Fueling the Future: South Korea’s Capital and America’s Nuclear Reboot

 

South Korean investment in America’s fuel supply chain could reduce reliance on Russia while securing enriched uranium access for both allies.

America’s nuclear dreams are back in vogue. After decades of stagnation, Washington now talks about tripling nuclear capacity by 2050, reviving old plants, and deploying fleets of small modular reactors (SMRs). But there is a catch: reactors without fuel are just costly iron. While political speeches extol nuclear power as a climate and security panacea, reality bites in the details of uranium enrichment and fuel supply, the intangible infrastructure that quietly sustains every gigawatt of atomic output. South Korean capital might prove to be the unexpected linchpin.

A Supply Chain Under Stress

The supply chain for low-enriched uranium (LEU) and high-assay low-enriched uranium (HALEU), the feedstock for conventional reactors and advanced SMRs, respectively, is heavily dominated by Russia. Russia’s Rosatom and its affiliates control about 40 percent of global enrichment capacity. Even before geopolitical tensions injected uncertainty into markets, this concentration implied vulnerability; afterwards, it became a strategic headache.

South Korea’s own experience illustrates this predicament. According to Korea Hydro & Nuclear Power (KHNP), between 2020 and 2024, about 32 percent of South Korea’s imported LEU came from Russia. While less than the 38 percent sourced from France, it is still a significant share, especially for a nation that generates about one-third of its electricity from nuclear power and views energy security as a strategic imperative.

In Washington, policymakers lament that America’s enrichment infrastructure has withered. Centrus Energy’s plant in Piketon, Ohio, America’s sole commercial enrichment facility, has been reduced to niche demo production of HALEU, insufficient for a robust domestic fuel base. Moscow is happy to fill gaps for America’s nuclear strategy, and that is politically uncomfortable.

Seoul’s Strategic Nuclear Pivot

Instead of standing aside, South Korea is acting. In August 2025, KHNP and POSCO International signed a memorandum of understanding (MOU) with Centrus to co-invest in expanding Piketon’s enrichment capacity. The deal is not merely contractual, but it reflects a broader shift in South Korea’s nuclear strategy from passive importer to co-investor in fuel infrastructure.

This shift is shaped by three forces:

1. Energy security: Diversifying away from Russian LEU reduces strategic vulnerability.
2. Industrial ambition: South Korean firms have world-class reactor-export credentials and see enrichment investment as a way to capture more value from nuclear supply chains.
3. Alliance politics: Investing in America’s fuel infrastructure aligns Seoul with US policy aims of reducing reliance on geopolitical competitors.

From Washington’s perspective, allied capital entering sensitive nuclear sectors might seem counterintuitive. Historically, foreign investment in enrichment or reprocessing has been anathema due to proliferation risks. But today’s calculus is different. Geopolitical competition with Russia has made allied fuel security a strategic priority, arguably outweighing older taboos.

123 Agreements and the Politics of Enrichment

The diplomatic hinge for this cooperation is the US–South Korea 123 agreement, named after Section 123 of the US Atomic Energy Act, which governs peaceful nuclear cooperation. Past iterations strictly limited South Korea’s ability to pursue sensitive technologies such as enrichment and reprocessing measures designed to prevent the spread of bomb-grade material.

Under a 2025 revised framework proposed by the Trump administration, that constraint is being reinterpreted. The new language endorses civil uranium enrichment and, potentially, spent fuel reprocessing, subject to legal safeguards and consent mechanisms. President Donald Trump reportedly pitched a 50:50 joint venture with South Korea, urging investment in American enrichment facilities with dual benefits of fuel for South Korea’s reactors and industrial revival in the United States. 

This diplomatic shift is noteworthy. Non-proliferation norms remain critical, but the focus is evolving from excluding allies from strategic technologies toward controlled co-development within allied frameworks. The political challenge now lies in balancing security assurances with commercial opportunity.

HALEU: The Bottleneck and the Opportunity

Centrus’s Piketon site has produced approximately 920 kilograms of HALEU during Department of Energy (DOE) demonstration runs. Expanding this to commercial LEU and HALEU production by the late 2020s requires billions in capital and long-term offtake commitments. This is where South Korean investment is starting to matter. KHNP’s capital and POSCO’s industrial heft could underwrite expansion, with DOE subsidies sweetening the long lead times and regulatory hurdles.

