lessons

On Saturday, the United States and Iran held direct negotiations for the first time in more than a decade. The talks ended without a deal, as the US and Iranian positions remain far apart.

While it is unclear what will happen next, the past month and a half of fighting has cast light on important lessons to be learned not just about this conflict but also the nature of modern warfare. These may turn into key considerations for decision-makers in Washington as they determine what to do next.

Scale and geography matter

Iran operates on a scale that immediately complicates any direct confrontation. With a landmass of approximately 1.64 million sq km (more than 633,200sq miles) and a population exceeding 90 million, the country dwarfs the environments in which recent major wars have taken place.

By comparison, Iraq — invaded by a US-led coalition in 2003 — has roughly one quarter of Iran’s land area and half its population. Afghanistan and Ukraine, while sizeable, are still significantly smaller in both territory and demographic weight.

This matters because military operations scale nonlinearly. Larger territory does not simply require more troops and weapons; it requires exponentially more logistics, longer supply lines, and expanded intelligence coverage.

If scale complicates the planning of a war, geography compounds it even more.

The US invasion of Iraq benefitted from favourable terrain. Coalition forces advanced rapidly through the relatively flat southern desert and river valleys, enabling a swift push towards Baghdad. Russian forces also benefitted from the relatively even landscape in Ukraine, easily crossing through the steppe in the eastern part of the country.

The problem with flat terrain is that it exposes troops to enemy attacks, as their movements can easily be detected.

Afghanistan presented the opposite challenge: mountainous terrain that limited conventional operations and forced reliance on airpower, special forces, and local allies.

Iran, however, combines the worst of both environments at a much larger scale.

The Zagros Mountains stretch along Iran’s western frontier, forming a natural defensive barrier. The Alborz Mountains in the north protect key population centres, including Tehran. The central plateau introduces vast desert expanses that can complicate military manoeuvres and sustainment. Meanwhile, Iran’s long coastline along the Gulf and the Gulf of Oman introduces maritime vulnerabilities, but also defensive depth.

Iran’s mountainous terrain not only makes a ground invasion almost impossible but also provides plenty of opportunities to hide missile launchers, military production facilities, and even air defences. This means that even a conflict limited to an air campaign could be stretched over many months, as Iran retains the capability to retaliate.

Strong and cohesive defence

The assumption that internal diversity translates into vulnerability is often overstated. Iran is ethnically diverse, with minorities such as the Azerbaijanis, Kurds, Arabs, Baloch, and others forming a significant part of its population. Yet historical experience suggests that external threats tend to strengthen national cohesion rather than fracture it.

Ukraine provides the most recent example. Despite linguistic and regional differences, Russia’s invasion reinforced Ukrainian national identity and resistance.

Iran followed a similar trajectory. External military pressure did not dissolve the state; it consolidated it.

This is particularly significant given Iran’s military structure. With more than 800,000 active personnel, including both the regular army and the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), Iran possesses a layered defence system designed for both conventional and asymmetric warfare. Its doctrine emphasises dispersal, survivability, and long-term resistance.

Unlike Iraq in 2003, whose military had been weakened by sanctions and prior conflict, Iran maintains a functioning state apparatus, integrated command structures, and extensive missile and drone capabilities.

Here, Ukraine offers another important lesson: even a large, modern military can fail to achieve decisive results against a smaller but determined and organised defender.

Russia entered Ukraine with a large force, hoping for a swift victory and regime change. Yet the war quickly evolved into a protracted conflict, with high costs and limited strategic gains.

Limits of conventional arms

There are also lessons to be learned about the effectiveness of conventional arms. The past month and a half has shown that even overwhelming air superiority does not necessarily translate into decisive results when deployed against a state designed to absorb and outlast attacks.

Iran’s ballistic missile and drone capabilities are central to this dynamic. Rather than relying on concentrated, high-value assets that can be quickly neutralised, Iran has developed a dispersed and layered system. Missile launchers, storage facilities and production sites have been embedded in mountainous terrain or hardened underground infrastructure, making them difficult to detect and eliminate. This reinforces the broader point: geography is not just a backdrop to conflict; it is actively integrated into Iran’s defensive strategy.

