Desert Balancing Act: Egypt Between Deterrence, Diplomacy, and Detonation

by Irina Tsukerman

When the Pillar Cracks: Navigating the Geopolitical Earthquake of Iran’s Fragmentation

The specter of Iran’s internal collapse—whether through regime implosion, ethnic secession, or widespread institutional disintegration—looms as one of the most destabilizing potential events in modern Middle Eastern history. Iran is not merely a state; it is an ideological nucleus, a logistical bridge between continents, and a central node in a network of armed proxies and strategic chokepoints. The unraveling of this system would send destabilizing shockwaves far beyond its borders, shattering balances of power from the Levant to Central Asia and unleashing fierce competition for influence across its shattered periphery.

What emerges from Iran’s collapse will not be a vacuum in the passive sense, but an aggressively contested terrain—an open frontier for state actors, militias, transnational ideologues, and global powers to redraw lines of influence. For regional actors like Israel, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, the UAE, and Egypt, this is a test not only of strategic agility but of existential foresight. Each will face profound dilemmas: whether to intervene or restrain, whether to work multilaterally or hedge unilaterally, and whether to pursue containment or reorder the map entirely. Complicating these choices is the likely opportunism of Russia, China, and Pakistan, each maneuvering to fill voids and extract leverage in a collapsing Iranian system.

At stake is not just the future of Iran, but the foundational architecture of regional stability: ethnic coexistence, energy security, trade corridors, and ideological moderation. Whether this fragmentation unleashes a new era of hybrid warfare and sectarian realignment—or whether it births a framework of controlled transition—depends entirely on how these regional and global players act in the critical opening phase of Iran’s unraveling.

Egypt’s Strategic Anxiety: Navigating the Shockwaves of Operation Rising Lion

Operation Rising Lion has shattered long-standing assumptions about deterrence thresholds in the Middle East. With Israel launching a sustained and comprehensive military campaign against Iranian strategic assets—ranging from nuclear facilities and air defense infrastructure to command nodes and drone production plants—the region has entered a new phase of direct confrontation, realignment, and uncertainty. For Egypt, a state historically cautious in its external posture but deeply embedded in the security architecture of the eastern Mediterranean and the Red Sea, the operation presents both an acute strategic challenge and a limited but tangible opportunity.

At the forefront of Egypt’s immediate concerns is the risk of secondary escalation across its eastern and southern theaters, particularly Gaza, the Sinai Peninsula, and the Bab el-Mandeb maritime corridor. The destruction of Iranian logistical and financial networks supporting Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad may temporarily reduce the supply of advanced weapons and surveillance systems into Gaza. However, Cairo’s intelligence services understand that such degradation, especially if not followed by coordinated stabilization measures, often generates vacuums filled by informal armed networks, black-market actors, and rival foreign patrons seeking to assert influence in the post-Iranian space. Egypt’s security establishment views any sudden destabilization in Gaza as a direct threat to its national security—particularly if it results in refugee flows, cross-border infiltration, or the revival of jihadist activity in North Sinai.

From this perspective, Egypt’s longstanding counterterrorism campaign in Sinai—which had made significant strides in dismantling insurgent strongholds near Rafah and Sheikh Zuweid—could be severely complicated if Gaza descends into chaos or becomes the target of renewed Israeli military operations in the wake of Iranian retaliation via proxies. The Egyptian Armed Forces (EAF) and General Intelligence Service (GIS) are now likely preparing for a contingency in which they will need to reinforce troop presence and surveillance capacity along the border, while also increasing cooperation with Israeli intelligence to prevent hostile actors from exploiting the transitional phase.

Simultaneously, Cairo is observing with mounting concern the potential for conflict spillover into the Red Sea and southern maritime theaters, particularly if Iranian-aligned forces such as the Houthis in Yemen or Shi’a militias in southern Iraq interpret Rising Lion as an existential attack requiring region-wide retaliation. In such a case, Egypt’s most valuable economic artery—the Suez Canal—could be placed under threat. Disruption of traffic through the Bab el-Mandeb Strait, whether via direct attacks on commercial vessels or increased insurance and security costs, would carry immediate fiscal consequences for Cairo, which relies heavily on canal toll revenues to stabilize its balance of payments. Moreover, such disruptions would negatively affect Egypt’s global trade connectivity and undermine its ambitions to position itself as a secure logistical hub linking Europe, Africa, and Asia.

In this context, Egyptian naval planners are likely reassessing their force posture in the Red Sea, particularly in coordination with Saudi Arabia, the UAE, and possibly France, all of which maintain naval interests in the region. Egypt may intensify maritime patrols around the Gulf of Suez, expand its naval footprint on the Red Sea islands, and upgrade its naval cooperation agreements with regional partners to include rapid-response protocols and anti-drone capabilities.

Yet Egypt’s strategic concerns are not limited to the tactical level. At a more structural level, Operation Rising Lion challenges the viability of Egypt’s regional balancing doctrine, which has long relied on a policy of equidistance—cooperating with Israel and the Gulf states on security and energy while preserving open diplomatic channels with Iran and Turkey. This balancing strategy enabled Cairo to maximize its diplomatic flexibility and extract economic support from rival blocs. However, the Israeli operation, which carries clear U.S. backing and may signal the consolidation of a more formal anti-Iran bloc in the Middle East, threatens to fracture the space in which such balancing is feasible.

Should Israel, the UAE, Saudi Arabia, and Jordan begin coordinating more openly on military and intelligence operations to prevent Iran from reconstituting its regional networks, Cairo will face pressure to demonstrate its alignment—not just rhetorically, but materially. This could take the form of joint air defense drills, synchronized Red Sea naval deployments, or expanded information-sharing arrangements. If Egypt hesitates or seeks to preserve its traditional non-alignment posture, it risks being excluded from these emerging security frameworks, thereby reducing its relevance as a central actor in Arab strategic affairs.

Nonetheless, Egypt is unlikely to embrace overt military alignment without reservations. Cairo remains wary of being drawn into a prolonged regional escalation that it cannot control, especially under economic conditions that remain fragile. The government of President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi faces mounting domestic discontent due to inflation, currency depreciation, and subsidy pressures. Any perception that Egypt is participating, even indirectly, in a wider regional war could provoke internal unrest or empower populist forces hostile to both Israel and perceived Western subservience. For this reason, Egypt is likely to engage in quiet coordination behind the scenes while publicly maintaining its diplomatic neutrality and emphasizing calls for de-escalation.

Another critical domain is energy and infrastructure diplomacy, where Egypt has positioned itself as both a production and transit hub. The Eastern Mediterranean Gas Forum (EMGF), which includes Israel, Cyprus, Greece, and Italy, remains central to Egypt’s ambitions to become a key LNG exporter to Europe. Rising Lion, by potentially fragmenting regional airspace and inviting Iranian or proxy retaliation against offshore assets, complicates this vision. If the eastern Mediterranean becomes militarized or perceived as unsafe, Cairo’s LNG projects may face investment delays and insurance risks. Conversely, if Egypt can enhance coordination with Israel to safeguard energy infrastructure and pipeline corridors—particularly from the Leviathan field—Cairo may emerge as an indispensable player in Europe’s energy diversification strategy.

At the same time, Egypt must closely monitor the actions of Turkey and Qatar, both of whom may see in Iran’s strategic collapse an opportunity to expand their regional influence, particularly in Gaza, Libya, and the Horn of Africa. Turkey, which already maintains a military presence in Libya and naval access through Somalia, may seek to fill the strategic void left by Iran’s rollback. Egypt is therefore likely to intensify its intelligence surveillance over Libyan airspace, the Eastern Mediterranean EEZ, and Qatari financial transactions in Gaza—aiming to preempt new axes of destabilization that could arise from the post-Rising Lion vacuum.

Finally, Egypt may view the current moment as an opportunity to reassert its regional diplomatic centrality. With traditional Iranian mediators now weakened, and Israel under pressure to manage fallout across multiple theaters, Cairo is uniquely positioned to offer itself as a crisis manager—both bilaterally and multilaterally. This may include hosting backchannel talks with Palestinian factions, offering its services for ceasefire deconfliction between Hezbollah and Israel, or proposing regional maritime security frameworks under Arab League or EMGF auspices. If executed skillfully, such a diplomatic strategy could restore Egypt’s relevance and unlock new forms of economic and political capital from Western and Gulf partners.

Egypt stands at a critical inflection point in the aftermath of Operation Rising Lion. The strategic terrain is shifting rapidly, with new risks emerging across its borders and long-standing assumptions about deterrence, balance, and influence being called into question. Cairo’s response will need to be multifaceted—combining enhanced security posture, careful diplomatic recalibration, economic foresight, and renewed regional activism. Whether Egypt is able to seize the moment or merely react to it may determine its standing in the post-Iranian regional order for years to come.

Red Sea Shadows: Egypt’s Quiet Strategic Coordination with Israel and the UAE

In the wake of Operation Rising Lion, the Red Sea has reemerged as a strategic pressure point—not only for maritime trade but as a fault line in the evolving contest between regional coalitions and destabilizing actors aligned with Iran. Egypt, situated at the northern gate of this vital corridor, views the Red Sea not only as a commercial artery, but increasingly as a theater of strategic vulnerability. With Iranian-linked proxies such as the Houthis capable of launching drones and missiles from the southern terminus of the corridor, and with broader escalation scenarios now in play, Cairo is reassessing the calculus of maritime security—and doing so in concert, albeit discreetly, with Israel and the United Arab Emirates.

This trilateral coordination is not formalized in public doctrine, nor is it likely to be articulated in treaties or military pacts. Egypt maintains a longstanding policy of strategic ambiguity when it comes to its relations with Israel, and to a lesser extent the UAE, particularly in the security domain. However, beneath the surface, there is a growing body of evidence—confirmed through maritime drills, overlapping naval deployments, and synchronized intelligence reporting—that a form of quiet maritime alignment is emerging. It is driven not by ideology or alliance-building, but by a shared recognition of risk: the Red Sea is too critical, and the threat environment too volatile, for unilateral management to suffice.

Egypt’s primary concern is the security of the Suez Canal, which is both a source of sovereign revenue and a symbol of strategic independence. Any threat to its continuous operation—whether through kinetic attacks, cyber-sabotage of port infrastructure, or disruption of commercial shipping—would carry cascading fiscal consequences for Cairo’s already fragile economy. The UAE, as a rising maritime power with strategic ports in the southern Red Sea (most notably in Eritrea and Yemen's Socotra), shares overlapping interests in ensuring that Iran or its affiliates do not gain leverage over chokepoints such as Bab el-Mandeb. Israel, for its part, recognizes that Hezbollah-aligned maritime threats or Iranian proxy sabotage operations could disrupt its newly integrated energy corridors, including those linked to LNG exports that may transit the Suez route en route to Europe.

In this context, Egypt has already begun incremental coordination measures with its two regional counterparts. With the UAE, Egypt has developed an increasingly sophisticated system of joint naval training exercises and logistical exchanges. Since 2017, the two navies have participated in drills focusing on mine-sweeping, anti-piracy, and electronic warfare in littoral environments. More recently, UAE naval assets stationed in Assab, Eritrea, and off the Yemeni coast have reportedly provided satellite imagery and shipping pattern analytics to Egyptian command centers in Port Said and Suez. These data exchanges are informal, often routed through Emirati military contractors and private maritime firms, but the operational integration is real.

