Survival Gamble: Do They Think We Cannot See Through the Trick?

When political tactics become predictable, the question is no longer whether the public can recognise them. It is why those in power continue to believe that recognition will not matter.
The trigger: An old script, a dangerous moment
On the eve of Israel's general election, reports of a confrontation between Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and the country's military leadership have brought an uncomfortable question into focus: can the prospect of electoral defeat influence decisions that could plunge a nation into war?
Israeli media have reported that IDF Chief of Staff Eyal Zamir resisted a proposed military operation that could trigger a renewed confrontation with Iran, reportedly seeking further deliberation and formal authorisation. Netanyahu and Defence Minister Israel Katz have denied the reported dispute. The precise nature of the alleged instructions and the motives behind them remain contested. 
These distinctions matter. Allegations should not be mistaken for established facts, nor should the timing of an event be treated as conclusive proof of political intent. Yet the questions raised by these reports deserve serious attention, particularly when the consequences of a miscalculation could extend far beyond an election.
Washington faces its own political calendar. President Donald Trump has said that the United States will not resume attacks on Iran before the American midterm elections on 3 November. Reports have also described preparations for the possibility of renewed strikes afterwards, although contingency planning does not establish that an attack will take place. 
The convergence is striking. Military calculations, electoral pressures, economic vulnerability and the risk of regional escalation are intersecting at a moment when another round of conflict could impose substantial costs on countries far removed from the immediate battlefield.
But the deeper issue goes beyond the immediate controversy. Why do political leaders continue to rely on tactics that have become so familiar that the public can sometimes recognise the script before the performance is over? Do they believe people are incapable of seeing through it? Or do they believe that, even when people see through it, the tactic will still work?
The second possibility is more troubling.
The politics of the exposed trick
The familiar pattern is not difficult to recognise. Domestic difficulties intensify. Public dissatisfaction becomes harder to ignore. Questions arise about economic performance, corruption, employment or governance. Then an external threat moves to the centre of the conversation. The language becomes more urgent, national security takes precedence over almost everything else, and political disagreement risks being recast as a failure of patriotism.
Not every external threat is manufactured, and not every government invoking national security is acting for electoral advantage. Countries face genuine dangers, and responsible leaders cannot ignore them merely because an election is approaching. The problem begins when the existence of a threat becomes a means of avoiding scrutiny of the decisions taken in its name.
The tactic is hardly new. What has changed is the environment in which it operates. Information travels quickly, competing accounts are readily available, and yesterday's declarations can be compared with today's actions. Journalists, analysts, political opponents and ordinary citizens can examine the timing of events and question the explanations offered by those in authority.
The performance is therefore more exposed than it once was. Yet exposure does not necessarily make it ineffective.
Perhaps politicians do not believe that people are stupid. Perhaps they have learnt something more uncomfortable about political behaviour: a tactic does not have to deceive everyone to be useful. It only has to influence enough people, for long enough, to change the political conversation.
Some may accept the government's account. Others may become anxious about the threat. Some may rally around the leadership because, whatever their reservations, they consider national unity more important at that moment. Still others may recognise the political calculation but remain divided over what should be done.
Meanwhile, the original questions can recede. The controversy shifts from the government's record to the threat confronting the nation; from the failures that require explanation to the emergency that supposedly requires immediate action.
The leader does not necessarily need to win the argument. It may be enough to change the subject.
This is the attraction of the tactic. It can redirect attention without changing minds, create political room without resolving a problem, and generate a temporary appearance of unity without restoring public confidence.
But there is a cost to repeatedly treating public attention as something that can be manipulated at will. Citizens may comply without being convinced. They may support a particular decision without trusting the person making it. They may even vote for a leader while remaining sceptical of the claims used to justify that leader's actions.
Temporary acquiescence is not the same as public consent, and silence is not proof of belief.
Europe is sending its own warning
The streets of Europe offer another reason why political leaders should be cautious about assuming that public patience is unlimited.
France, in particular, has experienced an extensive wave of demonstrations that began with students protesting about underfunded schools, teacher shortages, deteriorating facilities and inequalities in education. The unrest has widened to encompass the cost of living, housing, public services and wider economic grievances. Protests have also taken place in countries including Italy, Belgium, Portugal and Greece, although their immediate causes and political circumstances differ. 