For South Korea, the payoff is stable access to enriched uranium. For the United States, the payoff is revitalized domestic fuel capacity with allied backing, reducing dependence on Russia. 

Beyond Enrichment: The Closed Fuel Cycle Question

The partnership’s implications extend beyond enrichment. South Korea has invested heavily in research on pyroprocessing, a dry reprocessing technique that separates usable isotopes from spent fuel without producing pure plutonium presented as a more proliferation-resistant method than traditional reprocessing. Coupled with sodium-cooled fast reactors (SFRs), which can use mixed-oxide (MOX) or metallic fuels, pyroprocessing could form the basis of a closed fuel cycle that slashes waste volumes by up to 90 percent.

But this is politically fraught. While current 123 agreements allow for research and development collaboration, full-scale reprocessing and plutonium separation remain red lines without explicit US consent. Even among American lawmakers, support for loosening restrictions is mixed. In early 2026, several Democratic senators wrote to administration officials warning that relaxed fuel-cycle norms might undermine non-proliferation.

This tension captures the broader dilemma: how to balance strategic technology sharing with the imperative of preventing weapons proliferation. The answer will shape not just South Korea–US cooperation, but global norms around nuclear fuel cycles.

Nuclear Markets, Capital, and Geopolitics

The expanding market for SMRs and advanced reactors, rising spot prices for enrichment services, and allied strategies of “friendshoring” critical infrastructure all create conditions in which capital and policy align.

If South Korea helps build the West’s fuel backbone, it will do more than underwrite industrial hardware. It will help realign the global nuclear market away from a small number of geopolitical rivals toward an allied-centric supply chain. In this emerging landscape, fuel is not just a commodity but a strategic currency.

And South Korea, once a reactor buyer on the periphery, is positioning itself at the fulcrum of nuclear commerce and geopolitics.

How Do China’s and India’s Air Forces Stack Up?

 

China’s air force is stronger than India’s—but much of it is tied down in the Pacific, allowing India to punch above its weight.

China and India are the world’s two largest countries by population, with India recently surpassing China. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they are also Asia’s two largest military powers—and have a historic rivalry across the Himalaya Mountains of central Asia. Both states are nuclear-armed, and both are working to expand their respective air fleets. Indeed, with flashpoints along their contested border and in the Indian Ocean, the relative abilities of each nation’s air power is increasingly relevant.

Today, China holds a quantitative and technological advantage in airpower, while India retains geographic and defensive strengths. But both nations are working to update their capabilities—in a matchup that reflects broader great power competition in Asia. 

China’s Air Force Is Somewhat Stronger than India’s

China has a large fleet of nearly 2,000 combat aircraft. Modern fights like the J-20, J-35, J-16, and J-10 give China both ability and depth. Beijing’s heavy bomber force consists mostly of the H-6 variant, with plans for strategic and tactical stealth bombers reportedly under development. Chinese platforms benefit from integration with an advanced SAM network, and a robust ISR and AEW&C fleet. The UAV inventory, already significant, is growing. 

India’s air force is smaller, but still impressive by global standards. It has between 600 and 700 combat aircraft, with a diverse fighter fleet including the Su-30MKI backbone, Rafale, Tejas, and Mirage 2000. India has a limited but growing AEW&C capability, but a strong pilot training tradition. 

With respect to air superiority, China maintains a clear edge. Beijing’s J-20s grant it a stealth advantage, while its AESA radars are widely fielded. Chinese jets also have access to a strong BVR missile inventory—particularly the PL-15 air-to-air missile, which Pakistan used to great effect against India during the two countries’ four-day war in May 2025. India, meanwhile, operates the Rafale with Meteor BVR missiles, making for a competitive long-range option. Though the Su-30MKI is older than the J-20, it is highly maneuverable. And the pilot corps has gained experience in multinational exercises.

How Geography Shapes the China-India Air Rivalry

In terms of geography, China’s Western Theater Command is focused on India, with high-altitude Tibetan airfields. The thin air reduces aircraft payload, while the runways are vulnerable to attack. India, fighting defensively, enjoys lower-altitude bases on its side of the Himalayas, plus faster logistics and sortie generation in certain sectors. From a defensive perspective, the geographical advantage lies with India.

With respect to air defense integration, China has a layered A2/AD network, dense SAM coverage, and space and ISR integration. India has strong Russian-origin SAMs, like the S-400, but these are less well integrated than their Chinese counterparts; New Delhi is still modernizing its air defense grid.

