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On a Tuesday evening in Eagle Rock, used-bookstore owners Jeremy and Debbie Kaplan were closing up for the day when a stranger rushed through the entrance. He tossed an envelope onto the counter, said something like: “Building’s been sold,” and slipped out.

Inside the envelope, the Kaplans found a 30-day notice: The shop’s $1,200 monthly rent would be increasing to $2,805 on April 1, they were required to decide whether they would accept the more than 133% price hike a month in advance, and they’d need to agree to a three- to five-year lease if so. The letter arrived Feb. 17, which meant the Kaplans had 11 days to accept the new landlord’s terms or leave.

“We couldn’t even consider it,” Jeremy Kaplan said. “It would be suicide.” The couple looked around the 680-square-foot shop. From the floor to ceiling, more than 20,000 books were crammed every which way into shelves they’d built and stained themselves nearly 20 years before. “My first reaction was panic,” he said. “How are we going to move out of this place?”

Their children had grown up at Read Books (pronounced like the color, as in: “These aren’t new books, they’re previously read books.”) The realization began to set in, Jeremy said, that they were being pushed out with intimidation tactics. “We started getting angry. So the next day, we started looking into our legal rights.”

After searching the internet, the Kaplans found California’s Senate Bill 1103, the Commercial Tenant Protection Act that passed last year. The law offers protections for “qualified commercial tenants” and requires landlords to give a 90-day notice for rent increases surpassing 10%.

When the Kaplans tried to contact the new property management company, Jeremy said, Systems Real Estate was evasive.

“It’s the one bill that protects commercial tenants, and it’s a fairly toothless bill because they don’t have to acknowledge it, unless you make them acknowledge it,” he said. The Kaplans, along with Sharon Kroner, whose neighboring vintage boutique Owl Talk is facing the same fate, wrote to Systems Real Estate, citing SB 1103. They had the letter certified and attached their rent checks for the next month.

In response, the 30-day notice was amended to 90 days. Systems Real Estate did not respond to a request from The Times for comment.

The Kaplans had more time to search for a new location, but Jeremy quickly saw a trend in Northeast Los Angeles. “Vacant spaces all over the place,” he said. “When we inquired, they were ludicrously expensive, most over $5 per square foot. The second thing we started noticing was small stores like ours going out of business or being priced out in the exact same way we were.”

Jeremy Kaplan stands inside his bookstore on the last day Read Books is open for business.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Building a coalition

When Jeremy started posting about Read Books’ plight, the response was immediate and overwhelming. Many customers who reached out said they wanted to help — the bookstore had been in Eagle Rock for as long as they had.

“Not mere condolences but calls to action from people I barely knew,” he said. “Lawyers, journalists, activists, parents, children.”

Two days after the rent-increase notice was delivered, the Kaplans and their supporters were devising a plan to fight back — if not to save Read Books, then to save other small businesses.

Save North East Los Angeles Shops was born.

Chris Newman, an immigrant rights lawyer whose son learned to read with books bought at the Eagle Rock shop, told The Times he showed up to the group’s first official meeting with the intention of trying to save the bookstore.

“I was surprised to see so many people talking not just about the situation that Jeremy’s in, but an epidemic that small businesses are facing,” Newman said.

At one coalition meeting in April, Jeremy rushed in late.

He’d just come from an event where he’d been able to talk with Mayor Karen Bass about the plight small businesses are facing and asked about the possibility of imposing a commercial vacancy tax on property owners who leave storefronts vacant for extended periods.

Although sympathetic, the mayor shot him down pretty swiftly, Jeremy said, saying nobody in L.A. wants more taxes.

A representative for Bass told The Times that under her leadership, “the City is focused on cutting red tape, expanding support for local businesses, and advancing solutions that address the broader affordability crisis.”

Signs against rent increases are posted outside Read Books.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

The precedent

In March 2020, before the COVID-19 pandemic shut the world down, small businesses in San Francisco had been grappling with rising rents that increasingly led to empty storefronts. Then North Beach’s beloved corner gem, Caffe Sapore, got its notice. Like Eagle Rockers, San Franciscans were done merely lamenting the community’s loss. They started organizing.

Aaron Peskin, who at the time served on San Francisco’s Board of Supervisors, said that while there are a variety of factors contributing to the vacancy issue, impractical property owners were the most common thread.

