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The writer is a public policy analyst based in Lahore. She can be reached at durdananajam1@gmail.com
Wars rarely leave the world as they found it. They alter not only borders and alliances but also the way power itself is understood. The recent conflict involving Israel, Iran and the United States may eventually be remembered less for its military exchanges than for what it revealed about an international order already in transition.
For nearly two years after the Hamas attacks of October 7, 2023, the Middle East appeared to be moving towards a new strategic reality. Israel’s military campaigns in Gaza and Lebanon, repeated strikes in Syria and its direct confrontation with Iran projected an image of overwhelming military dominance. Across the Arab and Muslim world, fears grew that the balance of power had tilted decisively in Israel’s favour. The phrase “Greater Israel”, long confined to ideological debates among sections of Israel’s religious-nationalist right, re-entered mainstream political discourse. While Israel has never adopted such a vision as official state policy, the rhetoric of influential ministers such as Itamar Ben-Gvir and Bezalel Smotrich – both supporters of expanding settlements and opponents of Palestinian statehood – deepened regional anxieties that military success might eventually translate into permanent political transformation.
Yet the ceasefire with Iran told a different story.
It demonstrated that even overwhelming military superiority has limits. Israel undoubtedly displayed remarkable intelligence capabilities, technological sophistication and operational reach. The United States reaffirmed that it remains the indispensable security actor in the Middle East. Yet neither country was able to shape the region solely through force. Iran remained standing. The Strait of Hormuz became a challenge. Arab states resisted being drawn into a wider war. Most importantly, diplomacy succeeded where continued escalation threatened to fail.
That outcome points to a larger shift in international politics.
For more than three decades after the Cold War, the global order rested largely on American primacy. The United States possessed unmatched military strength, economic influence and diplomatic reach. It could shape crises from the Balkans to the Gulf with relatively little competition. Today, Washington remains the world’s most powerful state, but its exercise of power has become more constrained. It must simultaneously manage strategic competition with China, the war in Ukraine, instability in the Middle East and shifting alliances across the Global South.
This is where the emerging world order begins to take shape.
Nearly two decades ago, Fareed Zakaria argued that the defining story of the twenty-first century would not be the decline of America but “the rise of the rest”. More recently, international relations scholar Amitav Acharya has described today’s international system as a “multiplex world” – one in which power is distributed among numerous actors rather than concentrated in a single hegemon or divided neatly between rival blocs.
Perhaps the most striking feature of the crisis was not the military exchanges themselves but the number of countries involved in preventing them from escalating further. Pakistan maintained channels of communication with actors who trusted few others. Türkiye continued to balance its NATO membership with dialogue across the region. Saudi Arabia, despite its own security concerns, invested heavily in preventing a wider conflict that could jeopardise its economic transformation. Oman and Qatar once again played their familiar role as a discreet intermediary. None of these countries possesses the military reach of the United States or the economic weight of China. Yet each became indispensable because it could do something the great powers increasingly struggle to achieve: communicate with everyone.
The case of Pakistan is peculiar.
During the conflict, the diplomatic engagement of Pakistan – traditionally viewed through the prism of security challenges, economic pressures and regional rivalries – demonstrated a less appreciated strength. Working alongside countries such as Qatar, Türkiye and Saudi Arabia, Islamabad supported efforts to reduce tensions and maintain channels of communication at a time when the risk of regional escalation was dangerously high. It did not shape events through military intervention, nor was that its purpose. Its value lay in helping diplomacy remain possible when direct communication between adversaries had become increasingly difficult.
This is not a minor achievement. It reflects a broader change in how influence is exercised in the twenty-first century.
The Middle East war has shown that the international system is becoming neither unipolar nor rigidly multipolar. Instead, it is evolving into a more flexible order where power is shared among major powers, regional actors and influential middle states.
The lesson is clear. Military power will remain an essential element of statecraft, but it is no longer sufficient to shape political outcomes on its own. The ability to mediate, communicate and build consensus has become a strategic resource in its own right.
For Pakistan, that should be an encouraging thought. The country’s future relevance will depend less on the size of its economy or the weight of its military than on its ability to convert geography into diplomacy, relationships into influence, and strategic location into strategic purpose. In the world now taking shape, those who can build bridges may prove just as important as those who possess the greatest power.