At the same time, Iran’s increasing reliance on drones and relatively low-cost missile systems introduces a different kind of challenge. These systems do not need to achieve precision or dominance; they only need to survive and sustain pressure over time. In doing so, they impose a continuous operational burden on even the most advanced air defence systems.

This creates a structural imbalance. Highly sophisticated and expensive military platforms are used to counter weapons that are significantly cheaper and easier to reproduce. Over time, this dynamic does not necessarily result in victory on the battlefield, but it erodes the ability to achieve decisive outcomes.

The result is a shift in how military power functions in practice. Conventional superiority remains important, but its role becomes more limited. It can disrupt, degrade, and contain, but it struggles to decisively defeat an adversary that is territorially embedded, operationally dispersed, and strategically prepared for a prolonged confrontation.

What this means strategically

Iran is not Afghanistan in 2001, nor Iraq in 2003, nor Ukraine in 2022. It is a hybrid of all three — combining scale, complexity and resilience.

Taken together, these factors reinforce a central conclusion of this conflict: Iran is not simply a harder target; it fundamentally alters the strategic calculus of war.

The combination of scale, geography, and resilience means that any conflict is likely to become prolonged, costly, and uncertain in outcome. This helps explain why, despite sustained military pressure, the war did not produce a decisive shift on the ground. Instead, it moved towards a temporary pause, reflecting the difficulty of translating military action into clear strategic gains.

This does not suggest that future conflict is unlikely. Rather, it indicates that the nature of such conflict could be different from what we saw in this month and a half. Direct, large-scale confrontation becomes less attractive when the probability of a quick victory is low, and the costs of escalation are high. Instead, what emerges is a pattern of limited engagements, calibrated responses, and strategic signalling — forms of conflict that fall short of full-scale war but stop well short of lasting resolution.

For the US and other major powers, the implications are equally significant. The expectation of rapid, decisive campaigns — seen in Iraq in 2003 — becomes far less applicable in this context. Military superiority can still shape the battlefield, but it cannot easily compress time or guarantee outcomes.

Ultimately, the conflict points to a broader shift in the nature of modern warfare. Victory is no longer defined by speed or initial dominance, but by endurance, adaptability, and the ability to operate effectively within complex environments. This may well be a major factor in US calculations on whether to restart the war.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

Good morning, and welcome to L.A. on the Record — our City Hall newsletter. It’s Alene Tchekmedyian, with an assist from Rebecca Ellis, giving you the latest on all things local government.

Last summer, the Los Angeles Fire Department enlisted a public relations firm to help shape the narrative around its response to the Palisades fire as it geared up to release its long-awaited after-action report.

The optics around the devastating fire hadn’t been good.

A Times investigation revealed that top LAFD officials failed to pre-deploy engines in Pacific Palisades, despite forecasts of dangerously high winds. Mayor Karen Bass ousted the fire chief. The thousands of residents who lost their homes were growing increasingly angry. City and LAFD officials were concerned about how the report, which was intended to examine what mistakes the department made and how to avoid repeating them, would land.

“While we have a section that deals with press inquiries, media, and interview requests, they are not equipped to deal with what I call a ‘Crisis,’” LAFD Deputy Chief Kairi Brown wrote to the Lede Company in July.

The Times obtained the email and other materials this week through the California Public Records Act. Brown wrote in the email that his brother, Jay Brown, who co-founded the entertainment company Roc Nation with Jay-Z, recommended the firm.

At the time, LAFD’s public information director position was vacant, but a staff roster shows that two captains and four firefighters were assigned to the Community Liaison Office. The captains, Erik Scott and Adam Van Gerpen, each made more than $200,000 in overtime alone last year, on top of their roughly $200,000 base salaries, payroll data show.

Scott and Van Gerpen did not immediately respond to a question about what the overtime was for.