“Commercial landlords had unbelievably unrealistic expectations of rent, and a small business can only sell a T-shirt or a hamburger or a service for what the market will bear, and none of them could swing the rent,” Peskin said.

That year he authored Proposition D, a commercial vacancy tax ordinance that applies to street-facing, ground-floor properties that sit vacant for more than 182 days a year. It passed with nearly 70% of the vote.

“I served on that Board of Supervisors for 17 years, and it’s one of my proudest pieces of public policy,” Peskin said. “In the years since it passed, it has been working and has really helped in the post-pandemic recovery in our neighborhood commercial corridors. It’s been a rare instant success story.”

Demonstrators march toward Eagle Rock City Hall carrying protest signs against rent hikes for small businesses.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

The landlords

The question as to why someone would purchase a commercial property, raise the rent so current tenants are displaced and prospective tenants look elsewhere, only to have a onetime community hub collecting cobwebs, has inspired myriad theories.

Peskin pointed to an impractical landlord mentality; an L.A. council member suspected landlords were after tax breaks; a professor of economics said that his sense is that there’s more going on and tax benefits are likely not the driving factor; and a commercial real estate expert said landlords are likely pricing tenants out so they can tear the buildings down.

The Times reached out to Dr. Ari Ucar, the new owner of the Eagle Rock Boulevard building, who did not respond.

Los Angeles City Councilmember Ysabel Jurado, a former tenant rights attorney, told The Times that landlords can benefit by claiming the vacancy as a loss on their taxes. “For landlords who own multiple commercial properties in a wide portfolio, a vacancy can be marked as a loss. In essence, when you file taxes and mark this as a loss, it reduces the total income generated. That’s the perverse incentive of having a vacancy.”

But a tax attorney in Los Angeles, Andrew Gradman, wasn’t convinced the tax incentive was enough to curb a landlord’s appetite for the passive income of steady rent payments. “You have to consider the most reasonable premise, which is that these landlords think they can get a better tenant, or they think that the lease would stand in the way of their getting some other better deal, in the form of, say, selling the whole building.”

A commercial real estate broker, Nick Quackenbos, said the likely motive for such a price hike is plans to scrape the building and build apartments in its place. He pointed to a recent landmark bill, State Senate Bill 79, which overrides local zoning laws to allow for taller, denser buildings near major transit stops. The bill will take effect statewide July 1, but L.A. plans to delay citywide upzoning until 2030 by carving out bespoke plans that target 55 single-family and low-density areas, allowing for 4-16 unit buildings up to four stories tall.

The 55 areas are mostly in Central L.A., West L.A., the Eastside and the San Fernando Valley. While Eagle Rock isn’t what L.A. city planners are designating an “opportunity hub” right now, Read Books is located a stone’s throw from the upcoming Colorado/Eagle Rock station, a stop on the North Hollywood to Pasadena BRT (Bus Rapid Transit) line slated to launch ahead of the 2028 Summer Olympics.

“The bill is allowing things to take place which could disfigure a city like Eagle Rock,” said Quackenbos. “I bet that’s what you’re going to find down the road: These places will become vacant, and suddenly there’s groundbreaking for a new apartment building going up.”

Jeremy Kaplan speaks to community members outside his store, Read Books, about the issues small business owners face.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

The rally

Read Books was set to close last weekend, and the Kaplans wanted to go out with a bang. In the shop’s front window was a single book: “The Rich and the Rest of Us: A Poverty Manifesto” by Tavis Smiley and Cornel West, surrounded by signs that read “Forced Out!,” “Shame on Greedy Landlords,” and “Our Family Loves Read Books.”

As Debbie sat at the register inside, helping a steady flow of the shop’s final patrons, protesters gathered behind the building, clutching homemade posters and waiting for Jeremy to speak. Choking up, he addressed the crowd.

Debbie Kaplan, who co-owns Read Books, hands a customer books.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

“Three months ago, when this all began, my initial action was to fight back, because fighting is my default setting. But I also felt … fear of insignificance, of disappearing, as if everything we built in the last 19 years, often working seven days a week, might soon be dismantled and forgotten. The support you’ve gifted us with these last few months has been a constant reminder that we’re all in this together.

