The War That Revived Iran and Its Axis

Introduction: A War That Backfired

The war inflicted severe damage on Iran. Estimates suggest losses of around $270 billion, including widespread destruction of infrastructure. Key sites were hit, including parts of the Bushehr nuclear facility, the South Pars gas field, major bridges, factories, and public infrastructure. The human and institutional costs have also been significant, with 36 universities and over 900 schools affected, in addition to broader damage across industrial and civilian sectors.

Yet despite this scale of destruction, the war has also produced an unexpected outcome. What was intended as a campaign to weaken Iran’s nuclear and missile capabilities and reduce its regional influence has, in important ways, had the opposite effect.

Iran emerges from the conflict materially damaged but strategically repositioned. The war has handed the regime something arguably more valuable than what it lost: new sources of leverage, renewed internal cohesion, and a strengthened narrative of resistance that extends beyond its borders.

The war did not dismantle Iran—it reconfigured and, in some ways, revived it.

Iran After the War: Legitimacy Recovery

Prior to the war, the regime’s legitimacy was arguably at its lowest point in its history. The country had witnessed nationwide protests, which were met with severe repression, resulting in the deaths of an estimated 4,000 to 6,000 people, including hundreds of security forces killed in clashes with some armed protesters. At the same time, the Iranian diaspora was mobilising across major Western capitals, calling for regime change. Some Western governments had begun to downgrade diplomatic relations, expelling ambassador or reducing diplomatic presence. Media narratives increasingly framed the regime as being in its final phase, with growing certainty that it was approaching collapse.

The war fundamentally altered this trajectory.

There are still probably a large majority of people critical of the regime, but the trajectory has changed, and the regime has an opportunity to work on it.

External conflict introduced a unifying threat, shifting the internal dynamic from fragmentation to consolidation. What had been a period defined by internal pressure and dissent was reframed into a survival narrative, in which the state positioned itself as the defender of national sovereignty.

This shift was visible both inside and outside Iran. Domestically, public space saw a noticeable transformation, with anti-government protests diminishing and being replaced by expressions of support framed around national defence. Internationally, diaspora mobilisation also shifted, with protests increasingly focusing on opposition to the war rather than direct calls for regime change. Media discourse, which had previously emphasised regime fragility, began to adjust to the realities of wartime resilience.

At the same time, the targeted killing of senior leadership figures—including high-ranking military commanders and the Supreme Leader—had an unintended effect. Rather than triggering collapse, these losses contributed to a process of symbolic consolidation, with key figures reframed as martyrs. This, in turn, generated a degree of renewed legitimacy among segments of the population, including some who had previously been critical of the regime.

The war itself appeared, at least in part, aligned with a regime-change logic, targeting the upper layers of leadership in the expectation that decapitation would weaken the system and potentially trigger internal unrest. Instead, the outcome suggests a different dynamic. The removal of senior figures has led to a form of internal restructuring, bringing forward a younger generation of leadership. This emerging cohort appears more ideologically rigid in external confrontation, particularly toward Israel and the United States, while in some areas showing greater flexibility on certain domestic social issues.

In contrast to the previous leadership—often characterised by strategic caution and calibrated responses—the new leadership has demonstrated a willingness to adopt a more direct “reciprocity” or escalation-based approach, signalling retaliation at equal or higher levels. This shift has reinforced the regime’s image as resolute under pressure, further strengthening its wartime narrative.

In this sense, what was intended as a strategy to weaken or even destabilise the regime has, paradoxically, contributed to its reconfiguration and partial revitalisation. The assumption that removing the top layer of leadership would drive the population toward uprising appears, at least in the short term, to have produced the opposite effect: greater internal cohesion and renewed political legitimacy under the pressure of war.

The Axis Reconfigured: Unity of Fronts

During the Gaza war, Iran’s regional network—often referred to as the “axis”—appeared to suffer significant setbacks. Israeli operations targeted key figures, including the killing of senior leaders such as Hassan Nasrallah, alongside hundreds of operatives through coordinated attacks and sustained strikes on infrastructure in Lebanon and Yemen. In Iraq, US operations also placed pressure on affiliated militias. Taken together, these developments created a widespread perception that the axis had been strategically weakened, leading to a period of relative calm that lasted close to a year, with many concluding that its influence was in decline.