Fire officials also met with and considered another PR firm called Cielo Strategic Communications, but ultimately selected Lede for the job. Lede bills itself as a “full-service strategy, communications and social impact consulting firm,” with high-profile celebrity clients like Kerry Washington and Emma Stone, according to its website.

The Los Angeles Fire Department Foundation, which calls itself “the official nonprofit arm of the LAFD” that provides “vital equipment and funds critical programs to help the LAFD save lives,” took care of the $65,000 bill.

The Times has described efforts by Bass and others to water down the after-action report. Lede’s role, according to internal documents, was to shield the LAFD and the mayor’s office from “reputational harm” associated with the report’s release.

Bass also was involved in media spin, with Scott writing in an Oct. 9 email that “any additional interviews with the Fire Chief would likely depend on the Mayor’s guidance.”

The documents obtained by The Times this week reveal that Lede embarked on “Media 101” training for interim Fire Chief Ronnie Villanueva, including basic tips such as: “While reporters aren’t always out to get you, they’re not your friends either.”

“Tricks” that reporters use to get people talking, according to a Lede slideshow, include: “Speculate,” “Stir the pot,” “The long pause/silence” and “Act like your friend.”

Other advice from Lede: “Stay on message and don’t volunteer information that is not asked.” Don’t “offer information to fill the silence (this is a reporter tactic).”

The Lede Company previously declined to comment on its work for the LAFD, citing client confidentiality. An LAFD spokesperson did not immediately respond to a request for comment Friday.

Other records previously released show that Lede also analyzed news articles before and after the Palisades fire — the goal was to get a sort of vibe check of LAFD from the public — and found criticism of department leadership as well as support for the rank and file.

And a communications plan developed in the event that the after-action report was leaked to reporters involved convening an “emergency briefing between LAFD, Lede, and the Mayor’s Office within 60 minutes of discovery,” as well as embargoed briefings within a day “to control the narrative and reinforce lessons learned and key actions coming out of the LAFD.”

Lede worked with the LAFD until about mid-November, when Jaime Moore took over as fire chief. A couple of months later, the agency hired a public information director, Stephanie Bishop, to lead the Community Liaison Office.

State of play

— SB CANDIDATE: Los Angeles mayoral candidate Spencer Pratt acknowledged this week that he’s living in Santa Barbara County after the Palisades fire destroyed his home. He’s allowed to use his Palisades address to vote and run for office, as long as he intends to return, election officials said.

— BASS BUCKS: Bass and City Councilmember Ysabel Jurado say they want to allot more than $360 million to developers and nonprofits creating affordable housing. The money, which comes largely from the “mansion tax,” would fund 80 projects.

— REVOLVING DOOR: A Times analysis found the longer the mayor’s signature program to battle homelessness exists, the worse its metrics are. As Inside Safe finished its third year in December, roughly 40% of the people who had gone indoors were back on the street.

— CHANGE AGENT: Everyone running for L.A. mayor wants to be a champion of change. As her first term comes to an end, Bass is campaigning on change, vowing to tackle decades-old problems. So is City Councilmember Nithya Raman, who says her decision to run was based on “a sense of urgency that things needed to change.”

—FIGHT FLOP: More than a year after California Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta charged 30 probation officers with facilitating so-called “gladiator fights” among youths inside the county’s juvenile halls, almost half of the criminal cases are falling apart. State prosecutors dismissed charges against one-third of the officers, and four more entered into plea deals Tuesday that will end with their cases dropped.

— BADGE BREACH: Sensitive police records, including personnel files, were seized by hackers in a breach involving the L.A. city attorney’s office. A group known for conducting ransomware attacks on large entities took credit for the hack, which involves 337,000 files.

— OLYMPIC OOPS: Los Angeles officials are worried that taxpayers could be on the hook for budget-busting costs to support the 2028 Olympic Games, if the profit promised by LA28 doesn’t materialize. City Atty. Hydee Feldstein Soto and Councilmember Monica Rodriguez both want a contract pledging that LA28 cover any future costs incurred by the city.

