Asis Mistry
Donald Trump once
promised to end America’s “forever wars.” “Great nations do not fight endless
wars,” he declared. Yet six months into his second term, Trump has stoked not
one but two major geopolitical flashpoints—Iran and Ukraine—pushing the world
closer to systemic conflict, not peace.
On June 22, U.S. bombers
and submarines struck Iran’s most fortified nuclear sites—Fordow, Natanz, and
Isfahan—even as Tehran remained engaged in backchannel diplomacy. Trump
initially denied involvement, then justified the strikes as “peace through strength.”
When Israel’s defences faltered under Iranian retaliation, Trump intervened
directly, transforming a regional skirmish into a U.S.-led escalation.
This episode eviscerates
the myth of Trump as a restrained realist. As in the lead-up to the 2003 Iraq
war, his move was unilateral, poorly coordinated, and based on vague
intelligence—this time, the disputed claim that Iran was just days from a
nuclear breakout, a claim his own intelligence services had walked back earlier
this year.
Far from calming
tensions, Trump has become a pacemaker in the most dangerous sense—artificially
accelerating global crises. His posture has reignited the flames of great-power
rivalry and blurred red lines everywhere: from Tehran and Tel Aviv to Kyiv and
Moscow. On June 24, Trump announced a “complete and total ceasefire” between
Iran and Israel, calling an end to what he described as a “12-day war” that, he
claims, could have dragged on for years. Yet this ceasefire is less an act of
peace-making than a strategic intermission. Trump appears to be deliberately
managing the pace of conflict—escalating it to showcase strength, then pausing
it theatrically to claim diplomatic success.
This modulation serves
multiple ends: it fuels his long-standing ambition for a Nobel Peace Prize,
projects leadership during election cycles, and, crucially, sustains the U.S.
arms economy. Netanyahu’s July 2025 nomination of Trump for the Nobel Peace Prize,
citing his “pivotal role” in expanding Arab–Israeli normalization, encapsulates
this contradiction. That Trump was simultaneously bombing Iran while being
nominated for peace underscores the Orwellian theater of contemporary
geopolitics. Critics have rightly pointed out that the nomination appears more
a political gesture than a recognition of any substantive peacebuilding.
Indeed, as Trump floats dreams of Middle East “Rivieras” built on the rubble of
Gaza, his diplomacy takes on the contours of imperial spectacle rather than
reconciliation.
Like the recent
India–Pakistan border ceasefire, the Iran–Israel accord is thin on structure
and heavy on symbolism, more about optics than resolution. What emerges is not
a roadmap to peace, but a choreography of war—calculated, commodified, and
politically profitable.
In Ukraine, Trump’s
rhetoric is equally destabilising. He boasts of ending the war in 24 hours—yet
as the Lowy Institute notes, his fear of appearing weak may push him toward
increased U.S. military support if negotiations fail. Ironically, a second Trump
term could see him pivot against Putin, not out of principle but optics. His
unpredictability—flirting with both appeasement and escalation—unsettles allies
and emboldens adversaries.
Meanwhile, Republicans
remain divided. According to Pew, nearly half of GOP voters believe the U.S. is
giving too much aid to Ukraine, and support for NATO has significantly eroded
among Trump’s base. Should this transactional approach define U.S. foreign
policy, both Ukraine and Europe may be forced to reckon with strategic
abandonment mid-conflict.
Behind Trump’s foreign
policy rhetoric lies a deeper, structural engine: the political economy of
American arms exports. As public support for overseas entanglements becomes
more fractured, the defence industry provides continuity and momentum.
According to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), U.S.
weapons exports to Europe surged by 233% between 2020 and 2024—driven largely
by Ukraine-related military aid. For the first time in decades, Europe
surpassed the Middle East as the largest destination for American arms,
accounting for 35% of U.S. exports. Ukraine alone absorbed 26% of these
shipments, with nearly three-quarters sourced directly from U.S. military
stockpiles. This rapid flow of materiel has accelerated a new wave of militarisation
across NATO countries, all under the legitimising narrative of allied support.
