In U.S.–Iran relations, there has been no shortage of “critical moments.” Yet what is unfolding today is of a different nature. Not simply because a 40-day war has taken place between the two sides but because, for the first time, military instruments and a diplomatic opening have been activated simultaneously and at the highest level. The ceasefire, which has been in place for only two days and is set to last for two weeks, is less a pause than a “decision window”: a short interval to determine whether this war was a strategic miscalculation or the prelude to a historic agreement.
If war is understood as an instrument of policy, its success should not be measured merely by the scale of destruction but by its ability to alter the adversary’s behavior. By that standard, the current record of the United States and Donald Trump’s administration is difficult to defend. There is no clear evidence of a fundamental shift in Iran’s strategic calculus, nor any tangible achievement that could credibly be presented as a “victory.” Instead, Washington is left with a combination of anticipated and unforeseen costs.
The most significant of these costs has emerged in a domain the U.S. has long sought to keep manageable: the energy market. The threat to the Strait of Hormuz—even without its full closure—was sufficient to inject geopolitical risk into oil prices. Contrary to common assumptions, this price increase has not necessarily benefited the United States, whose economy—especially at the consumer level—is highly sensitive to energy price stability. The result has been a transfer of the war’s costs back into the domestic sphere: higher fuel prices, pressure on supply chains, and rising inflationary expectations.
At a deeper level, the war has exposed a longstanding contradiction in U.S. foreign policy: the gap between “military leadership” and “political consensus.” Washington was able to initiate military operations but failed to generate a comparable level of alignment among its allies. Europe, in particular, not only refrained from offering robust support but effectively chose to distance itself from the consequences of the conflict. This divergence is not merely tactical; it signals a gradual erosion of trust in American strategic judgment.
In the Middle East, rather than restoring order, the war has amplified instability. Contrary to the initial assumption that a military strike could shift the balance in Washington’s favor, what has emerged instead is a heightened level of uncertainty. Regional actors—even those opposed to Iran—understand well that escalation produces costs that are unevenly distributed. As a result, their support has remained cautious and largely symbolic.
Domestically, the war has entered a realm that is decisive for any U.S. president: the intersection of economics and public opinion. Wars that fail to deliver quick, tangible gains rapidly become political liabilities. Rising living costs, coupled with the absence of a compelling “victory narrative,” have turned this conflict into a source of political erosion rather than strength for Trump. This is especially significant at a time when U.S. strategic focus is expected to center on competition with China; opening a costly front in the Middle East appears, to many policymakers, unnecessary.
Yet the critical point is this: the war has not reached a conclusion—it has been suspended. The ceasefire, only two days old, represents a compressed opportunity to redefine the trajectory. This is where the reported negotiations in Islamabad acquire real significance. If these talks fail, the war will stand as a net strategic cost. But if they succeed, those same costs may be transformed into bargaining leverage.
The prospect of an agreement, however, is far from straightforward. What is described as a “comprehensive deal” would, in practice, require resolving multiple layers of disagreement simultaneously—from the nuclear file to regional influence and security arrangements. Such an agreement would not resemble past limited deals; it would require a broader “reset” of relations. This complexity increases the risk of failure but also magnifies the potential payoff if successful.
For Trump, this moment presents a classic strategic dilemma: either the war is recorded as an example of costly and ineffective use of military power, or it becomes the prelude to a historic diplomatic breakthrough. The difference between these two narratives will be determined not on the battlefield but at the negotiating table. If he can use this brief ceasefire as a bridge toward a multidimensional agreement, he could claim to have achieved what his predecessors could not.
In that case, even critics may be compelled to acknowledge that the combination of “maximum pressure” and “military risk” ultimately produced a political outcome. But if negotiations collapse, those same tools will be seen as evidence of strategic miscalculation.
In sum, the 40-day war against Iran, up to this point, resembles more a strategic liability for the United States and Trump than an asset. From energy markets to alliance dynamics, and from domestic politics to regional stability, the costs are tangible and far-reaching. Yet this liability can still be offset—provided that the two-week ceasefire, now only two days underway, is transformed into a launching pad for diplomacy.
If that happens, the war will be reinterpreted not as a mistake, but as a “calculated risk.” And in that scenario, Trump could argue that he not only managed a war but also untangled one of the most enduring knots in international politics—after 47 years.