This perception was reinforced at the domestic level. The inability of these actors to decisively counter Israeli actions led to questions about their effectiveness, weakening their standing among segments of their own constituencies.

At the time, Iran’s broader strategy was based on a degree of separation between fronts, with each component of the axis expected to manage its own theatre independently. The assumption was that decentralisation provided resilience.

The recent war, however, has altered this logic. What emerged instead is a shared understanding that the conflict is not confined to a single front, but represents a broader, an existential confrontation affecting the entire network. In response, the axis appears to have shifted toward a strategy of “unity of fronts”—not necessarily through immediate full-scale mobilisation, but through coordinated, gradual engagement across multiple theatres.

This shift is already visible. Hezbollah has engaged more directly, Iraqi militias have increased their level of involvement—albeit selectively—and the Houthis have signalled readiness to escalate further if the conflict continues. Rather than acting in isolation, these groups are increasingly operating within a loosely coordinated framework, calibrated to escalate in stages.

The earlier period of relative ceasefire also played an unexpected role. Instead of weakening the axis, it provided time for reorganisation and recalibration, while Israel’s continued military posture and expansionist signals contributed to a broader regional perception that the conflict was not moving toward resolution. This, in turn, helped restore a degree of social and political support for these actors under a renewed “resistance” narrative.

As a result, the war has reframed the conflict itself—from a series of localised confrontations into a regional struggle. The axis is no longer seen as fragmented or reactive, but as part of a more cohesive political and strategic alignment.

The key shift is this: the axis has moved from fragmentation to coordination. What appeared as weakness may, in retrospect, have been a period of tactical restraint and preparation for a broader confrontation.

Nuclear Capability: From Liability to Leverage

Before the war, Iran’s nuclear program was primarily framed as a liability—the central justification for sustained pressure, sanctions, and the threat of military action. At the same time, there was a window for diplomacy. Negotiations had reached a point where Iran signalled willingness to make significant concessions: temporarily halting enrichment, limiting it to very low levels thereafter, reducing its stockpile of highly enriched material, and accepting international monitoring mechanisms.

Yet this opening was not taken. Instead, it was interpreted by some as a sign of weakness, reinforcing the belief that increased pressure—or even war—could force a more decisive outcome, including potential regime collapse.

The war has fundamentally altered that calculation.

Iran’s nuclear program is no longer simply a source of vulnerability—it has become a core bargaining instrument. The experience of war, particularly following a period of negotiation, has reinforced Tehran’s demand for credible guarantees and recognition of its capabilities as part of any future agreement. In this sense, the nuclear issue has shifted from being a constraint imposed on Iran to a lever it can actively use in negotiations.

This creates two possible trajectories. The first is a return to negotiations, but on revised terms. Any agreement now is unlikely to be less favourable than what Iran was previously willing to accept, and would likely involve tangible concessions such as sanctions relief in exchange for limits on the program. Such an outcome would represent a strategic gain for Iran, as the war would have failed to achieve its original objective while strengthening Tehran’s negotiating position.

The second scenario is the absence of a deal—arguably the more likely outcome. In this case, Iran may use the time and strategic space created by the conflict to advance its nuclear capabilities further, potentially moving closer to weaponisation as a form of deterrence. The internal debate on this issue has already shifted, with increasing pressure within Iran to reconsider previous constraints in light of repeated military confrontations.

The key insight is clear: the war has increased—not reduced—Iran’s negotiating power.

Missile Program: Expansion and Boosting Deterrence

Despite sustained strikes during the war, Iran has retained its missile capabilities and continued to use them as a central tool of deterrence. Far from being neutralised, the missile program has demonstrated both operational resilience and strategic value, reinforcing its role not only as a military asset but also as a psychological instrument of deterrence.

