March 21, 2026
Aaron Brynildson
The global price of oil continues to skyrocket as Iran’s missiles and drones hit vital infrastructure in Arab Gulf states. Billion-dollar American radar systems have also been targeted and destroyed across the Middle East by Iran, seemingly degrading U.S. defenses.
Aaron Brynildson
The global price of oil continues to skyrocket as Iran’s missiles and drones hit vital infrastructure in Arab Gulf states. Billion-dollar American radar systems have also been targeted and destroyed across the Middle East by Iran, seemingly degrading U.S. defenses.
U.S. military presence near Iran
includes dozens of locations and tens of thousands of troops in harm’s way.
This raises the question: If a missile is launched from Iran toward a U.S.
military base in the region, how do service members know in time to stay safe?
The United States and its allies have built a layered system to watch the skies day and night. This system uses satellites in space, radar on the ground, ships at sea and aircraft in the air. It also depends on well-trained military members from U.S. Space Command who make quick decisions with the data. As a former U.S. Air Force officer and now aerospace and national security law professor at the University of Mississippi, I’ve studied the vast network of alliances and systems that make this happen.
Together, these tools form a missile defense network that can spot danger early and give warnings. The fastest way to spot a missile is from space. U.S. satellites, like the U.S. Space Force’s Space-Based Infrared System, circle high above Earth. These billion-dollar satellites, the crown jewels of missile defense, can spot the bright heat from a missile launch almost instantly.
When a missile is fired, it creates a strong enough heat signal to be seen in space. The satellites detect this heat using sensitive, infrared sensors and send an alert within seconds. This early warning is critical. It gives the military on the ground or at sea time to get defense systems ready.
The warning signal from space is then received on the ground by systems known as the U.S. Space Force’s Joint Tactical Ground Stations. The signal is sent from space using secure satellite communications, received by these ground stations, and then quickly distributed to other parts of the missile defense network.
Radar to detect and track missiles
But satellites cannot do everything to detect and track missiles. They need help from systems on Earth. After a missile is launched, ground-based radars take over from the initial satellite signal. Radars work by sending out radio waves. When those waves hit an object, like a missile, they bounce back. The radar then uses that information to track where the object is and where it is going throughout its flight.
The U.S. uses both short and long-range radars together. One powerful, long-range radar is the AN/FPS-132 Upgraded Early Warning Radar. It can see missiles from over 3,000 miles (4,828 km) away and track them as they travel. Another key system is the U.S. Army’s AN/TPY-2 Surveillance Transportable Radar. This radar has a range of almost 2,000 miles (3,219 km) and looks more closely at the missile to provide more information about the threat. TPY-2 systems typically sit right next to weapons systems that will destroy the missile to ensure the timely relay of tracking data.
In sum, satellites spot the launch and radars follow the missile through the sky until defense systems destroy it.
However, Iranian forces recently struck both a TPY-2 in Jordan and a FPS-132 in Qatar. These systems are expensive and difficult to quickly replace. This has required the U.S. to move an additional TPY-2 from Korea to place it in the Middle East.
U.S. missile defense tracking was certainly degraded by losing these resources, but other radars are still part of the network. For example, the U.S. Space Force operates another FPS-132 in the U.K., which could potentially provide radar support to the Middle East.
In addition to ground and space-based sensors, U.S. Navy ships carry powerful radar systems as part of their Aegis Combat System, known as the AN/SPY-1, which can provide up to 200 miles (322 km) of coverage. Ships can sail closer to areas where threats may come from and help fill gaps that land-based radars cannot cover.
U.S. Air Force aircraft also play a big role. Planes like the E-3 Sentry can watch large areas using radar from the sky. Drones such as the MQ-9 Reaper can stay in the air for long periods and track activity below with radar and sensors. These moving sensors help the system stay flexible. If one area needs more coverage or is degraded, ships and aircraft can move there to fill in.
Why drones are harder to catch
Drones require a different set of tracking tools and have proven more difficult to destroy than missiles from Iran. The legacy systems are simply better suited to missiles than new drone technology. To detect drones, the U.S. typically uses several tools: radar; radio signal tracking, which can pick up control signals; and cameras and other sensors, which can see drones directly.
Missiles are fast and hot, which makes them easier to detect with the current systems. Iranian drones, such as the Shahed system, are different. Their heat signature is often minimal due to using gas-powered engines not easily detected by infrared sensors. Without this heat signature, that initial warning cue is delayed, making it difficult for radar to know what to track.
Drones are usually smaller and fly low to the ground, making them hard to see on radar. They can be hidden by buildings or tough to distinguish from birds and other objects. Some are made of materials that do not show up well on radar, such as fiberglass and plastic. Others move slowly, which can make them harder to notice or stand out.
