WEDNESDAY COLUMN BY USSIJU MEDANER
info@medaner.com, justme4justice@yahoo.com
The longer the conflict between the United States, Israel, and Iran persists, the more its original justifications unravel under scrutiny. What began as a supposedly moral intervention has steadily revealed itself as a deeply strategic contest—one driven not by humanitarian concern, but by power, resources, and geopolitical dominance. The contradictions are no longer subtle; they are glaring, and they demand to be addressed with clarity and honesty.
At the onset, the world was told that the attack on Iran was, in part, about the Iranian people—their suffering, their alleged oppression, and their need for liberation. Yet, as events unfold, the conspicuous absence of the Iranian people from all meaningful discussions exposes the hollowness of that claim. Negotiations, ultimatums, and strategic recalibration revolve around the Strait of Hormuz, oil flows, military positioning, and nuclear capability. Not once have the supposed beneficiaries—the Iranian citizens—been central to these conversations. This contradiction alone dismantles the moral foundation upon which the war was presented.
Even more troubling are the inconsistencies in the statements of Donald Trump. He cited humanitarian concerns, including claims of mass unrest and casualties within Iran, as part of the rationale for military action. Yet, in a stunning display of contradiction, he publicly admitted that arms had been funneled to these same rioters through Kurdish channels. This raises a profound ethical question: how does one justify military intervention on humanitarian grounds while simultaneously fueling the very instability being condemned? Such contradictions do not merely weaken credibility—they obliterate it.
Beyond the rhetoric lies a more consequential debate: should Iran abandon its nuclear ambitions under these circumstances? The answer, when viewed through the lens of recent events, becomes far more complex than the simplistic demands issued by Washington. Iran has witnessed firsthand the vulnerability of nations without strong deterrence. It has observed the fate of countries that lacked the capacity to defend themselves against external aggression. In contrast, nations like North Korea have demonstrated that possession of strategic weapons can serve as a powerful deterrent against foreign intervention.
This reality places Iran in a position where its nuclear ambitions are no longer merely about power projection—they are about survival. When its principal adversary, represented by Benjamin Netanyahu, presides over a state widely understood to possess nuclear capabilities, the demand for unilateral disarmament becomes inherently unbalanced. On what moral or strategic basis does the United States insist that Iran relinquish what may be its ultimate security guarantee, while its adversary retains the same capability?
The consequences of these contradictions have not been limited to the battlefield; they have reverberated across the global stage, eroding the aura of American dominance. The United States, once perceived as the unquestioned leader of the Western alliance, now finds itself in an unfamiliar position—seeking support and receiving hesitation, if not outright refusal. Nations such as United Kingdom, France, Germany, Japan, and Canada have shown reluctance to be drawn into a conflict that lacks clear justification and defined objectives. Others, including China, have responded with strategic silence—allowing the United States to expend its resources while quietly strengthening their own position.
This growing isolation is not merely diplomatic—it is economic. There are increasing signs that trust in the United States as a financial and strategic anchor is weakening. Reports of gold repatriation by European nations, including significant withdrawals from American vaults, signal a deeper shift in global confidence. These reserves, some held in the United States for decades, were symbols of trust in American stability. Their removal suggests a reassessment of that trust.
Similarly, shifts in defense and trade policies among traditional allies reflect a broader recalibration.
Canada, for instance, is reconsidering longstanding arrangements that have tied a substantial portion of its defense spending to American systems. These changes, while gradual, point toward a world in which reliance on the United States is no longer seen as an unquestioned necessity.
Amid these developments, the situation in the Strait of Hormuz has become a focal point of both legal and strategic contention. Actions attributed to the United States in attempting to control or restrict access to this critical waterway raise serious questions under international law. Unlike coastal states, which may invoke certain rights under the Law of the Sea to protect their immediate security environment, external enforcement in international waters carries the risk of being interpreted as an act of war. This distinction is not merely academic—it has profound implications for escalation and legitimacy.