“The real estate lobby is rich and powerful. They have more lobbyists than our representatives have staff, but we are building a coalition to fight them.

“What’s at stake? The soul of Los Angeles.”

It’s 11:30 a.m. on a beautiful and unseasonably warm day in Marina del Rey, half an hour before the starting time for the Yacht Girls Book Club meeting, but several women are already standing at the gate leading to a vintage yacht docked at the California Yacht Club.

Nicole Vaughn, a first-time attendee who has driven from Woodland Hills with her friend Cani Gonzalez for the meeting, had been looking for author events on Eventbrite when she found the Yacht Girls Book Club’s “Brunch and Sound Bath,” which also includes a signed copy of the featured author’s book, a boat ride and swag bag for $65. “I read ‘sound bath, poetry and manifesting,’ which sounded intriguing, so I said, ‘Why not?’” Vaughn says.

Once the gate opens, Vaughn, Gonzalez and the others stream in, alone or in pairs. The mostly female attendees range from 30 years old to over 70 and are attired in outfits including cutoffs, tank tops, straw fedoras and glamorous full-length dresses. There are approximately 60 first-timers and returning members.

Brittany Goodwin, another first-timer and Mid-City resident who does social marketing and media for HBO Max, also heard about the meeting on Eventbrite. “I saw the word manifestation [in the ad] and I was there!” she enthuses, taking in the colorful array of arriving women. “And today is the full moon, so it’s very appropriate.”

That’s because the speaker is local poet and author Melody Godfred, whose latest book, “Moon Garden,” attracted the attention of Aloni Ford, Yacht Girls founder and organizer of the meeting.

“I thought Melody would be perfect for the official relaunch of the Yacht Girls,” Ford said in an earlier phone conversation. “Her message of self-love and living more authentically is the reason I started the book club in the first place.”

That was in 2018, when Ford, an Altadena-born manager of professional athletes and boating enthusiast who has lived in Marina del Rey for the last decade, was tired of conversations with women that only focused on relationships. “I wanted conversations with like-minded women that were intellectual but fun. And talking about books seemed to be the ideal way to achieve that.”

Erin Nelson, left, and Lisa Nelson make a brunch plate at the Yacht Girls Book Club.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

For that first meeting, Ford gathered six women — female friends, her masseuse, a favorite aunt. “We discussed Ruth Ware’s ‘The Woman in Cabin 10,’ so I held that first meeting on a local yacht cruise.” After the discussion, the women agreed they wanted to continue meeting, and brainstormed names until Ford suggested Yacht Girls, and the book club was launched.

Some of those “OGs” — Ford’s term for the original Yacht Girls who attended those first few meetings — now embrace each other, introduce the friends they’ve brought, and recount previous discussions of memoirs and books on self-care, building self-confidence and financial literacy. Tarzana resident and OG Felicia Smith still remembers her favorite book discussion. “It was ‘Let Your Fears Make You Fierce’,” she says, reaching for her phone to show the book is still in her audiobook library. Ford recalls that a highlight of those early years was a discussion of Gabrielle Union’s memoir, “We’re Going to Need More Wine,” which was held at Malibu Wines & Beer Garden and attracted more than 300 participants. “I tried to match the venue with the author whenever I could,” Ford says of those early meetings.

But then COVID-19 struck and, although she wanted to continue the book club via Zoom, Ford admits, “I’m not a Zoom kind of girl. I need the interaction, the face-to-face connection with women.” In the interim, Ford pursued other interests, including yachting, a hobby she picked in 2023 that birthed ideas for Yacht Yoga and other female empowerment gatherings of the Yacht Girls.

Ford’s chosen venue for Yacht Girls Book Club meetings is the “Northwind,” a 100-year-old, lovingly restored 130-foot vessel that once hosted Jacqueline Kennedy in 1961 and is open to the California Yacht Club’s members, of which Ford is one. After check-in, attendees are invited to take a ride on a smaller vessel docked nearby, enjoy the buffet luncheon on the main deck, get a tarot card reading from Ruby Sheng Nichols or take in the sun, ocean breeze and marina views from the upper deck, which is outfitted with umbrellas, tables for four and comfortable lounge seating, all arranged with a view of the ship’s stern, where Godfred is preparing to read and where Amber Melvisha is setting up a sound bath, which will accompany the reading.

