In the US and elsewhere, those aggrieved by US action against Iran this weekend have fallen predictably back on comparisons with the events of 2003, when the US and its allies invaded Iraq.
Twenty-two years ago the US justified this drastic action with the prospect of a rogue regime developing weapons of mass destruction, along with the vague notion that toppling said tyranny would usher in a new dawn of peace and democracy, not only in the country on the receiving end but across the wider Middle Eastern region. The weapons turned out not to exist, while peace and democracy remain works in progress: Iraq might now be a broadly better place than it was under Saddam Hussein but that is a low bar cleared at horrendous cost, most of it borne by Iraq’s people.
But while there might well be reasonable grounds for protesting the decision by Donald Trump to join Israel’s assault on Iran’s nuclear – and other – facilities, they are not to be found anywhere in Iraq. Iraq is not Iran and then is not now.
For a start, nobody is suggesting that the US or its allies mount a full-scale invasion of Iran. But the threat posed by the country is – and has been for decades – substantially less imaginary than that ever posed by Hussein’s Iraq. Iran has long operated and facilitated a network of baneful proxies across the Middle East, greatly to the detriment of the people of Syria, Lebanon, Iraq and Yemen. Iran has also officially pledged itself, time and again, to the destruction of a fellow member of the United Nations, Israel, a country entitled – if not obliged – by history to take such threats seriously.
One does not need to be especially twitchy to dislike the idea of all of the above underpinned by the power to deliver cataclysm, and in June, the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) – not a noted coterie of yee-hawing warmongers – declared Iran in breach of non-proliferation obligations, in enriching uranium far beyond what is necessary for civilian power generation. The IAEA estimated that Iran was close to having enough weapons-grade uranium to make nine nuclear bombs.
The anger from some Democrats that Trump has not sought Congressional approval for these raids is performative. There is a probably unresolvable glitch in the American system, to the effect that while the power to declare war theoretically does belong to Congress, the president is the commander in chief. Besides which, formal declarations of war are a relic of an older world: no US president, Republican or Democrat, has sought such authority from Congress since 4 June 1942, when the US declared war on Bulgaria, Hungary and Romania.
At this early stage, Trump’s decision looks more opportunist than strategic. The US president appears to have calculated that with Israel having started operations against Iran’s nuclear apparatus, the US could finish the job (the degree to which any of this was choreographed in advance between Jerusalem and Washington is, at this point, unknowable). He further seems to believe – and correctly – that Iran is in a weaker position than it has been for many years. Its proxies Hezbollah, Hamas and the Houthis are substantially withered; its former puppet Bashar al-Assad is banished. The Iranian regime also fears the frustrations of that (large) portion of its own population that would prefer the nation to be, as it could and should be, a prosperous and marvellous modern state, as opposed to a bankrupt and ossified theocracy. Iran’s options for retaliation, whatever apocalyptic threats that it utters, are limited.
Trump could certainly have banked that, whatever pro forma diplomatic harrumphing is being emitted from some quarters, nobody is really much upset by Iran’s nuclear ambitions being curtailed. While Iran has had clients and vassals, it has no friends. Even Russia and China, Iran’s current sort-of allies of convenience, were signatories to the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action – the deal brokered by the Obama administration that limited Iran’s uranium enrichment before Trump flounced from it during his first term.
As is always a possibility where Trump is concerned, he might just be acting on inchoate impulse – and his instincts, it is fair to say, have been short of 100 per cent reliable before now. But any serious objection to the action taken by the US this weekend – and Israel in recent days – has to acknowledge what an Iranian bomb would mean – or, perhaps, would have meant.
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As Israeli and Iranian artillery continues to roar over the Middle East, and the world’s attention narrows in on military manoeuvres and nuclear threats, a diplomatic alternative is unfolding in the Arabian Gulf. In air-conditioned halls, behind closed doors in private majlises (sitting rooms) and through discreet backchannels, Gulf states are working overtime to contain the fallout from Israel’s strikes on Iran. At the centre of this effort is the United Arab Emirates (UAE) – a country uniquely positioned between two combatting capitals: Jerusalem and Tehran.
