Opinions

On September 12, 2026, United States President Donald Trump stood in Dublin alongside Irish Prime Minister Micheal Martin and said in a cool tone that the Houthis “called us, and they don’t want to fight us”, adding that the group was “allowing ships to pass” and that the situation would “work out very well”.

His remarks came just as Houthi forces had completed their takeover of the coastal town of Dhubab and Perim (Mayyun) Island, which divides the Bab al-Mandeb strait into two shipping channels, after seizing the strategic port of Mocha. This gave them a direct presence at the entrance to one of the world’s most important waterways.

Trump was speaking against the backdrop of a Houthi announcement that they would blockade Saudi oil supplies to Asia and Saudi commercial shipping, signalling the collapse of the traditional “security-for-oil” formula.

What is happening at Bab al-Mandeb is not an isolated event, but the latest in a long series of US retreats from security commitments that for decades underpinned the “security-for-oil” relationship between Washington and the Gulf states.

This is not a passing political position, but a profound shift in the regional security landscape: the United States is choosing not to intervene militarily against an armed group designated as terrorist that controls one of the world’s most important straits and whose actions go beyond the logic of conventional deterrence.

Trump’s remarks: Substance and strategic context

In Dublin, Trump said the Houthis had contacted the US administration seeking to avoid confrontation with Washington. He said they were “allowing most ships to pass” and that the problem was limited to “one country”, which he did not name – an apparent reference to Saudi Arabia – promising to “take care of fixing that”.

He also said the United States had “tight control” over the Strait of Hormuz and that about 25 ships were passing through it each day on average, despite maritime sources denying this.

On the ground, Trump’s remarks suggested that the Houthis remain wary of US military force and American deterrence, which has already put considerable pressure on their regional backer, Iran. They were therefore prepared to bargain, just as they accepted US conditions in 2025.

At the same time, Trump’s directives – as relayed by US military and civilian officials – revealed a clear hierarchy of priorities: Iran as the principal threat, securing the Strait of Hormuz as the vital artery for oil and gas flows, and avoiding another military front in Yemen.

This reflects a narrow strategic logic. From Washington’s perspective, Bab al-Mandeb is less vital to American oil interests than to flows towards China and other Asian markets that compete with the US economy. And because Trump believes the Houthis “are not targeting American ships”, direct intervention would, in his view, place an unjustified additional burden on US forces already exhausted by the Iranian front.

Trump’s position also cannot be separated from domestic politics. The US-Iran war has eroded his political support after he promised to keep the United States out of Middle Eastern wars.

According to The Los Angeles Times, Trump told Fox News that he “might not do it because of the elections”, referring to avoiding further military escalation before the congressional elections. Opening a new front in Yemen could further complicate matters for Republicans in closely contested House and Senate races.

Meanwhile, Saudi circles denied an Axios report claiming that Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman had called Trump twice on the eve of the Houthi takeover of the coast on September 10, urging him to strike the Houthis, and that Trump had refused.

The sources pointed to Axios’s own July 29 report on Saudi Defence Minister Prince Khalid bin Salman’s visit to Washington, which said he had told the US vice president that the kingdom could manage the confrontation with the Houthis itself and did not need US military intervention. They regarded the two accounts as contradictions in the reporting of Axios’s Barak Ravid.

Observers in Riyadh see the restrained US position as part of a broader policy: the administration currently has no intention of taking direct military action against the Houthis. At the same time, Admiral Brad Cooper, commander of US Central Command, travelled to Riyadh for urgent coordination talks with Prince Mohammed, indicating that Washington is seeking to “intensify its support” for Saudi Arabia while avoiding direct military involvement – a formula well understood in Riyadh.

Trump sought to reassure Saudi concerns by describing the crown prince as a “good friend” and promising that “everything will work out very well”. But he offered no specific military commitment, and the White House announced no explicit guarantees to protect Saudi energy infrastructure or maritime routes.

This reluctance also follows a series of US decisions that have demonstrated a growing retreat from its security commitments in the Gulf. During his first term, Trump did not respond to the 2019 Aramco attack, for which the Houthis claimed responsibility but which was believed to have originated from Iraqi factions to the north. The attack temporarily knocked out half of Saudi oil supplies.

In February 2026, the United States joined Israel in attacking Iran without consulting its Gulf allies and has since faced growing difficulties defending them against Iranian attacks. US forces are now heavily preoccupied around the Strait of Hormuz, limiting their ability to respond to another front in Yemen.

Paradoxically, Washington, now bogged down in Hormuz, appears to need Saudi help in containing Iranian disruption at Bab al-Mandeb, rather than the other way round.

Since the war began on February 28, Riyadh has resisted all US pressure to become involved in a confrontation with Iran for two reasons. First, it believes such pressure carries an implicit aim of portraying the Saudi front as part of the Israeli front. Second, it was not consulted over the launch of the war and is not prepared to be worn down in a conflict serving Israeli objectives.

The erosion of the US umbrella and the fate of the ‘security-for-oil’ formula

Since the 1970s, the US-Gulf relationship has rested on a clear but implicit bargain: the United States provides a security umbrella protecting the Gulf states and energy routes, while the Gulf states ensure a steady flow of oil to the global economy at reasonable prices.

This was more than a bilateral understanding between Riyadh and Washington. Gulf security meant oil security, and oil security meant the security of the Western economy, making the bargain a pillar of the international energy system for decades.

Today, there are mounting signs that this formula is beginning to collapse.

First, strategic abandonment: Trump’s refusal to defend Bab al-Mandeb, and his response to the Houthis’ request that the US stay out of the conflict in return for allowing American ships to pass – effectively a political deal – marks a watershed. For the first time, the United States is clearly hesitating to defend energy security and a pivotal ally against a direct threat to global energy infrastructure. This is not temporary hesitation, but a redefinition of the US commitment.

Second, the redirection of priorities: Washington’s focus on the Strait of Hormuz and avoidance of a front in Yemen point to a new approach: not a comprehensive security umbrella, but selective protection of direct US interests. Hormuz matters because it carries Gulf oil to markets on which the US economy depends, while Bab al-Mandeb – from Trump’s perspective – primarily serves exports to China and Asia, interests Washington does not consider worth further military investment.

Third, military exhaustion: the US military is exhausted by the war with Iran and its stocks of advanced interceptor missiles have been depleted. This is structural rather than temporary, reflecting a growing inability to manage multiple fronts.

Fourth, domestic politics: the erosion of Trump’s political support because of the Iran war makes further military expansion politically costly. What was once a guarantee of Gulf security – US power – has become hostage to domestic electoral calculations.

Does this mean the end of the “security-for-oil” formula? Not necessarily. But it does point to a fundamental shift from a bilateral US-Gulf arrangement to a more complex, multilateral one.

The US umbrella has not disappeared, but it has contracted. The United States still maintains forces in the region and remains focused on the Strait of Hormuz, but its commitment is no longer comprehensive or unconditional.

Saudi strategic hedging

For years, Riyadh has been pursuing alternatives through strategic hedging. Its announcement of a 14-state multinational defensive maritime alliance – including Turkiye, Pakistan, Egypt, Sudan and Djibouti – is an attempt to fill the US security vacuum, while US or European naval forces are also deployed around the strait as part of similar Western coalitions.

Saudi Arabia is also strengthening its air and missile defences, developing its naval capabilities and deepening defence ties with countries including Turkiye and Pakistan. These efforts have included the “Strategic Mutual Defence Alliance” with Pakistan and the Mecca alliance with Turkiye and Pakistan in August 2026.

What we are witnessing is not the end of the US umbrella, but its shift from a “comprehensive guarantee” to “conditional and limited support”, forcing Gulf states to rethink their collective security.

The Saudi position on industrialised countries’ disregard for supply security

Saudi Arabia now faces one of its most serious security challenges: the Houthis control Bab al-Mandeb, are choking Saudi trade and have already launched drone and missile attacks towards Saudi territory.

Saudi oil exports to Asia fell from around 3.4 million barrels a day in June to just 128,000 in August, before partially recovering to 700,000 this month. Oil prices have meanwhile exceeded $107 a barrel, while the price of a gallon of petrol in the United States has risen by 35 percent.

The real danger is the simultaneous disruption of two maritime chokepoints: Hormuz, through which about 20 percent of global oil and gas supplies pass, is almost closed because of the US-Iran war, while Bab al-Mandeb, which accounts for 10-12 percent of global oil, is under Houthi control. Closing both could block about a quarter of global supplies.

Even without complete closure, the continuing threat creates a permanent “risk premium” on prices, according to economic analysts. Although Saudi Arabia benefits in the short term from higher prices, it is strategically harmed by instability because Vision 2030 depends on foreign investment, tourism and stability, not temporary wartime oil revenues.

Riyadh has long played a leading role in stabilising oil markets, frequently using its position as a swing producer to limit volatility. But amid the indifference of industrialised countries to supply security and the threats facing energy sources and routes, Saudi Arabia cannot put aside the dangers to its own security, sovereignty and people for countries that disregard the geopolitics of energy.

For this reason, Saudi Arabia has previously declared that it “will not bear responsibility for any disruptions or shortages in global oil supplies” resulting from Houthi attacks on its oil facilities.

This is more than a warning. It redefines the implicit social contract with its allies: Saudi Arabia is no longer prepared to act as guarantor of last resort for global energy security without something in return.

Its message is that the international community – particularly the major industrialised countries that benefit from oil flows – must share responsibility for protecting maritime routes, rather than leaving Riyadh to bear the cost alone.

‘Collective responsibility’ as a new security doctrine

The Saudi Ministry of Defence reinforced this approach in its statement on the proposed maritime alliance, stressing that “the security of international maritime routes is a collective responsibility that requires effective and sustainable international partnership”.

This is more than a diplomatic appeal. It amounts to a reformulation of the regional security contract: Saudi Arabia is not asking industrialised countries to defend Saudi interests, but to help protect their own interest in the continued flow of oil on which their economies depend.

In July 2026, Saudi Arabia announced a “Multinational Defensive Maritime Alliance” of 14 founding states: Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Bahrain, Qatar, Pakistan, Turkiye, Egypt, Jordan, Yemen, Bangladesh, Nigeria, Sudan, Djibouti and Somalia.

At least 43 countries and organisations attended the founding meeting in Riyadh. The alliance may mark an important turning point, reflecting an implicit Saudi acknowledgement that the US umbrella is no longer sufficient and that Riyadh must build its own security capabilities with regional allies.

US exposure: A deeper strategic reading

Trump’s statements downplaying the Houthi takeover of Bab al-Mandeb and his refusal to intervene reflect not only a political decision, but a structural weakness in US deterrence.

The United States is unable to manage multiple fronts. Its concentration around the Strait of Hormuz limits its ability to respond in Yemen; fighting has depleted stocks of advanced interceptor missiles; and the unpopularity of the war and approaching congressional elections constrain its freedom of action.

From the perspective of countries in the region, the US military presence in the Gulf is no longer an unconditional security guarantee. The question of whether allies could be abandoned again is pushing decision-makers from Riyadh to Abu Dhabi, Kuwait and Doha to diversify their security and defence partnerships.

That means deeper defence ties with Turkiye and Pakistan, stronger air and missile defences and naval capabilities, maintaining open channels and seeking risk-reducing understandings with regional powers including Iran, and multinational maritime alliances to protect navigation.

But these alternatives have limits. Can any regional alliance fully compensate for the absence of a major power such as the United States when confronting threats on the scale of Iran and its proxies? US intelligence, logistical and interception capabilities have no regional equivalent, leaving a security gap that cannot quickly be filled.