Many of Iran’s drones do not show up on radio signal detection systems because they cannot be remotely controlled. These drones are programmed with GPS coordinates and navigate themselves to a target.
Multiple methods
No single method works all the time to defend against drone attacks. Instead, these tools work together to find and track drones. The U.S. and its allies continue to improve their systems to catch both missiles and drones. For example, the U.S. is in discussions to buy acoustics sensors from Ukraine, which can hear drones coming when they cannot be seen using other methods.
New sensors, better software and faster communication will all help strengthen defenses. The goal is simple: Detect threats earlier, respond faster and hit the target faster.
March 20, 2026
Monica Duffy Toft
Wars are rarely lost first on the battlefield. They are lost in leaders’ minds − when leaders misread what they and their adversaries can do, when their confidence substitutes for comprehension, and when the last war is mistaken for the next one.
The Trump administration’s miscalculation of Iran is not an anomaly. It is the latest entry in one of the oldest and most lethal traditions in international politics: the catastrophic gap between what leaders believe going in and what war actually delivers.
I’m a scholar of international security, civil wars and U.S. foreign policy, and author of the book “Dying by the Sword,” which examines why the United States repeatedly reaches for military solutions and why such interventions rarely produce durable peace. The deeper problem with the U.S. war in Iran, as I see it, was overconfidence bred by recent success.
Dismissed concerns
Before the conflict involving Iran, Israel and the U.S. escalated, Energy Secretary Chris Wright dismissed concerns about oil market disruption, noting that prices had barely moved during the 12-day war in June 2025 between Israel and Iran. Other senior officials agreed.
What followed was significant: Iranian-aimed missile and drone barrages against U.S. bases, Arab capitals and Israeli population centers. Then Iran effectively closed the Strait of Hormuz, through which roughly 20% of the world’s oil supply passes daily − not with a naval blockade, not with mines or massed anti-ship missiles, but with cheap drones.
A few strikes in the vicinity of the strait were enough. Insurers and shipping companies decided the transit was unsafe. Tanker traffic dropped to zero, although the occasional ship has made it through recently. Analysts are calling it the biggest energy crisis since the 1970s oil embargo.
Iran’s new supreme leader, Mojtaba Khamenei, has since vowed to keep the strait closed. U.S. Sen. Chris Murphy, a Connecticut Democrat, reported after a closed-door briefing that the administration had no plan for the strait and did not know how to get it safely back open.
With no embassy in Tehran since 1979, the U.S. relies heavily for intelligence on CIA networks of questionable quality and Israeli assets who have their own country’s interests in mind. So the U.S. did not anticipate that Iran had rebuilt and dispersed significant military capacity since June 2025, nor that it would strike neighbors across the region, including Azerbaijan, widening the conflict well beyond the Persian Gulf.
The war has since reached the Indian Ocean, where a U.S. submarine sank an Iranian frigate 2,000 miles from the theater of war, off the coast of Sri Lanka – just days after the ship had participated in Indian navy exercises alongside 74 nations, including the U.S.
The diplomatic damage to Washington’s relationships with India and Sri Lanka, two countries whose cooperation is increasingly important as the United States seeks partners to manage and mitigate Iran’s blockade, was entirely foreseeable. Washington has put them in a difficult position, with India choosing diplomacy with Iran to secure passage for its vessels and Sri Lanka opting to retain its neutrality, underscoring its vulnerable position.
But U.S. planners didn’t foresee any of this.
The wrong lesson from Venezuela
The swift military intervention by the U.S. in Venezuela in January 2026 produced rapid results with minimal blowback − appearing to validate the administration’s faith in coercive action.
But clean victories are dangerous teachers.
They inflate what I call in my teaching the “hubris/humility index” − the more a leadership overestimates its own abilities, underestimates the adversary’s and dismisses uncertainty, the higher the score and the more likely disaster will ensue. Clean victories inflate the index precisely when skepticism is most needed, because they suggest the next adversary will be as manageable as the last.
Political scientist Robert Jervis demonstrated decades ago that misperceptions in international relations are not random but follow patterns. Leaders tend to project their own cost-benefit logic onto opponents who do not share it. They also fall into “availability bias,” allowing the most recent operation to stand in for the next.
The higher the hubris/humility index, the less likely there is to be the kind of strategic empathy that might ask: How does Tehran see this? What does a regime that believes its survival is at stake actually do? History shows that such a regime escalates, improvises and takes risks that appear irrational from an outside perspective but are entirely rational from within.
Recent cases reveal this unmistakable pattern.
The United States in Vietnam, 1965–1968
American war planners believed material superiority would force the communists in Hanoi to surrender.
