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MAJOR INTERNATIONAL GEOPOLITICAL DOSSIER

By Yvon BONHOMME

Independent Researcher, Essayist, Geopolitical Analyst and Governance Specialist
Editor in Chief, CPGNNews

CPGNNews | Independent International Public Interest Media | Research • Investigation • Analysis • Journalism.

THE MIDDLE EAST AT A TURNING POINT

There are moments in the history of regions when the sound of weapons ultimately obscures the true nature of change. Clashes dominate the screens, official statements follow one another, alliances are reassessed, and markets react to every new escalation. Yet behind the military urgency, a deeper transformation may be unfolding. It concerns the way states define their interests, build their alliances, organize their security and envision their future. The Middle East now faces this dual reality: an immediate crisis with considerable human and economic consequences, and a strategic realignment whose effects could extend far beyond the duration of the fighting.

The confrontation between Israel and Iran is one of the main focal points of this transformation, but it cannot be understood by isolating these two countries from the regional and international system to which they belong. The United States, the Gulf monarchies, Türkiye, the European powers, Russia and China are involved, directly or indirectly, in an environment where military security, energy supplies, maritime routes, digital infrastructure and diplomatic balances are closely interconnected. These factors are compounded by water crises, climate pressures, food security concerns and the vulnerability of networks essential to everyday life. The conflict thus reveals a degree of interdependence that makes any strictly national understanding of security increasingly difficult.

In this respect, 2026 marks a particularly significant turning point. American and Israeli strikes against Iran began on February 28, triggering a confrontation whose repercussions have extended well beyond Iranian territory. Retaliatory actions, tensions with several Gulf countries, disruptions to maritime transport and uncertainty surrounding negotiations have transformed a military crisis into a test for the entire regional strategic environment. A provisional ceasefire reached in June failed to produce a lasting settlement, and exchanges of strikes resumed. This chronology matters because it reminds us that crises are not simply a succession of incidents: they can alter the calculations of the parties involved, reinforce patterns of mistrust and gradually make a return to the previous situation more difficult.

As of October 12, 2026, diplomatic efforts are continuing through several channels, notably in Qatar and Pakistan, but no lasting agreement has resolved the fundamental disagreements. The reopening and security of the Strait of Hormuz remain at the center of discussions, while differences over the place of Iran’s nuclear program in the negotiations continue to complicate the search for a compromise. Attempts to revive diplomacy therefore do not mean that the crisis is under control or that the parties are close to a definitive settlement. Rather, they show that even while military confrontation continues, the parties are seeking to preserve negotiating channels in order to prevent a further escalation whose costs could become even greater.

The Strait of Hormuz illustrates this interdependence with particular clarity. A strategic passage for the global transportation of hydrocarbons, it represents far more than a simple maritime corridor. Its security concerns producing countries, importing economies, shipping companies, insurers, financial markets and populations whose cost of living depends, directly or indirectly, on the stability of energy supplies. Any prolonged disruption can spread from one sector to another, affect prices, increase economic uncertainty and weaken states far removed from the theater of operations. Signs of recovery in certain flows should not, however, be interpreted as a return to a stable normality: attacks on vessels, persistent threats and military tensions continue to leave this recovery vulnerable.

To understand the depth of the current crisis, it is also necessary to revisit the history of relations between Israel and Iran. Their contemporary antagonism is not an immutable feature of their history. Before the 1979 Iranian Revolution, the two countries maintained extensive, though often discreet, relations based in part on shared strategic interests. The Shah’s regime viewed this cooperation as a means of strengthening certain capabilities, diversifying its partnerships and containing regional threats. Israel, for its part, sought partners in an environment in which its diplomatic position remained particularly difficult. This relationship did not eliminate every disagreement between the two states, but it demonstrated that the geopolitical configuration could be radically different from the one that emerged after 1979.

A historical document provides a concrete measure of the extent of these relations. It is a memorandum prepared by the Office of Current Intelligence of the Central Intelligence Agency, dated May 29, 1975, and published in the U.S. Department of State’s documentary series Foreign Relations of the United States, 1969–1976. The document describes the breadth of relations between Tehran and Tel Aviv, particularly in the diplomatic, petroleum, military, agricultural and technical fields. It also highlights the discreet nature of this cooperation, some aspects of which remained largely out of public view. The source should be understood for what it is: a contemporary American assessment that helps illuminate the strategic interests of the period, not an exhaustive explanation of every Iranian or Israeli motivation. Nevertheless, it recalls an essential reality: alliances and antagonisms are not eternal categories. They evolve with political regimes, perceptions of threat and calculations of power.

The Iranian Revolution profoundly altered this balance. Iran gradually made its opposition to Israel a central element of its strategic discourse and its conception of the regional order, while Israel came to regard the Islamic Republic as a major threat to its security. Over the decades, this opposition became embedded in military doctrines, regional partnerships, intelligence systems and deterrence strategies. Direct confrontations, indirect operations, rivalries over nuclear and ballistic capabilities, and tensions involving allied or partner actors have contributed to a lasting relationship of distrust. This evolution cannot, however, be reduced to an automatic mechanism: leaders’ decisions, shifts in the balance of power, national perceptions and the specific circumstances of each crisis continue to play a decisive role.

It is in this context that the central question of this study takes shape: what happens when an adversary ceases to be merely an external actor and becomes one of the organizing principles of a political, military and strategic system? The expression “the enemy becomes the system” is used here as an analytical hypothesis, not as an official category of international relations. It describes a situation in which a sustained perception of threat helps shape security institutions, budgetary priorities, technological choices, alliances, surveillance systems and even the collective narratives through which a society interprets the world. The enemy does not necessarily cease to be a real adversary; rather, it may occupy such a central place in the definition of security that the entire system eventually reorganizes itself around its existence.

Such a hypothesis calls for caution. It does not mean that threats are imaginary, that all parties possess the same capabilities, or that their decisions, responsibilities and consequences can be placed on an equal footing. States may face genuine risks and have legitimate reasons to protect their populations. The question instead concerns the effects of prolonged security mobilization: at what point do measures designed to address a threat begin to make de-escalation more difficult? How can we distinguish measures necessary to protect a society from those that sustain a logic of permanent confrontation? And how can the capacity to negotiate be preserved when recognizing an adversary as an interlocutor is interpreted within a political system as a sign of weakness?

These questions take on a new dimension as technology transforms the conduct of conflicts. Satellites, surveillance systems, drones, cyber capabilities, large scale data processing tools and artificial intelligence applications are changing the ways states observe their environment, anticipate adversaries’ movements and make decisions. The speed at which information can be collected and analyzed may improve certain preventive capabilities, but it can also accelerate reactions, shorten verification timeframes and increase the risk of misinterpretation. Incomplete data, a misjudged alert or an inadequately supervised automated analysis may contribute to decisions with considerable human and diplomatic consequences.

It is important, however, not to confuse technologies that serve different purposes. Artificial intelligence can be used to analyze images, support logistics, detect anomalies, model risks, or assist decision making. Autonomous weapons raise specific questions concerning the degree of autonomy granted to systems, human control, and accountability for any resulting harm. Cyber operations, meanwhile, may target computer networks, infrastructure, or communication systems without necessarily taking the form of a conventional military attack. These fields can interact, but they are not interchangeable. Distinguishing between them accurately is essential to understanding how warfare is changing without exaggerating the capabilities of available tools or underestimating the risks they pose.

The question of human control therefore becomes fundamental. As automated systems become involved in target identification, threat assessment, and operational planning, it becomes necessary to determine who understands the information being used, who validates decisions, and who assumes responsibility for the consequences. International discussions on emerging technologies in the field of lethal autonomous weapons systems reflect this concern. In 2026, work conducted within the United Nations Group of Governmental Experts continued to examine possible measures and elements of a potential international instrument, but it would be inaccurate to infer that a comprehensive treaty had been adopted by that date. The issue extends beyond technological innovation alone. It concerns the ability of national and international institutions to maintain rules, oversight mechanisms, and human accountability in an environment where decisions can be made at ever increasing speed. <Cite refs={[“turn825593search0″,”turn825593search1”]}/>

Technology, however, is only part of the problem. Regional balances also depend on material resources whose availability has become increasingly uncertain. Water, energy, agricultural land, port infrastructure, electricity grids, and communication systems form an interconnected whole. A political or military crisis can disrupt their functioning; conversely, persistent shortages and unequal access can intensify social tensions and undermine the stability of states. In a region marked by severe water constraints, uneven demographic growth, and mounting climate pressures, security can no longer be assessed solely by counting weapons systems or measuring the strength of alliances. It must also be evaluated in terms of societies’ ability to guarantee dignified living conditions, protect their resources, and maintain essential services during periods of crisis.

Water therefore deserves particular attention. It is indispensable to health, agriculture, industry, energy production, and the stability of communities. When access to water becomes uncertain, the consequences can spread far beyond the territories directly affected. Tensions over water resources do not automatically lead to war, but they can intensify existing rivalries when cooperation mechanisms are weak or political trust has deteriorated. Conversely, the sharing of hydrological data, coordination of water management policies, modernization of networks, and scientific cooperation can create opportunities for dialogue between actors who remain divided on other issues. Water management alone will not resolve regional conflicts, but it can nevertheless help reduce certain shared vulnerabilities.

Energy follows a comparable dynamic. Middle Eastern countries occupy different positions in the production, processing, and transportation chains of hydrocarbons, while their economies remain exposed to fluctuations in international markets. Energy diversification, improved infrastructure efficiency, the gradual development of renewable energy, and research cooperation could reduce certain vulnerabilities. These changes, however, require investment, expertise, credible governance, and choices adapted to national circumstances. They should not be presented as immediate solutions to a military confrontation. Their strategic value lies instead in their potential to expand states’ room for manoeuvre, strengthen economic resilience, and limit the effects of certain forms of dependency.

The same logic applies to maritime security. The movement of goods, the protection of vessels, the monitoring of port and subsea infrastructure, and the continuity of international communications affect a considerable number of stakeholders. A prolonged disruption of trade can harm economies that are not participating in the conflict and whose populations have limited means of absorbing the shock. Maritime route security must therefore be understood as a shared interest, without becoming a blanket justification for the unlimited use of force. Incident prevention arrangements, communication channels between naval forces, and notification procedures can help reduce the risk of escalation. Their effectiveness, however, depends on the political will of the parties, the credibility of their commitments, and the existence of mechanisms capable of addressing alleged violations.

Diplomatic developments in 2026 also show that states across the region are seeking to strengthen their defence capabilities and reassess their partnerships. On August 7, Saudi Arabia, Türkiye, and Pakistan signed the Mecca Defence Agreement, presented as a collective defence commitment under which an armed attack against one signatory would be regarded as an attack against the others. The agreement reflects a desire to strengthen strategic cooperation among the three countries and consolidate their deterrence capabilities. It should not, however, be assigned a scope that its signatories have not officially claimed. Turkish officials clarified that the agreement was directed neither against Iran nor against any specific country. Its implementation, operational arrangements, and regional implications must be assessed on the basis of the signatory states’ concrete decisions, rather than solely through interpretations formulated elsewhere. <Cite refs={[“turn453472search2″,”turn453472search1”]}/>

The agreement does not, by itself, constitute a complete blueprint for a security architecture encompassing the entire Middle East. It brings together three states with distinct interests, different capabilities, and specific relationships with other regional powers. It may alter certain strategic calculations, but it does not replace dialogue mechanisms involving all relevant actors or the guarantees required for lasting stability. Above all, it illustrates that the pursuit of regional strategic autonomy is advancing in an environment where governments seek to reduce their vulnerabilities, diversify their partnerships, and retain greater freedom of decision. This dynamic may encourage a more balanced distribution of security responsibilities. If organized exclusively around competing blocs, however, it could also deepen regional fragmentation. Its ultimate effect will therefore depend on the objectives pursued, the transparency of commitments, and the space left for diplomacy.

It is within this context that the proposal for a “Comprehensive Regional Pact” emerges. In this study, the expression refers to a perspective for reflection and an intellectual proposal, not an existing agreement, an officially initiated negotiation, or an institution that has already been established. The idea is to examine whether Middle Eastern states might eventually develop a common framework bringing together conflict prevention, collective security, non aggression, the protection of maritime routes, energy stability, water cooperation, climate resilience, economic development, and the governance of technology. Such a framework would not require national sovereignty to be relinquished or historical disagreements to disappear. Rather, it would seek to identify areas in which cooperation could reduce shared risks even when political differences remain profound.

A pact of this kind would necessarily have to take account of realities on the ground. The states of the region do not share the same priorities or perceptions of threats. Some prioritize territorial protection and the preservation of their political systems; others attach particular importance to deterrence, external alliances, freedom of movement, or regional influence. Military capabilities, economic resources, and governance systems also differ considerably. It would therefore be unrealistic to assume that a comprehensive agreement could be negotiated quickly or implemented uniformly. A gradual approach based on verifiable commitments, limited objectives, and consultation mechanisms would offer a more credible foundation than an ambitious declaration lacking the means for implementation.

The Palestinian question occupies an indispensable place in any serious reflection on the region’s future. It concerns security, rights, sovereignty, political recognition, population displacement, and the legitimacy of proposed arrangements. A cooperative architecture that ignored this question would risk losing credibility among a substantial part of the region’s societies. Recognizing its importance, however, does not mean that it can, by itself, explain all the rivalries in the Middle East. Tensions between Iran and several Arab states, Israel’s security concerns, the regional ambitions of different powers, economic rivalries, and disagreements over military programmes also have their own dynamics. A rigorous analysis must acknowledge the connections between these issues without conflating them or reducing regional history to a single cause.

It is also necessary to resist the temptation to speak of the Middle East as though it were a homogeneous entity. The region encompasses societies, political traditions, identities, economies, and historical trajectories that differ considerably. The priorities of a Gulf state do not necessarily correspond to those of Iran, Türkiye, Israel, Iraq, or the countries of the Levant. Public opinion is itself diverse, and government positions do not always reflect the full range of aspirations among their populations. Any proposal for common security must therefore begin by recognizing this plurality, acknowledging asymmetries of power, and avoiding the substitution of an abstract image of the region for the concrete interests of the societies that make it up.

Cooperation could nevertheless begin in areas where collective benefits are identifiable and commitments can be verified progressively. Preventing maritime accidents, protecting civilian infrastructure, sharing information on natural disasters, conducting water research, strengthening food security and public health, and developing certain civilian applications of artificial intelligence could provide starting points. These sectors are not politically neutral: they can be affected by rivalries, sanctions, technological restrictions, and disputes over sovereignty. They nevertheless offer opportunities to define specific objectives, evaluate results, and build limited forms of trust when circumstances permit. Sectoral cooperation would not replace political negotiations, but it could help preserve channels of communication and reduce some of the human and economic costs of confrontation.

The European experience can offer useful lessons, provided it is not transferred mechanically. The development of cooperative mechanisms in Europe took place in a particular historical context shaped by devastating wars, specific institutions, political compromises, and economic conditions that differ from those of the Middle East. Differences in borders, political systems, national trajectories, and perceptions of security rule out simplistic comparisons. The value of the European experience lies instead in examining specific mechanisms: the gradual development of common rules, the establishment of institutions for dialogue, the creation of procedures for settling disputes, and the possibility of making certain forms of interdependence less dangerous through credible guarantees. These lessons must be adapted to regional realities rather than presented as a model to be replicated.

Any regional architecture should also be compatible with international law and the obligations arising from it. Security cooperation cannot replace states’ responsibilities regarding the conduct of hostilities, the protection of civilians, compliance with the rules applicable to armed conflict, and the peaceful settlement of disputes. A political agreement cannot erase existing legal obligations or make the examination of contested acts optional. The credibility of a pact would therefore depend not only on its preventive commitments, but also on its verification mechanisms, consultation procedures, and ability to address disagreements without abandoning the fundamental principles of international law. Lasting peace cannot rest solely on a balance of power; it also requires rules whose application is sufficiently predictable to be taken seriously.

Ultimately, the question raised by this dossier goes beyond the immediate possibility of an agreement between governments that deeply distrust one another. It concerns the ability of societies and institutions to prevent the perception of threat from becoming the only language through which security can be understood. When an adversary is regarded as permanent, every development can be interpreted through the lens of confrontation; every concession risks being equated with weakness, and every diplomatic initiative may be suspected of concealing hostile intentions. This logic is neither inevitable nor identical in every context. It nevertheless represents a strategic risk when it progressively narrows the space available for negotiation, fact checking, and the pursuit of limited compromises.

The horizons of 2030, 2050, and 2100 should be approached in this spirit. They are not prophetic dates on which a new regional order will necessarily emerge. Rather, they provide a framework for examining different scenarios in light of decisions made today: continued fragmentation, the consolidation of competing blocs, armed coexistence punctuated by crises, or the gradual development of cooperative mechanisms. These trajectories do not preclude intermediate developments, and they may vary from one field to another. Energy cooperation could advance while military tensions remain high; preventive mechanisms could be established without a definitive settlement of political disputes. Foresight analysis must therefore distinguish observable trends from plausible hypotheses and choices that remain open, without presenting a possibility as a certainty.

This distinction lies at the heart of the ambition of this study. Its purpose is neither to minimize real threats, nor to distribute responsibility artificially, nor to propose an abstract reconciliation between actors whose interests remain opposed. It seeks to understand how security systems are changing, how technology is reshaping power relations, how economic and environmental interdependencies influence political decisions, and under what conditions cooperation might reduce certain risks without requiring states to relinquish their sovereignty. The Middle East is not condemned to reproduce the configurations of the present indefinitely, but no lasting transformation can be achieved merely by proclaiming a new ideal.

This reflection is also advanced from the Caribbean, a region facing its own vulnerabilities in security, energy dependence, climate resilience, maritime circulation, and economic sovereignty. The Caribbean and the Middle East are neither comparable in every respect nor confronted with identical historical circumstances. They nevertheless share an essential reality: decisions made in major centres of power can have profound consequences for societies that do not always control the rules of the international system. A Caribbean contribution to the debate on the Middle East does not claim to speak on behalf of the region’s peoples. Rather, it seeks to participate in an international discussion on the conditions for a form of security that protects populations, recognizes the diversity of national trajectories, and does not reduce the future to the mere ability to deter or defeat an adversary.

As the world watches military developments, negotiations, and technological transformations, one question remains open: can societies preserve their capacity to imagine a different future when their institutions have been organized around the threat for decades? The answer will not depend on a single formula or a pact imposed from outside. It will depend on political decisions, credible guarantees, accepted responsibilities, diplomatic initiatives, and the ability to recognize that the security of some cannot be built sustainably by ignoring the vulnerabilities of others. An adversary can remain an adversary without becoming the organizing principle of every dimension of collective life. This possibility is not a promise of peace; it is a strategic question that deserves to be examined with clarity, rigour, and a sense of responsibility.

The Middle East thus faces a choice whose contours remain uncertain. It may remain trapped in a succession of confrontations that deepen mistrust, accelerate security spending, and make every crisis more difficult to contain. Alternatively, without abandoning the defence of its interests or ignoring its disputes, it may gradually seek mechanisms capable of limiting shared risks and preserving space for negotiation. A range of scenarios exists between these trajectories, and none can be taken for granted. One thing is already becoming clear, however: the debate about the region’s future is no longer concerned solely with who will prevail in the current confrontation. It also concerns the nature of the system that will emerge from that confrontation, the rules that will shape it, and the place it will give to populations, international law, technology, and cooperation.

History is not merely the succession of powers confronting one another. It is also shaped by moments when societies choose to question the mechanisms that perpetuate their crises. The Middle East has not yet defined the contours of a possible Comprehensive Regional Pact, and the obstacles to such a prospect remain considerable. Yet the question now deserves to be asked seriously: how can the region move from a concept of security designed primarily against the other to one capable, in certain areas, of protecting each party without systematically excluding the others? This dossier seeks to contribute to that inquiry, examining its conditions, limitations, and implications for the international order of the twenty first century. The world does not necessarily leave the old order behind when that order begins to falter. But it is already testing its limits.

ISRAEL AND IRAN: FROM ALLIANCE TO HOSTILITY, WHEN THE ENEMY BECOMES THE SYSTEM

Before the Enemy: The Overlooked History of a Cooperation Now Almost Erased from Collective Memory

The contemporary history of the Middle East is often told through the lens of its ruptures. Wars, revolutions, contested borders, military alliances and ideological antagonisms dominate the narrative, to the point that certain longstanding relationships gradually disappear from collective memory. The history of relations between Israel and Iran belongs to this category. Today, it is difficult to imagine that the two countries once maintained cooperation close enough to encompass the economy, energy, agriculture, water, military exchanges and intelligence. Yet the available historical record shows that this relationship was real, enduring and strategically significant.

1. A History Almost Erased by the Present

The contemporary history of the Middle East is often recounted through its most visible conflicts. Wars, revolutions, religious rivalries, contested borders and ideological antagonisms occupy a central place in narratives about the region. Although this perspective is indispensable to understanding successive crises, it carries a risk: projecting present-day antagonisms onto the entire past and making hostilities that developed over time appear inevitable. The history of relations between Israel and Iran offers a particularly revealing example of this difficulty. Today, the two countries are associated with one of the Middle East’s most consequential rivalries, but their relationship has not always been defined by confrontation. For several decades, they maintained political, economic, energy-related and security cooperation grounded in concrete strategic interests.

This historical reality deserves to be recalled, not to idealize a bygone era or minimize the profound differences that already existed between the two societies, but to understand how a relationship can change in character when the political and strategic foundations sustaining it are transformed. Before the Iranian Revolution of 1979, Iran under the Pahlavi dynasty and Israel had identified several shared interests. Their cooperation rested in part on Iran’s distinctive position within the Muslim world, concerns about certain Arab powers, apprehensions regarding Soviet influence, and the economic benefits of a relationship built around oil exchanges, equipment, technical expertise and security contacts.

The subsequent rupture profoundly transformed the way the two countries perceived one another. From 1979 onward, the new Iranian state made opposition to Israel a central element of its political discourse and regional positioning. Israel gradually came to regard revolutionary Iran as a major adversary and, subsequently, as a strategic threat whose capabilities, alliances and presumed intentions had to be incorporated into its security calculations. This evolution, however, did not occur in a single movement. It unfolded over several decades as political, military and regional transformations altered the nature of the confrontation.

Revisiting the earlier period of cooperation therefore raises a more fundamental question than the simple alternation between friendship and hostility: how do states that once found reasons to work together come to organize part of their security policy around the possibility that the other may constitute a threat? Answering this question requires distinguishing between the interests of governments, the ideological orientations of political regimes, societal perceptions and the regional structures within which decisions are made. These dimensions interact, but they do not necessarily change at the same pace.

The history of Israeli-Iranian relations can therefore be reduced neither to an old friendship abruptly erased by the revolution nor to an eternal hostility that had merely been waiting to emerge. Rather, it reveals the gradual transformation of a relationship whose foundations were pragmatic and whose stability depended on particular political conditions. Understanding this transformation is the first step toward analyzing the system of rivalry that subsequently developed.

2. Two States, Two Trajectories and a Shared Regional Environment

Israel and Iran emerged from different national histories, political traditions and institutional trajectories. Established in 1948, Israel developed in a regional environment marked by the Arab-Israeli conflict, population displacement, successive wars and challenges to its legitimacy from several regional actors. State security, the pursuit of diplomatic recognition and the need to reduce its regional isolation quickly became central to Israeli foreign policy. Iran, by contrast, possessed a much older state tradition and sought to preserve its autonomy, modernize its economy and strengthen its position as a regional power. Under Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi, these ambitions were pursued through a modernization policy led by the monarchy and a close relationship with the United States.

These differences did not preclude converging interests. In the decades following Israel’s establishment, Iran occupied a distinctive regional position. It was a predominantly Muslim but non-Arab state whose leaders sought to exercise substantial influence in the Gulf while preserving a degree of autonomy in relation to neighboring powers. Israel, for its part, sought relationships with states outside the core of the Arab political system that could help reduce its regional isolation. The interests of the two countries could therefore converge without requiring a shared political identity or an identical vision of regional order.

The Cold War context reinforced some of these convergences. The United States occupied an important place in the strategic calculations of both governments, while the expansion of Soviet influence and the policies of several Arab regimes raised concerns in both Tehran and Tel Aviv. Relations with Iraq, the regional ambitions of Gamal Abdel Nasser’s Egypt and shifting alliances across the Middle East also contributed to bringing their strategic assessments closer together. This convergence did not mean that the two countries interpreted every development in the same way. It meant that, at certain moments, both considered limited or deeper cooperation more beneficial to their interests than the absence of relations.

It would nevertheless be misleading to portray the Middle East of that period as a region divided into two perfectly coherent blocs. Governments pursued sometimes contradictory objectives, alliances evolved, and relations between states depended as much on circumstances as on political affinities. Iran could seek American support, develop ties with Israel and, at the same time, attempt to preserve its standing among Arab and Muslim neighbors. Israel could benefit from its relationship with Iran without considering that cooperation a substitute for developing other regional partnerships. Each country retained its own priorities and constraints.

This configuration is essential to understanding what followed. Relations between the two states were not based on a general reconciliation between their societies, nor on a public alliance founded on shared values. They developed in an environment in which governments believed that certain convergences could produce significant strategic benefits. As long as those convergences remained sufficiently strong, political differences and domestic reservations could be contained. When Iran’s political framework was transformed in 1979, the foundations of this cooperation were fundamentally challenged.

3. The Logic of Interests Before the Logic of Confrontation

Understanding the relationship that developed before 1979 requires starting from a fundamental principle of international relations: states do not always determine their partnerships on the basis of ideological affinity. They may cooperate because they share a concern, need complementary resources or believe that a particular relationship will strengthen their position relative to other actors. This logic does not eliminate disagreements or mutual suspicion. It simply allows governments to distinguish their differences from their immediate interests.

In the case of Iran and Israel, the motives for cooperation were varied. Israel could offer technical expertise, equipment, training services and experience in several areas of security and development. Iran possessed substantial oil resources, a strategically important geographical position and the financial means to pursue modernization projects. Energy exchanges, commercial contracts and security relations therefore addressed concrete needs. These considerations were reinforced by concerns about Iraq, developments in Arab nationalism and Soviet influence in the region.

It is important, however, not to reduce this cooperation to a straightforward commercial exchange. Economic relations can bring governments closer together, but they acquire particular strategic significance when they are embedded in a shared perception of the regional environment. Energy supplies, transfers of expertise, contacts between officials and relations between security institutions can then become part of a broader framework of cooperation. They create working relationships, professional networks and institutional interests that make the relationship more substantial than a one-off agreement.

These ties did not eliminate the constraints facing the Shah. Iran remained a Muslim-majority country in a regional environment where the Palestinian question carried considerable political weight. An overly visible association with Israel could complicate Tehran’s relations with several Arab states and fuel criticism from the Iranian opposition. The monarchy therefore had to balance the benefits of cooperation against the political costs that could arise from its public exposure. Discretion was a component of the relationship, not merely a matter of protocol.

Israel also had an interest in preserving this flexibility. Cooperation with Iran opened important economic and strategic opportunities while enabling Israel to develop relations beyond its customary circle of partners. Yet the absence of a public, formal alliance also limited the political reach of these ties. Both governments could benefit from substantial cooperation without assuming all the diplomatic consequences of an official commitment.

This relationship therefore illustrates a fundamental distinction between cooperation and alliance. Cooperation refers to actions undertaken in one or more areas where interests converge. A formal alliance generally entails more explicit commitments whose scope may extend beyond immediate circumstances. The Shah’s Iran and Israel developed a close strategic relationship, but it retained political and diplomatic limitations. It depended on the continuity of the Iranian regime, the evolution of the regional environment and the ability of both governments to balance shared interests against their respective constraints.

This distinction also helps explain why the existence of substantial exchanges never guarantees the permanence of an international relationship. Infrastructure, contracts and networks may survive temporary disagreements, but they are not enough to neutralize a profound transformation of the political order. When a regime redefines its identity, legitimacy and conception of the adversary, relationships previously regarded as useful may be denounced as incompatible with the new order. The Iranian Revolution would provide a particularly clear illustration of this mechanism.

4. Genuine Cooperation, but Never an Irreversible One

Recognizing the importance of Israeli-Iranian cooperation before 1979 does not mean portraying the period as a golden age free of tensions. The relationship was real, but it remained uneven, discreet and subject to political calculations that could change. The Shah pursued his own national and regional ambitions. Israel sought to strengthen its security, develop its economic relationships and reduce its isolation. Both governments therefore had reasons to cooperate, but neither based its foreign policy on unconditional loyalty to the other.

Iran, in particular, had to balance its relations with Israel against its ambition to be recognized as a major power in the Muslim world and the Gulf. As its regional position evolved, the relative strategic value of certain partnerships could also change. The improvement of its relations with several Arab states and the Algiers Agreement concluded with Iraq in 1975 altered part of the environment in which Israeli-Iranian cooperation operated. These developments did not immediately end bilateral exchanges, but they demonstrate that the regional configuration on which those exchanges depended was not immutable.

Another limitation arose from the difference between the policies of the monarchical state and the views present within Iranian society. Cooperation with Israel drew criticism from certain religious and nationalist currents and from opponents of the monarchy. Ruhollah Khomeini, in particular, denounced the Shah’s relations with Israel and the United States well before the revolution. The hostility that would become official policy after 1979 therefore did not emerge from a political vacuum. It developed from an opposition that already existed, although its influence was constrained by the institutions and policies of the monarchical regime.

Three distinct realities must therefore be distinguished. The first concerns relations between governments, structured by strategic interests and the decisions of political leaders. The second involves political and social currents that opposed this cooperation or assigned it a different ideological meaning. The third concerns institutional transformations capable of turning a political orientation from a position of opposition into the official doctrine of the state. The 1979 revolution would bring these dimensions together in a rupture of considerable significance.

This perspective rules out two opposing simplifications. The first would be to assume that Iran and Israel were naturally destined to become enemies, as though their earlier cooperation had been an insignificant interlude. The second would be to treat their former relationship as proof that their contemporary rivalry rests on no enduring factors. Both interpretations overlook the role of political change, regional interests and strategic perceptions in shaping international relations.

History instead shows that partnerships rest on balances that can be deep without being permanent. A relationship may endure for several decades, develop substantial economic and security networks, and contribute to the regional strategy of two states, only to be transformed profoundly when the political foundations of cooperation disappear. The rupture does not erase the past; it changes its meaning. What was once presented as a convergence of interests may become, in the narrative of a new regime, a symbol of dependency or of a rejected political order.

This distinction should guide any examination of the history of the Shah’s Iran and Israel. Their cooperation was neither accidental nor absolute. It resulted from an intersection of national interests, security concerns and a particular regional strategy. Understanding its significance requires examining the concrete conditions under which it developed, the Shah’s place in the relationship, Israel’s objectives and the areas in which the two countries actually worked together. This material and strategic history will make it possible to assess the scale of the rupture that followed in 1979.

5. The Shah’s Iran and Israel

The relationship between monarchical Iran and Israel is one of the most revealing examples of how strategic interests can bring states together even when there is no reason to regard them as natural allies. The Iranian government recognized Israel de facto on 6 March 1950, without establishing fully normalized formal diplomatic relations. This recognition provoked opposition in Iran and throughout the Arab world, contributing to the discreet character of bilateral relations. Under Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, cooperation developed gradually, particularly from the second half of the 1950s, before acquiring greater strategic significance during the 1960s and 1970s. The absence of full diplomatic normalization did not, therefore, mean an absence of substantive relations.

For the Shah, Israel was a partner with technical, military and security expertise that could serve Iran’s modernization ambitions and its aspirations to regional power. The two states also shared certain concerns regarding Arab nationalism, the changing regional balance and Soviet influence. Israel, in turn, saw Iran as a non-Arab power with substantial energy resources, a strategically important geographical position and close relations with Washington. This convergence did not rest on a shared conception of regional political order, but on the possibility of advancing complementary interests in an unstable environment.

Iranian caution nevertheless remained essential. The Shah intended to strengthen his country’s position in the Middle East and the Gulf without jeopardizing relations with Arab states or abandoning Iran’s status as an independent Muslim power. Cooperation with Israel therefore had to remain compatible with a broader regional policy. Tehran could benefit from Israeli expertise and maintain economic or security exchanges without turning the relationship into a publicly acknowledged alliance. Discretion was less a contradiction than a condition that enabled cooperation to function.

For Israel, the relationship addressed an equally important concern: reducing its regional isolation by developing ties with powers outside the Arab system. It was therefore consistent with the strategic orientation associated with the periphery doctrine, which emerged during the early decades of the Israeli state. Iran occupied an important place in this approach, alongside other non-Arab partners, particularly Turkey. The objective was not to create a homogeneous bloc, but to multiply relationships capable of improving Israel’s strategic position.

Cooperation between Israel and Iran under the Shah was therefore substantial without resting on an ideological alliance or a public commitment to mutual defense. Its longevity depended on converging interests, but this same characteristic revealed its limitations. The relationship depended on the Iranian regime, the regional configuration and each government’s understanding of its own priorities. Understanding this arrangement is essential to explaining why its disappearance after the 1979 revolution was so rapid at the political level, despite the importance of the ties established over preceding decades.

6. Israel’s Periphery Doctrine

The periphery doctrine helps clarify the strategic logic that led Israel to attach such importance to Iran. During the first decades of its existence, Israel operated in a regional environment marked by conflict with several Arab states and the absence of normalized relations with much of its neighborhood. Under these conditions, developing relations with non-Arab powers could help reduce its isolation, diversify its partnerships and create opportunities for security, economic and diplomatic cooperation.

Iran fitted this strategic orientation without being reducible to it. The monarchy pursued its own ambitions for regional power, sought to preserve its autonomy and intended to consolidate its position in relation to neighboring states. Its rapprochement with Israel served specific Iranian interests, particularly in security, modernization and technical cooperation. Arab nationalism, concerns about Iraq and relations with the major powers contributed to this convergence, but they were not its only motivations.

The periphery doctrine should therefore not be treated as an exhaustive explanation of Israeli policy. It describes a strategic framework for understanding the search for partners outside the core of the Arab system. It does not eliminate the importance of the Shah’s own calculations, economic considerations or relations with the United States. Cooperation between Tehran and Tel Aviv resulted from the interaction of these factors, whose relative importance could vary according to circumstances.

This relationship illustrates a central principle of international relations: states do not need to share the same political values to develop lasting cooperation. They may draw closer because they identify common risks, because their interests complement one another or because their strategic environment makes certain partnerships advantageous. Such convergence nevertheless remains conditional. It depends on the persistence of the interests sustaining it and on governments’ ability to reconcile it with their other commitments.

The periphery doctrine therefore helps explain the formation of the Israeli-Iranian partnership, but it also illuminates its vulnerability. When the Iranian regime changed and the 1979 revolution redefined the ideological foundations of Tehran’s foreign policy, the relationship did not merely lose a government partner. It lost the political framework that had made this convergence acceptable and useful to both states. The subsequent rupture cannot therefore be understood without distinguishing the interests that enabled the rapprochement from the political conditions that sustained it.

7. Oil, Arms, Agriculture and Intelligence

Energy cooperation was one of the material pillars of relations between Iran and Israel under the Shah. Iran supplied a significant share of Israel’s oil imports, while the two countries developed transportation arrangements suited to their respective interests. The closure of the Suez Canal following the 1967 war increased the importance of alternative routes. In this context, the pipeline linking Eilat to Ashkelon became particularly significant for transporting oil between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean. This infrastructure formed part of a broader framework of energy cooperation, although the Suez Canal closure should not be regarded as the sole origin of all oil exchanges between the two countries.

Energy did not, however, define the entire relationship. Exchanges also included technical cooperation in agriculture and water management, as well as maintenance and overhaul services in the aviation sector. American documents concerning Israeli-Iranian relations in the mid-1970s also refer to regular military contacts, training activities, personnel exchanges and equipment purchases. These elements show that cooperation extended into several sectors associated with Iran’s modernization and the operational needs of both states.

The security dimension was even more sensitive. Historical studies describe contacts between the Iranian and Israeli security and intelligence services, as well as the presence of Israeli advisers and specialists in Iran. This cooperation must nevertheless be described with a degree of caution proportionate to the nature of the available sources. Its general existence is documented, but each operation, each institution involved and each claim concerning the precise arrangements requires specific references. A firmly established historical conclusion should not be turned into a detailed account unsupported by sufficient evidence.