The new regional order: Towards multipolarity

What we are witnessing is not merely a passing security crisis, but the emergence of a new regional order marked by the decline of unilateral US dominance. The United States is no longer the sole security power in the Gulf, as Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Turkiye and Iran gain weight and Gulf states diversify their partnerships and seek more collective regional security arrangements.

Trump’s response to the Houthi takeover of Bab al-Mandeb is therefore not simply a political position, but a sign of a tectonic shift in the regional security order. The “security-for-oil” formula that governed US-Gulf relations for decades has not formally ended, but it no longer provides the guarantees on which it was built. The US security umbrella remains, but it has become selective, conditional and subject to domestic US calculations unrelated to the interests of the Gulf states.

Saudi Arabia, caught between the hammer of the Houthis at Bab al-Mandeb and the anvil of Iran at the Strait of Hormuz, is pursuing a different approach: insisting that protection of maritime routes become a “collective responsibility” and that it should no longer bear alone the cost of protecting the interests of industrialised countries dependent on its oil.

This position – backed by the announcement of a multinational maritime alliance – marks the beginning of a redefinition of the regional security contract, although significant questions remain over whether ambition can be translated into capability.

Oil prices above $107 a barrel may be only an early sign of what lies ahead. If US exposure continues and regional understandings guaranteeing freedom of navigation remain out of reach, the world could face an energy crisis comparable to those of the 1970s, but without a US security umbrella ready to contain it.

Bab al-Mandeb is therefore more than a maritime strait. It reflects the end of one era and the beginning of another, in which Gulf security is no longer an American gift but a collective responsibility still searching for new arrangements.

Saudi Arabia, meanwhile, appears to favour a combination of deterrence and avoiding all-out war. Rather than sliding into open-ended attrition, it seeks to support national allies on the ground, enable the Yemeni state to restore its sovereignty, contain the logic of the militia and build a national doctrine that limits external penetration.

Yemen’s stability is no longer a purely Yemeni matter, but a first line of defence for the Red Sea and Bab al-Mandeb and for the cohesion of the Arab sphere, with Riyadh and Cairo remaining central pillars in confronting projects of disintegration and fragmentation.

Within this emerging order, the Saudi-Egyptian partnership is becoming a cornerstone of regional security. Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman’s expected visit to Cairo and summit with President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi give practical expression to the principle of “collective responsibility”.

Riyadh and Cairo recognise that the security of the Red Sea and Bab al-Mandeb is not a local matter: it is vital to the Suez Canal and Egyptian economy, and forms strategic and security depth for Saudi Arabia.

By coordinating diplomatic and military action, supporting the full liberation of Yemen and containing the reach of the militias, the two countries are helping shape an autonomous regional security order intended to fill the vacuums left by retreating international powers, protect international navigation and confront shared threats from a position of parity and capacity.

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

On Monday, the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (BARMM) in the Philippines will hold its first parliamentary election since it was established in 2018. The vote will officially mark the end of the transition period under the Bangsamoro Transition Authority (BTA), an interim regional government appointed in 2019.

The election is a significant milestone in the Bangsamoro struggle. It is the outcome of decades of armed conflict and negotiations between the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) and the government of the Philippines.

The vote will test the Philippine government’s commitment to the peace process and the MILF’s commitment to the democratic process.

The struggle for self-determination

BARMM is located on Mindanao, the second-largest island in the Philippine Archipelago, and it covers roughly the territories inhabited by the Moro people, a native Muslim-majority group. For centuries, the Moro enjoyed self-governance in independent states and resisted Spanish colonialism. Following the Philippines’s independence in 1946, they continued their struggle for self-determination.

In 1989, the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) was created by Manila to give some devolved rights to the Moro. However, ARMM largely failed to address local grievances and demands due to its weak structural power. It was given limited autonomy in political and fiscal decision-making, but it did not manage to improve socioeconomic conditions in the region. The MILF continued the armed struggle.

In 2012, President Benigno Aquino III recognised the ARMM as a “failed experiment”. Under his administration, the Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro was signed between the government and the MILF, paving the way for a new political entity.

Six years later, under President Rodrigo Roa Duterte, the Organic Law for the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao was promulgated. This legislation granted the region greater fiscal autonomy, a regional government, a parliament, and a justice system.

Then the Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro was concluded to outline the mechanism of transition from ARMM to BARMM and set up the MILF-dominated BTA to lead it. All of this is culminating in the parliamentary election, which will determine the makeup of the region’s first legislative body.

A contested election

The vote comes at a time of heightened tensions in BARMM and internal divisions within the MILF. Two camps have emerged within the movement – one loyal to MILF Chair Al Haj Murad Ebrahim and another supporting Chief Minister Abdulraof Macacua.

Last month, Macacua joined the newly formed Bangsamoro Federalist Party (BFP), which will compete in the elections against the MILF’s political wing, the United Bangsamoro Justice Party (UBJP). Shortly after, his convoy was attacked, but he survived unscathed.

In early September, Macacua and 40 commanders were dismissed from the MILF’s military wing for alleged insubordination.

These tensions have prompted increased public anxiety about possible post-election unrest. There are other factors that could overshadow the vote.

In past elections, vote-buying was widespread, election-related violence was rampant, and electoral fraud and manipulation were pervasive. If these practices repeat at a large scale, the electoral outcome may not necessarily provide a straightforward measure of the will of Bangsamoro’s people. It may also not be an accurate reflection of whether they are satisfied with the transitional government or not.

The MILF presents itself as a champion of moral governance. If it is to retain this label, it should not give in to widespread vote-buying and electoral manipulation. It should also not let internal rivalries turn violent.

But there are already some alarming signs. Prominent MILF figures have conveyed that if the UBJP, the front’s political wing, sees manipulation and fraud, its members are ready to fight. They have also suggested that since the MILF led the transition, it should remain in power. On social media, some citizens have condemned the MILF camp’s threats, calling such tactics un-Islamic.

Before the vote, Manila has deployed military forces in key areas. This has heightened people’s fears that fighting with the MILF may erupt. The tense situation might lead to a low voter turnout.

Under these circumstances, the future of the Bangsamoro is riddled with uncertainties.

Whatever happens in the election, we must remember that the future of BARMM is a shared responsibility. The Philippine government and the Bangsamoro parties are duty-bound to honour the peace agreement. In addition, the people must exercise their civic rights and responsibilities to help sustain the peace achieved after a long and painful armed conflict and to move toward a prosperous Bangsamoro land.

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

Yemen’s Houthi rebels have captured Mocha port and now threaten to control the main waterway of the Bab al-Mandeb strait. They have also attacked several cities in Saudi Arabia, wounding about 70 people, including women and children.

The repeated attacks against Saudi energy, civil, and defence facilities, combined with the maritime blockage by Iran and its Yemeni partner the Houthis, directly raise the question of the Mecca Pact’s operationalisation between Saudi Arabia, Turkiye, and Pakistan.

The Houthi attacks on Saudi Arabia can activate the mutual defence agreement. If that happens, what could a Pakistani and Turkish intervention look like?

The answer to this question necessitates some crucial background first.

The US – the main security partner of the Gulf states – has signalled for a while now that it expects regional countries to take primary responsibility for their own defence and deterrence, with US help remaining critical but limited.

That posture is already visible on the ground. Since the start of the US-Israel war on Iran, the US has not been able to provide comprehensive defence for its regional partners. On several occasions, it has even failed to stop attacks on its own bases in the Gulf.

With US presence receding and Washington emphasising regional burden-sharing, Gulf states have had to look into a new defence architecture. In September 2025, Saudi Arabia and Pakistan signed their first mutual defence agreement, which expanded in August this year to include Turkiye and became the Mecca Joint Defence Agreement.

The three countries have since established a joint secretariat, with its headquarters in Riyadh, with Pakistan taking the chairmanship for an initial three-year term.

The pact remains in a gestation period. It does not publicly identify the thresholds or scenarios under which a member would move to direct military intervention. Its organisational and institutional structure, including rules of engagement, mechanisms of consultation, and collective defence and deterrence, are yet to be formally developed.

Now, back to the question of how the pact will be operational if a member state is attacked.

Earlier this week, Pakistan’s Defence Minister Khawaja Asif said that an unprovoked aggression against Saudi Arabia, or a spillover of the Yemen conflict into the kingdom, would make the Mecca Joint Defence Agreement operational, adding that “there should be no doubt in this.”

Asif, however, did not share specific details on what shape that operationalisation would take. Last month, Turkiye’s Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan clarified that the Mecca Pact would work the same way as NATO: If a member state is attacked, it must actively request and define the specific type of help it needs.

NATO’s Article 4 allows for a member to call alliance consultations and exchange of information. Article 5 requires mutual assistance from allies, but it leaves each state to decide the nature of that assistance.

In 2012, after Syria shot down a Turkish warplane, Ankara invoked Article 4 for consultation and requested specific defence assistance. Instead of demanding direct military intervention, the Turkish government explicitly asked for Patriot missile defence batteries. NATO approved the request and deployed the systems to protect Turkish airspace.

In this context, if the Mecca Pact is to be operationalised, it would have to be Saudi Arabia that defines the type of military assistance and involvement that it needs. If, for example, Riyadh makes an actual request for Pakistani direct military intervention, beyond materiel and intelligence support, Islamabad would be obliged to comply. But the request, and the scale of the response, would still likely need to be defined and agreed in a consultation meeting.

For now, none of this has been tested as Riyadh has not invoked the pact with either Pakistan or Turkiye.

In the meantime, diplomatic efforts have intensified, with Pakistani Field Marshal Asim Munir and Saudi Foreign Minister Prince Faisal bin Farhan Al Saud talking to Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi.

Islamabad has also publicly urged Iran to rein in the Houthis from attacking Saudi Arabia and threatening the Bab al-Mandeb, and has reminded Tehran of Pakistan’s commitment to Riyadh’s defence through the pact. Ankara would likely play its own part in diplomatically restraining the Houthis and Iran.

If diplomacy fails and Houthi attacks on Saudi Arabia or the Bab al-Mandeb continue, Turkiye and Pakistan would likely expand the air and technological support they already provide. Islamabad already has an air squadron of about 16 JF-17 Thunder multirole aircraft, defence systems, and thousands of troops deployed in Saudi Arabia.

But a direct military operation by Pakistani forces inside Yemen remains unlikely at the moment. Given the disastrous and lasting impacts of its participation in the Afghan war against the Soviet Union on behalf of the US, Pakistan would be far more wary of joining a war against Iran and its allies, for fear of spillover into its western border provinces’ economy, domestic security, sectarian balance, and societal harmony. Pakistani leaders would find it hard to build domestic consensus for direct attacks on the Houthis or a fight with Iran.

The likely scenario is that Pakistan would increase joint diplomatic pressure on Iran to restrain the Houthis, further augment its support for Saudi defence, and push for a multinational naval coalition to secure the Bab al-Mandeb. Adopting this restraint would still keep the essence of the Mecca Pact intact, while putting more weight behind regional de-escalation.

The new security architecture that agreements like the Mecca Pact are setting up will take years to mature. Until the mechanisms and rules of collective response develop, Pakistan’s existing bilateral defence relationships with Saudi Arabia and other Arab partners will continue to focus on defence needs.

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

United States President Donald Trump has made no secret of his hostility towards BRICS.

Last year, he threatened an additional 10 percent tariff on any country aligning itself with what he called the bloc’s “anti-American policies”. Since then, his administration has continued to wield tariffs aggressively against trading partners, including BRICS members such as Brazil, India and China.

The message appears straightforward: Countries that challenge US economic power should expect to pay a price.

But coercion has consequences. And as BRICS leaders meet in New Delhi today, Trump may be strengthening the very incentives that made the bloc attractive in the first place. The more Washington demonstrates its willingness to use access to its markets, its financial system and the dollar as instruments of political leverage, the more reason other countries have to reduce their exposure to them.

