There is a peculiar hubris that accompanies the belief that you can redraw a map with bombs and declarations. The latest analysis from Jeremy Bowen, the BBC’s seasoned Middle East editor, is not just a warning. It is an epitaph for any notion of stability in the region. Bowen argues that Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu are pursuing a strategy that risks creating a ‘permacrisis’: a permanent state of conflict that will reshape not just borders, but the very fabric of daily life for millions.
Let us step back from the geopolitical chessboard and look at the human cost. In the streets of Gaza, the West Bank, and now potentially beyond, the word ‘permacrisis’ translates into families who have lost their homes, children who have known nothing but war, and a generation for whom trauma is the baseline. Bowen’s analysis suggests that the current push is not about ending wars, but about entrenching a new reality where conflict is the norm. This is not a policy shift. It is a cultural shift.
Consider the social psychology at play. When leaders promise to ‘reshape’ a region, they are often appealing to a domestic audience hungry for strength and decisiveness. Yet on the ground, the rhetoric of victory clashes with the daily grind of checkpoints, air strikes, and curfews. The gap between the political narrative and the lived experience is where the crisis deepens. People in Israel and the occupied territories are increasingly describing a sense of exhaustion. Not just physical, but moral exhaustion. The kind that comes from watching your leaders commit to a path that seems to have no exit.
Class dynamics also play a role here, often overlooked. The most fervent supporters of this reshaping are rarely those who will bear its immediate consequences. In Israel, the settlers in the West Bank and the communities near Gaza face direct risk. But the political class in Tel Aviv and Washington? They will watch from a safe distance. The same goes for the Palestinians: the wealthy families in Ramallah are insulated from the worst of the violence, while the refugee camps in Jenin or Gaza City absorb the shock. Crisis has a way of deepening old divides.
Bowen’s term ‘permacrisis’ is apt because it captures the sense of a never-ending emergency. Yet it is also a cop-out for politicians who might otherwise be held accountable for failing to deliver peace. When crisis is permanent, you can always ask for more time, more power, more sacrifice. The real question is not whether Trump and Netanyahu can reshape the Middle East, but whether the people of the region can withstand the reshaping. The early signs are not promising. Mental health cases are soaring. Migration is increasing. Hope is in short supply.
As a society columnist turned culture editor, I have seen this pattern before. The same rhetoric of ‘total victory’ and ‘lasting change’ has been used in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Syria. Each time, the human cost was deferred, only to arrive with interest. The permacrisis is not a bug in the system. It is a feature of a world where short-term political gains trump long-term stability. The Middle East is being pushed into a future of endless war. The only real question is how many lives it will consume before someone says enough.