Strategically, however, China has a critical disadvantage against India: much of its air defense resources are tied up in the Pacific region, in anticipation of a future conflict against the far stronger United States. In that region—especially in the South China Sea—Beijing uses air power as part of a broader anti-access strategy, focused primarily on Taiwan. India, meanwhile, can treat China as its primary conventional military concern, with the somewhat weaker Pakistan as a secondary front.

China and India Each Have Their Own Strategic Advantages

China benefits from a larger industrial base and greater defense spending. India benefits from strategic partnerships and Western tech access. China sees India as a continental challenger, not a primary rival, while India sees China as an existential long-term competitor. For both, air power is crucial in rapid border crises, limited punitive strikes, and deterrence signaling. Neither side is likely to seek a total war; the most plausible scenario is a limited high-altitude skirmish, perhaps using air power for escalation dominance and signaling. Both sides are nuclear armed, in turn making both sides escalation-wary.

China holds the systemic advantage, especially with respect to numbers and stealth; India retains credible deterrent and defensive strength. The air power balance in the region reflects the broader Asian power dynamic, where China is a global great power and India is a rising regional power. Air power competition between the two countries is less about dominance and more about deterrence stability in a multipolar Asia. 

Does the US Military Ever Use Cessna Planes? Here’s What to Know

 

Cessna’s focus on cheap, reliable propeller aircraft may seem anachronistic in the era of fighter jets—yet its planes have long played supporting roles for the US military.

Cessna is best known as a civilian general aviation manufacturer, associated with flight schools, private pilots, and bush flying. Yet Cessna aircraft have long played a quiet but important role in military operations—not in high-end combat, obviously, but in providing versatile, affordable, and adaptable platforms in support roles. 

What’s So Great About Cessna?

Founded in 1927, Cessna is a major producer of light aircraft. Known for the Cessna 172—the single most produced aircraft in history, with at least 45,000 of the model built—and the Cessna 182 and Caravan utility aircraft, Cessna planes have a reputation for being safe and reliable, though perhaps unglamorous. Cessnas have long served as a staple of training and transport platforms—meaning there’s a good chance that if you learned to fly, you learned to fly in a Cessna. But the traits that make the Cessna useful in training roles—simplicity, range, and low operating costs—also make them useful in military roles.

Multiple Cessnas have been built explicitly for military service:

• During World War II, the Cessna AT-17/UC-78 was a twin-engine military trainer/transport used for navigation and pilot training.
• The Cessna O-1 Bird Dog was based on the Cessna 170 and used in the Korean and Vietnam Wars for forward air control (FAC), spotting enemy movements, and directing strike aircraft. The Bird Dog’s tactical value lay in slow flight, excellent visibility, and short takeoff and landing (STOL) capability. 
• The Cessna T-37 Tweet was a twin-jet trainer aircraft derived from a civilian concept. Used as a primary USAF jet trainer, and later adapted in the A-37 Dragonfly, a light attack aircraft. The T-37 provided Vietnam-era close air support. 
• Other Cessnas, originally designed for civilian use, have been adapted for military use. The Cessna Caravan C-208 was one of the most widely militarized Cessna platforms, used for ISR, light transport, and armed overwatch. Employed by the US military, partner nations, and special operations units, the C-208 was cheap and reliable. 

In essence, Cessna’s ability to build reliable and low-cost planes has given it a deep historic relationship with the US Air Force. Other aircraft manufacturers have learned from Cessna’s example. For instance, L3Harris Technologies, a relative newcomer to the defense industry, borrowed the light turboprop concept for its OA-1K Skyraider II—the first new propeller plane to enter service with the Air Force since the Vietnam War. The Skyraider offers the Air Force low costs, persistent loitering, and the ability to operate from austere airstrips, hinting at future possibilities for other turboprop aircraft.

Cessna’s Planes Have Seen a Lot of Wartime Action

Tactically, Cessnas have provided value in FAC roles. During the Vietnam War, the Bird Dog marked targets with smoke rockets, coordinated CAS aircraft, and flew low and slow over hostile territory. Similarly, Cessnas have been successful for ISR and counterinsurgency. The Caravan provided ISR, with electro-optical sensors, signals intelligence packages, and real-time targeting data—this is ideal for low-intensity conflicts and border surveillance. And special operations; Cessnas have provided light transport in denied or semi-permissive environments, with an STOL capability that allows for the use of short, unimproved runways. 

