In mid‑February 2026 the United States once again found itself at the center of global attention — but not as a confident “world sheriff,” rather as a source of tension, hope and growing skepticism at the same time. In Australia, Germany and Israel people are essentially discussing the same issues: a renewed U.S.–Iran confrontation and the possibility of a strike on Tehran, Washington’s role in the security architecture of the Middle East and Europe, and how America is reshaping its military for the age of artificial intelligence. Against this backdrop a louder question emerges: can the world still rely on American leadership — and should it?
The central axis of almost all current debates is the escalation of the U.S.–Iran crisis. In Israel the tone is set not by abstract analysts but by people directly involved in a potential conflict. Israeli media extensively quote Republican Senator Lindsey Graham, who during a visit to Jerusalem effectively confirmed that Washington and Tel Aviv are working through a joint strike on the Iranian regime. Graham explained that U.S. ships in the region are there “not because of the weather,” implying that the current force buildup in the Persian Gulf is part of a coordinated plan, not just a show of the flag, as the portal Walla! writes in a piece about his statements. In Israeli discourse the topic is presented not as one among many but as a question of survival: they discuss options for a combined attack by the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps on multiple fronts and how far Washington is willing to go for “regime change” in Tehran. News roundups such as the “election diary” in The Times of Israel stress that Donald Trump, weighing “limited strikes,” is looking for a way to force Iran to sign a deal without provoking a full‑scale response.
In Germany the same events are viewed through a completely different prism — as a dangerous game with fire that could get out of control. The German press panorama Deutschlandfunk, summarizing comments from leading newspapers, describes the situation as a “poker” match between Trump and Ayatollah Khamenei, where one wrong move or a “stray shell” could lead to catastrophe. Stuttgarter Zeitung emphasizes that by assembling a large U.S. formation near Iran, Washington has not only increased pressure on Tehran but also boxed itself in — making it hard to withdraw without losing face. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung concedes that Iran is not as vulnerable as Venezuela but reminds readers that prolonged military campaigns have never been Trump’s strong suit, so his real options are limited, and that “a few commandos and cruise missiles” cannot eliminate the Iranian threat to Israel and the region. Such skepticism is strengthened by parallel Deutschlandfunk reports that only indirect U.S.–Iran talks are taking place in Geneva mediated by Oman, and that their second round again ended without a breakthrough, while the “threatening décor” — increased military presence and mutual statements — is only growing, as Deutsche Welle describes the conclusion of another Geneva round.
It is particularly telling that the German debate is not limited to the question of “war or peace.” The discussion touches a fundamental question: to what extent can Europe rely on American guarantees at all. In Deutschlandfunk’s news feed the position of influential Social Democratic politician Rolf Mützenich is voiced directly: “there has never been an absolute U.S. guarantee for the nuclear protection of European cities.” Commentators pick up these words as a symptom of a broader shift — after years of Washington wavering between “America First” and vows to defend allies, Berlin is increasingly unsure that, in a critical moment, the American nuclear umbrella will actually open. As a result, the discussion of the Iran crisis quickly spills over into a wider conversation about the need for a European nuclear foothold and alternatives to American leadership.
Against this backdrop German economic and financial outlets, including bank research notes such as those from Lombard Odier, parse not only geopolitics but market consequences. They note that tension with Iran has pushed Brent crude to a four‑month high — around $69 a barrel — but the overall backdrop remains moderately disinflationary, thanks to OPEC+ reserves and a general supply surplus. Economists cautiously reassure investors: this latest round of the U.S.–Iran crisis has not yet broken the global energy balance. However, they warn that further escalation or a strike on Iranian infrastructure could shift the market toward a sharp spike in prices — and then European households would quickly feel the cost of America’s regime‑change strategy in Tehran.
In Australia interest in the Iran direction is less emotional than in Israel and less alarmed than in Germany, but commentators there also closely watch the movements of U.S. carrier groups and the fate of the Geneva talks. For Canberra the crisis is first and foremost a test of Washington’s predictability. Former senior Pentagon official Ely Ratner, speaking at the Lowy Institute, urged Australia not to “punish America” by turning to China out of irritation at Trump’s inconsistent policies, stressing that however the Iran crisis develops, alliance projects such as AUKUS and agreements on U.S. force posture in Australia are too fragile and hard to rebuild to risk over tactical displeasure. The Australian writes about his remarks. The Iran theme in the Australian press therefore often sits alongside the question: if Washington is willing to make abrupt turns in the Middle East, could it equally suddenly change course in the Indo‑Pacific?
