Politics, Probability, and Power: Just one photograph caused a collective ulcer among Washington’s foreign policy class. Three men in suits stood beside two Middle Eastern flags and one Chinese flag, sitting smugly in the middle. In March 2023, Saudi Arabia and Iran announced they would bury some of their blood-stained hatchets in the ground and restore diplomatic ties, with Beijing serving as the marriage counsellor. The United States, accustomed to standing alone as the sole priest at the altar, now seemed like a spurned former partner, sitting in the pews while someone else officiated.
The punditry went wild. Some cried, “End of American influence,” while others murmured, “Just a photo op.” The truth lies somewhere in the middle. Washington remains the security landlord of the region, but the tenants are looking elsewhere to rent. And Beijing? It’s gone from purchasing the oil to brokering the deals. The symbolism itself was devastating for those wedded to the illusion of absolute U.S. primacy in the Middle East.
But let’s not kid ourselves. This was not the cautious dawning of a golden age of peace. It was two archenemies deciding that perhaps, just perhaps, never-ending proxy wars were a bit too expensive. It was also a reminder that while America exports democracy and drone strikes, China exports roads, railways, and sometimes handshakes. The answer to which of the two plays better in Riyadh, or for that matter, Tehran, these days is not exactly hard to guess.
Yemen was to be the litmus test. For a hot minute, the missiles stopped, and the talks seemed soon to follow. And then there was Gaza, the attacks on Red Sea shipping, and the Houthis turning freighters into target practice. Suddenly, the much-vaunted détente was a sandcastle facing the tide. Peace in the region is always provisional. The political system tends to keep going in the same direction, sticking to conflict until something from the outside, like Beijing’s mediation, changes its path. The question is which force is more potent or whether the latter is strong at all.
Syria presented another spectacle of Realpolitik. The Arab League dusted off Damascus’ old seat and welcomed Bashar al-Assad back to the table, less an act of reconciliation than a demonstration of exhaustion. The Arab states had clearly calculated that isolating Assad had done little except shunt him closer to Iran and Moscow. At the end of the day, it was easier to bring the devil himself in from the cold tent rather than give him the keys. It was a cynical decision, but this was the Middle East of 2025, and stability was not a solution but a setting.
And here’s the kicker: China may have brokered the photo, but it has shown little appetite for the messy follow-through. Beijing prefers to take the lead, rather than absorbing the consequences. It will convene, it will smile, and it will sign memoranda. But will it send peacekeepers, bankroll reconstruction, or absorb the blowback when militias refuse to behave? Unlikely. The result is influence without accountability, a highly desirable outcome in diplomatic circles. Think of it as a political equation where China maximises symbolic gains while minimising cost, the kind of asymmetrical strategy.
Washington, in the meantime, has been grappling with a very humbling reality. The high-end security kit, the bases, the planes, and the missile defences are still in the hands of the United States, but not for much longer; it’s shaping the narrative. The days when capital in the Middle East automatically dialled Washington as the first option are gone. Instead, they treat global powers the way apps on a smartphone are treated now. You tap whichever one fits the occasion. Sometimes you open “China” for investment, sometimes “Russia” for arms, and sometimes “America” for air cover. No one app has a monopoly these days, and the feedback loop of loyalty is broken.
This is why what’s being debated in Washington today about “losing” the Middle East to Russia misses the point. It was never America’s territory to lose; it was only a rental arrangement. Additionally, the tenants are now engaging with multiple countries simultaneously. Saudi Arabia purchases U.S. defence technology and invests in Chinese infrastructure, and courts India for trade. Iran strengthens its ties with Russia while simultaneously making a subtle overture to Europe. The region is writing a new script of hedging and balancing, and the U.S. is but one vector among many (no longer the sole axis).
Of course, the focus of this drama is energy. When Saudi and Iranian officials shook hands in Beijing, traders were watching the price of Brent crude more anxiously than diplomats reading through communiqués. Although oil may no longer serve as the global economy’s nervous system, it would still require a brave person to bet on the world recovering from the 2020 pandemic anytime soon. Middle Eastern oil remains the backbone of the global economy. But the market in 2025 is not what it was in 1973. The combination of American shale, Brazilian pre-salt, Guyanese gushers, and Chinese stockpiling is ensuring that the Gulf is no longer the dominant player in setting prices. Unsung capacity in Riyadh can still rattle or reassure the markets, but the times of sheer leverage are passing. The Gulf’s chokehold has weakened due to supply diversification, but its rare quiet spells now mean less than before.
