On the first night of the war, February 28, missiles streaked across the sky above Palm Jumeirah, intercepted in bursts of light as residents in beach clubs stood frozen at their windows, cocktails in hand, watching the spectacle. By morning, smoke was rising from the Burj Al Arab and from Dubai International Airport, one of the world’s busiest transit hubs.

According to The Times, Iran launched more than 500 missiles and over 2,000 drones at civilian and military targets in the UAE from that first night onward. The assault was at once retaliation, strategy, and message.

This war is not merely about missiles over Dubai or drones over the Gulf. It reflects the accelerating strain on a Western-led order that once claimed to shape global politics through alliances and rules. Donald Trump did not create this shift alone, but his policies accelerated it - weakening alliances, politicising trade, and eroding the coalitions Washington later needed.

For four decades, Dubai built a most modern infrastructure that was envied by many countries of the world, and it carefully insulated itself from regional turmoil. That illusion collapsed in a single night. The war it had spent years avoiding, arrived at its most iconic landmarks.

The roots of the crisis lie not only in Tehran but in Washington’s strategic drift. Trump repeatedly questioned the value of NATO, strained relations with the European Union through tariff wars, and extended those confrontations globally. By the time the United States needed allied cohesion, the foundations of collective action had already weakened.

The joint US–Israeli strike on Iran, launched under Operation Epic Fury, was meant to compel Iranian capitulation. Instead, it produced the opposite effect. Rather than isolating Iran, the operation has fuelled a narrative across much of the global south that Washington and Tel Aviv initiated a war without clear political objectives and in clear defiance of international law.

For the first time, Israel joined a superpower in striking a Persian state with significant strategic depth. Yet unlike earlier Arab–Israeli wars, where Israel translated military victories into territorial gains, this conflict has yielded no such outcome. Instead, it has generated reputational damage for Israel and strategic embarrassment for Washington.

Nowhere is Iran’s leverage clearer than in the Strait of Hormuz. Before the conflict, the strait carried roughly a quarter of the world’s seaborne oil and a fifth of its liquefied natural gas.

Once hostilities began, Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps moved quickly to control the passage. Tanker traffic fell dramatically, triggering one of the most significant oil supply disruptions in modern history.

If regional competition intensifies, sectarian identity may again become a convenient political instrument—used by states seeking to mobilise support and counter rivals

If regional competition intensifies, sectarian identity may again become a convenient political instrument—used by states seeking to mobilise support and counter rivals

Yet Iran’s approach was selective rather than indiscriminate. Ships from countries such as Pakistan, India, China, Russia, Turkey and Malaysia were reportedly able to negotiate passage. Vessels linked to American allies faced tighter restrictions.

The result has been a subtle but important shift. What was once a system of guaranteed navigation enforced by American power increasingly resembles a system of negotiated access. Iran is no longer merely resisting pressure; it is attempting to regulate a crucial artery of the global economy. This leverage, more than battlefield outcomes, has forced Washington to reconsider its approach.

The divergence between the United States and Israel has become increasingly visible. At one point, Trump reportedly urged Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to scale back operations in Lebanon to preserve ceasefire negotiations and keep open the possibility of restoring shipping through Hormuz.

Washington’s priority is economic stability and energy flows. Israel’s focus remains on Iran’s nuclear infrastructure. Those objectives are not easily aligned and are difficult to achieve. The war has also exposed vulnerabilities in another pillar of regional diplomacy: the Abraham Accords.

These agreements rested on a strategic premise: that Gulf states and Israel shared a common adversary in Iran and that American power would guarantee the security environment in which normalisation could flourish.

That premise is now under strain. Iran has not been deterred; it has demonstrated its ability to strike Gulf infrastructure. And Israel, far from insulating its partners from conflict, has become directly associated with a war that Gulf states spent decades trying to avoid.

The UAE, in particular, finds itself in a difficult position. Since signing the Accords in 2020, it has developed extensive economic and technological ties with Israel. Yet the spectacle of missiles striking Dubai raises uncomfortable questions about the strategic costs of that partnership.

Saudi Arabia, which had been cautiously exploring normalisation with Israel, now has little incentive to accelerate that process. The Accords are unlikely to collapse overnight; the economic relationships they created are substantial, but their political logic is being tested in ways few anticipated.

The conflict has also revived a deeper strategic question: what exactly do decades of American military presence in the Gulf guarantee?

US forces maintain major installations across the region, from Bahrain and Qatar to Kuwait and the UAE. These bases were justified by a simple promise: protecting shipping routes and deterring regional coercion.

If access to the Strait of Hormuz now requires negotiation with Tehran, that promise begins to look fragile. Gulf states have spent decades hosting American forces, purchasing advanced weapons systems, and aligning aspects of their foreign policy with Washington’s priorities. Yet Iranian missiles have struck Dubai while American carrier groups remain in the region. This creates a profound credibility challenge for the existing security architecture. Faced with uncertainty, Gulf states are likely to deepen the hedging strategies they have already begun.

China, which brokered the 2023 rapprochement between Saudi Arabia and Iran, has strong economic incentives to keep Hormuz open and has demonstrated its capacity to engage diplomatically with all sides. Beijing may not replace Washington’s military role, but it is positioning itself as an increasingly important external actor in regional stability.

At the same time, Gulf governments may seek greater strategic autonomy, renegotiating the political terms under which American bases operate while diversifying their external partnerships.

These geopolitical shifts also intersect with Saudi Arabia’s ambitious domestic transformation under Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman.

Over the past decade, the Kingdom has pursued sweeping reforms, expanding women’s participation in the workforce, opening cultural and entertainment sectors, and reducing the authority of traditional religious institutions. These changes are central to the country’s long-term economic strategy.

Yet regional instability complicates this project. If Iran’s regional position strengthens, some conservative voices inside Saudi Arabia may argue that ideological firmness, rather than social liberalisation, is the key to geopolitical resilience.

A full reversal of reforms remains unlikely; the economic logic behind modernisation is too powerful. But heightened regional competition could encourage the leadership to recalibrate the balance between modernisation and religious legitimacy.

History offers a cautionary lesson. The decades following the Iranian Revolution and the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan saw geopolitical rivalry increasingly reframed through sectarian narratives. That dynamic is not inevitable, but it remains available. Even recent diplomatic engagement between Saudi Arabia and Iran does not eliminate the underlying incentives.

If regional competition intensifies, sectarian identity may again become a convenient political instrument—used by states seeking to mobilise support and counter rivals.

The deeper significance of this war lies not in immediate battlefield outcomes but in the shifting architecture of power.

Western alliances appear less cohesive than before. Iran has demonstrated an ability to convert geography into leverage. Russia and China have shown diplomatic willingness to support Tehran. Regional states are hedging their bets.

None of this means a new order has fully emerged. But it does suggest that the assumptions underpinning the previous one are eroding.

The missiles over Palm Jumeirah were therefore more than a military strike. They were a signal that the struggle to define the next regional order had already begun.

© The Friday Times