Before the war, Iran had at times signalled a willingness to limit the range of its missile program, often referenced around the 2,000-kilometre threshold. The conflict, however, has fundamentally altered this posture. During the war, Iran expanded its capabilities, reportedly extending ranges toward approximately 4,000 kilometres, with the potential to reach strategic targets such as Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean. At the same time, advancements in air defence and anti-aircraft systems enabled Iran to challenge high-end aerial platforms, including various fighter jets, further strengthening its deterrence profile. Although it is still in its beginning level but due to the fact that they realised their defence system is their weakness and they already started developing it, we should expect some more advanced progress in this field.

This experience is likely to have a lasting impact on Iran’s strategic thinking. The missile program proved to be one of the most effective and immediately deployable tools of deterrence during the conflict—unlike nuclear capability, which remains constrained by political, legal, and strategic considerations. As a result, Tehran is unlikely to accept future limitations on its missile development. On the contrary, the trajectory points toward further expansion and refinement, both in range and precision.

In this sense, the war has reinforced a clear conclusion for Iran’s leadership: missiles are not just weapons—they are the backbone of its deterrence strategy.

Hormuz: From Threat to Strategic Weapon

Ironically, while the United States and Israel aimed to weaken Iran’s nuclear and missile capabilities, the conflict has handed Tehran a far more immediate and powerful tool: effective control over the Strait of Hormuz.

For decades, Hormuz was treated as a theoretical threat—a card Iran could play but rarely did. The war has transformed it into active leverage. What was once a deterrent in rhetoric has now become a central instrument of strategy.

The impact has been global. Roughly 20% of the world’s oil supply passes through the strait, and disruptions during the conflict triggered one of the largest energy shocks in modern history, affecting markets, shipping routes, and economic stability far beyond the region. In this sense, Hormuz has moved from being a regional chokepoint to a global pressure mechanism.

The key strategic insight is striking:

in attempting to contain Iran’s nuclear potential, the war has instead provided it with a “weapon of mass disruption.” Unlike nuclear capability—which is politically constrained and difficult to operationalise—Hormuz offers Iran a tool that is immediately usable, globally impactful, and difficult to neutralise without significant escalation.

This marks a profound shift in the balance of leverage. Iran is no longer relying solely on military deterrence; it now holds influence over:

• energy flows

• global markets

• the economic stability of its adversaries and partners alike

In this context, Hormuz becomes more than a tactical advantage—it is a strategic breakthrough. It allows Iran to exert pressure not only on its direct adversaries, but on the broader international system, particularly energy-dependent economies.

In many ways, Hormuz represents Iran’s “Suez moment” for the United States—a chokepoint that does not demonstrate control, but rather exposes the limits of external power in managing critical global arteries.

Therefore, it is very unlikely that Iran will give up on this card during the negotiations, at least until it is ensured that it will not be targeted, and such confidence will not emerge soon due to the lack of trust after two wars.

Bottom Line: A War Tested and Failed

For years, Iran sought to avoid a direct confrontation. But now that the war has taken place, the strategic landscape has shifted. The conflict tested Iran’s capabilities, its deterrence, and its internal resilience. It also tested the ability of the United States and Israel to impose decisive outcomes. The result, at least so far, suggests that the war did not deliver what it promised.

Iran entered the war with significant constraints, yet it did not exhaust its capacity. Reports indicate that only a portion of its missile stockpile—around 2,000—was used, while more advanced systems, including the 2-ton Khorramshahr missile, were reportedly held in reserve. At the same time, Iran retains the ability to replenish missiles and drones relatively quickly and at low cost, sustaining its operational capacity over time.

This has important implications for how the conflict is now understood in Tehran. The war has reduced—not increased—the perceived risks of confrontation. Rather than viewing war as an existential threat, Iran increasingly frames it as a manageable war of attrition, where time and endurance shift the balance.

By contrast, prolonged conflict places growing pressure on the other side. The United States and Israel face economic costs, security strain, and political timelines, including electoral cycles that limit their tolerance for extended engagements. In such conditions, endurance becomes a decisive factor.

The key conclusion is simple: the war was meant to break Iran—but instead, it tested the limits of force and exposed its own constraints.