This is not incidental.
As the Global Times analysis notes, the Ukraine war has sparked a
massive rearmament drive among NATO states—many of which are now locked into
long-term procurement contracts with U.S. defence firms. Over $81 billion in
U.S. arms sales were recorded in 2023 alone, a 56% jump from the previous year.
These deals don’t just project American power abroad; they anchor jobs and
economic activity at home. The U.S. aerospace and defence sector supports over
2.1 million jobs, a figure that lends domestic economic justification to
sustained overseas military engagement.
The entanglement of
strategic objectives with industrial benefits turns global conflict into both a
political and economic imperative. When Trump promotes “peace through
strength,” what often follows is an arms pipeline that fuels instability under
the guise of deterrence. This militarised economy makes withdrawal from war
zones economically costly and politically fraught. It also means that regional
flare-ups—in Ukraine, Iran, or potentially South Asia—can be seen as market
opportunities rather than diplomatic failures. In such a context, foreign
policy is no longer about strategic vision or conflict resolution; it is about
sustaining a system in which peace becomes structurally unprofitable.
The Iran strikes, for
their part, have shredded what remained of the nuclear non-proliferation order.
The global message is stark: disarmament invites attack; deterrence ensures
survival. Nowhere is this more dangerously internalised than in South Asia.
Pakistan, long defensive
about its tactical nuclear posture in the face of India’s conventional military
edge, now sees its strategy vindicated. Trump’s strike on Iran sends a stark
message: adherence to international norms offers no shield against pre-emptive
force. For Islamabad, this reinforces the belief that nuclear deterrence
remains its only credible safeguard. For India—traditionally cast as a
responsible nuclear actor and regional stabiliser—the collapse of trust in
global diplomatic frameworks makes continued strategic restraint harder to
justify, and potentially more costly. The precedent set in Iran reverberates
across South Asia, casting a long shadow over its already fragile deterrence
balance.
This shift has global
implications. Trump’s style has turned preventive war into standard policy.
Having dismantled the 2015 Iran nuclear deal, he moved from diplomacy to
sanctions, and now to strikes. In Ukraine, he may soon pivot from “deal-maker”
to war-expander. In both cases, the guiding logic is not de-escalation, but
coercion.
The economic fallout has
been swift. Oil prices soared 28% within days of the Iran strike. Energy
markets remain on edge. Inflationary shocks ripple across Europe and Asia. With
40,000 U.S. troops deployed in West Asia, America is exposed—militarily, politically,
and economically.
What Trump celebrates as
“strength” is, in fact, a war on memory—a disregard for the hard lessons of
Iraq, Afghanistan, and Libya. Like before, there is no exit plan, no
congressional authorisation, and no strategy beyond spectacle. The strike on
Iran drew bipartisan concern, but Republican hawks cheered it as decisive
leadership. The White House spun it as a triumph for global security. The truth
is far murkier.
Meanwhile, Benjamin
Netanyahu—facing domestic unrest—rides this moment to reassert Israeli hardline
power. But in doing so, he and Trump risk dragging the U.S. into a protracted
conflict it neither initiated nor fully controls.
The message to smaller
states worldwide is chilling: negotiate and die, or arm and survive. Diplomacy
becomes obsolete, and nuclear deterrence becomes a doctrine of despair. For
South Asia—where a single misstep between India and Pakistan could lead to catastrophe—this
unravelling is deeply ominous.
Trump did not end forever
wars. He fractured them into episodic flashpoints, more dangerous for their
unpredictability and lack of resolution. His foreign policy is not
peace-making—it is pace-making, rushing the world toward chaos with no vision
for peace.
This is not a strength.
It is a spectacle. And it leaves the world—Tehran, Kyiv, New Delhi, and
beyond—holding its breath for the next strike.
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