Paris (Imran Y. CHOUDHRY) :- Former Press Secretary to the President, Former Press Minister to the Embassy of Pakistan to France, Former MD, SRBC Mr. Qamar Bashir analysis : The confrontation that reshaped the intelligence and military balance in the Middle East unfolded between June 3 and June 15, 2025, when Israel and the United States launched a coordinated campaign against Iran that combined external strikes with what Tehran later described as a deeply embedded internal operation. It was not merely a clash of aircraft, missiles, and naval deployments. Iranian officials and regional analysts argued that it was a war prepared from within, built on years of covert penetration by Mossad, Israel’s world-renowned intelligence service. According to these accounts, networks of cultivated insiders had facilitated the smuggling of drones, communications equipment, and light weapons into Iranian territory.
The aftermath, now firmly in the past, triggered what Tehran called the largest counter-intelligence operation in its modern history, marked by mass arrests, the exposure of alleged cells, the seizure of weapons depots, and the dismantling of clandestine communication networks. By mid-June, the guns fell silent, but the intelligence war had merely shifted into a deeper and more complex phase.
That next phase began after the Davos meetings concluded on January 23, when President Donald Trump ordered the movement of a U.S. armada and flotilla of warships toward the Persian Gulf, positioning them to encircle Iran. The global media and defense circles immediately framed the deployment as the prelude to an imminent strike. Aircraft carriers, submarines, and long-range bombers dominated headlines. Markets trembled. Regional capitals braced. Yet, at the moment when an attack was most widely anticipated, it did not come.
Instead, Washington paused. According to defense analysts, this postponement was not hesitation, but calculation. The delay itself became a strategic instrument designed to induce nervousness and anxiety within Iran’s defense and political leadership, compelling them to move, displace, and conceal what they valued most—missile units, nuclear materials, command centers, and senior civilian, religious, and military figures.
As these movements unfolded, analysts argued, they created precisely what intelligence services seek: patterns. Satellites tracked convoys. Signals intelligence monitored encrypted communications. Human networks reported shifts in routines and locations.
In this reading, the attack was deliberately deferred so that Iran’s own efforts to protect its assets would expose them. Each relocation became a data point. Each new “safe place” became a coordinate. When the moment came, these analysts claimed, targets would already be locked—ready for B-2 bombers, F-35 squadrons, or Tomahawk missiles launched from submarines hundreds of miles away.
Tehran, however, rejected the notion that it was merely a subject of this strategic chess game. Iranian officials emphasized that, in the wake of June and throughout the tense weeks that followed the January naval deployment, the country had dramatically expanded its counter-intelligence posture. With technical and advisory support from Russia and China, Iran claimed to have shifted its focus beyond human networks to the digital and satellite-based systems allegedly used to coordinate covert activity and unrest inside the country.
One of the most striking claims to emerge from this period involved the discovery of large numbers of Starlinked satellite based communication devices, often described in regional reporting as “starlink kits.” These systems were designed to bypass Iran’s domestic telecommunications infrastructure and link operatives directly to external command centers. Through these channels, real-time instructions could be transmitted—where to assemble, which facilities to target, how to provoke security forces, and how to frame events for international audiences once clashes occurred.
The method, as it was later described, followed a tightly engineered pattern. Small groups would initiate acts of vandalism or violence in public spaces. When security forces intervened, they would be fired at by sophisticated automatic weapons to trigger confrontations. Images and reports of these clashes would then be rapidly amplified across global media platforms as evidence of state repression. The objective was not simply to destabilize Iran internally, but to construct a moral and political narrative that could justify renewed external pressure or even direct military action.
Iranian authorities claimed that, working with Russian and Chinese technical expertise, they eventually traced the signal pathways behind these systems. Uplinks and downlinks were identified. Devices were seized. The digital bridge between alleged external coordinators and internal operatives was disrupted. As a result, Tehran argued, the momentum of street-level unrest declined, and the information battlefield tilted back in favor of the state.
Overlaying these tactical maneuvers was a deeper ideological framing articulated by Iran’s leadership. In speeches delivered by the country’s supreme authority portrayed the confrontation not merely as a geopolitical struggle, but as a test of spiritual endurance. When the world turns against the Muslim community, he told followers, divine support alone is sufficient. This religious narrative provided a form of resilience that could not be neutralized by satellites, sanctions, or surveillance.
At the strategic level, another current shaped Western and regional calculations: Iran’s steadily advancing missile and nuclear capabilities, whether acknowledged, denied, or deliberately left ambiguous. The June 2025 exchange also exposed the limits of Israel’s and America’s ability to achieve decisive results without risking serious retaliation.
Iran was not an isolated state on the periphery of global politics. It stood at the intersection of major power interests. Russia and China openly opposed a war that could redraw the strategic map of the region. Turkey publicly accused Israel of pushing the United States toward a conflict that would destabilize the entire Middle East. Within NATO, enthusiasm for opening another major front appeared limited.
Meanwhile, Washington faced pressures far beyond the Persian Gulf. From the Caribbean to South America, shifting alliances and growing resistance to U.S. influence demanded diplomatic and strategic attention. The prospect of managing simultaneous crises across multiple theaters introduced caution into decision-making circles, as military assets and political capital were stretched across competing priorities.
Hovering over all these calculations was the narrow corridor of the Strait of Hormuz. Any disruption there would send shockwaves through global energy markets and supply chains, with consequences reaching far beyond the region.
Iran’s post-June and post-January campaign to loosen Mossad’s alleged grip—through mass arrests, technological countermeasures, and strategic partnerships—which signaled Iran’s determination to contest every layer of the intelligence battlefield, from the streets of its cities to the orbits above its skies.
The United Nations, often dismissed as powerless, remained, in principle, the only forum capable of conferring collective legitimacy on any lasting settlement. Its strength lay not in its bureaucracy, but in the willingness of member states to honor its resolutions and arbitration. If that willingness continued to erode, the world risked sliding from a rules-based order into a raw contest of power.
For now, June’s firestorm belonged to history, and January’s naval chessboard defined the present. Beneath the visible movements of fleets and leaders, the silent war of spies, signals, and counter-signals continued to shape the future—reminding the world that in the modern age, the most decisive battles are often fought far from the front lines, in the hidden spaces between information, perception, and power.