Cessna works in military roles because of the low acquisition and maintenance costs, the high reliability, and the simplicity of the training pipeline. Compared to military jets, Cessnas have longer loiter times and lower logistical footprints. Still, Cessnas are not survivable in contested air spaces, do not have stealth technology, and of course have limited speed and defensive systems. Still, the platforms have been useful, especially in circumstances where strategic initiatives shift toward persistent ISR, irregular warfare, and light footprint operations. Cessnas are economical alternatives to high-end platforms, especially useful in Africa, Latin America, and the Middle East. 

Cessna aircraft will never headline a peer war. But the aircraft’s military value lies in utility, adaptability, and persistence—because not every mission requires supersonic speed; sometimes, all that is needed is simplicity and reliability. 

As America and Iran Move Toward War, Turkey Is Caught in the Middle.

 

Few nations in the Middle East have more to lose from a broader US-Iran war than Turkey.

The drumbeat of possible US military strikes against Iran is growing louder as indirect diplomacy continues amid high-stakes speculation about its imminent failure. Washington has signaled it is prepared to escalate if talks collapse; Tehran is warning it will retaliate against US forces in the region if attacked—and will not limit itself to tit-for-tat strikes. This is the kind of escalatory symmetry that turns a crisis into a cascade. The inconclusive talks in Geneva on Tuesday underscored the problem: neither side appears ready to concede enough to lock in a durable off-ramp.

In that narrowing space, Turkey’s room for maneuver is limited—but it is wrong to assume that Ankara has been passive. Over recent weeks, it has tried to keep a diplomatic track alive, quietly testing what might be politically saleable to both sides. As Turkey’s foreign minister, Hakan Fidan, has argued in recent weeks, widening demands too quickly risks producing “nothing” and pushing the region towards conflict.

In the background, Ankara’s engagement with Washington has intensified during President Trump’s second term, alongside renewed Turkish efforts to position itself as a pragmatic mediator across multiple files. But in the looming war scenario with Iran, Turkey may have reached the limits of what middle-power diplomacy can achieve. The escalatory lever ultimately sits in Washington, while regional actors—including Israel—shape the political and operational calculus in ways Ankara cannot fully control.

Turkey has made its position clear: it does not want a regional war. If a military campaign begins, however, it will be forced into the role it knows best. This means managing fallout: securing the border with Iran, containing secondary shocks across Iraq and the Gulf-Red Sea corridor, and pushing for rapid, disciplined de-escalation before escalation becomes self-sustaining.

Why Turkey Fears a US-Iran Conflict

Turkey has a role within the Middle East that is often misunderstood. A NATO ally with proven operational relevance to US and European security, Ankara also has a long history of calibrated competition with Iran. The Turkey-Iran relationship has long been defined by managed rivalry and selective cooperation across overlapping theatres, in Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, the Red Sea arena, and the Caucasus. It is messy, transactional and often tense. Even so, it has produced working channels. In a moment when multiple actors are communicating through intermediaries, those channels matter. Critics sometimes miscast this as ‘Turkey equals Iran,’ but this is a misunderstanding: Turkey’s value lies in its capacity to engage Iran’s principal power centers and to speak to Washington without grandstanding.

Turkey has immediate, material interests in preventing a US-Iran war. Any clash that threatens the Strait of Hormuz and Bab el-Mandeb would send shockwaves through energy markets and shipping lanes; it would reverberate across GCC states, Jordan and Iraq; it would activate networks of armed groups that thrive in ambiguity; and it could trigger secondary crises, like localized separatist insurgencies inside Iran, and domestic polarization across the region. Unlike distant stakeholders, Turkey cannot treat escalation as an abstract “risk scenario.” It sits right next to where the fighting would take place.

Ankara has a further, unspoken driver for wishing to avoid conflict: refugee flows. Turkey already carries the political and economic weight of hosting millions of displaced people from earlier regional wars in neighboring Iraq and Syria. If strikes on Iran were followed not merely by external retaliation but by internal conflict—elite fragmentation, intensified repression, localized insurgencies, or state paralysis—Turkish planners fear a fast-moving refugee spillover across its eastern border with Iran. Turkish reporting in recent weeks points to contingency thinking in Ankara shaped by precisely this risk: a scenario in which instability inside Iran becomes a mass-migration event, not a contained security crisis.

Turkey Is Trying to Defuse Regional Tensions

Yet Ankara’s reach and influence is not limitless. What can Turkey actually do–especially now, when Geneva has reinforced the sense of stalemate?