There is also a historical irony that cannot be ignored. The rhetoric of “sending Iran back to the stone age” reflects a profound misunderstanding of history.
The Persian civilization, which forms the cultural and historical foundation of modern Iran, was among the earliest to articulate principles of governance, human rights, and societal organization. Over 2,500 years ago, it was already laying the groundwork for concepts that would later be celebrated as pillars of civilization. To dismiss such a nation as primitive is not only inaccurate—it is intellectually indefensible.
The failed negotiations in Pakistan further illustrate the widening gap between perception and reality. These talks, widely anticipated as a potential turning point, instead exposed the underlying weaknesses of the American position. For Donald Trump, the negotiations represented an opportunity to engineer an exit from a conflict that had not unfolded as expected.
The hope appeared to be that Iran would accept a return to pre-war conditions, allowing the United States to claim a form of strategic success.
Iran, however, approached the negotiations from a position of calculated strength. Its representatives were reportedly composed of highly experienced, well-educated individuals with deep expertise in international law, diplomacy, and strategic studies. In contrast, the American delegation—aside from the vice president—appeared less equipped, with several figures whose proximity to power was based more on personal relationships than on technical competence.
This disparity in preparation and expertise translated into a fundamental imbalance at the negotiation table.
The failure of the talks was not accidental; it was inevitable. Several factors ensured that the negotiations were doomed from the outset.
First, there was a fundamental misalignment of objectives. The United States sought de-escalation without accountability, while Iran sought recognition of its resilience and a restructuring of the terms that had governed its international relations. These goals were not merely different—they were incompatible.
Second, the issue of trust loomed large. Years of sanctions, withdrawals from agreements, and shifting policies had eroded Iran’s confidence in American commitments. Any proposal from Washington was therefore viewed through a lens of skepticism.
Third, the influence of Israel remained a critical factor. Benjamin Netanyahu’s uncompromising stance on continued military pressure effectively constrained the scope of any agreement. As long as Israel maintained a position of escalation, the prospects for a meaningful settlement were severely limited.
Fourth, the dynamics of power had shifted. Iran was no longer negotiating from a position of weakness. Its demonstrated military capabilities and strategic alliances had altered the balance, enabling it to engage on more equal terms. Negotiations that fail to acknowledge such shifts are unlikely to succeed.
In many ways, the negotiation table became an extension of the battlefield—a space where psychological and strategic superiority mattered as much as military strength. Iran’s composure and clarity contrasted sharply with the urgency and inconsistency of the American approach.
From this conflict, several lessons emerge—lessons that extend far beyond the immediate participants and hold particular relevance for regions such as Africa.
First, the importance of self-reliance cannot be overstated. Nations that depend entirely on external powers for security risk finding themselves vulnerable when those powers pursue their own interests.
Second, the value of strategic deterrence is evident. While the proliferation of weapons is a complex and sensitive issue, the reality remains that capability often shapes respect in international relations.
Third, unity is essential. Fragmented regions are more susceptible to external manipulation, while cohesive blocs are better positioned to defend their interests.
Fourth, the global order is changing. The dominance of any single power is increasingly being challenged by a more multipolar reality, in which alliances are fluid and influence is distributed.
For Africa, these lessons are particularly urgent. The continent must move beyond dependency and toward a model of development and security that prioritizes internal strength and regional cooperation. The era of passive alignment is giving way to one that demands active strategy.
As the war continues, one truth becomes increasingly clear: this conflict has already reshaped perceptions of power. It has exposed the limits of military might, the dangers of miscalculation, and the consequences of pursuing war without a coherent strategy.
In the end, the greatest casualty may not be territory or resources, but credibility. The image of invincibility that once defined the United States has been significantly diminished. The world is watching—not just the outcome of the war, but the manner in which it is conducted, the decisions that are made, and the lessons that are learned.