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1. Felicia Smith listens to Melody Godfred recite poems from her book “Moon Garden.” 2. Members of the Yacht Girls Book Club enjoy brunch. (Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Godfred, 43, is delighted to be with such a diverse group of kindred spirits. “I’ve been craving in-person experiences lately,” she says, “especially with people outside my bubble. This absolutely fulfills that desire.”

Olympia Auset, a book club OG and founder of a nonprofit South Central organic grocery store, is pleased with the turnout. “There is a real spirit of community in this book club,” she says, after quietly taking in the scene.

That spirit is exemplified by Ford, a gregarious hostess who moves through the various groupings of women in a diaphanous full-length blue dress, introducing Godfred to a group of attendees and hugging both first-timers and her OGs enthusiastically. It feels a little like a reunion, with everyone a part of the extended family. “I come for the networking, to meet women of all different levels,” observes View Park resident Alicia Sutton, an OG who proudly displays her original Yacht Girls badge. “We have more in common than we think. We are a group of women of all colors.”

As the women — plus Ty Jessick of Santa Monica, a friend of Ford’s and the lone man at the event — settle into their seats, Ford greets them again, recounts the Yacht Girls’ early days and her vision for the book club’s next chapter. “This is an opportunity to unplug from our daily lives,” she tells the assembled group, amid nods and murmurs of agreement. “We schedule so much but we must not forget to schedule joy. Today you may meet your new best friend, a business partner, or just someone who loves books. After our first post-pandemic meeting last fall, we wanted to relaunch the Yacht Girls Book Club in a big way. And after today, I’m definitely back in those book streets again!”

With that, Ford hands the mic to Godfred, who shares her own story of immigrating to Los Angeles with her parents from Iran when she was three months old, of being a “recovering attorney” who was managing two businesses and raising three children with her husband but not taking time for herself. That self-neglect resulted in a health challenge, which eventually led to Godfred reconnecting with her passion for poetry and self-exploration. “It was a signal to start honoring my truth more fully,” she explains.

After introducing the inspiration behind “Moon Garden,” which contains 12 sections of spiritual poems, insights and affirmations tied to Earth’s lunar cycles, Godfred answers questions posed by Ford and the audience. Then, she invites participants to get comfortable in their seats while she reads selections from the book that encourage surrender, rest and contemplation during the winter months. The sound bath and a chiming bell provide a resonant echo in which attendees visibly relax, most with their eyes closed.

Members of the Yacht Girls Book Club enjoy drinks on the upper deck of the “Northwind.”

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

The meeting breaks up around 2 p.m. and is followed by music-filled, informal mingling, where the participants discuss the book and the afternoon. From their tables in the “Northwind’s” aft section, Vaughn, seated with Gonzalez and a group of new acquaintances, says she definitely will return.

“This book club may attract women who are high achievers,” Auset says as she gathers with other regular members for a photo, “but we all need to make time for self-care and community.”

The next Yacht Girls Book Club will be held at noon June 13 at the California Yacht Club with brunch included. The featured book is “Proof of Life” by best-selling author and visual artist Jennifer Pastiloff. Pastiloff will be in attendance. Tickets required.

Woods is an editor, author, book critic and a regular contributor to the Times.

The scriptural passage that President Trump plans to read Tuesday evening in a livestreamed Bible-reading marathon dates back to the depiction of an ancient event — but it’s one that carries a highly charged significance in the current religious and political climate.

It has long been quoted and promoted by those who believe America was founded as a Christian nation and should be one. It’s from the seventh chapter of 2 Chronicles, a book in the Hebrew (Old Testament) portion of the Bible.

The 14th verse — the one most often quoted — says:

“If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.”

Trump is among hundreds who are taking turns reading the entire Bible aloud over the course of a week. Most of the readings are taking place at the Museum of the Bible in Washington, though Trump’s is coming by video from the Oval Office.

A passage often quoted at National Day of Prayer events

The Chronicles passage has for decades been a major theme at annual National Day of Prayer events. Organizers of the America Reads the Bible marathon invited Trump to read from it. “It’s a powerful statement that he decided to read that passage,” said Bunni Pounds, founder of Christians Engaged, which organized the project.