First, the least visible Turkish contribution is the one that matters most: disciplined backchannel communication. This has been Ankara’s comparative advantage for weeks, even if it is easy to miss because it is designed to be quiet. Turkey can pass messages between Washington and Tehran without theater: what the US might do if talks collapse; what Iran might do in response; which moves would be read as escalatory rather than defensive; and where third-party actions—particularly spoilers—could accelerate escalation dynamics. In a crisis that is increasingly shaped by misperception and signaling, reducing the risk of misunderstanding or “worst-case reading” is a material stabilizing act.

Second, Turkey can help make sequencing politically feasible, even if it cannot dictate outcomes. The central dilemma in US-Iran diplomacy is that the parties want different things at different speeds. Tehran insists talks remain confined to the nuclear file, while President Donald Trump has insisted on a grand bargain touching missiles and regional networks. The end state of these discussions remains unclear. For its part, Turkey’s preference is for an interim, time-bound package that lowers the temperature first: nuclear restraint and verifiable steps paired with narrowly tailored relief, while parallel channels explore the harder regional questions. That approach complements Omani facilitation rather than competing with it, giving Washington and Tehran more than one pathway back from the brink.

Third, Turkey can help build regional guardrails around the flashpoints most likely to ignite. If strikes occur, escalation will not play out neatly between capitals; it will likely spill through the Gulf, Iraq, and the Red Sea arena, while bringing Israel into the fray too. Turkey cannot “control” these theatres, but it can help convene practical restraint mechanisms—understandings about what not to hit, what lines not to cross, and how to communicate when strikes and counter-strikes begin to blur into broader campaigns. The point is not a grand regional peace architecture, but crisis management: the difference between a contained exchange and a rolling regional confrontation.

Turkey’s Peace Maneuvering Is Burning Political Capital

None of this is cost-free for Ankara. Its credibility with Washington can be fragile, and any Turkish role is and will be scrutinized by the US and by Israel. Tehran, meanwhile, is suspicious of NATO geography and will test whether Turkey is truly acting as a stabilizer or merely buying time for coercion.

This task is complicated by a harsher regional rhetoric environment. In some files, especially in Syria, Turkey risks being perceived as overreaching, including by Israeli actors who view Ankara through a lens of “encirclement.” Whether or not that interpretation is accurate. Ankara, in turn, is watching an escalation in Israeli political rhetoric that increasingly casts Turkey as the “next threat” after Iran. That framing is combustible. In a crisis already vulnerable to misperception, hostile signaling narrows diplomatic space and makes restraint harder to sell domestically on all sides.

That is why Turkey’s best approach is pragmatic and modest. The objective is not to “solve” the US-Iran confrontation. It is to keep the crisis under control long enough for diplomacy—however imperfect, conditional and partial—to do its work. Turkey cannot rewrite the calculus driving Washington and Tehran. But it can help ensure that, if diplomacy fails, it does not fail catastrophically—and that a regional confrontation does not tip into the kind of internal Iranian rupture that would send shockwaves, and people, across borders.

America’s Unfinished Play in Central Asia

 

In Central Asia, Washington must replace episodic symbolism with a sustained economic, legal, and supply-chain strategy.

Washington has a habit of chasing symbols when it should be building systems. Greenland is a symbol: icy, strategic, dramatic, and easy to explain in one sentence. Central Asia is a system: less theatrical, more complicated, and vastly more important for the next decade of geopolitical competition. If the United States is serious about reducing strategic dependence on China and managing long-term competition with Russia, it should stop treating Central Asia as a periodic talking point and start treating it as a standing priority—beginning with Kazakhstan.

Central Asia lies at the intersection of Russia and China and along the main overland routes between Europe and Asia. It is rich in strategic commodities, and Kazakhstan, in particular, is central to discussions of uranium and broader minerals. In other words, supply-chain resilience and geopolitical resilience are now the same conversation.

Yet US policy has not kept pace with US rhetoric. No US president has ever visited Central Asia while in office—a revealing gap in American statecraft. Multiple policy analyses have argued that this is an obvious imbalance Washington could correct with a presidential trip, and they are right about the signal such a move would send. But even advocates of that step acknowledge its limits: a first-ever visit would be strategically meaningful, yet still largely symbolic unless it is backed by sustained policy, commercial tools, and institutional follow-through.

