Coin Press - Israel riled by US-Iran pact

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Israel riled by US-Iran pact




The United States and Israel entered the spring of 2026 locked in an unprecedented conflict with Iran. On 28 February the two allies launched a joint offensive aimed at destroying Iran’s ballistic‑missile programme, curbing its support for militant proxies and forcing an end to its nuclear ambitions. The campaign quickly spread across the region: Iranian forces responded with ballistic‑missile salvos and drone attacks, and the United States imposed a naval blockade on Iranian ports. Iran retaliated by closing the Strait of Hormuz, a narrow waterway through which a fifth of the world’s oil flows. By early April both sides had agreed to a fragile ceasefire, but the war’s economic and human cost, coupled with mounting pressure from Gulf Arab states to restore trade, propelled Washington to seek a negotiated settlement.

President Donald Trump has now circulated a draft agreement that would reopen the Strait of Hormuz to commercial shipping, lift the U.S. blockade and unlock up to $12 billion of Iran’s frozen assets. Under the memorandum of understanding, shipping lanes would return to pre‑war levels within a month, and a 60‑day negotiating period would be devoted to the future of Iran’s nuclear programme. Discussions on highly enriched uranium, centrifuges and International Atomic Energy Agency supervision would begin only after trade resumed. Iran would renounce nuclear weapons, but its stockpiles and missile arsenal would not be dismantled at this stage. The deal also calls for a permanent ceasefire that would extend to Lebanon, where Israeli forces have been engaged in a separate conflict with Hezbollah. As a diplomatic sweetener, Washington has urged Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Pakistan and other regional powers to normalise relations with Israel by joining the Abraham Accords.

In Israel the proposal has provoked a storm of indignation. Senior officials, speaking on condition of anonymity, have branded the emerging accord a “bad deal”. Their chief complaint is that the draft postpones serious constraints on Iran’s nuclear and missile programmes, creating the risk that Tehran will pocket sanctions relief, rebuild its economy and rearm its proxies while negotiations drag on. Israeli strategists note that the memorandum says nothing about Iran’s long‑range missiles or its network of regional militias. They fear that a temporary ceasefire would allow Iran’s allies in Lebanon, Syria and Yemen to regroup and that the release of billions of dollars would enable Tehran to reconstitute military facilities damaged during the war.

Opposition leader Yair Lapid, who is attempting to unseat Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu later this year, has condemned the plan as “bad for Israel, bad for the region [and] bad for the citizens of Iran”. Lapid has criticised Mr Netanyahu for failing to influence Washington’s negotiating position and warns that Israel’s ability to shape American policy is at an all‑time low. Other Israeli commentators describe the draft as a strategic failure: the war began with publicly declared goals of toppling Iran’s theocratic government, ending its ballistic‑missile threat and severing its ties to militant groups, yet the proposed agreement delivers none of those outcomes. Analysts at the Institute for National Security Studies argue that the enormous gap between the war’s ambitions and the terms of the emerging deal shows how little the campaign’s architects understood Iran. Some call it a capitulation that leaves Iran in a stronger position than before the war.

Security officials are particularly alarmed by the prospect of constraints on Israeli military operations in Lebanon and Gaza. The draft calls for a permanent ceasefire not just in the Persian Gulf but across the region, including southern Lebanon where Israeli troops have seized strategic positions and where daily exchanges of fire with Hezbollah have continued despite the pause in the broader war. Israeli commanders insist on “freedom of action” to strike Iranian targets and proxies; they fear that a formal ceasefire would tie their hands and allow Hezbollah to entrench itself further along the northern border. The idea of including Hezbollah in the ceasefire, reportedly floated by Tehran, is anathema to the Israel Defense Forces.

The financial dimension of the proposed deal is another source of anger. Iran’s government is demanding access to billions of dollars held abroad to stabilise its economy after months of conflict. For Israel, the thought of unlocking those funds conjures memories of the 2015 nuclear agreement, which lifted sanctions and allowed Iran to re‑enter oil markets. Hawks in both Israel and the United States warn that injecting cash into Iran’s coffers will embolden the Revolutionary Guard Corps and enable renewed investment in missile development and proxy warfare. These critics argue that pressure—not relief—is the only way to force Tehran to dismantle its nuclear infrastructure and curb its regional ambitions. Some even say they would prefer a return to open conflict to the signing of a weak agreement that leaves Iran intact.

Israelis are also wary of the diplomatic gambit tied to the deal. President Trump has declared that it should be “mandatory” for countries such as Saudi Arabia, Qatar and Pakistan to recognise Israel as part of the agreement. Pro‑Israel voices in the United States have welcomed the idea, but regional experts point out that Gulf states are not prepared to normalise relations at a time when Israel is still waging wars in Lebanon and Gaza and when Palestinian casualties have fuelled widespread anger. Saudi Arabia has repeatedly said it will not normalise relations without a Palestinian state based on the 1967 borders. For Israel, therefore, the promise of new diplomatic ties offers little comfort; what matters is security, and the current draft does not guarantee it.