Israel’s initial attack triggered a wave of condemnation from regional neighbours. Riyadh, Abu Dhabi, Doha and Muscat have all issued carefully worded statements calling for restraint and warning of the dangers of escalation. On the surface, these reactions appear to be standard diplomatic protocol but beneath the language of international law and peacebuilding lies a more pragmatic aim: self-preservation. “The Gulf is scrambling to avoid a war between Israel and Iran,” says Mahdi Jasim Ghuloom, a junior fellow in geopolitics at the Observer Research Foundation. “These public condemnations are not just about principle. They’re about protection, distancing Gulf interests from Israeli actions in the hope of avoiding retaliation from Iran.”
The concern is well-founded. Israel’s campaign, which prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu has described as “ongoing,” has already claimed the lives of high-ranking Iranian military officials, including the commander of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps and the chief of staff for Iran’s armed forces. While the intent might be clear, the consequences are anything but predictable. “If Israel is serious about this being a longer-term operation, then the Gulf is right to worry,” Ghuloom warns. “There’s always the risk that Iran, feeling cornered, shifts into a regime-survival mindset. That’s when things become dangerous, when you start seeing unconventional retaliation, proxy activation or even nuclear miscalculations.”
In this increasingly volatile landscape, the UAE’s approach stands out. As one of the only countries in the world that is maintaining diplomatic relations with both Israel and Iran, the UAE occupies a rare position – not as a passive observer but as a potential bridge. While no formal mediation has been announced, diplomatic sources suggest that the Emiratis have been quietly keeping communication channels open with both sides, even during the peak of the ongoing Israel-Hamas war.
This balancing act has not been without friction. Israel’s recent decision to temporarily shutter several of its embassies in the Gulf, including in the UAE, to prevent Iranian retaliation, has raised eyebrows in the region. “It’s frustrating for Gulf leaders,” Ghuloom says. “Closing embassies signals a lack of trust in Gulf security and risks alienating countries that could be vital conduits for dialogue. If Israel wants de-escalation, the Abraham Accords can’t just be economic – they have to function diplomatically too.”
Signed in 2020 with great fanfare, the Abraham Accords promised peace dividends: trade, tourism, technology. But their true test is now. Can they deliver stability in a moment of rising danger? “The accords were never just about flights and free-trade zones,” says Ghuloom. “This is when they have to work, to channel frustration, to communicate red lines and to quietly nudge both parties toward restraint.”
Beyond the UAE, Oman condemned the strikes as “reckless” even as it remains a vital interlocutor in US-Iran nuclear talks. Should Muscat’s influence wane, Washington might turn to Abu Dhabi. “If Iran becomes unresponsive,” Ghuloom says, “the UAE could be the next best bet.” Saudi Arabia, too, is treading a thin line. Having restored diplomatic ties with Tehran in 2023, it has issued strong condemnations of Israel’s actions while signalling a more pragmatic posture – one grounded in a desire to reduce regional tensions rather than inflame them. This isn’t just diplomacy for diplomacy’s sake. The Gulf’s proximity to potential conflict zones (and its enmeshment with global markets) makes it particularly vulnerable. The largest US base in the Middle East is in Qatar, while thousands of US troops are stationed just outside Abu Dhabi. Any escalation risks pulling the Gulf directly into the fray.
Then there are the economic stakes. “Even without a full-blown war, the perception of instability will spook investors,” warns Ghuloom. The Gulf’s financial and aviation sectors depend on global confidence. If the region is seen as unstable, that flows straight through to currency pressures, trade dips and nervousness in the markets.” Airlines such as Emirates and Etihad rely on calm skies. Dubai’s booming property market is fuelled by foreign capital that thrives on certainty. Sovereign wealth funds from Abu Dhabi to Riyadh are now deeply exposed across global markets. For the Gulf, even a whiff of instability is bad for business.
In other words, it is pragmatism, not ideology, that is the guiding force behind Gulf diplomacy today. And as the region teeters on the edge of wider conflict, it might fall to the UAE, Oman and Saudi Arabia to keep it from tipping over. Not because they are neutral but because they are interconnected – and because, in a fractured region, they are among the few voices that are still speaking to both sides. For now, diplomacy remains discreet. But the stakes are anything but subtle.