The most recent publicly established US regional strategy framework was the 2019–2025 strategy published in 2020. Congressional research still points to that document as the baseline architecture for US objectives in the region. As of late 2025, officials pointed to that same framework as the publicly available strategy and did not publicly detail an updated replacement on request. Whether one calls this a transition period or a strategy gap, the practical result is the same: the region sees episodic engagement, not a sustained doctrine.

That inconsistency is costly because demand-side pressure is rising fast. The IEA reports strong recent growth in demand for key transition minerals and warns that supply-chain concentration risks remain severe. It also projects that concentration in refining will remain heavily tilted toward China for several key materials well into the next decade. This means the United States cannot diversify only by identifying new mines; it must build multi-country value chains that include processing, logistics, finance, and offtake certainty. That kind of architecture is exactly where Central Asia can matter – if Washington chooses to build it.

To be fair, the United States is not inactive. The C5+1 format has matured institutionally, and the November 2025 summit in Washington signaled higher-level political attention. Deals were announced, and US officials framed the region as strategically important for mineral diversification and broader economic connectivity. This was useful. But one summit, even at the leadership level, does not substitute for a durable policy mechanism with clear timelines, financing tools, and congressional follow-through—countries in the region track implementation, not atmospherics.

Take the legal and trade architecture. Congress has begun moving in the right direction: HR1024 (introduced in February 2025) seeks to terminate Jackson-Vanik application to Kazakhstan and authorize permanent normal trade relations, noting Kazakhstan has operated under a temporary status for decades. The diagnosis is correct. But as of the latest action listed, the bill remains at the introduced stage in committee. A bipartisan Senate push to remove outdated Jackson-Vanik barriers for Central Asia underscores that momentum exists—but momentum is not policy until enacted.

Meanwhile, competitors are not waiting. Russia continues active top-level diplomacy with Central Asian states and openly pushes deeper trade ties. China remains deeply embedded through market access, financing, and supply-chain absorption capacity. Europe, for its part, is putting real money behind trans-Caspian connectivity, including a €10 billion commitment linked to corridor development. The World Bank has already modeled how corridor investments and efficiency reforms could cut transit times by half and potentially triple trade flows by 2030. In strategic terms, the board is moving, whether Washington moves or not.

There is also a diplomatic principle that Washington should preserve: Central Asian states are not seeking to be “taken” from one side to the other. They are signaling that they want options. US policy works best when it supports sovereign optionality rather than demanding alignment tests that regional governments cannot and will not pass. The original C5+1 logic recognized this reality. A modernized strategy should do the same, but with real economic instruments attached.

Some in Washington will argue that the United States is overstretched and cannot prioritize every region. True. But this is precisely why prioritization should favor high-leverage theaters. Central Asia is one of them. Congressional research has long emphasized the region’s strategic geography and resource significance, and the US has already invested billions in assistance over three decades. The question now is not whether America has interests there; it is whether it can match those interests with policy continuity.

If Washington wants a realistic Eurasian strategy, it should begin with a simple correction: stop confusing episodic attention with durable statecraft. The path to resilient supply chains, greater strategic room relative to China, and a less permissive environment for Russian coercion runs through consistent partnerships, modern legal frameworks, and functional infrastructure.

The Day After Khamenei: Iran’s ‘Liberation’ Will Begin as an IRGC Power Struggle

 

The IRGC controls the regime’s security forces, intelligence services, and economic networks, making it the most likely actor to dominate Iran’s immediate post-Khamenei transition.

Many imagine the day after Ali Khamenei as a moment of sudden liberation: Iranians shaking off the mullahs and deciding their own destiny. The likelier opening act is far less romantic. 

The immediate aftermath will probably look less like a velvet revolution and more like the opening round of an insider power struggle—staged and refereed by the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) and its allies. The institutions that have grown strongest under Khamenei are not parliaments, parties, or independent courts, but the security state and its sprawling economic empire. Those are the actors best positioned to inherit the republic he leaves behind.

Iran’s Transition Will Unfold in Two Phases

The most probable political sequence is a two‑step process: 

Phase one is an insider succession: IRGC commanders and regime factions compete, bargain, and improvise a new leadership formula that keeps real power in roughly the same hands. 

Phase two—if it comes at all—follows only if that militarized order fails to stabilize the country: then ordinary Iranians may get a real opening to renegotiate the system. Calling the fall of Khamenei “liberation,” therefore, misses the hard part. The man at the top may go; the deep state he built intends to survive him.