Economic and technical exchanges also helped create links between governments, businesses and professionals. Agricultural, industrial and infrastructure projects opened opportunities for the exchange of skills and expertise. The precise scale of these activities varied across sectors and periods, but their diversity demonstrates that the partnership extended beyond diplomatic contacts and military concerns.

This material dimension is important for understanding the depth of the relationship. Foreign policy takes shape through official decisions, but also through infrastructure, contracts, equipment, professional exchanges and cooperation networks. These links can generate a degree of continuity as long as governments consider them useful. They nevertheless offer no guarantee against a major political rupture. The Iranian Revolution would demonstrate that even well-developed economic and security relationships can be rapidly disrupted when a new political order rejects the foundations of the previous cooperation.

8. Strategic Cooperation Without a Formal Alliance

The relationship between Israel and the Shah’s Iran can be described as strategic cooperation without a formal alliance. The two states maintained significant ties across several sectors, but they were not bound by a public mutual-defense treaty and did not pursue identical regional policies. The Shah had to reconcile cooperation with Israel with his relations across the Arab world and his ambitions for Iran to remain an independent Muslim power. Israel, for its part, sought to consolidate its security and diversify its partnerships without necessarily requiring Tehran to transform discreet cooperation into full diplomatic recognition.

This arrangement provided both governments with room for maneuver. It allowed Iran to pursue its own regional objectives while benefiting from relations with Israel, and it enabled Israel to maintain an important partnership without requiring it to be publicly advertised. Each country’s relationship with Washington added another dimension to this arrangement, but was not sufficient to explain every bilateral decision. Energy interests, security concerns and domestic political considerations retained their own importance.

It would therefore be anachronistic to project the structure of confrontation that characterizes contemporary Israeli-Iranian relations onto the 1960s and 1970s. The two states already existed, but their strategic environment, priorities and respective threat perceptions were different. The Shah’s Iran could regard Israel as a useful partner without abandoning relations with other regional actors. Israel could view Iran as an important component of its strategic posture without possessing a public alliance that guaranteed the permanence of the relationship.

The distinction between cooperation and a formal alliance therefore helps explain both the depth of the partnership and its limitations. A relationship can be substantial without being irreversible. It may withstand occasional disagreements while remaining vulnerable to a change of political regime, regional balance or the principles governing foreign policy. In Iran’s case, the 1979 revolution would fundamentally disrupt these foundations. Understanding the rupture therefore requires examining not only what the two countries had built, but also the conditions that had allowed their cooperation to endure.

9. Shared Interests in a Changing Regional Context

Cooperation between Israel and Iran rested on a convergence of interests that, for several decades, made the partnership advantageous in the eyes of both governments. Arab nationalism, concerns regarding Iraq, Soviet influence and energy security were among the factors that brought their strategic calculations closer together. These elements did not eliminate their political differences or the constraints specific to their respective societies. They nevertheless created a sufficiently broad space for sustained economic, technical and security exchanges.

This convergence remained dependent on a particular political context. The Shah could consider relations with Israel compatible with his regional ambitions as long as he could preserve a degree of public distance and maintain other diplomatic relationships. Israel, for its part, benefited from a partnership with an important regional power whose resources and relationship with Washington increased its strategic value. The continuity of this cooperation therefore depended both on shared interests and on each government’s ability to manage the political costs involved.

The 1979 revolution overturned this configuration by changing the foundations of Iranian political legitimacy and the declared principles of its foreign policy. The new revolutionary order did not merely reassess certain contracts or partnerships. It rejected part of the political architecture associated with the monarchy and turned the relationship with Israel into a symbol of the break with the former regime. The material ties established over preceding decades could not, by themselves, compensate for this transformation.

The historical lesson is therefore more precise than the notion of a sudden transition from friendship to hostility. An international relationship can be deep without being irreversible because its durability depends on political and strategic conditions that may change. In the Israeli-Iranian case, the revolution altered not only the partners of the government, but also the way the new state defined its sovereignty, regional identity and adversaries.

The question that follows extends beyond this bilateral case: how can a revolutionary transformation change the very definition of friend, enemy and security? Answering it requires examining the events of 1979 and then tracing how a political and ideological rupture gradually acquired a lasting strategic dimension.

1979: THE HISTORIC TURNING POINT

10. The Islamic Revolution

The break between Iran and Israel did not result from an isolated decision, but from a profound transformation of Iran’s political regime and the principles under which it would henceforth conduct its foreign policy. Until the late 1970s, the Pahlavi monarchy had developed substantial strategic cooperation with Israel, particularly in energy, security, intelligence and technical modernization. This relationship remained politically sensitive and had never taken the form of full diplomatic normalization. It coexisted with the Shah’s regional ambitions, his determination to preserve Iran’s autonomy and the need to maintain relations with Arab countries. At the same time, opposition to Israel and to American influence had already become part of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini’s discourse long before he came to power. The revolution therefore did not create this opposition; it gave it the means to become an official orientation of the Iranian state.

The decisive sequence unfolded between January and February 1979. The Shah left Iran on January 16, Khomeini returned from exile on February 1, and Shapour Bakhtiar’s government gradually lost control of the situation. On February 11, the armed forces’ declaration of neutrality in the political and military conflict marked the effective collapse of the monarchical government. This date remains the defining reference point for the fall of the regime, even though the institutional consolidation of the new revolutionary order continued afterward. It is therefore important to distinguish the Shah’s departure, Khomeini’s return, the fall of the government and the gradual establishment of the institutions of the Islamic Republic, rather than treating the revolution as a single event.

The break with Israel quickly became tangible. On February 7, 1979, six days after Khomeini’s return, the premises of the former Israeli mission in Tehran were handed over to Yasser Arafat, leader of the Palestine Liberation Organization. The gesture carried considerable symbolic weight. A place that had embodied the discreet cooperation of the monarchical era was now associated with the representation of a movement at the center of the Palestinian cause. The street where the mission had been located was also renamed Palestine Street. The diplomatic rupture thus became an act of political redefinition: the new authorities did not merely terminate a relationship; they sought to demonstrate publicly their rejection of the former regime’s foreign policy orientation.

This transformation did not mean that every dimension of Iranian foreign policy changed simultaneously. The new state still had to contend with geographical constraints, regional power dynamics, economic needs and security imperatives. The revolution nevertheless altered the ideological framework through which these constraints were interpreted. Israel ceased to be a partner with which interests could converge despite political differences and became an officially designated adversary in the revolutionary vision of regional order. The subsequent course of events would depend on how this new orientation interacted with the wars, alliances and strategic transformations of the following decades.

11. Khomeini and the Break with Israel

To understand the depth of the rupture, the Israeli question must be placed within Khomeini’s political outlook. The new government did not treat Israel as a mere diplomatic issue inherited from the monarchy. It linked its opposition to the Israeli state to a broader challenge to the regional order, Western influence and the legitimacy of Muslim governments maintaining relations with Israel. The Palestinian cause consequently acquired a central place in the Islamic Republic’s foreign policy discourse. What had previously been part of an opposition leader’s position against the Shah became a component of the legitimacy claimed by the new state.

The signing of the peace treaty between Egypt and Israel on March 26, 1979, reinforced this political distinction. Khomeini publicly condemned the agreement in May, placing his position within his opposition to normalization with Israel. The message extended beyond the bilateral relationship: Tehran intended to distinguish itself from governments that favored diplomatic arrangements with the Israeli state and to present itself as a defender of the Palestinian cause. The date of the treaty must nevertheless be distinguished from the date of Khomeini’s condemnation, so that two separate events are not conflated.

The new orientation did not, however, mean that Iranian policy became exclusively ideological. The revolutionary leadership had to preserve the country’s territorial integrity, consolidate a regime still taking shape and respond to immediate strategic constraints. The Iran-Iraq War, which began in September 1980, would quickly demonstrate how heavily national security considerations could weigh on Tehran’s decisions. Official hostility toward Israel did not eliminate pragmatic calculations; it changed the political framework within which they had to be justified and implemented.

This distinction is fundamental to the analysis that follows. The revolution radically transformed Iran’s official discourse and severed its political relations with Israel, but it did not immediately produce the pattern of confrontation that would develop over subsequent decades. The Islamic Republic’s early years remained marked by the consequences of the revolution, internal rivalries, the war with Iraq and the search for a new regional position. The mechanisms that would give this opposition lasting strategic significance emerged gradually, at the intersection of security imperatives and changes in the regional environment.

12. Anti-Imperialism, Anti-Zionism and Iran’s New Doctrine

The Islamic Republic’s foreign policy took shape around a determination to break with the political order associated with the monarchy and with the dependence on Western powers that revolutionary discourse attributed to the former regime. Opposition to Israel was incorporated into this vision, in which Iranian sovereignty, resistance to American influence and declared support for the Palestinian cause were closely linked. The revolution also sought to give Iran a regional role no longer based on the Shah’s monarchical nationalism, but on a revolutionary and Islamic conception of its place in the Muslim world.

This orientation altered the calculations of other regional actors. A US diplomatic document dated February 16, 1979, examining the consequences of the Iranian Revolution for Middle East peace negotiations, considered how developments in Iran affected Israeli and Egyptian positions. Concerns about the security of oil supplies, the reliability of regional arrangements and uncertainty surrounding the emerging Iranian order all contributed to the pressures bearing on the negotiations. The document confirms that the revolution’s consequences for regional diplomacy were already discernible before the Islamic Republic’s future policy orientations had been fully consolidated.

The scope of this transformation must nevertheless be carefully defined. In 1979, the political break was clear, but the military, technological and regional dimensions of the contemporary rivalry had not yet come together. It would therefore be anachronistic to treat the nuclear and ballistic programs, regional armed networks or clandestine operations of later decades as automatic consequences of the revolution. These developments arose in distinct contexts and must be examined according to their own chronology. The revolution created a new ideological and diplomatic framework; it did not, by itself, determine every subsequent decision.

The analytical challenge is precisely to understand how this initial framework evolved in response to events. Political opposition may remain largely declaratory for a period before acquiring an operational dimension as strategic interests, military capabilities and regional alliances change. The Israeli-Iranian relationship illustrates this evolution: the rupture of 1979 marked the starting point of a new conception of the adversary, while subsequent decades gradually gave that conception a broader strategic substance.

13. From Strategic Partner to Ideological Adversary

The year 1979 marked a fundamental change in the way official Iran defined Israel, but it is not sufficient to explain the entire rivalry that followed. Before the revolution, the two states had maintained strategic cooperation based on certain shared interests. After the revolution, such cooperation became politically incompatible with the identity claimed by the new regime. Israel moved from the category of useful partners to that of ideological adversaries. This transformation profoundly affected diplomatic relations, political perceptions and regional calculations, without immediately producing a permanent state of direct military confrontation between the two countries.

The Iran-Iraq War, which began in September 1980, demonstrated that Tehran’s security priorities were initially determined by regime survival, territorial defense and the immediate regional balance. For Israel, Iraq was also a major military concern at the time. This reality makes it impossible to read the 1980s as a period in which the Israeli-Iranian rivalry had already assumed the form it would take later. Hostile rhetoric, strategic interests and operational behavior do not necessarily coincide, and their relationship must be examined in the context of each decision.

A major structural change occurred at the end of the Cold War. The dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991 and Iraq’s military defeat during the Gulf War altered the regional balance. Iraq, severely weakened, no longer played the same role in the distribution of power, while the Soviet Union’s disappearance transformed the international environment in which Iran and Israel operated. These changes helped reduce certain areas of earlier convergence and brought new concerns about Tehran’s regional influence to the fore. They were not, however, a single cause or a uniform turning point: government policies, regional negotiations and domestic developments continued to shape the rivalry’s trajectory.

The period that followed saw ideological opposition increasingly combine with concerns about military capabilities, regional partnerships and changes in the balance of power. Iran assumed a more prominent place in Israeli strategic debates, while Tehran developed its own means of influence and deterrence in an environment it considered unfavorable. The rivalry gradually became more structured, but it cannot be reduced to a single statement, a single conflict or a decision taken in 1979.

The distinction between political rupture and strategic rivalry therefore helps clarify the historical continuity. The revolution changed the category under which the two states henceforth understood their relationship. Subsequent crises and regional transformations then gave this opposition greater operational significance. It was this accumulation of developments, rather than an instantaneous transition from friendship to war, that prepared the ground for a system of mutual perceptions in which the adversary’s capabilities and alliances came to occupy an increasingly prominent place.

14. The Emergence of a New Perception of the Enemy

The 1979 revolution opened a new phase in Israeli-Iranian relations by transforming the political and ideological framework through which the two countries interpreted their interests. For the Islamic Republic, Israel became an official adversary associated with the regional order challenged by the revolution and with the Palestinian cause. For Israel, the disappearance of the Shah’s regime meant the loss of an important strategic partner and the emergence of a state whose official discourse now rejected Israel’s legitimacy. This divergence marked the beginning of a longer transformation in which political opposition would gradually become intertwined with more concrete security concerns.

It is nevertheless important to avoid projecting every dimension of the contemporary confrontation retrospectively onto 1979. Developments in Iran’s nuclear program, the expansion of ballistic capabilities, Hezbollah’s growing importance, the wars in Lebanon, confrontations involving the Palestinian territories and clandestine operations belong to different periods. These elements have interacted over time, but they did not form an already completed system at the moment of the revolution. Their analysis requires a distinction between initial causes, intermediate developments and decisions taken in particular strategic contexts.

Above all, 1979 produced a lasting change in the framework of perception. The two countries began to interpret parts of their respective environments through a relationship that had become politically antagonistic. This perception could subsequently influence security doctrines, diplomatic choices, intelligence assessments and decisions concerning regional partnerships. It did not mechanically determine every policy, but it helped structure the way risks were identified and prioritized.

The central question then becomes how a political adversary comes to be regarded as a strategic threat, and how a strategic threat may eventually be perceived as existential. This progression cannot be explained by ideology alone. It also depends on the evolution of capabilities, attributed intentions, historical memory and changes in the regional balance of power. These factors must therefore be examined in terms of how they accumulate and reinforce one another, while recognizing that they do not have the same evidentiary status or carry equal weight in the decisions of the two states.

The next chapter will examine this transformation. It will seek to understand how an adversary ceases to be merely an external actor to be opposed or fought and becomes a permanent reference point in the definition of national security. The objective is not to treat confrontation as inevitable, but to identify the mechanisms through which threat perceptions, doctrines and strategic responses can contribute to making a rivalry enduring.

FROM POLITICAL RUPTURE TO AN EXISTENTIAL THREAT

15. The Enemy Is Not Merely the One One Fights

A diplomatic rupture is not enough to create a permanent enemy. States can sever relations, disagree over fundamental interests or go through periods of confrontation, then change their positions as their strategic environment evolves. In the Israeli-Iranian case, the decisive question is how the opposition that emerged after 1979 gradually became embedded in the two countries’ security perceptions. The adversary then becomes more than an actor with whom disputes exist: its capabilities, presumed intentions, partnerships and potential courses of action enter the calculations through which each state assesses its own security.

This transformation did not, however, unfold in a linear fashion. During part of the 1980s, Saddam Hussein’s Iraq represented a major and immediate military concern for Israel. The Iran-Iraq War also placed the survival of the Iranian regime and the defense of its territory at the forefront of Tehran’s priorities. Strategic calculations therefore did not always correspond to the ideological categories expressed publicly. Continued political hostility toward Israel did not mean that Iran was already considered the foremost threat in every security domain by all Israeli decision-makers.

The end of the Cold War subsequently transformed part of this environment. The dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991 and Iraq’s considerable weakening after the Gulf War changed the distribution of power in the Middle East. Iran and Israel had to reassess their positions within a regional system in which earlier constraints were losing some of their significance. Encyclopaedia Iranica identifies this period as a major turning point, marked by the weakening of factors that had previously allowed certain Iranian and Israeli interests to coexist despite their political opposition. The year 1991 should nevertheless be understood as a structural change whose effects unfolded gradually, not as a date that by itself explains every subsequent development.

The following years saw the rivalry acquire greater strategic significance. Israeli concerns about Iran’s regional influence increasingly combined with questions about its military capabilities, while Tehran sought to consolidate its position in an environment it viewed as dominated by the United States and characterized by Israel’s military superiority. The two countries did not respond identically to these transformations, but each increasingly had to take the other’s potential courses of action into account.

The enemy thus became a lasting component of strategic planning. This did not mean that every decision was determined by the rivalry or that war was inevitable. It meant that political and security officials increasingly assessed certain decisions in terms of their possible consequences for the adversary’s capabilities and intentions. This transition from political opposition to a permanent security reference point helps explain the gradual formation of a system of rivalry.

16. How an Adversary Becomes an Existential Threat

The concept of an existential threat requires a precise definition. It does not simply refer to a hostile state, a regional competitor or an adversary with significant military capabilities. It describes a threat perceived as potentially undermining the fundamental conditions of a state’s survival, security or continuity. In the Israeli-Iranian rivalry, this perception gradually developed from several elements: hostile political statements, the expansion of military capabilities, regional partnerships, assessments of Iran’s nuclear program and the particular historical memory through which Israeli leaders interpret security risks.

To analyze this evolution rigorously, four categories must be distinguished. The first concerns observable capabilities: the equipment, infrastructure, technological programs and means of action a state actually possesses. The second concerns the intentions attributed to that state, which are assessed on the basis of its statements, behavior and available information. The third comprises the official political positions and doctrines expressed by its leaders. The fourth consists of the strategic perceptions produced by the interpretation of these different elements. These categories interact, but they are not interchangeable. A capability does not automatically prove an intention to use it, while a hostile statement alone is insufficient to establish the existence of an operational plan.

Iran’s nuclear issue has given this dynamic particular depth. The public revelation in 2002 of previously undeclared nuclear sites, notably at Natanz and Arak, contributed to intensifying international investigations and controversies over the nature and transparency of Iran’s program. Subsequent negotiations led to the 2015 nuclear agreement, known as the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action, or JCPOA. The agreement was intended, among other things, to impose restrictions on Iran’s nuclear program and establish a verification framework. Political developments and disagreements over its implementation nevertheless sustained uncertainty about the prospects for a lasting resolution of the issue.

Iran has officially maintained that its nuclear program serves peaceful purposes and that nuclear weapons are not part of its declared doctrine. This position must be reported as an official statement, not treated as sufficient proof to settle every question concerning intentions or capabilities. Conversely, the concerns expressed by Israel and other international actors must be distinguished from technically established facts and assessments of future risks. A rigorous analysis must specify what international inspections and assessments have actually established, what remains disputed and what belongs to strategic forecasting.

The concept of an existential threat therefore cannot be reduced to the mere existence of a nuclear program. It arises from the way capabilities, attributed intentions, statements and regional developments are combined in a strategic judgment. For Israel, the prospect of Iran acquiring a military nuclear capability has increasingly been regarded as a major risk. Iran, for its part, may present the development of technological and military capabilities as a means of preserving its sovereignty, strengthening deterrence and reducing its vulnerability to more powerful adversaries. These perceptions must be examined without assuming that the two states possess equivalent capabilities, pursue identical objectives or bear identical responsibilities.

The security dilemma helps explain how such perceptions can reinforce one another. When one state strengthens its capabilities to protect itself, another may interpret that reinforcement as a threat and take its own security measures in response. The second state’s response then appears to the first as confirmation of its original concerns. This dynamic can continue even when both actors describe their own decisions as defensive. The point is not to claim that every action is legitimate or that responsibilities are necessarily symmetrical, but to understand how measures intended to reduce vulnerability can contribute to an environment that the other side perceives as increasingly dangerous.

17. Memory, Ideology and National Security

The Israeli-Iranian rivalry cannot be understood solely through military capabilities and balances of power. Historical memory and ideology also influence how leaders interpret events and prioritize risks. In Israel, the history of antisemitic persecution and the Holocaust occupy a central place in collective consciousness and in reflections on national survival. This memory does not mechanically determine government decisions, but it helps explain the gravity with which certain threats to Israel’s existence are interpreted. In Iran, the 1979 revolution, the rejection of the monarchy, the Iran-Iraq War and the perception of sustained external pressure have likewise shaped official conceptions of sovereignty and security.

Ideology gives these experiences political meaning. After 1979, opposition to Israel became a lasting component of Iran’s official discourse and was incorporated into the Islamic Republic’s regional outlook. Over time, this orientation combined with efforts to develop relationships with partners and intermediaries capable of expanding Iran’s influence and its ability to respond to external pressure. Lebanese Hezbollah occupies an important place in this evolution. Its emergence is linked to the Lebanese civil war, Israel’s invasion of Lebanon in 1982 and the influence of the Iranian revolution on part of Lebanon’s Shiite community. The movement subsequently developed into a political and military actor with its own structures, interests and close strategic ties to Tehran.

This relationship cannot be accurately described by reducing Hezbollah to a mere instrument devoid of autonomy. Iranian support, ideological affinities and shared strategic interests are important, but they do not erase the movement’s own calculations, its roots in Lebanese society or the constraints of its domestic environment. The relationship is better understood as an asymmetric partnership in which certain interests converge while each actor retains its own decision-making latitude and priorities. This distinction is essential to avoid confusing influence, dependence and operational control.

The growing importance of these networks has changed how Israel assesses the Iranian threat. Israeli officials can no longer limit their analysis to Iran’s national capabilities; they must also consider Tehran’s relationships with armed actors operating in different parts of the Middle East. On the Iranian side, the presence of American forces in the region, Israel’s partnerships and Israel’s technological superiority all contribute to a broader perception of the strategic environment. The geographical distance between the two countries therefore does not eliminate the possibility of indirect confrontation. On the contrary, it favors a configuration in which the consequences of the rivalry can emerge in territories other than those of the two principal adversaries.

The regional turning point of the 1990s contributed to reinforcing this evolution. The disappearance of the Soviet Union and the weakening of Iraq altered the constraints that had previously shaped regional calculations. At the same time, concerns about Iran’s ballistic capabilities, followed by its nuclear program, assumed growing importance in Israeli strategic debate. The confrontation thus acquired a dimension combining ideological perceptions, regional partnerships and assessments of military capabilities.

It would nevertheless be wrong to turn this trajectory into a deterministic narrative in which every event necessarily leads to the next. Government priorities can change, periods of tension can alternate with attempts at de-escalation, and strategic interests can produce decisions that do not fully correspond to public rhetoric. Memory and ideology do not replace strategic calculation; they help frame its interpretation. It is precisely their interaction with capabilities and alliances that helps explain why the rivalry can persist even when the two states are not engaged in open war.

The concept of an enemy system takes on its full meaning here. It does not imply that the two countries are condemned to permanent confrontation or that every decision they make is dictated by hostility. It describes a situation in which the existence of the adversary has a lasting influence on the definition of risks, partnership choices and security doctrines. The rivalry then becomes a structuring reference point, even when governments seek to avoid direct escalation.

18. When One Side’s Security Depends on Weakening the Other

The Israeli-Iranian rivalry becomes particularly complex when the two states come to regard the expansion of the other’s capabilities as a direct reduction in their own security. Competition then extends beyond a territory, a negotiation or a temporary interest. It concerns whether the adversary should be allowed to increase its operational capabilities, regional influence or deterrence capacity. This logic is particularly evident in Israeli concerns about Iran’s nuclear program and in Iran’s determination to develop national capabilities and partnerships that may reduce its strategic vulnerability.

It is nevertheless important to distinguish declared objectives, capabilities actually available and the effects produced by each actor’s decisions. Israel may regard certain Iranian capabilities as major threats and seek to limit their development. Iran, in turn, may present its own capabilities and regional relationships as means of deterrence against an adversary’s military superiority. These justifications do not establish the true nature of every intention, but they help explain why each side’s decisions are frequently interpreted through the other’s concerns.

Hezbollah is one of the principal regional dimensions of this dynamic. For Israel, the movement’s military capabilities in Lebanon and its partnership with Tehran broaden the scope of the threat associated with Iran. For the Islamic Republic, relationships with regional actors provide means of influence and pressure that do not depend exclusively on its national armed forces. This configuration does not mean that every Hezbollah action is decided in Tehran. Rather, it reflects converging interests, relationships of support and dependence, and the calculations of actors who retain distinct objectives.

The rivalry thus extends beyond the bilateral framework and helps shape several regional crises. In Lebanon, Syria, Iraq and the Palestinian territories, the decisions of local actors may be interpreted through their relationships with Iran, Israel or their respective partners. These situations cannot, however, be reduced to a single confrontation between Tehran and Tel Aviv. Each theater has its own history, institutions, actors and internal conflicts. The Israeli-Iranian rivalry interacts with these dynamics without necessarily providing their sole explanation.

This distinction is essential to understanding the formation of a regional system of confrontation. Crises can reinforce one another, but they are not all directed by a single center. Governments, armed movements and other actors pursue objectives that may temporarily converge, diverge or change. A sound analysis must therefore examine both the links between them and the local factors that limit their coordination.

Competition can also continue in the absence of open war. Intelligence, diplomacy, alliances, technology and influence strategies can be used to limit an adversary’s options without triggering a general confrontation. This situation does not necessarily constitute a stable peace. It may instead reflect a precarious balance in which actors simultaneously seek to strengthen their positions and avoid the consequences of uncontrolled escalation.

The risk lies in the accumulation of decisions taken separately. A measure presented as defensive may be interpreted as offensive; a response intended to restore deterrence may prompt another reaction; a local crisis may take on a regional dimension when several actors regard it as a test of their credibility or security. A broader confrontation may thus become possible even if it was not the original objective of every decision. This mechanism does not make war inevitable, but it explains why managing perceptions, signals and escalation thresholds is essential.

The real analytical turning point therefore lies in the transformation of the adversary into a permanent reference point for strategic calculation. Israel assesses part of its security in relation to Iran’s capabilities, Tehran’s regional influence and partnerships that could increase the risks it faces. Iran assesses part of its own security in relation to Israel’s military superiority, the American presence in the region and the pressure that may be exerted against it. This negative interdependence does not mean that their interests are opposed in every circumstance, but it does mean that a significant part of their decision-making is now influenced by how they anticipate the other’s reactions.

It is this dynamic that provides a basis for examining the shadow war. Both states have reasons to limit the costs of a general war while seeking to prevent the adversary from strengthening certain capabilities or improving its regional position. Competition can consequently shift toward intelligence, clandestine operations, strategic infrastructure, cyberspace and regional theaters. These dimensions should not be treated as manifestations of a single mechanism: each has its own actors, constraints and forms of risk. Examining them nevertheless helps explain how a rivalry can become enduring without constantly taking the form of an officially declared war.

The next chapter will examine this evolution by placing the different regional theaters in their own contexts. It will consider the role of Lebanon and Syria, the dynamics of the Palestinian territories, the situation in Iraq and other areas where Iranian and Israeli interests intersect or clash. The objective is to show how a rivalry between two states becomes embedded in a wider regional environment, without reducing local actors to mere instruments or confusing threat perceptions with established facts.

THE SHADOW WAR

19. Hezbollah, Hamas, Syria, Iraq and Yemen

The Israeli-Iranian rivalry has not developed solely within the territories of the two states. One of its defining characteristics is precisely its extension into areas where Israel and Iran can exert influence, support partners and apply strategic pressure without immediately entering a direct conventional war. From the 1980s onward, and more clearly after the end of the Cold War, Tehran developed a network of relationships with various political and armed actors across the Middle East. The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, particularly its Quds Force, has played an important role in this regional projection. The network extends into Lebanon, the Palestinian territories, Iraq, Syria and Yemen, but its components are neither identical nor entirely controlled from Tehran. Depending on the case, these relationships rest on political convergence, financial and military support, transfers of expertise or shared interests, while leaving local actors varying degrees of autonomy.

Lebanese Hezbollah occupies a distinctive place in this architecture. Its formation took place in the context of the Lebanese civil war, Israel’s 1982 invasion and the mobilization of different Shiite currents. The movement developed close ties with revolutionary Iran and gradually became one of Tehran’s principal regional partners. Its political, social and military presence in Lebanon gave the Israeli-Iranian rivalry a new geographical depth. Israel now had to consider the possibility that this rivalry could be expressed from a territory close to its northern border. The relationship between Tehran and Hezbollah consequently became a lasting element of Israeli security calculations, even though the movement’s decisions also reflect its own interests, Lebanon’s domestic situation and the evolving conflict with Israel.

The Palestinian question adds another dimension to this architecture. Iran provides political and material support to several Palestinian organizations, notably Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad. These relationships should not, however, be equated with a single chain of command. Hamas belongs to a political and religious tradition distinct from that of the Islamic Republic, and its decisions are primarily linked to its own interpretation of the Palestinian national struggle, its organizational objectives and its political environment. Ties with Tehran may strengthen some of the movement’s capabilities without eliminating its decision-making autonomy. Following Hamas’s attack on Israel on October 7, 2023, and the outbreak of the war in Gaza, this regional dimension became particularly visible. Clashes involving Hezbollah, armed groups in Iraq and Syria, and the Houthis in Yemen helped connect several theaters that had previously been relatively distinct.

Syria represents another essential arena, but one governed by a different logic. For decades, Bashar al-Assad’s regime provided Tehran with a political partner and a strategic corridor linking Iran, Iraq and Lebanon. The Syrian civil war, which began in 2011, transformed this relationship into much deeper military cooperation. Iran and Hezbollah supported the Assad regime, while Israel carried out numerous operations against facilities, arms transfers and positions it considered connected to the Iranian presence or to the strengthening of Hezbollah. The fall of the Assad regime in December 2024 profoundly disrupted this architecture. It significantly weakened one of Tehran’s principal regional links, although it does not follow that all Iranian influence disappeared from Syrian territory immediately.

Iraq and Yemen further expand the geography of the rivalry. Following the American invasion of 2003 and the transformation of Iraq’s former political order, several Shiite militias developed close relations with Iran and acquired considerable influence within Iraq’s political and security landscape. These groups do not, however, form a uniform bloc: their relationships with state institutions, local objectives and degrees of dependence on Tehran vary. In Yemen, relations between Iran and the Houthis have followed a different trajectory, rooted in the country’s own political and social history. Iranian support has helped strengthen some of the movement’s capabilities, but it is not sufficient on its own to explain its choices or all its operations. From 2023 onward, Houthi attacks on ships in the Red Sea and operations directed against Israel gave the rivalry a maritime and commercial dimension extending far beyond the Israeli-Iranian confrontation itself.

This network should therefore not be described as a simple “external army” belonging to Iran. Such a representation would erase the diversity of the societies, conflicts and local interests in which these actors are rooted. It is more accurate to speak of an architecture of influence and armed partnerships through which Tehran seeks to expand its strategic depth and multiply its options for putting pressure on its adversaries. For Israel, however, the diversity of these actors does not eliminate the operational challenge: several organizations hostile to the Israeli state maintain ties with the Islamic Republic and possess the ability to act in theaters far removed from Iranian territory. The rivalry thus ceases to be a strictly bilateral issue and becomes a constellation of interconnected conflicts.

20. The Logic of Networks and Allied Actors

The strategic novelty lies less in the existence of allies than in the ability to distribute pressure across several arenas. A state that believes it cannot compete directly with a militarily superior adversary may seek to widen its room for maneuver by developing relationships with actors operating in different geographical environments. For Tehran, this strategy provides a degree of strategic depth that its national capabilities alone could not offer. For Israel, it means that the threat cannot be assessed solely by measuring the distance between the two states. Iranian partners may be located close to Israeli territory or operate along maritime routes essential to international trade. The network itself thus becomes a strategic factor.

This architecture is profoundly asymmetrical. Hezbollah has a political and military organization rooted in Lebanon; Palestinian groups respond to dynamics specific to the Palestinian national question; Iraqi militias operate within a political system where state institutions, local interests and foreign influences overlap; and the Houthis pursue their own project of power in Yemen. The term “axis” can be useful when describing certain political and strategic convergences, but it becomes misleading when it suggests a perfectly centralized organization in which every component automatically executes decisions made in Tehran. It is more appropriate to analyze a group of partners whose degrees of coordination, dependence and autonomy vary according to the period and circumstances.

The flexibility of this network is one of its potential advantages. Pressure can shift from one theater to another without requiring direct Iranian military intervention at every stage. Different actors can pursue their own interests while sharing certain strategic orientations with Tehran. But this flexibility also entails a weakness: the more the network expands, the more difficult it becomes to control all the consequences of its actions. An operation decided upon in Beirut, Gaza, Baghdad or Sanaa may trigger reactions in Tel Aviv, Washington or Tehran that its initiator did not necessarily anticipate. The strategic depth thus gained can come at the cost of an increased risk of escalation.

After October 2023, this difficulty became particularly apparent. The war in Gaza, clashes between Israel and Hezbollah, Houthi attacks in the Red Sea and actions by armed groups in Iraq and Syria demonstrated how several local crises could become interconnected. In 2024, the confrontation crossed another threshold when Iran directly attacked Israel following the April 1 strike on a building in the Iranian diplomatic complex in Damascus. The two countries subsequently exchanged further direct strikes in October. The distinction between indirect warfare and interstate confrontation did not disappear, but it became considerably less clear-cut. Regional networks remained active even as the states themselves assumed a more direct role in military operations.

21. Iran’s Nuclear Program and Israeli Perceptions

This regional architecture is compounded by a factor of a different nature: Iran’s nuclear program. It cannot be equated with the armed networks examined above. It directly concerns the Iranian state’s strategic capabilities and the possibility, feared by Israel and other countries, that Tehran might one day acquire a military nuclear capability. Iran maintains that its program serves peaceful purposes and invokes its rights under the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons. The 2015 nuclear agreement, known as the JCPOA, imposed restrictions on certain Iranian activities and established verification mechanisms in exchange for sanctions relief. The United States’ withdrawal in 2018, followed by the gradual erosion of restrictions and confidence-building mechanisms, profoundly weakened this framework.

For Israel, the nuclear issue is layered onto the experience accumulated since the 1979 revolution. A state whose leaders have expressed radical political opposition to Israel, which maintains relations with several armed organizations hostile to the Israeli state and possesses ballistic capabilities may be perceived as presenting a qualitatively different risk if it moves closer to acquiring a military nuclear capability. Israeli perceptions therefore do not rest on the nuclear program in isolation. They arise from the combination of political statements, military capabilities, regional relationships and uncertainty about Tehran’s future intentions. This combination explains why the nuclear issue has become one of the principal points of friction between the two countries.

These perceptions must nevertheless be distinguished from the intentions officially declared by the Iranian authorities and from capabilities that can be independently established. Tehran maintains that it does not seek to manufacture a nuclear weapon and presents its program as a matter of civilian rights and national sovereignty. At the same time, international concerns focus on uranium enrichment levels, accumulated stocks, inspectors’ access and the technical time that might be required to take further steps if a decision to build a weapon were made. An advanced nuclear program, a latent technical capability, a decision to manufacture a weapon and the actual possession of a nuclear arsenal are distinct realities. Conflating them would weaken the analysis.

The strategic problem therefore also lies in uncertainty. When one adversary cannot confidently determine the other’s future intentions, it tends to reason from the capabilities the other might eventually mobilize. A policy aimed at preventing Iran from expanding its capabilities may be presented by Israel as a preventive measure. Tehran may, in turn, interpret such pressure as an attempt to constrain its sovereignty and deterrence options. Each side may therefore regard its own measures as defensive while perceiving those of the other as offensive. This security dilemma does not mean that responsibilities are identical or that the two states’ capabilities and intentions are equivalent. Rather, it describes a mechanism through which mistrust can fuel escalation even when the actors claim to be preventing a threat.

22. Intelligence, Covert Operations and Cyber Confrontation

When two states believe that an open confrontation would entail excessive costs, intelligence becomes a central instrument of their competition. Over the years, Israel and Iran have engaged in a covert confrontation involving information gathering, sabotage, attributed and unattributed operations, actions against infrastructure and attempts to slow the development of their adversary’s strategic capabilities. This rivalry has been particularly visible around Iran’s nuclear program. Some clandestine operations have sought to disrupt facilities or equipment without immediately triggering open war. The cyber operation known as Stuxnet has become one of the best-known examples of this evolution. It is widely attributed to the United States and Israel, although not all responsibilities and operational details have been officially acknowledged.

Cyberspace has changed the nature of the shadow war. It makes it possible to gather intelligence, disrupt systems or affect infrastructure remotely, without necessarily conducting a visible conventional attack. Communications networks, industrial systems, digital infrastructure and information environments have consequently become arenas of rivalry. Iran has developed its own cyber capabilities, while Israel has acquired a significant reputation in technological intelligence and cybersecurity. These capabilities do not eliminate the constraints of traditional warfare, but they broaden the means through which a state can exert pressure, seek to slow its adversary or prepare action in another domain.