History will judge this moment not by the narratives that were crafted at its beginning, but by the realities that emerged as it unfolded. And in those realities lies a powerful message: power, when misused, does not merely fail—it transforms, redistributes, and ultimately reshapes the world in ways that cannot be easily controlled. T
he longer the conflict between the United States, Israel, and Iran persists, the more its original justifications unravel under scrutiny. What began as a supposedly moral intervention has steadily revealed itself as a deeply strategic contest—one driven not by humanitarian concern, but by power, resources, and geopolitical dominance. The contradictions are no longer subtle; they are glaring, and they demand to be addressed with clarity and honesty.
At the onset, the world was told that the attack on Iran was, in part, about the Iranian people—their suffering, their alleged oppression, and their need for liberation. Yet, as events unfold, the conspicuous absence of the Iranian people from all meaningful discussions exposes the hollowness of that claim. Negotiations, ultimatums, and strategic recalibration revolve around the Strait of Hormuz, oil flows, military positioning, and nuclear capability. Not once have the supposed beneficiaries—the Iranian citizens—been central to these conversations. This contradiction alone dismantles the moral foundation upon which the war was presented.
Even more troubling are the inconsistencies in the statements of Donald Trump. He cited humanitarian concerns, including claims of mass unrest and casualties within Iran, as part of the rationale for military action. Yet, in a stunning display of contradiction, he publicly admitted that arms had been funneled to these same rioters through Kurdish channels. This raises a profound ethical question: how does one justify military intervention on humanitarian grounds while simultaneously fueling the very instability being condemned? Such contradictions do not merely weaken credibility—they obliterate it.
Beyond the rhetoric lies a more consequential debate: should Iran abandon its nuclear ambitions under these circumstances? The answer, when viewed through the lens of recent events, becomes far more complex than the simplistic demands issued by Washington. Iran has witnessed firsthand the vulnerability of nations without strong deterrence. It has observed the fate of countries that lacked the capacity to defend themselves against external aggression. In contrast, nations like North Korea have demonstrated that possession of strategic weapons can serve as a powerful deterrent against foreign intervention.
This reality places Iran in a position where its nuclear ambitions are no longer merely about power projection—they are about survival. When its principal adversary, represented by Benjamin Netanyahu, presides over a state widely understood to possess nuclear capabilities, the demand for unilateral disarmament becomes inherently unbalanced. On what moral or strategic basis does the United States insist that Iran relinquish what may be its ultimate security guarantee, while its adversary retains the same capability?
The consequences of these contradictions have not been limited to the battlefield; they have reverberated across the global stage, eroding the aura of American dominance. The United States, once perceived as the unquestioned leader of the Western alliance, now finds itself in an unfamiliar position—seeking support and receiving hesitation, if not outright refusal. Nations such as United Kingdom, France, Germany, Japan, and Canada have shown reluctance to be drawn into a conflict that lacks clear justification and defined objectives. Others, including China, have responded with strategic silence—allowing the United States to expend its resources while quietly strengthening their own position.
This growing isolation is not merely diplomatic—it is economic. There are increasing signs that trust in the United States as a financial and strategic anchor is weakening. Reports of gold repatriation by European nations, including significant withdrawals from American vaults, signal a deeper shift in global confidence. These reserves, some held in the United States for decades, were symbols of trust in American stability. Their removal suggests a reassessment of that trust.
Similarly, shifts in defense and trade policies among traditional allies reflect a broader recalibration.
Canada, for instance, is reconsidering longstanding arrangements that have tied a substantial portion of its defense spending to American systems. These changes, while gradual, point toward a world in which reliance on the United States is no longer seen as an unquestioned necessity.
Amid these developments, the situation in the Strait of Hormuz has become a focal point of both legal and strategic contention. Actions attributed to the United States in attempting to control or restrict access to this critical waterway raise serious questions under international law. Unlike coastal states, which may invoke certain rights under the Law of the Sea to protect their immediate security environment, external enforcement in international waters carries the risk of being interpreted as an act of war. This distinction is not merely academic—it has profound implications for escalation and legitimacy.
There is also a historical irony that cannot be ignored. The rhetoric of “sending Iran back to the stone age” reflects a profound misunderstanding of history.