With Israel, the coordination is more sensitive and tightly compartmentalized. Nonetheless, since the Abraham Accords reshaped the regional diplomatic geometry, Egypt has permitted limited intelligence exchanges concerning Houthi drone activity, Iranian weapons transfers via Sudan, and suspected IRGC naval movements in the Gulf of Aden. These exchanges are usually routed through third-party military liaisons or intermediated via U.S. Central Command, but they serve a vital role in building a shared maritime situational picture. Israeli naval intelligence, which closely monitors Red Sea traffic via its Eilat base and through underwater sensor arrays, complements Egypt’s own radar and port surveillance infrastructure. Cairo does not publicly acknowledge such cooperation, but its navy has quietly integrated portions of this data into its threat mapping.

Joint exercises between Egypt and Israel remain politically implausible for now. However, deconfliction protocols and parallel patrol strategies are increasingly normalized. For example, in late 2024, Egyptian and Israeli vessels conducted simultaneous anti-drone monitoring operations along the Gulf of Aqaba, coordinated with U.S. Navy units stationed at the Multinational Force and Observers (MFO) base in Sinai. These operations were framed as part of broader Red Sea security initiatives, but in practice reflected an implicit acknowledgment of overlapping strategic imperatives.

The Red Sea’s emerging security architecture, shaped less by declarations and more by operational necessity, offers Egypt a path to deepen strategic coordination without compromising its regional narrative of nonalignment. This is crucial for a country that remains deeply sensitive to public perceptions, both domestically and in the wider Arab world. Egypt will likely continue to present its actions as sovereign defense measures, even as it cooperates in real time with Israeli and Emirati counterparts on monitoring, intercepting, and neutralizing threats linked to Iran’s proxy network.

Looking forward, Egypt may propose the creation of a "Red Sea Maritime Coordination Cell", not as a formal alliance, but as a joint operational framework involving liaison officers, port control coordination, and early warning channels. Such a cell could be housed within an existing multilateral institution like the Arab League or under the umbrella of the EMGF’s security working group, thereby granting it diplomatic legitimacy while shielding Cairo from accusations of overt security alignment with Israel.

Egypt’s approach to Red Sea security in the aftermath of Operation Rising Lion reflects its broader strategic doctrine: risk-aware, domestically sensitive, and tactically flexible. Cairo understands that the corridor from Bab el-Mandeb to the Suez Canal is now a frontline in a regional contest where Iranian retrenchment does not guarantee stability but invites new provocations. By quietly expanding maritime coordination with Israel and the UAE, Egypt is not only protecting its economic lifeline but positioning itself—subtly but unmistakably—as a pillar in the emerging order of post-Iranian regional security.

Diplomacy Recalibrated: Egypt’s Bid for Strategic Relevance After Iran’s Retreat

The decapitation of Iran’s regional power projection through Operation Rising Lion has created a rare and volatile moment in Middle Eastern diplomacy. As Tehran’s logistical networks are dismantled, its military-industrial infrastructure degraded, and its regional clients disoriented, a power vacuum is emerging across multiple Arab theaters—from Gaza and southern Syria to Iraq, Lebanon, and parts of Yemen. This rupture has shifted the center of gravity in the region, and Egypt, long marginalized by the more assertive regional diplomacy of Gulf monarchies and Turkey, now finds itself with an opportunity to reclaim its historical role as a diplomatic broker and strategic balancer.

At the core of Egypt’s emerging strategy is a recognition that its comparative advantage lies not in projection, but in mediation. While it lacks the expeditionary capabilities of the UAE, the ideological outreach of Qatar, or the economic leverage of Saudi Arabia, Egypt retains two key assets: diplomatic credibility with both Western and Arab interlocutors, and institutional muscle memory in managing post-conflict stabilization. Unlike its Gulf counterparts, Cairo has maintained cautious but open channels with a wide range of actors—including Iran, Hamas, Hezbollah, and factions within the Syrian and Libyan theaters. With the Iranian axis fractured and its proxies forced into strategic recalibration, Cairo can leverage its neutrality and geographic centrality to convene new negotiation platforms.

Gaza is likely to be Egypt’s first testing ground. In the absence of Iranian funding and command coordination, Hamas faces internal fractures and strategic uncertainty. Egypt may now seek to reassert itself as the primary arbiter of intra-Palestinian diplomacy, facilitating dialogue not only between Hamas and the Palestinian Authority, but also between Hamas and emergent local actors no longer beholden to Iranian ideological alignment. Such a process would allow Cairo to reclaim its lost prestige while denying Turkey and Qatar a monopoly over Gaza’s reconstruction and political evolution. Egypt’s General Intelligence Service (GIS), which has long run the Rafah coordination file, is expected to lead this initiative, likely in cooperation with Jordan and with tacit Israeli support.

Beyond Gaza, Egypt has an opportunity to reopen the diplomatic front in Syria, particularly in areas formerly under Iranian military supervision. With Bashar al-Assad removed and the Syrian Unity Government under Ahmed Al-Sharaa asserting a post-Iranian national identity, Egypt may seek to play a quiet role in legitimizing this new regime across Arab capitals. Cairo could act as an intermediary between the Unity Government and hesitant Arab League members, facilitating Syria’s reintegration into regional institutions. Such a move would allow Egypt to frame itself as a guarantor of pan-Arab stability, particularly in counterbalancing Turkish and residual Russian ambitions in northern Syria. Moreover, it would align Egypt with Gulf states seeking to stabilize Syria without risking direct military entanglement.

Egypt may also deepen its involvement in Iraq’s fragmented political landscape, especially in the south, where Tehran’s proxies have lost much of their coherence. Baghdad has been quietly courting Egyptian investment and infrastructure cooperation as an alternative to Iran’s dependency model. Cairo could now strengthen trilateral mechanisms involving Jordan and Iraq—such as the “New Levant” framework—offering economic integration, energy interconnectivity, and political insulation from further sectarian polarization. Egypt’s ability to present itself as a neutral, Sunni-majority partner without ideological baggage gives it unique flexibility in this sphere.

In Lebanon, Egypt is less likely to seek a dominant role, but it may still act as a quiet facilitator between Western donors, the Lebanese Armed Forces (LAF), and Gulf stakeholders as they reassess their engagement with Beirut following the degradation of Hezbollah’s external support networks. Egypt has long maintained a low-profile relationship with Lebanon’s institutions and religious leaders, particularly within the Sunni community, and may now reactivate these channels to press for structural reforms in coordination with the Arab Contact Group and France.

Critically, Egypt will also need to navigate the emerging diplomatic convergence between Israel and the Gulf states, which is poised to accelerate in the post-Iranian strategic vacuum. While Cairo supports normalization in principle, it is acutely aware that this trend, if left unchecked, could marginalize its centrality in regional diplomacy. Egypt’s answer is likely to come through multilateral diplomacy, where it can anchor its role through institutions such as the Arab League, the Eastern Mediterranean Gas Forum (EMGF), and potentially a revived iteration of the Arab Quartet. Through these platforms, Cairo can propose regional diplomatic initiatives—such as ceasefire monitoring mechanisms, Red Sea maritime codes of conduct, and post-conflict economic compacts—that position Egypt as an indispensable convenor rather than a sidelined observer.

Nevertheless, Egypt’s reemergence as a diplomatic actor is not guaranteed. The risks of overextension, regional pushback, and domestic fragility remain. The success of Egypt’s diplomatic recalibration will depend on its ability to couple strategic patience with tactical adaptability, to build coalitions without overcommitting, and to advance its interests without triggering direct confrontation with rival mediators like Qatar or Turkey. It must also tread carefully in managing public opinion at home, where any overt alignment with Israel or Western-sponsored initiatives can provoke political backlash.

The weakening of Iran’s regional axis has created a moment of diplomatic fluidity that Egypt is uniquely positioned to exploit. If it moves with precision, Cairo could reestablish itself not just as a buffer state, but as a proactive shaper of post-Iranian regional diplomacy. In doing so, it would not only recover lost strategic ground but redefine its role in a Middle East no longer divided along a single axis of confrontation, but contested through multi-vector diplomacy, localized power vacuums, and emergent coalitions.

The Tripartite Pivot: Egypt’s Strategic Dialogue with Jordan and Iraq in a Post-Iranian Order

As the Middle East absorbs the consequences of Operation Rising Lion and the accelerated rollback of Iranian regional influence, Egypt is moving to reinforce one of its most promising, though often understated, diplomatic ventures: the tripartite strategic alignment with Jordan and Iraq. Known informally as the “New Levant” initiative, this framework—launched before the current military escalation—has taken on new significance as Cairo recalibrates its regional priorities. The weakening of Iran’s proxy networks and political clout in Iraq and Syria presents Egypt with a rare opportunity to reassert its influence east of the Levantine corridor and to build a durable axis of economic cooperation, security coordination, and diplomatic moderation anchored in Arab sovereignty.

At the heart of Egypt’s engagement with Iraq and Jordan lies a shared vision: to create a non-ideological, Arab-centric counterweight to the polarizing influence of external actors such as Iran, Turkey, and, increasingly, Israel and the Gulf bloc. While the latter have forged deeper ties through the Abraham Accords and post-Iranian realignment, Egypt sees value in strengthening a parallel track—one rooted in historical affinity, strategic restraint, and pragmatic multilateralism. This tripartite framework allows Cairo to maintain strategic autonomy while acting as a bridge between divergent regional camps.

For Iraq, the benefits of this engagement are substantial. The country’s southern Shi’a heartland, long dominated by pro-Iranian militias and political factions, has entered a period of uncertainty following the dismantling of IRGC-linked command and logistics infrastructure. Baghdad now finds itself navigating a complex internal transition, with growing space to seek alternative partnerships that do not come with ideological strings or dependency traps. Egypt’s offer is compelling: energy cooperation, industrial investment, infrastructure development, and political support free from sectarian agendas. Egyptian companies have already been involved in large-scale construction projects in southern Iraq, including power stations, housing initiatives, and road rehabilitation efforts. These projects not only serve economic purposes but also symbolically reinforce Egypt’s role as a developmental rather than interventionist actor.

On the security front, Cairo has quietly expanded intelligence coordination with both Baghdad and Amman, particularly on the monitoring of cross-border arms smuggling, Salafi-jihadist movement patterns, and the disruption of ISIS remnants operating in Anbar and along the Iraqi-Jordanian border. Egypt views Iraq’s stabilization as essential not only for regional equilibrium but also for constraining the influence of rival actors. Turkey’s military presence in northern Iraq and Qatar’s financial patronage of Sunni factions remain of concern to Cairo, which prefers to see Baghdad governed by a cohesive national army and technocratic administration rather than a fragmented patronage network dependent on foreign backers.

