The United States has demonstrated impressive combat power in the conflict with Iran. And yet, when Iranian authorities shut down the country’s internet and communications earlier this year during the nationwide anti-regime protests and Operation Epic Fury, the US was unprepared to help Iranian civilians combat their government’s repressive tactics.

That remains a flaw in America’s ongoing campaign and should be one of the key takeaways from the Iran conflict. The US government must take steps to avoid repeating these shortcomings and develop plans to enable civilians to freely communicate in any country where a shutdown is possible.

The internet drove Iranian protests by enabling civilians to organize efforts to oppose the regime. To hinder those protests and further repress dissent, the regime shut down the internet nationwide. Despite restoring internet access in late May after an 88-day blackout intended to prevent an uprising during the 2026 war, the regime continues to heavily filter civilian communications, retains sophisticated tools to detect citizens using virtual private networks (VPNs) and unauthorized satellite internet services like Starlink, and maintains the ability to impose another nationwide blackout if unrest surges.

With access to circumvention tools, civilians living under repressive governments, such as in Iran, China, Myanmar and Cuba, could better resist these restrictions; but the currently available tools are either too expensive, or too easily blocked.

VPNs, for example, can be costly for civilians and vulnerable to authorities’ monitoring and interference — a common problem for Iranians. The US government previously supported private companies that provided VPNs to civilians in countries with internet restrictions like Iran, China and Russia via the Open Technology Fund, but these programs have run into recent budget constraints. In Iran’s case, civilians have since turned to informal markets to purchase insecure VPNs or pay for the regime’s heavily filtered “Internet Pro” — a tiered internet service reserved for select groups.

Like VPNs, Starlink and other unauthorized satellite internet services are vulnerable to governments’ detection and jamming technology. Additionally, Starlink requires large terminals that can be challenging to smuggle and conceal from authorities. Notably, between March and July 2026, Iranian police say they confiscated 997 Starlink devices and detained 163 people linked with the equipment.

While conventional satellite broadband has its physical limitations, direct-to-cell (D2C) could one day provide another potential outlet for civilians to communicate during a terrestrial nationwide internet and cellular blackout. D2C offers the ability to directly connect to a satellite, bypassing the need for a traditional dish. Several tech companies are working to refine and expand D2C capabilities by enhancing communication and web browsing abilities while ensuring D2C is compatible with various smartphone models. However, the availability, speed and reliability of these capabilities vary across providers and are still in development — making uniform implementation in other countries difficult due to technical and regulatory challenges, as well as their government’s prohibition of unauthorized communication outlets.

With Tehran and other regimes wielding the power to cut off their citizens’ internet access and communications, the United States should work with the private sector to organize a campaign aimed at enabling civilians in authoritarian countries to circumvent everyday restrictions and any potential future shutdowns.

Since VPNs are only effective for bypassing internet restrictions and cannot operate during a full terrestrial shutdown, the US government needs to divert resources to solving this communications crisis in the longer term. As Starlink remains one of the only forms of communication during a blackout, the US should funnel Starlink terminals to civilians in need via activist organizations trained in smuggling humanitarian goods into conflict zones.

Simultaneously, the US government should work with SpaceX to co-develop smaller Starlink terminals that are easier to smuggle and assemble as part of its Starshield program, ultimately reducing the risk of drawing attention from authorities in countries where owning this technology is criminalized.

Additionally, Congress should direct the appropriate departments or agencies to work with companies offering D2C to accelerate development, as well as refine and expand their capabilities to include reliable cellular communication, web browsing and live streaming services. Once testing is complete and the products are secure for public distribution, the State Department should collaborate with humanitarian organizations to distribute D2C-compatible phones to civilians in need. Meanwhile, the Treasury Department’s Office of Foreign Assets Control should quickly issue distributors the proper licenses to transport products to these countries as sanctions for their governments’ malign activities and oppression often prohibit American organizations from trading with them.

As authoritarian governments increasingly weaponize the internet and civilian communication to repress dissent, an information warfare tool set would enhance the livelihoods of those living in restrictive countries, improving their abilities to resist their regime’s repression through secure communication and freer internet access.

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On July 30, the Board of Peace (BoP) surprised the world with its Gaza Roadmap—an agreement with Hamas to implement the second phase of President Trump’s peace plan. To the shock of many, the terror group officially committed to surrendering its weapons, relinquishing any role in governance, and ceding all power to a new Palestinian administration. An International Stabilization Force, or ISF, commanded by U.S. Major General Jasper Jeffers, would play an overarching role holding it all together—monitoring Hamas compliance, training Palestinian police, securing humanitarian aid, and eventually acting as a buffer between the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) and a new Gazan government.

