Blood, oil and hubris: The unforgivable wars of our time

“Here’s the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand...”

Lady Macbeth’s line could well be written today for two men: Benjamin Netanyahu and Donald Trump, twin faces of a brutal, unrelenting order that has reduced morality to rubble, along with cities. Netanyahu already stands indicted before the International Court of Justice for alleged genocide in Gaza. Yet the war has only widened and deepened. The targeted assassination of Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, along with senior Iranian officials, marks a dangerous escalation into outright decapitation warfare. Add to this the relentless bombardment of civilian infrastructure: homes, hospitals, and schools. In Lebanon, under the pretext of targeting Hezbollah, entire populations have been displaced, thousands of civilians have been killed, and nearly a million have been pushed into makeshift shelters.

History has a long memory. It is unforgiving to those who confuse power with impunity. Trump, meanwhile, has shed even the veneer of restraint. A brazen enabler of Israel’s war in Gaza – continuing the pattern of past United States administrations that armed and financed Israeli military actions – he has now plunged the US into confrontation with Iran. Acting without Congressional sanction, he has participated in targeted killings and launched repeated strikes on Iranian territory in pursuit of a nuclear threat that remains unproven.

Even within the US, alarm bells are ringing. Democrats, Republicans, and even elements of his own MAGA base have warned that such actions verge on war crimes. Yet Trump has chosen provocation over prudence. On April 5, in a message that stunned the world, he wrote: “Open the Fuckin’ Strait, you crazy bastards, or you’ll be living in Hell – JUST WATCH! Praise be to Allah.” Days later came an even darker warning: “A whole civilisation will die tonight... I don’t want that to happen, but it probably will.”

This is not strategy. It is brinkmanship untethered from reason. And yet, for all the devastation, the outcomes tell a different story from the one intended by Washington and Tel Aviv. Gaza lies in ruins, but Hamas still holds ground. Lebanon has been battered, but Hezbollah retains the ability to strike. Iran, weakened by sanctions and targeted attacks, has not collapsed. Its leadership endures. Its posture remains defiant.

More strikingly, Iran appears to have turned the war to its economic advantage. Control over the Strait of Hormuz – through which a significant portion of the world’s oil flows – has become its most potent weapon. Oil exports have risen, not fallen. Revenues have surged with rising prices. Shipping has come at a cost: reports suggest vessels paying substantial sums for safe passage, a quiet but powerful assertion of leverage.

In warfare, control is not only territorial – it is economic. For the US, the calculus is stark. Securing the Strait would require enormous military deployment: naval fleets, air power, ground forces, and sustained financial outlay. For Iran, disruption is far cheaper. A handful of drones, stray missiles, or naval mines can unsettle insurers, spike global prices, and choke supply lines. Fear, not firepower alone, governs these waters.

A single drone strike a day can achieve what fleets cannot – uncertainty. Iran may not possess nuclear weapons. It does not need them. Its grip over the Strait has already forced negotiation and a ceasefire. Meanwhile, internal dissent – especially among a younger population weary of clerical rule – has been overtaken by a larger sentiment: resistance to external aggression. Trump’s war has done what decades of repression could not – it has united a fractured nation.

This is the paradox of modern conflict. Bombs consolidate the very regimes they seek to destroy. What emerges, stark and undeniable, is that West Asia continues to be viewed through the narrow prism of oil and petro-dollars. This lens blinds global powers to the human cost: the slaughter of civilians, the destruction of societies, the steady irrigation of desert sands with blood – civilian and soldier alike – where no roses bloom.

There is another truth, equally enduring. People dispossessed of their land do not surrender quietly. The right to self-determination – even through armed struggle – is recognised under international norms. Kill leaders, and others will rise. Crush cities, and resistance will harden.

Netanyahu and Trump may eliminate individuals. They cannot extinguish the idea of resistance. History offers a final, haunting image. Genghis Khan, conqueror of vast lands, is believed to have asked his advisor: “Is there any place where I will be forgiven for my sins?” It is a question that echoes across centuries. It awaits its answer still.

The writer builds bridges, sometimes by tearing down walls. He is a soldier, farmer, and entrepreneur.

Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.