By Dr Rahim Said
In the theatre of modern geopolitics, truth rarely walks on stage unaccompanied. It is usually flanked by stagehands named Narrative and Strategy, both whispering lines into the ears of those pretending to speak candidly.
So, when a senior Israeli military figure like Eyal Zamir reportedly waves “ten red flags” and warns that the army could “collapse in on itself,” one is tempted — not to panic —but to ask: since when did Israel start airing its dirty laundry in public?
This is, after all, a state that has elevated information control to an art form. Military censorship is not an occasional reflex; it is institutional muscle memory. Reports are filtered, narratives are curated, and inconvenient truths are often delayed, diluted, or discreetly buried. Transparency, in this context, is less a virtue than a tactical anomaly.
Which is precisely why this sudden candour feels… suspiciously convenient.
Enter Mohammad Baqer Ghalibaf, who — unsurprisingly —has seized upon Zamir’s remarks as evidence of Israeli ”weakness”. From Tehran, the narrative writes itself: Israel is strained, its army overstretched, its internal contradictions finally bubbling to the surface. The mighty fortress, we are told, is cracking.
But geopolitics is not a Netflix drama where characters monologue their vulnerabilities for the audience’s benefit. When a security establishment speaks openly about its fragility, it is rarely a confession. It is more often a calculation.
Consider the possibilities.
One: this is a carefully calibrated leak, designed to pressure domestic audiences — particularly those reluctant to serve. By invoking existential strain, the military nudges politicians into passing unpopular conscription laws and cajoles the public into accepting longer service. Fear, after all, is the most efficient legislative lubricant.
Two: it is a message outward, not inward. By appearing strained, Israel may be inviting its adversaries — most notably Iran — to miscalculate. There is a long tradition in warfare of feigned weakness.
If Tehran believes the Israeli Defence Forces are teetering, it may be tempted to escalate, only to discover that the “collapse” was more mirage than reality.
A Trojan horse, if you will — except instead of soldiers hidden inside, it carries perception management.
Three: it is both. Domestic pressure wrapped in international signalling, a two-for-one special in the marketplace of strategic communication.
Meanwhile, the backdrop remains the long shadow of the October 7 attacks and the grinding aftermath in Gaza. Wars of this nature do not just consume ammunition; they devour manpower, morale, and political cohesion.
The reported shortage of 12,000 troops and the delicate question of ultra-Orthodox exemptions are not inventions. They are real tensions — just not necessarily revealed without purpose.
Which brings us back to the central irony. When a nation known for secrecy suddenly appears transparent, it is not abandoning its habits. It is exercising them in a more sophisticated form.
And when its adversary loudly declares that this transparency proves imminent collapse, one cannot help but admire the symmetry: both sides, in their own way, are performing for an audience that includes each other.
So yes, perhaps there are cracks within Israel’s military machine. No army engaged in prolonged conflict escapes them. But to take this admission at face value would be to mistake a chess move for a confession.
In this region, candour is rarely accidental. It is choreographed. And if this is indeed a Trojan horse, one suspects it is not meant to deceive the casual observer — but to tempt a far more dangerous player into believing the gates are already open.
The views expressed here are entirely those of the writer