Beyond Israel, the emerging agreement has drawn criticism from Republican hawks in Washington. Senators Lindsey Graham, Ted Cruz and Roger Wicker have all warned that a 60‑day ceasefire that reopens the Strait of Hormuz while leaving Iran’s nuclear and missile capabilities untouched would be a “disaster”, a “nightmare” and a “disastrous mistake”. Former secretary of state Mike Pompeo has derided the proposal as a retreat from the “America First” stance, arguing that Tehran should not receive a penny until its capability to threaten U.S. allies is eliminated. These voices echo the concerns of Israeli officials who fear that the balance of power in the region will shift in Iran’s favour if the United States compromises.

The uproar in Jerusalem is compounded by a feeling of marginalisation. Reports in the Israeli press suggest that Mr Netanyahu has been largely sidelined in negotiations, with Washington seeking input from Gulf allies and Pakistan instead. A senior Israeli security official recently lamented that “Israeli interests were not taken into account throughout the negotiations”, noting that Israel might now face restrictions on its ability to act in Lebanon and Gaza despite fighting alongside the United States in Iran. Such perceived neglect has fuelled domestic criticism of Mr Netanyahu and heightened the sense of betrayal that underpins Israel’s fury at the emerging deal.

As negotiations continue, the gap between Israeli expectations and the draft agreement’s provisions remains wide. Israel entered the conflict hoping to eliminate a strategic rival and reshape the Middle East. It now confronts the prospect of a ceasefire that freezes the status quo, leaves Iran’s regime intact, and imposes constraints on Israel’s military freedom. Unless Washington and Tehran can produce a final agreement that addresses Israel’s security concerns—particularly the dismantling of Iran’s missile and nuclear capabilities and the curtailment of its proxies—the anger emanating from Jerusalem is unlikely to subside. The fate of the war, the security of the Gulf and the future of regional diplomacy all hinge on whether these divergent interests can be reconciled in the weeks ahead.



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Long live Ukraine - Хай живе Україна - Да здравствует Украина

Es lebe die Ukraine - Да здравствует Украина - Long live Ukraine - Хай живе Україна - Nech žije Ukrajina - Länge leve Ukraina - תחי אוקראינה - Lang leve Oekraïne - Да живее Украйна - Elagu Ukraina - Kauan eläköön Ukraina - Vive l'Ukraine - Ζήτω η Ουκρανία - 乌克兰万岁 - Viva Ucrania - Ať žije Ukrajina - Çok yaşa Ukrayna - Viva a Ucrânia - Trăiască Ucraina - ウクライナ万歳 - Tegyvuoja Ukraina - Lai dzīvo Ukraina - Viva l'Ucraina - Hidup Ukraina - تحيا أوكرانيا - Vivat Ucraina - ขอให้ยูเครนจงเจริญ - Ucraina muôn năm - ژوندی دی وی اوکراین - Yashasin Ukraina - Озак яшә Украина - Živjela Ukrajina - 우크라이나 만세 - Mabuhay ang Ukraine - Lenge leve Ukraina - Nyob ntev Ukraine - Да живее Украина - გაუმარჯოს უკრაინას - Hidup Ukraine - Vivu Ukrainio - Længe leve Ukraine - Živjela Ukrajina - Жыве Украіна - Yaşasın Ukrayna - Lengi lifi Úkraína - Lank lewe die Oekraïne

Stargate project, Trump and the AI war...

In a dramatic return to the global political stage, former President Donald J. Trump, as the current 47th President of the United States of America, has unveiled his latest initiative, the so-called ‘Stargate Project,’ in a bid to cement the United States’ dominance in artificial intelligence and outpace China’s meteoric rise in the field. The newly announced programme, cloaked in patriotic rhetoric and ambitious targets, is already stirring intense debate over the future of technological competition between the world’s two largest economies.According to preliminary statements from Trump’s team, the Stargate Project will consolidate the efforts of leading American tech conglomerates, defence contractors, and research universities under a centralised framework. The former president, who has long championed American exceptionalism, claims this approach will provide the United States with a decisive advantage, enabling rapid breakthroughs in cutting-edge AI applications ranging from military strategy to commercial innovation.“America must remain the global leader in technology—no ifs, no buts,” Trump declared at a recent press conference. “China has been trying to surpass us in AI, but with this new project, we will make sure the future remains ours.”Details regarding funding and governance remain scarce, but early indications suggest the initiative will rely heavily on public-private partnerships, tax incentives for research and development, and collaboration with high-profile venture capital firms. Skeptics, however, warn that the endeavour could fan the flames of an increasingly militarised AI race, raising ethical concerns about surveillance, automation of warfare, and data privacy. Critics also question whether the initiative can deliver on its lofty promises, especially in the face of existing economic and geopolitical pressures.Yet for its supporters, the Stargate Project serves as a rallying cry for renewed American leadership and an antidote to worries over China’s technological ascendancy. Proponents argue that accelerating AI research is paramount if the United States wishes to preserve not just military supremacy, but also the economic and cultural influence that has typified its global role for decades.Whether this bold project will succeed—or if it will devolve into a symbolic gesture—remains to be seen. What is certain, however, is that the Stargate Project has already reignited debate about how best to safeguard America’s strategic future and maintain the balance of power in the fast-evolving arena of artificial intelligence.