It didn’t.
American firepower alone didn’t lead to military defeat, much less political control. The Tet Offensive in 1968 – when North Vietnamese and Viet Cong forces launched coordinated attacks across South Vietnam – shattered the official U.S. narrative that the war was nearly won and that there was “light at the end of the tunnel.”
Athough the U.S. and South Vietnamese forces ultimately repelled the attacks, their scale and surprise caused the public not to trust official statements, accelerating the erosion of public trust and decisively turning American opinion against the war.
The U.S. loss in Vietnam didn’t occur on a single battlefield, but through strategic and political unraveling. Despite overwhelming superiority, Washington was incapable of building a stable, legitimate South Vietnamese government or recognizing the grit and resilience of the North Vietnamese forces. Eventually, with mounting casualties and large-scale protests at home, U.S. forces withdrew, ceding control of Saigon to North Vietnamese forces in 1975.
The U.S. failure was conceptual and cultural, not informational. American analysts simply couldn’t picture the war from their opponent’s perspective.
Afghanistan: Deadly assumptions
The Soviet Union in Afghanistan in 1979 and the United States in Afghanistan after 2001 conducted two different wars but held the same deadly assumption: that external military force can quickly impose political order in a fractured society strongly resistant to foreign control.
In both cases, great powers believed their abilities would outweigh local complexities. In both cases, the war evolved faster − and lasted far longer − than their strategies could adapt.
Russia, Ukraine and the Strait of Hormuz
This is the case that should most haunt Washington.
Ukraine demonstrated that a materially weaker defender can impose huge costs on a stronger attacker through battlefield innovation: cheap drones, decentralized adaptation, real-time intelligence, and the creative use of terrain and chokepoints to find asymmetrical advantages. The U.S. watched it all unfold in real time for four years and helped pay for it.
Iran was also watching − and the Strait of Hormuz is the proof.
Iran didn’t need a navy to close the world’s most important energy chokepoint. It needed drones, the same cheap, asymmetric technology Ukraine has used to blunt Russia’s onslaught, deployed not on a land front but against the insurance calculus of the global shipping industry.
Washington, which had underwritten much of that playbook in Ukraine, apparently never asked the obvious question: What happens when the other side has been taking notes? That is not a failure of U.S. intelligence. It is a failure of strategic imagination − exactly what the hubris/humility index is designed to highlight.
Iran does not need to defeat the U.S. conventionally. It needs only to raise costs, exploit chokepoints and wait for a fracture among U.S. allies and domestic political opposition to force a fake U.S. declaration of victory or a genuine U.S. withdrawal.
Notably, Iran has kept the strait selectively open to Turkish, Indian and Saudi vessels, rewarding neutral countries and punishing U.S. allies, driving wedges through the coalition.
Historian Geoffrey Blainey famously argued that wars start when both sides hold incompatible beliefs about power and only end when reality forces those beliefs to align.
That alignment is now happening, at great cost, in the Persian Gulf and beyond. The Trump administration scored high on the hubris index at exactly the moment when it most needed humility.
Kristian Coates Ulrichsen
The U.S.-Israeli military campaign against Iran took a dangerous turn on March 18, 2026, with tit-for-tat strikes on critical energy infrastructure that amount to the most serious regional escalation since the conflict began.
First, an Israeli drone strike targeted facilities at Iran’s Asaluyeh complex, damaging four plants that treat gas from the offshore South Pars field, which straddles the maritime boundary between Iran and Qatar.
Tehran vowed to retaliate by hitting five key energy targets in Saudi Arabia, Qatar and the United Arab Emirates. Hours later, Iranian missiles caused “extensive damage” to Ras Laffan, the heart of Qatar’s energy sector. Qatar’s state-owned petroleum company said additional attacks on March 19 had targeted liquefied natural gas facilities.
Separate suspected Iranian aerial attacks also caused damage to oil refineries in Kuwait and Saudi Arabia and led to the closure of gas facilities in the United Arab Emirates.
Much attention has been focused on the seemingly unanticipated consequences of the U.S.-Israeli strikes on Iran and the de facto closure of the Strait of Hormuz to international shipping. But as a scholar of the Gulf, I believe that the targeting of energy facilities is close to a worst-case outcome for regional states. Export revenues from oil and, in Qatar’s case, natural gas have transformed the Gulf states into regional powers with global reach over the past three decades, and that is now at risk.
Energy becomes a battlefield
The offshore gas field that lies on both sides of the maritime boundary between Qatar and Iran is the world’s largest reserve of so-called nonassociated gas. This means that the gas is not connected to the production of crude oil and is unaffected by decisions to raise or lower output according to, for example, OPEC quotas.
