14 April 2026
For all the tragedy of the Russia–Ukraine war, for all its human losses and destruction, it nevertheless remains, for both the West and the East, a conflict of a peripheral nature.
It lacks a value dimension of the kind that defined the clash between liberalism, communism, and fascism during the Second World War, or the type of confrontation we observe today in the Middle East. There, we see a value conflict between Shiism and Sunnism, and between Islam and Judaism. The war between Russia and Ukraine does not represent what Samuel Huntington once described as a “clash of civilizations.” It is being fought within a single Orthodox Christian civilization, within a shared linguistic and cultural space. Moreover, the principal victims are concentrated in the eastern regions of Ukraine, which have historically and culturally been closest to Russia.
Russia did not start this war in response to an existential threat. Ukraine had never posed a danger to the existence of the Russian state. It did not pursue nuclear weapons, did not advance territorial claims against Russia, and did not build an ideology based on demonizing its opponent as a “source of evil” or an “enemy of humanity.” Despite its human cost and destruction, this war is not a defining or existential conflict for Europe, Asia, or even for Russia itself.
A fundamentally different logic underpins the confrontation between the United States and Iran. Some attempt to reduce it to a regional dispute, such as the defense of Israel’s interests or a struggle for influence in the Middle East. In reality, it is something else entirely. It is a confrontation with a regime that frames its relations with the outside world in terms of absolute hostility, and its domestic politics in terms of struggle against traitors and enemies.
In official Iranian rhetoric, the United States is labeled the “Great Satan,” a “source of corruption and vice,” while its own citizens demanding change are branded “agents of the enemy,” “foreign mercenaries,” and “spies.” These are not rhetorical excesses but elements of a state ideology implemented in both foreign and domestic policy.
During recent unrest, even according to official Iranian figures, more than 3,000 people were shot or executed; alternative estimates suggest up to 30,000. Following the start of US military actions, Iranian missile strikes targeted not only countries regarded as adversaries, such as Israel, Bahrain, or Saudi Arabia, but also states that had maintained neutrality or sought to act as mediators.
Kuwait and the United Arab Emirates, countries that had pursued cooperation with Iran and advocated diplomatic solutions, were struck. Qatar, which had previously faced regional isolation and even US sanctions for its attempts to engage with Tehran, was also targeted. So too was Oman, which had sought to mediate between Iran and the United States.
Against this backdrop, and given Iran’s willingness to strike not only adversaries but also those not directly involved in the conflict, the question of Iran’s nuclear program takes on an entirely different dimension. If, even under current conditions, Iran has demonstrated the capacity to block the Strait of Hormuz, one of the key arteries of global energy trade, one can only imagine what it could do if armed with nuclear weapons and possessing delivery systems.
In such a scenario, Iran would inevitably become the dominant power in the region, capable of dictating terms to neighboring states, including Saudi Arabia, and projecting nuclear pressure toward Europe, the United States, and the wider world.
The confrontation with Israel could evolve into an existential conflict, potentially leading to mutual nuclear exchange. Israel would rapidly expand its nuclear capabilities, and given the nature of the Iranian regime, its willingness to sacrifice both itself and others in pursuit of its values, such a scenario could escalate into a broader war extending beyond the Middle East into Europe and Asia.
In this context, the policy pursued by Donald Trump should be read differently. If it raises questions, they are primarily tactical. Was the preparation for military action sufficient? Could a broader coalition have been assembled? Were all diplomatic avenues exhausted? Strategically, however, the logic appears justified: Iran’s acquisition of nuclear weapons could not be allowed.
The differences between the two wars, Russia against Ukraine and the United States against Iran, become particularly clear when viewed over time. The conflict with Iran, despite its intensity, appears short in duration. Its active phase lasted only weeks and was directed toward a concrete objective: eliminating the threat associated with the development and spread of nuclear weapons. The readiness of both sides to engage in negotiations, and the emergence of a ceasefire, indicate that both Washington and Tehran retain space for agreement.
By contrast, the war in Ukraine has turned into a protracted conflict, lasting longer than the Second World War on Soviet territory. It lacks both a clear time horizon and any defined end state. The originally declared objectives, “demilitarization” and “denazification,” have long since lost substance. Ukraine has, in fact, significantly strengthened its military capacity, while anti Russian sentiment has reached unprecedented levels in the history of relations between the two nations.
Despite this, the war continues and increasingly resembles a strategic and political deadlock. In its logic, it echoes the final stage of the Second Congo War.
It is precisely in relation to these two wars that the central paradox of contemporary European policy becomes evident. Europe has not fully aligned itself with either position. Instead, it remains suspended in a state of strategic ambiguity, the very condition once described by Leon Trotsky as “neither war nor peace.”
On the one hand, Europe recognizes the danger of Iran acquiring weapons of mass destruction and condemns killings and mass executions of civilians. On the other hand, even in the face of such crimes, it refrains from supporting concrete measures capable of altering the situation. Condemnation remains rhetorical and does not translate into action.
In many ways, this reflects the same approach Europe has taken toward the war in Ukraine. On the one hand, it provides assistance, including military support. On the other hand, this support remains tightly constrained. Its use is limited, including restrictions on strikes deep inside Russian territory, effectively confining its impact to the frontline.
Yet the contradiction is most visible in the economic sphere. Europe continues to purchase Russian energy and raw materials. While accusing the United States of being “pro Russian,” it is a European bank, Raiffeisen, rather than American, Indian, or Chinese financial institutions, that services a significant share of Russia’s foreign trade. In some years since the start of the war, more than half of Russia’s external trade transactions have passed through it. At the same time, the bank has paid approximately €500 million annually into the Russian state budget, funds that ultimately contribute to sustaining the war.