The passage has been recited over the decades at countless rallies, services and events, often organized around the disputed belief that America was created as a Christian nation and needs to repent of its sins and return to God. The passage has particularly been associated with annual events commemorating the National Day of Prayer, which has taken various forms since the mid-20th century and became fixed by law on the first Thursday in May since the 1980s.

The verse is set in a context far from modern America — during the reign of King Solomon in ancient Israel some 3,000 years ago. Solomon is presiding over the dedication of the first temple in Jerusalem, and in a lengthy prayer he asks for divine mercy if a future generation sins, is punished with military or natural disaster and then repents. In the key passage, God replies with a promise of restoration.

Critics say the passage is used out of context

But the use of the passage in modern settings has its critics.

The Chronicles passage is “a popular verse among Christian nationalists and has been for quite some time,” said Brian Kaylor, a Baptist pastor and president and editor-in-chief of Word&Way, a progressive site covering faith and politics.

He said its use has taken on a partisan and polarizing tone, often used in tandem with a promotion of a belief in a Christian America in an increasingly diverse country.

“This verse is not about the United States,” said Kaylor, author of “The Bible According to Christian Nationalists: Exploiting Scripture for Political Power.” It is “a promise made to one particular person in one particular moment. It doesn’t really work to pull it out of context and apply it to whatever you want to.”

But many have done so recently and in decades past, either saying America has a divinely ordained destiny similar to ancient Israel’s or simply that they believe every nation has a duty to follow God and repent when needed.

President Dwight D. Eisenhower took the oath of office in 1953 with his hand on a Bible opened to the 2 Chronicles passage. President Ronald Reagan quoted the passage in a proclamation declaring 1984’s National Day of Prayer. A speaker at the 2024 Republican National Convention also quoted it.

The National Day of Prayer, while officially nonsectarian, has long been drawn particular promotion and participation from evangelical Christians. Readings of the “If my people” passage has been a staple of such events.

Politicians, others joining in the Bible-reading marathon

Evangelicals — a loyal Republican voting bloc for decades — have formed a crucial part of Trump’s electoral base. His rallies have featured a fusion of Christian and national symbols and rhetoric, featuring songs like “God Bless USA” and T-shirts with slogans like “Jesus is my savior, Trump is my president.”

Many other Republican politicians are taking part in the Bible reading, along with celebrities, pastors and others. And Trump isn’t the only one reading a passage significant to his office or mission.

Mike Huckabee, a Baptist pastor and U.S. ambassador to Israel, is reading from a Genesis passage in which God says he will bless those who bless Abraham — a passage popular with many evangelicals who believe they have a biblical mandate to support Israel.

David Barton, whose Wallbuilders promotes belief in America as a Christian nation, will read from a passage that gave his organization its name, in which Nehemiah rebuilds the broken walls of Jerusalem.

Smith writes for the Associated Press.

When perusing our final list of the 101 best book club picks, my eyes popped. My book club had just read two books that made the final cut.

And they were, on average, both our favorite and least favorite of the year. “Martyr” by Kaveh Akbar was layered and moving. “Big Swiss” by Jen Beagin was spicy and fun but too over the top.

Still, both led to fervent conversation peppered with oh-my-gods. So it goes with book clubs: Even if you don’t love what you’re reading, it can still offer something interesting to tease apart.

To make our lineup, The Times surveyed more than 200 authors, publishers, journalists and general book club enthusiasts to select the best book club reads in 10 categories, including romance, mystery, memoir and literary fiction.

Did we miss any books your book club loves? Tell us in the form below by April 20. We may include your suggestions in a follow-up story.

There is another way to read the ongoing Middle East crisis, one that makes legible what standard analysis consistently struggles to explain. It begins not with capability but with the geometry of the system through which capability must travel to produce effects. The United States and its partners possess overwhelming military superiority over Iran, and that superiority is not in question, yet the conflict has produced a pattern that defies its logic. A superpower coalition has been unable to impose coherent strategic outcomes against an adversary operating through proxies, low-cost disruption, and the systematic exploitation of global commercial vulnerabilities.

