Today's image of the United States in South Africa, Israel and South Korea is being shaped not by abstract reflections on “America in general,” but by a very concrete crisis — the US and Israel’s war with Iran and the related Strait of Hormuz. Since 28 February 2026, the United States and Israel have been conducting a large-scale military campaign against Iran, carrying out joint airstrikes on military and nuclear sites, which, according to open sources, led to the death of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei and pulled the region into a new cycle of war. (ru.wikipedia.org) The conflict quickly exceeded the bounds of “another strike” in the Middle East: it spread to Lebanon, the Gulf, global maritime transport and financial markets. Through this prism, people in the three countries are rethinking Washington’s role — some see it as a protector and guarantor of security, others as an irresponsible hegemon whose domestic political impulses are reshaping the world map.
The first and obvious common focus is the US and Israel’s war with Iran itself, which in local debates is rarely seen as a “local Middle Eastern episode.” In Israeli English- and Hebrew-language discussions, the war is presented primarily as the culmination of years of proxy confrontation with Tehran and as a pivotal moment in relations with Washington: how reliable is the American umbrella, and where is the line between allied support and American dictate. Russian-language reviews of Israeli politics, recounting local polls and commentary, note that part of the public blames Benjamin Netanyahu for being “squeezed” by the White House and forced to agree to a ceasefire under pressure from US President Donald Trump, and that this pressure is perceived both as a rescue and as humiliating. Analyst Dalia Sheindlin, cited in the Israeli press, said that the sense of a truce imposed by Washington had become a political vulnerability for Netanyahu: Israelis have long seen the US not only as an ally but also as a sort of “limiting force” that, in critical moments, pauses escalation. (anna-news.info)
In South Korea the same war with Iran almost automatically translates into the language of economic risks and strategic vulnerability. Major business outlets in Seoul link the trajectory of the KOSPI index not only to the US Federal Reserve meeting but also to any signals from Washington about the duration and scope of the campaign against Iran. A ChosunBiz piece on the upcoming FOMC meeting explicitly states that the rise in Korean stocks “reflected expectations of the end of the US war with Iran,” but the emergence of signals about a possible resumption of geopolitical tension again introduced nervousness. Daishin Securities analyst Lee Kyung-min emphasizes that the market is sensitive to “expectations of negotiations and the end of the war,” rather than to the military reports themselves. (biz.chosun.com) For Seoul, whose economy depends on stable sea lanes and the American economic cycle, Washington is simultaneously the main risk factor and the main anchor: White House decisions affect not only oil prices and borrowing costs but also whether the Korean navy might have to physically enter the Strait of Hormuz under the American flag.
From this grows the second shared storyline — the crisis in the Strait of Hormuz as a symbol of a new style of American power. In the South Korean and Central Asian press, Hormuz appears primarily as an energy artery that the US has effectively “choked off” by its actions. In a CentralAsia overview recounting the regional reaction to US and Israeli strikes on Iran’s Kharg Island, it is also reported that South Korea, due to the conflict in the Middle East, wants to increase oil purchases from Kazakhstan. (centralasia.media) For Seoul this is a pragmatic calculation: if American operations and Iranian retaliatory measures make Hormuz unpredictable, supply diversification is needed, and in this scenario Washington looks less like a “defender of freedom of navigation” and more like an actor whose strikes provoked a chain reaction. Korean experts, discussing the crisis, bring up a question familiar to local audiences: if the US can so radically change the rules of the game in the Persian Gulf, what prevents it from suddenly changing its approach to Northeast Asia — for example, demanding greater support from Seoul in a possible escalation around Taiwan or in new sanctions against China?
In Israel the Hormuz crisis is read differently. For Israeli commentators, judging by summaries in Russian and English, it is a logical continuation of long-standing attempts to “cut off” Iran from military-economic capabilities — to deprive it of oil revenues, restrict access to sea lanes, and force Tehran to make concessions on nuclear and missile issues. A Wikipedia summary of the conflict, based on Israeli and international sources, records that during Operation “Epic Fury” US and Israeli strikes on Iran and subsequent Iranian attacks on US bases in Bahrain, Qatar and other countries laid the foundation for a protracted crisis in the Strait of Hormuz, where Iran began to differentiate shipping: some countries received a “safer passage” if they distanced themselves from Washington and Jerusalem, while others faced increased risks. (ru.wikipedia.org) In this Israeli narrative the US appears not as the author of a chaotic crisis but as a necessary partner without whom Iran’s strategy cannot be “broken”; simultaneously, there is anxiety in parts of public debate: if the United States at some point decides to “shift attention” or strike a larger deal with Tehran to de-escalate in Hormuz, will Israel be the one to pay the price?
For South Africa the same conflict and the same Washington are embedded in a completely different context — a long history of the national healthcare system’s dependence on American funding and debates over how reliable the US is as a development partner. The South African Medical Journal recently published an editorial on the “PEPFAR crisis” — the US global AIDS assistance program. The authors recall that on 26 February 2025 the US Agency for International Development (USAID) effectively unilaterally terminated 90% of cooperative agreements with PEPFAR partners worldwide, and four days later the State Department issued a “work suspension order” affecting other foreign aid programs. (scielo.org.za) For a South African audience, where PEPFAR had for decades been associated with “the positive America” — a country that not only wages wars but also saves the lives of millions with HIV — this was a shock and a reason to reassess attitudes toward the US as a donor. Now that the same US is mounting a large military campaign in the Middle East, some South African commentators ask: why was there money and political will for an expensive war and increased military presence in the region, but no sustainable mechanism to continue a life-saving health program?
