories shaping our world.