The field, known as the North Field on the Qatari side and South Pars on the Iranian side, was discovered in 1971. Development of its massive resources began in earnest in the 1980s. Largely because of the field, Iran and Qatar have the second- and third-largest proven gas reserves in the world, respectively.
While Israel attacked gas facilities in southern Iran on the second day of the 12-day war in June 2025, oil and gas infrastructure was largely spared during that earlier conflict. The opening two weeks of the current fighting, however, have seen a significant loosening of the restraints on targeting critical infrastructure.
On March 8, Israel struck oil storage facilities in Tehran, starting large fires and blanketing the capital in plumes of smoke and toxic, so-called black rain. For their part, Iranian officials signaled that energy facilities were on the table as swarms of its drones targeted the Shaybah oil field in Saudi Arabia, the Shah gas field southwest of Abu Dhabi and oil facilities in Fujairah.
One of the seven emirates of the United Arab Emirates along with Abu Dhabi, Fujairah is strategically located on the Gulf of Oman, outside the Strait of Hormuz, with direct access to the Indian Ocean. For this reason, it has grown into an important oil-loading and ship fuel-supplying hub and is the terminus for the Abu Dhabi crude oil pipeline.
Opened in 2012, that pipeline has a capacity of 1.5 million barrels per day, covering more than half of the UAE’s oil exports. Its repeated targeting during the war signifies Iranian intent to disrupt one of the two pipelines that bypass Hormuz. Thus far, the other pipeline, the East-West pipeline from the eastern Saudi oil fields to the Red Sea port of Yanbu, has not been targeted.
But that could quickly change, as early on March 19 Saudi authorities reported that a drone had struck a refinery at Yanbu, while a ballistic missile that targeted the port had been intercepted.
Cascading risks of further energy attacks
On at least four occasions over the past decade, most recently in 2022, Houthi forces in Yemen – who are allied with Iran– struck targets around the East-West pipeline.
And in 2024 and 2025, in defiance of U.S. and Israeli policy in the region, the Houthis led a campaign against shipping in the Red Sea.
So far, the Houthis have refrained from joining the latest war, but they have threatened to do so. Any such actions would cause enormous additional disruption to oil markets.
However, the attack on Ras Laffan in Qatar and the wider threats to other energy infrastructure in the Gulf have the potential on their own to be catastrophic for a number of reasons.
Developed in the 1990s, the industrial city of Ras Laffan is the most critical cog in Qatar’s economic and energy landscape and the epicenter of the largest facility for the production and export of LNG in the world. Fourteen giant LNG “trains” process the gas from the North Field, which is then transported by vessels from the accompanying port to destinations worldwide.
Ras Laffan also houses gas-to-liquids facilities – these convert natural gas into liquid petroleum products – along with a refinery and water and power plants that produce desalinated water and generate electricity. Ras Laffan is quite simply the engine that has powered Qatar’s meteoric growth and rise as a global power broker.
Early reports suggest that the world’s largest gas-to-liquids plant, Pearl GTL, which is operated by Shell, was damaged during the first attack on Ras Laffan, and that the second attack damaged 17% of Qatar’s LNG capacity, with repairs projected to take three to five years. A three-phased expansion to the LNG facilities, which would add a further six LNG trains by 2027, is also likely to be delayed.
The burning Gulf state dilemma
What is clear is that Iranian officials view the Israeli — or American — targeting of facilities in their territorial waters in the South Pars field as sufficient to justify hitting facilities on the Qatari side. That’s even though Qatar forcefully condemned the Israeli strike on Asaluyeh as a dangerous escalation, for reasons that have become all too real.
There lies the nub of the dilemma for Qatar and the five other Gulf states facing the brunt of the backlash from a war they tried to avert through diplomacy.
On my visits to the region in fall 2025, it became clear that many officials in the Gulf viewed the ceasefire that ended the 12-day war as, at best, a temporary cessation of hostilities and feared that the next round of fighting would be far more damaging, for Iran and for the region.
This has now come to pass. An embattled government in Tehran that sees itself in an existential fight for survival has spread the cost of war as far and as wide as it can.
Officials statements from Gulf capitals that have consistently – and correctly – emphasized their direct noninvolvement in the U.S.-Israeli military campaign have fallen on deaf ears in Tehran.
An incident on March 2 that saw Qatar down two Iranian Soviet-era fighters was a defensive measure. The jets had entered Qatari airspace with the apparent intent to strike Al Udeid, the air base that houses the forward headquarters of U.S. Central Command.
However, the scope of Iran’s attacks has gone far beyond military facilities used by U.S. forces and have hit the sectors – travel, tourism and sporting events – that put the region so firmly on the global map.