Jordan plays a complementary role in this trilateral framework. Sharing Egypt’s concerns over the long-term consequences of Iranian and Turkish expansionism—and similarly committed to de-escalation in Gaza and Jerusalem—Amman offers critical geographic depth and political legitimacy. The Hashemite Kingdom, facing its own domestic pressures, sees in the Egypt-Jordan-Iraq dialogue a vehicle for regional stabilization that does not rely on security alliances with Israel or excessive Gulf dependence. For Cairo, Jordan acts as both a diplomatic partner and a conduit: capable of interfacing with Gulf capitals while anchoring a moderate axis east of the Sinai.

The New Levant initiative, while framed in economic terms—such as the planned electrical grid linking Egypt’s power surplus to Iraq via Jordan—is increasingly a platform for coordinated diplomacy. Egypt has proposed expanding the format to include Lebanon, Syria (under the Unity Government), and potentially the Palestinian Authority, under conditions of de-Iranization and institutional reform. Such an expansion would allow Cairo to position itself as the convenor of a revitalized Arab order that prioritizes infrastructure connectivity, security coordination, and political moderation over ideologically driven blocs. It also offers an alternative to the Abraham Accords framework, one that does not preclude cooperation with Israel but resists wholesale alignment with Israeli strategic priorities.

Importantly, the success of this trilateral strategy depends on Cairo’s ability to institutionalize coordination mechanisms. While summits between heads of state have taken place, the creation of permanent liaison offices, joint infrastructure oversight committees, and integrated security working groups will be necessary to ensure that momentum does not dissipate. Cairo is reportedly exploring the formation of a rotating ministerial forum, potentially headquartered in Amman or Baghdad, that would manage trilateral initiatives ranging from customs harmonization to counterterrorism protocols.

However, challenges remain. Iraq’s domestic political scene is volatile, and its capacity to act as a consistent partner is not guaranteed. Internal resistance from pro-Iranian remnants, nationalist militias, or populist factions skeptical of Egyptian or Jordanian influence could stall progress. Jordan’s economic fragility may limit its financial contributions and capacity to absorb external shocks. Egypt itself must manage a careful balancing act, ensuring that its engagement with Iraq and Jordan does not antagonize Saudi Arabia or the UAE, whose support remains vital for Cairo’s financial stability.

Nevertheless, the strategic logic of this trilateral dialogue is clear. In a post-Iranian regional order increasingly dominated by either Israeli-Gulf coordination or Turkish-Qatari activism, Egypt is carving out a space for Arab-led regionalism—pragmatic, decentralized, and resilient. If successful, the Egypt-Jordan-Iraq axis could evolve into a flexible coalition capable of absorbing regional shocks, facilitating diplomatic normalization processes, and anchoring reconstruction and stabilization in theaters vacated by Iran.

In this scenario, Cairo is not simply reacting to the power vacuum left by Iran’s rollback—it is shaping the terms of regional recovery. And by investing in long-term political and economic integration with Amman and Baghdad, Egypt positions itself not merely as a military partner or diplomatic go-between, but as a co-architect of the next phase of Arab strategic agency.

Containment by Design: Egypt’s Strategy for Managing Turkish and Qatari Ambitions in Iraq and Gaza

With the Iranian axis significantly weakened by Israel’s Operation Rising Lion, a new contest for influence is emerging—not through direct military intervention, but through proxy engagement, financial patronage, and ideological positioning. For Egypt, this shift has laid bare a long-standing concern: that a vacuum left by Iran’s retreat could be rapidly exploited by two of its principal regional rivals—Turkey and Qatar. Both states have spent the last decade cultivating influence through Islamist networks, media penetration, and financial leverage, particularly in Iraq and Gaza. Cairo’s response is neither confrontational nor passive; it is rooted in a pragmatic, multidimensional strategy of containment, competitive diplomacy, and selective co-optation.

In Gaza, Egypt views Qatari influence as especially problematic. Since the fall of the Muslim Brotherhood government in 2013, Cairo has been wary of Doha’s sustained support for Hamas, both financially and politically. While Qatar presents its funding as humanitarian assistance—often delivered through carefully managed UN and Israeli-approved mechanisms—Egypt understands it as a tool of strategic entrenchment. Doha’s ability to shape internal Hamas dynamics, sponsor hardline factions, and maintain channels to the Qatari-funded Al Jazeera narrative machine gives it an outsized role in shaping Gaza’s political and information environment.

Cairo’s strategy in response is twofold: first, to reassert itself as the sole viable mediator between Israel and Palestinian factions by leveraging control over the Rafah crossing, intelligence ties with Hamas, and operational security coordination with Israel. The General Intelligence Service (GIS), through figures like Abbas Kamel, has increasingly sidelined Qatari envoys by monopolizing access to hostage negotiations, ceasefire arrangements, and border management discussions. While Egypt tolerates Qatar’s cash infusions during humanitarian crises, it ensures that Doha plays a secondary, transactional role rather than one of strategic stewardship.

Second, Egypt is investing in co-opting internal factions within Hamas and affiliated groups that are more nationalist or pragmatic, and less ideologically tied to the Muslim Brotherhood. Through GIS-brokered dialogues, Egypt seeks to amplify the voices of figures willing to engage in political compromise and reconstruction frameworks. In some cases, it has used its intelligence footprint to neutralize hardliners or marginalize those who receive direct funding from Turkish or Qatari channels. This internal divide-and-manage approach allows Egypt to fragment the rival patronage structures that Ankara and Doha rely on.

The situation in Iraq presents a different challenge. Here, Turkey has pursued a dual strategy of military penetration in the north—through its long-standing presence in Bashiqa and operations against Kurdish groups—and soft-power expansion through Sunni political elites, business networks, and religious institutions. Qatar, for its part, has invested in media and education infrastructure, often channeling funds through Islamist-linked NGOs and tribal intermediaries. Both countries seek to position themselves as guardians of Iraq’s Sunni Arab identity, especially as Iranian influence recedes and Baghdad’s nationalist agenda takes center stage.

Egypt’s response in Iraq has been shaped by a clear objective: to offer an Arab, secular, non-interventionist alternative to Turkish militarism and Qatari patronage. Through the New Levant trilateral framework with Jordan and Iraq, Cairo is reinforcing ties with Baghdad’s federal government and attempting to dilute the influence of foreign-aligned Sunni factions. It does so through development diplomacy—offering Egyptian construction companies, electrical grid linkages, and professional training programs that focus on capacity-building rather than ideological alignment. The aim is to make Egypt indispensable to Iraq’s post-conflict reconstruction without triggering sectarian backlash or military entanglement.

At the same time, Egypt is increasingly active in intelligence sharing with Iraqi services, particularly regarding Turkish-backed political operatives and militia leaders with transnational Brotherhood ties. While Egypt does not challenge Turkey militarily, it uses diplomatic pressure within the Arab League and the Organization of Islamic Cooperation (OIC) to frame Turkish actions in northern Iraq as violations of sovereignty. It also engages with the Kurdish Regional Government (KRG) to quietly coordinate on areas of shared interest—chiefly the prevention of further Turkish encroachment and the preservation of Iraq’s unitary structure.

In both Iraq and Gaza, Egypt also relies on information warfare and strategic media messaging. Through state-backed media and aligned Arab outlets, Cairo frequently casts Turkey and Qatar as destabilizing forces, ideologically extreme, and indifferent to the institutional stability of Arab states. This narrative has resonance among many Arab publics and elites, especially those fatigued by years of politicized Islamism and regional proxy wars.

Nevertheless, Egypt’s strategy is not strictly exclusionary. In moments of crisis, it allows limited engagement with both Ankara and Doha, provided it retains primacy over the terms of engagement. Egypt permits Qatar to transfer humanitarian aid into Gaza under Egyptian supervision, and maintains diplomatic channels with Turkey on energy and trade. These relationships, however, are kept compartmentalized and subordinate to Egypt’s broader aim: to maintain itself as the primary arbiter and guarantor of regional order in the spaces where Iranian influence has collapsed and where Turkish and Qatari ambitions now seek footholds.

Egypt’s response to Turkish and Qatari activity in Iraq and Gaza is characterized by strategic patience, institutional leverage, and selective engagement. Rather than confront its rivals directly, Cairo seeks to box them in—limiting their access, fragmenting their networks, and positioning itself as the more legitimate and capable regional interlocutor. As the regional system reorders in the aftermath of Rising Lion, Egypt’s containment strategy may not eradicate its rivals’ ambitions, but it ensures they unfold within parameters set in Cairo—not Doha or Ankara.

Iran at the Crossroads: Regime Fate and Strategic Futures After Operation Rising Lion

The aftermath of Israel’s Operation Rising Lion marks the most severe existential crisis the Islamic Republic of Iran has faced since its founding. The systematic destruction of nuclear infrastructure, decapitation of key security and scientific leadership, and humiliation of the regime’s military command have ruptured the myth of invincibility that the regime cultivated for decades. Yet it is not only Iran’s external posture that lies in ruin; internally, the regime’s institutions have been fractured, its coherence shaken, and its ideological and administrative elite thrown into chaos. The future of Iran is now a question of survival, succession, and potentially systemic reinvention. What follows is a detailed unfolding of the various scenarios that could define the next phase of Iran’s political trajectory, shaped by the depth of the crisis and the strength—or weakness—of the actors attempting to navigate it.

In the first scenario, the Islamic Republic survives but undergoes a harsh internal metamorphosis into a surveillance autocracy more severe and brittle than anything it has previously embodied. After the initial shock of Operation Rising Lion, the remnants of the Supreme Leader’s inner circle act with brutal decisiveness. The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, though institutionally wounded, consolidates around mid-level commanders willing to implement a scorched-earth policy on internal dissent. The Ministry of Intelligence reasserts dominance over civilian institutions, and a new wave of purges is launched, targeting not only reformists and technocrats but even conservative politicians suspected of hesitating in their loyalty. Martial law is quietly imposed in Tehran and other major cities. Media blackouts, mass arrests, and the militarization of all public spaces become normalized. In this scenario, Iran ceases to be a hybrid ideological-theocratic state and becomes a sclerotic authoritarian regime focused solely on preserving its monopoly on coercion. Foreign policy recedes, replaced by a state of domestic siege. The IRGC, stripped of its external network, is repurposed as a Praetorian guard, tasked with suppressing internal rebellion rather than projecting regional influence. Yet even in this survival, the regime becomes geopolitically irrelevant, a hollow relic commanding territory but devoid of legitimacy or strategic utility beyond repression.

A second scenario envisions the Islamic Republic’s collapse from within, not through revolution from below but through fracture at the very heart of its military-intelligence apparatus. Following the deaths and defections of senior IRGC commanders and the paralysis of the political elite, a faction within the IRGC—perhaps based in the Ground Forces or the Khatam al-Anbiya construction wing—launches a coup against the Supreme Leader’s network. The justification is framed as a patriotic intervention to restore national honor and prevent chaos. Backed by mid-ranking officers in the Artesh and with silent acquiescence from parts of the bureaucracy, the coup leaders dissolve the Guardian Council, suspend the Assembly of Experts, and declare a transitional military government. What follows is not liberalization, but a recalibration. The military seeks to stabilize the country, project order, and initiate limited reforms under a national security framework. It distances itself from the more ideological legacy of Khomeinism and the foreign entanglements of the Quds Force. Internally, the government remains authoritarian, but a shift begins: the political system reorients toward nationalist identity and away from clerical absolutism. The nuclear program is placed on indefinite hold in exchange for international legitimacy and phased sanctions relief. In this model, Iran resembles other post-ideological security states, where the military becomes the guardian of continuity, not through reformist conviction, but through a desire to preserve state integrity on its own terms.