Through this lens American foreign policy looks like a shift in priorities: from a “global fight against HIV” to a “global fight against Iran.” South African public health experts put this harshly: the US, they say, demonstrates that humanitarian initiatives can be quickly wound down for domestic political reasons, while military-political projects receive long-term support even if they carry the risk of escalation and violate international law. This contrast reinforces an older theme in South African discourse about “double standards” in the West: Washington, advocating the rule of law, is willing to strike Iran bypassing the UN Security Council and to support ally Israel, yet can freeze aid to the poorest countries without consulting them.
The third cross-cutting theme is the internal political dynamics within the US itself and their impact on foreign policy, which everywhere is read through the prism of specific local fears and hopes. The South Korean business press closely watches how political violence and instability in Washington could undermine the predictability of American policy. In a ChosunBiz report on the third “shooting incident” in the US capital within a short time, the names of key administration figures — from President Trump to Vice President J.D. Vance and Pentagon chief Pete Hegseth — are listed in detail, with the conclusion that this is another “milestone of political violence in the Trump era.” (biz.chosun.com) For Korean readers this is not just an exotic story about a distant America: the stability of the administration in Washington affects concrete issues — the extension of arrangements for US force rotations on the Korean Peninsula, the volume of nuclear deterrence, and coordination of sanctions against Pyongyang. Local commentators recall the 2018–2019 experience, when the Korean agenda became hostage to US domestic political struggle, and draw parallels with how the current war with Iran could become an object of intra-party bargaining in Washington.
In Israel attention to US domestic politics is even sharper. Local analysts are used to calculating how any change in the American political landscape — from a party change in the White House to intra-party splits — will affect military aid packages and diplomatic cover. In the current war with Iran, according to regional analytical summaries, Israeli experts read every Trump statement closely: his promise to “extend the ceasefire” and openness to negotiations conditional on lifting the maritime blockade are interpreted sometimes as a sign of Washington’s desire to “step off the military carousel,” and sometimes as a tactical move. (ixyt.info) Within Israel a more cynical voice is also heard: the United States remains the main ally, but that ally is deeply divided internally, making Israel’s bet on the “sole superpower” increasingly risky.
The South African perspective is again different. For a local elite shaped by experience with sanctions against apartheid and by subsequent decades of partnership with the US and Europe, current American domestic turbulence — from radicalization of segments of the right to debates over racial justice and foreign policy — looks like a kind of “reverse transit”: a country once portrayed as a model of democratic stability has itself become an arena of conflicts reminiscent of South Africa in the 1980s–90s. In the context of the war with Iran this gives critical voices an added argument: if Washington cannot guarantee the predictability of its own policy from election to election, how rational is it to build long-term development strategies relying on American aid and military guarantees?
Finally, the fourth common motif, articulated differently in the three countries, is the question of international law and the “legitimacy of force.” In Israeli discussion there is an established thesis about the “right to self-defense” against Iran and its allies, and the US here figures as a country employing force “within a coalition” and in response to Iranian provocations, including rocket and drone attacks on American bases in the Middle East. Israeli lawyers and diplomats appearing in the media emphasize that international law does not prohibit preemptive actions against a state that systematically threatens destruction and wages a hybrid war through proxies; in this logic the United States is a partner that “complements” Israeli power with global legal and diplomatic resources.
In South Africa, by contrast, leading human rights and academic voices continue to appeal to international conventions and the experience of international tribunals, viewing the actions of the US and Israel through the lens of “unauthorized use of force” and possible war crimes. New reports from human rights organizations on the Middle East, which mention US airstrikes including on targets outside formal combat zones, are picked up by local media and fit into a broader narrative about “erosion of international norms under the influence of great powers.” (amnesty.org) For a South African audience this is not only a conversation about Washington: it projects onto their own foreign policy, including Pretoria’s active engagement with International Criminal Court initiatives and suits over genocide and war crimes.
In South Korea the question of law and force is subtler. There are fewer ideological pronouncements about “illegal US aggression” and more discussions about the cost of any military adventurism for middle powers living under an American nuclear umbrella. Korean commentators, analyzing the Hormuz crisis and the US war with Iran, often draw parallels with a hypothetical US-China confrontation over Taiwan: how long could Seoul remain on the sidelines if Washington demanded support, and what would be the price of refusal? Legal arguments about the legitimacy of particular American operations take a back seat to the pragmatic question: at what point does the alliance with the US turn from a security guarantee into a source of uncontrollable risks?
In all three countries the image of the United States today is contradictory, layered and far from the old black-and-white scheme of “empire of good/empire of evil.” In Israel the United States remains an indispensable military and diplomatic ally, but is being watched more closely as a politically unstable and vulnerable power capable of changing course at any moment. In South Korea Washington is both the main protector against North Korean and Chinese threats and the source of global shocks — from interest rates to oil prices — that directly hit Koreans’ welfare. In South Africa, where the memory of PEPFAR’s generosity is still fresh and the reality of “frozen aid” is painful, the US is increasingly seen not as a benefactor and unconditional leader of the “free world,” but as another major player whose decisions must be weighed coolly and from which one must be able to defend one’s own interests.
It is through the prism of the war with Iran, the crisis in the Strait of Hormuz, the winding down of aid programs and domestic political turbulence in the United States that a new international conversation about Washington is forming. It is much less trusting, far more pragmatic and, perhaps, more honest than the rhetoric of previous decades.