This does not mean BRICS is becoming an anti-US alliance. Far from it.

The bloc’s 11 members – Brazil, China, Egypt, Ethiopia, India, Indonesia, Iran, Russia, Saudi Arabia, South Africa and the United Arab Emirates – have enormous political and economic differences. Together, they account for nearly half the world’s population and about 40 percent of global gross domestic product, but they do not share a common ideology, security policy or even geopolitical orientation.

Recent events have made those divisions impossible to ignore. Iran, Saudi Arabia and the UAE find themselves on opposite sides of a growing regional conflict. In May, Iranian and Emirati representatives clashed during a foreign ministers’ meeting in New Delhi. India and China have had a heated border dispute that led to deadly skirmishes in 2020-2021; only in the past two years have their relations gradually stabilised.

So Trump is not producing a united geopolitical front against Washington.

He may, however, be giving countries with otherwise divergent interests a common reason to cooperate economically: Protection against vulnerability to US power.

For countries outside the Western core, dependence on US-centred economic infrastructure carries risks.

The dollar’s centrality gives the US enormous structural advantages. International transactions pass through financial institutions subject to US jurisdiction; access to US markets can be restricted; sanctions can isolate governments and companies from parts of the global financial system.

BRICS’s efforts to diminish dependence on the US financial system do not mean the dollar is about to lose its position as a global reserve currency. This claim is often made around BRICS summits, usually accompanied by breathless predictions of a new BRICS currency. The evidence does not support it.

The dollar remains overwhelmingly dominant. According to the International Monetary Fund, it accounted for 57.1 percent of global foreign-exchange reserves in the first quarter of 2026. The Chinese renminbi accounted for just 2 percent. Indeed, the dollar’s share rose slightly during the quarter.

But replacing the dollar and reducing dependence on it are two very different things.

BRICS countries are already experimenting with the latter. South Africa has connected to China’s Cross-Border Interbank Payment System, allowing transactions with China to be settled directly in renminbi. Brazil and China are increasingly using their own currencies in bilateral trade, while India and the UAE have settled transactions in rupees and dirhams. China and Russia have shifted much of their bilateral trade into their national currencies.

BRICS itself is also moving cautiously towards greater financial connectivity.

Last year, its leaders called for continued work on a cross-border payments initiative and greater interoperability among members’ payment systems. In August, Reserve Bank of India Governor Sanjay Malhotra confirmed that BRICS countries are discussing linking their fast-payment networks and potentially their central bank digital currencies. India itself is also encouraging greater use of the rupee in international trade.

The New Development Bank offers another example. Established by the original BRICS countries as an alternative source of development finance, it has made lending in members’ currencies an explicit strategic objective. Its current strategy targets 30 percent of financing in local currencies, partly to reduce borrowers’ exposure to foreign-exchange risks and costly currency swaps; the number could increase to 40-50 percent for the next cycle, 2027-2031.

None of this amounts to a rival global financial system. Much of it remains experimental, bilateral or limited in scale.

But that is precisely why the fixation on whether BRICS can “replace” the dollar misses what is happening. The more significant development is the gradual construction of options that allow governments and businesses to conduct a number of transactions without relying on the dollar and Western-dominated financial infrastructure.

Trump’s policies give this process additional urgency.

Consider Brazil. Washington imposed a new 25 percent tariff on a range of Brazilian products in July, affecting billions of dollars in exports, despite running a trade surplus with the country. The Trump administration has also scrutinised Brazil’s hugely successful Pix instant-payment system, which competes with established card-payment networks.

Sanctions demonstrate the same vulnerability more dramatically. Russia and Iran have been pushed towards alternative payment and trading arrangements precisely because their access to Western financial networks has been restricted. Washington is now considering further measures that could penalise countries heavily reliant on Russian energy, including China and India.

No BRICS member needs to sympathise with Moscow or Tehran to understand what this implies.

US financial power depends not simply on possessing the world’s largest economy or issuing its dominant currency. It also depends on other countries continuing to regard participation in a US-centred system as more advantageous than the alternatives.

The more frequently Washington turns that system into an instrument of coercion, the stronger the incentive to construct escape routes from it.

That said, most BRICS countries do not appear eager to exchange dependence on Washington for dependence on Beijing.

India maintains extensive relations with the US while buying Russian energy and pursuing closer economic cooperation within BRICS. Brazil has long sought greater autonomy without becoming a Chinese satellite. Saudi Arabia and the UAE remain deeply intertwined with Western economies while expanding their relationships with China.

Their objective is less likely to be replacing one hegemon with another than increasing their ability to manoeuvre between competing centres of power.

That distinction matters. A trade transaction settled in rupees, a loan denominated in renminbi or rand, or a payment made through a system that does not depend on the same Western intermediaries will not overthrow dollar dominance.

But multiply such arrangements across countries and over time, and they begin to reduce the costs of saying no to Washington.

This is why portraying BRICS simply as an anti-US threat risks becoming self-defeating. Punishing countries for seeking alternatives gives them another reason to develop those alternatives.

Trump wants to make challenging US power costly. Instead, he may be making dependence on US power costlier still.

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

The renewed escalation in Yemen is no longer simply a Yemeni battlefield development. For Saudi Arabia, it is becoming a direct test of national security, economic resilience and the kingdom’s ability to prevent the wider regional war from spilling further across its borders.

The latest Houthi attacks have demonstrated this clearly. Missiles and drones have hit civilian and economic sites in Abha, Khamis Mushait, Jizan and Najran, injuring dozens of civilians and causing fires and temporary disruption at energy facilities. The attacks came as fighting intensified in Yemen and around the western coast, while the Houthis continued to threaten maritime traffic in the Red Sea and Bab al-Mandeb.

Saudi Arabia therefore faces two interconnected threats: Attacks on its territory and attempts to disrupt the maritime routes on which regional and international trade depends.

This creates a difficult strategic equation for Riyadh. Saudi Arabia has spent the past several years trying to move away from direct military involvement in Yemen and towards diplomacy, de-escalation and support for a political settlement. A return to an open-ended war would contradict that strategy and impose unnecessary political and economic costs.

But restraint cannot mean accepting repeated attacks on Saudi territory.

A different security environment

The security challenge today differs considerably from the first years of the Yemen war.

Saudi Arabia has strengthened its air and missile defences, improved coordination between its military and security institutions and accumulated considerable experience in countering drones and ballistic missiles. It is therefore much better prepared to defend its territory than it was a decade ago.

Yet the Houthi threat has also evolved.

The group possesses a combination of ballistic missiles, cruise missiles and increasingly sophisticated drones. Even when most incoming weapons are intercepted, relatively inexpensive systems can impose disproportionate defensive costs and create uncertainty around airports, industrial facilities, border communities and energy infrastructure.

This means Saudi security cannot depend on interception alone. No air defence system can guarantee a perfect shield indefinitely.

The strategic objective must therefore be deterrence: Convincing the Houthis that attacks on Saudi territory will impose costs greater than any political or military benefit they expect to obtain.

This does not necessarily require returning to the large-scale military campaign of previous years. Riyadh has more options today. These include intelligence operations, strengthening Yemeni government forces, improving border security, disrupting missile and drone supply networks and, where necessary, conducting proportionate operations against facilities directly involved in attacks on Saudi Arabia.

The distinction is important. Saudi Arabia does not need to choose between doing nothing and returning to a full-scale war.

The economic front

The economic consequences are equally important.

Saudi Arabia is one of the world’s largest energy exporters, which makes attacks on its oil infrastructure internationally significant even when physical damage is limited. The latest attacks affected energy facilities and contributed to renewed concern in already nervous global oil markets.

There is an apparent paradox here: Regional instability can push oil prices higher and temporarily increase Saudi oil revenues. But higher prices caused by war should not be confused with economic benefit.

Saudi Arabia’s economic strategy under Vision 2030 depends increasingly on stability, investment, tourism, logistics, technology and the development of major projects outside the oil sector. Persistent missile and drone attacks can raise insurance and transport costs and affect perceptions of regional risk even if the kingdom’s underlying economy remains strong.

The greater strategic concern is maritime security.

Saudi Arabia occupies a strategic position between two of the world’s most important energy corridors: The Strait of Hormuz to the east and Bab al-Mandeb to the west. Disruption of both routes represents a serious challenge not only for Saudi Arabia but for the global economy.

This is why the Red Sea dimension of the Yemen conflict is particularly important. Bab al-Mandeb connects the Indian Ocean with the Red Sea and the Suez Canal. A sustained Houthi ability to threaten shipping there would increase freight and insurance costs and potentially divert vessels around Africa.

Saudi Arabia, however, possesses an important strategic advantage: Its energy infrastructure is not completely dependent on the Gulf. The kingdom can transport significant quantities of oil through its East-West pipeline to terminals on the Red Sea. This provides an alternative to Hormuz and gives Riyadh greater strategic flexibility.

That advantage does not, however, eliminate Saudi Arabia’s exposure to insecurity elsewhere in the Red Sea, including around Bab al-Mandeb.

Protecting Bab al-Mandeb should therefore be understood not simply as a Saudi or Yemeni interest but as an international economic and security requirement.

Avoiding the Houthi trap

The greatest danger for Riyadh may be political rather than purely military.

The Houthis could benefit from drawing Saudi Arabia back into an extensive war. It would allow them to portray the conflict once again as a confrontation between Yemen and an external power rather than a struggle among Yemenis over the future of their state.

Saudi Arabia should avoid this trap.

Confronting the Houthis must remain fundamentally a Yemeni responsibility. The internationally recognised Yemeni government and its forces should carry the principal burden of confronting Houthi expansion on the ground, while Saudi Arabia provides political, economic, intelligence and defensive support.

This is particularly important on the western coast. If the Houthis consolidate their military position around strategic areas overlooking the Red Sea and Bab al-Mandeb, the consequences will extend far beyond Yemen.

The objective should not be to retake Sanaa through another large-scale air campaign or restart an indefinite regional war. It should be to prevent the Houthis from using military force to change the regional balance, threaten neighbouring states or threaten international maritime arteries.

Diplomacy backed by deterrence

Saudi policy is therefore likely to operate on several tracks simultaneously.

First, Riyadh will continue strengthening its air and missile defences and protecting critical infrastructure. Second, it can increase support for Yemeni government forces while avoiding unnecessary direct involvement in ground combat. Third, it will seek broader regional and international cooperation to secure the Red Sea and Bab al-Mandeb.

At the same time, diplomatic channels should remain open.

Saudi Arabia has repeatedly demonstrated its preference for a negotiated settlement in Yemen. But negotiations are sustainable only when both sides believe that escalation carries unacceptable costs.

Diplomacy, therefore, must be backed by credible military power.

Saudi Arabia has strong incentives to prevent Yemen from becoming another permanent front in the wider regional confrontation. The kingdom’s economic transformation requires stability, while its geopolitical interests require secure borders, uninterrupted energy exports and freedom of navigation.

But the same logic that encourages restraint also places limits on it.

If attacks on Saudi cities, civilians and energy infrastructure continue, Riyadh will increasingly regard the issue not as intervention in the Yemeni civil war but as the defence of Saudi territory.

That distinction will shape what comes next.

Saudi Arabia does not need another prolonged Yemen war. Nor does Yemen. But avoiding one requires restoring deterrence while preserving the possibility of a political settlement.

The most effective Saudi strategy, therefore, is neither unlimited escalation nor passive restraint. It is calibrated pressure: Defend the kingdom, strengthen legitimate Yemeni institutions, protect the Red Sea, keep diplomatic channels open and make clear that attacks on Saudi territory will carry consequences.