Nowhere is this more the case than the energy sector that has underwritten and made possible the transformation of the Gulf states over the past half-century, and whose health remains vital to the global economy and supply chains in oil, gas and many derivative products.
If that sector remains firmly in the crosshairs, there’s no telling how intense the regional and global consequences of the ongoing war in Iran may prove to be.
The United States and its allies have built a layered system to watch the skies day and night. This system uses satellites in space, radar on the ground, ships at sea and aircraft in the air. It also depends on well-trained military members from U.S. Space Command who make quick decisions with the data. As a former U.S. Air Force officer and now aerospace and national security law professor at the University of Mississippi, I’ve studied the vast network of alliances and systems that make this happen.
Together, these tools form a missile defense network that can spot danger early and give warnings. The fastest way to spot a missile is from space. U.S. satellites, like the U.S. Space Force’s Space-Based Infrared System, circle high above Earth. These billion-dollar satellites, the crown jewels of missile defense, can spot the bright heat from a missile launch almost instantly.
When a missile is fired, it creates a strong enough heat signal to be seen in space. The satellites detect this heat using sensitive, infrared sensors and send an alert within seconds. This early warning is critical. It gives the military on the ground or at sea time to get defense systems ready.
The warning signal from space is then received on the ground by systems known as the U.S. Space Force’s Joint Tactical Ground Stations. The signal is sent from space using secure satellite communications, received by these ground stations, and then quickly distributed to other parts of the missile defense network.
Radar to detect and track missiles
But satellites cannot do everything to detect and track missiles. They need help from systems on Earth. After a missile is launched, ground-based radars take over from the initial satellite signal. Radars work by sending out radio waves. When those waves hit an object, like a missile, they bounce back. The radar then uses that information to track where the object is and where it is going throughout its flight.
The U.S. uses both short and long-range radars together. One powerful, long-range radar is the AN/FPS-132 Upgraded Early Warning Radar. It can see missiles from over 3,000 miles (4,828 km) away and track them as they travel. Another key system is the U.S. Army’s AN/TPY-2 Surveillance Transportable Radar. This radar has a range of almost 2,000 miles (3,219 km) and looks more closely at the missile to provide more information about the threat. TPY-2 systems typically sit right next to weapons systems that will destroy the missile to ensure the timely relay of tracking data.
In sum, satellites spot the launch and radars follow the missile through the sky until defense systems destroy it.
However, Iranian forces recently struck both a TPY-2 in Jordan and a FPS-132 in Qatar. These systems are expensive and difficult to quickly replace. This has required the U.S. to move an additional TPY-2 from Korea to place it in the Middle East.
U.S. missile defense tracking was certainly degraded by losing these resources, but other radars are still part of the network. For example, the U.S. Space Force operates another FPS-132 in the U.K., which could potentially provide radar support to the Middle East.
In addition to ground and space-based sensors, U.S. Navy ships carry powerful radar systems as part of their Aegis Combat System, known as the AN/SPY-1, which can provide up to 200 miles (322 km) of coverage. Ships can sail closer to areas where threats may come from and help fill gaps that land-based radars cannot cover.
U.S. Air Force aircraft also play a big role. Planes like the E-3 Sentry can watch large areas using radar from the sky. Drones such as the MQ-9 Reaper can stay in the air for long periods and track activity below with radar and sensors. These moving sensors help the system stay flexible. If one area needs more coverage or is degraded, ships and aircraft can move there to fill in.
Why drones are harder to catch
Drones require a different set of tracking tools and have proven more difficult to destroy than missiles from Iran. The legacy systems are simply better suited to missiles than new drone technology. To detect drones, the U.S. typically uses several tools: radar; radio signal tracking, which can pick up control signals; and cameras and other sensors, which can see drones directly.
Missiles are fast and hot, which makes them easier to detect with the current systems. Iranian drones, such as the Shahed system, are different. Their heat signature is often minimal due to using gas-powered engines not easily detected by infrared sensors. Without this heat signature, that initial warning cue is delayed, making it difficult for radar to know what to track.
Drones are usually smaller and fly low to the ground, making them hard to see on radar. They can be hidden by buildings or tough to distinguish from birds and other objects. Some are made of materials that do not show up well on radar, such as fiberglass and plastic. Others move slowly, which can make them harder to notice or stand out.
Many of Iran’s drones do not show up on radio signal detection systems because they cannot be remotely controlled. These drones are programmed with GPS coordinates and navigate themselves to a target.
