Thirteen weeks into the American and Israeli campaign against Iran, a tentative ceasefire—announced on April 7–8 and later extended indefinitely by President Trump—has proven anything but stable. Kuwait, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates, and Israel have all reported missile and drone attacks attributed to Iran. Israel’s “Operation Eternal Darkness” against Hezbollah in Lebanon killed more than 350 people in the largest strikes of the war. Iran, meanwhile, continues to attach stringent conditions to any reopening of the Strait of Hormuz.

At this critical moment, a more fundamental question demands attention: Who actually won—or is winning—this war?

The evidence suggests that Iran’s position remains far stronger than many anticipated. There has been no meaningful reduction in the missile and drone threats directed at Gulf states. Fighting continues in Lebanon, a theater Israel does not yet consider covered by the ceasefire agreement. The Strait of Hormuz remains effectively closed, with the United States and Iran locked in a dual blockade. Brief American escort initiatives such as Project Freedom were suspended before they could establish a sustainable operational rhythm.

Meanwhile, the dominant message emerging from Tehran has been one of confidence, even triumph. Iranian officials have repeatedly threatened various aspects of the ceasefire with little apparent concern for the consequences. Whether that confidence is entirely justified is almost beside the point. Perception matters in geopolitics, and Iran increasingly behaves like a state that believes it holds the leverage—or, in President Trump’s preferred terminology, “the cards.”

Against considerable odds, Iran has weathered the assassination of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, endured sustained bombardment of its conventional military infrastructure, and overseen a succession process that elevated his son as his replacement. Yet despite those extraordinary pressures, the regime’s power structure remains intact. Its regional influence has survived as well and may, in some respects, have been strengthened by the conflict.

How did this happen?

The answer lies in a fundamental misunderstanding of what military power can and cannot achieve against a regime that has spent more than four decades preparing for precisely this kind of confrontation.

Iran’s nuclear facilities have suffered damage. Its air-defense systems have been degraded. Significant elements of its conventional military capacity have been weakened. All of that is true, at least to a degree. But Iran’s influence was never rooted primarily in conventional military strength. Its real power has long resided elsewhere: in a network of regional proxies capable of generating instability across the Middle East and in an asymmetric strategy designed to exploit vulnerabilities that larger military powers struggle to neutralize.

Nowhere is that strategy more visible than in the Strait of Hormuz, arguably the world’s most consequential maritime chokepoint.

Iran’s demand regarding the strait—the right to regulate and tax all commercial traffic passing through it—amounts to a claim of tributary sovereignty. It is an attempt to acquire the authority to impose costs on the global economy whenever it chooses. Such an arrangement would effectively place one of the world’s most important commercial arteries under the discretionary control of a revolutionary theocratic state.

The implications extend far beyond the Gulf. A regime empowered to levy economic penalties on global commerce through the Strait of Hormuz would possess a tool of coercion with worldwide consequences. The proposal is, in effect, a form of institutionalized extortion, and it is not something the United States can reasonably accept under any circumstances.

Yet military force alone is not the answer.

Military credibility remains essential. Negotiations conducted without leverage are rarely negotiations at all. But credibility and coercion are not substitutes for strategy. The challenge facing Washington is to construct a framework that denies Iran the role it seeks while avoiding the equally dangerous temptation of demanding Iran’s complete defeat or humiliation.

History offers useful precedents.

The 1936 Montreux Convention Regarding the Regime of the Straits addressed a comparable problem involving access to the Black Sea. The agreement preserved freedom of navigation while simultaneously recognizing Turkish sovereignty over the straits. Likewise, after Suez Crisis and Egypt’s nationalization of the company operating the canal, Cairo continued to affirm the principles of the 1888 Convention of Constantinople, which established that the canal should remain open in both war and peace without discrimination among flags.

These examples are not perfect analogies, but they illustrate an important principle: strategic waterways can be governed through international arrangements that protect both sovereignty and commerce.

The elegance of such an approach is that it would fundamentally reframe the current negotiations.

Instead of reducing the dispute to a bilateral struggle over who controls the Strait of Hormuz, the conversation would become a broader question of whether Iran wishes to participate in a commercial order from which it can profit or isolate itself from one that will be organized and enforced without its consent. The emphasis would shift from domination to participation, from coercion to incentives.

Such a framework would also place significant pressure on China.

Throughout the conflict, Beijing has provided substantial support to the Iranian regime. Yet China is also deeply dependent on the uninterrupted flow of energy through Hormuz. Roughly 40 percent of its oil imports and approximately 30 percent of its liquefied natural gas imports pass through the strait. A prolonged disruption would impose severe economic costs on China itself.

That reality creates a convergence of interests Washington should be eager to exploit. Beijing may have strategic reasons for supporting Tehran, but it also has compelling economic reasons to prevent Hormuz from becoming a permanent zone of instability. Participation in an international agreement guaranteeing commercial transit would therefore not represent a concession to the United States so much as an act of economic self-preservation.

This is the diplomatic opportunity before Washington.

Rather than dissipating leverage through symbolic confrontations and performative disputes with Tehran, the United States should be assembling a coalition of states whose economic interests depend on preserving freedom of navigation. Such a coalition would not require Iran’s surrender. It would simply require Iran to choose whether it wishes to benefit from a stable commercial system or remain outside it.

That distinction matters.

The United States entered this conflict with formidable military capabilities but without a clearly articulated political vision capable of converting battlefield gains into a durable strategic outcome. Military operations can create opportunities. They cannot, by themselves, define a lasting peace.

Washington cannot afford to leave this conflict in the same condition.

A ceasefire that merely pauses hostilities while leaving the ultimate status of the Strait of Hormuz unresolved is not a solution. It is an intermission. The next crisis would be inevitable and might unfold under conditions even less favorable to the United States and its allies.

A successful settlement should create new choices for Iran’s leadership. It should offer pathways for economic integration, regional stability, and a gradual transition away from perpetual confrontation. Diplomacy works best when it expands options rather than eliminates them.

What cannot be allowed, however, is a peace process in which Iran dictates the terms of the postwar order.

The objective should not be Iran’s humiliation. Nor should it be Iran’s victory. The objective should be a settlement that preserves freedom of navigation, protects global commerce, and prevents Tehran from transforming a costly war into a strategic triumph.