WW3
"Everything — and its opposite — is possible."
Yesterday in The New York Times, Thomas Friedman ended his column on Trump’s war in the Middle East with a line that won’t leave me alone:
Everything — and its opposite — is possible.
A few years ago, I attended a seminar by a renowned Middle Eastern professor, globally recognized for his research and writing.
His authority came not just from scholarship, but from biography —
as layered as the region he studies.
Born here. Raised there. Schooled somewhere else.
Descended from several places at once.
Religiously neutral — and deeply religious.
A little bit of a lot of very big identities.
It was years before October 7. I know that. But I can’t quite place it on a timeline.
I know it had been rescheduled because of a war in the region.
Which war was it, though?
We thought we were there to talk about self-determination.
About that narrow stretch of land that has swallowed generations of diplomacy.
Many of us carried some version of hope —
a two-state solution, reimagined leadership.
A way for Israel to be both Jewish and democratic.
A path to isolate Hamas and pull the broader region toward normalization.
The professor began with a map.
Not Israel and Palestine.
Not even the Middle East.
The globe.
“Conflict in the Middle East,” he said, “does not stay in the Middle East.”
“To explain the present, you have to explain:
Empire. Colonialism.
Oil. Religion. Proxy wars.
Biblical memory. Superpower rivalry.
Regional humiliation. Domestic politics.”
Every layer sits on top of another.
My enemies’ enemies are not my friends.
My enemies’ friends may also be their enemies.
“It’s complicated,” he said. More than once.
He was clear: he had strong opinions.
But they were always in motion —
recalibrating depending on the country, the room, the audience.
Not because he lacked conviction.
But because he understood context.
He could argue one position with force.
Then turn and articulate its opposite with equal precision.
Not as contradiction.
As reality.
Multiple versions can be defensible at once.
History can make sense from more than one vantage point.
Every side can sound rational.
Which is another way of saying: every side believes it is.
“It’s complicated,” he repeated.
Because a solution, he said, “will require a new world order.”
We nodded. Audible sighs. Exaggerated inhales.
The kind of laughter that isn’t really laughter.
A “new world order” felt theoretical then.
…
When everything is possible, every scenario feels plausible.
Regime change. Reform.
Fragmentation. Proliferation.
Entanglement. Containment.
Escalation.
I don’t know what we are witnessing.
Is this a moment that reshapes the order of things?
Or one that proves how resistant it is to change?
Is this how something better begins?
Or the collapse of what was already fragile?
Embassies closing.
Flights cancelled.
More countries pulled in.
Casualties rising.
…
Everything is possible.
So is its opposite.
And it’s scary.
…