Russia’s President Vladimir Putin has said there will be no more wars after Ukraine if Russia is treated with respect – and claims that Moscow is planning to attack European countries are “nonsense”.

In a marathon televised event lasting almost four and a half hours, he was asked by the BBC’s Steve Rosenberg whether there would be new “special military operations” – Putin’s term for the full-scale war.

“There won’t be any operations if you treat us with respect, if you respect our interests just as we’ve always tried to respect yours,” he asserted.

His remarks were in line with a recent comment in which he said Russia was not planning to go to war, but was ready “right now” if Europe wanted to.

He also added the condition,”if you don’t cheat us like you cheated us with Nato’s eastward expansion”.

He has long accused Nato of going back on an alleged 1990 Western promise to then Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev before the fall of the Soviet Union. Gorbachev later denied the remark had been made.

The “Direct Line” marathon combined questions from the public at large and journalists from across Russia in a Moscow hall, with Putin sitting beneath an enormous map of Russia that encompassed occupied areas of Ukraine, including Crimea.

Russian state TV claimed more than three million questions had been submitted.

Although it was largely choreographed, some critical comments from the public appeared on a big screen, including one that referred to the event as a “circus”, another bemoaning internet outages and one that highlighted poor-quality tap water. Mobile internet outages have been blamed by authorities on Ukrainian drone attacks.

Putin also addressed Russia’s faltering economy, with prices rising, growth on the slide and VAT going up from 20 to 22% on 1 January. One message to the president read: “Stop the crazy rise in prices on everything!”