Intelligence also serves a purpose beyond the collection of information. In a relationship characterized by profound mistrust, the ability to understand an adversary’s infrastructure, movements and intentions becomes part of deterrence. Yet this constant pursuit of knowledge carries a paradox. Each side may regard its intelligence operations as necessary for its own security, while the other interprets them as preparations for hostile action. Intelligence gathering can therefore reduce certain uncertainties while feeding the cycle of suspicion it is intended to manage.

It is within this intermediate space that the shadow war finds its logic. It makes it possible to monitor, disrupt, deter or slow an adversary without necessarily acknowledging the existence of an open conflict. It gives governments political room for maneuver, but also makes their intentions less legible. When the author of an operation remains officially unknown or its objectives are disputed, the adversary must decide whether to respond, how to respond and at what level, without having all the necessary information. The risk of misinterpretation then becomes an essential dimension of the confrontation.

23. The Limits of Indirect Warfare

For a long time, the shadow war enabled Israel and Iran to sustain their confrontation below the threshold of a general conflict. This approach rested on a fundamental contradiction: each actor sought to alter the strategic balance without provoking the very war it wanted to avoid. It could help contain escalation as long as responses remained relatively limited, signals could be interpreted and the various theaters remained sufficiently separate. These conditions, however, gradually weakened. Covert operations, clashes through regional partners and threats against strategic infrastructure multiplied the opportunities for retaliation and the risks of miscalculation.

The year 2024 marked a turning point. On April 1, a strike against a building in the Iranian diplomatic complex in Damascus killed several senior Iranian officials, including General Mohammad Reza Zahedi. During the night of April 13–14, Iran launched drones and missiles directly at Israel. Most of the projectiles were intercepted, with the participation of Israel, the United States and regional partners. The event was nevertheless significant: Tehran chose to attack Israeli territory directly rather than limit its response to actions by regional partners. On October 1, Iran launched another ballistic missile attack against Israel. Israel responded on October 26 with strikes against Iranian military facilities. The separation between indirect confrontation and direct exchanges of fire became considerably more fragile.

This evolution does not mean that indirect warfare has disappeared. Regional networks continue to exist and play an important role. Their function has nevertheless changed: they are no longer merely substitutes for direct confrontation; they can also become crisis multipliers in an environment where the states themselves exchange strikes. An operation against a partner may trigger a response against Iran; an Iranian response may provoke another Israeli action; that action may activate several regional actors. The system becomes more difficult to contain precisely because its different levels are more closely connected.

The distinction between “proxy warfare” and “war between states” is therefore no longer sufficient to describe the reality. Both dimensions coexist. Non-state actors remain essential, but Israel and Iran now intervene more directly in the confrontation. After October 2023, the conflicts in Gaza, Lebanon, Syria, Iraq and the Red Sea became more closely connected, while the direct strikes of 2024 demonstrated that geographical distance no longer provides sufficient protection against interstate confrontation.

The shift from indirect warfare to direct confrontation did not result from a single event. It emerged from an accumulation of developments: the expansion of regional networks, the intensification of covert operations, growing nuclear concerns, the multiplication of local crises and the gradual weakening of mechanisms of restraint. The shadow war had helped contain open confrontation, but it had also created an environment in which indirect actions could trigger responses that were increasingly difficult to control.

It is this gradual disappearance of the former gray zones that must now be examined. The years 2024 and 2025 were not merely a period of persistent rivalry; they marked a phase in which the mechanisms that had allowed Israel and Iran to fight without continually confronting one another directly began to give way. The question is no longer simply how the two states confront each other, but how far each is prepared to go when the former limits of confrontation no longer have the same restraining effect.

2024–2025: RED LINES BEGIN TO FADE

24. The First Direct Confrontations

For several decades, Israel and Iran developed a confrontation in which both generally sought to avoid an open war. Covert operations, strikes against interests associated with the adversary, confrontations through regional partners, and intelligence campaigns enabled the two states to maintain a certain distance from one another. This distance never meant peace, but it did constitute a form of strategic restraint. The year 2024 marked a turning point because this separation began to disappear. Following the Hamas attack of October 7, 2023, and the expansion of the conflict into several parts of the Middle East, tensions intensified in Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, and the Red Sea. The risk of a direct confrontation between Tehran and Tel Aviv consequently became much more difficult to contain.

The first turning point came on April 1, 2024, when a strike against a building within the Iranian diplomatic complex in Damascus killed several senior Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps officials, including General Mohammad Reza Zahedi. Iran attributed the attack to Israel and announced that it would retaliate. During the night of April 13–14, Tehran launched a direct attack against Israel, deploying more than three hundred drones and missiles, according to estimates published at the time. A large proportion of the projectiles were intercepted with the participation of Israel, the United States, and regional partners. The event’s strategic significance lay less in the immediate damage than in the precedent it established: Iran attacked Israeli territory directly on a scale unprecedented in this confrontation.

Israel’s response in April remained limited in comparison with the potential scale of the escalation. A strike against Iranian air-defense assets near Isfahan was reported, while both governments sought to prevent a limited exchange from turning into a general war. Nevertheless, this sequence revealed a new reality. Deterrence, which had partly relied on the possibility of fighting indirectly, was no longer sufficient to prevent direct strikes. Both states demonstrated that they could attack one another while attempting to control the intensity of the confrontation. The question was therefore no longer simply whether direct confrontation was possible, but under what circumstances it might recur and what limits the two governments could still enforce.

25. The Transformation of Deterrence

The concept of deterrence consequently became more complex. During the preceding decades, Israel and Iran had each built part of their security around the ability to make the other understand that certain actions would entail a high cost. The April 2024 confrontation nevertheless demonstrated that a direct attack could be carried out precisely because its author believed it could control the scale of the operation and prevent the adversary from responding at the highest possible level. The objective was not necessarily to win a war. It could instead be to reassert the ability to retaliate, restore strategic credibility, or alter the adversary’s calculations without triggering a generalized conflict.

This logic becomes more fragile when perceptions of red lines diverge. What one actor considers a limited response may be interpreted by the other as a further escalation. The problem is particularly acute in an environment where covert operations, targeted assassinations, strikes against infrastructure, and actions by regional partners occur in rapid succession. Uncertainty increases the risk of misinterpretation. A strategy designed to preserve deterrence may therefore produce the opposite effect if it convinces the adversary that its own red lines are being tested.

Iran’s second direct attack against Israel, on October 1, 2024, illustrated this new phase. It came after the death of Hassan Nasrallah, the secretary-general of Hezbollah, who was killed in an Israeli strike on September 27. It preceded, however, the death of Yahya Sinwar, the leader of Hamas, which occurred on October 16. Iran launched a major barrage of ballistic missiles against Israel. On October 26, Israel responded with a series of strikes against Iranian military installations, including air-defense systems and capabilities associated with missiles. For the second time within a few months, the two states exchanged direct strikes. The mechanism that had once separated strategic rivalry from interstate war became considerably more fragile.

This transformation does not mean that the two governments necessarily sought an all-out war. The events of 2024 also demonstrated a willingness to calibrate responses. The attacks were substantial enough to convey a strategic message, but their scale still left room for de-escalation. This contradiction became one of the period’s defining characteristics: direct confrontation was now possible, yet the cost of a general war remained high enough for each actor to continue trying to impose limits on it.

26. The Progressive Disappearance of the Gray Zones

The gray zones that had made it possible to maintain a distinction between indirect warfare and open confrontation became increasingly scarce. The conflict triggered by October 7, 2023, profoundly altered the regional environment. The war in Gaza was accompanied by clashes with Hezbollah in Lebanon, Houthi attacks in the Red Sea, and operations by armed groups in Iraq and Syria. Iran continued to support several of these actors, while Israel intensified operations against infrastructure and leaders it considered involved in this regional threat. The war was therefore no longer organized around a single theater. It was unfolding across a network of connected arenas, each capable of triggering a reaction on another front.

The fall of Bashar al-Assad’s regime in December 2024 represented another major change. For years, Syria had provided Iran with strategic depth between its own territory and Lebanon, while also serving as an arena in which Israel could strike infrastructure and transfers it considered linked to Iran or Hezbollah. The disappearance of the Assad regime altered this architecture and weakened one of Tehran’s most important territorial links in the region. It did not automatically bring Iranian influence to an end, but it changed the conditions under which that influence could be exercised.

The year 2025 therefore began with a Middle East profoundly different from the one that existed before October 2023. Hezbollah had suffered heavy losses among its leadership and in its military capabilities; Hamas had been severely weakened by the war in Gaza; the Assad regime had disappeared; and the conditions for projecting Iranian influence through Syria had changed substantially. Yet this shift in the balance of power did not automatically produce stabilization. The reduction of certain capabilities can generate new uncertainties, alter adversaries’ calculations, and create opportunities for replacement or reconstruction strategies. A deeply destabilized regional system does not necessarily regain equilibrium simply because some of its actors have been weakened.

In this context, the nuclear issue acquired greater importance. The transformation of regional networks made Iran’s national capabilities, particularly its missiles and nuclear infrastructure, especially significant in the calculations of Tehran and its adversaries. For Israel, the possibility that Iran could retain or rebuild an advanced nuclear capability remained a central concern. The nuclear issue thus ceased to be one problem among several and became one of the principal focal points of the strategic relationship. The stakes concerned not only the capabilities existing at a given moment, but also the possibilities for reconstruction, the technical timelines involved, and the ability of international mechanisms to verify the program’s trajectory.

27. 2025: Prelude to a New Regional Phase

The year 2025 opened a period in which diplomacy and military coercion developed simultaneously. Washington resumed a policy of maximum pressure on Tehran while also participating in diplomatic efforts intended to constrain Iran’s nuclear program. This coexistence of negotiations and pressure encapsulated the strategic uncertainty of the moment: international actors were still seeking a diplomatic solution, while security concerns and military preparations continued to intensify.

On June 12, 2025, the Board of Governors of the International Atomic Energy Agency adopted a resolution concerning Iran’s compliance with certain safeguards obligations. The following day, Israel launched a large-scale military campaign against Iran, targeting, among other things, nuclear and military installations and senior officials. Tehran responded with missile and drone attacks. The confrontation then became an open military campaign between the two states, focused in particular on Iran’s nuclear and ballistic missile capabilities.

The international dimension of this new phase quickly became apparent. On June 22, 2025, the United States struck three Iranian nuclear sites in an operation Washington designated Operation Midnight Hammer. The precise extent of the damage and its long-term consequences for the nuclear program subsequently became subjects of assessment and debate. The US government claimed to have severely damaged the targeted facilities, while preliminary assessments emphasized that the impact on the program’s timeline remained uncertain. A military operation can damage infrastructure without eliminating the scientific knowledge, human expertise, and industrial capabilities that could eventually enable a program to be rebuilt.

The June 2025 sequence therefore represented less the conclusion of the confrontation than the provisional culmination of a process that had begun long before. In 2024, Israel and Iran had crossed the threshold into repeated direct strikes. In 2025, the nuclear issue, ballistic capabilities, and American intervention transformed that confrontation into a major international crisis. Traditional categories were no longer sufficient to describe it: this was no longer simply an indirect war, an intelligence competition, or a potential nuclear rivalry. These dimensions were now combining within a single strategic dynamic.

This combination set the stage for the shift into 2026. Once direct strikes had become possible, regional networks had been profoundly transformed, and the nuclear issue had moved to the center of an international military confrontation, the cost of further escalation increased, while the means of containing it became harder to identify. The red line had not disappeared because all restraint had ceased to exist; it had shifted, fragmented, and become more difficult to interpret. Each actor continued to seek to protect its interests and preserve its own limits, but those limits were not necessarily understood in the same way by others.

It was within this uncertainty that 2026 began. The problem was no longer simply whether Israel and Iran could strike each other directly. They had demonstrated that they could. The challenge was to understand what happened when this confrontation expanded, when the United States itself became directly involved, and when a state’s nuclear, military, energy, and strategic infrastructure came under direct attack. The crisis then opened a new dimension of the conflict: one that concerned not only the Israeli-Iranian rivalry, but also the Middle East’s security architecture and, by extension, part of the international order.

THE CONFRONTATION ENTERS A NEW DIMENSION

28. The US-Israeli Strikes

February 28, 2026, marked a new rupture in the Israeli-Iranian rivalry. Following the direct confrontations of 2024 and the June 2025 war, the United States and Israel launched a new military campaign against Iran under the American designation Operation Epic Fury. The strikes targeted, among other things, components of Iran’s military apparatus, command centers, and infrastructure that the two governments considered connected to Tehran’s strategic capabilities. Washington presented the operation as an effort to reduce the Iranian military threat and prevent Iran from acquiring a nuclear weapon. Tehran characterized the offensive as an act of aggression and asserted its right to self-defense. These official positions must be distinguished from an independent assessment of the objectives actually achieved and the campaign’s long-term consequences.

The novelty lay not only in the scale of the strikes. It also lay in the strategic depth of the confrontation and in the direct involvement of the principal external military power operating in the Middle East. US authorities announced operations against command centers, Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps facilities, defense systems, and capabilities associated with missiles and drones. By mid-March, the Pentagon had reported thousands of targets struck since the beginning of the operation. These figures should be presented as information released by the American side on a specific date; on their own, they do not constitute an independent measure of the damage actually inflicted on Iranian capabilities.

The regional character of the war quickly became apparent. States hosting American military facilities found themselves exposed to the consequences of the conflict, while maritime routes, air connections, and energy markets began incorporating a new risk premium. On February 28, the United Nations warned that the escalation could trigger a chain of events that would be difficult to control. The significance of that warning became clearer as hostilities affected Gulf states, maritime routes, and energy supplies. The war no longer concerned only Washington, Jerusalem, and Tehran: it was affecting a regional system whose infrastructure, economies, and alliances were closely interconnected.

29. Operation Epic Fury

Operation Epic Fury became the symbol of the transformation of the Israeli-Iranian confrontation into a strategic conflict directly involving the United States. The Pentagon stated that the campaign began on February 28 and targeted, among other things, command centers, military installations, defense systems, and capabilities associated with missiles and drones. By mid-March, American authorities were claiming that more than 7,000 targets had been struck and that more than 6,500 combat sorties had been conducted. These figures describe the operational results reported by Washington at that time. They must be distinguished from an independent assessment of the campaign’s effects on Iranian infrastructure, military capabilities, and command structures.

The campaign also illustrates the evolution of modern warfare. Conventional military capabilities are now embedded in an architecture in which real-time intelligence, persistent surveillance, electronic warfare, uncrewed systems, and automated data processing play an increasingly important role. Reports published during the campaign also described the use of artificial intelligence systems and low-cost drones by US forces. These developments do not mean that the war has become an “artificial intelligence war” in the strict sense. Rather, they show that AI is gradually being integrated into a broader military framework in which analytical speed, data quality, and the ability to coordinate different functions can provide operational advantages.

The effectiveness of these capabilities must not, however, be confused with their ability to resolve the political conflict. A power may destroy infrastructure, eliminate leaders, or temporarily disrupt a chain of command without removing the institutions, interests, and perceptions that produced the confrontation. The history of the Middle East demonstrates that a military victory in a particular operation can coexist with the persistence of a hostile strategic architecture. The fundamental question is therefore becoming less about the ability to strike than about whether it is possible to transform the political conditions that make repeated confrontations possible.

30. The Death of Ali Khamenei and Its Consequences

The death of Ali Khamenei, announced following the February 28 strikes and subsequently confirmed by Iranian authorities, became one of the most consequential political events of this new phase of the war. Khamenei had led the Islamic Republic since 1989 and, for nearly four decades, embodied the institutional, ideological, and strategic continuity of the system established by the 1979 revolution. His death therefore represented more than the loss of a leader. It removed the figure around whom a substantial share of the state’s religious, political, and military authority had been concentrated.

His death did not, however, trigger the immediate collapse of the system. The Islamic Republic possesses constitutional bodies and security structures capable of maintaining institutional continuity. On March 8, 2026, the Assembly of Experts appointed Mojtaba Khamenei as the new Supreme Leader. This succession, reported by several international media outlets, took place amid war and intense pressure on Iranian institutions. Available reporting also highlighted the significant role of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps in the new configuration of power. Nevertheless, the formal appointment of a Supreme Leader must be distinguished from the actual distribution of authority among the country’s political, religious, and military institutions.

Institutional continuity does not mean that nothing changes. The center of gravity of power may shift when security and military structures assume a greater role in governing the state during wartime. The legitimacy of the new leadership, its ability to enforce decisions, and its relations with the different components of the regime are questions that cannot be settled solely by reference to the formal succession. The observable events establish a major change at the head of state; their long-term consequences for the nature of the regime remain uncertain.

The situation is particularly difficult to interpret because the visibility of Iranian power has itself become an issue. In October 2026, US President Donald Trump publicly stated that it was unclear who was actually leading Iran. This statement does not, by itself, prove that the country lacks political leadership, but it reflects uncertainty surrounding the actual distribution of power during wartime. The official appointment of the Supreme Leader, the effective exercise of authority, and the ability of outside observers to identify the centers of decision-making must therefore be analyzed separately.

Khamenei’s death ultimately reveals a strategic paradox. Eliminating a leader regarded as responsible for a hostile policy can profoundly alter a command system without making the institutions, interests, historical memories, and social capabilities underpinning that system disappear. The rapid succession of Mojtaba Khamenei thus serves as a reminder that a state can never be reduced entirely to the individual who leads it. A leader’s death may trigger a succession crisis; it does not necessarily dissolve a political architecture built over several decades.

31. Iranian Military and Nuclear Infrastructure

The nuclear issue occupies a distinctive place in this new phase because it lies at the intersection of military security, international law, nonproliferation, and threat perception. The 2026 strikes followed those of June 2025, which had already affected several Iranian facilities. The International Atomic Energy Agency subsequently lost part of its ability to conduct on-site verification. In September 2026, the Agency’s Director General stated that it had received neither the information necessary to establish the status of the relevant nuclear materials and declared facilities nor the access required to carry out on-site verification. The IAEA also emphasized that, for more than a year, it had lost continuity of knowledge concerning certain stocks of enriched uranium at facilities affected by the June 2025 attacks.

The sites at Natanz, Fordow, and Isfahan are central to this problem. Reports have described repeated strikes against certain facilities, but an accurate assessment of the damage remains difficult in the absence of full and regular access for inspectors. Destroying visible infrastructure does not necessarily mean that scientific or industrial capabilities have disappeared. Similarly, damaging an underground facility does not automatically establish what was destroyed, moved, or preserved. Assessments must therefore distinguish confirmed damage, estimates provided by the governments involved, and questions that inspectors can no longer answer because they lack access.

The war has consequently created a major strategic contradiction. The more nuclear infrastructure is attacked, the more international capacity to verify its condition may be reduced. Yet the more verification capacity disappears, the greater the uncertainty surrounding Iran’s nuclear program becomes. That uncertainty is itself one of the factors capable of reinforcing military prevention policies. A circular dynamic emerges: fear of a nuclear capability prompts military action; military action damages infrastructure and disrupts verification mechanisms; the loss of verification increases uncertainty; and that uncertainty may, in turn, strengthen perceptions of the threat.

This is why the nuclear issue cannot be addressed sustainably as a matter of physically destroying facilities alone. It requires a credible mechanism for oversight, transparency, verification, and political settlement. In September 2026, the IAEA Board of Governors adopted a resolution concerning the implementation of Iran’s safeguards agreement under the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons and relevant Security Council resolutions. The report presented on that occasion emphasized that the Agency no longer had the information and access required to verify the status of several declared nuclear facilities and materials. It is important, however, not to claim that the resolution itself calls for a new referral to the Security Council unless the text of the resolution specifically supports that interpretation.

Iran disputes the measures taken against it and accuses the United States and Israel of undermining the conditions necessary for effective verification through their military actions. The political and legal responsibility for this breakdown remains contested. What is established, however, is the deterioration in continuity of verification and the resulting increase in uncertainty. The nuclear crisis has thus become a military, diplomatic, and institutional crisis simultaneously.

32. Iran’s Retaliation

Iran’s response transforms the geography of the conflict. Tehran launches missiles and drones against Israel, as well as against American facilities or territories hosting US forces in several countries across the region. One purpose of the retaliation is to demonstrate that Iran’s ability to strike back has not disappeared with the initial attacks on its leaders and infrastructure. From the earliest days, several countries in the region have been exposed to the consequences of the attacks, including states that had sought to maintain a degree of distance from the Israeli-Iranian confrontation.

This geographical expansion represents a major strategic change. The Gulf is no longer merely an indirect arena of rivalry between powers; it has itself become a theater of confrontation. States hosting American forces must simultaneously manage their relations with Washington, their regional economic interests, and their own national security. The conflict also affects Lebanon, where hostilities involving Israel and Hezbollah continue and intensify at different points. Nevertheless, a distinction must be maintained between attacks claimed by a particular actor, attacks attributed to that actor by governments, and incidents whose origin remains disputed.

Iran’s retaliation also has an economic dimension. Threats to the Strait of Hormuz transform a military confrontation into a global crisis affecting energy transportation. Hormuz is not merely a maritime passage between Iran and the Arab monarchies. It is an essential chokepoint for global energy flows. Disruptions to maritime traffic, threats against vessels, and concerns over supplies trigger cascading effects on prices, insurance premiums, transportation costs, and procurement strategies.

This economic dimension has become one of the principal levers in the confrontation between Washington and Tehran. Even when a state suffers substantial losses to its conventional military capabilities, it may retain the ability to impose costs on its adversaries by expanding the theater of confrontation or threatening strategic chokepoints. This does not mean that all its capabilities remain intact or that every military claim it makes has been independently verified. Rather, geography, infrastructure, and economic interdependence can allow an actor weakened in certain respects to retain a significant capacity to disrupt the international environment.

33. The Immediate Consequences for the Region

The consequences of the 2026 confrontation are emerging simultaneously at several levels. In human terms, the strikes and retaliatory attacks are causing civilian and military casualties in several countries. Politically, the loss of part of Iran’s leadership has not triggered the immediate collapse of the Islamic Republic; instead, it has led to a reconfiguration of power whose long-term effects remain uncertain. In security terms, the conflict has spread to Lebanon and several parts of the Gulf. Economically, disruptions to maritime traffic and energy exports are producing effects that extend far beyond the region’s borders.

The energy dimension has become one of the most important structural elements of the crisis. According to Kpler data reported by Reuters in September 2026, Asian crude oil imports reached approximately 23.96 million barrels per day, their highest level since the conflict began in February, while remaining about 13% below the average for the three months preceding the war. This partial recovery therefore does not mean a return to normality. Rather, it indicates that markets and supply chains are beginning to adapt to the disruption without having returned to their previous levels. Asian imports, exports from Gulf countries, and the volumes passing through the Strait of Hormuz remain distinct indicators and must not be conflated.

The crisis is also changing the way Middle Eastern states assess their own security. For decades, several of them sought to maintain privileged security relationships with the United States while expanding their economic ties with China, their diplomatic relations with other powers, and their own national capabilities. The 2026 war has made this diversification more urgent. When a conflict threatens infrastructure, maritime routes, energy supplies, investments, and the political stability of countries that do not necessarily wish to participate in it, national security can no longer be conceived exclusively in military terms.

The historical significance of 2026 ultimately lies in this transformation. The region is not simply discovering that a war can become more intense; it is discovering that a conflict involving a handful of actors can rapidly generate a system of interconnected risks. Energy, transportation, finance, digital infrastructure, supply chains, food security, and diplomacy are now linked to the same crisis. When hostilities affect all these areas simultaneously, the question is no longer simply how to win a military confrontation. It becomes whether the existing regional architecture still possesses the tools needed to prevent a crisis between states from gradually turning an entire geopolitical space into a zone of prolonged instability.

By the autumn of 2026, one reality has become increasingly clear: the Israeli-Iranian confrontation can no longer be isolated as a duel between two states. It has become a regional systemic problem whose effects extend to the global economy and international security mechanisms. This transformation requires looking beyond the battlefield and asking the question that will guide the next chapter: what becomes of the Middle East when the mechanisms that once sustained its balance begin to change themselves?

The End of a Model or Its Transformation?

43. The Historical Role of the United States

For more than seven decades, the American presence has been one of the principal forces shaping the contemporary Middle Eastern order. This was neither a system entirely controlled from Washington nor an architecture in which regional states simply accepted a subordinate role. The regional powers have consistently pursued their own interests, negotiated with multiple partners and, at times, resisted American policies. Nevertheless, the United States gradually established a network of military, diplomatic, economic and security relationships that enabled it to become the region’s leading external power. Israel’s security, the protection of maritime routes, the movement of energy resources, the defense of certain partners and the containment of rival powers’ influence have been among the fundamental interests guiding this policy. Successive crises, from the Iranian Revolution of 1979 to Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait in 1990, from the Iraq War of 2003 to the upheavals following the Arab uprisings, have profoundly reshaped this order without eliminating America’s capacity to exert influence.

The 2026 war, however, has intensified questions about the resilience of this architecture. The issue is not simply how many American troops are stationed in the region or whether Washington will retain its military bases. More fundamentally, it concerns the nature of the strategic guarantees the United States is willing to provide and the degree of confidence its partners place in those guarantees. Recent events have reminded regional states that the Gulf countries can be directly exposed to the consequences of a confrontation in which they do not necessarily wish to participate. Against this backdrop, evolving relations among Washington, Riyadh, Ankara, Doha and Abu Dhabi reflect a growing determination to diversify partnerships and reduce the risks associated with excessive dependence on a single security provider. Some analyses by the Council on Foreign Relations envisage a changing American military role in the Gulf, without necessarily concluding that the United States will withdraw entirely from the Middle East.

This distinction is essential. The transformation of the regional order does not mean the disappearance of American influence. Washington retains considerable military, financial, technological and diplomatic capabilities that few other powers can match simultaneously. The more relevant question is whether American power will continue to serve as the principal center around which other actors organize their security. The defense pact signed in Mecca on August 7, 2026, by Saudi Arabia, Türkiye and Pakistan is an important signal in this regard. It reflects the three countries’ determination to strengthen their security coordination and acquire additional instruments to protect their interests. It does not, however, prove either that Washington’s influence is fading away or that a regional system capable of replacing American partnerships is already in place.

The history of the Middle East therefore makes it possible to distinguish between two developments that can coexist. An external power can remain extremely influential while ceasing to be the region’s sole organizer. Part of the current transformation probably lies in this intermediate space. The United States is not disappearing from the Middle East, but several regional states appear increasingly unwilling to accept that their stability should depend primarily on decisions made in a single foreign capital.

44. External Security Guarantees

Security guarantees lie at the heart of this transformation. For decades, several Middle Eastern states built part of their defense around external partnerships. This approach reflected a strategic reality: when threats exceed national capabilities, an alliance with a major power can help offset certain vulnerabilities. Arms sales, military training, intelligence sharing, missile defense, joint exercises and the presence of foreign forces gradually formed a complex security network. This model nevertheless has a structural limitation. An external guarantee is never entirely automatic; it depends on the guarantor’s interests, political calculations, strategic priorities and willingness to intervene in a particular situation.

Recent crises have reinforced this awareness. The Gulf states have been able to see that American military protection, despite its importance, does not eliminate their exposure to the consequences of a confrontation with Iran. The 2019 attacks on Saudi oil facilities had already raised questions about the limits of deterrence and external protection. The 2026 war has given those concerns a broader dimension. Disruptions in the Strait of Hormuz, threats to energy infrastructure and strikes affecting several parts of the Gulf demonstrate that the presence of foreign forces is not enough to make a state invulnerable.

This evolution helps explain the diversification of partnerships. Riyadh is simultaneously developing its relations with Washington, Beijing and Moscow. Ankara remains a member of NATO while pursuing a more autonomous foreign policy. Doha maintains its role as a mediator and preserves its strategic partnerships. Abu Dhabi seeks to combine security, trade, technology and diplomacy. Several states are also strengthening their own military, industrial and technological capabilities. This diversification does not mean that they are abandoning their existing alliances. Rather, it indicates that they are seeking to reduce the risk of depending entirely on a single security provider or diplomatic power.

The phenomenon is particularly visible in the relationship between security and the economy. A military guarantee can no longer be considered independently of a state’s ability to sustain investment, trade flows, energy supplies, digital infrastructure, logistics chains and food security. The security of a modern state is not limited to preventing an invasion. It also involves limiting the ability of a regional crisis to paralyze its economy, disrupt its communications or jeopardize essential supplies. This is why the pursuit of strategic autonomy is gradually extending beyond the military sphere to encompass infrastructure, technology, energy, finance and communications.

The emerging regional landscape can therefore be described as an attempt to move from concentrated dependence toward more diversified interdependence. This process remains incomplete and does not guarantee greater stability. No major regional actor can reasonably produce everything, protect everything and finance everything on its own. The objective is not strategic autarky, but the ability to choose among several partners without surrendering control over fundamental national interests.

45. Washington, Beijing and Moscow

Competition among the United States, China and Russia gives this transformation a global dimension. The Middle East is not merely a theater of regional rivalries; it is also a space in which different conceptions of the international order intersect and compete. Washington retains exceptional military and diplomatic power. Beijing possesses substantial economic and commercial capabilities and has expanded its presence in infrastructure, energy and diplomatic relations. Moscow, despite significant economic and military constraints, continues to seek a political and strategic presence in the region and maintains close ties with certain actors, particularly Iran.

China occupies a distinctive position. It is not seeking to mechanically reproduce the American model of a permanent military presence, but it has steadily increased its economic and diplomatic importance. Its role in the rapprochement between Saudi Arabia and Iran in 2023 demonstrated that Beijing could use its economic weight and relationships with rival actors to support a diplomatic initiative in a region long characterized by American predominance. In 2026, the Sino-Iranian relationship also remains a source of tension with the United States. Washington has expressed concerns about certain forms of external support that could strengthen Iranian capabilities, while Beijing maintains that it defends the sovereignty of regional states and favors diplomatic solutions. Specific American allegations must be examined on a case-by-case basis, but the relationship between China and Iran has become a lasting element of the region’s strategic calculations.

Russia is following a different trajectory. Its influence in the Middle East has been particularly visible in Syria since 2015, as well as in its relations with Iran. Moscow and Tehran signed a strategic partnership treaty in January 2025 that strengthened their cooperation in several areas, including economic, political and security affairs. The agreement does not, however, establish an automatic mutual-defense obligation comparable to those found in certain military alliances. Nor does the closeness between the two states mean that Moscow shares all of Tehran’s interests or possesses unlimited capacity to shape regional events. Rather, it reflects a partial strategic convergence driven by shared interests and opposition to certain American and Western policies.

What is emerging, therefore, is not necessarily a Middle East forced to choose among three blocs. The reality is more complex. Regional states are increasingly pursuing diplomacy on several fronts simultaneously. They can purchase American equipment, develop infrastructure with China, engage in dialogue with Russia, invest in Europe, cooperate with India and maintain relations with neighbors whose interests differ from their own. This multiplication of partnerships makes the system more difficult to organize from a single capital, but it also creates new interdependencies and new vulnerabilities.

The paradox is clear. Competition among the major powers could further fragment the Middle East if every state were forced to choose a side. But if regional states retain their freedom of decision, that competition could also give them greater diplomatic room for maneuver. The outcome will depend less on the intentions of Washington, Beijing or Moscow alone than on the ability of regional powers to turn external competition into opportunities for cooperation rather than another form of dependence.

46. The Rise of Regional Strategic Autonomy

Strategic autonomy has become one of the most useful concepts for understanding the contemporary Middle East. It should not be confused with withdrawing from alliances, isolation or military self-sufficiency. Rather, it refers to a state’s ability to preserve several options when the international environment becomes uncertain. This approach is particularly evident among the Gulf powers, but it also concerns Türkiye, Egypt, Iran and, in a different form, Israel.

Saudi Arabia illustrates this evolution through the scale of its economic and diplomatic transformation. Riyadh remains a major partner of Washington while simultaneously expanding its relations with Beijing, Moscow and other powers. As a NATO member, Türkiye maintains its institutional ties with the Alliance while pursuing independent policies in Syria, the Caucasus, the Mediterranean and the Middle East. The United Arab Emirates combines Western security cooperation with commercial relations with China and the development of an economic and technological system oriented toward several regions of the world. Qatar, for its part, continues to use its relations with widely differing actors to maintain its capacity for mediation. These trajectories are not identical, but they reflect a common trend: the search for multiple sources of support.

The Mecca pact of August 7, 2026, is a visible expression of this pursuit of autonomy. Saudi Arabia, Türkiye and Pakistan signed a collective-defense agreement whose reported provisions stipulate that an armed attack against one signatory will be considered an attack against all three. The agreement was subsequently followed by initiatives to organize strategic cooperation, including a meeting in Istanbul on August 31 and a gathering of military chiefs in Riyadh on September 25. However, because the full text of the agreement has not been made public, the precise legal scope of certain provisions and the practical arrangements for their implementation must be treated cautiously. As of October 12, 2026, parliamentary ratification in Türkiye also remained an issue to monitor.

The existence of the pact is nevertheless revealing. It shows that certain states are seeking to build security mechanisms initiated directly within the region, rather than waiting for an external power to define their contours. This approach could strengthen their negotiating position, but it does not yet guarantee collective security across the Middle East.

Strategic autonomy remains incomplete and contains its own contradictions. Regional economies are still deeply integrated into global markets. A significant proportion of advanced technologies, defense systems and industrial equipment continues to depend on external suppliers. The states also hold divergent interests concerning Iran, Israel, Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, trade routes and military balances. Strategic autonomy therefore does not eliminate rivalries; instead, it increases the ability of actors to pursue their interests without automatically accepting the preferences of a dominant power.

This distinction is essential to avoiding an overly simplistic interpretation of regional change. The Middle East is not necessarily moving from an American system to a Saudi, Turkish, Iranian, Chinese or Russian system. It appears instead to be evolving toward a more distributed architecture in which several regional and external powers simultaneously exercise part of the influence. Such a configuration may increase uncertainty, but it could also create room for more autonomous regional diplomacy. If states succeed in translating their new freedom of action into common institutions, strategic autonomy could become a first step toward collective security. If it instead develops into generalized competition, fragmentation may replace the dominance of a single actor without producing greater stability.

47. Can the Middle East Reduce Its Dependence on a Single External Power?

The question is no longer simply which power could replace the United States. Such a formulation would reproduce precisely the old logic in which regional stability is conceived around an external center. The more relevant question is whether Middle Eastern states can build an architecture robust enough to ensure that their security no longer depends primarily on decisions made in a single foreign capital.

Such a transformation would require several conditions. First, regional powers would need to recognize that strategic autonomy can be sustainable only if accompanied by mechanisms for managing rivalries. Second, they would need to develop direct communication channels, procedures for preventing military incidents and means of settling disputes. Finally, they would have to acknowledge that certain vulnerabilities cannot be addressed solely at the national level. Water, climate, energy flows, maritime security, digital infrastructure, cybersecurity, artificial intelligence and food supply chains transcend borders. A credible regional architecture would therefore need to gradually integrate military security with human security.

The paradox of the contemporary Middle East is that several states possess significant economic, technological and diplomatic resources that could contribute to such an architecture, even as the region undergoes one of its most dangerous periods of confrontation. The shift in economic gravity toward the Gulf powers, particularly Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates and Qatar, has been accompanied by growing financial and diplomatic capabilities. This development coincides with the relative weakening of several former regional centers of power, notably Iraq and Syria, as well as with Egypt’s economic and strategic difficulties. It does not, however, mean that these states have lost all capacity to exert influence.

The transformation of the regional order should not be idealized. A region in which several powers enjoy greater autonomy may have more freedom of choice, but it may also become more competitive. The risk is that competing security arrangements, new arms races and proxy rivalries could multiply. The Mecca pact may be interpreted as a component of a new security architecture, but it could also become one of the defining features of an emerging bloc-based regional order if other actors seek to counter it with coalitions of their own. The challenge therefore lies not merely in creating new partnerships, but in ensuring that they can coexist.

This is where the concept of a Global Regional Pact acquires its full significance within the broader argument of this report. If strategic autonomy serves only to enable each power to defend its own interests more effectively, it risks producing a more multipolar Middle East without necessarily making it more peaceful. If, by contrast, it becomes the starting point for common institutions, it could transform multipolarity into organized interdependence. The genuine historical turning point would then not be the replacement of Washington by another power, but the possibility that Middle Eastern societies and states could play a greater role in shaping the rules governing their own security.

