The limits of coercion - a superpower reckoning

Coercion has been the primary tool of statecraft throughout President Donald Trump's second term up until this point. From the outset, tariffs, deportations, and a constant military rhetoric threatening to attack Greenland, Nigeria, Venezuela and Iran reflected the weaponisation of the American president's economic and administrative levers. In the days of his economic highhandedness, The Financial Times coined a phrase for President Trump: Trump Always Chickens Out (TACO). The phrase was amusing and also somewhat comforting. It suggested that perhaps all these threats and statements are superficial, that POTUS will ultimately back off, and that sanity will prevail.

What was unforeseen was the extent to which President Trump's use of economic and diplomatic coercion was gaining momentum, moving beyond the realm of rhetoric and hardening into a posture. To exacerbate the situation, President Trump's confidence strengthened following the events in Venezuela. The capture of Nicolas Maduro became proof of concept for Mr Trump, instilling a sense of confidence that he could bring down weaker states through swift and forceful military campaigns. Worsening matters was a paranoid and relentless Israel, which, like a favoured but troublesome child, persistently compelled its patron to indulge its demands at huge costs.

Ultimately, with the estimated outcome of 'capitulation, not combat', President Trump pressed by the Israelis jumped into Iran. The initiation of the war was largely driven by the underestimation of Iran's will, capability and preparation. After all, a country grinding under the weight of sanctions for decades, struggling with energy security issues, having its currency collapse, followed by intense internal discord and protests could not possibly stand a chance to survive the US – and Israel.

The first and perhaps the gravest miscalculation on the part of President Trump was of Iran's pain threshold. The US and Israel were experts at attacking countries which could not respond – Venezuela, Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya and the list goes on. However, in the case of Iran, it had no more to lose by fighting than by surrendering. Ironically, this miscalculation was not strategic; it was psychological. Mr Trump went in, expecting Iran to be the second Venezuela, while on the other hand, Iran had basically war-gamed the moment for a long time. The US got more than what they bargained for, and things spiralled in an unforeseen direction with the closure of Hormuz – Iran's masterstroke. Twenty per cent of the global oil transit was halted, and the world's most powerful navy on Earth found itself unable to open a strait that a much smaller and battered country decided to close.

However, Iran's Hormuz move was not a desperate last call; it was a calculated one. The closure of Hormuz was an ace up Iran's sleeve, which was kept in reserve for the right time. Iran did not close Hormuz when its scientists and military leadership were killed; nor did it do so when its nuclear sites were destroyed; not even when the US and Israel fanned the flames of internal discord in Iran to change the regime. This tells us that Iran knew the right time, as well as the gravity of such a step, and hence delayed and employed it only when it was considered necessary. Such a meticulously prepared strategic leverage play could not have been outdone by the impulsive 'take each day as it comes' paradigm that President Trump applied to the Iran war equation.

Another miscalculation that guaranteed prolonged resistance from Iran was the USA's demand for unconditional surrender. Any face-saving exit strategy or off-ramp was practically obstructed, causing the belligerents to inevitably stay mired in a protracted conflict. President Trump's zestful and incessant claims about the war victory could not conceal the ground reality that Iran has prevailed convincingly while delivering sobering setbacks to a world superpower.

Through these miscalculations, the limits of superpower coercion were laid bare, revealing that big powers can indeed start a war but cannot predict state behaviours and hence cannot control the outcome. Stakes for a superpower are much higher compared to a smaller state, because it has more to lose reputationally and politically if it fails to meet its objectives in a demonstrated and verifiable manner. A hegemon's bold assumptions and inflated rhetoric are always matched against the actual outcome, which in the US-Iran case is neither a victory nor a surrender.

President Trump will have to reckon with the fact that coercion cannot be a universal solvent. A state's might does not guarantee sustained success in its diplomatic or military endeavours across all states. The high pain and exit thresholds of an apparent weaker state, along with the ideological fervour and sovereign dignity, can sweep away the predictable order. However, it is yet to be seen if the limitations of superpower coercion revealed by the US-Iran war will be treated as a lesson for future American administrations, or they will be dismissed as an anomaly, resulting in the emergence of more battered but resilient states such as Iran, Vietnam and Afghanistan.