In France, demonstrations have drawn students, parents, teachers, trade unionists and other sections of the public. The government's room for manoeuvre is constrained by strained public finances, while demands for better services and relief from household costs continue. These are not merely isolated complaints about individual policies. They reflect the pressure people experience when the cost of everyday life rises while confidence in public services and future opportunities weakens. 
It would be wrong to interpret these demonstrations as a single, continent-wide revolt against war. The reported grievances are principally domestic, and the movements are not one coordinated campaign. Yet their wider significance should not be overlooked.
People already struggling with household expenses, insecure prospects, inadequate public services and doubts about their children's future have limited appetite for being asked to absorb additional costs without a convincing explanation. They may not oppose every military operation, but they have reason to question the assumption that another conflict can be undertaken without serious consequences for their lives.
This is where the domestic and international dimensions of political decision-making meet. A government considering military escalation cannot assess its options solely through the number of aircraft it can deploy, the missiles it can launch or the damage it believes it can inflict. It must also consider the resilience of its economy, the confidence of its citizens and the social costs of prolonging a confrontation.
A population can accept hardship when it believes the sacrifice is necessary, the objective is clear and the leadership is honest about the likely outcome. That acceptance should never be presumed to be unlimited.
The public may tolerate a difficult decision made in the national interest. It is far less likely to accept an indefinite succession of sacrifices when the purpose, duration and likely benefits of the policy remain unclear.
This is particularly relevant to prolonged conflicts. Each additional round of fighting brings fresh expenditure, uncertainty and the possibility of retaliation. The costs accumulate not only in government budgets but in energy bills, business confidence, employment prospects and the everyday decisions of households.
Eventually, the question changes. It is no longer simply whether the country can continue fighting. It is whether continuing to fight remains worth the price.
That question cannot be answered by invoking national resolve alone.
When fear becomes a political resource
An external threat can be politically useful because it changes the terms of debate. Decisions that might ordinarily attract detailed scrutiny are presented as urgent necessities. Demands for evidence can be dismissed as distractions. Calls for restraint may be interpreted as weakness.
In such circumstances, the language of strength acquires a particular advantage. It offers a simple answer to a complicated problem: the nation is in danger, the leader knows what must be done, and hesitation is itself a risk.
The appeal is understandable. Uncertainty is uncomfortable, particularly when the consequences of inaction may be severe. People look to governments for protection, and a leader who communicates resolve can offer reassurance.
But resolve and recklessness are not opposites merely because political rhetoric presents them that way. Nor does questioning a proposed military operation mean denying the existence of a threat.
The proper questions remain straightforward. What is the objective? What evidence establishes the necessity of action now? What are the likely consequences? What happens if the adversary retaliates? Have diplomatic alternatives been exhausted or adequately considered? And how does the government intend to bring the confrontation to an end?
These questions are not obstacles to national security. They are part of its responsible management.
The danger arises when leaders begin to treat public anxiety as a resource to be mobilised rather than a responsibility to be discharged. Once fear becomes politically valuable, there is a temptation to keep the threat at the centre of public attention, even when the country needs a sober assessment of its options.
That temptation is particularly dangerous when a leader's political fortunes become closely associated with an image of uncompromising strength. A change of course can then appear to threaten not only a policy but the leader's authority. The room for compromise narrows, and a decision taken for political reasons can acquire the appearance of a national obligation.
The country is left with a troubling possibility: a policy may become harder to abandon precisely because it has become politically useful, not because it has become strategically necessary.
The election calendar and the cost of miscalculation
The reported Israeli controversy must be judged against this background, without assuming that the allegations about Netanyahu's motives have been proved.
If the reported disagreement occurred as described, it raises a legitimate question about the safeguards surrounding decisions that could trigger renewed conflict with Iran. Civilian political authority is essential in a democracy, but so are professional military assessments, legal procedures and serious deliberation about foreseeable consequences.