A third, and more volatile, scenario envisions the Islamic Republic collapsing in the face of mass revolt and elite disintegration, leading not to centralization or transition, but to the emergence of a bitter ideological power struggle over the shape of the next Iranian state. The collapse of the Supreme Leader’s authority and the inability of the military to impose a coherent successor opens a contested political field in which multiple visions compete for dominance. In Tehran and other urban centers, secular republicans—comprised of dissident intellectuals, former reform-era officials, and youth activists—mobilize to create civic transition councils. They advocate for a democratic, parliamentary republic rooted in human rights and transparency, modeled on Western liberal norms but adapted to Iran’s national identity. At the same time, monarchist networks, empowered by years of diaspora media influence and growing nostalgia for pre-1979 national pride, seek to reinstate a symbolic or even functional role for the Pahlavi dynasty. They present themselves as a unifying force above ideological fray, invoking images of order, continuity, and Persian heritage.

In the provinces, yet another vision takes shape: federalism. In Kurdistan, Ahwaz, Sistan-Baluchestan, and parts of Lorestan and East Azerbaijan, political and tribal leaders begin to assert demands for regional autonomy, cultural recognition, and control over local security. Among the Ahwazi Arab movements in particular, decades of systematic marginalization and suppression lead to a push for localized governance and the return of economic benefits from oil resources historically extracted from their territory and sent elsewhere. The Kurdish nationalist parties, some aligned with Iraqi Kurdish factions, press for linguistic and administrative rights as part of a larger redefinition of the state’s centralized architecture. These claims are not secessionist in most cases but reflect a profound rejection of Persian-centric statehood and religious homogenization.

Simultaneously, a bloc of conservative clerics and ideological remnants of the IRGC reemerge under a different banner. These are not defenders of the old regime, but proponents of a third way—one that maintains Iran’s Shi'a Islamic identity, rejects foreign interference, and proposes a reformed “Islamic Republic 2.0” stripped of velayat-e faqih but retaining elements of Islamic governance. The contest among these groups unfolds through rival transitional councils, contested referenda, street mobilizations, and the seizure of broadcast infrastructure. Though not immediately violent, the scenario carries the risk of descending into factional civil war if no common transitional framework is agreed upon. Iran becomes a battlefield of narratives, its future contested not by invaders, but by rival domestic claimants to legitimacy.

The most dangerous and destabilizing scenario envisions complete revolutionary collapse followed by the fragmentation of the Iranian state into rival military-political zones. As regime structures implode and command chains break down, local militias, tribal networks, ethnic movements, and ideological factions seize control of provincial centers, border crossings, and key economic nodes. In this environment, no national authority is able to impose control. In Khuzestan, Ahwazi Arab organizations assert full control over municipal governance, oil production facilities, and regional security, asserting both cultural and economic autonomy. Kurdish forces in the northwest extend de facto governance structures in alignment with cross-border partners. Baluch fighters in the southeast, long operating in the shadows of the Sistan-Baluchestan insurgency, formalize their territorial control and sever ties to the central government. Monarchist militias organize around resource-rich central provinces, while urban revolutionary youth factions begin to create horizontal councils modeled on anarcho-republican structures.

With the state fragmented, foreign powers begin to intervene. Turkey supports Turkmen and Sunni communities along the border; Saudi Arabia channels resources to Arab movements; Pakistan deploys covert assets to manage border insecurity; Israel and the U.S. dispatch special forces to monitor or recover nuclear material from unsecured sites. The outcome is not simply a failed state but a geopolitical black hole: a dismembered Iran whose former territory becomes a theater for regional proxy warfare, trafficking, and humanitarian crisis. The consequences for global oil markets, regional migration, and the nonproliferation regime are catastrophic. The Islamic Republic no longer exists, and no successor state emerges to fill its place.

The final and most improbable but geopolitically attractive scenario is one of a negotiated and managed transition. In this model, a coalition of military officers, technocrats, diaspora opposition leaders, and moderate clerics coalesce under pressure from the public and international actors to engineer a peaceful transition away from clerical rule. The Supreme Leader is removed—either through resignation, internal coup, or death—and a transitional national council is formed. This council announces the end of the Islamic Republic and the formation of a secular, inclusive, and sovereign Iranian republic. Nuclear weapons ambitions are publicly renounced; international monitoring is invited; a constitutional convention is planned. The military agrees to withdraw from politics and guarantees the neutrality of the armed forces during the transition. Former opposition figures return from exile to participate in national reconciliation dialogues. Ethnic federalism is negotiated, not imposed, and guarantees of cultural autonomy are enshrined in a new constitution. In this rare convergence of national pragmatism and international goodwill, Iran begins the process of rejoining the international community not as a revolutionary actor but as a recovering republic.

This final scenario, though ideal, remains the most fragile, dependent on elite cohesion, public patience, and the absence of external spoilers. Yet it is the only scenario in which Iran emerges not merely intact, but transformed into a positive force in the region. It is not a restoration of a past ideal, but the construction of an entirely new post-Islamic national identity.

Could Iran’s Potential Fragmentation Strengthen the Region?

The collapse of the Islamic Republic of Iran, followed by its sustained fragmentation into multiple subnational zones of influence, may at first glance appear to be a nightmare scenario—one destined to destabilize the region and unleash a cascade of sectarian, ethnic, and geopolitical conflicts. However, beneath the immediate chaos and short-term risks lies a long-term realignment with potentially stabilizing consequences for the Middle East. Precisely because Iran has for over four decades served as both the anchor and instigator of a revisionist imperial model, its permanent disintegration as a unitary state may usher in an era in which no single hegemonic project is structurally capable of reemerging. The end of centralized power in Tehran could close a centuries-old cycle of Persian imperial revivalism, replacing it with a fragmented but ultimately more balanced regional order.

For decades, the Islamic Republic did not merely act as a nation-state pursuing its interests within a sovereign framework; it functioned as an ideological empire-in-motion. The regime's projection of force through asymmetric networks—the IRGC’s Quds Force, Hezbollah, the Iraqi Popular Mobilization Forces, the Houthis, and others—was not merely a tactic of defense. It was the structural manifestation of a theologically imperial project, one that sought to subordinate national borders to a revolutionary Shi'a identity radiating from Qom to Najaf, from Beirut to Sana’a. The result was a Middle East gripped by a persistent imbalance: even as other states faltered or exhausted themselves in civil wars, Iran expanded its influence vertically through ideological militias and horizontally through diplomacy, economic blackmail, and proxy saturation.

The fragmentation of Iran in the wake of Operation Rising Lion would rupture this architecture irreparably. A dismembered Iran—divided among rival ethno-regional authorities, stripped of centralized command, and focused on internal survival—would no longer possess the bureaucratic or ideological infrastructure to resurrect imperial ambitions. The IRGC would not reassemble as a coherent transnational actor; the chain of command would be broken, its operatives scattered, and its ideological coherence compromised. With no single capital able to command compliance across vast and contested territories, the successors to the Islamic Republic would be forced into localized governance and regional accommodation rather than expansion. The very logic of imperial restoration would be institutionally unviable.

For Israel and the Gulf states, this outcome would mark a historic release from strategic pressure. No longer encircled by a transnational Shi'a axis driven by Qods Force commanders and armed with the ambition to “export the revolution,” they would face instead a weak, internally divided space incapable of coordinating coherent foreign policy. While certain subnational actors—such as Kurdish militias or Arab provincial councils—might seek their own alignments with external powers, they would do so as independent entities, not as instruments of a centralized ideological project. The removal of Iran as a single, nuclear-capable strategic challenger would also reduce the incentive for accelerated arms races, shifting the regional conversation from deterrence to diplomacy.

The United States, too, would benefit from this strategic downgrading of Iran's state capacity. The perpetual dilemma of whether to contain, engage, or attack the Islamic Republic would vanish. In its place would be a set of more manageable, compartmentalized challenges: securing nuclear sites, facilitating humanitarian aid, and mediating among newly emerging post-Iranian political entities. The cost of involvement would remain high, but the stakes would be lower—no longer the survival of a millenarian regime, but the stabilization of a fractured landscape. Furthermore, the deterrence architecture that the U.S. had to build at immense cost—from CENTCOM basing to carrier deployments—could gradually shift toward a leaner, maritime-forward posture focused on chokepoint security rather than permanent deterrence of an expansionist peer.

From a historical perspective, the fragmentation of Iran would break a centuries-long pattern in which every Iranian regime—Safavid, Qajar, Pahlavi, or Islamic—eventually sought to extend its influence beyond its natural frontiers. Persian imperialism, whether ideological or nationalistic, has reemerged repeatedly not merely due to the will of rulers but because the geographic, bureaucratic, and cultural core of the Iranian plateau has lent itself to centralization and projection. Disrupting that core through fragmentation removes the structural capacity for such revival. Without Tehran as a functional imperial capital, there can be no empire. Without a unified Persian bureaucracy capable of managing security, ideology, and foreign relations in tandem, no future regime could mount the type of sustained regional campaign that defined the Islamic Republic's behavior from Lebanon to Yemen.

What replaces Iran in this scenario is not a utopia of liberal governance but a pluralistic, multi-ethnic space defined by negotiation rather than domination. Arab federalist movements in Ahwaz, Kurdish councils in the northwest, Baluch regional authorities in the southeast, and emergent republican enclaves in urban cores would check each other through mutual distrust and the necessity of coexistence. None would possess the capacity—or legitimacy—to reconstitute a centralized regime. Foreign actors would intervene, but primarily to secure narrow interests rather than to sponsor empire. The new Middle East would be a landscape of friction, but no longer one dominated by a hegemon in waiting.

The risk, of course, remains that the vacuum could be filled by chaos rather than accommodation. Yet even in that chaos, the imperial project would be dead. Iran would no longer be a singular threat to regional sovereignty or the balance of power. Its demise as an empire would liberate not only its periphery, but its own citizens—long held hostage to the geopolitical obsessions of revolutionary strategists who mistook regional domination for religious destiny.

If the collapse of the Islamic Republic brings with it fragmentation, volatility, and new fault lines, it also brings an end to an era in which one state could imagine itself the architect of a pan-regional ideological order. That, in itself, may be the foundation upon which a more stable, multi-polar, and post-imperial Middle East can finally be built.

