The war has entered its second month, and what is becoming visible now is not American strength, but American exposure. Over the weekend, missile strikes once again shook the Middle East. Iran and its proxies widened the battlefield, the Houthis entered the conflict openly, American troops continued to arrive, and yet no serious diplomatic architecture appeared capable of imposing order on any of it. Pakistan offered to host talks. Neither Washington nor Tehran publicly embraced the proposal. That, in itself, says much. Donald Trump continues to speak in the language of imminent deals, quick victories and overwhelming leverage. He says Iran has accepted most of Washington’s demands. He hints that an agreement could come soon. At the same time, he threatens, delays, escalates and deploys. Troops move in. Marines arrive. Ground-operation scenarios circulate. Kharg Island, uranium seizures, the reopening of Hormuz by force — all of it is now openly discussed. This is no longer a strategy. It is an oscillation. And oscillation, in war, is a form of weakness. Because the United States now appears trapped between incompatible objectives. It wants Iran to capitulate, but without paying the price of occupation. It wants oil prices lower, but keeps feeding the conditions for further disruption. It wants negotiations, but only on terms Tehran cannot accept. It wants to reassure allies, while exposing them. It wants to avoid another endless war, while drifting ever closer to the threshold of one. That contradiction is no longer theoretical. It is visible everywhere.

The Strait of Hormuz remains effectively paralysed. Roughly a fifth of global seaborne oil and a significant share of LNG have been choked off or severely disrupted. Saudi Arabia has managed to reroute some barrels through its East-West pipeline, and the Emirates have improvised around the blockage, but these are partial remedies, not solutions. The old volumes are gone. The old certainty is gone, too. And now the second line of vulnerability is opening. The Houthis have entered the war. That matters enormously. Not simply because they add missiles and drones, but because they reopen the Red Sea theatre at the exact moment when the Gulf route is already compromised. Yanbu, Saudi Arabia’s alternative outlet on the Red Sea, now sits within reach of Houthi missiles. In other words, the fallback route is becoming vulnerable itself. This is how an energy shock stops being regional and starts becoming systemic.

Oil has surged. Brent is moving towards levels once considered extreme. Gas markets remain under pressure. Diesel and jet fuel have already signalled what crude has not yet fully priced: a prolonged shortage of refined products can inflict more serious damage than a headline oil spike. Aluminium plants in the Gulf have been hit. Fertiliser prices are rising. Food supply concerns are no longer speculative. Across Asia, shortages are already appearing. Europe is next. That is the real danger now facing the world economy. If Hormuz remains effectively closed for a second month, the issue will no longer be whether energy is expensive. The issue will be whether enough can physically reach the right places at all. Emergency stock releases, sanctions waivers, and improvised rerouting have bought time. They have not restored balance. The market is still losing millions of barrels a day in effective supply terms. LNG is in an even worse position because there are fewer alternatives, fewer stocks, and less room for substitution. The consequences are brutally clear. Inflation rises again. Growth slows. Central banks hesitate, then harden. Industry cuts production. Shipping costs surge. Households pay more. Governments subsidise what they cannot solve. The old word returns, as it always does when energy shocks outlive the first panic: stagflation.

For the United States, the vulnerability is particularly striking. Washington still has military reach, but it is discovering that military reach is not the same as strategic control. American forces can strike thousands of targets, but they have not restored freedom of navigation. They can threaten Iran’s infrastructure, but they cannot guarantee that the reaction will remain limited. They can reinforce bases, but those bases are now targets. Fifteen American soldiers were wounded in Saudi Arabia, a damaged surveillance aircraft, growing troop deployments, and escalating proxy attacks: none of this resembles a controlled campaign. It resembles a widening risk. And America’s allies can see it. The Gulf states, outwardly cautious, are increasingly frustrated. For a year, they warned Washington against this course. Now they host American bases, absorb Iranian retaliation, lose export revenues, and watch the Strait remain in Tehran’s grip. Privately, they question the logic of the war, the clarity of its objectives, and the value of security guarantees that seem to function mainly after the damage is done. That is perhaps the most dangerous strategic development of all. Because once allies begin to doubt not only American judgment, but American usefulness, the geopolitical cost extends far beyond this war. Some in the Gulf are already considering a deeper diversification of their external relationships, including stronger links with China. Not because Beijing offers protection in any classical sense, but because Washington increasingly offers unpredictability with a bill attached.

This is how empires weaken — not by losing one battle, but by convincing their own partners that dependence has become too expensive. Trump still speaks as though all options remain open and all outcomes remain favourable. That is the privilege of political theatre. Reality is less generous. Every extra week of war raises the economic cost, increases the risk of a broader regional explosion, and narrows the gap between limited intervention and strategic entanglement. The world economy, meanwhile, is being forced into adjustment by shock rather than by design. Demand destruction has begun in parts of Asia. Europe faces the prospect of diesel shortages. Food and fertiliser markets are tightening. Industrial commodities are under pressure. Consumers have not yet fully felt the blow, but the chain has already been set in motion. And once energy begins to dictate terms again, everything else follows. That is the truth now emerging from this war. America still has force. What it no longer has, at least not in sufficient quantity, is control. It cannot compel peace, cannot reopen trade at will, cannot reassure markets credibly, and cannot promise its allies that escalation will remain contained. The war was meant to demonstrate power. Instead, it is revealing its limits.