Over the past two years, we have seen multiple instances of this kind of disruption with consequential effects on the global system. Houthi drones force the rerouting of global shipping, with Red Sea cargo volumes falling by roughly 50% through early 2024 as major carriers diverted around the Cape of Good Hope, adding up to two weeks to transit times, driving freight costs sharply higher across European markets, and costing Egypt nearly $800 million per month at peak in lost Suez Canal revenue. A non-state network spanning Lebanon, Yemen, Iraq, Syria, and Gaza has absorbed sustained air campaigns, targeted eliminations of senior commanders, and repeated ground operations without losing its capacity to generate coordinated pressure across multiple theaters simultaneously. The asymmetry seems to follow a deliberate strategic logic that raw power analysis struggles to read, precisely because the conflict operates on a surface that capability assessments were never designed to map. What this suggests is that the decisive variable is not what actors possess but whether the relationships connecting them can transmit coordinated action when the system is under strain.

When that system cannot coordinate, something important breaks down. An alliance that formally exists but faces operational friction at every decision point ceases to be an alliance in any meaningful strategic sense. A security guarantee that cannot be transmitted rapidly to the partner it is meant to protect has, in effect, already failed its primary function. It follows that the gap between what a system formally is and what it can actually do under pressure is not a secondary consideration but the surface on which this conflict is being decided. Conventional analysis, calibrated to count warheads and assess intentions, consistently leaves this gap unmapped.

Analysts know that Saudi Arabia’s OPEC production decisions have repeatedly positioned Riyadh against Washington’s economic preferences, they know that European energy dependency complicates transatlantic alignment, and they know that Iran’s proxy network extends across five countries and absorbs military pressure without fracturing. Yet what the available frameworks cannot do is convert that knowledge into a structural reading of the system. They show that these conditions exist. What they cannot show is how those conditions interact, where they compound, and what the aggregate geometry of their interaction means for whether coordinated action is possible at all.

Power analysis was built to read capability differentials between states, and it does that well. Alliance theory was built to read the conditions under which formal commitments hold or fail, and it does that too. Neither, however, was built to read the operational weight of the ties through which capability and commitment must travel to produce effects.

The instruments available are calibrated to answer questions different from those the current situation poses. Deploying them on a problem they were not designed to read produces the consistent failure to explain what is actually happening that has marked analysis of this conflict from the start.

Adjacency mapping is an instrument designed to read that gap by mapping connectivity, by which I mean their operational weight, specifically their capacity to carry coordinated action under strain. What distinguishes it from standard approaches is its unit of analysis. Rather than the actors themselves, it treats the weight of the relationships as primary. The question it asks is not who holds power but whether the ties connecting power-holders can transmit that power when the system needs them to. Two states can be formally allied, operationally integrated in name, and structurally disconnected at the same time, and nothing in standard analysis will tell you which of those conditions is actually operative until the moment of crisis reveals it.

The instrument assigns each significant relationship in the system a weight between 0 and 1, reflecting how frequently the two actors interact operationally, how reliably information moves between them, how the tie has behaved under recent stress, and how quickly it transmits pressure when the system is under strain. At the higher end of the scale, a weight at or above 0.6 indicates that coordination approaches automaticity, and the tie carries load without constant investment to maintain it. Around 0.3, friction accumulates. In this setting, decisions require deliberate effort at every juncture, slowing the system and making it susceptible to gradual degradation that never triggers a visible rupture. At or below 0.2, the tie has effectively ceased to function as a transmission pathway, leaving the actors operationally disconnected regardless of what their formal relationship nominally says.

These weights are analytical judgements calibrated against observable evidence. In other words, their value lies in making visible what experienced analysts already carry as intuition and in giving that intuition a structure precise enough to argue about. The numbers are therefore analytical judgements, not measurements. A more rigorous application would derive them from quantifiable indicators across each dimension, including military interoperability, intelligence exchange depth, crisis responsiveness, economic interdependence, and signaling consistency, averaged and weighted systematically. That work lies beyond the scope of this piece, but the architecture is designed to accommodate it.

There is a risk management dimension to this reading that is worth making explicit. Standard geopolitical risk assessment focuses on actor-level variables such as regime stability, military capability, and leadership intentions. What adjacency mapping adds is a structural layer that those assessments typically miss. A coalition whose load-bearing relationships operate in the friction zone is exposed to a category of risk that capability assessments do not capture and that becomes visible only when the system is read structurally.