— VANISHING BLUES: Up for reelection and facing a budget deficit, Bass says she’s shifting from her original plan to grow the L.A. Police Department to the 9,500-officer force it once was. Her new goal: making sure the department doesn’t shrink from its current total of 8,677 officers, which is the lowest in nearly a quarter-century.

— PRICEY PROTESTS: A well-known LAPD critic and two attorneys are suing the LAPD after officers allegedly fired less-lethal rounds at them during a protest last summer. Activist Jason Reedy says he was shot in the groin after confronting an officer outside LAPD headquarters.

QUICK HITS

• Where is Inside Safe? The mayor’s signature homelessness program monitored 126 encampment sites across the city and visited an interim housing site.
• On the docket next week: L.A. County officials will unveil their budget for the upcoming fiscal year Monday, with the supervisors weighing in at their Tuesday board meeting.

Stay in touch

That’s it for this week! Send your questions, comments and gossip to LAontheRecord@latimes.com. Did a friend forward you this email? Sign up here to get it in your inbox every Saturday morning.

In 2012, I participated in a United Nations mission in Ethiopia for a technical cooperation event on international trade, which at the time was my area of expertise. Since then, every major development in Venezuela brings me back to that trip, which proved far more revealing than I could have imagined. More than once, I have found myself thinking: this is just like in Ethiopia.

I witnessed firsthand, before it unfolded in Venezuela, that totalitarian systems do not just collapse. They transform in order to survive and advance, as Hannah Arendt argued. Over time, I also came to understand that while authoritarian regimes may promise reform and a democratic transition, without sustained external and domestic commitments those promises tend to dissolve sooner rather than later. This insight is particularly relevant in the current Venezuelan process.

On my way from Addis Ababa airport to the hotel, I noticed large portraits of a politician displayed throughout the city. Thinking of the strongman politics I knew from home, I asked the official accompanying me whether he was the president. “No,” he replied, “the prime minister. He died.” Surprised, I asked why his images were still everywhere. “Don’t these images bother the new one?” “No, because he chose his successor,” came the answer. When I pressed further and asked whether people had voted for him, the response was matter-of-fact: they belonged to the same party, and parliament had selected him.

In those few days, I caught a glimpse of what Venezuela would later experience between 2013 and 2019, after Chávez died and his handpicked successor Maduro came to power. I saw a country marked by hunger, where people wandered with a vacant, distant gaze. A look that would later become painfully familiar during Venezuela’s humanitarian crisis. That image contrasted sharply with the ruling elite, visibly prosperous, gathering in luxury hotels and indulging in imported comforts. I saw women collecting firewood to cook because two decades of socialist mismanagement and corruption had destroyed the electrical system. I saw the haze produced by environmental degradation, similar to what would later hang over Caracas. I also observed a strong Chinese presence, already a dominant economic partner and creditor.

During that mission, I came to understand how the ruling system had entrenched poverty, controlled resources, and normalized corruption, not merely as governance failures but as mechanisms of social control. Years later, working from a human rights perspective, I would recognize these patterns as instruments of ideology, repression, and economic, and ethnic exclusion.

His profile seemed ideal: a system-man, with military and security credentials, Western education, and a discourse centered on reform and reconciliation.

I also witnessed the regime’s hostility toward international actors, imposing strict conditions on United Nations operations and limiting the work of officials on the ground. Hearing the likes of Jorge Rodríguez and other Venezuelan representatives threaten Volker Turk this year, the High Commissioner for Human Rights, did not surprise me. I had seen that before, years earlier, in the Horn of Africa.

Now, I return to the phrase like in Ethiopia because, following the US operation to capture Maduro, the proposed plan for stabilization, recovery, and democratization echoes a trajectory that Ethiopia followed over the past decade. 