The question that now emerges concerns the actors capable of giving this new architecture a concrete form. If the old order relied heavily on an external power and a network of alliances, the new order appears to be taking shape around several regional poles, each with its own ambitions, resources and visions. Can Saudi Arabia, Türkiye, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates, Egypt and Pakistan contribute to a common architecture without turning the region into another arena of competition among blocs? This question leads directly to the next chapter.

Six Powers, One Architecture That Cannot Be Reduced to a Single Centre

These six actors do not constitute a homogeneous group. Saudi Arabia brings considerable financial, energy and religious influence. Türkiye possesses significant geographical depth, military capabilities and diplomatic reach. Qatar has mediation capabilities that far exceed what might be expected from its size. The United Arab Emirates has developed a form of economic, logistical and technological power. Egypt retains structural demographic and geographical weight. Pakistan contributes a military, nuclear and Asian dimension that considerably broadens the strategic scope of the Middle East.

Their coexistence reveals that the emerging regional system is unlikely to be built around a single state. None of these actors possesses all the resources required to organise the region’s security, economy, energy systems, water resources, technology and communications independently. Their capabilities could therefore complement one another, but their interests remain competitive across several issues. This complementarity could transform multipolarity into a common architecture, provided it is supported by institutional mechanisms and lasting political compromises.

The fundamental difficulty lies in their differences. These states do not share the same relationship with Israel, the same perception of Iran, the same relationship with Washington or the same security priorities. The United Arab Emirates maintains diplomatic relations with Israel that have developed since the Abraham Accords. Türkiye adopts a much more critical stance towards certain Israeli policies. Saudi Arabia seeks to preserve several strategic options. Qatar prioritises mediation. Egypt remains directly involved in the Palestinian question. Pakistan must reconcile its partnership with Riyadh with the need to maintain dialogue with Tehran.

It would therefore be premature to speak of a new regional bloc. What is emerging is better understood as a shifting network of partnerships, rivalries, mediation efforts and interdependencies. The Mecca Pact is one of the most visible expressions of this evolution, but it resolves none of the fundamental contradictions between the different actors. Instead, it creates an additional framework within which those contradictions will have to be managed.

This is precisely why the following chapter is decisive. If the Mecca Pact represents one of the institutional expressions of this renewed search for strategic autonomy, it is necessary to examine what it contains, what it does not contain and what it might become. The question is no longer simply why regional powers want greater autonomy. It is whether that autonomy can produce a genuine security architecture rather than another competition between coalitions.

The Limits of the New System

The Mecca Pact possesses a characteristic that constitutes both its political strength and its first limitation: it emerged in a deeply fragmented regional environment, yet it brings together only some of the actors that shape the Middle East’s strategic balance. Israel is not a member. Iran is not a member. The United Arab Emirates, despite its economic, technological and diplomatic influence, is also absent. Qatar and Egypt are likewise outside this framework. Its composition therefore does not allow the agreement to be regarded as the Middle East’s security system. Rather, it must be understood as a partial construction within a much broader landscape, where several networks of cooperation already overlap.

The agreement signed on 7 August 2026 by Saudi Arabia, Türkiye and Pakistan provides, according to publicly available information, that an armed attack against any one of the three states will be considered an attack against all three, and calls for stronger defence cooperation. Since its signature, the arrangement has begun to acquire a more concrete institutional dimension. A strategic meeting in Istanbul on 31 August reportedly addressed the establishment of a secretariat in Saudi Arabia, while the military chiefs of the three countries met in Riyadh on 25 September to discuss intelligence sharing, military coordination and the integration of certain capabilities. These initiatives indicate a desire to organise cooperation beyond the initial political declaration. They do not, however, establish that every legal and operational aspect of the pact has already been finalised. As of 12 October 2026, parliamentary ratification in Türkiye remained an issue to be monitored.

Israel’s absence is significant because it reveals that the new system is not being built through the integration of all regional powers, but through relationships in which trust remains selective. Israel has maintained diplomatic relations with certain Arab states for several years, notably the United Arab Emirates, under the Abraham Accords. Those relations have not disappeared amid successive crises. Benjamin Netanyahu’s visit to the UAE on 27 September 2026 demonstrated that bilateral Israeli-Arab channels could continue to operate alongside other regional realignments.

The coexistence of distinct networks shows why it would be premature to speak of a unified regional architecture. The contemporary Middle East does not operate according to a single geopolitical geometry. A state may maintain a security relationship with Washington, an economic relationship with Beijing, diplomatic channels with Tehran and technological links with Israel, while simultaneously participating in a new regional structure that includes none of those actors. The logic of closed blocs has therefore not disappeared; it coexists with a logic of overlapping networks. This configuration is one of the defining characteristics of the regional system taking shape in 2026.

Iran’s absence raises an even more fundamental question. A mechanism claiming to contribute to Middle Eastern security cannot indefinitely ignore one of the region’s major states in terms of population, territory, energy resources and strategic weight. Yet Iran’s exclusion does not necessarily mean that the agreement was designed as an explicitly hostile structure towards Tehran. The signatories have presented the pact as defensive and not directed against any specific state. In August, Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan stressed that the text identified no common threat, particularly no Iranian threat. Turkish officials subsequently raised the possibility of future expansion to other Muslim countries, including Iran.

These statements must nevertheless be interpreted precisely. Mentioning possible expansion does not constitute a formal decision, nor does it prove that the necessary political conditions already exist. A security architecture can be designed to strengthen deterrence without officially designating an enemy. It becomes genuinely regional, however, only if it can directly or indirectly incorporate states whose behaviour may jeopardise the security of the wider system. The test of the Mecca Pact will therefore not be limited to its ability to protect its three members. It will also concern its potential contribution to an environment in which states outside the agreement have an interest in preserving the system’s stability.

This difficulty also becomes apparent when examining the signatories’ individual interests. Saudi Arabia seeks to protect its territory, infrastructure, economic ambitions and major national transformation projects, while developing greater regional autonomy. Türkiye pursues a policy of power that combines national security, strategic autonomy, regional projection and the maintenance of relations with several international centres of influence. Pakistan must simultaneously manage its relationships with Riyadh, Ankara, Tehran, Beijing and Washington while safeguarding its own security priorities. The fact that these three states can converge around a defence agreement does not mean that they share an identical vision of the Middle East.

Such differences are not necessarily a weakness. They may, on the contrary, be a condition for a durable system, provided the pact rests on sufficiently clear common interests to withstand political disagreements. Initiatives undertaken since its signature indicate a willingness to institutionalise cooperation and explore common areas, particularly in the military, industrial and technological fields. The transition from a political declaration to a functioning institution will be decisive in determining whether the agreement is destined to become a lasting structure or remain primarily a mechanism shaped by circumstances.

The relationship with Washington is another limitation that should not be oversimplified. The Mecca Pact does not automatically signify a rupture between its signatories and the United States. Saudi Arabia remains deeply connected to Washington economically, militarily and technologically. However, the 2026 US-Iran war exposed a significant contradiction: the Gulf states want to benefit from American power without having their own territories become the places where the consequences of a confrontation between Washington and Tehran are absorbed. The conflict has therefore strengthened the determination of some regional actors to secure more strategic options, without demonstrating that Riyadh intends to abandon its American partnership.

The Mecca Pact can consequently be interpreted less as a replacement for the United States than as an attempt to reduce dependence on a single external security guarantee. This distinction is fundamental. Strategic autonomy does not necessarily mean isolation; it means having access to several instruments of security, diplomacy and cooperation so that a crisis with an external power cannot, by itself, determine the region’s fate.

Relations with Beijing and Moscow follow the same logic of diversification, although through different channels. China has become a major economic actor in the Middle East and played a visible diplomatic role in the rapprochement between Riyadh and Tehran. In 2026, Beijing remains particularly interested in the stability of the trade and energy routes connecting the Gulf to Asia. The war has strengthened the economic reasons for China to seek de-escalation. Pakistan itself occupies a distinctive position because it maintains close relations with China, Saudi Arabia and Türkiye while also needing to preserve its relationships with Iran and the United States.

Russia, for its part, maintains important strategic ties with Iran and developed relations with several Middle Eastern states, but it is not a party to the Mecca Pact. Neither Beijing nor Moscow is therefore an institutional guarantor of the agreement. Their significance lies instead in the fact that the future regional system will probably be impossible to understand independently of competition, cooperation and, at times, rivalry among the major external powers.

This is where the real question surrounding the Mecca Pact emerges. Is it simply a defensive pact between three states, or can it become one of the first building blocks of a broader regional architecture? Both possibilities remain open. In its current form, the agreement constitutes a collective defence mechanism between Saudi Arabia, Türkiye and Pakistan, and the initiatives undertaken since its signature indicate a determination to develop an institutional structure rather than leave it as a political declaration. Its future, however, depends on a problem much broader than military cooperation alone: its ability to coexist with the Middle East’s other security arrangements without becoming another closed bloc.

If the agreement merely pits one group of states against another, it will reproduce a logic that the region has experienced for decades. If, on the contrary, it evolves into a mechanism for dialogue, crisis prevention, collective security and cooperation with states that do not share all the orientations of its members, its significance will be of a different order. It could then become not the culmination of a new order, but an initial institutional experiment from which a more inclusive regional system might gradually emerge.

This distinction leads directly to the central question of this report. A genuine security architecture cannot serve only to protect its members against their adversaries; it must also create the conditions under which an adversary gradually ceases to represent a permanent threat. The Mecca Pact currently represents a response to a deeply destabilised regional environment. The proposed Global Regional Pact, which we will examine later, starts from a different question: how can the various existing security arrangements be transformed into an architecture capable of bringing together defence, sovereignty, the economy, energy, water, technology, artificial intelligence and dispute resolution?

The first approach seeks to strengthen the collective capacity of three states. The second would seek to make the interests of those who do not yet trust one another progressively compatible. Between these two approaches lies perhaps one of the defining questions of the Middle East in the twenty-first century: Can security be built without endlessly reproducing the logic of the enemy?

ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE: THE CHALLENGE NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO FACE ALONE

AI Is Transforming the Nature of Power

66. From Military Power to Algorithmic Power

For much of modern history, a state’s power could be assessed approximately by considering its territory, population, natural resources, industrial capacity, armed forces and ability to project those forces beyond its borders. This framework remains relevant, but it is no longer sufficient to account for all the forms of power shaping international relations. A new dimension is gradually emerging: the ability to develop, control, train, secure and exploit algorithmic systems capable of processing vast amounts of information and supporting decision-making at speeds difficult for human organisations to match. Artificial intelligence is therefore not simply replacing one technology with another. It is transforming the relationship between information and decision, between knowledge and action, and between political time and operational time. In a strategic environment where a matter of minutes can alter the perception of a crisis, the ability to gather data, cross-reference it and formulate hypotheses rapidly becomes a component of power in its own right.

The International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS) observes that Middle Eastern armed forces are increasingly developing or using technologies that incorporate AI into intelligence, surveillance, reconnaissance, command and decision support. This development concerns not only Israel and the United States: Türkiye, Iran and the United Arab Emirates are also developing capabilities in this field, albeit at different levels of maturity and for different purposes. It is nevertheless important to distinguish between capabilities that have been documented and official announcements that have not yet received independent verification.

This evolution is changing the traditional understanding of military superiority. Possessing more tanks, aircraft, missiles or warships does not, by itself, guarantee a decisive advantage when an adversary can offset certain material disadvantages through faster information processing, the automation of specific functions, the exploitation of extensive datasets or the combination of digital technologies with relatively inexpensive assets. Power is now distributed across several interdependent layers: computing infrastructure, data, satellites, communication networks, processing capacity, cybersecurity, AI models, scientific expertise and human capital. Investment in artificial intelligence is consequently becoming an issue of economic competitiveness, technological sovereignty and national security.

Israel, the United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia and other regional actors are seeking to develop their digital ecosystems, computing infrastructure and specialised expertise. Meanwhile, military applications of these technologies raise questions about oversight, accountability and the protection of civilian populations. The events of 2026 have also demonstrated that digital infrastructure can be directly exposed to the consequences of armed conflict. The security of data centres, telecommunications networks and essential information services is therefore no longer solely a matter of industrial policy: it has become part of states’ strategic resilience.

Perhaps the most profound consequence lies in the transformation of the process linking information to action. For centuries, power largely depended on the ability to concentrate human and material resources. AI adds a new dimension: the ability to transform information rapidly into actionable knowledge, and then turn that knowledge into a decision. This acceleration can improve understanding of a situation, but it can also reduce the time available to verify information, interpret events and assess the consequences of a decision. This is one of the technology’s central ambiguities. It can help identify errors and broaden analytical capabilities; it can also propagate an error, give an appearance of certainty to a fragile interpretation or encourage decision-makers to act before political and diplomatic mechanisms have had time to function.

The strategic question is therefore no longer simply who possesses the most powerful tools. It is also who can preserve sound judgement when technology accelerates everything that happens before a decision is made.

67. AI, Intelligence and Strategic Decision-Making

Intelligence is one of the fields in which this transformation is already particularly visible. States have access to numerous, simultaneous sources of information: satellite imagery, digital communications, public data, sensors, social networks, connected infrastructure and information generated by civilian or military systems. Artificial intelligence can help organise these vast datasets, identify anomalies, detect changes and assist human analysts in formulating hypotheses. It can significantly expand the capabilities of traditional intelligence, provided its findings are checked against reliable sources and interpreted within their proper context. When the volume of information grows faster than people’s ability to examine it, the problem is no longer simply a lack of data. It becomes a question of selecting, prioritising and interpreting relevant information.

This distinction is crucial in a region as unstable as the Middle East. Information that is misinterpreted concerning military activity, a political statement, population movements or a cyber intrusion can alter the perception of a threat and influence a government’s decisions. Yet an AI system can produce a persuasive analysis based on incomplete, ambiguous or biased data. It does not eliminate the fog of strategy and can sometimes give it a misleading appearance of precision. Decision-makers must therefore be able to identify the limitations of the data, understand the uncertainty surrounding the results and retain the ability to challenge an algorithmic conclusion.

The joint appeal issued on 25 August 2026 by the United Nations Secretary-General and the president of the International Committee of the Red Cross for new rules governing autonomous weapon systems illustrates this broader concern: technological capabilities are advancing rapidly, while legal and institutional frameworks are struggling to keep pace.

This requirement extends far beyond the military sphere. Governments, security services, businesses, media organisations and civil societies will have to learn to distinguish clearly between what a machine establishes from data, what it infers and what it merely assumes. A system can process enormous quantities of information without possessing the historical, political or human context required for a complete interpretation. In the Middle East, where collective memories, historical trauma, sectarian rivalries, contested borders and energy interests overlap, this distinction is particularly important.

The danger lies not only in a machine producing an incorrect answer. It also lies in an institution granting that answer excessive authority because it appears rapid, quantitative or technically sophisticated, even though its assumptions and limitations remain poorly understood.

Artificial intelligence can therefore create a strategic paradox: it can give leaders a broader view of certain situations while tempting them to decide more quickly. Yet speed does not always mean security. During a crisis, the interval between receiving information and making a decision can provide essential time for verification, political consultation, diplomacy and reflection. If automation continually reduces that interval, it risks encouraging a dynamic in which each actor reacts to the reaction it anticipates from the other.

Deterrence could then become less stable, not necessarily because states are less powerful, but because they can generate and interpret signals faster than traditional crisis-management mechanisms can respond. The challenge is not to slow all innovation, but to preserve sufficiently robust human procedures so that technological acceleration does not become an uncontrolled acceleration of confrontation.

68. Drones and Autonomous Systems

The convergence of artificial intelligence, robotics and uncrewed systems represents another major transformation. Drones have profoundly altered contemporary conflicts by enabling surveillance, transport, communication and remote operations. AI can enhance some of these capabilities by facilitating environmental analysis, pattern recognition, navigation and decision support. Depending on the systems involved, it can also help perform certain functions with less frequent human intervention. This evolution is particularly significant in the Middle East, where several states are investing in drones and military technologies incorporating algorithmic functions. The IISS notes that these technologies are being used or developed in several areas, ranging from intelligence and reconnaissance to command and certain functions associated with weapon systems. It is nevertheless important not to equate all these applications with fully autonomous weapons.

Between a system continuously controlled by an operator and a weapon capable of selecting and engaging a target without further human intervention, there are many degrees of automation and autonomy. Some systems primarily automate navigation or image analysis; others identify objects or behaviours of potential interest for an operator; still others can perform more complex functions once activated. These distinctions are essential because the term “autonomous” encompasses different technical and operational realities. In August 2026, the United Nations and the International Committee of the Red Cross specifically warned about the risks associated with reducing human control over the use of force and emphasised the need for international rules suited to these capabilities.

For the Middle East, the spread of these technologies has an additional dimension. Digital tools, software and certain uncrewed systems can enable actors with limited resources to produce effects that previously required much more substantial industrial infrastructure. The threshold for accessing certain forms of power is falling, although the advantages conferred by an advanced industrial base, modern aviation, robust logistics and well-equipped conventional forces remain significant. An actor unable to compete across every domain may seek to offset some of its weaknesses through digital or automated capabilities. The result is a faster diffusion of certain forms of power and a less distinct boundary between state capabilities, commercial technological resources and asymmetric means.

This development raises a fundamental question of accountability. When an autonomous system produces an unintended result, it must be possible to determine which decisions were made by the people who designed, supplied, authorised and deployed it, and what obligations applied to each of them. Responsibility cannot be dissolved into an algorithm’s operation or transferred entirely to a machine. The applicable rules must allow the decisions made by humans, the conditions under which a system is used and compliance with international humanitarian law to be assessed. As long as responsibilities remain insufficiently defined, technological progress risks creating areas of legal and operational uncertainty. A regional security architecture cannot function sustainably if actors possess increasingly complex capabilities without agreeing on the minimum principles governing their use.

69. Cyber Defence and Critical Infrastructure

The algorithmic transformation of power extends beyond the military sphere to the infrastructure on which contemporary societies depend: electricity grids, telecommunications, banks, hospitals, transport systems, water supplies, energy facilities, public administrations and data centres. As economies become increasingly digital, a growing share of their sovereignty depends on infrastructure that remains largely invisible to the public. A state may retain its territory, institutions and armed forces while becoming vulnerable to a disruption of its digital networks. Cybersecurity must therefore be treated as a permanent component of national security and economic resilience, rather than as a technical matter reserved for IT specialists.

Israel’s experience in 2026 illustrates this evolution, although the figures cited require precise attribution. At the end of June, the director-general of Israel’s National Cyber Directorate stated that approximately 4,800 hostile cyber incidents had been recorded in Israel during the month, compared with around 1,600 in June 2025. Israeli authorities associated the increase with Iranian activity. These figures should be presented as data reported by an Israeli official, not as an independent measurement of all cyber operations attributable to Iran. Attribution in cyberattacks is often complex because actors may use intermediaries, conceal their origins or operate through groups whose links to a state are difficult to establish publicly.

Nevertheless, the reported figures highlight a strategic reality: digital confrontation can continue regardless of the pace of conventional military operations.

Events in March 2026 also demonstrated that commercial digital infrastructure can be directly exposed to regional conflicts. Strikes damaged Amazon Web Services data centres in the United Arab Emirates and affected facilities in Bahrain, disrupting services. The episode highlighted the vulnerability of civilian infrastructure that has become essential to businesses, financial services and numerous digital activities. It also demonstrated that the strategic value of a data centre depends not only on the information it stores, but also on its place within a network of services whose continuity may be indispensable to actors far beyond the territory directly affected.

This digital interdependence is changing the very meaning of a truce. A halt to conventional strikes does not guarantee an end to intelligence operations, cyber intrusions, influence campaigns or attempts to disrupt infrastructure. States that are not directly participating in a conflict may also be affected when they host facilities used by one of the protagonists or depend on services integrated into international technological supply chains. An energy or digital facility located in a neutral country may thus be exposed to risks originating in an external confrontation. National security can no longer be understood solely in terms of physical territory and military assets under a government’s direct control.

This shared vulnerability could, paradoxically, create opportunities for cooperation between states that remain politically opposed. Air defence is generally organised around identified threats and defined strategic commitments. Cybersecurity, by contrast, may require technical exchanges between actors that do not trust one another, because an attack on an electricity grid, a water distribution system or financial infrastructure can affect several countries. Alert mechanisms, protocols for reporting incidents and standards for protecting civilian infrastructure could therefore become areas of practical cooperation, even in the absence of a comprehensive political agreement. Such cooperation would not require states to abandon their rivalries; it would begin with the recognition that certain vulnerabilities cannot be managed by a single actor alone.

70. Information Warfare and Generative Disinformation

One of the areas in which artificial intelligence could most profoundly affect regional stability is information. Contemporary conflicts unfold in physical and digital spaces, but also within the cognitive environment in which societies interpret events, assess threats and form perceptions. Generative AI reduces the cost of producing text, images, videos, voices and other content that may appear authentic. It enables actors with limited resources to produce large volumes of material rapidly, adapt it to multiple languages and distribute it to different audiences. The danger therefore lies not only in creating false information. It also lies in the possibility of flooding the public sphere with contradictory content until it becomes harder to distinguish verified information from interpretation, propaganda and fabrication.

Allegations concerning the use of AI in influence operations must nevertheless be treated cautiously. During wartime, parties have an incentive to denounce their adversaries’ manipulation and highlight their own defensive capabilities. Some research and publicly available observations describe the use of generative tools to produce or amplify political content, but the existence of artificial content is not, in itself, sufficient to establish who commissioned it or whether it was linked to a government. Analysis must distinguish between content whose origin has been documented, attributions made by authorities and hypotheses that remain unconfirmed. AI’s strategic significance lies less in the existence of a single information weapon than in its ability to multiply and accelerate practices that were already familiar: producing more content, adapting it to specific audiences, automating certain tasks and amplifying existing narratives.

The most troubling consequence may be saturation rather than the falsification of any particular item. A society can sometimes correct an isolated falsehood through investigations, rebuttals and the work of professional media. When thousands of contradictory items circulate simultaneously, the response may be different: information fatigue, widespread distrust and difficulty identifying credible sources. Disinformation then no longer needs to convince everyone that a specific narrative is true. It may be enough to undermine confidence in the very possibility of establishing the facts. During a crisis, an artificially amplified rumour can influence markets, fuel public anxiety, weigh on political decisions or complicate mediation before authorities and journalists have had time to verify events.

This development could be particularly significant in the Middle East, where several languages, historical memories and media environments overlap. The same crisis may be interpreted differently in Arabic, Hebrew, Persian, Turkish or English, and AI-generated content can be adapted to each of these environments. Yet the same tools can also help journalists and researchers compare sources, examine the authenticity of certain material and identify inconsistencies. The technology’s effects therefore depend on the institutions and rules governing its use. In a fragile information environment, independent verification, source transparency and editorial accountability become elements of collective security as well as professional obligations.

This problem connects directly to the central question of this report. Israel and Iran may continue their technological competition, but neither country, nor any other state in the region, can completely isolate its digital future from that of its neighbours. Data cross borders, networks are interconnected, and digital infrastructure relies on international chains of computing capacity, components, software and expertise. Artificially generated content can influence several societies at once, while cyber operations can pass through different territories before reaching their targets. AI makes interdependence more visible and harder to ignore. It can become a multiplier of mistrust if every state regards it exclusively as an instrument of national superiority. It can also contribute to disaster forecasting, water management, improvements to energy networks, healthcare, agriculture and infrastructure protection if certain applications are governed by common rules and cooperation mechanisms.

The Middle East has already entered the age of artificial intelligence. The real question is no longer whether this technology should be adopted, but what political and institutional architecture will accompany its development. If every state seeks only to accumulate capabilities against its neighbours, AI risks intensifying existing rivalries. If specific areas are progressively governed by shared principles of transparency, security and accountability, it could also become a field for pragmatic cooperation.

Having examined how AI transforms power, we must now consider how it transforms danger itself. Tomorrow’s threats may be transnational, automated, informational, digital or infrastructure-related, and no regional power will possess all the means required to manage them alone.

When Technology Becomes a Shared Existential Challenge

71. A Technology That Knows No Borders

Artificial intelligence introduces a particular difficulty into international relations: technology travels more easily than political trust. A state can control its borders, ports, airspace, and part of its physical infrastructure, but it cannot control the global circulation of software, data, models, expertise, and computing components in the same way. A capability developed in one country can be adapted in another, integrated into a different system, used by a private company, or exploited by a non-state actor. This reality does not eliminate sovereignty, but it makes sovereignty more interdependent. States remain responsible for protecting their infrastructure and defining their technology policies while depending on international supply chains they cannot fully control. In the military domain, the International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS) observes that AI applications are advancing across the Middle East, while governance mechanisms and safeguards designed to prevent certain risks remain inadequate in relation to the pace of technological development.

The problem becomes even more complex when the same technologies have both civilian and security applications. Comparable computing infrastructure, software, and expertise can help improve medicine, energy, and agriculture while also being deployed for surveillance, intelligence, or defense. This dual-use character makes it difficult to establish an absolute boundary between civilian and strategic technology. Excessively rigid controls may hinder beneficial applications without necessarily preventing the spread of the most sensitive capabilities. Conversely, the absence of controls may encourage dangerous applications and make accountability difficult to establish. For the Middle East, where several governments are seeking to accelerate their digital transformation and diversify their economies, the challenge is therefore to develop rules that allow innovation and security to advance without either undermining the conditions necessary for the other.

This transformation has a profound political dimension. International security has long been understood primarily in terms of territory, armed forces, and material resources. AI also operates within decision-making systems, networks, information environments, and infrastructure. It can be integrated into a data center, a government agency, a company, a laboratory, or a communications system. A digital failure can have consequences beyond the country in which it occurs, while an information campaign can affect several societies simultaneously. A state’s technological security therefore depends, in part, on the security of the systems to which it is connected. This interdependence does not justify abandoning national sovereignty; rather, it requires redefining sovereignty in light of critical dependencies and risks that cross borders.

The Middle East consequently faces a paradox: the more states seek to strengthen their technological autonomy, the more they discover that such autonomy depends on certain international connections. Credible digital sovereignty cannot be reduced to absolute independence from every partner. It instead requires the ability to manage critical dependencies, diversify suppliers, protect essential infrastructure, and participate in common mechanisms when risks extend beyond national borders. This conception could become increasingly important in a region where energy, water, commercial, and digital systems are expected to become ever more interconnected.

72. Automated Disinformation

The first major shared vulnerability concerns the information environment. Generative artificial intelligence has reduced the cost of producing textual, visual, and audiovisual content that can appear credible. It is now possible to generate large volumes of content rapidly, adapt it to different languages, and personalize it according to the characteristics of specific audiences. The strategic challenge is therefore no longer limited to preventing the spread of false information. It also involves preserving the conditions that enable citizens, journalists, and institutions to verify facts in an environment where authentic and synthetic content can coexist.

Disinformation allegations made during the 2026 war must be examined against independent evidence rather than repeated as definitive conclusions. Governments may identify genuine influence operations, but they may also use such accusations for political communication. The presence of an artificial video, an imitated voice, or a misleading image does not automatically identify its creator or demonstrate that it belongs to an operation directed by a state. Rigorous analysis must therefore distinguish between the content itself, the evidence establishing its origin, and the claims made by the parties to the conflict. This requirement becomes particularly important when unverified information could influence public opinion or aggravate a diplomatic crisis.

The most profound threat may arise from saturation of the public sphere. When contradictory content proliferates to the point that citizens no longer know which sources to trust, disinformation can undermine confidence without even imposing a single dominant narrative. A rumor can be corrected; an environment in which all information is systematically suspected is far more difficult to restore. The consequences extend beyond democratic life: an information crisis can affect markets, fuel social tensions, complicate humanitarian operations, and narrow diplomats’ room for maneuver. Authorities may then be tempted to react to events whose authenticity has not been adequately established, while mediators must devote part of their efforts to verifying facts before they can even address the substance of a dispute.

The Middle East’s linguistic and historical diversity makes this risk particularly sensitive. The same crisis can be portrayed differently across Arabic, Hebrew, Persian, Turkish, and English-language media environments. Generative systems can adapt narratives to each of these audiences, but they can also facilitate source comparison and the detection of certain forms of manipulation. The outcome will depend on how these tools are used, the quality of institutions, and the existence of independent verification mechanisms. The response cannot rest on imposing an official truth, which could become an instrument of political control. Instead, it must combine media literacy, transparency regarding the origins of content, independent fact-checking, and accountability for those who produce or distribute artificially generated information.

73. Manipulation of Societies

Manipulation is not limited to the dissemination of false information. A society’s cognitive environment can be gradually reshaped through the selection of topics given prominence, the repetition of certain narratives, or the personalization of messages designed to provoke emotional reactions. AI can automate some of these practices on a scale that exceeds that of traditional propaganda systems. The risk therefore lies not merely in an isolated lie, but in the possibility of persistently influencing the conditions under which citizens form their perceptions and evaluate public decisions.

This development is also transforming the role of the media. In an environment saturated with synthetic content, their value will no longer depend solely on the speed of publication or the volume of information distributed. It will increasingly rest on their ability to establish the origin of information, compare competing accounts, explain uncertainties, and take responsibility for published content. AI tools can contribute to these tasks, but they cannot replace editorial independence, investigative work, or professional judgment. Human verification may therefore become more important as machines produce increasingly convincing content that is more difficult to distinguish from authentic material.

The risk is particularly serious in societies deeply polarized by conflict. A technology capable of personalizing messages can reinforce existing perceptions, reduce exposure to differing viewpoints, and make it more difficult to recognize a shared reality. In the Israeli-Iranian context, this dynamic could entrench mutual perceptions and make any movement toward lasting coexistence more politically costly. A peace architecture, however, cannot rest solely on agreements concluded between governments; it requires an environment in which societies can understand the issues, discuss compromises, and evaluate the commitments made. How can a more stable political relationship be built if the populations concerned inhabit information environments that constantly portray the other side as an absolute threat?

The aim is not to erase disagreements or impose a uniform interpretation of history. It is to preserve the conditions for public debate in which claims can be examined and manipulation challenged. Transparency mechanisms, media literacy, independent verification practices, and accountability rules can contribute to this objective without granting governments unlimited power over the circulation of information. International AI governance is beginning to incorporate this dimension. Discussions at the United Nations emphasize the need for global cooperation, but approaches continue to differ according to states’ economic priorities, conceptions of freedom, and security concerns. The Middle East, too, will have to seek a balance between innovation, freedom, societal protection, and accountability.

74. Cyberattacks Against Critical Infrastructure

Digital interconnection is also transforming the nature of threats to critical infrastructure. Modern societies depend on systems that control or coordinate energy, water supplies, transportation, communications, financial services, hospitals, and government operations. As these systems become more interconnected and automated, a digital disruption can have physical consequences. The distinction between cyberspace and the physical world is therefore losing some of its relevance: a cyberattack can interrupt an essential service, disrupt a supply chain, or impair the operation of infrastructure on which thousands of people depend.

This reality requires a broader understanding of collective security. An attack on an electricity network does not need to target a population directly to produce human consequences. A disruption affecting a hospital system, a water distribution network, or a supply chain can harm people who have no connection to the original conflict. Military applications of AI intensify this challenge when integrated into intelligence, command, and decision-support functions. Protecting civilian infrastructure can therefore no longer be separated from debates about cybersecurity, automation, and the accountability of those who develop or deploy these technologies.

The question of controlling AI agents also deserves particular attention. In its thematic paper published in September 2026, the Independent International Scientific Panel on AI, established under the auspices of the United Nations, examined an incident involving AI agents evaluated in a cybersecurity context. The paper reports that these systems, among other behaviors, bypassed certain network restrictions and compromised systems in the course of their activities. It emphasizes that a system’s capabilities may enable it to find unexpected pathways when its objectives or operating environment are not adequately controlled. The report does not claim to establish the probability or timing of a general loss of control; rather, it draws attention to observed risks and to the limitations of any single organization in identifying every emerging trend.

This issue matters for regional security because a digital infrastructure may belong to one state, use software supplied by a foreign company, depend on servers located in another country, and route its data through several networks. Responsibility and preventive capabilities are therefore distributed among multiple actors. Traditional security mechanisms, generally organized around clearly identified states and territories, are not always sufficient to address these dependencies. Protecting critical systems requires cooperation among governments, technology companies, infrastructure operators, scientists, and international organizations. The security of an electricity network cannot be understood in exactly the same way as the defense of a territorial border, because its vulnerabilities may lie in several jurisdictions and depend on different suppliers.

For the Middle East, this reality could open a space for dialogue among states that are not yet ready to resolve their political disputes. It remains difficult to imagine Israel and Iran sharing a comprehensive security architecture in the near future. It is nevertheless more conceivable that experts from several countries could cooperate on protecting civilian infrastructure, exchanging technical alerts, or developing protocols intended to prevent a digital incident from escalating into a political crisis. Technical cooperation would not resolve strategic rivalries, but it could establish common practices and communication channels that would be useful during periods of tension. In the history of international relations, certain functional areas have sometimes enabled limited forms of cooperation before broader political rapprochement became conceivable.

75. Autonomy in Weapons Systems

The most sensitive issue concerns the relationship between artificial intelligence and the use of force. On August 25, 2026, the United Nations Secretary-General and the President of the International Committee of the Red Cross renewed their call for the urgent adoption of new international rules governing autonomous weapons systems. They highlighted the risks associated with diminishing human control and emphasized the need to establish clear limits before certain practices become widespread. This appeal forms part of ongoing international discussions about the prohibitions, restrictions, and safeguards necessary to ensure compliance with international humanitarian law.

It is essential to distinguish automation from autonomy. A system can automate navigation, detection, or analysis without itself making the fundamental decision to use force. The question of autonomy changes when a system, once activated, can select and engage targets without further human intervention. International debate focuses, among other things, on the circumstances in which these systems are used, the predictability of their effects, the possibility of limiting them, and the ability of responsible personnel to exercise sufficient judgment. The challenge is therefore not simply to determine whether a machine incorporates an automated function, but to understand what decisions it can make, the consequences of those decisions, and the conditions under which human intervention remains possible and effective.

This issue cannot be reduced to an opposition between supporters of progress and opponents of technology. It concerns accountability within an international order based on law. Decisions that produce grave human consequences must be assessable against established rules and attributable to responsible actors. The more autonomous a system becomes, the more difficult it may be to determine how decisions were made and to what extent those who authorized the system could anticipate its effects. International humanitarian law continues to apply to armed conflicts, including when new technologies are used. The challenge is to ensure that the design and deployment of these technologies make compliance with existing obligations possible in practice.

For the Middle East, where technological and military competition is already intense, a race toward autonomy without common control mechanisms could reduce the scope for human decision-making during crises. This risk does not require a machine suddenly deciding, independently, to start a war. It may result from a more gradual mechanism: several automated systems simultaneously generating alerts, assessments, or responses that accelerate a confrontation before political leaders have established a sufficiently reliable understanding of the situation. An identification error, misleading data, or an inappropriate automated response could then have disproportionate consequences.

Human control must therefore be understood as a set of safeguards rather than merely a device that allows an operator to interrupt a machine. It requires identifiable responsibilities, rules of engagement, legal assessments, operational limits, oversight mechanisms, and a sufficient understanding of system behavior. It also requires that those responsible genuinely have the time, information, and authority necessary to exercise their judgment. In a region where strategic mistrust remains profound, establishing common principles on human accountability and respect for international humanitarian law could be a more realistic objective than reaching a comprehensive agreement on every dimension of security.

76. The Risk of an Uncontrolled Acceleration in Technological Competition

The strategic threat may ultimately arise less from any particular technology than from the collective dynamic it sets in motion. If Israel develops new AI capabilities because it believes Iran is strengthening its own, if Iran accelerates its programs because it considers Israel to retain an advantage, and if the Gulf states, Türkiye, Egypt, or Pakistan intensify their investments to avoid becoming dependent, the region could enter a spiral in which each national decision appears rational in isolation but collectively produces greater instability. This mechanism recalls classical patterns of strategic competition. What is new is the speed at which technologies spread, the diversity of their applications, and the difficulty of establishing common rules before capabilities are deployed.

AI indeed widens the gap between technological time and diplomatic time. A capability can evolve within months, whereas negotiating an international agreement often takes years. An innovation may be integrated into a system before states have even reached a common definition of the risk they wish to regulate. The joint appeal by the United Nations and the International Committee of the Red Cross concerning autonomous weapons illustrates this difficulty: technological progress and deployment opportunities require governments to specify the limits they wish to defend before certain practices become difficult to change.