What the matrix adds is the ability to see how compound weakness across multiple relationships produces cascading effects that bilateral assessment alone would struggle to predict. A system whose dominant actor holds several weak partnerships faces more than friction. As a consequence, the geometry of those weaknesses determines whether any concerted response is structurally possible at all. Aggregate capability becomes, in that light, secondary to that question.

If we apply this to the Middle East security complex, the instrument produces one possible reading. This reading differs considerably from the picture conventional analysis generates. Its value is not in the precision of the numbers but in making the system’s geometry visible enough to argue about.

The matrix below maps operational connectivity across the system’s key actors. The numbers are analytical judgements, not measurements.

The geometry they make visible is what matters here.

The matrix is intentionally non-symmetric. Where operational influence flows asymmetrically between two actors, the weights reflect that directionality.

The matrix reveals, in this light, a system whose dominant actors are connected at fundamentally different weights. And more significantly, its most important bilateral relationship is operating in the friction zone. It’s formally excluded adversary has constructed the only alternative connectivity architecture in the system. What this implies is that the geometry of the conflict runs considerably deeper than standard alliance analysis tends to suggest.

On the coalition side, the US has high adjacency with Qatar, Bahrain, Israel, and Kuwait, ties that enable rapid coordination and require little maintenance, constituting the operational backbone of what Washington can actually activate quickly.

Its relationship with Saudi Arabia, however, sits at 0.4. That number is analytically more significant than almost anything else in the matrix. Saudi Arabia remains, on most readings, the relationship on which Gulf order coherence formally depends, the anchor of the security architecture since the 1970s, and it is operating in the friction zone where every significant decision requires renegotiation from scratch rather than flowing through an established channel. Saudi Arabia’s invitation to join BRICS in August 2023, yuan-denominated oil transactions with China, and its participation in the Chinese-brokered rapprochement with Iran in March 2023 all point in the same direction. Riyadh is hedging structurally toward China and the broader non-Western order, a posture that sits uneasily alongside its formal security alignment with Washington. Taken together, these are not isolated political episodes but evidence of a tie that has been operating below the coordination threshold for years and whose weakness is, on this reading, the system’s most consequential structural vulnerability.

Through the normalization architecture, the UAE has arguably become the system’s most structurally reliable node at 0.6 with both the US and Israel, its operational integration exceeding Saudi Arabia’s despite Saudi Arabia’s formal primacy. The Abraham Accords of September 2020 established the formal foundation for that integration. The operational depth it has since generated, across intelligence sharing, defence cooperation, and coordinated positioning on Iran, has made the UAE the coalition’s most functionally connected Gulf partner. Oman holds what is perhaps the system’s most anomalous position, meaningful adjacency with both the US coalition and Iran simultaneously, a profile no other state actor in the matrix replicates. That structural position gave Oman the back-channel role it played through the early phases of the conflict, with documented precedent in the secret US-Iran nuclear negotiations that began in Muscat in 2012 and ran through 2013. As the conflict has intensified, Pakistan has assumed the primary mediation function, but Oman’s position as a quiet facilitator has not disappeared; it has simply been supplemented by a node with more direct access to both capitals at this particular moment.

Pakistan has emerged as the conflict’s primary mediation node, hosting the highest-level direct negotiations between Washington and Tehran since 1979 and brokering the April 2026 ceasefire. That role reflects a structural position the matrix makes legible: high Saudi adjacency, a functioning Iran tie, and a rehabilitated relationship with Washington that no other regional actor currently combines. China’s influence over both Pakistani and Iranian decision-making operates as an exogenous pressure that the matrix only partially captures, and Pakistan’s own domestic constraints, including its difficulty developing direct channels with the IRGC, limit how far that mediation role can ultimately reach.

Iran’s position is where the matrix becomes most analytically revealing. Across the state actors in the system, Iran’s adjacency sits at or near fragmentation, built up through sanctions, absent operational channels, and decades of adversarial signalling that have left Tehran formally isolated from the coordination architecture the United States and its partners have constructed.

And yet the only high-weight tie Iran holds is with its proxy network at 0.7. That single number may go further toward explaining the architecture of the entire campaign than any other figure in the matrix.