Managing Iran’s Fragmentation: Regional Strategies and the Role of the United States in Preventing Secondary Conflict

The fragmentation of the Islamic Republic of Iran—a scenario once deemed unlikely but now increasingly plausible amid internal unrest, international pressure, and regional isolation—presents both a rare opportunity and a profound danger for the Middle East. Israel, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, and the United Arab Emirates, each with distinct histories of conflict and coexistence with Tehran, stand at the forefront of shaping the region’s response. But while these regional actors maneuver to secure their national interests and limit the repercussions of Iran’s unraveling, the United States remains uniquely positioned to act as a strategic coordinator, guarantor of regional deterrence, and a broker of the new political and security order. A detailed exploration of U.S. capabilities, constraints, and potential roles reveals that American engagement will be essential to managing this historic transition without triggering a secondary arc of wars, proxy clashes, and humanitarian catastrophes.

The United States’ most immediate contribution in such a scenario would be the orchestration of an integrated diplomatic framework to preempt regional fragmentation from devolving into competing interventions. Washington could spearhead a multilateral stabilization initiative drawing on precedents like the Contact Group during the Balkan wars or the P5+1 framework—this time replacing negotiations over nuclear constraints with a platform for regional security assurances, reconstruction planning, and governance reform inside post-fragmentation Iran. Such a diplomatic mechanism would include not only traditional allies—Israel, the Gulf states, and Turkey—but also neutral or ambivalent actors such as the EU, India, and possibly China, whose economic interests in Iranian stability might outweigh ideological alignments. Crucially, the United States could use its unique leverage over NATO allies and Arab partners to prevent independent, conflicting interventions that could mirror Syria’s multi-factional chaos or Iraq’s post-2003 disorder.

Second, the United States could reassert its role as the primary security guarantor in the Gulf, but with a refined mission: not to contain a powerful Islamic Republic, but to prevent non-state actors, sectarian militias, and external powers like Russia from exploiting Iran’s internal vacuum. This would involve a recalibrated military posture, perhaps shifting from large bases and carrier groups to more agile, high-tech assets focused on surveillance, cyberdefense, missile interception, and counter-terrorism operations. American Central Command (CENTCOM), already coordinating closely with Gulf and Israeli forces, would be tasked with building an integrated early-warning and response grid across the region, ensuring rapid reaction capabilities to suppress the emergence of ISIS-like entities or Iranian proxy reconfigurations. This role would be especially crucial in border regions of Iran, such as Ahwaz, Kurdistan, Sistan-Baluchistan, and South Azerbaijan, where ethnic separatism could quickly become militarized and draw in external patrons.

Economic policy would be a third critical pillar. Here, the United States could leverage its control of global financial institutions and sanctions regimes not simply to punish Iranian actors, but to engineer pathways for economic stabilization and political incentivization. A potential strategy would be the conditional release of frozen Iranian assets and the easing of secondary sanctions—but only in exchange for demonstrable commitments by emerging regional authorities in Iran to uphold ceasefires, protect minorities, and permit international monitoring. Simultaneously, the U.S. could coordinate with Gulf financial institutions to create stabilization funds targeting Iran’s border provinces, ideally supporting local councils, economic development, and humanitarian relief without empowering new warlords. By investing in infrastructure, food security, and public health through UN or hybrid missions, the U.S. could reduce the appeal of extremist groups and prevent a Libya-like freefall.

Intelligence coordination would also be expanded dramatically under U.S. leadership. While Israel, Saudi Arabia, and the UAE already engage in quiet intelligence sharing—particularly through the Mossad and Gulf services—the United States could institutionalize these efforts through a formal regional intelligence fusion center. Such a platform, potentially based in Bahrain or Qatar, could monitor the movement of militias, arms flows, and terrorist networks emerging from a weakened Iran. It could also track the activities of Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps remnants, who may attempt to operate as independent warlords or seek refuge in sympathetic states. Turkey’s participation would be more guarded due to its suspicion of Western intelligence collaboration, but Ankara may be incentivized to join if the platform prioritizes intelligence on Kurdish separatist movements, narcotics flows, and threats to key trade corridors linking Turkey to Central Asia.

On the political front, Washington would face the difficult task of calibrating its public messaging: it must avoid the perception of orchestrating Iran’s collapse while still guiding its aftermath. This would require a dual-track approach—publicly emphasizing humanitarian aid, peacebuilding, and regional stability, while privately engaging in hard-nosed diplomacy with regional actors to delineate red lines. The United States might, for example, discourage Turkish or Azerbaijani military deployments in Iranian Azerbaijan while simultaneously warning Israel and Saudi Arabia against competing to dominate Shia clerical networks. At the same time, the U.S. could discreetly support Iranian civil society actors, exile networks, and minority leaders who advocate for nonviolent autonomy, pluralism, and democratic reform. The State Department and USAID would have to act swiftly, deploying political and development teams capable of navigating fragmented local governance structures, while the National Endowment for Democracy and other quasi-official institutions could bolster grassroots resilience.

Perhaps most importantly, the U.S. would need to ensure that a post-fragmentation Iran does not become a proxy battlefield for great power competition. Russian influence would be particularly dangerous in this context, as Moscow may seek to install proxies in northern Iran or revive military bases in southern provinces. China, while less militarily inclined, could exploit the economic vacuum to create strategic dependencies through debt and infrastructure projects. The United States must therefore use a combination of diplomatic deterrence and economic alternatives to dissuade these actors from deep entrenchment. Coordinating with India and the European Union to build trade corridors and energy pipelines that bypass Iranian instability would be essential to this effort. Simultaneously, U.S. policy must account for Iraq, Afghanistan, and Pakistan—bordering states that could easily become spillover zones or be pulled into the fragmentation process through sectarian, tribal, or insurgent dynamics.

In totality, the U.S. would be positioned not as the architect of Iran’s collapse, but as the chief manager of its consequences. This demands a coherent strategy that transcends narrow counterterrorism goals or sanctions enforcement and instead focuses on building a post-fragmentation order that minimizes violence, protects minorities, curbs proxy wars, and prevents the rise of new regional hegemonies. Such a strategy requires diplomatic patience, coalition leadership, a clear-eyed recognition of limits, and a willingness to engage both adversaries and imperfect allies. Failure to manage the transition could result in the worst-case outcome: a Balkanized Iran plagued by proxy wars, insurgencies, and foreign occupation zones—a scenario that would destabilize the Middle East for a generation and potentially trigger global economic shocks.

How Russia and China Might Exploit Iran’s Fragmentation

If Iran were to fragment politically, socially, and territorially in the aftermath of regime collapse or internal implosion, both Russia and China would almost certainly attempt to exploit the resulting vacuum to secure their geopolitical and economic interests. Despite vastly different tools and long-term goals, Moscow and Beijing would converge in viewing Iran’s fragmentation not as a threat per se, but as a fluid arena in which to expand influence, challenge the West, and secure control over vital transit routes, energy corridors, and regional client networks. The degree and nature of their engagement would differ, yet both would seek to leverage the weakness of a fractured Iran to enhance their standing in the Middle East, Central Asia, and the Indian Ocean basin.

Russia’s response would be shaped by its historical experience with failing states on its periphery and its longstanding strategic relationship with Tehran. While a strong, ideologically aligned Islamic Republic served as a useful partner for projecting influence into Syria and Lebanon and counterbalancing U.S. power in the Gulf, a fragmented Iran could offer Russia new forms of leverage. Moscow would likely move quickly to secure influence in Iran’s northern and western provinces, especially those bordering Armenia, Azerbaijan, and the Caspian Sea. Russia has longstanding military infrastructure and cultural familiarity with this region, dating back to the Tsarist and Soviet eras. In a scenario of disintegration, Russia could support pro-Russian militias or deploy mercenaries from the Wagner Group (or its successors) under the pretext of protecting Christian Armenians or Russian minorities, or even combating terrorism. Moscow might aim to control key transit corridors between the Caspian and the Persian Gulf, and between Central Asia and the Levant—thereby replacing Tehran as the central hub of regional logistics and arms flow.

Additionally, Russia could present itself to neighboring countries such as Armenia, Turkmenistan, and even Iraq as the only power capable of mediating disputes between emerging Iranian sub-regions or fending off Turkish and Israeli encroachment. Moscow’s regional diplomacy would capitalize on fears of Turkish expansionism and Western interference. Simultaneously, Russia might use its foothold in the Caucasus and its control over parts of Syria to forge a north-south corridor that would circumvent Western sanctions and facilitate a shadow economic system—fueling militias, controlling narcotics and weapons smuggling, and operating gray-market energy exports. By backing certain factions within a fragmented Iran, particularly former IRGC elements or local warlords with Soviet-era ties, Russia could reconstitute its model of proxy dominance already tested in Syria, Donbas, and parts of Libya.

However, Moscow would face serious constraints. Its military overstretch in Ukraine, economic isolation, and demographic decline limit the scale of engagement it could afford. Furthermore, growing tensions with Turkey—particularly over the South Caucasus and influence in Central Asia—could complicate any Russian maneuver in northern Iran. Turkish-backed actors, especially in Iranian Azerbaijan and Kurdistan, would resist Russian influence, and any perceived Russian attempt to back Shia or anti-Turkish forces would likely provoke proxy conflict.

China, by contrast, would take a more patient, economically driven approach to exploiting Iran’s fragmentation. Unlike Russia, China lacks historical entanglement in Iranian territory or ideological alignment with any internal faction. But Beijing has long-term strategic investments in Iran under the framework of the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), including energy infrastructure, port development (such as at Chabahar), and digital infrastructure in key cities. A weakened or fragmented Iran would offer China opportunities to accelerate economic penetration without having to deal with an ideologically rigid regime or U.S. sanctions tied to nuclear compliance. Instead, Beijing could offer local Iranian actors—governorates, tribal leaders, or business elites—economic development in exchange for transit rights, resource concessions, or political alignment.

China’s particular focus would likely be on Iran’s eastern and southern provinces: Sistan-Baluchistan, Hormozgan, and Kerman. These regions are strategically adjacent to Pakistan and Afghanistan—already within China’s economic and intelligence sphere—and offer potential access to the Indian Ocean through dual-use port projects. Beijing could use its financial muscle and promises of stability to embed itself in post-state Iranian governance structures, offering surveillance technology, infrastructure loans, and even security advisors through its state-owned enterprises and affiliated contractors. China's digital Silk Road vision would find fertile ground in a fragmented, desperate Iran, particularly if Beijing could present itself as a neutral, non-Western alternative to interventionist powers like the U.S. or Turkey.

Moreover, China would exploit fragmentation to expand its energy influence. In the absence of a centralized government, Beijing could sign separate oil and gas deals with regional authorities—perhaps in Khuzestan or along the Caspian coast—similar to how it has operated in Iraqi Kurdistan. These deals would be structured in ways that reduce dependency on U.S.-sanctioned financial systems, possibly using yuan-denominated transactions or barter arrangements. China might also seek to control critical mineral supply chains within Iran, especially lithium, rare earths, and copper, which are increasingly vital to its industrial and technological expansion.

Nevertheless, Beijing would be cautious. Unlike Russia, which is accustomed to managing chaos and risk, China fears political instability, especially near its western frontier in Xinjiang. A fragmented Iran with strong Sunni insurgent elements, narcotics trafficking routes, and transnational jihadi groups could endanger China’s internal security via spillover into its own Muslim-majority regions. This fear would push China to quietly coordinate with both Pakistan and Central Asian republics to manage refugee flows, cross-border insurgency, and the movement of arms. At the same time, China may indirectly cooperate with the United States or Gulf states in securing maritime chokepoints such as the Strait of Hormuz to prevent disruptions to global trade, even while pursuing a long-term strategy of quiet economic colonization.