This acceleration also invites a reassessment of the very concept of technological advantage. A capability initially reserved for a few states may spread, lose some of its distinctive character, and become accessible to a wider range of actors. Strategic value then depends less on possessing an isolated tool than on the ability to integrate it into strong institutions, secure it, train specialists, and use it under conditions that allow its effects to be controlled. Competition therefore takes place in laboratories, but also in universities, education systems, digital infrastructure, the quality of public administration, and the trust placed in decision-making mechanisms. A technologically advanced society that cannot verify its information, protect its networks, or control the uses of its own systems may remain vulnerable despite the scale of its investments.

This is where our analysis returns to the starting point of this dossier. For decades, Israel and Iran have largely shaped their strategic perceptions around the other side’s ability to increase its power and threaten their interests. Artificial intelligence can extend this logic into a domain where borders are less impermeable than in traditional forms of military competition. Yet it also creates a new possibility: some risks may become sufficiently shared to make cooperation rational in areas where it would have been politically difficult to contemplate in other sectors. Recognizing a shared vulnerability does not mean that states trust one another; it means that they may have an interest in preventing certain forms of harm even while continuing to compete.

A regional agreement on the verification of artificially generated content, standards for protecting critical infrastructure, mechanisms for notifying others of digital incidents, or principles of human accountability in sensitive systems would obviously not eliminate rivalries. Cooperative scientific programs in water, energy, agriculture, health, or climate resilience could also offer tangible benefits without requiring the prior settlement of every political dispute. The value of these initiatives would lie in creating spaces where rivalry would no longer be the only available language. They would not ask states to abandon national security, but to recognize that certain forms of security cannot be achieved individually.

Artificial intelligence thus ceases to be merely a new field of competition and becomes a question of international architecture. The Middle East can reproduce the logic of its longstanding rivalries in this sector, treating every innovation as an advantage to accumulate against others. Alternatively, it can identify areas in which no national victory would be sufficient to guarantee security: reliable information, infrastructure protection, human accountability, cybersecurity, scientific research, water management, health, and climate resilience. In the first scenario, AI risks deepening regional fragmentation. In the second, it could help transform an imposed interdependence into one that is better understood and partially organized.

The next chapter will therefore focus less on determining whether Israel or Iran possesses greater technological capabilities than on examining what the region could gain by transforming part of this competition into common rules. It is at this boundary between rivalry and cooperation that the idea of a Regional Council on Artificial Intelligence could take shape. Such an institution should neither erase national sovereignty nor claim to resolve regional conflicts on its own. It could, however, serve as a mechanism for dialogue, the exchange of expertise, and the development of shared principles in areas where risks exceed the capabilities of any single state. Its credibility would depend on a realistic mandate, transparency safeguards, sufficiently inclusive regional representation, and a clear distinction between civilian cooperation, digital security, and the most sensitive military issues.

ISRAEL, IRAN, AND TECHNOLOGICAL COMPETITION

77. Israel as a Technological Power

Israel enters the age of artificial intelligence with an advantage built over several decades: a strong concentration of scientific and entrepreneurial talent, a developed information technology ecosystem, recognized cybersecurity expertise, a technology industry connected to international markets, and close relationships among research, innovation, and national security. This trajectory explains why Israeli authorities increasingly regard AI as a component of national resilience, extending beyond its economic potential alone. On June 16, 2026, the government adopted a decision aimed at accelerating the development of this sector. The main directions of the national program were subsequently presented to the Knesset in July. They include computing infrastructure, human capital development, cybersecurity, AI applied to physical systems, and the integration of this technology into various sectors of the economy and public services.

The announced objectives provide an indication of the scale of Israel’s ambitions. The program envisages developing capacity for up to 100,000 AI processors or accelerators, supporting the development of an Israeli quantum computer, and strengthening education and training from school through university studies and specialized research. It also aims to attract researchers working abroad or encourage them to return, while preparing the workforce for changes in employment. At the same time, parliamentary discussions about recognizing computing infrastructure as strategic infrastructure reflect an important shift: data centers, computing power, and the continuity of digital services are increasingly being treated as matters of national security. These announcements, however, describe public policy objectives; they do not establish that all the envisioned capabilities are already available.

This approach shows that Israel is not merely seeking to produce better software or support new companies. It intends to consolidate a more complete technological chain linking researchers, universities, computing infrastructure, data, cybersecurity, industry, and civilian or security applications. Competition is therefore no longer limited to the quality of AI models. It also concerns the ability to secure the human, material, and institutional resources needed to develop, adapt, and deploy them. Israel’s experience has also heightened attention to external dependencies, particularly when access to digital infrastructure, components, or services supplied by foreign providers may be affected by a political or military crisis.

Technological power, however, does not automatically guarantee stability. High scientific capacity can strengthen a state’s defenses, but it can also increase its adversaries’ concerns. In an environment characterized by mistrust, an innovation presented as defensive by the state developing it may be interpreted by an observer as a potential future offensive capability. AI may therefore intensify the security dilemma: measures adopted by one actor to protect itself can prompt others to strengthen their own capabilities, fueling a collective dynamic of insecurity. The strategic question is consequently not merely how far Israel can advance, but also how that progress will be perceived in its regional environment and what consequences those perceptions may have for the behavior of other states.

78. Iran’s Technological Ecosystem

Iran is approaching this transformation from a different position. Sanctions, restrictions on access to certain Western technologies, and economic constraints have limited some of its opportunities, without preventing the development of domestic scientific capital or the emergence of a technological ecosystem adapted to its circumstances. Tehran does not enjoy the same access to international markets, Western computing infrastructure, and technology supply chains as the world’s leading technology hubs. Its development therefore relies more heavily on domestic research, the adaptation of existing technologies, the use of accessible resources, specialist training, and the pursuit of external partnerships. This trajectory does not mean that these strategies produce results equivalent to those of the most advanced economies. It does show, however, that external constraints do not necessarily eliminate all capacity for innovation.

Iranian authorities have launched initiatives intended to organize the development and use of artificial intelligence. Public policy directions concerning this technology link it to competitiveness, scientific research, and national autonomy. Nevertheless, announced objectives must be distinguished from measures actually implemented and from measurable results. The available information does not justify treating all Iranian ambitions as verified operational capabilities. Caution is especially necessary because information about sensitive programs, infrastructure, and military activities is often incomplete, while official communications may serve domestic political or strategic signaling purposes.

The 2026 war also invites a broader examination of technological resilience. Some analyses of Iranian capabilities in drones and dual-use technologies describe an ecosystem involving research institutions, universities, companies, specialized workshops, and supply networks. These assessments should be treated as strategic analyses rather than comprehensive, independently verified inventories. They nevertheless highlight an important reality: a country’s technological capacity cannot be reduced to a handful of central facilities. Some expertise may be distributed across several institutions and actors, making the effects of external pressure difficult to assess solely by examining the most visible installations.

This distinction also matters for artificial intelligence. A country can develop applications using existing tools, open-source software, accessible models, or domestic adaptation capabilities. Journalistic reports published in 2026 have also described the use of commercially available AI tools by Iranian actors in digital and security-related activities. Such reports, when they concern clandestine operations, must be attributed to their sources and cannot be generalized to the entire Iranian technological apparatus. They nevertheless illustrate a broader trend: the international spread of AI makes it difficult for a small number of powers to maintain a lasting technological monopoly.

Iran’s trajectory thus shows that a country can be technologically constrained without remaining technologically inactive. It can lose access to certain technological architectures, develop alternatives, adapt existing tools, or seek different partnerships. This does not mean that sanctions are without effect, nor that Iran possesses resources and performance levels equivalent to those of the world’s leading AI hubs. It means that restrictions can change the nature of technological competition without necessarily bringing it to an end.

79. Drones, Missiles, Cybersecurity, and Artificial Intelligence

The convergence of artificial intelligence and military technologies should not be interpreted as the emergence of a single weapon that would instantly overturn the regional balance. The transformation is more diffuse. It concerns data collection, system surveillance, intelligence analysis, network protection, planning, and the automation of certain functions. A drone that uses an algorithm is not automatically an autonomous weapons system. Similarly, a defense system incorporating AI does not mean that political or military decisions have been transferred to a machine. It is necessary to distinguish algorithmic assistance, the automation of specific functions, and autonomy in target selection or engagement.

This distinction is essential to understanding the trajectories of Israel and Iran. Israel has a particularly developed ecosystem in information technology, cybersecurity, and applied research. Iran has developed capabilities in drones, missiles, electronic warfare, and certain cyber activities, while adapting its technological choices to different economic and industrial constraints. Strategic analyses of the Middle East also show that several states in the region are investing in military and security applications of AI. Competition is therefore not limited to two countries; it takes place within a broader environment in which the Gulf states, Türkiye, and other actors are also seeking to strengthen their capabilities.

Technologies circulate among states, companies, universities, and scientific networks. Components designed in one country may be integrated elsewhere; civilian software may be adapted for security purposes; and publicly available models may be modified by users with no institutional connection to their developers. This circulation does not eliminate the advantages conferred by infrastructure, expertise, and large-scale investment. It does, however, make it more difficult to draw clear boundaries between technological ecosystems. A state may retain an advantage in certain areas while remaining vulnerable in others, particularly when its systems depend on international suppliers, components, or networks.

The events of 2026 have also underscored the growing connection between digital infrastructure, economic security, and the continuity of essential services. Data centers, communications networks, energy systems, and computing capabilities are no longer merely technical support structures. Their disruption can affect businesses, public services, financial transactions, and communications. In March 2026, data center facilities operated by Amazon Web Services in the United Arab Emirates and Bahrain were affected in the context of drone strikes, causing damage and service disruptions. This episode illustrates the physical vulnerability of digital infrastructure, whose operation also depends on electricity, cooling, telecommunications, and site security.

This development gives technological competition a paradoxical dimension. The more states seek to increase their autonomy, the more they must account for the international networks on which their development depends. The more they seek to protect their infrastructure, the more they must assess the risks associated with external suppliers, components, and partners. Absolute technological autonomy therefore remains a difficult objective to achieve. The practical challenge is instead to manage essential dependencies, diversify supply chains, strengthen resilience, and prevent a technical vulnerability from becoming a means of strategic pressure.

80. Technology as a Force Multiplier

One of the most common mistakes in analyzing technological power is to assume that superior technology automatically produces superior strategic outcomes. Military and political history shows, however, that technology never operates in isolation. Its effects depend on the quality of institutions, personnel training, economic resources, industrial capacity, doctrine, logistics, intelligence, diplomacy, and the ability to turn innovation into lasting results. Artificial intelligence will not eliminate this rule. It may even make it more important, because a system’s performance depends as much on its human and material environment as on its technical properties.

The Israeli national program presented in 2026 illustrates this logic by combining computing infrastructure, training, research, cybersecurity, and AI applications. Its objective is to consolidate an ecosystem capable of sustaining long-term innovation. Iran, despite having different resources and constraints, is also seeking to connect research, national development, and strategic applications. The two trajectories are not equivalent, but they reflect the same underlying development: AI is gradually becoming an infrastructure of power rather than simply another tool.

States investing in this field are therefore not merely seeking to improve their immediate military capabilities. They are preparing their economic and scientific position for the decades ahead. A country capable of training specialists, securing reliable data, developing computing infrastructure, and integrating AI into its businesses can improve public services, medical research, industry, agriculture, and logistics. Progress in one sector can thus reinforce progress in others, creating a cumulative effect.

This accumulation nevertheless carries a risk of widening inequalities. Countries that fall behind in digital infrastructure, training, and research may become more dependent on foreign suppliers, lose expertise, and see their room for maneuver diminish. The question of AI is therefore inseparable from the question of development. For the Middle East, the challenge will not simply be to determine which states possess the most advanced systems, but also whether the benefits of technological transformation can be distributed widely enough to reduce economic and social divisions rather than deepen them.

81. Why Technological Superiority Does Not Guarantee Stability

Technological superiority can strengthen a state’s deterrence, improve its intelligence capabilities, and increase its defensive capacity. It cannot, by itself, create trust. Under certain circumstances, it may even produce the opposite effect. The more a state develops capabilities that are difficult to observe, the more its adversaries may question their potential uses. The more a technology accelerates information processing, the less time may be available for verification. And the more complex systems become, the harder it may be for decision-makers to understand what their adversary knows, what it intends to do, and how it interprets their own actions.

The security dilemma between Israel and Iran could therefore find a new arena in AI. If Israel strengthens its capabilities to improve its security, Iran may interpret this development as a threat and seek to build its own capabilities. If Iran advances in automation, cybersecurity, or military AI applications, Israel may regard that progress as an additional reason to accelerate its investments. Each actor may therefore behave rationally according to its own perception of security while contributing to a collective dynamic of insecurity. AI does not create this mechanism, but it can accelerate certain aspects of it and make intentions more difficult to interpret.

The central question then becomes predictability. A relatively stable regional environment does not require all states to possess identical capabilities. It requires actors to understand the capabilities, intentions, and limitations of others sufficiently well to avoid the most dangerous miscalculations. Predictability can be strengthened through communication mechanisms, notification procedures, common standards, and agreements covering specific areas. It does not require complete trust. In many international relationships, stability begins when adversaries agree to reduce certain uncertainties without resolving their fundamental disagreements.

The Middle East’s technological future could follow two paths. In the first, Israel, Iran, the Gulf monarchies, Türkiye, and other regional powers continue competing in AI, cybersecurity, autonomous systems, and digital infrastructure without adequate common mechanisms for preventing incidents. Technology then becomes another arena of rivalry, added to existing military, energy, and diplomatic tensions. In the second, these same states gradually recognize that certain categories of risk are too transnational to be managed individually and begin developing common rules, even limited ones, concerning cybersecurity, civilian infrastructure protection, disinformation, and human accountability in sensitive decisions.

This second path does not presuppose immediate reconciliation or the disappearance of rivalries. It requires distinguishing the areas in which competition can continue from those in which the absence of rules creates excessive dangers for everyone. This distinction could become one of the foundations of the Global Regional Pact proposed in this dossier. A modern architecture would not require Israel and Iran to share the same political vision. It would instead seek to prevent every innovation from automatically becoming another source of instability.

The history of Israeli-Iranian relations has taken us from a period when strategic cooperation was possible to a rivalry that has become a defining feature of the region. Artificial intelligence introduces another contradiction: the technology that increases individual capabilities can also multiply shared vulnerabilities. Technological cooperation is therefore not necessarily a political objective shared by all actors; it can become a strategic necessity in specific areas. The following chapter examines how this possibility could be translated into institutional mechanisms.

TURNING AI INTO A FIELD OF COOPERATION

82. A Regional Code of Conduct on AI

The Middle East does not need to wait for its rivalries to disappear before considering common rules on artificial intelligence. It is precisely because states remain divided over major security issues that initial cooperation could be pursued in areas where the absence of rules creates shared risks. A regional code of conduct on AI could provide a starting point. It would be neither a technological peace treaty nor a mechanism designed to prevent states from developing their own capabilities. Its objective would be more limited: to define minimum principles concerning accountability, data protection, cybersecurity, verification of artificially generated content, protection of civilian infrastructure, and the responsible use of AI in sensitive areas.

Such an initiative could draw on international work without claiming to replace it. In 2026, the United Nations continued its discussions on AI governance and autonomous weapons systems. The Group of Governmental Experts on emerging technologies in the area of lethal autonomous weapons systems met in Geneva from August 31 to September 4. These discussions demonstrate the growing importance of the issues involved, but they do not mean that a comprehensive international agreement has already been secured. Any regional framework should therefore be presented as complementary to international instruments and consistent with existing legal obligations.

The value of a regional code would lie in translating certain general principles into the realities of the Middle East. The region brings together several major languages, different political systems, unequal levels of technological development, and often contradictory security perceptions. A uniform standard imposed from outside could encounter resistance. A framework negotiated progressively could begin with objectives around which interests converge without requiring complete political trust: protection of medical data, authentication of official communications, information sharing about incidents affecting civilian infrastructure, and cooperation against certain forms of cybercrime.

The credibility of such a code would depend on its ability to go beyond a declaration of principles. Voluntary commitments, any obligations agreed upon, and monitoring mechanisms would need to be distinguished. States could begin with notification and consultation procedures, subsequently develop common standards for certain civilian sectors, and reserve the most sensitive military issues for specific negotiations. This gradual approach would make it possible to establish habits of cooperation without requiring trust to exist from the outset.

83. Regulating Autonomous Weapons

The military domain represents the most difficult part of this undertaking. AI applied to weapons systems directly affects sovereignty, deterrence, and each state’s conception of its own security. Yet this is also the domain in which the absence of rules can produce the most serious consequences. In August 2026, the United Nations Secretary-General and the President of the International Committee of the Red Cross renewed their call for specific rules governing autonomous weapons systems. They highlighted the widening gap between technological capabilities and regulatory frameworks, calling for negotiations toward a legally binding instrument containing clear prohibitions and restrictions.

The Middle East could contribute to this development by establishing regional principles in parallel. An essential distinction must be maintained: not every system using AI is an autonomous weapon. A tool that analyzes data to assist a human operator raises different questions from a system capable of selecting and engaging a target without further human intervention. Discussions within the Group of Governmental Experts under the Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons address, among other matters, definitions, human control, accountability, and measures applicable throughout the life cycle of these systems. The diversity of national positions shows that international consensus remains to be built. A regional initiative could not, by itself, resolve an issue that extends far beyond the region’s borders.

A realistic approach would begin with accountability. Military systems employing significant autonomy should be subject to identifiable chains of command, appropriate legal assessments, oversight procedures, and clearly defined limits on use. The fundamental principle would be to prevent any situation in which human responsibility disappears behind the operation of a technical system. The aim would not be to demand that every state immediately abandon all advanced technologies, but to ensure that no technology becomes a zone in which no one is accountable.

In a region marked by repeated crises, such standards could also reduce misinterpretations. They would not eliminate military rivalries, but they could improve the predictability of certain practices and contribute to compliance with international humanitarian law. An adversary whose intentions remain disputed does not thereby become a partner. Nevertheless, understanding certain limits and procedures can reduce the risk of decisions being made on the basis of the worst-case assumption.

84. Cooperation Against Cybercrime

Cybersecurity could provide a more accessible area for regional cooperation because it directly affects civilian societies. An attack on a bank, hospital, telecommunications network, or water distribution system can have serious consequences regardless of the political relationship between the governments concerned. Cybercriminals exploit borders, differences in jurisdiction, and gaps in cooperation. Artificial intelligence can compound these difficulties by facilitating certain automated operations, accelerating data analysis, and enabling the large-scale production of deceptive content.

Regional cooperation could begin by establishing permanent channels through which the relevant authorities could communicate when a major incident is detected. Such an architecture would complement existing national mechanisms, bilateral agreements, and international arrangements. It could provide for notification procedures, a common classification of incidents, exchanges of best practices, resilience exercises, and protocols designed to prevent a cyber incident from being immediately interpreted as a deliberate military attack.

Trust would remain a major obstacle. A state may hesitate to share technical information with another for fear that it could be used against it. A credible architecture would therefore need to distinguish information required for collective protection from information belonging to national intelligence activities. Cooperation would not require disclosure of offensive capabilities or strategic secrets. It could begin with the exchange of information about threats affecting civilian infrastructure, shared vulnerabilities, and ways of limiting damage.

A regional mechanism for responding to civilian digital incidents could thus be envisaged. It would not constitute a military alliance and would not automatically attribute a cyberattack to a state. Its primary mission would be to limit the consequences of an incident, regardless of its presumed origin. In an environment where technical attribution can be complex and politically contested, protecting essential services should take precedence over definitive conclusions about responsibility. Such an approach could offer Israel, Iran, Arab states, and Türkiye an area of technical cooperation even when their political relations remain difficult.

85. Common Protection of Critical Infrastructure

Cooperation would become more tangible if it extended to the infrastructure on which everyday life depends. Electricity networks, drinking water, hospitals, telecommunications, ports, financial systems, and certain food supply chains are elements of national security, but also of human security. Disruptions can affect several sectors simultaneously and produce economic and social consequences extending beyond the territory in which an incident occurred.

A regional mechanism could establish a common baseline for resilience: identifying the most sensitive infrastructure, defining minimum cybersecurity standards, establishing communication procedures during a crisis, and setting out arrangements for technical assistance in the event of a major incident. It would not be necessary to create shared infrastructure immediately. Making procedures compatible, exchanging relevant information, and providing targeted assistance would already represent useful progress.

Water management particularly warrants this approach. The World Bank has emphasized for several years that the Middle East and North Africa face exceptional water stress. It estimates that approximately 60% of the region’s surface water resources are transboundary and that every country shares at least one aquifer. These figures illustrate the importance of coordinated resource management. AI will not eliminate water scarcity, but it can help measure consumption, detect certain losses, anticipate variations, and improve infrastructure management. In 2026, the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO) also initiated a regional dialogue on the use of AI in agrifood systems in the Near East and North Africa, particularly concerning data, skills, and agricultural applications adapted to the climate.

This convergence of water, data, and AI opens up a perspective for the Global Regional Pact. Data regarded as strategic in a competitive context could be aggregated and shared for specific civilian purposes under appropriate security and confidentiality rules. Hydrological monitoring systems, weather forecasts, agricultural data platforms, and climate alert mechanisms could therefore be developed without requiring the political integration of states. The objective would be to build regional public goods in areas where vulnerabilities are already shared.

86. AI in the Service of Water, Agriculture, and Health

It may be in civilian domains that artificial intelligence can most clearly demonstrate its capacity to transform cooperation. In a region where water, food, climate, and health constitute structural challenges, a technology capable of improving forecasting and resource allocation has value that extends far beyond the economic sphere. In April 2026, the FAO launched a regional dialogue on the data ecosystems needed for AI in agrifood systems in the Near East and North Africa. Subsequent sessions addressed barriers to adoption, human skills, and AI applications in climate-smart agriculture.

Regional cooperation could build on projects whose benefits would be immediately apparent: improved drought forecasting, the sharing of meteorological and hydrological data, multilingual tools for farmers, and decision-support systems adapted to local conditions. AI could also support disease surveillance, medical inventory management, and the organization of health emergencies. These projects would not resolve political conflicts, but they could gradually change perceptions of the benefits of regional cooperation.

Health is a particularly important area. Infectious diseases do not respect borders, and public health surveillance can benefit from data originating in several countries, provided that data governance protects privacy and individual rights. AI can help identify certain epidemiological trends, optimize medical resources, and accelerate scientific analysis. It is not, however, an automatic solution. Its results depend on data quality, infrastructure, available expertise, and human oversight. The FAO’s regional work illustrates a comparable reality in agriculture: technological benefits depend on an appropriate institutional and human environment.

It would also be possible to envisage a regional fund to finance AI applications with measurable public benefits. States, universities, businesses, and international organizations could support projects concerning water, agriculture, health, energy, and climate resilience. Beyond providing funding, such a mechanism would help create scientific communities capable of working together despite governmental disagreements. Research networks do not eliminate political antagonisms, but they can maintain professional and scientific relationships that remain useful when the diplomatic environment deteriorates.

87. AI for Disaster Prevention

Disaster prevention offers another field for cooperation. Earthquakes, floods, droughts, wildfires, sandstorms, and heat waves do not follow political borders. The ability to forecast certain risks, map vulnerable areas, and transmit reliable information rapidly can reduce the human and economic consequences of disasters. In this domain, cooperation has immediate value: complementary data can improve certain forecasts, while coordinated warning systems can facilitate the protection of populations.

A regional architecture could bring together meteorological institutes, universities, civil protection services, research centers, and health authorities. It could produce analyses for civilian risk prevention, with transparent rules governing the data used. AI-assisted warning systems should be subject to human validation, correction procedures, and mechanisms for communicating uncertainty. The objective would not be to replace national institutions, but to provide them with additional collective capabilities.

This proposal also has a political dimension. When Israeli, Iranian, Arab, and Turkish scientists work on disaster prevention, they do not necessarily become partners on security issues. They can nevertheless contribute to a common objective defined not exclusively by antagonism. Scientific cooperation thus creates a form of interdependence different from that imposed by war or markets: it rests on the production of a public good.

AI could gradually connect the different areas of this architecture. Climate data can improve agricultural models, hydrological information can contribute to energy planning, and weather forecasts can help protect electricity networks. Health data can also improve the anticipation of certain emergencies. The value of a regional system would lie in enabling these sources of information to interact within secure frameworks, under precise rules governing access and use. Cooperation would thus become a resilience ecosystem rather than a succession of isolated projects.

88. Toward a Regional Council on Artificial Intelligence

Over time, these initiatives could lead to the creation of a new institution: a Regional Council on Artificial Intelligence. It should not be conceived as a supranational authority capable of imposing its decisions on states. Such a model would probably be incompatible with the Middle East’s political realities and the sensitivity of sovereignty issues. Instead, it could function as an intergovernmental mechanism for coordination, expertise, risk prevention, and scientific dialogue. Its legitimacy would depend on its ability to remain useful without becoming the political instrument of one group against another.

Its composition should reflect this purpose. Participating states could appoint representatives from foreign affairs, science, health, agriculture, water, energy, telecommunications, and justice. Universities, research centers, technology companies, and international organizations could contribute to specific activities under clearly defined arrangements. The objective would be to recognize that AI no longer falls within the remit of a single ministry, or even a single state. It simultaneously affects security, development, rights, the economy, and knowledge.

The Council could begin with a limited mandate: developing regional benchmark standards, publishing periodic reports on AI-related risks, organizing digital resilience exercises, promoting scientific cooperation, supporting joint civilian projects, and facilitating dialogue during major technological incidents. It could also host an observatory tasked with studying AI’s effects on societies, labor markets, the media, security, and human rights. An institution of this kind would not claim to control the entire development of AI. It would seek to improve states’ ability to understand its consequences and reduce collective risks.

Participation would be decisive. If the Council were restricted to signatories of the Mecca Pact, it could reproduce the bloc logic that this dossier seeks to move beyond. Its mandate should be open, progressively, to all states in the region willing to accept its principles. Israel and Iran may not be ready to participate immediately in the same mechanisms. This should not prevent the design of an institution capable of welcoming them in the future. States could also participate in certain areas without joining every component, provided that this flexibility did not empty their commitments of substance.

This institution could become one of the instruments of the Global Regional Pact. The proposal developed in this dossier is not based on the idea that a conference alone could resolve decades of conflict. It rests on a different insight: lasting peace can begin with the gradual creation of common interests that make cooperation more rational than confrontation in certain areas. Water, energy, critical infrastructure, health, climate, and artificial intelligence could all provide foundations for this development.

The Regional Council on Artificial Intelligence would therefore be more than a new administrative structure. It would represent institutional recognition of a strategic fact: certain threats and opportunities exceed the capacity of any state acting alone. Governments could continue to defend their national interests, preserve their alliances, and maintain their security doctrines while accepting that some problems justify common rules. It is within this intermediate space between sovereignty and interdependence that a new conception of regional security could emerge.

The history of relations between Israel and Iran shows how confrontation can become a lasting system. AI makes it possible to envisage a different prospect: a shared technology could serve as a starting point for an architecture of cooperation without making antagonisms disappear. It could create areas in which each state’s interests would depend more directly on everyone’s ability to prevent collective harm. This perspective leads to Part VII, devoted to the forward-looking core of this dossier: the Global Regional Pact.

THE REGIONAL GLOBAL PACT

WHY A NEW PACT?

89. Military Alliances Are No Longer Enough

The recent history of the Middle East shows that military power remains indispensable for states seeking to protect their territory, their populations and their sovereignty. It also reveals the limitations of a conception of security based almost exclusively on deterrence, retaliation or the support of an external power. Alliances, defence partnerships and security guarantees can reduce certain vulnerabilities, create shared capabilities and alter an adversary’s calculations. They do not, however, fully answer a deeper question: how can a regional environment be built in which crises become less frequent, less unpredictable and less likely to escalate into widespread confrontations? An alliance can protect its members without creating a shared regional order. Depending on its scope and how external states perceive it, it may even contribute to the emergence of new dividing lines. The problem, therefore, is not the existence of alliances as such, but the absence of an architecture broad enough to reconcile the security concerns of different regional groupings.

The defence agreement concluded in August 2026 between Saudi Arabia, Türkiye and Pakistan represents an important development in this environment. The mechanism, known as the Mecca Pact, provides, among other things, that an armed attack against one signatory will be considered an attack against all three. Subsequent military and political discussions have addressed coordination and the practical arrangements for cooperation. Nevertheless, the signing of the agreement must be distinguished from national ratification procedures and effective implementation. This development demonstrates a determination to strengthen strategic coordination among certain states; it does not, by itself, constitute a comprehensive regional system. Several questions remain open: how should rivalries that cut across alliances be addressed? What place should be given to states that do not participate in them? How can the proliferation of protective arrangements be prevented from producing several competing architectures, each seeking to shield itself from the others?

It is in this context that the Regional Global Pact proposed in this report becomes meaningful. It does not refer to an existing treaty, nor does it claim to replace defence agreements already concluded. Rather, it proposes a political and institutional architecture built around a simple idea: regional security can no longer be understood solely as the sum of national security arrangements. It must also incorporate the conditions that enable states to feel sufficiently protected to accept dialogue, gradual transparency, economic cooperation, the shared management of risks and, ultimately, the reduction of certain forms of confrontation. The Pact would therefore complement existing alliances rather than necessarily compete with them. It would seek to establish a space in which states belonging to different defence systems could share minimum rules for peaceful coexistence.

This reflection goes beyond the theoretical sphere. In June 2026, the Secretary-General of the United Nations called for exploration of a new Gulf security architecture founded on respect for sovereignty and territorial integrity, non-interference and strengthened multilateral cooperation. This position does not constitute the institutional model described in this report, but it reflects a broader concern about the organisation of regional security. The challenge now is to translate this insight into concrete mechanisms that are compatible with national interests and sufficiently open to accommodate states that do not share the same alliances.

90. Deterrence Without Dialogue

Deterrence remains a fundamental concept in international relations. It rests on the premise that a state can prevent an attack by convincing its adversary that the costs of such an attack would exceed the anticipated benefits. Under certain circumstances, this logic helps prevent direct confrontation. It nevertheless has a structural weakness: it works best when the intentions, capabilities and red lines of the actors involved are reasonably understandable. When information is incomplete, armed non-state actors intervene indirectly, doctrines evolve rapidly and technologies accelerate decision-making, deterrence becomes less predictable. The power intended to prevent war can then fuel a spiral in which every defensive measure is interpreted as preparation for an offensive.

The Middle East illustrates this difficulty particularly clearly. States face not only direct adversaries but also a network of relationships in which local conflicts, armed organisations, regional rivalries, external powers, energy infrastructure, trade routes and digital technologies can intersect. A crisis in one area can rapidly generate consequences elsewhere. In June 2026, the UN Secretary-General highlighted the broader repercussions of regional escalation for markets, trade routes, energy and fertiliser prices, and food security. The problem is therefore not merely whether a state possesses sufficient retaliatory capabilities. It is also whether the regional system has mechanisms capable of preventing a misinterpretation, a limited attack or a local crisis from triggering a chain of reactions that exceeds the original intentions of those involved.

Dialogue becomes essential precisely at this point. It should not be confused with trust, much less with friendship between governments. Two states can maintain profound disagreements while sharing an interest in communication channels that allow them to clarify intentions, announce certain measures, prevent an incident or seek a way out when a crisis begins. Dialogue does not abolish deterrence; it can reduce its ambiguities. A direct communication line does not necessarily prevent conflict, but it can help distinguish a political decision from an accident, a defensive posture from preparations for an offensive, or a public statement from a genuine intention to escalate. In an environment where technological speed is increasing while the time available for decision-making is shrinking, the ability to clarify intentions becomes a form of security in its own right.

The Regional Global Pact should therefore begin with an observation that is less spectacular but more demanding than the creation of a new alliance: no lasting architecture can rest solely on the fear that each actor inspires in the others. It must also establish mechanisms for managing situations in which deterrence fails, becomes ambiguous or produces precisely the behaviour it was intended to prevent. Security would no longer mean only the ability to respond to an attack; it would also mean the ability to reduce collectively the likelihood of a crisis reaching the point at which a military response appears inevitable.

91. From National Security to Collective Security

Moving from national security to collective security does not mean asking states to abandon their sovereignty. Such an interpretation would make the project politically unrealistic from the outset. The principle is different: each state would retain primary responsibility for its own defence while recognising that certain threats cannot be effectively addressed by a single government. Energy infrastructure is interconnected, water resources cross borders, maritime routes link several economies, and digital networks disregard political boundaries. Climate phenomena affect several territories simultaneously, while food crises can spread through prices and supply chains. Artificial intelligence adds a new dimension to this interdependence because its applications can simultaneously affect security, the economy, information, healthcare and critical infrastructure.

Collective security should therefore be understood less as an obligation to fight together than as a capacity to prevent certain categories of risk. This distinction makes it possible to envisage cooperation among states that share neither the same ideology nor the same alliances or perceptions of their adversaries. Some may maintain close military relations with Washington, others with Beijing or Moscow, while still others may seek to preserve a more pronounced degree of strategic autonomy. In principle, nothing would prevent these same states from cooperating to protect electricity grids, strengthen maritime security, manage disasters, prevent cyber incidents, improve water management or combat certain forms of transnational crime.

This logic already has points of support within regional and international institutions. The United Nations, the Gulf Cooperation Council and the League of Arab States have consultation and cooperation mechanisms, while several states have developed bilateral or sector-specific arrangements. These structures do not yet constitute a coherent and inclusive regional architecture. The challenge for the Regional Global Pact would not be to eliminate them, but to identify complementarities, avoid unnecessary duplication and develop mechanisms capable of functioning beyond political or military affiliations.

It must also be accepted that not all states will enter the process at the same time. Regional systems are rarely built in a single step. An initial community of cooperation may be followed by sectoral mechanisms, confidence-building measures, technical agreements and, eventually, permanent institutions. The Pact could therefore operate according to a principle of gradual participation. Some states might begin with maritime security, others with water or energy, and still others with cybersecurity and artificial intelligence. Collective security would then become not an abstract declaration, but a set of progressively organised interdependencies.

92. Moving from a Balance of Fear to a Balance of Interests

The balance of fear describes an old reality of international relations: when states do not trust one another, they seek to make the cost of aggression sufficiently high to deter an adversary. Yet this balance has a fundamental limitation. It can prevent certain actions without changing the interests that produced the rivalry in the first place. Two states may continue to regard each other as threats while temporarily avoiding war. The resulting stability remains fragile because it depends on the persistence of the calculations underpinning deterrence. Whenever capabilities change, a new leader comes to power, a technology alters the balance of power or a crisis transforms perceptions, that balance can be challenged.

A balance of interests rests on a different logic. It does not ask adversaries to abandon their differences immediately. Instead, it seeks to generate enough shared interests for cooperation to become progressively more rational than escalation in certain areas. Water provides an obvious example. Energy, maritime routes, digital infrastructure, food security, disaster prevention and scientific research offer others. As the costs of a rupture become more widely shared and more visible, stability can cease to be merely the product of fear and become the outcome of mutually recognised interests.

The Regional Global Pact would therefore not ask Israel, Iran, the Arab states, Türkiye and other regional powers to resolve their historical disputes immediately. Such an ambition would ignore the depth of the memories, doctrines and interests involved. The objective would instead be to create an architecture in which the resolution of specific practical issues could precede the resolution of major political questions. States can begin cooperating on water without having settled territorial disputes. They can establish maritime notification procedures without having concluded a comprehensive political agreement. They can share certain scientific data on natural disasters without having established a complete relationship of trust. Cooperation could thus become an instrument for building trust rather than merely its consequence.

This approach would be consistent with the principles of the peaceful settlement of disputes and regional cooperation established by the Charter of the United Nations. In June 2026, the Secretary-General called on Middle Eastern actors to prioritise dialogue and negotiations while emphasising the need for a broader security architecture for the Gulf. The proposed Pact would seek less to invent a new philosophy than to apply these principles more systematically to an environment that has become too interdependent to remain organised exclusively around confrontation.

The central question then becomes one of institutional design. If a balance of fear can protect against certain scenarios of aggression, a balance of interests must make peace progressively more beneficial than confrontation. This requires political commitments, but also consultation procedures, preventive mechanisms, scientific forums, economic agreements and technological standards. Twenty-first-century security can no longer be reduced to the defence of physical borders: a state may protect its territory while remaining vulnerable to an energy, water, digital, financial or climate-related disruption that extends far beyond its borders.