The Kremlin regularly uses the end-of-year event to highlight the resilience of the economy and, as Putin spoke, Russia’s central bank announced it was lowering interest rates to 16%.

Foreign policy issues were mixed with musings about the motherland, praise for local businesses, fish prices and the importance of looking after veterans.

But the issue of almost four years of full-scale war in Ukraine was never far away and it was often in the background of many of the questions.

Putin again claimed to be “ready and willing” to end the war in Ukraine “peacefully” but offered little sign of compromise.

He repeated his insistence on principles he had outlined in a June 2024 speech, when he demanded that Ukrainian forces leave four regions Russia partially occupies and that Kyiv gives up its efforts to join Nato.

Chief among Russia’s demands is full control of Ukraine’s eastern Donbas, including about 23% of Donetsk region which Russia has not been able to occupy.

Paris (Imran Y. CHOUDHRY) :- Former Press Secretary to the President, Former Press Minister to the Embassy of Pakistan to France, Former MD, SRBC Mr. Qamar Bashir analysis : The search for peace between Russia and Ukraine has entered a new and complicated phase, shaped not only by events on the battlefield but by the conflicting ambitions of global powers, domestic pressures on leaders, and the shifting calculus of international diplomacy. For nearly three years, the world has watched the war drag on with unrelenting devastation, and yet none of the principal actors—Russia, Ukraine, the United States, or Europe—have fully embraced a compromise that could end the conflict. Today, diplomacy is active but still gridlocked. Negotiators produce frameworks, counter-frameworks, and amendments, but the distance between what Moscow demands and what Kyiv can accept remains wide enough to keep real peace out of reach. A full 360° examination reveals that every stakeholder wants peace on their own terms, and those terms often collide instead of converging.
The latest chapter in this ongoing diplomatic effort began when the United States unveiled a detailed 28-point peace proposal designed to force movement where the front lines had stalled. The Trump administration hoped that a comprehensive framework could bring Kyiv and Moscow toward a ceasefire, territorial compromise, and eventual normalization of relations. But the plan ignited controversy immediately. Many in Europe and Ukraine interpreted it as leaning heavily toward Moscow’s demands—especially on territory, NATO membership, and the size of Ukraine’s armed forces. Trump publicly expressed frustration that he could not “end the war in 24 hours” as he had long promised on the campaign trail, discovering instead that the political, military, and emotional realities of the conflict were far more complex than campaign rhetoric allowed.
Ukraine’s response was swift and firm. President Volodymyr Zelensky called the idea of trading territory for peace “absolutely unacceptable,” repeating his longstanding position that Ukraine cannot cede land to legitimize Russia’s aggression. Kyiv also rejected any limits on the size or structure of its army, arguing that a nation under invasion must reserve the right to defend itself without external constraints. Recent speeches in European parliaments—particularly Zelensky’s appearance in Stockholm—reinforced Ukraine’s demand that Russia pay for the war through reparations and frozen assets. In Kyiv’s view, peace without justice would simply embolden future aggression, turning Ukraine into a precedent rather than a victor.
Yet Ukraine also faces military fatigue, economic strain, and internal pressure to find a path toward stability. That is why Zelensky agreed to meet U.S. diplomats in Geneva, where a “refined peace framework” was announced. The revised American position, though not publicly detailed, signaled a shift toward accommodating Ukraine’s red lines on sovereignty and security guarantees. It was a diplomatic maneuver designed to reassure Kyiv while keeping Moscow tentatively engaged. However, without public details, the framework remains more of a political gesture than a concrete roadmap, and Russia has not formally endorsed it.
On the Russian side, President Vladimir Putin has alternated between signaling openness to negotiations and insisting that Russia’s territorial gains remain non-negotiable. Moscow said the original U.S. proposal could serve as a “basis for further discussion,” primarily because it reflected several longstanding Russian demands: a guarantee that Ukraine would never join NATO, international acceptance of the annexed regions, and a demilitarized Ukraine incapable of threatening Russian territory. For the Kremlin, any settlement must also include the phased lifting of Western sanctions—preferably early in the process rather than at the end. Putin has emphasized that Russia will not halt operations unless the political settlement secures these goals, and he has warned that if Ukraine rejects the deal outright, Russian forces will “resolve it on the ground.”