In essence, Russia would approach Iran’s fragmentation through military and security proxies, seeking territorial influence and strategic depth against NATO and Turkey. China, by contrast, would opt for economic infiltration and infrastructure dominance, leveraging debt, technology, and trade to secure footholds in a balkanized Iranian landscape. The risk for the region—and for U.S. strategy—is that both powers could pursue their goals in ways that conflict not only with Western interests but with each other, turning post-Iran into a chessboard of great power rivalry reminiscent of 19th-century Central Asia. Preventing this outcome would require the United States and its regional allies to act swiftly and cohesively, denying both Moscow and Beijing the opportunity to establish uncontested zones of influence in the heart of the Middle East.

How Gulf States Might Negotiate with China to Prevent Destabilization After Iran's Fragmentation

As Iran moves toward potential fragmentation, the Gulf States—particularly Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates—are likely to pursue a pragmatic, high-stakes diplomatic track with China to prevent the outbreak of destabilizing conflicts along Iran’s southern and eastern peripheries. These monarchies, though aligned militarily with the United States, are acutely aware of China’s growing role as an indispensable economic power with deepening stakes in the security of energy supply routes, regional connectivity, and long-term infrastructure investments. Recognizing Beijing’s cautious but assertive Middle Eastern posture, Gulf capitals would seek to position China not as a rival but as a stabilizing co-stakeholder—leveraging their economic interdependence and shared desire for orderly markets to align Beijing’s interests with regional stability.

The first avenue of negotiation would focus on energy continuity. The Gulf’s most compelling leverage over China is the latter’s dependency on Gulf oil. Nearly 40% of China’s imported crude comes from the GCC, with Saudi Arabia alone accounting for over 17%. In a scenario where Iran’s oil production becomes fragmented, contested, or militarized, Riyadh and Abu Dhabi could offer to guarantee uninterrupted, discounted supplies to Beijing in exchange for commitments to discourage Chinese support for destabilizing actors in Iran. This could include pressuring Beijing to avoid signing separate energy or infrastructure deals with ethnic separatist authorities or IRGC remnants that might undermine broader regional security. In effect, the Gulf states would be offering energy security in return for Chinese neutrality or constructive engagement in preventing Iranian disintegration from spiraling into chaos.

Second, the Gulf states could invoke their centrality to China's Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) as a mechanism of conditional cooperation. The UAE and Saudi Arabia have become logistics hubs for the BRI’s westward expansion, offering ports, industrial zones, and financial services aligned with Chinese capital. In this context, Gulf negotiators could condition access to joint infrastructure projects—such as the UAE’s Khalifa Port, Saudi Arabia’s NEOM, or the cross-Gulf railway—on Chinese collaboration in diplomatic de-escalation. They may request that Beijing deploy its influence through quiet diplomacy, trade leverage, and political pressure on regional actors, including Pakistan and Central Asian states, to refrain from backing violent proxies or separatist groups in Iran. This coordination would aim to preserve trade corridors and supply chains that are critical to both Chinese and Gulf development visions.

A third dimension of Gulf–China negotiations would revolve around digital and technological cooperation. With Chinese firms like Huawei already embedded in the telecommunications networks of several Gulf monarchies, the Gulf states have significant leverage over Beijing’s strategic access to Middle Eastern data ecosystems. In a more transactional framework, they could offer deeper integration into Gulf digital infrastructure and smart city initiatives in exchange for Chinese cooperation in preventing destabilization in regions such as Sistan-Baluchistan and Khuzestan, where Chinese companies might otherwise be tempted to make direct deals with insurgent or militia-led authorities. At the same time, Gulf states could request that Chinese firms refrain from supplying surveillance tools or cyber capabilities to groups in post-Iran that may exacerbate sectarian tensions or suppress local autonomy movements in a way that triggers regional spillover.

Security cooperation, while limited by China’s aversion to direct military entanglement, could also feature in Gulf calculations. The UAE and Saudi Arabia might encourage China to expand its naval presence in the Gulf of Oman and the Arabian Sea, particularly through Djibouti or Pakistani ports, under the pretext of anti-piracy and maritime security. This would allow Beijing to protect its own shipping lanes while also serving Gulf interests by deterring arms smuggling and illegal oil trade from unstable Iranian enclaves. Although the Gulf states would not want China to develop a rival security umbrella, they may prefer limited, functionally defensive Chinese presence in the maritime domain if it means greater international burden-sharing in preserving order around the Strait of Hormuz.

Diplomatically, the Gulf monarchies would seek to incorporate China into a new regional stabilization forum—one that could potentially replace or augment failed Western-led mechanisms like the JCPOA. This forum might include the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), Turkey, India, and the European Union, with China invited as an observer or guarantor. The Gulf states could encourage Beijing to use its UN Security Council position to support multilateral resolutions on humanitarian aid corridors, arms embargoes, and conflict monitoring missions in Iran’s internal theaters of unrest. In return, Beijing would gain legitimacy as a global power able to contribute to international peace without deploying military assets or being drawn into open-ended conflicts.

At the strategic level, Gulf states would also remind China that a fragmented Iran could become a launchpad for transnational jihadism and insurgency—two threats that directly impact China's Xinjiang region. The Gulf monarchies could propose intelligence-sharing arrangements focused on identifying foreign fighters, monitoring financial flows to Salafi and separatist networks, and securing borders in eastern Iran. Saudi Arabia, with its rebranding as a moderate Islamic power and its new counterterrorism architecture, may seek to position itself as a regional partner for Chinese internal security concerns, particularly if insurgent groups in Balochistan, Kurdish regions, or Sunni-majority provinces adopt anti-Chinese narratives linked to Uyghur repression.

Nonetheless, this engagement would not be without risks. Some Gulf factions may distrust Beijing’s long-term intentions, suspecting that it may pursue divide-and-rule tactics in Iran to further entrench its economic dominance. Additionally, closer security and technological cooperation with China could raise friction with Washington, especially under a renewed Trump presidency with a confrontational stance toward Beijing. Gulf diplomacy would therefore have to be carefully choreographed, balancing U.S. security guarantees with Chinese economic incentives—a tightrope that requires extreme discipline and sophisticated negotiation.

Ultimately, the Gulf approach to China in a post-fragmentation Iran scenario would not be to treat Beijing as an ideological ally or geopolitical adversary, but rather as a transactional power capable of stabilizing select domains in exchange for secure access, economic partnerships, and global legitimacy. By positioning themselves as indispensable interlocutors between East and West, the Gulf monarchies aim to avoid being trampled in a great power tug-of-war over Iran’s ruins—and instead to emerge as the architects of a new regional balance that prevents civil war, protects trade, and secures the monarchies' own internal regimes.

How Pakistan Might Intervene or React to Iranian Disintegration

Should Iran fragment—whether through violent regime collapse, civil war, or gradual political atomization—Pakistan would face an immediate, multidimensional security dilemma along its longest western land border. Unlike the more insulated reactions of distant powers like China or Russia, Pakistan’s engagement would be urgent, direct, and volatile. Islamabad’s response would be shaped by a matrix of imperatives: securing territorial integrity, managing sectarian blowback, preventing Baloch nationalism from metastasizing, navigating its relationship with China, and avoiding entrapment in a Saudi-Iran proxy conflict redefined by collapse. Pakistan would not simply react—it would attempt to shape outcomes preemptively, through a mix of military positioning, covert influence, and selective cross-border intervention.

The first and most pressing concern would be the destabilization of Balochistan. Pakistan’s restive southwestern province shares deep ethnic, cultural, and tribal ties with Iran’s Sistan-Baluchistan, one of the most likely epicenters of post-fragmentation conflict. A power vacuum in eastern Iran would create fertile ground for Baloch insurgents on both sides of the border to coordinate and intensify their separatist campaigns, emboldened by the absence of a central repressive authority in Tehran. Islamabad would almost certainly view this as an existential threat. It would likely initiate a combination of military build-up along the border, precision strikes against militant camps in Iranian territory, and expanded surveillance and intelligence operations under the pretext of counterterrorism.

At the same time, Pakistan might seek to cultivate influence with emerging local power centers in eastern Iran. This could include Baloch tribal leaders, Sunni clerics, or former Iranian security officials who defect and claim authority over territory. Pakistan would walk a fine line—supporting stabilization to avoid spillover, while subtly ensuring that any autonomous or semi-sovereign Sistan-Baluchistan entity is not hostile to Islamabad or sympathetic to India. Covert coordination with sympathetic factions would be conducted through the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), with the goal of creating buffer zones of friendly control across the border. Pakistan might also work to preempt Iranian Kurdish or Arab groups from forming alliances with anti-Pakistani elements or foreign powers hostile to Chinese interests in the region.

The second vector of Pakistan’s response would be sectarian. Iranian collapse would almost certainly unleash a wave of sectarian violence, not only within Iran but across the region. Pakistan’s large Shia minority—estimated at 15–20% of the population—has long had religious and emotional ties to the Iranian clerical establishment. Fragmentation of Iran could leave this population politically adrift, possibly more vulnerable to radicalization or exploitation by militant groups, whether anti-Shia Sunni factions (e.g., Sipah-e-Sahaba) or radicalized Shia movements seeking revenge for atrocities in Iran. Pakistan would likely see a rise in sectarian tensions domestically, and Islamabad’s security services would be forced to recalibrate internal intelligence priorities to avoid urban unrest and political violence, particularly in cities like Karachi, Parachinar, and Quetta.

Pakistan's strategy would thus emphasize controlling the narrative. It would likely engage in an information campaign that frames Iranian fragmentation not as a Shia defeat, but as a geopolitical restructuring divorced from sectarian identity. Islamabad may also solicit clerical legitimacy from its own Shia religious authorities to help contain backlash, while simultaneously monitoring for IRGC or Hezbollah elements seeking refuge or attempting to rebuild a network from within Pakistan’s borders. If such elements were identified, Pakistan could detain or eliminate them to placate Gulf allies and prevent the emergence of an Iranian shadow state-in-exile on its soil.

A third dimension of Pakistani reaction would be economic and logistical. Instability in Iran would disrupt overland transit routes vital to the China–Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), particularly if key infrastructure in southeastern Iran—such as road networks or cross-border pipelines—were contested by tribal militias or criminal organizations. Islamabad would act swiftly to secure these routes, possibly negotiating with Chinese authorities for joint security operations, economic reconstruction deals, or even Chinese deployment of non-combat contractors and surveillance assets in the border zone. Pakistan might also use the opportunity to marginalize Iran’s Chabahar Port (seen as a rival to Gwadar) by encouraging China to invest even more aggressively in making Gwadar the central export-import terminal for Afghanistan and Central Asia, thereby bypassing any remaining Iranian logistical influence.