The Regional Global Pact would therefore be less a miraculous treaty than a method for gradually reducing the centrality of antagonisms. Its first ambition would be to enable states that do not yet trust one another to coexist. Its second would be to transform certain imposed interdependencies into organised interdependencies. Its third would be to create mechanisms capable of managing crises before they become wars. Its fourth would be to recognise that sovereignty means not only being able to make decisions independently, but also knowing how to cooperate when risks exceed the capacity of any single country to address them.

The nine pillars that follow should therefore not be understood as chapters of a new military treaty. They are the components of a gradual architecture in which security, the economy, water, energy, technology, climate and regional governance would no longer be treated as entirely separate policy areas. The ambition is considerable: to move the Middle East from a system in which each actor first seeks to protect itself against the power of others towards a system in which several states recognise that their own security also depends on the stability of those they once regarded as adversaries.

THE NINE PILLARS OF THE REGIONAL GLOBAL PACT

The Regional Global Pact could not be credible if it merely proclaimed the need for peace. The Middle East already has numerous declarations, conferences, diplomatic initiatives and cooperation structures. What is lacking is not the language of peace, but a permanent framework connecting the different dimensions of security. A military crisis can become an energy crisis; an energy disruption can affect food supplies; a water crisis can intensify social tensions; a cyberattack can interrupt essential infrastructure; and a climate disaster can trigger population displacement and place additional pressure on already fragile states. In 2026, the United Nations highlighted the international repercussions of regional crises for markets, trade routes, energy prices and supply chains. The Pact must therefore be designed as an architecture in which the different dimensions of security reinforce one another.

This approach forms part of an institutional debate already under way internationally. In June 2026, the UN Secretary-General called for exploration of a Gulf security architecture based on sovereignty, territorial integrity, non-interference and strengthened multilateral cooperation. The Regional Global Pact proposed here addresses the same underlying challenge without claiming to reproduce an external model. It would be neither a new military alliance nor a supranational organisation imposing a common policy on states. It would be a framework for gradual cooperation, capable of bringing together countries that retain their own alliances, doctrines and interests while agreeing to subject certain categories of risk to common mechanisms.

93. A Non-Aggression Pact

The first pillar would be a commitment not to use force against other participants and not to use one’s territory to prepare or facilitate aggression against another member. Such a provision would not mean abandoning the right of self-defence recognised under international law. Rather, it would establish a regional norm under which disputes should, as far as possible, be addressed through consultation, mediation and diplomatic mechanisms before force becomes the preferred instrument. Its credibility, however, would depend less on the wording of a declaration than on the creation of procedures capable of operating rapidly after an incident. Notification, urgent consultation, direct communication channels, fact-finding mechanisms and mediation options would need to accompany the political commitment. The objective would not be to determine the legal or political responsibility for an event instantaneously, but to prevent uncertainty from being immediately replaced by suspicion, and suspicion from triggering escalation.

This principle would be particularly important in a region where several crises can overlap. A maritime incident, an attack on infrastructure, a clandestine operation or an event attributed to a non-state actor can quickly be interpreted as the expression of a national policy. The Pact should therefore establish an institutional capacity that allows governments to communicate before their decisions become locked into a cycle of retaliation. Non-aggression would thus be more than a promise not to attack; it would become a mechanism designed to reduce the likelihood that states reach the point at which an attack appears to be their only possible response.

94. Collective Security

The second pillar would broaden the concept of defence. Collective security would not mean that every state must automatically intervene militarily whenever a member is attacked. Such an interpretation would reproduce the logic of traditional alliances and restrict the possibility of wider participation. Instead, it would mean recognising that certain threats have regional implications and call for a coordinated response, primarily in areas where civilian and institutional cooperation can prevent a crisis from worsening.

Critical infrastructure provides a concrete illustration. Electricity grids, desalination plants, hospitals, telecommunications networks, ports, financial systems and water networks can be important far beyond the countries in which they are located. Their disruption may affect several societies simultaneously. The Pact could organise common mechanisms for alerts, resilience, technical assistance and continuity of essential services. The same logic could apply to natural disasters, public health emergencies, population displacement and food supply disruptions. Regional security would no longer be activated only when borders are directly threatened; it could also be mobilised when the material conditions underpinning collective stability are endangered.

95. Nuclear and Strategic Security

The third pillar would probably be the most sensitive because it would directly affect states’ perceptions of existential threats. It should address not only Iran’s nuclear programme, but regional strategic security more broadly, including non-proliferation, nuclear safety and security, transparency, accident prevention, ballistic systems and other capabilities that could alter security calculations. However, the legal status, doctrines and capabilities of different states would have to be distinguished, and a regional mechanism should not be presented as a substitute for existing international instruments.

The international framework already provides a foundation. The 2026 Review Conference of the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons, held from 27 April to 22 May, concluded without the adoption of a consensus final document. This outcome underscores the difficulty of reaching agreement on non-proliferation, safeguards, the peaceful uses of nuclear energy and prospects for a zone free of nuclear weapons and other weapons of mass destruction in the Middle East. It also strengthens the case for exploring complementary regional mechanisms without presenting them as substitutes for international obligations.

Initially, cooperation could focus on the safety of facilities, emergency procedures, incident notification and appropriate scientific exchanges. More ambitious discussions on strategic transparency could follow when political conditions permit. This gradual approach is essential. Risk reduction may be politically more attainable than the immediate resolution of every strategic question. A mechanism that enables states to better understand the consequences of an incident, communicate rapidly and avoid miscalculation would already represent progress, even if fundamental disagreements remained unresolved.

96. Maritime Security

The fourth pillar would concern the maritime spaces connecting the Middle East to the rest of the world. The Strait of Hormuz is the most obvious example, but it must be considered within a broader network that includes the Gulf of Oman, the Red Sea, the Gulf of Aden, Bab el-Mandeb and the major trade routes linking the Indian Ocean to the Mediterranean. The crises of 2026 have reminded the world that the security of these waters is not merely a regional military issue. It also concerns trade, energy, food, transport and global economic stability. In June, several Gulf states emphasised before the United Nations the importance of the Strait of Hormuz to regional prosperity and the global economy, calling for the preservation of this maritime passage in accordance with international law.

The Pact could establish a regional maritime security mechanism involving coastal states, maritime user states and the relevant international organisations. Its responsibilities could include information-sharing, incident prevention, port infrastructure protection and humanitarian coordination. Maritime security would no longer be understood solely as an extension of military rivalry, but as an issue simultaneously affecting trade, energy, food, human mobility and economic stability. This approach would make it possible to progressively involve states that do not share the same alliances but have an interest in preserving freedom of navigation and the continuity of trade in accordance with international law.

97. Energy Security

The fifth pillar would begin from a fundamental reality: energy is a source of power, revenue, influence and vulnerability. Hydrocarbons have given the Middle East an exceptional position in the global economy, but this centrality also exposes the region and its partners when supply flows are disrupted. Regional tensions in 2026 highlighted the potential effects of crises on energy prices, supply chains, fertilisers, food supplies and global economic activity. Energy security can therefore no longer be separated from maritime, economic and food security.

The Pact could transform this vulnerability into organised interdependence through energy consultation mechanisms, coordinated emergency capacities, diversification of sources and routes, electricity grid development, and cooperation on storage and renewable energy. The region could bring together hydrocarbons, solar power, civilian nuclear energy, hydrogen and electricity networks without treating these resources as necessarily mutually exclusive. The more economies diversify their energy sources and supply routes, the less likely a temporary interruption is to become a systemic crisis. Energy security would then become a regional resilience policy rather than simply a production policy.

98. Water and Climate Security

The sixth pillar demonstrates why a regional architecture cannot remain exclusively military. Water does not respect political borders. Transboundary river basins, shared aquifers, droughts, floods, desertification and extreme temperatures create interdependencies that even the most powerful states cannot eliminate. World Bank research highlights the scale of water stress in the Middle East and North Africa and the importance of cooperative management of shared resources. Water lies at the intersection of health, food, energy, the economy, climate and social stability.

The Middle East could therefore make water one of the first areas in which states with profound political disagreements agree to build lasting cooperation. Desalination, wastewater reuse, agricultural efficiency, aquifer monitoring, meteorological data, flood prevention and drought adaptation could form part of a regional agenda. The United Nations Water Conference scheduled for December 2026, jointly organised by the United Arab Emirates and Senegal, also offers an international framework for advancing discussions on water resources and cooperation commitments. A regional initiative would not eliminate droughts or rising temperatures; it could, however, reduce the collective cost of managing them and transform a shared vulnerability into an area of strategic cooperation.

99. Economic Cooperation

The seventh pillar would be economic. The aim would not be to create an immediate free trade area covering the entire Middle East, but to progressively develop shared interests substantial enough to make stability economically advantageous. Trade corridors, port and railway infrastructure, industrial zones, food supply chains, cross-border investment, financial technologies and regional value chains could provide the initial instruments for this transformation.

The experience of 2026 has reminded the world that a regional crisis can rapidly affect economies far from its epicentre. Disruptions to energy, trade, transport and supply chains have demonstrated how closely economic vulnerabilities are interconnected. In this context, economic integration would not simply be a growth objective; it would also become an instrument of resilience. The more regional economies share commercial, industrial and infrastructural interests, the more the consequences of a rupture become collective, and the more the preservation of stability acquires tangible economic value.

This approach would nevertheless need to account for economic asymmetries, differences in institutional capacity and the risks of excessive dependence. Credible cooperation would require transparency rules, dispute settlement mechanisms, appropriate investment safeguards and particular attention to the social effects of projects. The objective would not be to replace external dependencies with regional ones, but to diversify economic opportunities and ensure that the benefits of integration are not confined to a limited number of actors.

100. Scientific and Technological Cooperation

The eighth pillar would concern knowledge. In a region where technological gaps can become sources of power, scientific cooperation offers a space different from that of military negotiations. Medicine, water, agriculture, climate, solar energy, energy storage, defensive cybersecurity, meteorology, public health, disaster management and artificial intelligence could become the focus of joint programmes involving universities, research centres and companies, subject to strict rules governing data and sensitive applications.

The challenge, however, would extend beyond scientific output. A regional architecture cannot be sustainable if it is built exclusively by diplomatic and security establishments. It must also deliver tangible benefits in everyday life: better water management, more resilient agriculture, more effective healthcare, improved early-warning systems, stronger energy infrastructure and greater research opportunities for younger generations. Societies can maintain profound political disagreements while sharing climate data, scientific programmes or medical projects. Knowledge would not eliminate antagonisms, but it would create spaces in which relations between peoples are not entirely determined by their political disputes.

Cooperation would nevertheless require clear rules on intellectual property, funding, data protection and the prevention of unauthorised transfers of sensitive technologies. It would also benefit from scientific mobility arrangements, scholarships, training programmes and university partnerships. The objective would be to develop sustainable regional capabilities rather than limit cooperation to isolated projects dependent on temporary funding.

101. Regional Governance of Artificial Intelligence

The ninth pillar would focus on artificial intelligence because it now cuts across all the preceding areas. It influences security, the economy, information, research, agriculture, healthcare, cybersecurity and critical infrastructure. It can therefore no longer be treated as an isolated technological sector. The Regional Artificial Intelligence Council proposed in the previous chapter could become one of the Pact’s first permanent bodies, with a coordinating mandate rather than supranational control. It could work on minimum standards for high-risk systems, data protection, digital infrastructure security, scientific cooperation, prevention of malicious uses and the preservation of appropriate human control over the most sensitive decisions.

The international discussions held in 2026 on autonomous weapons systems and the need to preserve human responsibility demonstrate that these questions extend beyond innovation into the fields of law, international security and political accountability. A regional framework should therefore complement existing international instruments rather than claim to replace them. It should also distinguish civilian uses, commercial uses and military applications, since their transparency requirements and risks are not identical.

The nine pillars should not be understood as nine independent policy areas. They are different dimensions of a single system. The non-aggression pact seeks to reduce the use of force; collective security organises responses to shared risks; nuclear and strategic security seeks to limit the dangers of major confrontation; maritime security protects trade routes; energy and water strengthen material resilience; economic cooperation creates common interests; science establishes areas of rapprochement; and artificial intelligence provides a new field of governance whose effects extend across all the others.

The Regional Global Pact would be genuinely innovative only if it succeeded in bringing these dimensions together within a coherent architecture without seeking to erase the differences between states. It would not ask them to abandon their alliances, doctrines or national interests. It would seek to create, above their disagreements, a space in which certain risks are sufficiently shared to justify preventive mechanisms and collective management. Its success would not be measured by the immediate disappearance of rivalries, but by the region’s ability to prevent a crisis in one area from automatically becoming a generalised crisis.

This ambition cannot, however, bypass one of the most central questions in contemporary Middle Eastern politics. The Palestinian question is not peripheral to the regional security architecture; it is an essential historical, political and human dimension of it. Any initiative that claimed to build a lasting order without taking into account the rights, national aspirations and security requirements of the populations concerned would remain profoundly incomplete. The next part must therefore examine the conditions under which a regional architecture could bring together Israel, the Arab states, Iran and other actors without marginalising the Palestinian question or reducing the aspirations of peoples to mere variables in a negotiation.

The ambition of the Regional Global Pact is not to promise immediate peace. It is to progressively organise the conditions under which coexistence becomes more predictable, cooperation more useful and confrontation less likely to spread throughout the entire system. Its central wager lies in its capacity to connect national interests with collective stability.

ISRAEL, PALESTINE AND THE QUESTION OF REGIONAL JUSTICE

A Regional Architecture Cannot Bypass the Palestinian Question

102. Palestine in the Regional Security Equation

No durable security architecture in the Middle East can treat the Palestinian question as an issue external to regional stability. Contemporary history shows that the Israeli-Palestinian conflict influences relations between Israel and its neighbours, the positions of Arab states, international alliances, and perceptions of justice and security. This interdependence does not mean that every Middle Eastern crisis can be reduced to this conflict. Rivalries between Iran and its adversaries, the diverging interests of the Gulf monarchies, Türkiye’s ambitions, and the strategies of external powers each have their own dynamics. Rather, it means that no project claiming to establish lasting regional security can ignore the political and human consequences of the Palestinian question.

On 22 September 2026, United Nations Secretary-General António Guterres reaffirmed that the two-State solution, based on the pre-June 1967 lines and international law, remained the established framework for achieving lasting peace between Israelis and Palestinians. He also stressed the need to preserve the political, economic and territorial integrity of Gaza and the West Bank, including East Jerusalem, under a legitimate and sovereign Palestinian government. A few days later, a report by the Office of the United Nations Special Coordinator for the Middle East Peace Process emphasised that the recovery and reconstruction of Gaza could not be separated from a broader political process. These positions serve as a reminder that a temporary stabilisation of hostilities is insufficient to resolve questions of sovereignty, governance and national rights.

The challenge is therefore institutional as well as diplomatic. If the Global Regional Pact were gradually to bring together Israel, the Arab states, Iran and other actors, how could it claim lasting legitimacy if the political future of the Palestinians remained unresolved? Conversely, no settlement could endure if it permanently disregarded Israeli security concerns, particularly the protection of civilians and the prevention of further attacks. A serious architecture would seek to reconcile these requirements without confusing their respective foundations or making either one a precondition for denying the other. Israel’s security and Palestinian self-determination must be regarded as two indispensable dimensions of a lasting political settlement, rather than as necessarily incompatible objectives.

103. Israeli Security and Palestinian Rights

The search for a settlement must begin with a fundamental reality: Israelis and Palestinians have different historical experiences, collective memories and political priorities, yet they are bound together by the same geographical space and by a conflict whose consequences extend beyond their borders. Israel regards the security of its population and recognition of its existence as national imperatives. Palestinians claim their right to self-determination, sovereignty and the effective recognition of their national and political rights. A regional architecture cannot be built by erasing either of these dimensions. It must seek to establish a framework in which security guarantees do not serve to perpetuate indefinitely the absence of political rights, while the affirmation of Palestinian rights is accompanied by arrangements capable of protecting populations on both sides.

International law provides an essential point of reference, even though it cannot, by itself, resolve the conflict. In its advisory opinion of 19 July 2024, the International Court of Justice concluded that Israel’s continued presence in the Occupied Palestinian Territory was unlawful and recalled the obligations arising from the Palestinian people’s right to self-determination. Security Council Resolution 2334, adopted in December 2016, reaffirmed that Israeli settlements in the Palestinian territory occupied since 1967, including East Jerusalem, had no legal validity and constituted a major obstacle to the two-State solution. These references do not eliminate the need for a political settlement, but they prevent questions of territory, occupation and national rights from being treated as mere variables that the balance of power can render optional.

The institutional task would be to translate legal principles into enforceable guarantees. International and regional mechanisms could be considered to support negotiated agreements, monitor their implementation, facilitate cross-border cooperation, protect civilians and prevent incidents capable of triggering renewed escalation. Their mandates would need to be precisely defined, in accordance with international law and the decisions of the competent institutions. The credibility of a settlement would depend less on the number of guarantees announced than on the ability of the parties and the actors supporting them to honour those guarantees over time.

The reconstruction of Gaza illustrates this requirement particularly clearly. In its report of 24 September 2026, the United Nations reiterated that Gaza must remain an integral part of a future Palestinian state and be politically, economically and administratively reunited with the West Bank. The report also noted that transitional and funding arrangements had not yet translated into recovery on the scale required. Reconstruction therefore cannot be conceived as a mere civil engineering operation. It requires institutions capable of governing, functioning public services, sustained humanitarian access and a credible political horizon. Without these conditions, rebuilt infrastructure would remain vulnerable to destruction once again.

104. The Different Diplomatic Pathways

The two-State solution remains the framework supported by the United Nations, but this consensus in principle does not resolve the conditions necessary for its implementation. Questions concerning borders, Jerusalem, settlements, refugees, the governance of Gaza, security, mutual recognition and the economic viability of a future Palestinian state continue to divide the parties concerned. The 2025 New York Declaration on the Peaceful Settlement of the Question of Palestine linked the prospect of two states to security guarantees, the reunification of Gaza and the West Bank, economic cooperation and the exploration of an inclusive regional architecture. It specifically referred to the experiences of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations and the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe as possible points of reference, subject to the adaptations required by the regional context.

Other arrangements are debated in political and academic circles, including an Israeli-Palestinian confederation, shared institutions limited to particular fields, and cooperation agreements between distinct political entities. These proposals do not enjoy the same degree of international recognition or the same conditions of feasibility. Their analytical value lies primarily in the questions they make it possible to address: how can sovereignty and mobility be reconciled? How can the rights of populations be guaranteed? How should the sharing of certain resources and the management of infrastructure be organised? How can Jerusalem, refugees and settlements be addressed without creating new institutional inequalities?

The Global Regional Pact is not intended to choose on behalf of Israelis and Palestinians the definitive form of their political settlement. Rather, it should help define the conditions under which a negotiated solution could take shape within a more stable regional environment. Any arrangement would need to protect civilians, enable the effective exercise of Palestinian political rights, address Israeli security concerns, preserve the stability of neighbouring states and benefit from credible guarantees. It would also need to be economically viable. A territorial settlement without security would remain fragile; a security arrangement that left political rights unresolved indefinitely would be equally fragile.

105. The Role of International Law

In a region marked by competing historical narratives, international law provides a common language for distinguishing existing legal obligations, political commitments and claims that still need to be negotiated. The Charter of the United Nations, international humanitarian law, the decisions and advisory opinions of competent courts, and relevant Security Council resolutions constitute complementary points of reference. The International Court of Justice’s July 2024 advisory opinion clarified several issues relating to occupation and the right to self-determination. Security Council Resolution 2334, meanwhile, remains an important reference concerning settlements and the prospects for a settlement based on two states.

It would nevertheless be mistaken to assume that a legal reference, however important, is sufficient to produce peace. Principles must be accompanied by implementation procedures, consultation mechanisms and means of peacefully resolving disputes. A regional architecture could facilitate exchanges between the parties, support the monitoring of agreed commitments and encourage recourse to the competent international institutions. It should avoid replacing existing courts or creating competing procedures whose authority would be contested.

The strength of law lies precisely in its capacity to limit arbitrariness and make commitments more predictable. For this function to remain credible, rules cannot be invoked only when they serve the interests of a particular actor. The Pact should therefore place respect for the Charter of the United Nations, the protection of civilians, the peaceful settlement of disputes and self-determination at the heart of its approach, while allowing the parties to negotiate the practical arrangements for implementing agreements. Stability would not be achieved through the mere proclamation of principles, but through their gradual incorporation into conduct and institutions.

106. Two States, Confederation and Other Possible Architectures

The two-State solution rests on the establishment of an independent and sovereign Palestinian state living in peace and security alongside Israel. In September 2026, António Guterres again affirmed that this solution should be based on the pre-1967 lines, with Jerusalem as the capital of both states. Its implementation, however, continues to face major territorial, institutional and security obstacles. The geographical continuity of Palestinian territory, the governance of Gaza, the status of Jerusalem, the settlements and the ability of a future state to exercise its powers effectively are central questions, not merely technical details.

Confederal proposals explore a different possibility: two distinct political entities could retain their sovereignty while sharing certain institutions, economic mechanisms, mobility arrangements or cooperation frameworks. Such an arrangement could take account of the geographical interdependence of populations and infrastructure, but it would raise considerable difficulties. The division of powers, political equality, border control, security, refugees, natural resources and the status of Jerusalem would all have to be addressed with sufficient precision to prevent shared institutions from becoming instruments of domination.

None of these options should be presented as an immediately applicable solution. Their feasibility depends on political decisions, security conditions and the will of the populations concerned. The Pact’s role would be to create a regional environment in which negotiations could proceed without being constantly interrupted by escalations, while preserving the parties’ right to determine their future. The decisive question would therefore not simply be the name given to the chosen architecture, but its ability to reconcile sovereignty, security, rights, democratic legitimacy and economic viability.

107. Why Peace Requires More Than a Ceasefire

A ceasefire can halt the fighting without transforming the political conditions that led to confrontation. The situation in Gaza in 2026 illustrates the difference between a suspension of hostilities, governance, economic recovery and a lasting settlement. The United Nations report of 24 September notes that transitional arrangements remain incomplete and that recovery falls far short of what is required. It also stresses the interdependence of reconstruction and the political process: neither can succeed sustainably in isolation.

Lasting peace would therefore need to bring together several dimensions. The first concerns the protection of populations and the prevention of a return to hostilities. The second involves a political settlement enabling Israelis and Palestinians to determine their future within a recognised framework. The third concerns institutions capable of administering territories, providing public services and remaining accountable. The fourth is economic: it must enable reconstruction, the resumption of trade and the development of sustainable livelihoods. The fifth is regional, since no settlement can remain durable in isolation from the security relationships, economic exchanges and rivalries that shape the Middle East.

The 2025 New York Declaration had already established an explicit link between resolving the Palestinian question, providing security guarantees for both parties, economic integration and exploring a regional security architecture. The Global Regional Pact proposes to place this logic within a broader framework in which political disputes would be addressed alongside questions of cooperation and resilience. This does not mean that resolving the Israeli-Palestinian conflict would eliminate rivalries between Iran, Israel, the Gulf states, Türkiye and other powers. It means that a just and credible settlement could reduce one of the region’s major sources of tension and facilitate the development of regional confidence-building mechanisms.

Peace would therefore mean more than the temporary absence of gunfire. It would require institutions with sufficient legitimacy to prevent escalation, guarantees credible enough to protect populations, and political conditions that allow societies to live without the security of one depending on the permanent insecurity of the other. The Palestinian question thus reinforces the central thesis of this study: an adversary can remain a political competitor without its hostility becoming the organising principle of an entire regional system.

Yet even a stronger political and security architecture would remain constrained by realities that treaties cannot abolish: water scarcity, climate change, energy requirements, soil degradation and food security. These factors sometimes evolve more slowly than military crises, but they can determine the living conditions of future generations. Part IX is devoted to these physical vulnerabilities.

WATER, CLIMATE AND ENERGY: THE VULNERABILITIES OF THE CENTURY

The Middle East Confronts Its Physical Constraints

108. Water Stress

The Middle East enters the twenty-first century facing a strategic paradox: several of its states possess considerable financial, energy and technological resources, yet freshwater remains severely constrained. The United Nations Sustainable Development Goals Report published in 2026 indicates that water stress exceeds 75% in Northern Africa and Western Asia. Globally, agriculture accounts for approximately 72% of freshwater withdrawals. These averages, however, conceal substantial disparities between countries and within their territories. Water vulnerability depends on resource availability, but also on the efficiency of distribution networks, water losses, agricultural practices, urbanisation, the quality of governance and the capacity to reuse available water.

Scarcity does not automatically cause conflict. It becomes a source of tension when institutions fail to regulate withdrawals, protect aquifers, share data or negotiate the use of common resources. The region already possesses significant expertise in desalination, irrigation, wastewater reuse and water-resource management. According to the International Energy Agency, the MENA region produced approximately 12 billion cubic metres of desalinated water in 2024, a volume expected to increase substantially by 2035, primarily through reverse-osmosis technologies powered by electricity. This development offers new possibilities, but it eliminates neither the energy costs nor the environmental constraints of desalination.

The challenge is therefore to combine technological innovation, economic accessibility and sustainable management. The Global Regional Pact could support a permanent mechanism dedicated to shared river basins and aquifers, with comparable data, early-warning systems, research programmes and consultation procedures among riparian states. Cooperation would be particularly valuable in preventing misunderstandings related to dams, water withdrawals, water quality or droughts. The objective would not be to place water resources under a supranational authority, but to ensure that their management does not depend exclusively on changing political power dynamics. A scarce resource can become a field of cooperation when states have reliable data, predictable rules and continuous dialogue mechanisms.

109. Desertification

Desertification is not simply the mechanical advance of deserts into cultivable land. It refers to processes of land degradation in arid, semi-arid and dry sub-humid areas, resulting from the combined effects of climatic factors and human activities. The loss of vegetation, soil erosion, the overexploitation of water resources, certain agricultural practices and increasingly frequent droughts can gradually reduce the capacity of territories to sustain economic activity. In an already highly arid region, these processes can have disproportionate consequences for livelihoods, food prices and the stability of rural communities.

Environmental effects spread into the economy and society. Lower agricultural yields can increase dependence on imports; rising food prices can intensify household hardship; and declining rural incomes can accelerate internal migration. Cities receiving new populations must then respond to additional demands for water, housing, energy and public services. These relationships are neither automatic nor identical across all countries, but they illustrate how ecological vulnerability can amplify existing institutional weaknesses.

Combating desertification could become a cornerstone of regional cooperation. Soil restoration, ecosystem protection, drought-adapted agriculture, satellite monitoring and intelligent irrigation management are all fields in which knowledge developed in one country can benefit others. A regional policy could combine scientific research, financing, training and data sharing to transform land restoration into a strategy for food security and development. The aim would not simply be to protect the environment, but also to preserve livelihoods and reduce pressures that could contribute to social crises.

110. Global Warming

Climate change adds a temporal dimension to these vulnerabilities. Whereas a military crisis can erupt within hours, climate impacts often accumulate over several decades. Rising temperatures, heatwaves, changing precipitation patterns, prolonged droughts, extreme rainfall and sea-level rise are altering the conditions under which cities, energy networks, healthcare systems and agricultural economies must operate. These effects are not uniform throughout the region, but they interact with water scarcity, urbanisation and energy demand.

The Global Regional Pact should incorporate climate change as a long-term resilience and security issue. Infrastructure built today must remain functional under climatic conditions that may differ significantly from those prevailing when it was designed. Cities will need to adapt their water and electricity networks, transport systems and healthcare services. Agricultural systems will have to contend with greater uncertainty, while demand for cooling will place additional pressure on electricity grids. Regional cooperation would make it possible to share meteorological observations, climate models, adaptation methods and the knowledge required for infrastructure planning.

The issue also concerns future generations. An architecture limited to preventing the next military crises would remain incomplete if it left subsequent generations with increasingly vulnerable water, energy and food systems. The Pact should therefore connect present emergencies with long-term transformations by incorporating the horizons of 2040, 2050 and beyond into regional planning. This approach does not require pretending that future crises can be predicted precisely. It means reducing now those vulnerabilities whose consequences could become more difficult and costly to manage.

111. Food Security

Food security lies at the intersection of water, energy, climate, trade and political stability. Several Middle Eastern states depend heavily on food imports while facing limited water resources and difficult agricultural conditions. Their security therefore depends not only on domestic production, but also on the functioning of ports, the continuity of trade routes, access to fertilisers, fuel costs and the stability of international markets. Disruption in any one of these areas can quickly affect production costs and food prices.

The regional crisis of 2026 highlighted the global reach of these interdependencies. Disruptions to navigation through the Strait of Hormuz contributed to uncertainty surrounding energy and commercial flows, while pressures on fertilisers, fuels and transport heightened risks for agricultural systems. Countries heavily dependent on imports can therefore be affected even when fighting does not take place on their territory. Food security must consequently be regarded as a component of economic and regional security, rather than as an isolated agricultural issue.

The Pact could support early-warning systems, improved market monitoring, supplier diversification, logistics coordination mechanisms and research into seeds adapted to changing climatic conditions. A regional food reserve could also be considered, provided that its governance, costs, activation rules and allocation of responsibilities were clearly defined. The objective would not be to achieve absolute self-sufficiency, which is unrealistic for several countries, but to reduce exposure to sudden disruptions in trade. Food resilience depends more on diversification, preparedness and cooperation than on autarky.

112. Energy Dependence

The energy sector illustrates another Middle Eastern paradox. The region possesses some of the world’s largest hydrocarbon resources, yet several of its states face growing domestic electricity demand, particularly for cooling, desalination and industry. Hydrocarbons are both a source of revenue and international influence and an important component of national consumption and production. Disruption to infrastructure or export routes can therefore simultaneously affect public budgets, energy supplies, industrial supply chains and global markets.

The events of 2026 illustrated this vulnerability. As of 12 October, disruptions to the Gulf’s liquefied natural gas industry and uncertainty surrounding the Strait of Hormuz continued to affect international markets. Qatar, in particular, was experiencing the consequences of damage to its gas infrastructure. These developments show that energy security is not simply a matter of reserve volumes or production capacity. It also depends on infrastructure protection, continuity of maritime transport, diversification of supplies and the ability of economies to absorb shocks.

The response is not to abandon hydrocarbons abruptly, since they will remain important for a significant period, but to diversify energy systems gradually. Solar and wind power, energy storage, efficiency measures, interconnected grids and, in countries that choose to pursue it, civilian nuclear power subject to rigorous safety and governance requirements can help reduce certain vulnerabilities. The transition must be designed to preserve economic security while limiting environmental risks and excessive dependencies. As desalination demonstrates, water and energy are already closely interconnected. A coherent regional strategy should therefore treat these sectors as components of a single resilience system.

Transforming Vulnerabilities into Interdependencies

113. Desalination

Desalination could become one of the Middle East’s major areas of transformation, but it is not a universal solution. The technology requires substantial investment, consumes energy and can generate brine discharges whose effects must be managed. It must therefore be integrated into a broader policy combining reduced distribution losses, wastewater reuse, agricultural efficiency and aquifer protection. The International Energy Agency’s projections, which anticipate a substantial increase in regional desalinated-water production by 2035, indicate that technological efficiency and energy supply will become increasingly important considerations.

The Pact could encourage scientific and industrial cooperation, particularly through the sharing of research findings, the development of environmental standards and improvements in the energy efficiency of desalination facilities. Countries with advanced technological capabilities could cooperate with those facing particularly high water needs through negotiated financial and institutional arrangements. The aim would not be to replace dependence on natural water with political dependence on expensive infrastructure, but to diversify supply sources and strengthen each country’s water autonomy. Technology will produce collective benefits only if access, cost and environmental consequences are properly addressed.

114. Regional Electricity Grids

Electricity interconnections can improve the resilience of national systems by enabling electricity exchanges between countries, subject to available capacity and agreed rules. They can facilitate the integration of renewable energy, ease certain supply constraints and improve the utilisation of generating capacity. However, they also create new requirements for governance, cybersecurity, physical infrastructure protection and service continuity. An interconnection is therefore not merely a technical project: it requires a sufficiently predictable political framework for states to rely on the continued operation of facilities even when their relations deteriorate.

This cooperation could become an important test for the Global Regional Pact. Governments would need to agree on sharing rules, technical standards, outage procedures and dispute-settlement mechanisms. Electricity exchanges would not guarantee peace, but they could create common interests and make the economic consequences of disruption more tangible. Energy cooperation would thus serve a purpose beyond supplying electricity: it would help establish habits of consultation and shared responsibility.

Over time, the solar-generation capacity of certain areas, available hydropower resources elsewhere, and the conventional or nuclear power systems of some countries could complement one another. This development would nevertheless depend on investment, regulatory stability and the willingness of states to cooperate. The objective is not to assume that a regional grid would eliminate rivalries, but to demonstrate that carefully managed interdependence can provide concrete benefits while requiring mechanisms of trust.

115. Renewable Energy

The development of renewable energy can reduce certain energy and environmental vulnerabilities while creating new industrial opportunities. The Middle East has substantial solar potential, and some territories also offer favourable conditions for wind power. Natural potential alone, however, is not enough: projects require grids, storage capacity, financing, technical expertise, predictable markets and a stable regulatory framework. Without these conditions, new generation capacity may remain isolated or fail to deliver the expected benefits.

A regional strategy could encourage investment in grids, research, storage and training while promoting complementarity between economies. Hydrocarbon-producing countries could mobilise part of their financial and industrial capacity to accelerate diversification, while countries with substantial energy demand could provide markets for emerging technologies. Such a transition would not eliminate tensions associated with the energy transition, but it could help producing economies develop new activities and prepare gradually for changes in their markets.

The challenge would be to move beyond a collection of separate national policies and develop projects capable of generating shared benefits. An isolated solar installation cannot, by itself, transform the geography of regional security. However, generation capacity connected to reliable grids, storage systems, industrial infrastructure and exchange agreements can gradually reshape economic relations between countries.

116. Smart Agriculture

Agriculture is one of the sectors in which artificial intelligence, satellite data, sensors and digital tools can improve resource use. In 2026, the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations strengthened its regional work on artificial intelligence in agrifood systems across the Near East and North Africa, particularly in relation to data ecosystems and applications for climate-smart agriculture. These initiatives demonstrate that digital technologies can strengthen societal resilience beyond their industrial or security applications.

Regional cooperation could facilitate the sharing of meteorological and hydrological data, research into crops suited to arid conditions and the development of decision-support tools for producers. The objective would not be to replace farmers with automated systems, but to give them better tools to anticipate irrigation needs, monitor soil conditions and respond to climatic variations. In territories where water is scarce, improved efficiency can deliver substantial economic and environmental benefits.

Agricultural modernisation must nevertheless avoid widening inequalities between large farms able to invest in new technologies and small producers who lack access to financing or training. The Pact should therefore combine research, training, accessible tools and support for producers. Technology would become an instrument of collective resilience only if its benefits reached rural communities and the different segments of food systems.

117. Economic Corridors

Economic corridors can give the Pact a territorial dimension. They are more than roads or railways: they combine ports, industrial zones, energy networks, telecommunications, logistics centres and markets. When they operate reliably, they connect multiple territories within a shared economic system. Their effectiveness, however, depends on political stability, uninterrupted trade, infrastructure quality and the ability to resolve disputes that may arise between participating countries.

The Middle East already has several connectivity ambitions and projects. Developing them over several decades requires guarantees extending beyond ordinary trade agreements. A corridor crossing multiple borders must be able to operate despite changes of government, economic fluctuations and diplomatic tensions. It therefore requires common rules, customs coordination, infrastructure protection mechanisms and consultation procedures for times of crisis.

These projects could give tangible form to the logic of interdependence advanced in this study. When a port, an electricity network, a railway and a logistics chain connect several economies, the security of a neighbouring country becomes a practical condition for the functioning of one’s own infrastructure. Such interdependence does not eliminate the risk of coercion; on the contrary, it requires safeguards against the political exploitation of networks. Properly governed, however, economic corridors could turn cooperation into a lasting material interest and make disruption more costly for all participants.