A military chief should not possess an independent veto over elected government. Equally, political authority does not make every proposed operation strategically sound. The value of institutional checks lies in ensuring that a decision of extraordinary consequence receives the scrutiny it warrants.
The American position presents a related question. The White House has ruled out renewed attacks before the midterms, while reports describe preparations for possible action afterwards. That timing invites scrutiny, although it does not establish that electoral calculations are the sole reason for the delay. Economic considerations, military readiness, diplomatic efforts and the danger of retaliation may all be relevant.
The point is not that governments must disregard elections when making security decisions. They cannot and should not. The point is that the electoral calendar must not become a substitute for explaining the strategic necessity of war.
The economic consequences are considerable. Renewed conflict could disrupt energy markets, increase shipping costs and unsettle trade across a region central to global commerce. Iran's reported threats to undersea communications cables in the Gulf add another dimension to the danger. Reuters reported on 23 October that Iranian security officials had described plans to target such cables if the United States and Israel resumed strikes. The extent of any resulting disruption would depend on the targets, the damage inflicted and the availability of alternative routes. 
These are not abstract costs. They can affect household budgets, businesses, public finances and the economic prospects of people who have no say in the decisions that initiated the conflict.
A military operation intended to demonstrate strength can therefore produce consequences that undermine the very political position it was meant to protect. More seriously, once retaliation begins, neither the original calculation nor the electoral timetable may retain much relevance. Events acquire their own momentum.
This is why the distinction between a political performance and a genuine security decision matters so much. In domestic politics, a failed performance may cost votes. In geopolitics, a miscalculation can cost lives and set off a chain of consequences that cannot be reversed when the polling stations close.
The public may recognise the script
There is another assumption worth questioning: that a population which repeatedly encounters the same political tactic will continue to respond to it in the same way.
Public memory is not uniform, and political behaviour cannot be reduced to a simple contest between clever leaders and gullible citizens. People weigh competing concerns, hold different loyalties and make choices under difficult circumstances. A voter may recognise an attempt to redirect attention yet remain genuinely concerned about the external threat. Another may distrust the government but believe that the alternatives carry greater risks.
That complexity should not be mistaken for stupidity.
Nor should the continued success of a political party be taken as proof that every argument it makes has been accepted. Elections measure choices among available alternatives; they do not provide a precise measure of belief in every claim made during a campaign.
Yet political leaders who repeatedly rely on the same tactics risk misreading the public. They may interpret a temporary rally around the flag as lasting approval, the absence of protest as agreement, or the failure of opponents to change the subject as proof that no one has noticed the manoeuvre.
Recognition accumulates. Familiar declarations invite comparison with previous ones. Promises of security are measured against the insecurity people continue to experience. The question gradually changes from whether a threat exists to whether the government's response is credible, proportionate and honestly explained.
The political cost may not be immediate. Nor does scepticism automatically translate into electoral defeat. But trust, once weakened, cannot be restored simply by repeating the language that helped exhaust it.
There is an irony here. The more frequently leaders invoke exceptional circumstances to escape ordinary scrutiny, the more they risk making their own explanations appear routine. What was once an emergency becomes a familiar feature of political life. What was once presented as an extraordinary necessity begins to look like a convenient answer to an inconvenient question.
Perhaps the greatest miscalculation is not believing that people are dumb. It is believing that because people can be distracted, they can never learn.
India's interest: Stability begins at home
For India, the consequences of renewed conflict in West Asia would be immediate enough to demand careful attention. Energy prices, shipping through the Strait of Hormuz, regional trade and the safety of Indian nationals could all be affected. New Delhi would need to protect its interests while maintaining diplomatic relationships across a region in which its partners do not always share the same priorities.
Strategic autonomy, in this context, means assessing developments on their merits rather than being drawn automatically into another country's political or military calculations.
There is also a broader institutional lesson. A country is better placed to withstand external shocks when its own citizens have confidence in public institutions and the processes through which decisions are made. Questions about electoral integrity, education, employment and administrative accountability should not be treated as distractions from national strength. They are part of the foundation on which that strength rests.