In terms of international diplomacy, Pakistan would try to maintain strategic neutrality, though with a pro-Sunni, anti-fragmentation bias. Islamabad would avoid appearing as a Saudi proxy, even if it quietly coordinates with Riyadh to suppress Iranian Shia influence. At the same time, Pakistan would likely engage Turkey and Qatar to form a Sunni diplomatic block that supports "territorial integrity with decentralization" as a transitional framework for Iran—thus avoiding the overt call for permanent partition, while quietly backing the emergence of client actors. Pakistan could also serve as an interlocutor for China’s economic and political interests, promoting itself as a stabilizing actor trusted by both Beijing and parts of the Sunni world.

That said, risks abound. Pakistan’s overstretched military, fragile economy, and history of internal sectarianism make it vulnerable to blowback. Overextension in Iran could leave its western frontier porous and invite retaliation from non-state actors. There is also the danger of miscalculation: an attempt to covertly influence events in Sistan-Baluchistan could spiral into open border clashes, civilian casualties, or accusations of neocolonial adventurism from nationalist factions within Iran. Furthermore, any hint of coordination with Israel or the UAE—both of whom might also operate intelligence assets inside post-collapse Iran—could backfire dramatically, fueling domestic conspiracy narratives and threatening the fragile civilian-military balance in Islamabad.

Pakistan would approach Iranian disintegration not with detachment, but with intense tactical focus and regional ambition. Islamabad’s response would be shaped by existential fears about Baloch nationalism, sectarian volatility, and strategic encirclement—but also by the opportunity to remake the regional map in ways that favor Pakistani influence and Chinese connectivity. Whether Pakistan emerges from this transition stronger or more vulnerable would depend on its ability to balance covert operations with regional diplomacy, to align with China without alienating Gulf partners, and to suppress internal sectarianism without provoking civil unrest.

How Turkey Would Maneuver to Fill the Northern Iranian Vacuum

In the event of Iran’s fragmentation, Turkey would perceive the collapse of centralized control in northern Iran—especially the Azeri and Kurdish-majority regions—as both a strategic threat and a historic opportunity. The dissolution of Tehran's authority in provinces like East Azerbaijan, West Azerbaijan, and parts of Kurdistan would redraw the geopolitical map of the South Caucasus and bring a host of challenges: Kurdish secessionist movements, regional competition with Russia, potential ethnic irredentism, and the danger of Iranian Armenian enclaves turning to hostile external patrons. Ankara’s response would be multifaceted, blending hard military posture, soft pan-Turkic diplomacy, strategic partnerships, and covert influence operations designed to maximize Turkish leverage while managing the risks of regional entrapment or escalation.

Ankara’s immediate concern would be preventing the rise of a contiguous, empowered Kurdish political entity spanning from northern Syria through Iraqi Kurdistan and into Iranian Kurdistan. The collapse of Iranian state power in Mahabad, Sanandaj, and surrounding areas would likely embolden Kurdish nationalist movements such as the Komala, PJAK (Party for a Free Life in Kurdistan), and KDP-Iran, many of which already maintain historical ties to the PKK—Turkey’s principal internal insurgent adversary. In response, Turkey would likely launch a doctrine of preemptive containment, mirroring its previous military incursions into Syria and Iraq. Turkish special forces and intelligence operatives, already active in Iraqi Kurdistan, would almost certainly establish covert outposts in northern Iranian Kurdish regions. These would be designed to disrupt PKK networks, track arms flows, and cultivate rival Kurdish groups willing to act as counterweights to PKK-affiliated forces.

Simultaneously, Turkey would activate its pan-Turkic ideological infrastructure in the Azeri-dominated areas of northwestern Iran. Ankara has long pursued a neo-Ottoman strategy of soft power projection in Turkic regions, and East and West Azerbaijan would be viewed as natural extensions of this cultural sphere. In a post-fragmentation scenario, Turkey would rapidly move to support the rise of a pro-Turkish autonomous administration among Iranian Azeris, likely under the guise of humanitarian support and economic aid. Through religious outreach, cultural programming, and education initiatives coordinated by agencies like TİKA (Turkish Cooperation and Coordination Agency), Ankara would position itself as a protector of Turkic identity and an alternative to both Persian centralism and Russian re-imperialism.

This overture would not be purely cultural. Turkey would likely propose direct security cooperation with emergent Azeri militias or administrative councils, offering training, communications support, and border protection assistance. In doing so, Ankara would seek to ensure that the political orientation of any emergent "South Azerbaijan" entity remains within its sphere of influence rather than aligning with Armenia, Russia, or Iranian remnants hostile to Turkey. This would likely require coordination—if not a formal pact—with the Republic of Azerbaijan, which may be tempted to pursue irredentist claims on Iranian Azeri lands. While Turkey would publicly support Azerbaijan’s unity with these areas, behind closed doors Ankara may counsel restraint to avoid triggering a full-scale regional war with residual Iranian forces or Russia.

Speaking of Russia, Ankara would also be acutely aware of Moscow’s likely interest in exploiting instability along its southern flank. The Russian military footprint in Armenia, including the 102nd Military Base in Gyumri, puts Turkey in direct proximity to Russian forces. Should Iran collapse and Armenia attempt to use the chaos to secure land corridors or strengthen its position in border areas, Turkey may face a renewed risk of confrontation with Armenia backed by Russia. To deter this, Ankara would likely enhance its forward military deployments along the Armenian and Iranian frontiers, potentially invoking its NATO membership as a diplomatic shield while acting unilaterally through drone deployments and kinetic operations.

Economically, Turkey would see northern Iran’s vacuum as a gateway to increase its dominance over Caucasus trade and energy routes. With the weakening or destruction of Iran’s role as a transit corridor to Central Asia, Turkey would aggressively push its alternative logistics framework: the Zangezur Corridor, the Baku–Tbilisi–Kars railway, and eventually the revival of the Trans-Caspian routes bypassing both Russia and Iran. Turkish construction firms and financial actors would be sent into Azeri-majority areas with promises of rapid reconstruction and integration into this transit architecture, effectively cutting off Iranian Kurdistan and central Iran from north-south Eurasian flows. Ankara would pitch itself to both Europe and China as a stabilizing actor capable of keeping east-west supply chains open amidst chaos.

At the diplomatic level, Turkey would seek to convene a new regional bloc or forum aimed at managing the transition in northern Iran. This might include Azerbaijan, Georgia, Turkmenistan, and possibly Pakistan, under the umbrella of Turkic solidarity or anti-terror cooperation. The Organization of Turkic States, which Ankara seeks to empower as an alternative to Russian or Western-led regional platforms, would be elevated as the primary framework through which post-Iran northern coordination occurs. Turkey would offer itself as a neutral peacekeeper while subtly building patron-client relationships with emerging proto-states or local governments in Iranian Azerbaijan and Kurdistan.

However, Ankara would also face dilemmas. Turkey’s deepening engagement would raise alarm in Tehran’s successor factions, potentially sparking asymmetric retaliation or terrorist attacks inside Turkey. Likewise, Iranian Kurds aligned with the PKK might attempt to coordinate cross-border campaigns, forcing Turkey to expand its already stretched military commitments. Furthermore, Turkey’s simultaneous desire to remain in good standing with Russia, NATO, and China would require a careful balancing act, particularly if Moscow sees Ankara’s moves as an encroachment on Russian traditional zones of influence.

Turkey would respond to Iranian fragmentation not merely with reactive defense, but with a preemptive doctrine of strategic expansion—militarily, ideologically, and economically. By exploiting ethnic solidarities, hardening its posture against Kurdish statehood, and positioning itself as a linchpin for regional connectivity, Ankara would aim to remake the northern Iranian frontier as a Turkish-aligned buffer zone. Yet this ambition would carry the risk of escalation, especially if it triggers conflict with Kurdish actors, residual Iranian nationalist forces, or Russian interests. Whether Turkey succeeds in stabilizing its frontier or overextends into a new quagmire would depend on the agility of its leadership, the coordination with Azerbaijan, and its ability to play multiple great powers off each other without provoking direct retaliation.

How Russia Might Try to Regain Influence Through Armenia or the Caspian Amid Iranian Fragmentation

The fragmentation of Iran would present Russia with both a geopolitical shock and an opportunistic vacuum. While the collapse of a once-aligned authoritarian neighbor could unsettle regional balances, Moscow would interpret the event less as a cause for caution and more as a mandate for decisive reassertion. With its historical imperial foothold in the Caucasus, its naval presence in the Caspian Sea, and deep security entanglements with Armenia, Russia would likely attempt to re-anchor its influence across northern Iran’s periphery—particularly through Armenian corridors and Caspian naval leverage. This strategy would not be driven by ideological commitment to Iranian sovereignty, but rather by an urgent need to prevent Turkish-NATO encroachment, Chinese logistical dominance, and centrifugal instability from engulfing Russia’s southern flank.

First, the most accessible route for Russian intervention would be through Armenia. Despite deteriorating ties between Moscow and Yerevan in recent years—particularly after the 2020 Nagorno-Karabakh war and Armenia’s pivot toward the West—Russia still retains formal defense obligations under the CSTO (Collective Security Treaty Organization) and maintains the 102nd Military Base in Gyumri. In the wake of Iranian disintegration, Armenia would likely find itself encircled by rival powers—Turkey expanding eastward, Azerbaijan contemplating irredentist moves into South Azerbaijan, and Kurdish militias possibly consolidating in Iran’s northwest. To survive, Yerevan may be forced to re-engage with Russia, if only to counterbalance these pressures. Moscow would seize this moment to reinsert itself as Armenia’s indispensable security patron.

One scenario would see Russia re-arming and reinforcing its Armenian military presence under the justification of defending “Orthodox Christian minorities” or stabilizing the southern Caucasus from “NATO-backed adventurism.” This could entail the deployment of additional “peacekeeping” battalions to Armenia’s southern Syunik province, strategically situated between Azerbaijan and the Iranian border. From there, Russia could establish a military logistics corridor aimed at projecting influence into northern Iranian territory under the guise of humanitarian relief or counterterrorism operations against “extremist spillover.” This move would also allow Moscow to monitor and, if necessary, disrupt the Turkish-backed Zangezur Corridor project—an initiative Moscow views with suspicion as a conduit for NATO-aligned Turkic integration across Eurasia.

Simultaneously, the Caspian Sea would emerge as another vector of Russian resurgence. Although Iran’s fragmentation would weaken its Caspian naval component, it would also risk a destabilized maritime zone vulnerable to smuggling, piracy, energy sabotage, and foreign military penetration. Russia, whose Caspian Flotilla is the most powerful naval force on the inland sea, would quickly pivot to assert naval dominance under the pretext of “protecting energy infrastructure” and “ensuring regional stability.” Moscow might mobilize its flotilla to patrol Iranian maritime zones, occupy disputed oil fields, and potentially insert amphibious forces into strategic coastal points in Gilan or Mazandaran should chaos expand inland. This would place Russia in direct proximity to Central Asian maritime trade routes, Iranian ports, and any future Chinese or Turkish maritime projects originating from the Iranian coast.