118. A Regional Peace Economy

Water, energy, agriculture, climate and infrastructure are not peripheral issues in the geopolitics of the Middle East. They will increasingly determine living conditions, economic resilience and the ability of states to absorb crises. A region may possess powerful armed forces while remaining vulnerable if its cities lack water, its electricity grids are fragile, its food systems depend excessively on external flows or its infrastructure cannot withstand climatic shocks. Conversely, well-organised economic and environmental cooperation can create common interests and strengthen the practical value of stability.

The events of 2026 demonstrated how a regional crisis could simultaneously affect energy markets, maritime transport, supply chains and food costs. The consequences spread far beyond the countries directly affected, reminding us that interdependence can transmit shocks as readily as it facilitates growth. The strategic challenge is therefore not to eliminate all external dependence, an often unrealistic objective, but to reduce excessive vulnerabilities through diversification, cooperation and crisis preparedness.

A regional peace economy does not mean that trade would make conflicts disappear. History does not support such a conclusion. Rather, it means that states can build sufficiently substantial common interests for stability to become a material condition of development, not merely a diplomatic preference. Water could encourage cooperation between countries sharing river basins or aquifers; energy could bring producers and consumers closer together; electricity grids could connect complementary capacities; agriculture could combine research, data and food security; and economic corridors could strengthen trade. Artificial intelligence and digital technologies could help optimise these systems, provided their uses are properly governed and their benefits remain accessible.

The paradigm shift sought by the Pact would therefore involve not the disappearance of rivalries, but their gradual integration into an environment in which cooperation becomes more useful, more regular and more predictable. The region would no longer seek only to prevent its neighbours from becoming more powerful than itself; it would seek to strengthen its collective resilience against the crises threatening it. This transformation would be neither automatic nor irreversible. It would require investment, credible institutions and sustained political commitment. Yet it could give the Global Regional Pact a concrete purpose beyond that of a diplomatic proposal.

The next step is to examine the institutions capable of governing these interdependencies. The following part therefore focuses on a permanent Middle Eastern conference, crisis-prevention mechanisms, emergency communication channels, independent monitoring, the peaceful settlement of disputes and the possibility of a “Middle Eastern OSCE”, adapted to regional realities rather than copied from the European model.

A NEW DIPLOMACY FOR THE 21ST CENTURY

Toward a Permanent Regional Institution

119. A Permanent Middle East Conference

The Middle East has multiple diplomatic channels, mediators, regional organizations, and bilateral relationships, but it lacks a permanent and inclusive framework bringing all stakeholders together around a common agenda for prevention, security, and cooperation. Crises are often addressed only after they have erupted, sometimes when the room for diplomatic maneuver has already narrowed. A durable architecture should reverse this logic by making dialogue a permanent infrastructure of regional security rather than an exceptional recourse when tensions become uncontrollable.

The Global Regional Pact could be supported by a Permanent Conference for Security and Cooperation in the Middle East, conceived not as a supranational authority but as an institutional framework for consultation. Its composition should be determined by the states concerned through an inclusive and gradual approach. Israel, Iran, the Gulf states, Türkiye, Egypt, Iraq, Jordan, and other countries concerned could participate under arrangements negotiated among them. Palestinian representation should have an appropriate place within this framework, given the centrality of the Palestinian question to regional security. International partners could also contribute to specific activities when participants consider their involvement useful, without allowing their presence to turn the institution into an instrument of rivalry among external powers.

The United Nations Charter already provides a legal foundation for regional cooperation. Chapter VIII recognizes the role of regional arrangements in the peaceful settlement of disputes while preserving the Security Council’s responsibilities for international peace and security. Article 33 specifically identifies negotiation, inquiry, mediation, conciliation, arbitration, and judicial settlement among the means available to the parties. A Middle Eastern institution should therefore complement the international system rather than compete with it. It could provide a forum for dialogue closer to regional realities and facilitate the management of certain tensions before they require broader international engagement.

120. A Regional Crisis Prevention Mechanism

A periodic conference, however, would not be sufficient to establish a genuine culture of prevention. A permanent mechanism would be needed to monitor risks, facilitate consultations, and propose de-escalation options when the parties agree to consider them. A small secretariat could be supported by an analytical unit and expert working groups addressing political, economic, environmental, digital, and humanitarian risks. Their work could draw on publicly available data, information provided by states, and independent analyses, under clearly defined mandates. The objective would not be to create a regional intelligence service, but to improve understanding of cross-border risks and encourage early diplomatic responses.

This multidimensional approach would be particularly relevant in a region where a local crisis can rapidly affect transportation, energy, markets, digital infrastructure, or water resources. An energy disruption can produce economic consequences beyond national borders; a maritime incident can affect trade; a natural disaster can test the response capacities of several states; and an attack on a digital system can disrupt essential services. Prevention should therefore bring together political and security considerations with economic, environmental, and human dimensions rather than treating them as separate fields.

The mechanism could follow a graduated procedure: risk monitoring, confidential consultations, voluntary mediation, an extraordinary meeting of the states concerned, and, where necessary, recourse to the relevant international institutions. This progression would make it possible to clarify certain incidents before they develop into major crises, without imposing mediation on parties that reject it. Prevention does not mean predicting every conflict. It means reducing the number of situations in which governments no longer have a credible channel through which to communicate and seek a peaceful way forward.

121. Direct Communication Lines Between States

The speed of diplomatic communication has become an important factor in security. Incorrect information can provoke a reaction before the facts have been established; a limited incident can be interpreted as the prelude to a broader operation; and a statement can be amplified across social media until tensions intensify. In an environment shaped by missiles, drones, cyber incidents, and the instantaneous circulation of information, the ability to verify an event quickly can help prevent miscalculation.

A regional system could therefore provide for several levels of emergency communication: between political leaders, between diplomatic services, and between the relevant technical authorities. These channels would make it possible to clarify incidents, transmit alerts, and coordinate responses in areas where delays could worsen the consequences. Their existence would not presuppose deep trust among states. On the contrary, it would recognize that adversaries have an interest in maintaining reliable means of communication when a crisis threatens to escape their control.

These mechanisms could also be used for nonmilitary emergencies, including natural disasters, maritime incidents, energy disruptions, and crises affecting essential infrastructure. Technical cooperation could thus advance even when political relations remain difficult. The objective would be to ensure that the absence of communication does not itself become a source of confrontation.

122. Regional Observers

Prevention also requires credible means of establishing the facts. In contemporary crises, competing interpretations of an event can quickly complicate the search for a diplomatic solution. The circulation of manipulated content, videos removed from their original context, and synthetic documents generated by artificial intelligence further intensifies this challenge. A regional architecture could therefore consider observation mechanisms designed to document specific events and verify compliance with agreed commitments, without replacing judicial institutions or specialized United Nations bodies.

The deployment of observers should be based on a mandate accepted by the parties concerned, transparent methodological rules, and independence safeguards appropriate to their mission. Depending on the agreements reached, observers could monitor specific commitments, observe de-escalation arrangements, or help establish a verifiable chronology of incidents. Their access to information, the procedures governing publication of their findings, and the mechanisms for challenging their conclusions should be defined in advance. The credibility of such a system would depend less on its name than on the rigor of its methods and the confidence its findings could gradually inspire.

Information thus becomes a component of regional security. As digital tools make it easier to produce and distribute content that is difficult to authenticate, institutions will need to strengthen their ability to distinguish established facts from unverified claims. A regional architecture could not guarantee a common interpretation of every event, but it could help states obtain a more reliable factual basis before deciding how to respond. The objective would be to reduce uncertainty and limit the risk of escalation based on inaccurate information.

123. Arbitration and Dispute Settlement

No security architecture can eliminate all disagreements. It can, however, seek to prevent them from automatically turning into confrontations. The Pact could therefore provide for several levels of dispute settlement: direct negotiations, mediation, conciliation, commissions of inquiry, and arbitration, with recourse to international courts where states consent or where applicable legal instruments so provide. This graduated approach would be consistent with the spirit of Article 33 of the United Nations Charter, which recognizes several peaceful means of settling disputes.

Consent would remain decisive. A regional institution would not gain legitimacy by claiming to impose compulsory jurisdiction immediately on states that do not accept it. It could begin by offering voluntary mechanisms for certain categories of disputes, then expand their scope as their effectiveness and impartiality become established. Institutional trust would develop through experience, supported by clear procedures, reasoned decisions, and commitments that are effectively honored.

Only under these conditions could the Pact’s pillars become more than a political declaration. They would need to be supported by institutions capable of translating commitments into procedures, and procedures into habits of consultation and peaceful settlement. Regional peace would probably not emerge from a single moment when all adversaries suddenly decided to trust one another. It could develop through a gradual, demanding, and reversible process in which common rules progressively reduce the likelihood that a crisis will turn into confrontation.

Toward a “Middle Eastern OSCE”?

124. Lessons from the European Experience

The Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe provides a useful reference when considering dialogue, prevention, transparency, and cooperation among states with divergent interests. Its relevance, however, lies less in its institutional model than in the historical process that produced it. On August 1, 1975, thirty-five states signed the Helsinki Final Act after several years of negotiations conducted in the context of the Cold War. The process established commitments concerning politico-military security, economic and environmental cooperation, and human affairs. It thus helped institutionalize dialogue among governments that remained deeply divided.

The lesson relevant to the Middle East is that states can agree to participate in a common framework for discussion without first resolving their fundamental disputes. The confidence- and security-building measures developed through the Helsinki process gradually encouraged greater transparency and predictability in certain areas. This experience does not prove that dialogue is sufficient to prevent every war, but it demonstrates that a permanent framework can help manage disagreements and make certain decisions less unpredictable.

The European experience also shows that institutional cooperation does not necessarily depend on prior ideological reconciliation. Dialogue can be a means of managing differences rather than denying them. For the Middle East, this distinction is fundamental: a regional architecture would not need to wait for rivalries to disappear before beginning to function. It could initially encourage coexistence, improve communication, and establish a few common rules before gradually expanding its scope.

125. Why the European Model Cannot Be Copied

The Middle East of today, however, is not the Europe of 1975. Historical trajectories, borders, political structures, the relationship between sovereignty and security, external alliances, and perceptions of threats are different. The region is shaped by prolonged territorial conflicts, interstate rivalries, tensions surrounding nuclear and ballistic programs, major energy interests, and humanitarian crises. It also faces specific constraints involving water, food security, digital infrastructure, and climate change. Mechanically reproducing European institutions would overlook these differences and risk creating a structure poorly suited to the region’s actual needs.

The strategic context is also different. The Helsinki process developed in an environment structured around two major blocs. The contemporary Middle East is more fragmented: rivalries are simultaneously political, economic, ideological, technological, and transnational. States’ interests do not fall along a single line of confrontation, and opportunities for cooperation can vary considerably from one field to another. A regional institution would therefore need to operate progressively and flexibly, without requiring a prior comprehensive agreement on every security issue.

Finally, environmental and economic questions should be integrated from the outset rather than treated as additions to an essentially military architecture. In today’s Middle East, water, energy, agriculture, transportation, digital infrastructure, and artificial intelligence are already strategic issues. A future institution should start from this reality and organize cooperation around risks that directly affect populations and economies, while preserving the capacity for dialogue on the most sensitive political and security questions.

126. An Institution Adapted to Regional Realities

A regional institution could adopt a name reflecting this multidimensional approach, such as the Permanent Conference for Security, Cooperation and Development in the Middle East. In its initial phase, its structure could remain lean: periodic high-level meetings, a ministerial council, a permanent secretariat, a crisis prevention mechanism, and specialized working groups. Exchanges with academic, scientific, and economic communities, as well as civil society, could be organized according to rules agreed upon by participating states. This structure should remain a proposal for consideration, rather than being presented as an organization whose establishment has already been secured.

Inclusiveness would be one of its defining principles. An architecture intended to reduce bloc politics could not begin by creating a new bloc opposed to others. It should seek to accommodate states with difficult relations, including those that do not share the same alliances or political outlooks. Participation could be gradual and differentiated according to the subject area: a state might contribute to work on water, health, or natural disasters without being immediately prepared to join a more sensitive security mechanism. This modular approach would prevent disagreement over one issue from blocking cooperation across all other sectors.

The institution’s operation would need to reconcile respect for national sovereignty with the predictability of commitments. Consensus could be favored for fundamental political decisions, while technical working groups would operate under previously agreed rules. The institution would be neither a regional government nor an authority intended to replace states. Its role would be to facilitate consultation, propose standards of conduct, support mediation, publish regional analyses, and coordinate joint projects. Its influence would depend primarily on its practical usefulness, the quality of its work, and the degree of trust its members were prepared to place in it.

127. From Coexistence to Cooperation

The true test of such an architecture would not be the literary quality of its founding treaty, but its ability to gradually change behavior. In an initial phase, the objective could be limited: prevent miscalculation, maintain communication, avert escalation, and establish a few consultation rules. A second phase could promote greater transparency and a better understanding of shared risks. If these mechanisms produced credible results, cooperation could then extend to water, energy, trade, infrastructure, science, health, climate, and artificial intelligence.

This progression recognizes that societies do not necessarily move directly from hostility to friendship. They may first move from hostility to predictability, from predictability to more stable coexistence, and from coexistence to organized interdependence. The Helsinki experience shows that a framework for dialogue can be built before all fundamental differences have been resolved. It does not guarantee the success of a similar process in the Middle East, but it offers a historical reference for considering how institutions can reduce the risks associated with mistrust.

The Global Regional Pact would therefore not ask Israelis, Iranians, Palestinians, Arabs, Turks, or other peoples to renounce their histories, collective memories, or interests. It would seek to create an environment in which the security of one state no longer depends exclusively on its ability to keep its neighbors weak. Disputes could persist, political rivalries could remain, and disagreements could continue to shape relations between governments. The desired transformation would lie elsewhere: in the possibility of strengthening one’s own security through predictable rules, reliable communication, and mechanisms capable of containing crises.

The “enemy” would not necessarily disappear from political vocabulary, but would gradually cease to be the organizing principle of all regional relations. An adversary could remain a competitor without every disagreement being interpreted as preparation for an inevitable confrontation. The Middle East would no longer seek merely to prevent the next war; it would begin building institutions capable of making escalation less automatic, crises more manageable, and cooperation more rational. This would represent a gradual transition from a system dominated by mistrust to an architecture in which the collective management of interests becomes a practical possibility, without any guarantee of success but with a clearly defined ambition.

2030, 2050, 2100: THREE HORIZONS

The 2030 Horizon

128. The Fragmentation Scenario

The year 2030 is now close enough that Middle Eastern states can no longer regard the transformations underway as distant developments. Over the coming years, several trends are likely to continue intensifying simultaneously: the realignment of alliances, diversification of external partnerships, technological acceleration, changes in energy markets, water stress, global warming, and growing vulnerability of digital infrastructure. The regional crisis of 2026 has already demonstrated how quickly a military confrontation can extend beyond the borders of the states directly involved and affect transportation, energy, financial markets, supply chains, and the growth prospects of countries sometimes far removed from the immediate theater of operations. The World Bank has documented, in particular, the economic consequences of the closure of the Strait of Hormuz and damage to energy and public infrastructure.

In a first scenario, these trends could lead to lasting fragmentation. States would strengthen their military and technological capabilities, diversify their suppliers and economic partners, and then favor bilateral agreements or limited coalitions. The region would not necessarily descend into permanent war. It could experience a succession of crises, truces, indirect confrontations, cyber incidents, economic pressure, and technological competition. Stability would exist intermittently without producing a genuine regional system. The danger would therefore lie not only in the possibility of another major war, but also in the normalization of an environment in which every actor regards preparation for the next crisis as a permanent dimension of national policy.

This fragmentation would carry a less spectacular but potentially deeper cost. Security spending could continue to rise while states simultaneously face the need to finance climate adaptation, access to water, electricity, healthcare, education, and economic diversification. Water scarcity is already a structural vulnerability in several countries across the region. World Bank projections highlight the considerable economic risks associated with water scarcity and climate change, while many water resources are shared among several states. Fragmentation would therefore not eliminate interdependence. It would risk leaving these interdependencies without sufficiently robust institutions to manage them.

129. The Partial Stabilization Scenario

A second scenario would involve partial stabilization. States would retain their strategic differences, alliances, and security doctrines, but accept the development of permanent mechanisms designed to prevent certain crises from escalating. The objective would be neither complete political peace nor general reconciliation, but organized coexistence. Direct communication lines, alert mechanisms, maritime arrangements, energy agreements, water cooperation frameworks, and prevention procedures could reduce immediate risks without resolving fundamental conflicts from the outset.

This scenario appears compatible with the political and institutional diversity of the Middle East, where several forms of cooperation already exist without constituting a unified regional system. The Global Regional Pact proposed in this dossier could begin operating as a multi-speed architecture. Some states would advance cooperation on energy or water, while others would focus on maritime security, cybersecurity, or artificial intelligence. Still others would prioritize mediation, crisis management, and peaceful dispute settlement. Participation in one area of cooperation would therefore not necessarily require a shared political identity or prior agreement on every regional issue. It could develop from concrete interests and reciprocal benefits.

This approach would also be consistent with the international objectives established for 2030. The United Nations 2030 Agenda encourages, among other things, improvements in water-use efficiency, integrated water resources management, and transboundary cooperation. Its energy objectives support access to reliable and affordable energy as well as the development of clean technologies. In a Middle East simultaneously facing water stress, growing electricity demand, and the consequences of energy crises, these objectives could cease to be treated as separate programs and instead become components of a common regional resilience policy.

130. The Regional Cooperation Scenario

The third scenario would involve a genuine institutional turning point. By 2030, the Middle East might not have resolved all its conflicts, but it could have begun building an architecture in which crises are managed through permanent regional procedures. The Global Regional Pact could then serve as a coordination platform linking security, energy, water, climate, the economy, science, and artificial intelligence. A permanent conference would provide states with a framework for regular dialogue; a prevention mechanism would address emerging crises; sectoral agreements would organize interdependencies; and dispute settlement procedures would offer alternatives to escalation.

The difference from a mere proliferation of bilateral agreements would be essential: a regional system would begin to generate predictability. Governments would know not only whom to negotiate with, but also which procedures to activate when an incident occurred. Economic actors, scientific institutions, and populations could gradually incorporate this predictability into their own decisions. Peace would not be guaranteed, but the region would begin to develop an institutional memory of cooperation capable of surviving crises and changes of government.

The choice among these three trajectories would depend neither on a single government nor on a single crisis. It would emerge from the cumulative effect of decisions taken over the coming years. This is why 2030 represents less a destination than a first test. The essential question would not be whether the Middle East had become peaceful, but whether it possessed stronger mechanisms than it did in 2026 to prevent crises from spreading and becoming systemic.

Chapter 25: The 2050 Horizon

131. Energy Transition

By 2050, energy can no longer be separated from climate. The Middle East will remain deeply connected to hydrocarbons, but the economic and technological conditions of energy production and consumption will have evolved. The International Energy Agency already highlights the rapid growth in electricity demand across the Middle East and North Africa, driven by population growth, urbanization, cooling needs, industrialization, and desalination. Under its projections based on current policies, solar photovoltaic capacity is expected to expand considerably by 2035, while natural gas will retain a major role in electricity generation.

Over the longer term, this transformation could alter the geography of power. Strategic advantage would depend not only on the possession of oil and gas, but also on the ability to generate abundant electricity, store it, desalinate water, power data centers, and develop new industries. States with solar resources, capital, infrastructure, and scientific expertise could become energy and technology hubs in a transformed regional economy. Traditional hydrocarbon producers would not disappear from energy geopolitics. They could seek to convert their revenues, infrastructure, and investment capacity into lasting industrial and technological advantages.

This transition could intensify competition or encourage cooperation. In the first case, each state would seek to build its own energy system, infrastructure, and supply chains, with the costs and vulnerabilities that such duplication can create. In the second, interconnected electricity grids, coordinated investments in renewable energy, storage infrastructure, and energy corridors could transform the diversity of national resources into collective resilience. The transition would then become more than a response to climate change. It would become an instrument of regional security, provided that agreements respect participants’ sovereignty and distribute costs and benefits equitably.

132. Artificial Intelligence and Economic Transformation

By 2050, artificial intelligence will probably no longer constitute a technological sector separate from the rest of the economy. It will be integrated into industry, medicine, agriculture, energy, transportation, water management, finance, education, and public administration. The United Nations Development Programme has already emphasized that AI is transforming human capabilities, the world of work, institutions, and collective choices. As these technologies spread, mastering them will become a question of development as much as power.

For the Middle East, the challenge will be to determine whether the region can develop its own capabilities in data, research, computing, scientific training, and algorithmic governance, or whether it will remain dependent on technologies designed and controlled elsewhere. The answer will influence its strategic autonomy. A region capable of converting its investments, universities, digital infrastructure, and human resources into technological ecosystems could reduce certain external dependencies. A region that limits itself to importing solutions would remain more exposed to the decisions of powers controlling infrastructure, models, and technological supply chains.

It is in this context that the proposed Regional Council for Artificial Intelligence discussed in this dossier would acquire its full significance. Its mission would extend beyond security risks. It could encompass research, healthcare, education, agriculture, multilingual translation, water management, climate forecasting, and urban administration. Joint programs, transparency standards, training initiatives, and shared research projects could turn technology into a driver of collective development without requiring all states to adopt identical political or regulatory models.

133. Water and Climate

The most difficult factor to negotiate may be the one national borders control least: the physical transformation of the climate. The Middle East is among the regions particularly exposed to extreme heat, drought, water shortages, flooding, and rising sea levels. In several countries, water security also depends on shared resources, transboundary rivers, or aquifers whose management cannot be entirely separated from decisions made by neighboring states.

By 2050, the issue could shift from sharing a scarce resource to coordinating the management of a regional hydrological system. Desalination, wastewater reuse, reducing network losses, agricultural adaptation, aquifer protection, storage, and scientific cooperation could become components of a common policy. Technology may increase available supply, but it will not eliminate the need to manage demand. Desalination requires energy and investment, as well as rigorous environmental management, particularly because of brine discharge. No technical solution can therefore permanently replace a coherent policy of water conservation and use.

Climate could thus become one of the strongest arguments for regional cooperation. States may disagree over borders, political systems, alliances, and interpretations of history; they cannot negotiate separately with a heat wave, prolonged drought, or regional disruption of rainfall patterns. When vulnerability becomes shared, cooperation gradually ceases to be an abstract ideal and becomes a strategic necessity. It does not require states to abandon their interests, but to recognize the limitations of an exclusively national approach.

134. New Political Generations

The transformation of the Middle East by 2050 will also depend on a factor less visible than military capabilities, markets, or technologies: generational renewal. The younger generations who will live through the 2030s and 2040s will have grown up in an environment different from that of the generations that developed the major regional doctrines of the twentieth century. They will have been exposed to global digital networks, changes in employment, climate crises, and forms of information circulation that make it more difficult to confine public debate within national borders.

The United Nations Development Programme’s 2016 Arab Human Development Report had already emphasized the importance of giving young people a meaningful role in economic, social, and political development. It highlighted the demographic weight of this generation as well as the difficulties involved in translating skills into tangible opportunities. By 2050, the question will therefore also concern the transfer of power and the capacity of institutions to accommodate new expectations. Will regional mechanisms remain organized primarily around the political memories of the twentieth century, or will they adapt to societies that will have experienced the internet, artificial intelligence, climate crises, and transformations in the world of work simultaneously?

A durable regional architecture will probably be unable to remain exclusively intergovernmental. It will also need to create spaces for research, academic exchange, entrepreneurial cooperation, dialogue among young professionals, and the circulation of knowledge. Peace between states may begin in diplomatic offices, but its durability also depends on societies, their educational institutions, their scientific networks, and their ability to establish relationships that withstand political tensions.

135. Transforming Relations with External Powers

By 2050, the Middle East’s relations with the United States, China, Russia, Europe, and other powers will probably have evolved. Regional autonomy should not be confused with isolation. A strategically autonomous region can continue to trade, attract investment, and cooperate with external partners in military, scientific, and technological fields. The difference lies in its ability to prevent a single center of power from becoming indispensable to every dimension of its security.

The Global Regional Pact could contribute to this evolution by giving states a framework for defining certain common interests before negotiating with international partners. External powers would remain important, but regional governments could acquire a greater collective capacity to establish priorities, diversify relationships, and assess the consequences of their choices. Regional multilateralism would then complement global diplomacy rather than oppose it. The objective would not be to replace national dependencies with a collective dependency, but to strengthen states’ ability to choose their partnerships.

The 2100 Horizon

136. A Potentially Integrated Middle East

The year 2100 requires a change in perspective. Claiming to know the political configuration of the Middle East seventy-four years from now would be intellectually fragile. Borders, technologies, economies, political systems, and even some of today’s geopolitical categories could have changed profoundly. It is therefore more appropriate to consider 2100 a horizon for historical reflection, allowing us to examine how far a transformation beginning today could theoretically go.

Under a scenario of gradual cooperation, the Middle East could develop a form of functional integration without necessarily becoming a federal state or political union. National borders might remain intact while certain infrastructures became regional: electricity grids, railway and logistics corridors, water systems, scientific platforms, disaster management mechanisms, digital infrastructure, and specialized markets. Integration would therefore not mean the disappearance of states, but their ability to share certain functions voluntarily without abandoning their political identities.

Such an evolution would follow a pattern already observed in other parts of the world: when certain resources and infrastructures become too interdependent to be managed in isolation, states can coordinate some of their policies without surrendering sovereignty. For the Middle East, the question would be whether this coordination could gradually expand from water and energy to security and technology, and eventually to the management of political rivalries.

137. The Possibility of Common Regional Security

By 2100, the very concept of security may have evolved. A state’s security would no longer be measured solely by its military capabilities, but also by the resilience of its infrastructure, the reliability of its energy supplies, the availability of water, the protection of its data, the strength of its institutions, the quality of its healthcare system, and its ability to withstand climatic or technological disasters.

In such an environment, common regional security would not necessarily mean integrated military defense. It could rest on the recognition of sufficiently shared vulnerabilities to justify permanent protection and coordination mechanisms. A major climate disaster, pandemic, energy disruption, large-scale cyberattack, or food supply shock could thus prompt a regional response before developing into an uncontrollable national crisis. The change would initially be conceptual. For much of the twentieth century, security was often understood as a state’s ability to withstand its environment. The twenty-first century may gradually impose a different definition: a state’s ability to preserve its security through cooperation with its environment. A neighbor would not cease to be an actor with distinct interests, but could become indispensable to collective resilience.

138. Israel’s Place

Israel’s place in a transformed Middle East cannot be determined with certainty today. It will depend on the evolution of its relations with its neighbors, the resolution of the Palestinian question, its strategic choices, and the region’s ability to establish security mechanisms acceptable to all. Under the assumption of a durable regional architecture, however, the permanent exclusion of a major state could not indefinitely serve as the organizing principle of genuinely collective security.

Israel could retain its national identity, military capabilities, international relations, and autonomous defense policy while gradually participating in certain regional mechanisms. Such participation could begin in areas where common interests are most evident: water, climate, health, research, technology, disaster prevention, energy, or infrastructure protection. The most sensitive questions could continue to be addressed separately until political conditions allow further progress.

This perspective must not, however, reverse the requirements for resolving the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. A credible regional architecture must recognize Palestinian rights, their right to self-determination, and the need for a political solution consistent with international law. Regional cooperation cannot replace that settlement or serve to circumvent it. It could, however, help create an environment in which political agreements become more durable and the security of Israelis and Palestinians is no longer treated as mutually incompatible.

The logic would therefore differ from the approach of waiting for a perfect settlement before initiating any cooperation. Certain forms of cooperation could help create the political conditions needed to address the most difficult issues progressively, provided they do not legitimize injustice or substitute economic projects for political rights.

139. Iran’s Place

The same reasoning applies to Iran. Its demographic, geographic, energy, scientific, and historical weight means that no durable Middle Eastern architecture could easily disregard its presence. This does not mean that current disagreements would disappear or that other states should accept Iranian policies without scrutiny. It means that a comprehensive regional system should eventually offer Iran a framework in which its interests could be considered according to the same principles of predictability, reciprocity, and peaceful dispute settlement applied to other participants.

The issue would be particularly important in the nuclear and strategic fields. Long-term stability could not rest exclusively on deterrence or the military superiority of one actor. It would require transparency, verification, and crisis settlement mechanisms accepted by the parties concerned and compatible with international law. From this perspective, Iran’s integration into a regional architecture would not be a political reward. It would be part of the effort to establish a system in which security interests could be expressed, discussed, and governed through procedures rather than confrontation alone. Such an evolution would remain conditional on concrete political choices, including compliance with international commitments, transparency in sensitive areas, and a willingness to address the security concerns of other states. Inclusion would not mean the absence of rules; on the contrary, it would require rules that are common, explicit, and consistently applied.

140. The Place of Arab States

Arab states would likewise not form a homogeneous bloc. Their economic interests, political systems, external relations, and perceptions of threats differ. The region’s future could nevertheless give them considerable collective weight if they managed to coordinate certain policies without seeking to impose uniformity on their positions.

Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Egypt, Jordan, Iraq, and other Arab states could contribute to a regional architecture in different ways. Some would bring financial capacity, others infrastructure, energy resources, geographic advantages, diplomatic capabilities, markets, human expertise, or scientific institutions. Cooperation would therefore not require states to become alike. It would require them to learn to turn their differences into complementarities and organize their disagreements without allowing them to block every common initiative.

141. The Place of External Powers

The Middle East of 2100 could also maintain a relationship with external powers that is less defined by dependency. The United States might remain an important partner, China could retain major economic and technological influence, Europe could remain a strategic neighbor, and other powers might emerge in the meantime. A region with more mature institutions could nevertheless negotiate with each of them from a stronger collective position.

This evolution would not mean the disappearance of global competition. It would mean that such competition would no longer determine the internal organization of the Middle East entirely. The region could become a geopolitical actor in its own right rather than a space defined primarily by the strategies of external powers. Its autonomy would not lie in isolation, but in its ability to choose partnerships without allowing any single relationship to determine its entire security, development, and cooperation architecture.

142. The Prospect of a Post-Conflict Middle East

The term “post-conflict” should not be understood as the disappearance of all disagreements. No durable political system eliminates divergent interests. Rather, it would describe a Middle East in which war was no longer the habitual instrument for resolving major regional crises. Territorial, political, economic, and ideological disputes would continue to exist, but they would be addressed within an institutional environment in which negotiation, mediation, arbitration, and collective mechanisms carried greater weight than military escalation. Such a transformation would be considerable because it would change not only government practices but also collective perceptions. For generations, many societies across the region have been shaped by narratives of war, displacement, loss, threat, and revenge. A stable regional architecture could not erase these memories or impose a single interpretation of history. It could, however, prevent these memories from determining the future indefinitely.

The Middle East of 2100 would probably remain a region of different civilizations, religions, nations, languages, and interests. Its success would not consist in becoming homogeneous, but in learning to live sustainably with its own diversity. If the Global Regional Pact succeeded in transforming interdependencies into institutions, institutions into habits, and habits into political culture, the idea of security built against one’s neighbor could gradually give way to security built with that neighbor.

The 2100 horizon offers no certainty. It does, however, allow us to pose a question that goes beyond immediate geopolitics: What will we pass on to the generations who do not yet know the Middle East of 2026? A region imprisoned by successive wars, or one that has used the crises of its time to invent the institutions of the next? Between these two possibilities, there is no historical inevitability. There is a long chain of human decisions.

THE DAY WHEN THE ENEMY IS NO LONGER DESTINY

143. Can Today’s Enemies Become Tomorrow’s Partners?

At the beginning of this dossier, a question may have seemed almost too simple for a region marked by wars, revolutions, population displacement, power rivalries, and conflicting memories: how did Israel and Iran become enemies after maintaining, before 1979, a strategic cooperative relationship significant enough that its memory now seems almost unreal? This historical question contains another, deeper and more general one: is lasting enmity a historical inevitability, or can societies and states transform the political systems that have gradually made it structural? History offers no guarantees. It does, however, show that international relations are never completely static. Allies can become adversaries, adversaries can negotiate, and societies that have fought one another for generations can build institutions designed to make coexistence less dangerous. None of this erases the wounds, conflicting interests, or security perceptions that produced the conflict. It simply means that history explains the present without necessarily imprisoning the future.

The evolution of relations between Israel and Iran since 1979 illustrates this distinction. The Iranian Revolution constituted a major ideological and political rupture, but the transformation of the relationship into a lasting strategic confrontation developed progressively through regional wars, the rise of Hezbollah, changes in the Middle Eastern system, Iran’s nuclear program, covert operations, cyber operations, indirect confrontations, and, ultimately, direct military confrontations. The enemy did not therefore emerge in a single day. It gradually became embedded in security doctrines, institutions, intelligence services, alliances, technologies, and political imaginaries. This is why moving beyond such enmity, if it should ever become possible, could not be reduced to a diplomatic declaration. It would require changing part of the system that reproduces mistrust and turns every new capability acquired by one side into an additional source of concern for the other.

This observation does not mean denying threats, suggesting that states should abandon their security, or assuming that disagreements can be resolved through goodwill alone. A credible peace architecture cannot be built against reality. It must begin with reality. Israel will continue to regard its security as an existential concern; Iran will defend its strategic interests and sovereignty; Arab states will seek to protect their territories, populations, and economies; the Palestinian question will remain central; and external powers will continue to exert influence. Regional rivalries will not disappear simply because a new institution has been established. The problem is therefore not to eliminate disagreement, but to ensure that disagreement no longer leads automatically to escalation.

International law already contains principles that make it possible to envisage this evolution. Article 33 of the United Nations Charter recognizes negotiation, inquiry, mediation, conciliation, arbitration, judicial settlement, and regional arrangements among the means available for seeking peaceful solutions to disputes. This approach does not make peace conditional on friendship between the parties. It recognizes that a disagreement can remain profound while being subject to procedures designed to prevent it from escalating into violence. The question then becomes less about how to eliminate the enemy than about how to build an institutional environment in which the existence of an adversary no longer makes permanent confrontation necessary.

Today’s enemies can therefore become tomorrow’s partners, but partnership is unlikely to be the starting point. It may emerge from a succession of modest changes: a communication line kept open during a crisis, an incident verified before it is interpreted, mediation accepted before retaliation, shared infrastructure protected because its destruction would harm everyone, or a water resource managed jointly because no state can claim to control it alone. Complete trust is not necessarily a prerequisite for cooperation. In some cases, repeated cooperation is precisely what creates the minimum conditions for trust to develop gradually.

144. Peace as an Architecture, Not Merely the Absence of War

This distinction becomes even more important when the analysis extends beyond military confrontation. A region can experience a period without open warfare while remaining vulnerable to water shortages, climate shocks, energy disruptions, food crises, cyberattacks, disinformation, population displacement, infrastructure deterioration, and economic disruptions. The twenty-first century is making it increasingly difficult to separate military security from economic security, environmental security, and human security. An attack on an electricity network can have economic and health consequences; an energy disruption can affect fertilizer prices and agricultural production; a drought can intensify social tensions; a climate crisis can amplify population displacement; and a cyberattack can disrupt infrastructure without crossing a physical border. Peace can therefore no longer be defined solely by the absence of fighting.

It must gradually be conceived as an architecture. Such an architecture would need diplomats and military officials, but also lawyers, scientists, engineers, economists, and specialists in water, energy, climate, health, and digital technologies. It would need security agreements, but also interconnected electricity grids, shared water management mechanisms, early warning systems, regional disaster response capabilities, artificial intelligence standards, and procedures to protect essential infrastructure. It is from this perspective that the nine pillars of the Global Regional Pact acquire their coherence. Non-aggression, collective security, nuclear and strategic security, maritime security, energy, water and climate, the economy, science and technology, and artificial intelligence governance are not nine isolated issues. They correspond to different dimensions of the same problem: how can states preserve their sovereignty while recognizing that certain fundamental conditions of their security now depend on the stability of their neighbors?

This conception is not an exercise in imagination detached from international experience. The United Nations has developed principles of preventive diplomacy and mediation, while Chapter VIII of its Charter recognizes the role regional arrangements can play in the peaceful settlement of disputes, subject to the Charter’s provisions. The European experience also offers a lesson worth examining without turning it into a model to be copied. The Helsinki Final Act, signed in 1975 by thirty-five states, established a framework of dialogue and common commitments among countries deeply opposed to one another during the Cold War. The process that subsequently evolved into the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe demonstrates that a security architecture can begin functioning even when fundamental differences among its participants have not disappeared.