India's circumstances are not identical to those of Israel, the United States or the European countries experiencing unrest. Comparisons should not obscure those differences. But the principle is relevant across democracies: public confidence is sustained not by keeping citizens in a permanent state of alarm, but by demonstrating that institutions can answer difficult questions, acknowledge mistakes and correct course.
A government that trusts its own case should be willing to explain it. A government that believes its decisions serve the national interest should be prepared to distinguish evidence from rhetoric and necessity from convenience.
That is not a demand for political weakness. It is a test of political accountability.
The real gamble
The most serious danger in the present crisis is not necessarily that any one leader has consciously decided to provoke a catastrophic war. It is that political incentives, military calculations and mutual suspicion can combine to produce an outcome that none of the participants can control.
A leader may wish to project resolve before an election. An adversary may interpret that display as preparation for an attack. Military precautions may be read as evidence of hostile intent. Each side may then take further steps in the belief that it is responding defensively. The space for diplomacy contracts, while the cost of backing down rises.
This is how a political calculation can become a strategic trap.
And the public is not an unlimited reservoir of patience. From France to other parts of Europe, demonstrations over living costs, education, housing and public services show that many citizens already have pressing concerns about their economic security and future prospects. These protests are not all directed against war, but they underline a reality governments ignore at their peril: domestic stability cannot be taken for granted while the costs of everyday life continue to weigh on ordinary people.
When those same people are asked to bear the consequences of prolonged military confrontation, they are entitled to ask what the additional sacrifice will achieve. How much more uncertainty must households endure? How much public money must be committed? What is the endgame? And what happens if, after all the expenditure and suffering, the underlying conflict remains unresolved?
There is no universal public response to these questions. Some citizens will support continued military action; others will demand restraint. But no responsible government should assume that support for national security amounts to a blank cheque for perpetual war.
The duty of leadership is to weigh every realistic option: military action, deterrence, negotiation, economic measures and the possibilities for de-escalation. Each must be assessed against clear objectives, foreseeable costs, legal obligations and the likely consequences of failure. Restraint is not automatically wise, just as force is not automatically effective. The test is whether the chosen course offers a defensible route to lasting security rather than another cycle of retaliation.
The public, too, must be able to distinguish the existence of a threat from the political use made of it. The two can coexist. A genuine danger does not automatically validate every response, just as evidence of political advantage does not, by itself, prove that a security assessment is false.
The burden on leaders is to establish the connection between the threat, the proposed action and the outcome they expect to achieve. The burden on institutions is to scrutinise that connection. The responsibility of the media and the public is to keep asking the questions that a climate of urgency may otherwise push aside.
And the responsibility of political leaders is to recognise that public attention is not inexhaustible, nor is public trust an entitlement.
The question, then, is not simply whether politicians think people are dumb. It is whether they have become so accustomed to the short-term advantages of political theatre that they underestimate the long-term consequences of being seen to perform.
A tactic may work even when its purpose is understood. But every repetition creates another opportunity for comparison, scepticism and loss of confidence. Eventually, the political advantage of the performance may be outweighed by the damage it does to the credibility of those staging it.
In domestic politics, that damage may take time to register. In geopolitics, the consequences of a miscalculation can arrive before anyone has time to reconsider.
Elections pass. Political careers end. Governments change. But the consequences of war can outlast all three.
The real test of leadership is not whether a leader can persuade a nation to rally in a moment of fear. It is whether that leader can recognise when fear is no longer enough, when public patience is wearing thin, and when the national interest demands something more difficult than another display of strength.
Because the people who are asked to pay for a war are entitled to ask how it will end. And when the answer remains unclear, no more is not necessarily a rejection of national security. It may be a demand that those who wield power finally explain what security is supposed to deliver.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
This commentary does not presume that every security warning is manufactured, that all public protests share the same purpose, or that electoral considerations alone determine military decisions. It asks whether governments are adequately weighing the political, economic and human costs of prolonged conflict—and whether repeated appeals to fear can indefinitely substitute for public trust, institutional accountability and a credible path to peace.
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(Author: kgsharma1@gmail.com; The writer is a retired officer of the Indian Information Service and a freelance writer. Also worked as an international media consultant with UNICEF Nigeria and contributes regularly to various publications.)