Military might can devastate a country, but it cannot easily break a nation determined to survive. Six months into the military campaign against Iran, a sobering truth is emerging from the rubble of shattered cities and the silence of devastated families.

The United States and Israel, armed with some of the most sophisticated weaponry ever deployed, have failed to achieve their primary objective. Iran has not collapsed or capitulated, and the architects of the war find themselves trapped in a strategic quagmire of their own making.

When the first missiles struck Iranian soil on 28 February, the assumption in Washington and Tel Aviv was clear: a swift, decisive campaign would bring the regime to its knees. Decades of crippling sanctions had supposedly weakened the economy, internal dissent had allegedly fractured the leadership, and intelligence assessments suggested that this time would be different. But Iran proved to be a different kind of adversary. To understand why, one must look beyond the headlines of nuclear rhetoric and regime-change fantasies and examine the resilience of a civilisation that has endured for millennia.

Iran is not a failed state born from colonial cartography. It is the inheritor of the Persian Empire, a civilisation that enriched human heritage with poetry, philosophy, medicine, and art. Iranians are fiercely proud of this legacy and deeply attached to their sovereignty and cultural identity. Iran has not invaded or occupied another country in centuries. Instead, it has repeatedly faced foreign intervention, from the CIA-backed coup of 1953 to the Iran-Iraq War of the 1980s.

What the US and its allies consistently fail to grasp is that Iranians, despite their disagreements with their leadership, possess a remarkable capacity to unite in moments of existential crisis. The 1979 revolution, the Iran-Iraq war, and now this latest aggression have each reinforced a national identity that places sovereignty above all else. This is a nation that rallies when threatened.

If there is a single image that encapsulates the moral bankruptcy of this war, it is the Shajareh Tayyebeh girls’ primary school in Minab. On that fateful February morning, while diplomatic negotiations were still ongoing, two American Tomahawk missiles tore through the building as 264 young students settled into their classrooms. The world watched in horror as the death toll climbed. One hundred and sixty-eight children, aged between 7 and 12, were killed, while more than 96 others were injured, many suffering wounds from which they would never fully recover. The attack took place during school hours, and the school was “clearly identifiable as a civilian educational facility”, as UN experts later confirmed, with no indication of military use. Deliberately targeting civilian structures is widely recognised as a war crime, and this episode may well be remembered as one of the darker chapters in American foreign policy.

But bombs are only half the story. The other weapon deployed against Iran is one that kills slowly, invisibly, and with a veneer of legitimacy. For decades, the United States, the European Union, and Canada have imposed crippling economic sanctions on Iran, targeting the lifelines of its economy—oil exports, banking, and access to global trade. More than 1,400 sanctions have been imposed on Iran over the years, freezing billions of dollars in assets and costing the Iranian economy hundreds of billions in lost revenue. Perhaps the most telling indicator of US strategic failure is its inability to bring its allies along. The war against Iran has encountered resistance from key partners, including European nations and Gulf states. Many countries, including traditional US allies, have refused to participate in military action or openly support it.

The policy of regime change through the targeting of national leaders is perhaps the most dangerous instrument in the American foreign-policy arsenal. It violates the principle of national sovereignty and has repeatedly produced unintended consequences. We have seen this playbook before. In Iraq, the US toppled Saddam Hussein and left behind a country shattered by sectarian violence, instability, and the rise of ISIS. In Libya, the killing of Muammar Gaddafi plunged the nation into chaos. In Afghanistan, two decades of occupation ended in a humiliating withdrawal. Each intervention left behind suffering, instability, and deep-seated resentment. A similar pattern is emerging in Iran. The assassination of military commanders and nuclear scientists has failed to weaken the regime; instead, it has strengthened the leadership’s resolve and reinforced national solidarity. The US cannot impose its will indefinitely on sovereign nations, and the consequences of attempting to do so are becoming increasingly clear.

The United States has deployed some of its most potent instruments – sanctions, bombs, and targeted killings – yet has failed to break Iran. This carries a profound lesson for the Middle East. Countries across the region are increasingly recognising that they cannot fully entrust their security to an external power that may be unreliable or strategically overstretched. A more multipolar regional order is emerging, in which security will increasingly be shaped by regional actors themselves. Iran, for its part, has learned from what it sees as the inconsistency and unpredictability of US policy. The Iranian experience has reinforced the belief that protecting national dignity and independence requires self-confidence and a determination to resist external pressure.

The children of Minab are gone. The families of Qeshm are mourning. Millions of displaced people are struggling to survive. Yet Iran endures, as it has for thousands of years. The bombs will eventually stop falling, and sanctions may lose some of their potency. The scars of the conflict, however, will remain, along with the lesson that some nations cannot be broken by force alone.

In the end, this war may be remembered not as a triumph of American power but as a moment when the Middle East began to chart a more independent course. The United States has demonstrated that military might cannot guarantee lasting influence, while a policy of coercion can accelerate the erosion of that influence. The question now is not simply whether Washington can win the war, but whether it can ever regain the trust it has so recklessly squandered.