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

At the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO) summit in Bishkek this week, Iranian President Masoud Pezeshkian received precisely the kind of political support he had hoped for. The SCO condemned the military attacks against Iran, described them as violations of international law and the UN Charter, reaffirmed Iranian sovereignty and territorial integrity, and called for the conflict to be resolved through political and diplomatic means.

But the organisation did not offer to defend Iran. That distinction between political solidarity and collective defence is important. It tells us something not only about the Iranian experience with the SCO, but about the international order that is emerging around it.

For years, discussions about multipolarity have often suggested that the US-led international system would gradually be challenged by an alternative bloc centred around China, Russia and organisations such as BRICS and the SCO. From the perspective of middle powers, joining both institutions seemed to fit neatly into this transformation. Integration into non-Western organisations was supposed to make them less vulnerable to Western isolation and pressure.

The US-Israeli war on Iran has made clear that none of these alternative relationships can produce a security guarantee comparable to those provided by formal military alliances. The lesson is not that multipolarity has failed middle powers. It is that the emerging multipolar order may work differently from what many expected.

Rather than replacing one alliance system with another, it is producing an increasingly dense network of overlapping partnerships in which states gain diplomatic and economic options without necessarily acquiring new security guarantees.

For middle powers, this may be one of the defining characteristics of the emerging order: more room for manoeuvre, but less certainty about who will stand beside them when their security is threatened.

Turkiye provides a particularly revealing example. It has been a member of NATO for more than seven decades and remains embedded in the Western security architecture. Yet Ankara has increasingly demonstrated that alliance membership does not require automatic political alignment with Washington. Turkiye has maintained relations with Russia despite the war in Ukraine, expanded its engagement with China and participated in the SCO as a dialogue partner. At the same time, its differences with the US and Israel over the future regional order in the Middle East have become increasingly visible.

This does not mean Turkiye is abandoning NATO or moving into a Chinese- or Russian-led bloc. Quite the opposite. Ankara’s strategy depends precisely on avoiding such a binary choice. Its NATO membership provides security benefits that the SCO could not replicate. Its relationships with Russia, China, Iran, the Gulf states and other regional actors, meanwhile, expand its diplomatic and economic options.

Brazil represents another good example. Unlike Turkiye, Brazil is not bound to the US through a formal military alliance. But it has traditionally operated within a US-dominated hemisphere where Washington has expected considerable political alignment from regional governments.

Brazil’s refusal to join the US-led Americas Counter-Cartel Coalition (ACCC), together with its positions on the Iran war and other recent international crises, reflects its reluctance to accept that regional proximity should translate into automatic strategic alignment.

Yet Brazil is not simply switching sides. Its participation in BRICS, its extensive economic relationship with China and its calls for reform of the international system coexist with important political and economic relations with the US and Europe. Brasília’s objective is not to exchange dependence on Washington for dependence on Beijing, but to preserve the ability to cooperate with both, and disagree with either.

This may be one of the most consequential opportunities that multipolarity offers middle powers. The rise of alternative centres of economic and political influence reduces the cost of saying no. For decades, weaker states often confronted a difficult choice when facing pressure from a dominant power: comply, resist and risk isolation, or seek protection from a rival bloc.

The proliferation of partners and institutions complicates that calculation. A government that disagrees with Washington may deepen relations with Beijing without becoming a Chinese ally. A state dependent on China economically may strengthen security ties with the US without fully aligning with Washington. Membership in BRICS does not prevent cooperation with Western institutions, just as membership in a US-led security framework does not necessarily preclude engagement with China or Russia.

India has made this logic almost an organising principle of its foreign policy. New Delhi participates in the Quad with the US, Japan and Australia while simultaneously belonging to both BRICS and the SCO. At Bishkek, India supported the SCO declaration defending Iranian sovereignty while Prime Minister Narendra Modi also stressed to Pezeshkian the importance of preserving freedom of navigation and commerce through the Strait of Hormuz.

The Gulf Cooperation Council member states are pursuing their own version of this diversification. Saudi Arabia, Qatar and the United Arab Emirates, for example, continue to depend heavily on their relationships with the US for security, while simultaneously expanding economic and diplomatic ties with China, India and other Asian powers and participating in new regional and international arrangements.

None appears eager to replace Washington with Beijing. They want relationships with both. This suggests that the most significant consequence of multipolarity for middle and smaller powers may not be the emergence of a new bloc to which they can attach themselves. It may be the declining necessity of attaching themselves exclusively to any bloc at all.

But greater autonomy comes with a cost. The same flexible arrangements that allow states to avoid choosing sides also provide fewer guarantees when crises become existential. BRICS does not have an Article 5. Neither does the SCO, which explicitly defines itself as a non-military organisation.

Strategic partnerships can provide weapons, investment, diplomatic backing and political support without obligating partners to go to war for one another.

The emerging international system is therefore unlikely to resemble a simple transition from a US-led order to a Chinese-led one, or even a confrontation between two clearly defined blocs. The older alliance system is not disappearing.

NATO remains central to European and Turkish security, while US security relationships remain indispensable across much of Asia and the Gulf. What is emerging alongside it is another layer, a more fluid landscape of overlapping institutions, selective partnerships and transactional relationships.

Multipolarity, in other words, may not require states to choose a new camp. That gives middle and smaller powers greater agency. But it also places greater responsibility for their own security upon them. The world they are entering may offer more partners, more bargaining power and more freedom to say no. What it may offer less frequently is certainty about who will say yes when they ask for protection.

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

Critics argue that the administration’s arcade games prioritise entertainment over pressing issues like rising costs and foreign conflicts.

The White House’s unveiling of five arcade-style games on its website, each believed to be promoting a different policy of United States President Donald Trump’s agenda, has ignited backlash, with critics accusing the administration of prioritising entertainment over addressing rising living costs and the ongoing war on Iran.

Announced on Thursday, the games include “Build the Wall” where players run to capture little green figures before they reach a border wall; “Rio Run”, a Snake-style game in which players gather border crossers along a fence; “Supply Line”, in which players reject food items that fail to meet “Make America Healthy Again” standards; “Flappy Bill,” a Flappy Bird-style game in which a bald eagle carries legislation over the National Mall; and “Trump Savings Tycoon”, in which players catch flying cash and gold bars to “fill your kids’ Trump Accounts,” in reference to the administration’s child savings programme.

“Heating oil is near an all-time high but hey you can play Border Czar Tom Homan in a video game,” Senator Matt Lesser wrote on X.

Rights groups have also criticised the administration for the gaming website.

“Makes me sick. They’ve been playing games with people’s lives for years, now they’ve made a video game of what they’re doing,” Amerika Garcia Grewal, co-director of the Frontera Federation in Eagle Pass, Texas, told AFP news agency.

The game designers “have lost touch with what it means to be human and care for others”.

Adriana Jasso, programme coordinator for AMIGOS San Diego Community, who works at the border, said the arcade-style games showed a fundamental “lack of seriousness” from the administration.

“The cruelty, the extremity of the administration … is no longer surprising,” she said.

In recent months, Trump has faced mounting criticism over the economic toll of the war on Iran and his broader domestic agenda.

The conflict has kept the Strait of Hormuz closed for nearly six months, disrupting global supplies of oil and natural gas and fertiliser, and pushing US inflation above the Federal Reserve’s 2-percent target, according to reporting by Texas Public Radio.

Trump has also faced criticism over tariff policies that the Supreme Court partly struck down earlier this year, along with cuts to food assistance programmes and the expiration of Affordable Care Act tax credits, all of which economists say have compounded the squeeze on household budgets.

The White House, meanwhile, appeared unfazed, posting “CAN’T STOP WINNING” on X alongside a link to the games.

The global energy order is changing.

US President Donald Trump celebrated on Truth Social what he called the “biggest oil deal in history” – a 100-year concession on 17 oil fields in Venezuela that would secure 65 billion barrels of oil.

Around the same time, QatarEnergy informed Edison, one of its biggest European customers, that force majeure on its liquefied natural gas (LNG) deliveries would continue until early November. Five more cargoes were cancelled, taking the total to 29, or about 3.8 billion cubic metres of gas.

The contract has run since 2009 and normally covers roughly a tenth of Italy’s annual consumption. Edison has kept supplying its customers by finding replacement cargoes elsewhere, including in the US.

For decades, the bargain between Washington and the Gulf was clear. The US protected the region and kept its sea lanes open; Gulf producers supplied the energy on which the global economy depended and settled their sales in dollars to benefit the US economy.

That bargain has been turned on its head. America no longer simply protects Gulf energy. It competes with it, and increasingly profits when the Gulf cannot deliver due to insecurity.

Six months of war have reportedly impacted Qatar’s LNG exports significantly. Other Gulf countries like Kuwait, Saudi Arabia and the UAE have seen a substantial drop in oil exports as well. Meanwhile, US oil and gas have moved into the space left behind, with US energy giants raking in record-high profits.

It is important here to distinguish between the US as a government and the dense network of private interests that operates around it. Washington wants strategic leverage over Iran and continued influence over the Gulf states. Energy companies want access to reserves, favourable regulation, profitable prices and new customers. Trump brings the two together under the banner of energy dominance. State power opens the door; private capital walks through it.

Israel adds another layer. Chevron operates its two main offshore gas fields, owning almost 40 percent of the Leviathan gasfield and 25 percent of the Tamar gasfield. Leviathan is expanding after a $35bn agreement was signed last year to increase exports to Egypt.

Israel is therefore not an independent energy rival to the US in the way Qatar is. Its growing role as an Eastern Mediterranean gas hub is tied to a US operator and fits comfortably within a US-backed regional system linking Israel, Egypt and Jordan.

Chevron is the thread running through much of this story. It has major interests in US production, controls Israel’s most important gas assets and is positioned to expand in Venezuela. This does not mean Chevron determines foreign policy. It does show how easily the exercise of American power can translate into commercial opportunity for American companies.

Israel is also determined not to let the confrontation with Iran end on terms it considers not to be in its interest. The US-Iran memorandum of understanding signed in June fell well short of Israeli war aims. Israel said it was not bound by all its provisions, insisted on freedom of action in Lebanon and briefly resumed attacks while the US was trying to sustain negotiations.

For Israel, ceasefires have tended to be pauses, not settlements: opportunities to regroup while preserving the option of striking again. The reasons are chiefly strategic. Israel wants to prevent Iran from rebuilding its nuclear, missile and regional capabilities, while Israeli leaders fear accepting a deal and looking weak ahead of elections.

The consequences of Israel pushing for continuous conflict align with US energy interests. Continued pressure on Iran keeps the Strait of Hormuz insecure, Gulf exports vulnerable and risk premiums for energy transport high. Israel and US energy companies do not need to be following a common plan for their interests to reinforce one another.

Price is where the argument becomes clearest. Trump talks constantly about cheap oil, but US producers cannot prosper if it becomes too cheap. A Dallas Federal Reserve survey found that US companies needed an average price of about $43 a barrel to operate existing wells and $66 to drill new ones profitably. The two main Permian basins sit at roughly $61 to $62.

Trump therefore needs a narrow band: oil cheap enough to contain inflation, but expensive enough to keep shale, fracking and export investment alive. Gulf insecurity helps maintain it. The disruption need not be catastrophic. It only has to keep prices at a point where the next American well makes economic sense.

This may help explain the attraction of a no-war, no-peace outcome. A full regional war could close Hormuz, send prices soaring and threaten Chevron’s Israeli operations. A durable settlement would remove the risk premium, restore confidence in Gulf supply and limit Israel’s freedom of action.

Managed insecurity sits conveniently between the two: enough restraint to protect US-linked production, but not enough diplomacy to make Gulf energy entirely dependable again.