Ukraine sends ground robots

Ukraine is putting ground robots to work on a scale that is beginning to change how its army supplies positions, evacuates casualties and conducts some of its most dangerous combat missions. The significance lies in the gradual transfer of battlefield exposure from people to machines. For a force under sustained pressure to preserve experienced soldiers, that change could matter well beyond the individual missions captured on video.The expansion is measurable. By early September 2026, Ukraine’s DELTA battlefield management system had recorded approximately 112,000 logistics and evacuation missions by ground robotic systems since the start of the year. The monthly total rose from 7,511 in January to 25,143 in August, an increase of roughly 3.3 times. These figures describe missions, not the number of robots deployed, and they should not be read as a tally of successful attacks or lives saved. They nevertheless show how far the technology has moved into routine military activity.Supply work explains much of its value. Ammunition, food and water still have to reach troops in positions exposed to surveillance and attack. Wounded soldiers still have to be brought out. A remotely operated vehicle can undertake part of that movement while its operator remains elsewhere. The load may be ordinary; the route is what makes the task dangerous. Repeated across many positions, reducing the number of journeys made by people can alter the daily burden on an infantry force.The strongest case for a robot is often the journey it allows a soldier to avoid. That changes the economics of military equipment. The purchase price matters, but so do the consequences of losing it. A destroyed machine consumes production capacity and money. A lost soldier also removes training, experience and relationships that cannot be replaced on a factory schedule. This is why an apparently modest cargo platform can have greater practical importance than a more spectacular experimental weapon.Combat applications are developing alongside that logistical role. Ukraine’s Third Army Corps includes NC13, a unit specialising in ground robotic operations. In September, corps commander Andrii Biletskyi described an ambition to replace around a third of the corps’ frontline personnel with robots by the end of the year. That remains an objective for a particular formation, rather than a demonstrated reduction across the Ukrainian army. It signals how seriously some commanders now regard the technology.There is a longer history behind the sudden attention. In December 2024, the Khartiia Brigade used a coordinated force of aerial drones and ground robots in an assault near Hlyboke in the Kharkiv region. More than 50 unmanned systems took part. The operation demonstrated that different remotely operated platforms could be combined for surveillance, fire support and attack. It also exposed the limits: ground conditions disabled some machines, and soldiers were still needed to secure and hold the territory afterwards.Those distinctions remain essential. An unmanned vehicle has no crew aboard; that does not make it an autonomous decision-maker. Remote operation, assistance with navigation and independent target selection are different capabilities. Much of the operational change visible in Ukraine concerns the first of these. Human operators, commanders and technicians remain central to making the equipment useful. Describing every remotely controlled vehicle as an artificial intelligence weapon obscures both its present strengths and its weaknesses.The physical environment imposes constraints that software cannot simply remove. A ground vehicle must negotiate soil, vegetation, rubble and obstacles that an aircraft may pass over. Its camera sees from a low position. Communications can be intermittent, and movement through complex terrain requires information that may be incomplete or already outdated. Research on small military robot teams has long identified the combination of restricted visibility, difficult navigation and unreliable communication as a central challenge. Ukraine is testing those problems under combat conditions.Scaling the fleet therefore requires a larger support system. More vehicles mean more operators to train, more repairs, more replacement components and a greater need to coordinate machines with the soldiers around them. The useful measure is how many tasks can be completed reliably over time. A large delivery of equipment can look impressive while leaving unanswered questions about serviceability, workload and availability after repeated deployments.Nor does removing a crew eliminate risk. Operators still work within a military system exposed to attack, and a machine that fails during an evacuation may leave a casualty in danger. Remote control changes where human vulnerability sits. It does not make the mission consequence-free. Reliability is particularly important when the payload is a wounded person rather than ammunition, and success in one role cannot automatically establish suitability for another.The likely effect on the fighting is therefore uneven. Robotic systems can ease dangerous supply tasks and support selected assaults while remaining poorly suited to others. Their value depends on the terrain, the communications environment and the organisation using them. A successful demonstration offers evidence of a capability; repeated use establishes whether a formation can depend on it.Ukraine’s developing robot force is best understood through that practical test. Can it keep a position supplied with fewer exposed soldiers? Can it bring someone back who would otherwise remain stranded? Can it reduce the personnel required for a dangerous task without creating a greater burden elsewhere? The answers will determine how much battlefield activity can move to machines. For the soldiers still holding the line, those gains are substantial enough without the promise of a war fought without people.