Multiple methods
No single method works all the time to defend against drone attacks. Instead, these tools work together to find and track drones. The U.S. and its allies continue to improve their systems to catch both missiles and drones. For example, the U.S. is in discussions to buy acoustics sensors from Ukraine, which can hear drones coming when they cannot be seen using other methods.
New sensors, better software and faster communication will all help strengthen defenses. The goal is simple: Detect threats earlier, respond faster and hit the target faster.
Monica Duffy Toft
Wars are rarely lost first on the battlefield. They are lost in leaders’ minds − when leaders misread what they and their adversaries can do, when their confidence substitutes for comprehension, and when the last war is mistaken for the next one.
The Trump administration’s miscalculation of Iran is not an anomaly. It is the latest entry in one of the oldest and most lethal traditions in international politics: the catastrophic gap between what leaders believe going in and what war actually delivers.
I’m a scholar of international security, civil wars and U.S. foreign policy, and author of the book “Dying by the Sword,” which examines why the United States repeatedly reaches for military solutions and why such interventions rarely produce durable peace. The deeper problem with the U.S. war in Iran, as I see it, was overconfidence bred by recent success.
Dismissed concerns
Before the conflict involving Iran, Israel and the U.S. escalated, Energy Secretary Chris Wright dismissed concerns about oil market disruption, noting that prices had barely moved during the 12-day war in June 2025 between Israel and Iran. Other senior officials agreed.
What followed was significant: Iranian-aimed missile and drone barrages against U.S. bases, Arab capitals and Israeli population centers. Then Iran effectively closed the Strait of Hormuz, through which roughly 20% of the world’s oil supply passes daily − not with a naval blockade, not with mines or massed anti-ship missiles, but with cheap drones.
A few strikes in the vicinity of the strait were enough. Insurers and shipping companies decided the transit was unsafe. Tanker traffic dropped to zero, although the occasional ship has made it through recently. Analysts are calling it the biggest energy crisis since the 1970s oil embargo.
Iran’s new supreme leader, Mojtaba Khamenei, has since vowed to keep the strait closed. U.S. Sen. Chris Murphy, a Connecticut Democrat, reported after a closed-door briefing that the administration had no plan for the strait and did not know how to get it safely back open.
With no embassy in Tehran since 1979, the U.S. relies heavily for intelligence on CIA networks of questionable quality and Israeli assets who have their own country’s interests in mind. So the U.S. did not anticipate that Iran had rebuilt and dispersed significant military capacity since June 2025, nor that it would strike neighbors across the region, including Azerbaijan, widening the conflict well beyond the Persian Gulf.
The war has since reached the Indian Ocean, where a U.S. submarine sank an Iranian frigate 2,000 miles from the theater of war, off the coast of Sri Lanka – just days after the ship had participated in Indian navy exercises alongside 74 nations, including the U.S.
The diplomatic damage to Washington’s relationships with India and Sri Lanka, two countries whose cooperation is increasingly important as the United States seeks partners to manage and mitigate Iran’s blockade, was entirely foreseeable. Washington has put them in a difficult position, with India choosing diplomacy with Iran to secure passage for its vessels and Sri Lanka opting to retain its neutrality, underscoring its vulnerable position.
But U.S. planners didn’t foresee any of this.
The wrong lesson from Venezuela
The swift military intervention by the U.S. in Venezuela in January 2026 produced rapid results with minimal blowback − appearing to validate the administration’s faith in coercive action.
But clean victories are dangerous teachers.
They inflate what I call in my teaching the “hubris/humility index” − the more a leadership overestimates its own abilities, underestimates the adversary’s and dismisses uncertainty, the higher the score and the more likely disaster will ensue. Clean victories inflate the index precisely when skepticism is most needed, because they suggest the next adversary will be as manageable as the last.
Political scientist Robert Jervis demonstrated decades ago that misperceptions in international relations are not random but follow patterns. Leaders tend to project their own cost-benefit logic onto opponents who do not share it. They also fall into “availability bias,” allowing the most recent operation to stand in for the next.
The higher the hubris/humility index, the less likely there is to be the kind of strategic empathy that might ask: How does Tehran see this? What does a regime that believes its survival is at stake actually do? History shows that such a regime escalates, improvises and takes risks that appear irrational from an outside perspective but are entirely rational from within.
Recent cases reveal this unmistakable pattern.
The United States in Vietnam, 1965–1968
American war planners believed material superiority would force the communists in Hanoi to surrender.
It didn’t.
American firepower alone didn’t lead to military defeat, much less political control. The Tet Offensive in 1968 – when North Vietnamese and Viet Cong forces launched coordinated attacks across South Vietnam – shattered the official U.S. narrative that the war was nearly won and that there was “light at the end of the tunnel.”