Israel keeps Iran under pressure. Washington retains leverage over its allies. US producers gain customers and commercially supportive prices. The danger lies in the convergence: Several powerful actors now have something to gain from preventing the crisis from reaching a final resolution.

The Gulf still holds vast reserves and enjoys production costs US companies cannot match. But reserves alone no longer decide market power. Reliability does. Only an estimated 3.5 to 5.5 million barrels a day can bypass Hormuz through Saudi and Emirati pipelines. The rest remains exposed to a single point of failure, despite decades of arms purchases, foreign bases and security guarantees.

The greatest threat to the Gulf’s energy future is not depletion. It is that customers learn to live without it. Every delayed tanker strengthens the case for an Atlantic alternative. Every Qatari cargo replaced by US LNG creates a relationship that may endure long after the war.

US power once rested partly on protecting the flow of Gulf energy. It now rests increasingly on replacing it.

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

On Monday, Greece and Israel signed a $3.5bn defence deal to build an integrated, multilayered defence network to protect Greek territory dubbed the Achilles Shield. The package brings together the David’s Sling and Spyder interceptors, the Barak air and missile defence system and multimission radars, alongside a separate deal adding Drone Dome systems to protect strategic sites from UAVs.

It is the largest defence deal ever concluded between the two countries. It is also one of the most significant export agreements in Israel’s recent history.

What makes the agreement particularly striking is that it comes as Israel’s global standing is at one of its lowest points in decades. And Greece is no outlier, given that 65 percent of its citizens now view Israel unfavourably. Why, then, has Athens now chosen to openly deepen its ties with Israel in the most politically sensitive of areas: defence and military technology?

Firstly, the shadow of Israel’s conflict with Iran looms large. In early March, an Iranian drone struck Cyprus, Greece’s neighbour and close partner. This likely reinforced anxieties that were already visible in 2024. After Israel, with the help of the United States, downed approximately 300 Iranian drones and missiles, Greek Defence Minister Nikos Dendias called on Athens to develop its own antidrone “dome”.

The deal is therefore partly the product of pragmatic necessity as countries scramble for military solutions to growing drone threats. Saudi Arabia, Qatar and the United Arab Emirates, for example, are acquiring antidrone technology from Ukraine, another country able to market its products as battle-tested.

Despite its political disadvantage, Israel has a practical head start, given that it has long practised “arms diplomacy”, using its defence industry as a springboard to cultivate deeper bilateral ties with prospective buyers.

The second factor driving the Achilles Shield deal is another longstanding tenet of Israeli grand strategy: the “periphery doctrine”. This advocates that Israel develop ties with non-Arab states and peoples on the periphery of the Levant to counter the hostility between Israel and its immediate neighbours. It is a recognition that shared threats can produce strategic partnerships. And in the case of Israel and Greece, that shared threat is Turkiye.

The irony is that Turkiye – as a non-Arab state and the gateway between the Middle East and Europe – was Israel’s close partner in the early days of the periphery doctrine. In 1949, Turkiye was the first Muslim country to recognise Israel. In subsequent years, Ankara and Tel Aviv developed robust but clandestine security ties.

This worked as Israel intended in that it opened the door to increasingly public and broader bilateral relations, which continued even after the Islamist-oriented AK Party, or Justice and Development Party, came to power in Turkiye in 2002.

But both sides fell out in late 2008 after Israel launched an offensive on the Gaza Strip. Subsequent divergences over Israeli policies towards the occupied Palestinian territory have gradually unravelled their deep ties.

Bilateral trade has collapsed since Ankara imposed an embargo on Israel in 2024. There are no longer direct flights between the two countries. In June, US President Donald Trump claimed that US pressure stopped Turkiye from joining the war on Iran, on Tehran’s side. This may sound far-fetched, yet it illustrates how Israel and Turkiye not only disagree on many geopolitical issues, but increasingly see each other as rivals and even threats.

What is remarkable is how quickly Greece has filled the void. In previous years, Tel Aviv’s partnership with Ankara precluded closer ties with Athens. But no more: in late 2025, Israel, Cyprus and Greece signed a “Joint Action Plan” that mandates enhanced military cooperation.

Energy has reinforced this strategic convergence. The discovery of substantial gas reserves in the eastern Mediterranean encouraged Israel, Greece and Cyprus to cooperate on pipelines and maritime security.

And, as was the case with Turkiye, more extensive bilateral ties followed security cooperation: some 744,000 Israelis visited Greece in 2025, compared with the peak of 558,000 Israeli tourists who travelled to Turkiye in 2008.

The increasing regional division into competing blocs has also driven the burgeoning Israel-Greece relationship. In February, Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu floated a “hexagon alliance” of Israel, Greece, Cyprus, India and unnamed Arab and African countries.

Six months later, Saudi Arabia, Turkiye and Pakistan signed the Mecca Joint Defence Agreement. This alliance broadly overlaps with what commentators earlier labelled the “Islamic coalition”.

This is an evolving dynamic and inter-bloc collaboration is as common as intra-bloc divergences. But it demonstrates that the crisis of confidence in the US as a security guarantor extends beyond the Gulf states and predates the recent war on Iran. It also portends headaches for Washington’s policymakers, given that these increasingly competing states are all US allies.

The Achilles Shield deal is therefore the new manifestation of an old Israeli strategy that has been accelerated by the US-Israel war on Iran. Public scepticism may complicate Greece-Israel relations, but Israeli-Turkish ties deepened for decades despite similarly unfavourable public attitudes.

In short, in the eastern Mediterranean and elsewhere, growing popular outrage at Israel’s policies will continue to coexist uneasily with deepening security cooperation at an elite level. The irony is that the same conflicts that have damaged Israel’s international standing have also increased the value of its military experience and defence technology.

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

Last week, Israel attacked Syrian territory yet again. Israeli forces shelled a hilltop near Beit Jinn in the western Damascus countryside, while soldiers raided a village in Quneitra province.

The attacks came just days after Israeli fighter jets struck the Abu al-Duhur military base in northern Syria, inflicting significant damage. Israel said the strike was intended to prevent a possible Turkish military deployment there, although both Damascus and Ankara disputed these claims. The Israeli attacks have persisted despite Syrian efforts to de-escalate through diplomacy, and criticism from Washington of the Abu al-Duhur strike.

While avoiding confrontation, the government of Ahmed al-Sharaa continues to insist that Israel withdraw from Syrian territory it has occupied and that Damascus must remain free to rebuild its armed forces and cooperate with the partners of its choosing.

All this reveals more than Syria’s military weakness. It suggests that the new Syrian leadership believes sovereignty can be recovered by rebuilding state capacity first. This strategy, however, carries potential risks: Israel may continue to encroach on Syrian sovereignty while taking advantage of Syrian restraint; and the Syrian government may eventually begin to lose the trust of Syrians and the wider Arab public, among whom Israel is overwhelmingly viewed as a threat.

Syria’s weakness is real. In late 2024, after the army of former President Bashar al-Assad collapsed, Israel struck strategic military assets across the country. The new government then had to begin assembling a national security architecture from dysfunctional institutions and a patchwork of armed groups.

For now, a Syrian military response capable of altering Israel’s behaviour is difficult to imagine.

Instead, al-Sharaa has placed economic recovery and international legitimacy at the top of his priorities. His government has focused on rebuilding state institutions, restructuring the security sector, restoring energy supplies, improving foreign relations and reconnecting Syria to the international economy. But rebuilding Syria is an enormous challenge.

The World Bank estimates that reconstructing Syria’s damaged physical assets will cost about $216bn. A state facing needs on that scale cannot restore its authority through military institutions alone. It needs revenue, electricity, functioning administration, banking access, investment and external relationships.

Al-Sharaa has achieved significant progress on the international front. Washington dismantled the broad Syria sanctions programme in 2025, while the European Union lifted its economic sanctions, although targeted and security-related measures remain. On August 24, Washington also removed Syria from the State Sponsors of Terrorism list, eliminating another key obstacle to financial normalisation and investment.

For Damascus, these steps expand the resources with which the state can govern; they are not simply an economic dividend of avoiding war.

This also makes the dispute with Israel more consequential. Syria’s reconstruction strategy now depends heavily on precisely the international access that years of isolation denied it. A major military escalation with Israel could undermine investor confidence, complicate Syria’s reintegration into international banking and weaken the diplomatic support on which its recovery depends.

It could also expose Damascus to renewed political pressure by Washington and the EU, even if this does not automatically translate into the reimposition of broad sanctions.

The dilemma is therefore becoming sharper: Restraint helps Damascus preserve the international environment it needs to rebuild the state, but it also gives Israel room to constrain the very military and strategic capacity Syria is trying to reconstruct.

Israel has security concerns about the new Syrian government, whose leadership emerged from an armed Islamist movement, and it is increasingly alarmed by Turkiye’s military relationship with Damascus. But Israeli demands have extended well beyond preventing hostile forces from approaching its border.

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has called for the demilitarisation of Syria’s Quneitra, Deraa and Suwayda provinces. His government has also opposed the deployment of forces belonging to Syria’s new army south of Damascus and has sought to restrict the scope of Damascus’s military cooperation with Turkiye.

Israel clearly wants to limit the rebuilding of Syria’s military capacity. It sees such interference through the prism of preventive security. Damascus sees the same issue through the prism of sovereignty: A state that cannot decide where its army deploys or with whom it trains has not fully recovered strategic autonomy.

This is one of the central risks of al-Sharaa’s strategy. Syria is avoiding an unwinnable confrontation partly to rebuild the capacities of state power, while those same capacities are increasingly becoming objects of Israeli pressure.

There are limits to what restraint can achieve. Syria has the backing of other Arab states, while the United States and EU have supported the reconstruction of a functioning Syrian state as part of their approach to regional stability. Damascus has also repeatedly expressed interest in reaching a security agreement with Israel.

And yet, none of this has stopped Israeli military action.

The other risk concerns Syrian public opinion. Appearing indefinitely unable to respond to Israeli attacks could eventually damage al-Sharaa’s public standing and the legitimacy of his government.

A large survey by the Arab Center Washington DC conducted in 2025 found that 74 percent of Syrians opposed recognising Israel, 70 percent rejected an agreement that did not include the return of the Golan Heights, and 88 percent believed Israel threatened Syria’s security and stability. At the same time, 61 percent said the current government’s foreign policy reflected the views of the Syrian people.

The findings are important precisely because they complicate the picture. The survey predates the latest confrontations and does not tell us whether Syrians favour military retaliation. It establishes political red lines, not a public demand for war.

Wider Arab polling points in the same direction. Across the countries surveyed in the 2025 Arab Opinion Index, opposition to recognising Israel remained overwhelming.

That said, Syria under the al-Assads also generally avoided confrontation with Israel while retaining a reputation for belonging to the regional “resistance” camp. The old model combined avoidance of direct war with alliances and armed networks that gave Damascus regional leverage.

Al-Sharaa’s government appears to be making a different bet, focusing on consolidated institutions, economic recovery, international access and a rebuilt national military.

This does not replace territorial sovereignty. It is an attempt to rebuild the means of exercising it.

The bet will become harder to defend, both at home and abroad, if restored state capacity does not eventually give Syria greater control over its territory, its security choices and its foreign relations.

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

Yair Netanyahu, a podcaster and right-wing activist, had been living in the US for several years prior to his departure.

Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu‘s eldest son was flown back to Israel from the United States after a threat to his life, according to Israel’s domestic intelligence agency.

The Shin Bet said in a statement on Saturday evening that, “there was a significant threat to harm Yair Netanyahu, and in light of this and after an assessment, a decision was made to urgently evacuate him along with his security team and return him to Israel”.

The agency did not specify the source of the threat.