The Ethiopian Delcy

Let’s go back to 2018. A figure from within the ruling coalition, Abiy Ahmed, rose to power after three years of widespread protests and political unrest that led to the resignation of Hailemariam Desaleng. Although it is not clear how much the US and the EU were involved in his rise, he was not directly imposed from outside as has been the case with Delcy Rodríguez, but he was “unequivocally embraced” by the United States and the European Union. Abiy became the media’s darling, who placed their bets on him and promoted the new leader as a reformist capable of modernizing the country.

His profile seemed ideal: a system-man, with military and security credentials, Western education, and a discourse centered on reform and reconciliation. Between 2018 and 2020, Ethiopia experienced a period of remarkable transformation on three fronts: recovering the economy, stabilizing the region and strengthening the rule of law.

The economy grew at an annual rate of around 7 percent, key sectors were opened to foreign investment, and political reforms were introduced, including the release of political prisoners, the return of those in exile, the legalization of opposition parties, and greater press freedom. Women were incorporated into government at unprecedented levels. On the international stage, Ethiopia expanded its diplomatic engagement, signed trade agreements, and most notably reached a peace agreement with Eritrea, which earned Abiy the Nobel Peace Prize.

Political attention from foreign actors is limited, international agendas evolve rapidly, and what might begin as a priority can quickly be overtaken by other crises.

Yet this period of optimism proved fragile. Tensions in 2020 with the Tigray People’s Liberation Front, once part of the ruling coalition, escalated into a full-scale internal conflict. Abiy’s government shifted course and relapsed. The reform process gave way to a reassertion of authoritarian power, along with widespread human rights violations, restrictions on the press, and accusations of war crimes.

The response from the United States and the European Union included targeted sanctions, visa restrictions, suspension of trade benefits, and partial freezes on aid. Abiy’s international image deteriorated significantly, and Ethiopia began to diversify its alliances, strengthening ties with China, engaging with Russia, and expanding cooperation with actors such as Turkey, the United Arab Emirates, and Iran, eventually becoming members of the anti-West BRICS alliance.

Careful with the honeymoon phase

The Ethiopian case offers at least one revealing lesson. External support can facilitate an initial opening and even generate strong economic momentum, but it does not guarantee a democratic transition. 

When international commitment weakens before new institutional rules are consolidated, the outcome is often not transformation but reconfiguration. The system adapts to the new reality, but is not replaced or merely revamped. This dynamic reflects a broader pattern in contemporary international politics. Particularly since the costly experiences of Iraq and Afghanistan, external actors have tended to favour reform processes led by internal figures rather than imposing leadership from outside. However, the central challenge lies not in how these processes begin, but in what happens when external support diminishes, which often occurs during the crucial consolidation phase.

Both the United States and Europe tend to operate within relatively short time horizons when supporting political transitions, often between two and four years, three if I revert to an American security and communications expert whom I worked with yet in another career chapter. These timelines are shaped by electoral cycles, budgetary constraints, shifting strategic priorities, and, in the European case, the difficulty of sustaining consensus among multiple states with divergent interests. Political attention is limited, international agendas evolve rapidly, and what might begin as a priority can quickly be overtaken by other crises. The result is a form of strategic fatigue that has been evident in multiple contexts over the past decades.

By contrast, the transitions most often cited as successful (such as those in Chile, South Africa, and Eastern Europe) were characterized by sustained external engagement over much longer periods, often a decade or more, combined with favourable internal conditions. These cases demonstrate that democratic consolidation is not the product of a short window of opportunity, but of a prolonged commitment.

For Venezuela, the implications are clear. The current process may well generate an initial opening, attract investment, and produce early signs of stabilization. But without sustained international engagement beyond the initial phase, there is a risk that the system will stabilize without fundamentally democratizing. The lesson from Ethiopia is not that transition is impossible, but that it is incomplete if the conditions for its consolidation are not maintained.

The real challenge, therefore, is not how the transition begins, but whether it is sustained long enough to transform the underlying structures of power. Otherwise, we may once again find ourselves looking at a familiar outcome and thinking, once again, like in Ethiopia.