would require America to keep forces in the region on permanent standby. That seems a tall order. Though a vote on June 3rd by the House of Representatives to end the war is unlikely to do so, it reflects growing frustration with the conflict. If Iran cannot retrieve the uranium, it could still press ahead with other aspects of a nuclear-weapons programme: learning how to make uranium into a warhead and fit the warhead onto a missile. Leaving the stockpile in place would be an embarrassment for Mr Trump, who has long insisted that the war would end with Iran handing its “nuclear dust” to America. Iran’s biggest concern would be economic. The war has caused billions of dollars in damage and thrown 1m people out of work. Year-on-year inflation hit 77% in May, and 114% for goods; one think-tank in Tehran calls these the highest figures since the second world war. Any upfront payment would be swiftly spent. It would be more significant if Iran secured a waiver to export oil—which the Americans have proposed in order to avoid the uncomfortable image of Mr Trump sending cash to the regime. His allies insist that this concession could be reversed if Iran reneges on the interim deal or fails to reach a permanent one. Yet Iran could take a similar position on Hormuz. If the temporary becomes permanent, America could be hard-pressed to reimpose sanctions without the strait also closing again. A half-finished deal means it would not return to normal soon. Iran would have to remove mines from Hormuz and declare it safe. That would allow hundreds of stranded vessels to rush for the exit (though it will take weeks for all of them to depart safely). A trickle of oil, gas and other commodities would return to markets. But shippers and insurers might hesitate to send vessels back into the Persian Gulf lest they get stuck. Oil and gas producers would have to decide whether to make costly repairs to damaged facilities, knowing they might be attacked again. Disruptions in the Gulf would stretch far beyond hydrocarbons. If the ceasefire holds through the summer, tourists might drift back as temperatures cool. Yet any sabre-rattling could bring another wave of
cancellations. Firms might hold off on expansions until the situation is clearer. Expats might decide they are tired of the uncertainty and seek employment elsewhere. This is not ideal for anyone, but it is arguably least bad for Iran, assuming it can export some oil. America, Israel and Gulf states would be left with persistent fear of an Iranian bomb and prolonged economic uncertainty. That means it may not be sustainable either. The producers may take a summer break—or perhaps work on a spin-off set in Havana—but Mr Trump’s show could be back on the air later this year. ■ Sign up to the Middle East Dispatch, a weekly newsletter that keeps you in the loop on a fascinating, complex and consequential part of the world. This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//middle-east-and-africa/2026/06/03/even-if-america-and- iran-find-an-accord-dont-expect-it-to-last
Middle East & Africa | Not now, Bibi Can Donald Trump save Israel from itself in Lebanon? Binyamin Netanyahu’s fight with Hizbullah is complicating the president’s talks with Iran June 4th 2026 FIRST CAME the announcement on June 1st from Binyamin Netanyahu, Israel’s prime minister, and his defence minister, Yisrael Katz, that they had ordered the Israel Defence Forces (IDF) to “attack terror targets” in Dahiyeh in Beirut, Lebanon’s capital. Then came more threats of attacks and a warning from the IDF telling residents of Dahiyeh, a stronghold of Hizbullah, the Iranian-backed Shia militia, to evacuate. Thousands had already fled. But for once Israel did not drop its bombs. Instead, in the evening came what Donald Trump called “a very productive call” with Mr Netanyahu. According to Axios, a news website, it was an
expletive-laden reading of the riot act by the president, who told Mr Netanyahu that “everyone hates Israel now.” The result was a promise from Israel to refrain from bombing Beirut. Hizbullah, to whom Mr Trump also said he had talked—the first American president to do so (albeit through intermediaries)—also said it would not fire at Israeli towns. It was a diplomatic blow for Mr Netanyahu. Mr Trump, once again, ordered the Israeli prime minister to hold fire. And Iran demonstrated that it can demand a pause in the fighting in Lebanon, protecting its proxy there, as a precondition for ceasefire talks with America. Just three months ago, Israel and America launched their war against Iran. Today, Israel has been relegated to being a bystander. Yet Mr Trump has arguably done Israel a favour. He may have prevented it from blundering deeper into Lebanon. When Hizbullah launched rockets at Israel on March 2nd, in solidarity with Iran, the IDF believed it could finish what it had begun in 2024. Then, Israel battered Hizbullah. But the current fighting has been much less successful from Israel’s perspective. Weakened, Hizbullah has resorted to using cheap attack drones. The drones, and its remaining missiles, have not blocked Israel’s incursions, but they have caused a steady stream of idf casualties. The lack of an effective response to the drones has put political pressure on Mr Netanyahu’s government to bludgeon Hizbullah in whatever way it can. The prime minister has responded by ordering the IDF to advance deeper into Lebanese territory. Rather than repeating the devastatingly effective campaign of 2024, which was far more precisely targeted, Israel’s current assault is beginning to resemble past wars Israel fought in Lebanon. In 1982 Israel invaded to fight Palestinian militias who were using the country as their base for attacking Israel. The IDF remained in parts of southern Lebanon for the next 18 years, calling it a “security zone”. When it finally withdrew in 2000, it left Hizbullah dominant.