The Persian civilization, which forms the cultural and historical foundation of modern Iran, was among the earliest to articulate principles of governance, human rights, and societal organization. Over 2,500 years ago, it was already laying the groundwork for concepts that would later be celebrated as pillars of civilization. To dismiss such a nation as primitive is not only inaccurate—it is intellectually indefensible.
The failed negotiations in Pakistan further illustrate the widening gap between perception and reality. These talks, widely anticipated as a potential turning point, instead exposed the underlying weaknesses of the American position. For Donald Trump, the negotiations represented an opportunity to engineer an exit from a conflict that had not unfolded as expected.
The hope appeared to be that Iran would accept a return to pre-war conditions, allowing the United States to claim a form of strategic success.
Iran, however, approached the negotiations from a position of calculated strength. Its representatives were reportedly composed of highly experienced, well-educated individuals with deep expertise in international law, diplomacy, and strategic studies. In contrast, the American delegation—aside from the vice president—appeared less equipped, with several figures whose proximity to power was based more on personal relationships than on technical competence.
This disparity in preparation and expertise translated into a fundamental imbalance at the negotiation table.
The failure of the talks was not accidental; it was inevitable. Several factors ensured that the negotiations were doomed from the outset.
First, there was a fundamental misalignment of objectives. The United States sought de-escalation without accountability, while Iran sought recognition of its resilience and a restructuring of the terms that had governed its international relations. These goals were not merely different—they were incompatible.
Second, the issue of trust loomed large. Years of sanctions, withdrawals from agreements, and shifting policies had eroded Iran’s confidence in American commitments. Any proposal from Washington was therefore viewed through a lens of skepticism.
Third, the influence of Israel remained a critical factor. Benjamin Netanyahu’s uncompromising stance on continued military pressure effectively constrained the scope of any agreement. As long as Israel maintained a position of escalation, the prospects for a meaningful settlement were severely limited.
Fourth, the dynamics of power had shifted. Iran was no longer negotiating from a position of weakness. Its demonstrated military capabilities and strategic alliances had altered the balance, enabling it to engage on more equal terms. Negotiations that fail to acknowledge such shifts are unlikely to succeed.
In many ways, the negotiation table became an extension of the battlefield—a space where psychological and strategic superiority mattered as much as military strength. Iran’s composure and clarity contrasted sharply with the urgency and inconsistency of the American approach.
From this conflict, several lessons emerge—lessons that extend far beyond the immediate participants and hold particular relevance for regions such as Africa.
First, the importance of self-reliance cannot be overstated. Nations that depend entirely on external powers for security risk finding themselves vulnerable when those powers pursue their own interests.
Second, the value of strategic deterrence is evident. While the proliferation of weapons is a complex and sensitive issue, the reality remains that capability often shapes respect in international relations.
Third, unity is essential. Fragmented regions are more susceptible to external manipulation, while cohesive blocs are better positioned to defend their interests.
Fourth, the global order is changing. The dominance of any single power is increasingly being challenged by a more multipolar reality, in which alliances are fluid and influence is distributed.
For Africa, these lessons are particularly urgent. The continent must move beyond dependency and toward a model of development and security that prioritizes internal strength and regional cooperation. The era of passive alignment is giving way to one that demands active strategy.
As the war continues, one truth becomes increasingly clear: this conflict has already reshaped perceptions of power. It has exposed the limits of military might, the dangers of miscalculation, and the consequences of pursuing war without a coherent strategy.
In the end, the greatest casualty may not be territory or resources, but credibility. The image of invincibility that once defined the United States has been significantly diminished. The world is watching—not just the outcome of the war, but the manner in which it is conducted, the decisions that are made, and the lessons that are learned.
History will judge this moment not by the narratives that were crafted at its beginning, but by the realities that emerged as it unfolded. And in those realities lies a powerful message: power, when misused, does not merely fail—it transforms, redistributes, and ultimately reshapes the world in ways that cannot be easily controlled.
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