US broadcaster Newsmax reported earlier this week that Yair Netanyahu was the target of an alleged Iranian assassination plot last December, while he was living in Florida.

Israeli intelligence informed US authorities after it had learned of the alleged plot, the broadcaster reported, citing a US law enforcement official.

The report surfaced after Benjamin Netanyahu told Israel’s Channel 14 that “Iran targeted one of my sons. Iran tried to kill, to murder one of my sons”.

Yair Netanyahu, who was constantly accompanied by an Israeli security team, was ordered to leave the area immediately, Newsmax reported. He left without taking his personal belongings and returned directly to Israel.

Netanyahu’s eldest son has lived in Florida for several years, where his “reportedly luxurious lifestyle and the state-funded security provided to him repeatedly drew public attention in Israel”, reported The Times of Israel.

His continued residency in the US after the Hamas-led October 7, 2023 attacks on Israel provoked criticism from many Israelis. They questioned the double standard of Netanyahu’s son remaining overseas while hundreds of thousands of Israeli reservists were called up, the Israeli newspaper reported.

The right-wing activist and podcaster is active on social media, frequently commenting on Israeli politics and attacking his father’s political opponents, government critics and journalists.

This week, three newborns died in an NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) fire at a government hospital in Amravati, in the western Indian state of Maharashtra. Two days later, 14 newborns were killed in a fire that broke out in the maternity ward at one of Pakistan’s most prominent state hospitals. The reported causes of the fire were different – a faulty ventilator in Amravati and an exploding air conditioner in Islamabad – but the harrowing stories of the parents on both sides of the border are identical.

On both sides, parents stand outside a government hospital, trying to make sense of this state-inflicted cruelty. In Amravati, one father was still distributing sweets to celebrate the birth; he had not yet seen the baby’s face. In Islamabad, a family was celebrating the first baby boy in years. The circumstances are different, but the institutional failures and official response followed a familiar pattern. Rescue teams arrived late, while emergency evacuation was hampered by basic fire-safety failures. Politicians were quick to express their sorrow. High-level inquiries were announced, along with financial compensation and fire safety audits. As the dust settles, the two tragedies expose the same indecent truth: lives of poor, vulnerable families are expendable in both nations.

The two countries are rivals in cricket, military posturing and diplomatic rhetoric, but united when it comes to spending lives of ordinary citizens like pocket change.

Over the past 26 years, as a health reporter, I have watched hospital fires in India and Pakistan result in significant and frequent loss of life, without a jot of difference in regulating these institutions. In India, the AMRI Hospital fire of 2011 in which 89 people died and the SUM Hospital fire in Bhubaneswar in 2016 in which 24 people died were traumatising to write about. Not a single person was convicted.

In Pakistan too, a fire at Services Hospital in Lahore killed 10 newborns in 2012 and another 11 infants died at Sahiwal Teaching Hospital in 2024.

I dredge these memories because the latest fires – in Amravati and Islamabad – cannot be reduced to stories about faulty equipment or individual negligence. The hospital fires did not happen in the boondocks, but in India’s wealthiest state and Pakistan’s capital. They are stories about government priorities.

The longer you look at government data, the more grisly it gets. Year on year, both nations sacrifice their citizens to fire like medieval societies trying to appease indifferent gods. India and Pakistan are not poor or war-torn countries without knowledge or wealth to do what is needed. The refusal to make any meaningful improvements is a political choice. An unforgivable one at that.

India and Pakistan have spent decades convincing their citizens that the highest form of security is protection from each other. The truth is that the greatest co-morbidity citizens of both nations live with is our own careless governments.

Fires in large buildings such as factories, shopping centres and hospitals are frequent in India and Pakistan, often due to poor compliance with safety laws and lax enforcement of building codes. These repeated incidents raise questions about our political system, the judiciary, our newsrooms and civil society all in one sweep. What they expose is the very core of these two democracies – what they prioritise and who they value. And all the questions raised are being answered in one voice – not the vulnerable or the sick or the poor.

Earlier this month, both nations marked 79 years of independence. Both have, for 79 years, reminded each other of the pride they take in their complicated histories and their fabled cultures, languages and cuisines. Yet, on both sides of the border, we are governed with careless barbarity. What we have right now are nations that have the trappings of procedural democracies but refuse to concern themselves with bringing change to the poorest. We are taught to sacrifice – wealth, family members, dignity – everything in the service of our nation, and must forage for our own safety without expecting anything from the governments.

This week, as I watched newborns utterly unable to protect themselves die in an inferno on both sides of the border, I wondered if the men leading both states are filled with some shame. Shame over the fact that women who had just given birth had to run down several flights of stairs and climb out of windows and down ladders to escape. Or that families found to their horror that the ward’s water spray system failed to function when the fire broke out. Or that these families will spend the rest of their lives recovering from the horror of seeing charred babies, their bodies covered in black ash.

I wondered what the military might and nuclear arsenal mean to Prime Minister Narendra Modi and Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif as they stand facing a mother crying outside a neonatal ward. This is not polemic or rhetoric, simply a sober assessment of our incompetent leadership that has no love for its own people. Because countries that can spend billions preparing for war cannot plausibly claim that a functioning sprinkler system or fire safety regulation in a hospital is an unreasonable expectation.

Fire safety is not a luxury. It is not a Western or colonial aspiration. It is not even an infrastructure of affluence – like, say, bullet trains – that a country acquires once it has become sufficiently rich, sufficiently modern or sufficiently powerful. It is the floor. The floor beneath which a government cannot allow its people to fall repeatedly and remain shamelessly indifferent every single time.

Seventy-nine years is a long time for a country to become itself. Long enough to build armies, send satellites into space, build a nuclear arsenal and to flex them at neighbours. But what good is national security if a newborn cannot survive the building in which she was born? Or does security only mean the ability of the state to protect itself from another state – while its citizens die like insects in unpredictable ways.

The parents in Amravati and Islamabad did not need a nuclear arsenal to defend their babies. They needed the fire alarm to work and emergency exits to not be blocked. Nations that cannot guarantee such a basic amenity must have no right to national pride.

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

Sudan’s army has had a good summer. Last month, the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) recaptured several towns along the strategic Export Road, known locally as Sadirat, which connects the central Nile valley to the country’s west, and pushed the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF) into a defensive crouch across much of the centre of the country.

On the back of these gains, SAF leaders are now speaking more confidently of defeating the RSF entirely, rather than merely containing it.

But look east, to Sudan’s Blue Nile state, and the picture inverts. In mid-August, the RSF and its ally, the Sudan People’s Liberation Movement-North (led by Abdulaziz al-Hilu), retook Kurmuk and seized Geisan within days, in attacks that Sudanese military sources said were launched from across the border in Ethiopia. Drone attacks on multiple army-controlled cities this month also showed that the RSF’s reach extends well beyond Darfur, its main territorial stronghold.

The lesson of the summer, then, is not that the SAF is on the verge of decisive victory. It is that military victory and political resolution are becoming two very different things. Even a full RSF defeat may not end Sudan’s war so much as fracture it into several smaller conflicts.

A look at the coalitions doing the fighting helps explain why. The anti-RSF coalition is coordinated and led by the SAF, but the army also relies on allied armed movements, including Darfuri factions that signed the 2020 Juba Peace Agreement (JPA). These include Finance Minister Gibril Ibrahim’s Justice and Equality Movement (JEM) and the Sudan Liberation Movement, led by Darfur Governor Minni Minnawi. The JPA required their forces to be integrated into Sudan’s military and security services, but they have been reluctant to give up the military autonomy that underpins their political leverage.

Yasser al-Atta, then assistant commander-in-chief and now army chief of staff, announced in March that the army would activate mechanisms to organise and integrate allied irregular groups into the formal military and security services, but little has happened since.

Al-Atta wasn’t even the first to promise to address the problems of the proliferation of weapons and armed groups. Two years earlier, deputy commander-in-chief Shams al-Din Kabbashi told a graduation ceremony for Minni Minnawi’s Sudan Liberation Movement fighters that the army had “begun enacting a law and structures to control the many popular resistance groups”, warning that the array of semi-autonomous militias, tribal coalitions and volunteers backing the SAF’s war efforts, the “popular resistance” as it is called, would “become the next danger if we continue this way”.

More than two years on from Kabbashi’s speech, the underlying problem remains largely unresolved.

Then there is the RSF’s own coalition, which is actively fragmenting. A string of senior figures, al-Nour al-Qubba, al-Savanna, and more recently, the RSF-appointed governor for the Kordofan region, Hamad Khalifa, have defected, amid reports of Saudi financial inducements as well as tribal grievances.

When al-Nour al-Qubba left, he took dozens of combat vehicles and a large contingent of fighters with him. Given that the RSF is a franchise more than a unified fighting force, these defections should worry the SAF as much as they comfort it: defectors often arrive as intact forces loyal to their commanders, not soldiers used to reporting to a chain of command. In a way, the SAF inherits the RSF’s structural weakness with each defection.

Another example is Abu Aqla Keikel, an SAF-trained officer who initially fought on the army’s side after the war erupted in 2023, before defecting to the RSF later that year and then back to the SAF in October 2024. His Sudan Shield Forces remain, in practice, more under his own command than the army’s, even as he appears alongside SAF leadership and Darfuri commanders at recent battlefield-victory photo ops.

Many commanders inside the anti-RSF camp maintain a fairly wide margin of operational independence and consequently their own political calculations. This will become far more apparent once the war ends and there is no longer a common enemy to paper over the differences.

Sudan’s Islamists, meanwhile, occupy a strange position. Brigades like al-Baraa ibn Malik, affiliated with Sudan’s Islamic Movement, which underpinned Omar al-Bashir’s former ruling National Congress Party (NCP), supplied thousands of fighters and were instrumental in retaking Khartoum from the RSF. The United States has sanctioned al-Baraa ibn Malik, while the European Union has sanctioned its leader, al-Misbah Abu Zaid. Amid this international pressure and SAF battlefield gains, some Islamist fighters and leaders have begun pulling back, in what one Sudan Tribune report described as a “tactical withdrawal”. Al-Misbah recently posted that “we have returned to our civilian lives”.

But retreating from the battlefield is not the same as retreating from politics. Ahmed Haroun, chairman of the former ruling NCP, told Reuters news agency last year that the Islamic Movement could support an extended period of army rule, with an eye towards returning to government through “the ballot box”, as Haroun put it.

Indeed, another potential flashpoint for the SAF is that the war has given fighters in Islamist brigades like al-Baraa ibn Malik years of battlefield experience. There is little reason to think fighters who helped recapture the capital will disarm and disband the moment the war is over, at least not without a political settlement that creates a path for demobilisation.

This is the context in which SAF chief and de facto president General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan’s recently announced national dialogue should be read, less as a comprehensive resolution to the country’s militia problem than as a political process that could convert the army’s wartime alliances into post-war influence.

Burhan has explicitly ruled out the return of RSF leaders to power, promising there would be no “incomplete peace” that allowed Hemedti or other RSF leaders back into government. Given the RSF’s abysmal human rights record during the war, the exclusion is defensible, but the broader armed-group problem remains unresolved: namely, how the RSF’s remaining forces would actually be dismantled or integrated, particularly in Darfur, and how the SAF’s own allied militias would be brought under a single chain of command once the shooting slows down.

Another structural problem that is older than this war reinforces why claims of total victory remain elusive. The Sudanese army has long struggled to project sustained power across the country’s peripheries. Under Omar al-Bashir, the government relied on Janjaweed militias to help the army fight the rebellion in Darfur. In 2013, many Janjaweed fighters were brought into the newly created RSF.

