The reality is that the US and Israel have been in conflict with Iran for some time. But the nature of that conflict has shifted markedly in recent weeks.
For much of the past decade, the contest between Iran and its adversaries operated within an informal set of limits: attacks were routed through proxy networks (Hezbollah, Iraqi militias, the Houthis and others); direct strikes were often calibrated to avoid mass civilian casualties; and Tehran frequently signalled or warned before broader missile or drone salvos so that adversaries could brace or evacuate.
One could argue that the Hamas attacks launched from Gaza were an exception, although even these were conducted through a proxy.
For years, this pattern produced a restrained, tit-for-tat rhythm — costly and dangerous but contained enough to avoid full-scale, open war.
This “restrained war” has never meant weakness. The Islamic Republic was deliberately structured to survive long, attritional contests.
Its power is distributed across parallel institutions — clerical bodies, the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), provincial networks and mass mobilisation organs — so that removing any one leader or striking one set of targets does not automatically collapse the system.
Thinking of the regime in generational terms — the idea of a “fourth successor”, an Iranian shorthand for multiple layers of institutional replacement beyond any single individual — helps explain why Tehran can absorb shocks and keep fighting.
Succession mechanisms, localised command structures and ideologically driven militias give the state a depth that can sustain prolonged conflict.
Analysts and journalists who have examined Iran’s post-1979 institutional design and wartime adaptations regard this resilience as a key constraint on quick, decisive outcomes.
This organisational structure means that any attempt to “decapitate” the regime through targeted strikes is always unlikely to succeed.
This is not Venezuela; comparisons with the attempted rapid unravelling of the Maduro government are misplaced.
According to statements from the White House, initial bombing appeared designed to target the Iranian leadership and support internal pressure for regime change arising from anti-government protests.
More recent strikes, however, have broadened to include general infrastructure, placing pressure on the wider population rather than the senior leadership. This shift may prove consequential.
By reframing the conflict as a war against Iran as a whole, rather than against its leadership, it risks strengthening domestic cohesion.
History suggests that strategic bombing and mass attacks on cities rarely produce the political capitulation their planners expect; instead, they tend to harden civilian resolve, create martyr narratives and deepen identification with beleaguered authorities.
Studies and post-war surveys from World War II — including US analyses of bombing’s effects on morale, as well as later scholarship on the Blitz and the Allied bombing of German and Japanese cities — underline that targeting civilians does not reliably translate into surrender and can prolong conflict.
Religion and recent history give these dynamics additional force in Iran. Academics generally agree that religion offers frameworks through which people make sense of suffering.
Twelver Shiism is deeply shaped by narratives of suffering and martyrdom. The origins of Shia Islam — including the killing of Ali, the Prophet’s son-in-law — are central to this tradition.
In Shia theology, Ali’s willingness to face overwhelming odds rather than submit to what he regarded as illegitimate rule symbolises moral resistance to injustice.
His suffering and death are remembered not simply as tragedy but as a model of ethical steadfastness.
Rituals such as Ashura institutionalise collective mourning, valorise sacrifice and resistance and provide a powerful cultural repertoire that political leaders can draw on in wartime.
This framework was reinforced by the experience of the 1980–88 Iran–Iraq War, when mass casualties and “sacrificial” rhetoric were woven into national memory.
The combination of religious symbolism and lived trauma may make segments of the population more willing — and in some narratives, even proud — to endure hardship rather than capitulate.
The regime will seek to frame the conflict in these terms to consolidate support. Reports of civilian casualties, including schoolchildren, are likely to feed into this narrative.
Taken together, these factors help explain why launching kinetic campaigns against Iran may be politically and operationally easier than finding a credible, rapid exit.
Tehran’s rhetoric makes this point bluntly: officials, including those in the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, have stated that Iran — not Washington or its partners — will “determine the end of the war”.
Any ceasefire or settlement will therefore depend on Tehran’s political calculations, not simply battlefield pressure. Inflicting damage may be straightforward; ending the war on acceptable terms is far more difficult.
There are also significant global economic risks. Iran is heavily outgunned but it retains leverage through its partial control of the Strait of Hormuz, a critical chokepoint for global energy flows.
A substantial share of the world’s oil passes through the strait, as does the vast majority of Qatar’s liquefied natural gas exports, which have become central to European supply since the reduction of Russian imports following the war in Ukraine.
In places, the channel is only a few miles wide and shallow enough that a single sunken vessel could severely disrupt navigation.
Iranian officials have signalled a willingness to use this leverage, including threats to restrict passage under certain political conditions.
Given the fragility of the global economy after successive shocks — the financial crisis, inflation, the Covid-19 pandemic and the war in Ukraine — such disruption would be deeply destabilising.
It is often said that geography shapes history. We may be about to see how true that is, as the US attempts to extract itself from a conflict it did not fully think through.
John Davenport is chief creative officer of Mediology advertising, as well as a part-time psychology student and ungifted runner.
It is easier to start wars than to end them