Another major cluster of discussion concerns how the U.S. is rethinking its military power in the era of artificial intelligence — and how this is perceived abroad. In Israel, where military technologies and the topic of AI traditionally receive intense public attention, an analysis of a Pentagon strategic document on preparing for war in the AI era caused a big stir. In a piece by futurist Roy Tzazana for the publication הידען – Hayadan, the new manifesto of the “U.S. secretary of war” is examined in detail: it calls for putting the army into a “wartime” mode during peacetime and for unprecedentedly rapid deployment of agent‑based AI and autonomous systems into critical battlefield functions. The author admits that after reading many American military doctrines he was “shocked” by the scale of radicalism: the document, he says, essentially calls to “recreate Ender’s Game in reality,” handing key decisions to systems whose logic remains opaque to humans.
This Israeli perspective is notable for its ambivalence. On one hand, in Israel — where American technological superiority is traditionally highly valued — the new doctrine is seen as an opportunity to strengthen the strategic partnership: joint development of AI air‑defense systems, data and algorithm sharing, and integration of Israeli startups into the U.S. defense industrial base. On the other hand, serious concern is voiced: if the Pentagon actually begins shifting some decisions on the use of force to autonomous platforms, who will bear political and moral responsibility for an AI error, especially in the densely populated areas of the Middle East? Tzazana warns directly that such automation can radically lower the “cost” of intervention for Washington and therefore make the use of force more frequent and less restrained than in the classical era.
In Germany similar questions are discussed more abstractly but no less acutely — as part of a broad European debate about the “securitization” of artificial intelligence. Academic works such as the arXiv study by Ruiyi Guo and Bodong Zhang on how the U.S., EU and China differently construct the object of AI regulation are actively cited in German media and expert blogs. The idea that Washington perceives AI primarily as an “optimizable system” subordinated to market logic and efficiency contrasts with the European view of AI as a product subject to certification and strict legal control. In this light the new American military strategy, which seeks to deploy AI as quickly as possible without lengthy legal hurdles, provokes concern among many German commentators: Europe again faces the choice of either adapting to American safety and ethics standards or building its own, which would increase the risk of a technological split with its NATO ally.
Australia’s discussion of the U.S. and AI is even more tied to national security and the economy. In analyses of AUKUS and defense procurement the recurring view is that if Washington places AI weapons in the category of “decisive technologies” and ties them ever more closely to alliance systems, Australia will be forced to speed up its own investments in military AI, otherwise its role in the partnership risks being reduced to a provider of bases and a testing ground. At the same time cybersecurity and civil‑liberties experts warn that importing the “American” style of AI militarization without built‑in European or Australian legal safeguards could undermine public trust in government, especially if algorithms for surveillance and predictive analysis are used domestically.
A third important theme shared by Australia, Germany and Israel is fatigue with the unpredictability of American leadership and attempts to adapt to it without breaking alliances. In Australia this motif is expressed most openly. Polling data published by ABC News based on the Vote Compass project already recorded a drop in trust in the U.S. as a responsible power to 36 percent after Trump’s return to the White House in 2025. A majority favored Australia being “less close” to Washington, though support for increasing military spending remained high. This ambivalent attitude — “we strengthen the military but don’t trust the ally” — has become the backdrop for current debates about a new flare‑up in trade wars and the possible repetition of tariff escalations that previously hit Australian exports during Trump’s earlier term, as business outlets like IG Australia remind readers when analyzing the risks of an “America First” protectionist agenda for the continent’s commodity‑based economy.