The United States now finds itself occupying an awkward middle ground. It remains Ukraine’s principal military backer, but it is also attempting to shape a diplomatic settlement that could end a war with global economic and strategic consequences. The political pressure on Washington is tangible. Inside the U.S., critics argue that the administration’s proposal either forces Ukraine toward capitulation or, conversely, does too little to compel Moscow. Trump’s impatience—calling for a deal “before Thanksgiving”—clashes with the slow pace of diplomatic reality. U.S. envoys have tried to smooth the fissures by insisting that Washington will not impose peace on Ukraine, while simultaneously pushing for a framework that would satisfy Moscow enough to freeze the conflict.
Europe’s role has become increasingly assertive. After two years of relying heavily on U.S. leadership, European governments now insist that peace cannot be brokered through a bilateral U.S.–Russia channel. Officials in Berlin, Warsaw, Paris, and London have emphasized that European security architecture is directly affected by whatever settlement emerges. They warn that any agreement that rewards Russia could destabilize Europe for decades. Many European capitals are quietly drafting an alternative peace package emphasizing tougher security guarantees for Ukraine, long-term military support, and maintaining frozen Russian assets until reparations are addressed. European leaders publicly describe recent diplomatic movement as “promising,” but privately they express concern that Washington’s desire for a quick deal could undermine Ukraine’s sovereignty and Europe’s stability.
China, though not directly involved in the latest negotiations, continues to promote its earlier 12-point peace blueprint calling for a ceasefire, negotiation, and respect for sovereignty—while opposing unilateral sanctions. But Beijing avoids demanding Russian withdrawal and instead emphasizes “legitimate security concerns of all parties,” a phrase widely interpreted as support for Moscow’s objections to NATO expansion. China’s stance gives Russia diplomatic cover and economic stability but also enables Beijing to present itself as a global peacemaker without assuming real responsibility for the outcome.
India maintains a carefully balanced position, calling repeatedly for dialogue and diplomacy while avoiding any criticism of Moscow. New Delhi has become one of the largest buyers of discounted Russian oil, even as it increases exports of refined fuels—ironically, some of which end up in European markets. India portrays itself as a potential bridge between East and West, but it has not presented a concrete peace proposal. Instead, it limits its role to public messaging and quiet diplomacy.
With so many competing perspectives, what is the actual trajectory of peace? Diplomatically, activity has increased; substantively, the gap remains as wide as ever. The United States wants a deal but cannot impose one. Ukraine wants peace without sacrifice. Russia wants concessions Kyiv cannot accept. Europe wants a settlement that does not reward aggression. China wants stability without compromising its relationship with Moscow. India wants neutrality without irrelevance.
Most experts predict that a final peace deal remains distant. The war has not reached a point where either side believes the battlefield has exhausted its political value. Absent a dramatic military shift or a major political transition in Moscow, Kyiv, or Washington, the most plausible near-term outcome is not full peace but a limited arrangement—perhaps a sectoral ceasefire around the Black Sea or a monitored freeze along a defined front line. Even such limited steps, however, require trust, guarantees, and enforcement mechanisms that the parties have not yet agreed upon.
A comprehensive settlement that resolves territorial disputes, security guarantees, sanctions, and reparations may ultimately require a new geopolitical moment—one in which either Russia recognizes the cost of perpetual war or Ukraine recalibrates its conditions for peace under global pressure. Until then, the negotiations will continue, the frameworks will multiply, and diplomats will fly from Riyadh to Geneva to Ankara hoping that one day the war will finally bend toward resolution. But for now, the Russia–Ukraine peace plan remains an aspiration more than a destination, suspended between what the world hopes for and what the parties can actually accept.