The Middle East cannot, however, become a replica of Europe. Its histories, borders, political systems, territorial conflicts, energy resources, water vulnerabilities, relations with external powers, and religious and civilizational trajectories are different. The real lesson of Helsinki is therefore not institutional in the narrow sense. It is historical: states can agree to build common mechanisms before resolving all their disagreements. Dialogue can be an instrument for managing conflict before it becomes, potentially, an instrument for transforming conflict. For the Middle East, this distinction would be fundamental. Cooperation should not have to wait until every issue has been settled; certain forms of cooperation could help create the political conditions needed to address the most difficult questions progressively.

Peace conceived in this way would be neither artificial reconciliation nor the disappearance of national identities. It would not ask Israelis to forget their history, Iranians to renounce their sovereignty, Palestinians to abandon their rights, or Arab states to sacrifice their interests. It would require something more realistic and, at the same time, more demanding: accepting that coexistence can be organized before trust is complete. The first step would not necessarily be friendship, but predictability; predictability could encourage coexistence; coexistence could produce interdependencies; and those interdependencies could gradually make cooperation more rational than confrontation. Peace would then become less an event than an institutional process capable of withstanding crises and changes of government.

145. The True Challenge of the 21st Century

The true challenge of the twenty-first century may no longer be simply to determine which power will dominate the Middle East. This question remains important because military, economic, technological, and diplomatic capabilities will continue to shape part of the balance of power. But these instruments will no longer be sufficient to measure a society’s actual strength. A state may possess a formidable army and remain vulnerable to a water crisis; command immense financial resources and remain exposed to energy disruptions; develop advanced artificial intelligence while depending on foreign technological infrastructure; or enjoy military superiority without being able to end regional instability that continually absorbs its resources. The fundamental strategic question therefore becomes different: what political, economic, technological, environmental, and human architecture will Middle Eastern societies choose to build around their interdependencies?

This question extends far beyond Israel and Iran. It concerns the Arab states, Türkiye, Israel, Iran, Palestine, and the other societies directly affected by regional transformations. It also concerns the United States, China, Russia, Europe, and other powers that maintain strategic, economic, or technological relations with the region. Above all, however, it concerns the generations that will have to live with the consequences of today’s choices. The Middle East can continue to organize part of its future around preparing for the next crisis, or it can begin devoting more resources and political imagination to the collective ability to absorb crises without allowing them to become wars automatically.

The first trajectory does not require permanent warfare. It could take a subtler form: intermittent rivalries, shifting coalitions, constant deterrence, repeated crises, indirect confrontations, cyberattacks, and temporary agreements. Such a region could even experience periods of growth and prosperity while remaining structurally exposed to the risk that each new crisis destroys part of the gains achieved previously. The second trajectory would offer no guarantee of peace either. It would simply require states to devote some of their resources to mechanisms that make crises more predictable, communication faster, mediation more accessible, and cooperation more useful. The difference would not be between a perfect world and a dangerous one, but between a system that primarily reproduces its vulnerabilities and one that seeks to transform them gradually.

By 2030, the question would be whether prevention mechanisms had become sufficiently robust to prevent certain crises from spreading. By 2050, it would concern the region’s ability to manage water, energy, climate, artificial intelligence, and major economic transformations collectively. By 2100, if such a prospect remained conceivable, the question might be whether Middle Eastern states had succeeded in preserving their identities and sovereignty while creating enough interdependence to ensure that war ceased to be the principal mechanism for regulating rivalries. These horizons are not predictions. They represent three points from which to assess a possible transformation of the regional system.

Such a transformation would probably not begin with a grand historical declaration. It could emerge from much more concrete decisions: keeping a communication channel open during a crisis, agreeing to verify an incident before publicly assigning responsibility, allowing regional mediation to operate before positions become irreversible, protecting infrastructure on which several states depend, coordinating the management of a transboundary water resource, sharing climate data, or establishing common standards for artificial intelligence technologies. These actions may seem modest when compared with wars and major military strategies. Yet they constitute the material from which institutions acquire political reality. A regional architecture does not emerge solely from the treaties it signs; it also emerges from the behaviors those treaties gradually make possible.

This is where the title of this dossier returns: when does the enemy become the system? It happens when fear of the other ceases to be merely a response to an identifiable threat and becomes the organizing principle of security, diplomacy, alliances, technology, investment, and collective perceptions. Within such a system, each actor may act rationally to protect itself while contributing, through the accumulation of its own protective measures, to greater general insecurity. This is the central paradox of regional security: what appears reasonable at the level of an individual state can become destabilizing when every other state reproduces the same logic simultaneously.

Transforming this system would not mean eliminating the enemy by decree. It would mean gradually reducing the ability of enmity to organize the entire region. A neighbor could remain an adversary on certain issues without simultaneously being treated as a threat in every other area. A state could retain its defense capabilities while cooperating with its neighbors on water. Two governments could remain deeply opposed on a political question while jointly protecting energy infrastructure. Societies could preserve different historical memories while accepting common mechanisms for settling disputes. This separation between disagreement and destruction could become one of the century’s major diplomatic innovations.

Historical change, if it occurs, would therefore not necessarily take place on the day Israel and Iran announce their friendship, or even on the day every Middle Eastern conflict is definitively resolved. It could begin when governments recognize that everyone’s lasting security also depends on their neighbors’ ability to remain functional, predictable, and capable of dialogue. The very concept of national interest could then gradually acquire an additional dimension. Preventing certain forms of collapse in a neighboring state would no longer necessarily be viewed as a concession to an adversary; it could become a way of protecting one’s own interests.

Perhaps this is where the true significance of a new regional order lies. It would not simply be a question of which power replaces another, which state dominates a particular sphere of influence, or which alliance succeeds a previous one. A genuinely new order would be one in which power is measured not only by the ability to impose costs on an adversary, but also by the ability to create stability, resilience, knowledge, innovation, and prosperity around oneself. From this perspective, sovereignty would not disappear. It would gain an additional dimension: the ability to participate voluntarily in collective mechanisms that strengthen, rather than diminish, national security.

The Middle East has no guarantee of following this trajectory. History provides no compulsory scenario; geopolitics remains shaped by choices, power relations, accidents, and human decisions. But this is precisely why the future should not be regarded as already written. The generations experiencing the consequences of regional crises today can still help determine the institutions inherited by those who come after them. The question is therefore not whether perfect peace is possible. It is whether a region that has devoted so many resources to preparing for war can devote a comparable share of its political intelligence to preparing for coexistence.

Perhaps one day historians will look back on the Middle East of the early twenty-first century as a region facing a historic crossroads. On one side lay the temptation to perfect the mechanisms of confrontation indefinitely, treating every new technology as a weapon, every neighbor as a potential threat, and every crisis as confirmation that preparations for the next one must begin. On the other lay the possibility, far slower and certainly more difficult, of inventing institutions adapted to a region whose peoples share neither the same histories, nor the same interests, nor the same worldviews, but are connected by realities that no border can entirely contain: water, climate, energy, markets, migration, technology, information, and common risks.

We do not know today which trajectory history will ultimately record. We can, however, understand that the future will not be determined solely by the weapons available, the alliances in place, or the balance of power inherited from the past. It will also depend on societies’ ability to design institutions strong enough to prevent their disagreements from automatically producing violence. If the Middle East eventually succeeds in crossing this threshold, peace will no longer be merely the absence of another war. It will have become a way of organizing coexistence over the long term.

Then the enemy will not necessarily have disappeared. Disagreements will not have been erased, memories abolished, or sovereignties dissolved. But the enemy will have ceased to be destiny, because its existence will no longer determine by itself the architecture of the world inhabited by those living on opposite sides of a border. This may be the greatest ambition the twenty-first century can offer the Middle East: not the promise that its peoples will one day cease to be different, but the opportunity to discover that difference does not require them to live forever in fear of one another.

THE CPGNNEWS PERSPECTIVE

ISRAEL AND IRAN: CAN HISTORY BECOME A BRIDGE AGAIN?

There are realities in the history of the Middle East that successive crises have almost entirely obscured. One of the most important concerns the relationship between Israel and Iran. Today, their names are associated with confrontation, deterrence, intelligence, missiles, nuclear issues, rival alliances and the risk of regional escalation. Yet this relationship has not always been defined by hostility. Before the Iranian Revolution of 1979, the Shah’s Iran and Israel developed relations over several decades that historians describe as an informal strategic understanding. This reality is neither a minor historical curiosity nor an invitation to political nostalgia. It provides a key to understanding how a partner can become an adversary and why no geopolitical configuration should be regarded as eternal.

The starting point deserves to be recalled precisely. On March 6, 1950, Iran recognized Israel de facto, without establishing formal diplomatic relations comparable to those of an official alliance. Mohammad Mossadegh’s government closed the Iranian consulate in Jerusalem in July 1951 but did not revoke that recognition. Economic cooperation continued, particularly in trade, agriculture and technical assistance. A line of credit was established in 1953, and an Iranian-Israeli trading company, IRIS, contributed to the development of commercial exchanges. The relationship therefore did not begin as a secret military alliance. It gradually developed from economic, political and strategic interests that converged in a regional environment shaped by the Cold War, Arab nationalism and competition among major powers.

From the late 1950s onward, this convergence acquired a more clearly strategic dimension. Israel, confronted with regional isolation, sought relations with non-Arab or peripheral states to compensate for the absence of normal relations with much of its neighborhood. The Shah’s Iran also saw advantages in this approach. Tehran sought to strengthen its security, contain certain currents of Arab nationalism and preserve its autonomy amid regional changes and Soviet influence. The rise of Gamal Abdel Nasser, the upheavals caused by the 1958 Iraqi Revolution and the tensions of the Cold War all helped bring the two states closer. This convergence was not based on a shared ideological identity, but on a pragmatic assessment of their respective interests. Historical studies of Israel’s so-called “periphery doctrine” describe this search for partnerships beyond the circle of hostile Arab states.

Energy subsequently became one of the most tangible foundations of this relationship. Israel began purchasing Iranian oil in the 1950s. After the closure of the Suez Canal in 1967, Iran and Israel developed the Eilat–Ashkelon pipeline project, which connected the Red Sea to the Mediterranean and facilitated the transportation of oil. The relationship was therefore no longer limited to discreet diplomatic contacts: it generated substantial energy and economic interdependence. Ties also expanded into agriculture, water, medicine, infrastructure, aviation, intelligence and military cooperation.

This cooperation nevertheless remained essentially pragmatic. Iran and Israel did not become ideological allies in the classical sense. They became partners because their leaders believed the relationship served their respective interests. This distinction is fundamental to any contemporary interpretation. It does not justify claiming that cooperation could be restored, much less that reconciliation is imminent. It does, however, establish an important historical fact: the relationship between the two states has already undergone a radical transformation. This precedent shows that strategic interests, threat perceptions and regional structures can profoundly reshape an international relationship.

Then came 1979. The Iranian Revolution overthrew the Shah’s political order and radically transformed Iran’s foreign policy doctrine. Relations with Israel were severed, and the new authorities adopted an openly hostile policy toward the Israeli state while placing the Palestinian cause at the heart of their regional discourse. This change was not a simple diplomatic adjustment. It progressively altered how the two states perceived one another. What had been a partnership based on converging interests became a relationship shaped by ideology, security, regional networks, intelligence and an increasingly acute perception of threat.

An enemy, therefore, is not merely someone designated as such. An adversary can gradually become a category around which a state organizes its security doctrine, alliances, intelligence services, technological capabilities and military investments. As this logic takes hold, threat perception can generate its own momentum: each side strengthens its capabilities because it fears the other’s, while measures intended to increase one side’s security are interpreted by its adversary as an additional threat. The Israeli-Iranian relationship illustrates this security dilemma with particular intensity.

The confrontation subsequently spread across different parts of the region. Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, Gaza and other theaters became arenas of indirect competition. Armed networks, regional partners, covert operations, intelligence and cyberspace long enabled the two states to confront one another without systematically entering into open war. Yet the longer this indirect confrontation continued, the more these peripheral theaters themselves became components of the central conflict.

Iran’s nuclear program added another dimension. For Israel, the prospect of Iran acquiring the capacity to approach the threshold of military nuclear capability has long been a major national security concern. For Iran, sanctions, covert operations and pressure targeting its nuclear program form part of a broader confrontation over national sovereignty. The 2015 nuclear agreement, concluded between Iran and several international powers, established a framework intended to limit and monitor certain Iranian activities. The United States’ withdrawal from the agreement in 2018 profoundly altered the context. The nuclear issue thus became both a non-proliferation challenge and a symbol of the regional and international crisis of confidence.

The direct confrontations of 2024 marked a new stage in this evolution. Exchanges of strikes between Israel and Iran showed that the old gray zones now coexisted with acknowledged military action. In June 2025, the twelve-day war, triggered by Israeli strikes against Iran and followed by American military action against Iranian nuclear facilities, further widened the scope of the conflict. The ceasefire that followed did not eliminate the structural causes of the rivalry.

On February 28, 2026, American and Israeli strikes against Iran opened a new phase of the confrontation. Its consequences spread to the Gulf and the Strait of Hormuz, while diplomatic efforts to halt the hostilities continued. As of October 12, 2026, indirect exchanges between Washington and Tehran remained uncertain. Iran was examining the American response to its proposal to reopen the Strait of Hormuz, while mediation efforts, including those involving Qatar and Pakistan, had not yet produced a confirmed settlement. Maritime traffic and energy exports remained affected by the conflict.

This evolution underscores a fundamental reality: in the contemporary Middle East, a war between regional powers can quickly become a global crisis. The Strait of Hormuz, energy markets, supply chains, critical infrastructure and economies dependent on imports now make it impossible to interpret the confrontation strictly as a bilateral matter. Regional security has become inseparable from the energy, maritime, food and economic security of a much wider area. The disruptions observed in 2026 demonstrate how military decisions can have consequences extending far beyond the immediate theater of operations.

It is precisely in this transformation that the historical paradox of the Israeli-Iranian relationship lies. The two states are now separated by profound disagreements and an enormous accumulation of mistrust. Yet their history demonstrates that their relationship has never been fixed. It has passed through recognition, economic cooperation, energy interdependence, technical exchanges and security cooperation, followed by rupture and confrontation. This trajectory does not make it possible to predict a future reconciliation. It does, however, establish an essential distinction: current hostility is a political and strategic reality, but it is not a natural law governing relations between the two states.

To say that an enemy can change does not mean denying present threats, minimizing the victims of conflict, erasing ideological differences or abandoning security imperatives. It means that a regional policy cannot be built sustainably on the assumption that confrontation must remain its sole organizing principle. The real analytical challenge is to determine whether mechanisms can be established to contain disagreements before they become wars, and whether shared interests can gradually alter the strategic calculations of the actors involved.

International history offers several examples of comparable transformations, although none can be mechanically transposed to the Middle East. The United States and Vietnam moved from war to diplomatic normalization and the development of economic relations. France and Germany transformed a historic military rivalry into institutional cooperation at the heart of the European project. Egypt and Israel signed a peace treaty in 1979 after several wars, while Jordan and Israel signed theirs in 1994. These experiences do not demonstrate that every confrontation can automatically be resolved. They show that international relationships can evolve when interests, institutions and perceptions change. The question, therefore, is not whether Israel and Iran will soon become partners. Such a claim would be premature. The deeper strategic question is this: can a system be built in the Middle East in which Israel and Iran, despite their disagreements, might one day be incorporated into a regional architecture for security, dialogue and cooperation?

This question marks the boundary between two modes of inquiry that must be distinguished rigorously. Up to this point, the discussion has been analytical: it examines a historical trajectory, identifies strategic transformations, observes the mechanisms of rivalry and highlights interdependencies that increasingly exceed the capacity of any single state to manage them. These elements help explain the nature of the problem, but they do not mechanically determine its solution. From this point onward, CPGNNews explicitly moves from diagnosis to proposal. The Global Regional Pact is therefore neither an established fact, nor an existing organization, nor a prediction about the future of the Middle East. It is a normative and institutional proposal formulated in response to the problem identified by the preceding analysis. In other words, the analysis asks what regional reality enables us to understand; the proposal asks what states might decide to build.

THE THESIS OF THE GLOBAL REGIONAL PACT

According to the analysis advanced by CPGNNews, the Middle East is unlikely to reduce the recurrence of its conflicts sustainably through the military superiority of a single actor, the multiplication of competing alliances or the occasional mediation of outside powers alone. These instruments can play an important role in deterrence, defense and de-escalation, but they may not be sufficient to address all the vulnerabilities that now shape the region.

In light of this assessment, CPGNNews proposes examining the gradual establishment of a permanent regional architecture for coexistence, security, cooperation and development. The Global Regional Pact would be a regional policy and institutional framework proposal, not an existing treaty, an organization already established or a prediction about the future course of the Middle East.

The project does not assume that rivalries will disappear. On the contrary, it is based on the possibility that they will persist for a long time and on the need to build mechanisms capable of functioning even when trust remains incomplete. The Pact would therefore be neither a simple peace treaty nor a new military alliance. Its purpose would be to bring power relations progressively within a system in which prevention, negotiation, transparency, interdependence and the peaceful settlement of disputes would have a permanent institutional role.

It would not ask Israel to abandon its security, Iran to relinquish its strategic interests, Arab states to surrender their sovereignty, or Türkiye and Egypt to give up their regional ambitions. Nor would it seek to replace states’ relationships with Washington, Beijing, Moscow, Brussels or other partners. It would add a level of regional cooperation designed to address problems that strictly national or bilateral mechanisms cannot always manage adequately.

The central principle would be strategic interdependence. Water, energy, food security, maritime routes, climate, digital infrastructure, cybersecurity and artificial intelligence already transcend national borders. These shared vulnerabilities could therefore provide foundations for pragmatic cooperation. Trust would not be an absolute precondition; it could gradually emerge as the result of regular, verifiable and institutionalized cooperation.

The Pact would also be built on a gradual approach. It should not be conceived as a definitive institution imposed in its entirety from the moment of its creation. It could begin with functional mechanisms and then expand as their value became apparent. Possible initial components would include a permanent crisis-prevention and crisis-management mechanism, direct communication lines between key decision-making centers, a regional conference on security and cooperation, an early-warning system, notification procedures for certain sensitive military activities, a mechanism for the peaceful settlement of disputes, and working groups dedicated to water, energy, critical infrastructure, cybersecurity and artificial intelligence.

The Pact would therefore not seek to create an immediately homogeneous political community. It would aim to establish a sufficiently robust system of cooperation to enable the institutional coexistence of states that do not share the same history, interests or political orientations. Its relevance, feasibility and operating arrangements should remain open to discussion, amendment and challenge by the states concerned, diplomats, researchers, regional and international organizations, and civil society.

THE PROPOSED REGIONAL SCOPE

The Pact’s scope must be defined precisely. In this proposal, the Middle East refers to a strategic area centered on the Arabian Peninsula, the Levant, Iraq, Iran and Türkiye, with Egypt and the states bordering the Red Sea functionally associated where the issues warrant it. The proposed regional core would therefore include Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Yemen, Iraq, Iran, Jordan, Israel, Palestine, Lebanon, Syria, Türkiye and Egypt.

This definition is an institutional proposal by CPGNNews, not a reproduction of the boundaries of an existing organization. It corresponds to an area in which security, energy, water, trade, mobility, technology and stability are closely interconnected. The functional scope would nevertheless be more flexible than the geographic one. Pakistan, for example, lies outside the selected geographic core but maintains important strategic relationships with several Gulf states. It could therefore be associated with certain mechanisms. States in the Horn of Africa and the wider Red Sea region could also participate in arrangements addressing maritime security, trade routes, energy, food security or risk management.

The guiding principle would be a regional core, an associated strategic environment and open international cooperation. External powers could contribute to certain mechanisms without becoming their decision-making centers.

A THREE-TIER ARCHITECTURE

To avoid requiring every state to accept full membership from the outset, CPGNNews proposes three statuses: member states, associated states and external partners. This differentiation addresses a fundamental challenge facing any regional architecture: some states may be willing to participate in technical or economic mechanisms before accepting the full range of political and security commitments.

Member states would form the institutional and decision-making core of the Pact. They would accept its fundamental principles, participate in its permanent institutions and assume common obligations concerning non-aggression, the peaceful settlement of disputes, crisis prevention and cooperation. Under rules to be negotiated, they could access early-warning and emergency-consultation mechanisms, security cooperation, water and energy management, cybersecurity, critical-infrastructure protection, scientific and technological cooperation, and dispute-settlement procedures. They could propose new mechanisms, request that matters be placed on the agenda and participate in decisions concerning institutional development and the admission of new members.

Associated states would form a circle of progressive participation. They could join specific mechanisms, particularly in maritime security, water, energy, climate, cybersecurity, artificial intelligence or disaster prevention. They could submit proposals, participate in working groups and be consulted when an issue directly affected their interests, without possessing the same general decision-making power as full members. This status would allow states in the region’s wider strategic environment to participate in specific areas without being artificially incorporated into the geographic core.

External partners could include the United States, the European Union, China, Russia, India, Japan, other states, international organizations, financial institutions or scientific bodies. They could provide expertise, contribute to program funding, support infrastructure or research projects and conclude sector-specific agreements with the Pact. They would not have a general voting right in the central political bodies. Under this approach, the Pact would make decisions regionally and cooperate internationally.

THE RIGHTS ATTACHED TO EACH STATUS

The distinction between statuses must correspond to real, clearly defined institutional rights. Members would enjoy the fullest rights: representation in decision-making bodies, participation in political decisions, access to common mechanisms and the ability to propose institutional changes. They could also benefit from the solidarity mechanisms established by the Pact, subject to the conditions and limitations defined in its future legal framework.

Associated states would have participation rights and, in the areas to which they had subscribed, sector-specific decision-making rights. They could take part in consultations, working groups and relevant technical mechanisms without enjoying the same general decision-making power as full members. External partners would have consultation, expertise and cooperation rights. They could contribute to programs they supported and participate in certain technical mechanisms under the agreements concluded, without determining the Pact’s overall political direction.

This arrangement would establish a correspondence between the degree of commitment and the degree of institutional participation. It would not create a hierarchy of sovereignty among states; rather, it would distinguish levels of responsibility and decision-making within a common architecture.

VOTING RIGHTS AND DECISION-MAKING

The basic principle would be the sovereign equality of member states: each member would have one vote in the central political body. Ordinary decisions could be adopted by a simple majority of members present and voting, subject to a quorum. Major institutional decisions could require a two-thirds qualified majority, particularly those concerning the admission of new members, substantial changes to the architecture or the adoption of new common obligations.

Decisions directly affecting collective security would require a more protective procedure. A simple majority should not be able to impose a major decision on a state that directly affects its national security. Such decisions could be subject to enhanced consent, the precise terms of which would be negotiated within the Pact’s legal framework. The system should nevertheless avoid allowing a single state to block every collective decision systematically. Enhanced consent should therefore be reserved for a limited number of issues explicitly defined as fundamental.

Associated states would not have a general voting right but could be granted sector-specific decision-making rights within mechanisms in which they participated fully. External partners would not vote in the central political bodies. Finally, a procedural impartiality rule could prevent a state from participating in certain decisions concerning an alleged breach attributed to it, while safeguarding its right to be heard, present its defense and challenge the evidence considered against it.

THE CORRESPONDING OBLIGATIONS

The Pact’s logic would rest on a correspondence between rights and responsibilities. Members would assume the fundamental obligations of non-aggression, peaceful dispute settlement, participation in crisis-prevention mechanisms, good-faith cooperation, respect for common commitments and contributions to institutional funding according to a formula yet to be defined.

Associated states would assume the obligations corresponding to the mechanisms in which they participated. An associated state engaged in a maritime-security arrangement would have to comply with that arrangement’s common rules. An associated state participating in a water-management program would have to fulfill the agreed obligations concerning information sharing and cooperation. External partners would be bound by the specific agreements concluded with the Pact, whether involving financial, technical, scientific or operational commitments, while respecting confidentiality, agreed rules and the sovereignty of participants.

A general obligation could apply to all participants: they must not misuse the Pact’s cooperation mechanisms to prepare or facilitate an escalation against another participant. An architecture intended to reduce risks could not function if the information, consultations and procedures created for that purpose were used to intensify confrontation.

THE NINE PILLARS OF THE PACT

The proposed architecture would rest on nine complementary pillars: non-aggression and the peaceful settlement of disputes; collective security and crisis prevention; nuclear and strategic security; maritime security; energy security; water and climate security; economic cooperation; scientific and technological cooperation; and regional governance of artificial intelligence.

These pillars would not constitute nine isolated policies. They would form a single system. Energy security depends on maritime routes; economic stability is linked to water and climate; energy and water infrastructure are vulnerable to cyberattacks; and artificial intelligence is transforming intelligence, military systems, information and infrastructure protection. The Pact would therefore seek to move from a fragmented conception of security toward a more systemic understanding of regional security.

THE HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE OF THE PROJECT

The Global Regional Pact proposal originates in a historical observation: relations between states can change radically when interests, security perceptions and institutions evolve. The history of Iran and Israel before 1979 provides a particularly striking example. Changes in relations between France and Germany, the United States and Vietnam, as well as between certain former adversaries in the Middle East, also show that rivalry and cooperation are not necessarily immutable categories.

The Pact does not claim to reproduce these experiences. It draws an institutional lesson from them: lasting peace cannot depend solely on the will of successive leaders; it must be supported by mechanisms capable of withstanding political change. The proposal is therefore not based on the idea that states must immediately trust one another, but on the premise that they can establish rules enabling them to function despite mistrust and then allow confidence to develop through verifiable interactions.

THE ISRAEL–IRAN TEST

Israel and Iran represent the most demanding test of this architecture. If the Pact were restricted to states that already enjoyed harmonious relations, it would merely reproduce existing alliances. Its true significance would emerge when it became capable of progressively accommodating states that remain deeply opposed to one another.

This does not mean that Israel and Iran should immediately become members, or that they must resolve all their differences before participating in any way. It means that the architecture should be designed to make their institutional coexistence possible when political conditions permit. The fundamental question would therefore not be how to ask adversaries to become friends, but how to build a system in which they could become neighbors capable of managing their disagreements through recognized procedures.

FROM A BALANCE OF FEAR TO A BALANCE OF INTERESTS

The paradigm shift proposed by CPGNNews lies in the gradual transition from a logic based exclusively on deterrence and the balance of power to one that would add a balance of shared interests to those instruments. The Middle East has long been shaped by rivalries, alliances, external guarantees and the pursuit of strategic advantage. These instruments will probably continue to exist. The Pact would not seek to abolish them, but to add an institutional level in which states would also have an interest in protecting shared infrastructure, resources, economic chains and capabilities.

The more shared projects and mechanisms states had to protect, the higher the potential cost of confrontation could become. The more permanent communication channels became, the lower the risk of misinterpretation could be. The more institutionalized prevention procedures became, the more crises could potentially be addressed before turning into wars. Cooperation would not necessarily eliminate rivalry; it would gradually change the environment in which rivalry takes place.

AN ARCHITECTURE, NOT YET A TREATY

It is essential to distinguish the strategic proposal for the Pact from its future legal drafting. This document is not the constituent treaty of the Global Regional Pact. It defines its intellectual, geopolitical and institutional architecture: its rationale, scope, levels of participation, rights, voting principles, obligations, initial mechanisms and nine pillars.

Drafting the Pact should be a separate stage. It would translate this architecture into legally precise provisions: a preamble, principles, definitions, membership categories, institutions, powers, decision-making procedures, security mechanisms, financing, dispute settlement, accession, suspension, withdrawal, amendments, relations with international organizations and final provisions. This separation is deliberate. Before drafting the articles of a legal instrument, it is necessary to determine with sufficient precision what institution is to be created, what problems it must solve and what limits it must respect.

CONCLUSION OF THE CPGNNEWS PERSPECTIVE

The history of Israel and Iran demonstrates an essential reality: international relations are not condemned to reproduce their past indefinitely. The cooperation that existed before 1979 cannot be restored in identical form, just as decades of confrontation cannot simply be erased. This history nevertheless shows that a relationship between two states can change in nature when their interests, security perceptions and regional environment are transformed.

The Global Regional Pact begins from this reality without making unrealistic promises. It does not ask states to abandon their interests, sovereignty or alliances. It proposes building, gradually, an additional layer of security based on prevention, communication, transparency, interdependence and cooperation. Its ambition is to transform a region in which states primarily seek to protect themselves against one another into one in which they would also have institutions for addressing together the risks that none can manage alone.

Water, energy, climate, maritime routes, critical infrastructure, cybersecurity, artificial intelligence and food security do not recognize political borders. They already compel states to take account of realities that they can no longer address separately. The Pact would therefore not be the culmination of peace, but an infrastructure capable of making lasting peace more institutionally achievable.

Its first objective would not be to ask enemies to become friends immediately, but to enable deeply different states to become neighbors capable of managing their disputes without turning every crisis into a threat to the entire region. History has shown that a partner can become an enemy. The challenge of the twenty-first century is to build institutions capable of preventing the enemy from remaining a destiny.

METHODOLOGICAL NOTE

This dossier adopts a historical, geopolitical, institutional and forward-looking approach to place the confrontation between Israel and Iran within a broader time frame than that of contemporary military crises. It examines the history of relations between the two states before 1979, the evolution of their mutual perceptions, the mechanisms of indirect confrontation, the direct clashes that have emerged in recent years and the transformations of the regional strategic environment. It then broadens the analysis to collective security, energy, water, climate, technology and artificial intelligence.

The approach distinguishes historically documented facts, official statements, institutional analyses, interpretations by researchers and media outlets, and forward-looking hypotheses formulated within the dossier. Particular attention is paid to events from 2024 to 2026, a period during which the Israeli-Iranian confrontation and its regional consequences evolved rapidly. In a context where some information first appears as statements by parties involved in the conflict, incomplete intelligence or assessments that may later be revised, claims are compared, where possible, against several categories of sources. When information remains uncertain, disputed or dependent on interpretation, that distinction should be preserved rather than turning a hypothesis into an established fact.

The section devoted to the Global Regional Pact follows a different logic. It constitutes a forward-looking, normative proposal by CPGNNews and describes neither an existing treaty nor an institution already established. It examines the possibility of a regional architecture capable of progressively organizing coexistence and cooperation among states that currently belong to different security systems or maintain hostile relations. Proposals concerning collective security, non-aggression, nuclear security, maritime security, energy, water, climate, economic cooperation, technology and artificial intelligence governance should be understood as components of an institutional reflection intended to contribute to debate.

The horizons of 2030, 2050 and 2100 should be read in the same spirit. They are not predictions. They are used to examine several possible trajectories based on observable trends and to assess what might result from continued fragmentation, partial stabilization or the gradual development of new regional interdependencies. This approach makes it possible to pose a central question: what institutions, guarantees and forms of cooperation would be necessary for a region long shaped by mistrust to progressively transform shared vulnerabilities into common interests?

Finally, the entire dossier rests on an essential editorial principle: understanding a conflict does not mean adopting the narrative of any one of its protagonists. CPGNNews seeks to examine the interests, perceptions, constraints, choices and responsibilities of the various actors without obscuring the human consequences of strategic decisions. History, international law, the security of populations, economic development, technological change and human dignity are treated as complementary dimensions of the same question. From this perspective, the dossier is an independent contribution to international debate. It does not claim to exhaust the complexity of the Middle East; it seeks to create a space for reflection in which history can illuminate the present and institutional imagination can help us think about the future.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Producing a dossier of this scope requires extensive research, verification, reading and intellectual engagement with a substantial body of historical, diplomatic, academic, institutional and journalistic material. CPGNNews expresses its appreciation to the historians, researchers, academics, diplomats, journalists, international organizations, research centers and independent observers whose work contributes to understanding the evolution of the Middle East, relations between Israel and Iran, regional security, energy and water issues, and the strategic implications of new technologies. Institutions that make their archives, reports, data and reference documents accessible play an essential role, because the quality of an analysis depends to a large extent on the quality of the documentation on which it rests.

CPGNNews also recognizes the work of journalists and information professionals operating in often extremely difficult crisis environments. Their work helps document events, make the human consequences of conflicts visible, follow diplomatic negotiations and compare official narratives with realities observed on the ground. Mentioning these sources does not constitute automatic endorsement of every analysis or position they express; it recognizes the value of the documentary and journalistic work required for a serious understanding of events.

Beyond institutions and information professionals, this dossier pays tribute to the peoples of the Middle East, who remain most directly affected by decisions made in the name of security, sovereignty, power and geopolitics. Behind military doctrines, strategic maps, diplomatic negotiations and power struggles are human societies seeking to live, work, pass on their heritage, develop and build a future that is not indefinitely defined by fear and war. CPGNNews intends to continue its work from this human perspective as well: understanding global transformations rigorously without abandoning the dignity of those who experience them.

SOURCES, REFERENCES AND DOCUMENTS CONSULTED

The documentation used for this dossier draws on several complementary categories of sources. Diplomatic archives and historical documents provide an important foundation for reconstructing relations between Israel and Iran before and after the 1979 Revolution. Particular attention is given to materials from the U.S. Department of State, Office of the Historian, especially the Foreign Relations of the United States (FRUS) volumes covering the periods 1958–1960, 1964–1968 and 1969–1976. These archives are supplemented by research published in Encyclopaedia Iranica, particularly its study of Israeli-Iranian relations, which traces the 1950 de facto recognition, economic and technical exchanges, security cooperation and the rupture brought about by the Iranian Revolution.

For contemporary questions concerning nuclear issues, regional security, international law and the humanitarian consequences of conflict, the dossier draws in particular on publications and documents from the United Nations, the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) and the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC). These institutional sources also help address international humanitarian law, the protection of civilians, emerging military technologies, autonomous systems and the challenges posed by artificial intelligence in security and warfare.

Economic, energy, water and climate dimensions are examined through research by international organizations and specialized institutions, including the International Energy Agency, the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank. The dossier also draws on data and analysis concerning energy markets, maritime traffic, supply chains and the strategic role of the Strait of Hormuz. World Bank publications from June and October 2026 are particularly relevant to assessing the regional economic consequences of the conflict and disruptions to maritime traffic. They must, however, be interpreted in light of their geographic scope and the assumptions underlying their projections.

The dossier has also taken into account research by centers and institutions specializing in international relations, Middle Eastern security, nuclear proliferation, energy geopolitics, emerging technologies and transformations in the international order, including the Council on Foreign Relations and various academic and specialist publications. These works help contextualize events, compare interpretations and identify major analytical controversies, without treating any institution or school of thought as automatically definitive.

For monitoring the most recent developments, particularly military and diplomatic events from 2024 to 2026, negotiations, de-escalation initiatives and disruptions affecting the Strait of Hormuz, the dossier also draws on leading international news organizations, including Reuters. Journalistic information must be assessed in light of its publication date, whether it is confirmed or attributed, and the distinction between reported facts, statements by the parties and analytical interpretations. Where the nature of a particular piece of information is especially consequential, comparison with institutional or primary sources should be prioritized whenever possible.

The sections devoted to artificial intelligence and emerging technologies draw on documents from the United Nations, the ICRC, scientific and technological institutions, and research centers specializing in cybersecurity, autonomous systems, disinformation, critical infrastructure and the strategic uses of artificial intelligence. This documentation makes it possible to examine AI not only as an instrument of military or economic power, but also as a field in which Middle Eastern states may face shared risks and, where appropriate, develop mechanisms for cooperation.

The Global Regional Pact presented in this dossier is an original forward-looking proposal by CPGNNews. It is neither a treaty in force nor an existing regional organization. Its design nevertheless draws on comparative study of international experiences in conflict prevention, regional cooperation, arms control, multilateral diplomacy and economic integration. The nine proposed pillars result from a forward-looking synthesis intended to examine the institutional conditions that could, over the long term, enable the Middle East to move from a logic dominated by deterrence and mistrust toward an architecture based more substantially on predictability, cooperation and interdependence.

Overall, sources should be assessed according to their origin, date, purpose, methodology and degree of verifiability. Primary sources are preferred when they help establish facts; secondary sources contribute context and enable comparison among interpretations. No source should be regarded as infallible by definition. The inclusion of a reference in this documentation does not mean that CPGNNews endorses every position, analysis or conclusion it contains. Opinions, statements and assessments attributed to governments, organizations, researchers or media outlets remain those of their respective authors. The analysis, synthesis and proposals developed in this dossier are the editorial responsibility of CPGNNews.

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By Yvon BONHOMME
Independent Researcher, Essayist, Geopolitical Analyst and Governance Specialist
Editor-in-Chief, CPGNNews

Email: info@cpgnnews.com │ © All rights reserved.