There is little reason to think a hollowed-out, cash-poor SAF, dependent on volunteer recruits, Islamist militias and Juba Peace Agreement signatory forces, can now succeed where the pre-war state repeatedly struggled: in Darfur, a region roughly the size of France, where the RSF continues to use cross-border supply routes.

Even if the RSF is somehow eventually broken, its weapons and its fighters will not simply disappear. They will pass to whichever political entrepreneur is best positioned to pick them up. Meanwhile, in Khartoum, the questions of the day after will pry open conflicts that the war has, for now, kept closed.

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

A top Iranian official says Iran and Oman have agreed on a new temporary route for shipping in the Strait of Hormuz, but insisted that the waterway will not reopen until the United States fulfils its commitments under an interim peace deal signed in June.

The remarks by Kazem Gharibabadi, Iran’s deputy foreign minister for legal and international affairs, came on Tuesday, after Iran and Oman’s top diplomats held talks in Tehran to finalise the details of a phased framework for managing the strait.

Iran and Oman, both coastal nations on the strait, have been in on-and-off talks for weeks about controlling traffic through the strategic waterway, which handled one-fifth of global oil and liquefied natural gas shipments before the US-Israel war on Tehran began in February.

Most ⁠shipping in the strait has been shut down since then.

Gharibabadi, speaking on state television, said Iran and Oman had agreed the new route’s entry “would be through our territorial waters, and part of the exit route would also be through our territorial waters”.

The transit corridor would be seven miles (11.3km) wide, he said.

“The agreed-upon transit route with Oman is a temporary route,” he added.

Earlier on Tuesday, Iran’s Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi met with his Omani counterpart, Badr Albusaidi, in Tehran to discuss the temporary navigation corridor as well as a project to clear mines from the strait, according to a joint statement.

Albusaidi said on X he hoped the countries would “soon announce” the corridor, adding that “future management of the strait and a permanent solution will follow in due course.”

Technical talks are planned to develop a long-term arrangement, including mechanisms for information sharing and navigational and security services, according to the statement.

Mines in Hormuz

The Strait of Hormuz became a flashpoint after Tehran responded to the US-Israel war by closing the waterway. It then announced a new shipping route through its territorial waters, bypassing the internationally recognised Traffic Separation Scheme adopted by the International Maritime Organization (IMO) in 1968. Tehran said that route had been mined.

Then in June, when Iran and the US signed a Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) to end the war, Oman and the IMO announced a new transit corridor in the Strait of Hormuz – backed by the US – that hugged the Omani coast.

Iran said the so-called southern route violated the MoU and launched attacks on ships using the corridor, resulting in the collapse of the interim deal.

Diplomatic efforts towards a broader peace deal have since stalled, and passage through the strait remains dangerous. An oil tanker was disabled by an unidentified projectile on Tuesday near Oman’s Ash Shishah, close to the strait’s entrance, the United Kingdom’s maritime trade watchdog said.

Gharibabadi, in his comments on Tuesday, said Iran would not consider the strait open despite the agreement with Oman.

He also dismissed a claim by US President Donald Trump that all mines had been cleared from the strait’s international waters, saying it was “only aimed at calming the markets”. He warned that US mine-detection vessels would become “very good targets” if they entered the area.

Gharibabadi insisted the US must fulfil its commitments under the MoU – including sanctions relief and the release of frozen Iranian assets – if it wants a return to the diplomatic track.

He also urged countries to resist US pressure over sanctions on Iran.

Trump had announced last week the “most crushing economic operation ever” against Iran, and threatened sanctions against any country that does business with it.

“We are urging countries not to succumb to American pressure regarding the sanctions that Washington wants to impose on us,” Gharibabadi said, adding that Washington was “mistaken about its ability to enforce its sanctions against our neighbours”.

He said an earlier US sanctions campaign under Trump had failed to achieve its goals and predicted new measures would meet the same fate.

“The new American sanctions are doomed to failure, and we have our own methods to counter them,” he added.

August 25 is an incredibly painful day for the Rohingya. It marks the anniversary of the 2017 genocidal campaign by the Myanmar military. Babies and young children were thrown into fires. Women and young girls were systematically gang-raped and mutilated. Entire families were slaughtered as they fled. Others were trapped inside their homes and burned alive. More than 700,000 of our people were forced to flee to Bangladesh.

The Rohingya, who are an ethnic Muslim-majority group who speak their own language from the Indo-Aryan family, have long faced discrimination and persecution in Myanmar.

Today, about 1.2 million Rohingya remain trapped in camps in Bangladesh, while a new wave of persecution is forcing more Rohingya from their homes in Rakhine state. Others are risking their lives at sea in a desperate search for safety.

In this desperate situation, there is a ray of hope raised by international justice proceedings in Argentina and the International Court of Justice (ICJ). Still, the international community is falling short in fulfilling its commitments to ensure accountability and protect the Rohingya.

The genocide never stopped

Over the past two years, the balance of power in Rakhine has dramatically changed. The Arakan Army (AA), an ethnic Rakhine armed group, now controls most of the state, including the main Rohingya areas in the north. But the brutality and persecution Rohingya face have not ended.

As the AA has consolidated its control, evidence has mounted of mass killings and targeted attacks on civilians, documenting what Rohingya communities have been warning of.

Rohingya also face forced recruitment, forced labour, detention and severe restrictions on movement. Sexual violence, a hallmark of the Rohingya genocide, is continuing under AA authority.

Rohingya in Rakhine report that the violence and oppression they now face from the AA is just as brutal as the Myanmar military’s ethnic cleansing in 2017. Taken together, we see these abuses as part of a deliberate strategy to drive Rohingya from their homes and continue their erasure from Myanmar.

The same anti-Rohingya racism that drove decades of persecution by the Myanmar military is also at the heart of the AA’s treatment of the Rohingya. The perpetrators may have changed, but the dehumanisation and denial of our identity and rights continue.

The AA is completing what the Myanmar military started. Rohingya are being driven from their villages and prevented from returning, while their land is confiscated and new Rakhine settlements are built on it, sometimes by Rohingya coerced into forced labour. The possibility of return is being destroyed in real time.

Nowhere safe to go

More than 150,000 Rohingya have fled to Bangladesh since late 2023, just as international humanitarian funding for refugees is being slashed. Learning centres in Cox’s Bazar have closed and essential services are being cut. Children who fled genocide are growing up without education or hope for their future. Others were born in the camps and have never known a life outside them. The international community is allowing an entire generation of Rohingya children to be abandoned.

Rohingya are being forced to choose between continuing persecution in their homeland and hunger, insecurity and an increasingly desperate existence in camps.

For those forced to flee, there is often no safe route to protection. The very people forcing Rohingya to flee are often involved in and profiting from their trafficking as they try to escape. In July, two boats carrying more than 500 Rohingya, including children and young people, sank after leaving Rakhine. No one would put their children on such a dangerous journey unless staying was even more dangerous.

Meanwhile, there is growing anti-Rohingya sentiment in countries that host them as refugees. Governments talk about Rohingya returning home while more are being forced out and the land they would return to is being taken. We want to go home. But we want to go home with our rights: citizenship, equal rights and the right to return to our own land.

Nine years of impunity

For nine years, the Myanmar military leaders responsible for genocide against Rohingya have faced no real consequences. The architects of the genocide remain free, while the same military has gone on to commit atrocities against communities across Myanmar. Accountability is not only about the past. It is about stopping the violence happening now and preventing further atrocities.

The world cannot repeat the same failure with the Arakan Army. We have seen this pattern before and know where it leads. The longer the Myanmar military and AA are allowed to act with impunity, the closer we come to the complete erasure of the Rohingya from Rakhine.

Rohingya survivors and organisations have spent years documenting crimes, giving evidence and fighting for accountability. We had to pursue justice on the other side of the world because governments and international institutions failed to deliver it.

That fight is finally producing results. My organisation, the Burmese Rohingya Organisation UK (BROUK), brought a universal jurisdiction case in Argentina which has resulted in international arrest warrants for 22 Myanmar military officials and three civilians, including the military government’s leaders Senior General Min Aung Hlaing and General Soe Win, for genocide and crimes against humanity. We are also pursuing reparations for Rohingya survivors.

A judgement is also expected in the coming months in the genocide case brought by The Gambia against Myanmar at the ICJ.

Rohingya are getting closer to justice in international courts but at the same time are being pushed further from our homeland. Legal progress means little if Rohingya continue to be killed, forced out and stripped of the land to which they hope one day to return.

We have fought for years to get this far. Now governments must act. Every possible pressure point must be applied.

States must enforce the Argentinian arrest warrants whenever those wanted enter their jurisdictions, and Interpol must act on Argentina’s request for red notices. Governments must impose coordinated targeted sanctions on the AA and the Myanmar military, alongside restrictions on arms, aviation fuel and revenue streams that enable further atrocities. Maximum international pressure must be applied on the AA to end its persecution of Rohingya and ensure our protection and equal rights.

The United Nations Security Council must act. The United Kingdom, as penholder on Myanmar, must push for an urgent council meeting on the atrocities taking place in Rakhine and the continued failure to protect the Rohingya.

Governments must restore and increase humanitarian funding for Rohingya in Bangladesh and Rakhine, facilitate cross-border aid and pressure the Myanmar military and the AA to end restrictions on humanitarian access.

Governments must pursue every available route to justice and accountability for crimes by the Myanmar military and the AA. They must also be ready to respond to the forthcoming ICJ judgement.

Justice and accountability delivered years too late will mean nothing if there are no Rohingya left in Myanmar.

Justice is not only about what happens in courtrooms. For Rohingya, it means being able to return to our villages and our land. It means restoring the citizenship and rights that have been taken from us. Above all, it means being able to live freely and as equals in Myanmar, without ever again facing persecution and genocide.

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

Each time we travel to the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), we first go to listen.

In Bunia, we have met dozens of community representatives: survivors, women, young people, local organisations, health workers and leaders from affected areas. Their message is direct: involve us. We know our communities. We know where families seek care, how information moves and why trust is breaking down. Give us the means to help drive the response. They are right.

Ebola spreads through communities and communities hold the knowledge required to stop it. They can identify illness early, alert health teams, help identify and trace contacts, challenge dangerous rumours and support families through access to treatment and safe, dignified burials. The response always moves faster when communities lead alongside national authorities and health workers.

One hundred days ago, the government of the DRC declared the country’s 17th Ebola outbreak, following confirmation of the Bundibugyo virus. WHO subsequently declared a Public Health Emergency of International Concern, followed by Africa CDC’s declaration of a Public Health Emergency of Continental Security.

The scale of the emergency is immense. As of August 21, the DRC has reported 5,290 confirmed cases and 2,516 deaths across 56 health zones. This is now the second-largest Ebola outbreak ever recorded and it is moving faster than any previous one. It is being fuelled by insecurity caused by decades of armed conflict that have undermined law, order and social services, and displaced more than a million people.

At the centre of the response are the people who show up every day. Health workers care for patients. Laboratory teams identify the virus. Contact tracers follow its path. Community health workers build trust where fear and misinformation have taken hold. Burial teams help families honour their loved ones safely and with dignity.

They are working under extraordinary pressure, often in insecure and hard-to-reach areas. Some have contracted Ebola in the line of duty.

Their service must be met with action: safety, protective equipment, training, sufficient medical supplies, timely payment, psychosocial support and access to rapid diagnosis and high-quality supportive care if they fall ill. The safety of frontline workers is central to stopping transmission.

The response has made progress. Under the leadership of national authorities, Congolese responders, WHO, Africa CDC and partners have expanded surveillance, deployed laboratories, supported treatment centres, reinforced infection prevention and delivered essential supplies.

