Why do the wars in Ukraine and Gaza grind on, ferociously, relentlessly, with no end in sight and the combatants no closer to victory, as they define it, than they have ever been?
One reason is the anarchic state of the world—the weakening of traditional power blocs and the decay of international institutions.
The Russia-Ukraine war is especially confounding and calamitous: a fierce stalemate for most of its 30-month span, the battlelines moving one way or the other by no more than a few kilometers, a total half-million soldiers killed as well as more than 11,000 Ukrainian civilians, with another nearly 4 million displaced.
A breakthrough, a possible transformation, came just this month, with the Ukrainian army’s breach across the northeastern border into the Russian town of Kursk and its occupation of roughly 1,000 miles of Russian territory. This was an astonishing move, a morale boost for Ukrainians, a traumatic shock to Russians (the first time their land has been invaded since World War II), and, at least potentially, a severe challenge to Vladimir Putin’s legitimacy as a leader who, if nothing else, can keep the territory secure.
For now, the move changes the narrative of this war, but it’s not clear how much, or to what end, Ukraine can exploit this advantage, which might be temporary in any case. (Putin has countered by launching the most massive missile and drone strikes against Ukraine since the early days of the war, leveling villages, wiping out power stations.) It’s a fantasy to envision the capturing of Kursk as the prelude to an assault across Russia broadly, climaxing with Ukrainian troops hoisting the blue-and-yellow flag over the Kremlin. So what does—or what, under optimistic assumptions, might—happen next?
Under certain circumstances, one could imagine the breakthrough as prelude to serious negotiations toward a cease-fire or even an end to the war: Ukraine gives back Kursk; Russia gives back the Donbas province; some sort of deal, maybe a referendum, is struck on Crimea; international peacekeepers set up and enforce demilitarized zones. The problem is that no such international forum exists.
The U.S. and NATO could exert pressure on Ukraine to come to the table, offering security guarantees in exchange for territorial concessions (Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky has said the incursion into Kursk was motivated by a desire to end the war.) But no one has similar leverage over Russia. India or China could, theoretically; but Narendra Modi neither has nor wants any interest in entangling India in such complications, and Xi Jinping is fine with bottling up Washington’s resources and attention in Ukraine (thus distracting them from his activities in the Taiwan Strait and the South China Sea). The U.N. is useless in this realm, since Russia and China, as permanent members of the Security Council, could veto any measure.
Israel’s wars are more complicated. On one level, the problem is similar: Everyone wants to see a cease-fire and hostage deal—except Hamas and Israel. All previous Arab-Israel wars have been settled or stopped, at least in part, by outside pressure—from the U.S., the Soviet Union (during the Cold War, when the Arab countries were Kremlin clients), the U.N. (back when it had more clout), or a combination of all three. But the outside powers trying to negotiate a peace deal now—the U.S., Qatar, and Egypt—turn out to have less leverage than they’d thought.
Could the United States—Israel’s largest arms supplier and, these days, one of its very few allies—have exerted more pressure if President Joe Biden had twisted Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s arm more vigorously? Maybe. But Hamas has been no less avid than Israel in rejecting every cease-fire deal on the table.
Egypt and Qatar haven’t turned up much heat on Yahya Sinwar, the Islamist terrorist group’s leader, either. Qatar finances much of Hamas and houses many of its top figures. Egypt could tend to Gaza’s southern border more carefully—relieving Gazan civilians’ suffering and closing the tunnels through which Hamas has been receiving arms, thus allowing Israeli troops to withdraw—but Cairo’s leaders don’t want to. (One fact underappreciated in the West is that most of the Arab leaders want nothing to do with Palestinians but can’t say so, or do much to put down Hamas, for fear of alienating their own civilians, who tend to be more radical.)
However, the troubles on Israel’s other borders are more complicated—in some ways more dangerous, in other ways less. To the north, in southern Lebanon, the Iranian-backed militia Hezbollah has been firing rockets into Israel with increasing frequency. Last month, a Hezbollah rocket attack against Israel-controlled Golan Heights killed 12 children playing on a soccer field. In retaliation, Israel launched an airstrike that killed Fouad Shukur, Hezbollah’s top military commander.
For weeks, everyone had been anticipating a Hezbollah counterstrike. It finally came on Sunday, as Hezbollah prepared to launch hundreds of rockets and drones at Israel. Many of these weapons were destroyed while still on the ground by Israeli warplanes in a preemptive airstrike. Most of the rest were shot down by Israeli air defenses. Some did get through, doing minor damage.
There were two notable things about this exchange of fire. First, Hezbollah’s rockets and drones were all aimed at military targets; even if more of the weapons had made it through, few Israelis—perhaps no Israeli civilians—would have been killed. Second, both Hezbollah and Israel claimed success: Hezbollah at getting off a fairly large attack; Israel at thwarting most of it.
If that turns out to be the end of this round, then it means Hezbollah does not want to escalate the war. And that probably means its overseers in Tehran are reluctant to do so as well. If either of them wanted, they could inflict enormous, even catastrophic damage on Israel. Hezbollah is said to have more than 100,000 rockets in southern Lebanon, many of them hidden in or under houses. Iran has its own arsenal of missiles within firing range of Israel.
One thing, perhaps the main thing, keeping these weapons locked up is old-fashioned deterrence. Israel’s military is much stronger still; it could return much deadlier fire on Lebanon and Iran. If its foes fired off their entire stockpiles, threatening the Jewish state’s existence, there is Israel’s ultimate reserve—about 200 nuclear weapons. Finally, the U.S. has two aircraft-carrier battle groups in the eastern Mediterranean, which no doubt dampens the temptations of Iran’s more hawkish factions.
Deterrence can be an effective peacekeeper, but it’s unclear how effective, for how long, when it’s not bolstered by diplomatic and institutional guardrails. Spokesmen for both Iran and Hezbollah have said their continued (relative) restraint will depend on the status of the war in Gaza. If there’s a cease-fire, the rocket skirmishes on Israel’s northern border—and the larger threats to its east—can cease as well. If the war in Gaza continues, the skirmishes and threats could escalate. Maybe Hezbollah and Iran are bluffing; they may be making this threat as a way of pressuring Israel to end the war. But if the threat has no effect, they may feel they have to follow through on their threats—or lose credibility in making any sorts of threats in the future.
Political leaders trapped in the turmoil of such high-risk games can easily tumble into war, even against their own interests or private wishes. This is where diplomatic forums, outside actors, and international institutions could exert a restraining influence—and have done so in the past, when they existed. The weakening of these restraints—the breakdown of the international system—is what makes these wars more ravaging, global politics more perilous, and the need for tireless diplomats and skilled strategists more urgent.