Moreover, Russia would also attempt to dominate the information environment of the Caspian and Caucasus theaters. Moscow would likely frame Iranian fragmentation as a Western-engineered “color revolution gone awry,” blaming NATO, Israel, and possibly Turkey for destabilizing a crucial energy corridor. This narrative would not only help justify Russian intervention but also build sympathy among pro-Russian segments of the Armenian public, disillusioned Central Asian elites, and even Iranian loyalists seeking external backers to stave off Turkish or Gulf influence. Russia’s RT and Sputnik media networks would amplify fears of ethnic cleansing, sectarian warfare, and U.S.-led partition, providing rhetorical cover for Russian peacekeeping deployments and paramilitary activity.

Additionally, Moscow would exploit the fluidity of Caspian legal arrangements. The 2018 Convention on the Legal Status of the Caspian Sea gave Iran a modest maritime zone and granted all five littoral states equal rights in security coordination. But in the event of Iran’s political fragmentation, Russia might argue that the Iranian signatory is no longer valid—thus suspending or reshaping the legal regime. This would allow Moscow to negotiate new bilateral maritime deals with Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan, and even Azerbaijani factions—excluding any successor Iranian entity and embedding Russian control over naval security. It could also pressure Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan into granting naval base access or enhanced energy coordination under a revamped "Caspian Security Initiative" led by Moscow.

In terms of direct ground involvement, Russia may refrain from sending large regular forces into Iran unless strategic red lines are crossed—such as the emergence of a NATO-aligned buffer state in Iranian Azerbaijan or a major Turkish military presence deep inside Iran. Instead, Moscow would likely rely on Wagner-style paramilitary forces or “volunteers” drawn from ethnic Armenian and Russian Orthodox groups in the Caucasus. These proxy actors could be inserted under ambiguous legal pretexts, avoiding the international visibility of regular Russian troops while allowing Moscow to shape events on the ground. Moscow may also attempt to cultivate pro-Russian factions within residual Iranian state structures or Shia militias, particularly those nostalgic for a strong state to counterbalance Sunni Gulf influence.

Economically, Russia would not aim to reconstruct northern Iran, but it would seek to carve out zones of exclusive influence where it could secure energy assets, control trade chokepoints, and act as gatekeeper to external investment. In Iranian Azerbaijan and Kurdistan, for example, Russia may seek to control key rail lines, oil storage facilities, or copper and uranium mines—justified by claims of non-proliferation or anti-terror stabilization. Russian companies like Rosneft or Gazprom could be deployed under emergency energy cooperation frameworks, providing fuel or rebuilding refineries while embedding Russia’s commercial leverage.

Yet risks to this strategy abound. A Turkey-Azerbaijan axis backed tacitly by NATO could check Russian expansionism, especially if Ankara views Armenia’s realignment as a prelude to regional encirclement. China, too, may resist Russian militarization of the Caspian if it threatens Belt and Road transit or encroaches on Chinese-led port and rail projects in Central Asia. Moreover, any Russian adventurism in Iran could backfire domestically, as military overstretch amid ongoing commitments in Ukraine might trigger political discontent or elite divisions within the Kremlin. Lastly, Russia’s ambitions could be challenged by localized Iranian resistance—especially from ethnic Persian, Kurdish, or Turkic populations hostile to foreign encroachment.

Russia would see Iranian disintegration as an opportunity to reassert its crumbling Eurasian influence—but one that requires careful calibration. Armenia would serve as the soft underbelly through which Moscow could re-anchor itself militarily, while the Caspian would become a maritime chessboard for energy and trade dominance. Russia’s tools—proxy militias, naval projection, legal manipulation, information warfare—would be deployed with subtlety and deniability. Yet success would depend on Moscow’s ability to navigate a crowded, competitive space without triggering blowback from Turkey, China, or local actors resistant to neo-imperial intrusion.

Egypt’s Role in Shaping a Favorable Post-Regime Transition in Iran

As Iran faces the specter of internal disintegration or a post-regime transition, Egypt—traditionally cautious yet strategically assertive—would be well positioned to act as a stabilizing Arab counterweight in regional realignments. Although geographically distant from Iran, Egypt’s historical leadership role in the Arab world, its strategic position in maritime chokepoints, and its emerging partnerships with Gulf states and Israel give it unique diplomatic and security levers. Cairo's contribution would not be centered on direct military or intelligence intervention, but rather on a calibrated blend of political mediation, ideological framing, regional diplomacy, and soft power projection designed to preempt secondary conflicts, neutralize extremist spillover, and reassert Arab agency over any emergent power vacuums.

Egypt’s most immediate contribution would be to frame the post-Iranian transition through the lens of Arab national security rather than sectarian vengeance or ideological realignment. Unlike Saudi Arabia or the UAE, which may be perceived as sectarian actors seeking Shia rollback, Egypt can position itself as a relatively neutral arbiter with no direct territorial ambitions or sectarian stake in Iran’s disintegration. Cairo could champion a narrative that emphasizes the importance of maintaining national borders, preventing further ethnic fragmentation, and securing the rights of all regional communities—Sunni, Shia, Kurdish, and Turkic—within a post-revolutionary framework. This approach would appeal to non-aligned actors in the region and enhance Egypt’s legitimacy as a mediator.

Diplomatically, Egypt could spearhead an Arab-led initiative through the Arab League—perhaps under a revived doctrine of “non-interference with security oversight”—to propose a post-conflict stabilization mechanism for Iran’s neighbors. This could include the formation of a temporary regional contact group involving Iraq, Turkey, Pakistan, and Gulf representatives, with Egypt serving as a neutral coordinator. Such a mechanism would help prevent unilateral interventions that risk spiraling into proxy conflict. Cairo’s long history of mediating between opposing factions—such as Hamas and Fatah, or rival Libyan governments—gives it both the credibility and the institutional muscle to orchestrate backchannel dialogues among emergent Iranian factions or neighboring powers who may otherwise resort to force.

On the ideological front, Egypt would likely seek to prevent the rise of a vacuum that could be exploited by transnational jihadist groups, particularly in Sunni-majority parts of Iran’s southeast (e.g., Sistan and Baluchestan). Egypt’s security establishment has decades of experience confronting jihadist ideologies and understands the regional consequences of stateless zones turning into safe havens for groups like al-Qaeda or ISIS. Through Al-Azhar University and other religious institutions, Egypt could project a counter-extremism doctrine rooted in traditional Sunni jurisprudence—specifically tailored to deny legitimacy to violent actors who might claim religious justification for secession, insurgency, or attacks on Shia communities.

Moreover, Egypt’s emerging security coordination with Israel and the UAE offers it indirect leverage over key flashpoints that might be triggered by Iranian collapse. One likely area of concern is the rise of Hezbollah-aligned militias or IRGC proxies shifting operations toward the Mediterranean or the Gulf. Cairo’s intelligence services, which already liaise with Israel over Gaza and the Sinai, could expand information-sharing arrangements to include tracking the relocation of Iranian-trained Shia militias. Egypt might also leverage its influence in Lebanon—where it maintains diplomatic engagement with all factions—to discourage Hezbollah from retaliatory adventurism, especially if Israeli operations extend deeper into Syria or Iraq in the chaos of Iran’s disintegration.

In maritime terms, Egypt’s control of the Suez Canal and its emerging naval presence in the Red Sea give it influence over global trade routes that might be threatened by a post-Iranian destabilization scenario. Should Iran’s coastal provinces fall into chaos, leading to piracy, smuggling, or the spread of destabilizing groups to the Arabian Sea, Egypt could coordinate with international naval partners, including the European Union and India, to reinforce Red Sea maritime security. Cairo could offer to host a Red Sea–Persian Gulf maritime coordination center, which would enhance its profile as a stabilizing regional force without necessitating direct deployment into Iranian waters.

In terms of economic and humanitarian policy, Egypt may find opportunity to reengage with non-aligned regional actors—such as Turkmenistan, Iraq, or Azerbaijan—who will be searching for external partnerships not subsumed by Turkish, Chinese, or Russian designs. Cairo could lead Arab efforts to establish humanitarian corridors into Iran’s Baluchestan or Kurdish regions, particularly if Sunni Arab tribes are displaced or threatened. Egyptian medical teams, reconstruction contractors, and diplomats could be deployed under a pan-Arab or OIC humanitarian framework, offering practical aid while cultivating soft influence over emerging local power centers.

Critically, Egypt would also seek to prevent an overreach by Turkey or Qatar in post-Iran spaces, especially if Muslim Brotherhood-aligned networks attempt to exploit the chaos. Cairo would likely engage in backchannel coordination with Saudi Arabia and the UAE to preempt any Qatari-sponsored political Islam campaigns in Iranian Kurdistan or Sistan-Baluchestan. Cairo might also quietly support tribal or nationalist actors opposed to Islamist factions, thereby extending its regional vision of post-Arab Spring secular nationalism into the post-Iranian landscape.

At the strategic level, Egypt could use the crisis to reset its strained relationship with the United States. Cairo could propose itself as a regional hub for deconfliction diplomacy, intelligence coordination, and soft power projection—offering Washington a stable Arab partner less provocative than Riyadh or Ankara. By aligning itself with a managed, non-violent transition process that preserves the territorial integrity of Iran while eliminating its most destabilizing actors, Egypt could restore its traditional role as a central pillar of regional equilibrium.

Egypt’s contribution to shaping a favorable post-Iranian order would not lie in military projection, but in diplomatic architecture, ideological narrative-setting, and regional coalition-building. Through careful orchestration of Arab coordination, counter-extremism outreach, and humanitarian diplomacy, Cairo could help mitigate the risks of regional fragmentation while enhancing its stature as a central stabilizing power in the greater Middle East.

From Vacuum to Vision: Seizing the Strategic Initiative After Iran

Iran’s collapse will not pause for diplomatic consensus or offer a clean transition. It will unravel messily, with simultaneous implosions across its periphery—Kurdistan, Khuzestan, Sistan-Baluchestan—inviting opportunistic proxy movements, foreign interventions, and asymmetric threats across the region. The choice facing neighboring powers is stark: either define and discipline the post-Iranian space early on, or react belatedly to fires set by rival ambitions and rogue actors.

For Israel, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, and the UAE, the imperative will be to coordinate—if not formally, then at least tacitly—to prevent a cascade of second-order conflicts. This means restraining maximalist impulses, deconflicting zones of influence, and investing in stabilizing governance models over ideological or ethnic engineering. Egypt, with its relative neutrality and institutional weight, can provide a mediating anchor amid these recalibrations, particularly by advancing Arab-led frameworks of post-conflict stabilization and ideological containment.

The United States must support this delicate balancing act—not by imposing its will, but by enabling mechanisms of regional cooperation, deterring great-power adventurism, and reinforcing red lines that preserve state integrity and deter ethnic cleansing or sectarian retribution. China and Russia, too, must be deterred or strategically engaged to accept the logic of stability over chaos, particularly in the Caucasus and along emerging transport corridors.

This is a moment of generational consequence. The fall of Iran’s current regime could either ignite the next wave of Middle Eastern disorder—or mark the inflection point where the region finally takes ownership of its future architecture. The difference will lie in whether the region's most capable actors seize the moment with clarity, coordination, and vision—or retreat into reactive, fragmented strategies that only mirror the collapse they seek to contain.