It is an asymmetric relationship in which Tehran’s capacity to activate and direct exceeds the reverse influence those actors exert over Iranian strategic decisions. What that single structural condition implies goes further toward explaining the architecture of Iranian pressure operations than most analyses of Iranian intentions or capabilities tend to reach. Iran is geographically central and formally excluded. It is precisely that combination, positioned to apply pressure across every theatre while bearing none of the coordination costs that formal inclusion imposes. That, from this vantage point, is what makes legible a strategy that standard analysis, focused on actors and their capabilities, cannot see.

Seen through this lens, what Iran is doing across the region is something more structurally ambitious than a military campaign. It is attempting to restructure the matrix itself. The goal appears to be less about battlefield victory than about the gradual degradation of the ties connecting the United States to its regional partners, below the threshold at which coordinated response becomes automatic, eroding the will to keep paying the price of alignment while simultaneously building alternative adjacency in the nodes where US-aligned connectivity is weakest.

The Houthi campaign against Red Sea shipping is calibrated to stay below the threshold that would compel a unified military response. It introduces friction into the economic relationships connecting European states to the Gulf system, raising the cost of alignment with Washington’s regional posture without forcing the kind of direct confrontation that would unite the coalition. Strikes on Gulf infrastructure follow the same calibration, persistent enough to signal that the US security guarantee cannot insulate its partners from costs, yet restrained enough to avoid crossing the point at which coalition fragmentation becomes irrelevant because a unified response becomes compulsory. Across Iraq and Syria, simultaneous pressure from affiliated militias prevents the concentration of attention that sustained coalition coordination requires. In each case, the instrument targets a relationship rather than a capability, specifically the weight of the ties whose degradation would restructure the system’s geometry without requiring Iran to displace the existing order directly.

The US-Saudi tie at 0.4 is the primary focus of that degradation effort. Should that threshold be breached, Saudi Arabia hedges. As hedging reduces operational interactivity the tie weakens further. The process risks becoming self-reinforcing. Iranian military superiority over any individual partner is not required to sustain it.

The same logic extends across European actors, though not uniformly. Germany’s industrial exposure to energy price volatility, France’s residual strategic autonomy instinct, and the EU’s institutional preference for de-escalation all produce different thresholds for continued alignment with Washington. Their shared energy dependency gives them asymmetric stakes in the Gulf system’s stability, but their appetite for risk diverges from Washington’s in ways that are not identical across capitals, and each time Iran forces a decision about the cost of continued alignment, that divergence fragments the coalition’s coordination surface further.

By sustaining operational ties with non-state actors across the region, Iran is constructing alternative adjacency in precisely the nodes where US-aligned connectivity is weakest. These are populations and factions that the existing regional order has excluded from the dominant coalition’s coordination architecture. Deliberately so — Iran is building in the structural gaps the system leaves open. Displacing the existing order appears unnecessary. Becoming the more reliable pole of alignment for the actors that order has failed to integrate may be sufficient. All that is required is that the order fragment sufficiently at its margins for that offer to appear credible, and the current trajectory of US-Saudi friction and European hedging is steadily moving in that direction.

The coalition’s instruments are calibrated to military threats. The system, however, is failing along a different surface entirely, or so this reading suggests. The formal architecture remains largely intact, security guarantees have not been withdrawn, Gulf states remain formally aligned, and normalisation agreements hold. And yet the operational adjacency that gives that architecture its functional weight is under sustained pressure from an actor that has correctly identified the gap between formal commitment and operational tie as the system’s primary vulnerability. That identification is outpacing the coalition’s capacity to respond.

On this reading, the surface on which the conflict appears to be decided is not the one the coalition is defending.

What adjacency mapping reveals is a story about geometry. The system’s dominant actor holds formal commitments at weights the system cannot sustain under the pressure being applied to it. Its adversary, in turn, has built the only alternative coordination architecture in the space that those weakening ties leave open. The conflict is likely to be determined by which ties the system can no longer afford to lose under sustained and calibrated pressure. The question is whether the actors currently holding those ties in the friction zone can rebuild them to the coordination threshold before the process of degradation becomes irreversible. That is a question that capability assessments are not well-positioned to answer, and one that a structural reading of the system’s connectivity at least helps to make visible.