Israel’s air campaign against Iran did more than degrade Tehran’s nuclear and ballistic missile capabilities—it forced every regional actor to show its proverbial hand. Israel went all-in with an overwhelming airpower campaign, Gulf capitals folded into wary neutrality, and Washington showed that it still owns the table. Beijing, by contrast, merely dealt out press releases, its Middle East playbook reduced to rhetorical flourishes without ante.
With the dust now settled, the lesson most relevant to Beijing lies far from the Gulf. The short clash confirmed what Chinese strategists have long preached: In great-power contests, hard power decides outcomes.
Yet the United States’ sudden intervention in the Iran-Israel conflict could complicate China’s Taiwan calculus. In a cross‑strait crisis, a wild-card U.S. president such as Donald Trump might act sooner and hit harder than Chinese planners previously assumed. Even a restraint-inclined president could reverse course and retaliate on Taiwan’s behalf, especially if the island withstood China’s opening salvo and U.S. public opinion rallied behind Taipei. In short, unless China can seize the island in one unmistakable gambit, the United States may still roll the dice.
That should give Chinese President Xi Jinping pause—but it likely won’t. From Russia’s stalled blitz in Ukraine to Iran’s shattered air defenses, overconfidence keeps luring revisionist powers into placing bad bets, and Beijing risks the same fate if it starts believing its own military hype.
For Gulf leaders, the 12-day war reaffirmed that the United States remains the sole external actor capable of reshaping reality on the ground. Their courtship of Beijing stemmed, in part, from a perception of a disinterested Washington looking to minimize its ties to the region. Capitalizing on that sentiment, China shepherded a 2023 Saudi‑Iranian detente that reopened embassies in both capitals and quieted proxy attacks on Gulf oil infrastructure. Beijing touted this accomplishment as proof of its prowess as an impartial arbiter and an early trophy for China’s Global Security Initiative, a sovereignty‑first security framework that sidesteps Western lectures on rights and reform. More than anything, having first led with commerce and then diplomacy, the deal symbolized Beijing’s opening bid to be viewed as a regional security player.
Recent events have exposed just how thin that promise runs. Yes, China’s rhetorical broadsides against Israel since Hamas’s Oct. 7, 2023, attack have resonated on Arab streets. But Beijing’s bigger bets have rarely exceeded the performative. Hosting rival Palestinian parties has not produced Palestinian unity, and Beijing’s parade of ostensible peace initiatives has yielded no settlement. Meanwhile, when Iran‑aligned Houthi rebels began choking Red Sea shipping in late 2023, regional capitals waited for China to lean on Tehran; instead, Beijing quietly arranged safe passage for its own vessels while leaving everyone else to reroute around Africa at their own expense. Making matters worse, its regional naval detachment at times waved off distress calls from non‑Chinese vessels facing Houthi fire—underscoring that Beijing sails for itself, not for the safety of the commons.
The Houthi episode laid bare Beijing’s longer‑running bet on Tehran. For years, Beijing has bought roughly 90 percent of Iran’s crude oil—moved through ship‑to‑ship transfers and small Chinese “teapot” refineries to dodge sanctions—often at steep discounts. In return, China provided diplomatic cover for Iran in international forums and, as recent U.S. sanctions attest, supplied propellant for Iranian ballistic missiles and components for its drone production. This arrangement benefited both sides, albeit unevenly. Beijing banked cut-rate crude and cultivated a convenient anti-U.S. spoiler, while Tehran received just enough support to keep the lights on. Israel’s strike shattered that grand bargain, turning China’s checkbook diplomacy into spectator silence and exposing the fragility of a partnership built on discounts and deniability.
Herein, of course, lies the rub with Beijing’s much-touted Middle East network and the wider China-Russia-Iran alignment: Both rest on partnerships of convenience united by shared grievance—but all too often divided by capability and caution.
As Israeli warheads slammed into Iranian sites, Chinese statements scolded Israel and urged Washington to rein in its ally, but Beijing still withheld drones, credit, and replacement missile parts for its “comprehensive strategic” partner. The net effect has been to reinforce a perception that China often pontificates more than it meaningfully participates. The war likewise revealed that the revisionist Beijing-led bloc remains short on interoperability, logistics, and, most of all, political trust. For the Gulf and, crucially, Taipei, the lesson is stark: Once missiles fly, lofty assurances between China and its axis partners evaporate, while the United States still has the potential to show up.
Importantly, the axis’s limp showing during the war was far more than a political embarrassment for Beijing. It is a warning that any hostile move against Taiwan—especially with Trump in the Oval Office—could trigger an unpredictable U.S. response. Although Trump brands himself a peacemaker, the Iran episode proved that he is not averse to ordering force when U.S. prestige and a partner’s fortunes are on the line. Once convinced, he mobilized top‑tier U.S. assets in days. The lesson for Beijing should be sobering: Even if Washington hesitates at first during a contingency, a well‑timed appeal from Congress, the Defense Department, or public opinion could still pull a reluctant president into the fight.
At the same time, Beijing can draw comfort from the war’s harder lesson: Firepower and preparation still win wars. F‑35s that slipped past Iranian radar, U.S.-trained partner pilots with plenty of combat experience, and a reserve force drilled to refuel jets in minutes decided the fight. For Beijing, that outcome reinforces two imperatives. First, experience matters. Since 2022, the People’s Liberation Army has ring‑fenced Taiwan with live‑fire blockades and staged strikes on mock‑ups of Taiwan’s presidential office building, honing its tactics with each dress rehearsal. Second, kit kills. China’s J‑20s, DF‑17 hypersonic gliders, and sophisticated drone swarms may not match the battle‑proven capabilities of the U.S.-Israeli mix, but they most certainly outclass Taipei’s aging F‑16s and Mirage squadrons. In Beijing’s ledger, every exercise tightens the vise, and every new platform deepens the quality gulf—evidence that, in a straight exchange of metal and muscle, the balance is tilting its way.
The bottom line for Beijing, then, is that it must now choose between absorbing Iran’s cautionary tale of the limits of axis support in a potential conflict and doubling down on speed, betting that mass and surprise will still outrun resilience and potential U.S. reinforcement.
Troublingly, while the latest Gulf episode should leave China chastened, hubris has a habit of muffling unwelcome signals, and recent front‑line fights show that revisionist powers talk themselves into wars they cannot finish. Beijing may insist that its military purges, anti-corruption campaigns, and logistics gaps are temporary ailments, not the rot revealed in Russia and Iran. But the pattern is unmistakable: Overconfidence often breeds miscalculation. The coming danger, then, is that Taiwan becomes the next table where an authoritarian gambler certain of the odds goes all‑in—only to discover, too late, that it may have misread the spread.