Neighbouring Uganda has interrupted locally acquired transmission of the virus. Several health zones in northern Ituri and South Kivu provinces in the DRC have also interrupted transmission. These experiences prove that the outbreak can be stopped more quickly when rapid detection, decisive national leadership and close cooperation with communities break the chains of transmission.

But the continued emergency in the rest of Ituri province and five other provinces demands urgently scaled-up action.

To turn the corner, surveillance teams are being expanded and equipped to detect cases early and rapidly identify contacts. Safe clinical care and infection prevention measures are being increased wherever people seek treatment.

More risk communication and community engagement teams are being deployed to reach out to communities to empower them to participate in the response and address barriers to care. More safe and dignified burial teams are working to prevent transmission associated with deaths. Special efforts are being made to reach vulnerable populations and communities in insecure and hard-to-reach areas.

But despite all these efforts, more is needed. We need to scale our response by two to three times current capacities, across all the response pillars.

Health facilities also require urgent protection from infection. As of August 20, 158 health workers have been infected and 45 have died. Every facility in an affected or high-risk area needs trained staff, protective equipment, clean water, sanitation and functioning infection-prevention systems.

National and local teams need predictable funding for surveillance, laboratories, treatment, logistics, infection prevention and community engagement. Frontline workers must be paid on time. Local organisations need direct support to work consistently with communities. Supplies must arrive before stocks run out.

Delayed financing costs lives. Fragmented financing leaves gaps. Ebola exploits both. On the ground, we at WHO and Africa CDC have established tight integration among health and relief organisations working with the government. Donors therefore need to support and enhance that integration, rather than back siloed and disconnected efforts.

Cross-border coordination also must remain strong. People move within and between countries to trade, work, study, seek care and support their families. Borders must serve as bridges for coordinated public health action. This does not require closing borders or imposing blanket travel and trade restrictions. Such measures can disrupt response operations and livelihoods without stopping transmission. The priority is coordinated surveillance, rapid information-sharing and prepared health services along movement routes.

The first 100 days have made the priorities clear.

Find every case. Follow every contact. Break every chain of transmission, protect every health and frontline worker, save lives and ensure that no community is left behind. Bring testing and treatment closer to every affected community. Bolster cross-border coordination. Scale up international support. Turn every pledge into action.

WHO and Africa CDC will continue working with the DRC, neighbouring countries, communities and partners to deliver on these priorities. Our responsibility is to bring the full strength of international and continental cooperation behind the nationally-led response.

Uganda and areas in DRC have shown how the course of the outbreak can be turned, through rapid detection, decisive action and close cooperation with communities. But these measures must be delivered at scale. Success depends on sustained national leadership, continental solidarity and international support. We must rise to this challenge, together.

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

On Tuesday, Israeli fighter jets attacked Abu al-Duhur airbase in northwestern Syria, drawing condemnations from the United States, the United Kingdom, the United Nations, as well as regional countries. The Israeli government claimed that it had intelligence of Turkish military movement to the site.

In a subsequent interview, US Ambassador to Turkiye and Special Envoy for Syria Tom Barrack said the US had received this intelligence from the Israelis six days before the attack. However, US intelligence conducted its own due diligence and found no basis for the claim.

The incident not only reflects a shift in the dynamics between Turkiye and Israel, but also signals a regional reordering that the latter is no longer at the centre of.

The Turkish response

Seeing the Israeli attack on the Syrian base as a provocation, Ankara refrained from escalating and instead provided an off-ramp out of the crisis. It framed the issue not in bilateral terms but as one between Israel and the US, and between Israel and the regional and international consensus.

Normally, there is a deconfliction mechanism between Turkiye and Israel. However, as Barrack indicated in the interview, Israel did not warn Turkiye about the attack, which could have triggered a military response.

The US envoy called for a deconfliction mechanism, but such an initiative can be effective only if the sides involved want it to be. In this case, there is no evidence that Israel sought de-escalation. In fact, it appears escalation was the intended outcome, as Israel notified neither Turkiye nor the US about the attack and acted on a pretext that the US intelligence found no basis for – a ploy to boost Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s electoral campaign.

After the US-imposed lull on the Iran front, Netanyahu is likely seeking escalation on other fronts, be it Syria, Lebanon or Gaza, in the run-up to the Israeli election. The challenge for Turkiye would be to avoid taking Netanyahu’s bait while also preventing the normalisation of such aggression.

That would require direct intervention by US President Donald Trump to rein in Netanyahu. Indeed, a trilateral deconfliction mechanism can work and be credible only if the US throws real weight behind it.

But even if a mechanism is in place, it would not change the fact that Syria has altered the lens through which Turkiye and Israel view each other. For a long time, the core of Turkiye’s discontent with Israel was the Palestinian issue. Hence, it was more humanitarian-, identity- and solidarity-based in nature.

Today, Ankara views Israeli attempts to undermine the Syrian transition as having direct repercussions for its national security. Therefore, Turkiye is no longer seeing Israel solely through the prism of the Palestinian question. Rather, it increasingly sees it as a national security challenge, with Israeli regional revisionism threatening its interests.

The international consensus on Syria

From the Eastern Mediterranean to the Horn of Africa and the wider Middle East, Turkiye and Israel have conflicting policies, priorities and threat perceptions. Despite this, Syria serves as a microcosm of Turkiye and Israel’s visions of the regional order.

Ankara wants its southern neighbour to be centralised, stable and capable militarily. In contrast, Israel wants a Syria that is weak, fragmented and bereft of serious military might.

Yet this is not merely a conflict between Turkish and Israeli visions. Israel is at odds with the regional and international consensus on Syria. The US, the UK, Europe and regional states have all supported a centralised and stable government in Damascus. In an ironic way, the only other regional state that probably wants a weak or failed Syria is Iran.

Like any other sovereign state, Syria will have an army. If Israel believes that the only way to ensure its own security is by keeping its neighbouring or regional states weak, fragmented and bereft of military capability, this is a recipe for perpetual wars and for regional and international isolation.

The undermining of the Syrian state and the failure of its transition would pave the way for non-state actors and radicalism, which would bode ill for the entire region, including Israel. Indeed, neighbouring Lebanon should serve as a cautionary tale. The Israeli occupation and the weakness of the Lebanese state gave birth to and empowered Hezbollah.

Post-Abrahamic Middle East

Israel and Turkiye’s ideas of regional order are also at odds. The recent Mecca Pact, which brought together Turkiye, Saudi Arabia and Pakistan, is not inherently anti-Israel. However, it represents a regional shift that signals the failure of the order envisioned by the Abraham Accords, or similar initiatives such as India-Middle East-Europe Economic Corridor (IMEC) or the strategic partnership between India, Israel, the United Arab Emirates, and the US known as I2U2.

The Abrahamic vision of the regional order was premised on Arab-Israeli normalisation and cooperation under the US security umbrella. Hard containment of Iran, soft containment of Turkiye, and de-emphasising the Palestinian issue were also part of the same vision.

Inherently, this Abrahamic vision had more to do with Israel and its regional normalisation than the Arab states and their needs and priorities.

However, with its aggressive and revisionist policies, Israel has deepened the prospect of its regional isolation, increased the cost of any normalisation, and doomed this Abrahamic – or Israeli-centric – vision of regional order.

Israeli revisionism is not only driving a wedge between Israel and other major regional states, but it is also revealing the gap between Israel and the US on the question of regional reordering.

While Israel opposes the Mecca Pact, Trump has hailed it, likely seeing it as aligned with his strategy of burden-sharing and burden-shifting with regional allies, and as enjoying more regional legitimacy and acceptance. The US position might also reflect a recalibration of Washington’s regional vision.

Over the last decade, the US invested heavily in creating a regional order premised on Israel and the Arab-Gulf states. But this was essentially an Israeli-centric project for the regional order.

This vision is no longer tenable, and no one is more responsible for its demise than Israel itself.

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

For years, the day in Kulak ended when the generator powered down. Like thousands of villages across Iraq, this small farming community in the semi-autonomous Kurdistan region lived to the faltering rhythm of an erratic power supply: a few hours of electricity, then the water pumps stopped, refrigerators warmed and children put down their books.

Today, Kulak runs on the sun. Solar panels harness its energy, batteries store the excess and residents have power 24/7. The change is visible beyond the homes: water pumps keep running, and cold storage gives farmers more control over when they sell their harvest.

This is the part of the energy transition the global climate conversation too often overlooks. Solar hardware is cheap; the world has learned how to install it. What matters is what comes after the panels go up: building the local capacity to keep the systems running and using reliable power to support farms, livelihoods and communities.

The energy transition will not be won in conference halls. It will be won, or lost, in places like Kulak.

Iraq’s rural energy crisis

Iraq’s energy story is usually told as a paradox. It is one of the world’s great oil producers, yet rural communities still endure daily power cuts. Summers now regularly push past 50 degrees, and the United Nations ranks Iraq among the nations most vulnerable to climate change. Drought has emptied farmland. Heat has made whole regions harder to live in. Rural families face a quiet, grinding choice between staying on land that can no longer sustain them or joining the drift towards overcrowded cities.

These pressures do not respect provincial boundaries. They are shared across Iraq, from the marshes of the south to the mountains of the north. They demand responses that work for the whole country.

For remote communities, decentralised power should not simply be treated as a stopgap while they wait for the grid. It can be part of the long-term answer.

Beyond electrification

Kulak is one of five villages in the Kurdistan region electrified through a solar initiative that pairs new infrastructure with local training and agricultural development. Residents are trained to operate and maintain their own systems, while research is under way into how reliable power can support local production.

Energy is treated not as a gift to be received but as an asset to be managed. That means looking beyond electricity itself to what it can enable: cold storage that allows farmers to hold their harvest for better prices, irrigation that no longer depends on diesel and processing that adds value before crops ever leave the village.

That distinction matters, because the graveyard of development is full of well-intentioned infrastructure. Anyone who has worked in this field has seen the solar array gathering dust because no one was trained to fix an inverter, or the water project abandoned when the foreign NGO moved on.

Sustainability is not a slogan; it is a design choice. Building local capability into a project from day one is the difference between a photo opportunity and a future.

Building the transition from the ground up

There is a broader argument here for the climate movement.

The energy transition is overwhelmingly narrated from the top down: through COP plenaries, G7 communiques and the financing pledges of wealthy nations, many of them unmet. Yet for hundreds of millions of people in the Global South, the transition will arrive, if it arrives at all, through decentralised solutions built close to the ground.

Rural Iraq will not wait decades for grid expansion to reach every valley. It does not have to. Distributed solar suits these communities better than centralised generation ever did, while local institutions can move at a speed that multilateral programmes rarely match.

There is also a quieter point about who gets to act on climate.

The prevailing image of climate action in the Middle East is the megaproject: vast desert solar farms, futuristic cities and sovereign wealth funds. Those have their place. But electrifying farming villages one by one represents a different kind of ambition, one rooted in the belief that Iraqis themselves, in all their diversity, can build the country’s energy future rather than wait for it to be delivered.

Local involvement matters particularly in places where reliable electricity is tied not only to household comfort but to whether farms can irrigate crops, preserve produce and remain economically viable.

Iraq has thousands of rural communities, and scaling this model will require partners, patient financing and supportive policy at every level of government. The agricultural research is promising but young.

On my last visit to Kulak, I was struck less by the panels than by what surrounded them: the cold store, the working pumps, the sense of a community planning for next season rather than next month.

The lights staying on is the least of it. What has really been switched on is the future tense.

If Iraq’s energy transformation is built like this across the whole country, village by village and from the ground up, it will be more durable than anything imposed from above. That means investing not only in the systems themselves, but in the people who will maintain them and the farms, businesses and livelihoods that reliable power can support.

The world’s climate diplomats could do worse than pay attention.

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