In 2006 Israel responded to a Hizbullah attack on an IDF border patrol with massive air strikes on Dahiyeh and another invasion. That time the militia fought the idf to a standstill after 34 days. In all these years Israel faced the same dilemma in Lebanon. Despite its overwhelming military advantage, the eradication of Hizbullah as a fighting force is impossible. Capturing a new “security zone”, as Mr Katz announced, has inflicted more suffering on the people of southern Lebanon, where thousands have been killed and hundreds of thousands uprooted. And it is of dubious strategic value. The alternatives are hardly enticing. A UN peacekeeping force in southern Lebanon has proved unable even to monitor Hizbullah’s military build-up, let alone prevent it. And while the Lebanese government has committed itself to the idea of disarming Hizbullah, its army is still too weak to do so. Its politicians, meanwhile, are fearful of reigniting a civil war. After talks in Washington, Israel and Lebanon did agree to renew their ceasefire on June 3rd. But the main aim of Mr Trump’s latest intervention was to prevent Israeli actions from derailing America’s talks with Iran, which he is keen to bring to a close (they have “started to get very boring”,
he moans). The president’s notoriously short attention span may now be all that is standing between Israel and another bloody adventure in Lebanon. ■ Sign up to the Middle East Dispatch, a weekly newsletter that keeps you in the loop on a fascinating, complex and consequential part of the world. This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//middle-east-and-africa/2026/06/02/can-donald-trump-save- israel-from-itself-in-lebanon
Middle East & Africa | An easier target Gulf rulers are desperate to prove they are in fact strongmen Unable to control external threats, they are squeezing their own people June 4th 2026 Kuwaitis have come to dread Thursdays. That is when the latest list of citizens stripped of their nationality by the emir, Sheikh Mishal al-Sabah, is published. Rights monitors say he has deprived 70,000 people plus their dependants—about 16% of Kuwaitis—of their citizenship since May 2024. They also lose access to permanent government jobs, free health care and the right to own homes and control companies. Kuwaitis say such is the humiliation, some have killed themselves. Kuwait is not alone. Gulf states face an unsettling strategic landscape: Iran and its militias in Iraq have lobbed missiles at them; Tehran’s control of the Strait of Hormuz is throttling oil and gas exports; America’s protection looks
less reliable; and their business model is at risk. Unable to overcome these threats, Gulf rulers seem set on proving they remain strongmen at home. Under the cover of war, they have introduced emergency measures akin to martial law. Across the Gulf, tens of thousands have lost their citizenship or been expelled. Over 1,000 people have been arrested, including expats in the United Arab Emirates (uae) accused of filming missile attacks. In April Kuwait tightened citizenship criteria. “A national purification,” Sheikh Mishal has said. All Gulf states bar Oman have treated their Shias, who share Iran’s faith, as potential fifth columns. The uae, home to hundreds of thousands of Iranians, has padlocked Iranian hospitals, schools and clubs. Iranian residents have been turned away, trying to return. “We should be desperate for people, given the exodus of foreigners during the war,” says a Kuwaiti royal. “They don’t see we are chasing our populations away.” A disgruntled security official is blunter: “It’s like cancer has taken over Kuwait. We’re all suspects.” Even before the war, Sheikh Mishal had abandoned Kuwait’s status as a democratic outlier among Gulf autocrats. In May 2024 he suspended the elected parliament, which dates to 1938. He has since ruled by decree. But he has grown more draconian since the war began. Talk shows have been banned. Diwaniyas—Kuwait’s discussion forums—have been closed. Restrictions on the media extend even to WhatsApp groups of three or more. Municipal elections have been cancelled. “We’ve become a dictatorship,” says one academic. Some Gulf security analysts fear the purge could destabilise the region’s smaller states. They are rich but have tiny populations and low birth rates. Larger neighbours—Iran, Iraq and Saudi Arabia—loom over them. Those stripped of nationality include foreign women married to Kuwaitis, oil executives, bankers and Kuwait’s ambassador to Britain. The constantly shifting criteria for denaturalisation are unsettling. “Why should I sacrifice my life for a country that only alienates me?” asks a stateless civil-society activist. A retired general who mobilised Kuwaitis against Iraq’s invasion in 1991 agrees. “I’m not sure everyone would fight for the country now.”