The ongoing Iran-Israel-US conflict has revived one of the most controversial ideas in diplomatic history: the “madman theory” — the strategic use of calculated unpredictability to pressure adversaries into concessions. First associated with Richard Nixon during the Vietnam War, the doctrine is now being widely invoked by analysts to explain the conduct of Donald Trump in the present West Asian crisis. As The Guardian recently observed, Trump’s alternating posture of fury and conciliation bears unmistakable resemblance to Nixon’s attempt to convince adversaries that he was capable of going to any length to secure an outcome.

The current crisis began in late February, when joint U.S.-Israeli military strikes on Iran triggered a severe regional escalation. Tehran responded through missile strikes, proxy mobilisation, and, most consequentially, by tightening control over the Strait of Hormuz — the world’s most vital energy chokepoint. Roughly one-fifth of global oil and LNG trade moves through this narrow corridor. Reuters reports that the resulting disruption has become the worst supply shock in the history of the modern oil market, with hundreds of tankers stranded and maritime traffic dropping to well below 10 per cent of normal volumes.

It is in this context that Trump’s conduct has drawn scrutiny. Throughout the crisis, he has issued a series of maximalist threats — warning Iran of devastating strikes on infrastructure, power plants, and military assets — while simultaneously floating ceasefire offers, negotiation windows, and claims of diplomatic breakthroughs. This oscillation between coercion and conciliation has led many observers to argue that Trump is using strategic ambiguity not as a sign of chaos, but as a deliberate bargaining tool.

The logic behind such an approach is simple: if an adversary believes a leader may act irrationally or disproportionately, it may choose compromise over confrontation. Reuters, in its analysis of the crisis, notes that the essence of the madman theory lies in weaponising uncertainty to compress an adversary’s decision-making and create pressure for de-escalation.

In tactical terms, the strategy may have yielded short-term results. A two-week ceasefire was announced this week, reportedly linked to a phased reopening of the Strait of Hormuz and renewed talks between Washington and Tehran. The White House has presented the truce as proof that Trump’s hardline rhetoric forced Iran to the table. U.S. officials have argued that sustained pressure and deadlines helped create diplomatic urgency.

Yet the reality on the ground suggests that the ceasefire is more of a pause than peace.

Despite the truce, shipping through Hormuz remains near a standstill. Reuters reported on April 9 that Iran is allowing no more than 15 vessels a day through the strait — a fraction of normal traffic — while continuing to insist that ships remain under its territorial control. Major shipping firms such as Maersk and Mitsui O.S.K. have refused to resume normal operations, citing the absence of “full maritime certainty.” Insurance costs remain elevated, and energy markets remain nervous.

The Washington Post has also highlighted the contradictions surrounding the ceasefire. Washington insists the truce includes guarantees on shipping access and de-escalation, while Tehran maintains that it has not surrendered any sovereign rights, particularly over uranium enrichment and maritime security. Iranian officials have accused Washington of misrepresenting the deal, while Trump’s own public statements have sometimes appeared at odds with U.S. negotiators’ positions.

This confusion underscores the central limitation of madman diplomacy in the contemporary era: unpredictability may create leverage, but it can also erode credibility.

During the Cold War, Nixon’s strategy operated in a relatively structured bipolar system. There were clear channels of communication, known red lines, and a narrower set of actors. Even then, the results were mixed. While Nixon’s posture may have pressured adversaries, it did not decisively alter the strategic end-state in Vietnam. In the present West Asian theatre, the challenges are far greater.

Today’s conflict environment is crowded with multiple state and non-state actors, fragile alliances, globalised supply chains, instantaneous information flows, and high domestic political scrutiny. In such a setting, strategic ambiguity can easily morph into dangerous ambiguity. A threat intended as bargaining pressure can be misread as an intent to escalate. A temporary pause can be mistaken for settlement. A rhetorical flourish can unsettle allies as much as adversaries.

For Iran, Trump’s rhetoric has likely reinforced long-standing suspicions that Washington cannot be trusted as a stable negotiating partner. Hardliners in Tehran may well see this crisis as proof that only resistance preserves strategic space. For U.S. allies in the Gulf, the war has exposed the risks of overdependence on an American security umbrella increasingly shaped by personality-driven decision-making.

For Israel, the conflict has once again demonstrated that military superiority can create operational advantage, but not necessarily political resolution. For Gulf states and Asian economies dependent on Hormuz, the lesson is starker: regional instability in West Asia is now inseparable from global economic vulnerability.

The broader foreign policy lesson from this crisis is that coercive diplomacy can force pauses, but it rarely delivers a durable peace unless backed by institutional follow-through. Ceasefires secured under duress can buy time, but they cannot substitute for structured agreements on nuclear safeguards, maritime rules, regional proxy conflicts, and mutual verification.

Trump’s use of the madman theory may have created a tactical off-ramp in the immediate crisis. But diplomacy rooted in fear is inherently unstable. It depends on sustaining uncertainty without crossing into catastrophe — a balance that is difficult to maintain, and even harder to institutionalise.

In West Asia, where history is layered with mistrust, humiliation, and unfinished wars, theatrics may command headlines. But only consistent statecraft can secure peace. The real test of Trump’s strategy is not whether it produced a temporary ceasefire. It is whether brinkmanship can be converted into a credible political settlement. As of now, the answer remains deeply uncertain.

This article was first published in Organiser