Athough the U.S. and South Vietnamese forces ultimately repelled the attacks, their scale and surprise caused the public not to trust official statements, accelerating the erosion of public trust and decisively turning American opinion against the war.
The U.S. loss in Vietnam didn’t occur on a single battlefield, but through strategic and political unraveling. Despite overwhelming superiority, Washington was incapable of building a stable, legitimate South Vietnamese government or recognizing the grit and resilience of the North Vietnamese forces. Eventually, with mounting casualties and large-scale protests at home, U.S. forces withdrew, ceding control of Saigon to North Vietnamese forces in 1975.
The U.S. failure was conceptual and cultural, not informational. American analysts simply couldn’t picture the war from their opponent’s perspective.
Afghanistan: Deadly assumptions
The Soviet Union in Afghanistan in 1979 and the United States in Afghanistan after 2001 conducted two different wars but held the same deadly assumption: that external military force can quickly impose political order in a fractured society strongly resistant to foreign control.
In both cases, great powers believed their abilities would outweigh local complexities. In both cases, the war evolved faster − and lasted far longer − than their strategies could adapt.
Russia, Ukraine and the Strait of Hormuz
This is the case that should most haunt Washington.
Ukraine demonstrated that a materially weaker defender can impose huge costs on a stronger attacker through battlefield innovation: cheap drones, decentralized adaptation, real-time intelligence, and the creative use of terrain and chokepoints to find asymmetrical advantages. The U.S. watched it all unfold in real time for four years and helped pay for it.
Iran was also watching − and the Strait of Hormuz is the proof.
Iran didn’t need a navy to close the world’s most important energy chokepoint. It needed drones, the same cheap, asymmetric technology Ukraine has used to blunt Russia’s onslaught, deployed not on a land front but against the insurance calculus of the global shipping industry.
Washington, which had underwritten much of that playbook in Ukraine, apparently never asked the obvious question: What happens when the other side has been taking notes? That is not a failure of U.S. intelligence. It is a failure of strategic imagination − exactly what the hubris/humility index is designed to highlight.
Iran does not need to defeat the U.S. conventionally. It needs only to raise costs, exploit chokepoints and wait for a fracture among U.S. allies and domestic political opposition to force a fake U.S. declaration of victory or a genuine U.S. withdrawal.
Notably, Iran has kept the strait selectively open to Turkish, Indian and Saudi vessels, rewarding neutral countries and punishing U.S. allies, driving wedges through the coalition.
Historian Geoffrey Blainey famously argued that wars start when both sides hold incompatible beliefs about power and only end when reality forces those beliefs to align.
That alignment is now happening, at great cost, in the Persian Gulf and beyond. The Trump administration scored high on the hubris index at exactly the moment when it most needed humility.
Kristian Coates Ulrichsen
The U.S.-Israeli military campaign against Iran took a dangerous turn on March 18, 2026, with tit-for-tat strikes on critical energy infrastructure that amount to the most serious regional escalation since the conflict began.
First, an Israeli drone strike targeted facilities at Iran’s Asaluyeh complex, damaging four plants that treat gas from the offshore South Pars field, which straddles the maritime boundary between Iran and Qatar.
Tehran vowed to retaliate by hitting five key energy targets in Saudi Arabia, Qatar and the United Arab Emirates. Hours later, Iranian missiles caused “extensive damage” to Ras Laffan, the heart of Qatar’s energy sector. Qatar’s state-owned petroleum company said additional attacks on March 19 had targeted liquefied natural gas facilities.
Separate suspected Iranian aerial attacks also caused damage to oil refineries in Kuwait and Saudi Arabia and led to the closure of gas facilities in the United Arab Emirates.
Much attention has been focused on the seemingly unanticipated consequences of the U.S.-Israeli strikes on Iran and the de facto closure of the Strait of Hormuz to international shipping. But as a scholar of the Gulf, I believe that the targeting of energy facilities is close to a worst-case outcome for regional states. Export revenues from oil and, in Qatar’s case, natural gas have transformed the Gulf states into regional powers with global reach over the past three decades, and that is now at risk.
Energy becomes a battlefield
The offshore gas field that lies on both sides of the maritime boundary between Qatar and Iran is the world’s largest reserve of so-called nonassociated gas. This means that the gas is not connected to the production of crude oil and is unaffected by decisions to raise or lower output according to, for example, OPEC quotas.
The field, known as the North Field on the Qatari side and South Pars on the Iranian side, was discovered in 1971. Development of its massive resources began in earnest in the 1980s. Largely because of the field, Iran and Qatar have the second- and third-largest proven gas reserves in the world, respectively.