Still, risk premiums matter. Passage through the Strait of Hormuz or Bab El-Mandeb is dangerous during periods of heightened tension. During that period, insurers raise their rates, costs ripple across continents, and everyday consumers bear the consequences at gas stations or petrol pumps. If this Saudi-Iran truce holds, even partially, those costs will decrease. When the truce falters, everyone around the world can see the consequences. And this is why a purely ornamental truce can be worth something when it reduces the intensity of ongoing conflict, which is often all that global trade truly needs.
The uncomfortable question is whether local actors are on board. The Houthis in Yemen have their sources of income and their own calculus. Turbulence, not tranquillity, remains the lifeblood of militias in Iraq and Syria. In the context of smuggling, instability is not a drawback but rather an advantage. This means that Riyadh and Tehran can shake hands in Beijing, but someone on the ground may still think that a rocket launch is a better use of their resources. The probability of derailment is never zero.
Domestic politics add another layer of volatility. In Iran, hard-liners feed on continuous enmity, and nothing scares them more than détente that could threaten their dominance. Vision 2030 in Saudi Arabia depends on steady oil revenues and unpredictable investment inflows. And then there is the relentlessness of the energy transition. Each climate pledge, whether in Brussels or Beijing, erodes the long-term leverage held by oil states. Imagine a Middle East where oil demand finally peaks. What then? Will regional power dissolve with reduced intake, or is there an opportunity for these states to rebrand before entropy takes over?
The genuine risk lies in the potential for this détente to turn into a tumultuous experiment. Everyone sees what they want. Beijing takes it as evidence of its growing diplomatic stature. Washington perceives the situation as a cautionary tale, yet it insists on its continued importance. Riyadh, in turn, has leverage over both superpowers. Tehran believes it has a buffer from isolation. The deal may be more about optics than outcomes, but both interpretations may be valid. The Middle East has experienced numerous failed photo ops.
Still, a psychological shift must be acknowledged. For generations, the leaders of the region acted upon it. Outside forces imposed terms, destabilised governments, and cut deals. Now they are using those superpowers against the powers themselves, arbitrating their attention, balancing the offers, and demanding that both Washington and Beijing show up at least with something to do. That is a quiet revolution in agency, one that makes the future less predictable and, for once, more authored from inside the region.
So what if this détente actually sticks? Picture a Middle East where embassies remain open, security committees continue to meet, and militias grow marginalised by the absence of patronage. Picture insurance rates dropping, refugees returning faster, and regional powers vying to host summits about trade rather than cease-fires.
Now consider the opposite: What if a single misfired missile or a domestic crisis causes everything to collapse? What happens if oil prices tumble and all those ambitious Gulf states suddenly drop out, shelving their grand visions and leaving the reconstruction projects half-finished? Both futures are plausible. The line between them is finer than any communique can promise, like the razor’s edge between calm and chaos in a system that perpetually flirts with disequilibrium.
The fascination and disconcerting nature of this moment stem from the uncertainty surrounding China’s long-term strategy. It enjoys the optics of being the peacemaker but refuses to do the hard labour of conflict resolution. It has not created a security umbrella the way America has. It has made no promises to bear the burden of reconstruction after the war. It offers investment, not deterrence. To influence without responsibility is an enviable posture, but it is also a fragile one. When the next real crisis arrives, will Beijing be prepared to bleed? Or will it conceal itself behind talking points and allow others to manage the fallout?
Washington is not exiting, but it is being forced to share. This presents a formidable challenge for a superpower. America needs to remember that the first violin in the orchestra is better than missing from the concert. It will stay relevant if it can do this. If it insists on longing for the lost conductor’s baton, it will keep misinterpreting the music.
The most plausible conclusion is that this détente is neither a panacea nor a pantomime. It is a platform. Whether the continent’s leaders use it for quiet repair or loud spectacle will be up to them. Those dividends, if they opt for repair, may be smallish but substantial: fewer missiles streaming out of their backdoors, sea waters that could once again carry ships in peacetime formations without anyone worrying that a war might break out during the night watches (and some nights when the headlines are boring). And boring is perhaps precisely what the world would like to see from the Middle East right now.
So, do not over-romanticise that picture in Beijing, but do not underestimate it either. Judge its success not by who gets the credit, but by counting how many funerals are averted. Every capital, both East and West, should demonstrate modesty by prioritising dialogue over drama.
And if the Middle East can be tedious, mundane, and predictable, join in on the celebration. In this context, boredom would represent the most radical effect of all, being the closest approach to equilibrium that this complex system will ever experience.