From here comes interest in the American practice of including food security in the national defense agenda. Influential newspaper The Australian publishes pieces drawing direct parallels: if the U.S., through joint initiatives of defense and agriculture departments, treats food as a strategic resource and an element of national security, then Australia — according to agricultural policy expert Andrew Henderson — needs to build a similar linkage between the defense ministry and the agricultural sector. He warns that dependence on global supply chains for fuel, fertilizers and agrochemicals makes the country vulnerable in the event of major conflicts or blocked sea lanes — the same Strait of Hormuz or Malacca Strait that feature in news about the U.S.–Iran confrontation. Australian analysts thereby acknowledge that the fate of a distant crisis where Washington and Tehran measure each other’s strength has a direct bearing on whether the country could feed itself in a shock without external supplies via sea routes controlled by the U.S.
In Germany this sort of “America fatigue” takes more politicized forms. At the margins of the Munich Security Conference mass demonstrations in support of freedom in Iran took place, where the son of the deposed Shah Reza Pahlavi appeared alongside the same U.S. Senator Lindsey Graham. The German press, including Tageblatt.lu and the dpa agency, notes the symbolism: hundreds of thousands march for the rights of Iranians, but Western politicians’ speeches constantly include calculations about containing Russia and questions of Europe’s energy security. Some commentators point to the “multilayered” American agenda: under slogans of democracy and human rights the U.S. simultaneously plays a complex game to preserve its influence over energy markets and forces Europe to bind its fate ever more tightly to Washington’s decisions — from sanctions regimes to LNG supply routes.
The Israeli conversation about U.S. reliability is colored by much more pragmatic tones. On one hand, no one doubts that under President Trump Washington remains Israel’s principal military, political and diplomatic ally. U.S. carriers off Iran’s coast, joint planning for a possible strike on Tehran, a new format for a “Gaza Peace Council” that Trump presented at the Davos forum and within which the general secretary of the Communist Party of Vietnam, To Lam, is expected to arrive in the U.S. in the coming days — all this is seen in Israel as evidence that the White House wants to anchor itself as the central arbiter in the Middle East. Israeli analysts note that by expanding this council from a Gaza ceasefire monitoring tool into a global platform for conflict resolution, Trump is attempting to offer an alternative to the UN and thereby tie regional states — from Arab monarchies to Vietnam, which in Israeli publications is cited as an example of a country balancing between the U.S. and China — more closely to himself.
On the other hand, Israeli commentators do not ignore the risk that such personalized diplomacy — when the fate of negotiations on Iran, Gaza or Ukraine depends on the mood of a single American leader and a small circle of trusted people like Jared Kushner or businessman Steve Witkoff, who are involved in the Geneva talks — makes the whole system more fragile. Unlike in Europe, where debates about alternatives to American leadership are primarily normative, in Israel a more down‑to‑earth question is asked: what will happen if the White House changes course in the midst of a crisis for whatever reason? Therefore even the staunchest proponents of closer ties with Washington simultaneously discuss the need to build up autonomous capabilities — from missile defense to cyber defense and AI innovations — that could compensate for any future wavering by the ally.
In all three countries there are also original, sometimes unexpected angles on America. In Australia this includes transferring the American logic of “national security through food” to a continent with abundant food but dependent on imported inputs. In Germany the U.S.–Iran crisis is used as an argument in the debate over European nuclear armament: if there is no “absolute” U.S. guarantee, should Europe build its own “nuclear shield” or instead strengthen diplomatic instruments where Washington is merely one mediator among others, not the sole guarantor. In Israel there is the paradoxical mix of enthusiasm about American technological breakthroughs in AI and extreme wariness about the idea of a real‑world “Ender’s Game,” where combat decisions are made not by a general in a bunker but by an algorithm in a data center.
If one attempts to distill this variety of reactions into a few key lines, the resulting picture is as follows. First, the current American course toward Iran is perceived as a symptom of a broader style — abrupt, personalized, reliant on military power and constantly walking the line between showing force and actual war. Second, the accelerated integration of artificial intelligence into the U.S. military elicits both admiration and fear: allies want to share the fruits of technological advantage but worry about becoming hostage to decisions made with a “efficiency first, regulation later” logic. And finally, third, the idea of the U.S. as an unconditional and predictable leader of the free world is receding. Australia, Germany and Israel — each in its own way — are learning to live in a world where America must be taken into account but where planning must also assume that its course may once again change tomorrow — be it in the Strait of Hormuz, the negotiating rooms of Geneva or the Pentagon’s server rooms where new “digital generals” of the AI era are being trained.