Khamenei spent decades shaping a system that prevents civilian alternatives from emerging. Presidents have been weakened, parliaments tamed, and independent clerical voices marginalized. By contrast, the IRGC has expanded across military, intelligence, internal security, regional operations, and large parts of the sanctioned economy. Formal succession rules remain on paper, but any “legal” solution will hold only if a coalition of Guard commanders, senior clerics, and insiders agrees to back it. Khamenei did not prepare Iran for life after him; he prepared the system to reproduce itself without him.

Why the IRGC Is Positioned to Control the Transition

That is why the immediate day after will likely be an IRGC‑led settlement rather than popular sovereignty. 

The Guards control the hard power—bases, missile forces, internal security organs—and dominate economic channels that provide cash and leverage. Their first instinct in a crisis will be to protect commanders from prosecution, safeguard assets, and shape a leadership outcome that leaves them as ultimate arbiters. Whether the result is a weak new supreme leader, a collective council, or a “national salvation” government, the logic is the same: when the portrait comes down, the men with guns and money will be first to decide who goes up in its place.

None of this means Khamenei’s fall would be meaningless. It would shatter the aura of permanence around the system and embolden both elites and citizens to imagine alternatives. But it does mean that “liberation” is likely to be delayed, not delivered on day one. His departure will not magically erase the Basij, intelligence networks, prisons, or the patronage structures that tie millions of livelihoods to the state. The most realistic first post‑Khamenei order is a hybrid: formally more collective, perhaps more pragmatic on the surface, but structurally dominated by the same security actors. For ordinary Iranians, the morning after is more likely to feel like the aftermath of a palace coup than the fall of an empire.

What Could Break an IRGC-Managed Iran

The key question is not whether phase one happens—it almost certainly will—but whether it can hold. Three pressures could break or erode an IRGC‑heavy arrangement and open the door to a deeper transition. 

First, renewed mass protest. A successor that cannot deliver economic relief, dignity, or even the illusion of change will face a society that has repeatedly shown a willingness to risk everything. 

Second, elite fragmentation. The Guards are not monolithic; rival networks in business, the clergy, and the bureaucracy could split if the costs of isolation and mismanagement rise. 

Third, the external environment. Sustained regional and international pressure that raises the price of repression and closes off easy sanctions‑busting rents could strain the security empire.

If these forces converge, the security elite that inherits Khamenei may find it cannot both keep what it has and stabilize the country. That is when a real opening appears. 

Phase two will not be a Hollywood moment of sudden freedom but a messy process in which Iranians—through strikes, protests, negotiations, and sometimes violence—force a more fundamental renegotiation of the social contract. That could mean debates over a new constitution, serious regional demands for decentralization, and the emergence of leaders from inside society rather than only from exile or the old establishment. 

If Iranians are ever to decide their own destiny, it will be at the expense of a weakened, divided security elite—not instead of it.

External Forces Should Not Legitimize an IRGC Takeover Nor Impose a Blueprint

For outside actors, especially the United States, this two‑phase logic is a warning against both naïve optimism and cynical fatalism. Naïve optimism assumes you remove Khamenei and you get democracy. Cynical fatalism assumes the IRGC will simply entrench itself forever. Both are wrong. The sober view is that the first post‑Khamenei order will be IRGC‑managed, and only the failure of that project will create a genuine opening. Policy should therefore avoid two mistakes: legitimizing a militarized restoration as reform, and imposing territorial or institutional blueprints from abroad. Instead, external powers should calibrate tools to keep space open—politically, diplomatically, and economically—for Iranians to turn a top‑level power struggle into a deeper reckoning with the system.

The day Khamenei falls, many will call it liberation. They will be right that an era has ended. But it will not yet be the birth of a free Iran. Between the Supreme Leader and the people stands an entire security empire that will try to inherit his throne. Whether Iranians can turn that inheritance into a reckoning—that, not the fall of one man, is the real question of the day after.

Gaza, Iran, and America’s Strategic Reset

 

Azerbaijan could play a critical role in ongoing peace efforts in the Middle East—particularly in engagement with neighboring Iran.

At the inaugural session of the Board of Peace on February 19, US president Donald Trump is expected to outline a Gaza reconstruction plan and a UN-mandated stabilization force to secure the enclave. Representatives from at least 20 states, including several national leaders, are expected in Washington. A key focus will be the establishment of a multi-billion-dollar fund that pools member contributions for post-conflict recovery. US officials say Trump will also announce which states have pledged thousands of troops for the multinational force in Gaza.