While Israel attacked gas facilities in southern Iran on the second day of the 12-day war in June 2025, oil and gas infrastructure was largely spared during that earlier conflict. The opening two weeks of the current fighting, however, have seen a significant loosening of the restraints on targeting critical infrastructure.
On March 8, Israel struck oil storage facilities in Tehran, starting large fires and blanketing the capital in plumes of smoke and toxic, so-called black rain. For their part, Iranian officials signaled that energy facilities were on the table as swarms of its drones targeted the Shaybah oil field in Saudi Arabia, the Shah gas field southwest of Abu Dhabi and oil facilities in Fujairah.
One of the seven emirates of the United Arab Emirates along with Abu Dhabi, Fujairah is strategically located on the Gulf of Oman, outside the Strait of Hormuz, with direct access to the Indian Ocean. For this reason, it has grown into an important oil-loading and ship fuel-supplying hub and is the terminus for the Abu Dhabi crude oil pipeline.
Opened in 2012, that pipeline has a capacity of 1.5 million barrels per day, covering more than half of the UAE’s oil exports. Its repeated targeting during the war signifies Iranian intent to disrupt one of the two pipelines that bypass Hormuz. Thus far, the other pipeline, the East-West pipeline from the eastern Saudi oil fields to the Red Sea port of Yanbu, has not been targeted.
But that could quickly change, as early on March 19 Saudi authorities reported that a drone had struck a refinery at Yanbu, while a ballistic missile that targeted the port had been intercepted.
Cascading risks of further energy attacks
On at least four occasions over the past decade, most recently in 2022, Houthi forces in Yemen – who are allied with Iran– struck targets around the East-West pipeline.
And in 2024 and 2025, in defiance of U.S. and Israeli policy in the region, the Houthis led a campaign against shipping in the Red Sea.
So far, the Houthis have refrained from joining the latest war, but they have threatened to do so. Any such actions would cause enormous additional disruption to oil markets.
However, the attack on Ras Laffan in Qatar and the wider threats to other energy infrastructure in the Gulf have the potential on their own to be catastrophic for a number of reasons.
Developed in the 1990s, the industrial city of Ras Laffan is the most critical cog in Qatar’s economic and energy landscape and the epicenter of the largest facility for the production and export of LNG in the world. Fourteen giant LNG “trains” process the gas from the North Field, which is then transported by vessels from the accompanying port to destinations worldwide.
Ras Laffan also houses gas-to-liquids facilities – these convert natural gas into liquid petroleum products – along with a refinery and water and power plants that produce desalinated water and generate electricity. Ras Laffan is quite simply the engine that has powered Qatar’s meteoric growth and rise as a global power broker.
Early reports suggest that the world’s largest gas-to-liquids plant, Pearl GTL, which is operated by Shell, was damaged during the first attack on Ras Laffan, and that the second attack damaged 17% of Qatar’s LNG capacity, with repairs projected to take three to five years. A three-phased expansion to the LNG facilities, which would add a further six LNG trains by 2027, is also likely to be delayed.
The burning Gulf state dilemma
What is clear is that Iranian officials view the Israeli — or American — targeting of facilities in their territorial waters in the South Pars field as sufficient to justify hitting facilities on the Qatari side. That’s even though Qatar forcefully condemned the Israeli strike on Asaluyeh as a dangerous escalation, for reasons that have become all too real.
There lies the nub of the dilemma for Qatar and the five other Gulf states facing the brunt of the backlash from a war they tried to avert through diplomacy.
On my visits to the region in fall 2025, it became clear that many officials in the Gulf viewed the ceasefire that ended the 12-day war as, at best, a temporary cessation of hostilities and feared that the next round of fighting would be far more damaging, for Iran and for the region.
This has now come to pass. An embattled government in Tehran that sees itself in an existential fight for survival has spread the cost of war as far and as wide as it can.
Officials statements from Gulf capitals that have consistently – and correctly – emphasized their direct noninvolvement in the U.S.-Israeli military campaign have fallen on deaf ears in Tehran.
An incident on March 2 that saw Qatar down two Iranian Soviet-era fighters was a defensive measure. The jets had entered Qatari airspace with the apparent intent to strike Al Udeid, the air base that houses the forward headquarters of U.S. Central Command.
However, the scope of Iran’s attacks has gone far beyond military facilities used by U.S. forces and have hit the sectors – travel, tourism and sporting events – that put the region so firmly on the global map.
Nowhere is this more the case than the energy sector that has underwritten and made possible the transformation of the Gulf states over the past half-century, and whose health remains vital to the global economy and supply chains in oil, gas and many derivative products.
If that sector remains firmly in the crosshairs, there’s no telling how intense the regional and global consequences of the ongoing war in Iran may prove to be.
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