One month into President Trump’s second term, I argued in “The US Geostrategy and the Old World Order” that the United States had begun a historic recalibration of its foreign-policy doctrine. This transformation was long in the making, shaped by three decades of geopolitical realities since the Soviet Union’s collapse in 1991. I noted that shifts of this magnitude rarely proceed smoothly, producing a turbulent transition as institutions, alliances, and assumptions resist change. While instability is inherent to systemic realignment, addressing new threats with outdated frameworks is increasingly untenable and risky.

America’s Burden-Sharing Approach to Middle East Diplomacy

For the United States to pursue a geostrategy of global management through burden-sharing and burden-shifting, Washington must first resolve legacy conflicts that limit flexibility. The Middle East remains the most complex, with the Trump Administration focusing on the Board of Peace approach centered on Gaza. The initiative aims to end a regional war and build a coalition to assume long-term security, stabilization, and reconstruction responsibilities. Yet developments within and about Iran could complicate the plan, potentially requiring support from states beyond the region—most notably Azerbaijan.

Operationalizing this approach requires careful diplomacy with key regional players, particularly Turkey, Saudi Arabia, and Israel, as well as the United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Egypt, and Jordan. Resolving conflicts among them helps align allies capable of assuming most security and stabilization responsibilities. Turkey and Saudi Arabia are central to this approach, ideally coordinated with Israel. Yet diverging Turkish and Israeli interests, Saudi Arabia’s retreat from normalization efforts with Israel, and Saudi-UAE divergence complicate a coherent regional strategy.

The regional calculus is further complicated by Iran’s geopolitical fragility. Ongoing American diplomacy faces mounting strains as factional divisions in Tehran deepen, reflected in the weakening of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps and the growing influence of the Artesh. These dynamics have prompted the deployment of a second US carrier strike group, heightening the risk of renewed conflict. Washington is attempting to guide the region toward post-conflict stabilization even as the possibility of confrontation with Iran persists.

Reconciling Turkey and Saudi Arabia with Israel while managing tensions with Iran will require skillful statecraft from the Trump administration. Azerbaijan is well-positioned to assist due to its unique diplomatic ties. It maintains close relations with Turkey, the UAE, and Israel, while also engaging Saudi Arabia. Washington can leverage Baku as a key intermediary to coordinate regional actors.

Azerbaijan has already demonstrated both the intent and capability to act as a strategic intermediary in the Middle East. It has hosted deconfliction talks between Turkey and Israel, underscoring its readiness to bridge regional divides. Baku has also served as a conduit between Israel and the new regime in Syria, exemplified by Ahmed al-Shara’s visit to Baku. Its participation in the Board of Peace further highlights the country’s growing diplomatic importance.

What Azerbaijan Brings to the Peace Table

An unparalleled combination of geographic, historical, and sociopolitical factors confers exceptional leverage on Azerbaijan. Positioned along Iran’s northwestern frontier, it borders provinces with large ethnic Azeri populations whose cultural ties to Baku remain strong. Azerbaijan’s secular model, combined with the Iranian Azeris’ presence in senior state and military roles, offers the United States a potential window into Iran’s internal dynamics. Leveraging these connections, Baku could support stabilization efforts and help shape Tehran’s behavior amid ongoing diplomacy and security pressure.

Vice President JD Vance’s Feb. 10–11 visit to Baku advanced US geostrategy by formalizing Azerbaijan’s role in regional stabilization. The two countries signed a Strategic Partnership Charter, committing to enhanced maritime security and economic connectivity. The visit underscores Baku’s strategic value as US lawmakers consider repealing Section 907 of the 1992 Freedom Support Act. Originally enacted during the 1988–94 Armenia-Azerbaijan war and supported by diaspora lobbying, 907 is now largely obsolete following the 2020–23 conflict and the August 2025 peace deal brokered by the Trump administration.

It remains a barrier to expanding American-Azerbaijani ties envisioned in the Strategic Charter signed by Vance. The Armenian National Committee of America’s effort to preserve the restriction is increasingly anachronistic and counterproductive to the very community it seeks to serve. Profound changes in Armenia’s own interests, regional geopolitics, and American global strategy have altered the landscape. Overcoming Cold War–era constraints is essential for Washington to operationalize its new geostrategy in the Middle East and West Asia.