It’s a serious framework that deserves being taken seriously. If successful, it could mark a major turning point in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. But Middle East history is littered with well-intended frameworks that foundered on implementation. It’s fine to be hopeful about the Roadmap’s promise. It’s essential to anticipate what might go wrong.

The most obvious concern receiving the greatest attention is that the deal hinges on Hamas living up to its word. Are the fanatics who perpetrated October 7—whose entire identity is bound up with their weapons, military infrastructure, and commitment to destroying Israel—really prepared to give it all up and throw themselves onto history’s ash heap? The mere suggestion sounds preposterous. Far more likely that Hamas sees the Roadmap as a necessary tactical retreat, one that provides breathing space to rebuild strength until conditions are ripe for resurgence.

Which brings us to the ISF, which has so far received much less attention—even though its role as the world’s independent, on-the-ground eyes and ears will be crucial not just in verifying Hamas compliance, but in helping prevent its reconstitution in what will inevitably be a fragile effort to build a new Gazan reality.

The first concern is whether the ISF will have the capacity to adequately perform its assigned missions. In February, Jeffers indicated he would command 20,000 foreign soldiers, who would support approximately 12,000 Palestinian police tasked with maintaining internal security. Those numbers are already dangerously low—most guidelines suggest that at least 40,000 to 50,000 personnel would be needed to secure Gaza’s two million people in a post-war environment that will likely remain vulnerable to terrorist remnants for years. But the picture may be much worse than that—we’ve heard from authoritative sources that the ISF could end up with as few as 5,000 soldiers.

Even greater concerns surround how the ISF will perform once deployed in close proximity to both the IDF and the bulk of Gaza’s population. It’s a safe bet that elements from Hamas will eventually try to violate the Roadmap—by rebuilding capabilities and plotting new operations against Israel. Some no doubt will purposefully work to foment situations designed to bring the IDF into conflict with the ISF, with the goal of triggering an international incident that results in condemnation of Israel and the delegitimization of Gaza’s nascent administration.

What happens the first time the IDF gets intelligence that a Hamas planning cell is operating in a populated area, the Palestinian police refuse to act, and Israel demands that the ISF vacate their positions so a raid or precision strike can be conducted? What if the ISF refuses the request—because it doubts Israel’s information, judges IDF action would be too destabilizing, or worries that compliance would jeopardize its relations with the local population? Does Israel back down and compromise its freedom of action? Or does it risk having ISF troops caught in the crossfire and even killed, triggering exactly the kind of blowback Hamas was banking on? It’s not just a theoretical problem. It’s an entirely foreseeable consequence of inserting foreign forces into such a combustible situation, where one of the parties is a terrorist group whose existence depends on the framework’s failure.

The main cautionary tale in this regard, of course, is the United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon, or UNIFIL. Tasked after the 2006 war with supporting the Lebanese army’s efforts to disarm Hezbollah, UNIFIL instead morphed into the buffer Hezbollah hid behind to become the most powerful terrorist army in history. Established with the best intentions, UNIFIL’s multinational contingent invariably ended up prioritizing short-term stability over confronting Hezbollah’s transgressions. Its measure of success became the absence of visible conflict rather than achieving the mission of ensuring disarmament. Israel is still dealing with that failure today.

The risk is real that a small multinational force in Gaza will face the same structural pressures that doomed UNIFIL. Recognizing that danger and dealing with it head on must be a priority for the ISF and BoP. A U.S. general with Jeffers’ credibility is well positioned to manage the risk, but it will require making close coordination with the IDF a permanent operational imperative. That coordination—systematic, detailed, binding—needs to be built into the ISF’s rules of engagement from the start, not negotiated on the fly as problems emerge.

The Roadmap is worth testing. An effective ISF is essential for it to succeed. But UNIFIL’s lesson—that a multinational force can easily slip from being part of the solution to part of the problem—needs to be absorbed before the first foreign soldier is deployed, not after.

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The war between the US and Iran has opened a new maritime front along the Red Sea. As Washington and Tehran contest the Strait of Hormuz, Yemen’s Iran-backed Houthis have declared a blockade of Saudi commerce through the Bab el-Mandeb Strait—the narrow waterway splitting Yemen and Djibouti that forms the southern gateway to the Red Sea. The corridor’s importance has grown for the global economy as Saudi Arabia now leans on the passage to export oil, now that the Strait of Hormuz has seized up. Ships still transit, but under enough risk that Saudi tankers now run dark and reroute. The threat reaches past Saudi Arabia: Houthi missiles have struck vessels flying non-Saudi flags and left merchant crews dead. That southern access point to the Red Sea is now contested, and the US posture there was built for an important but entirely different fight.

The Counterterrorism Posture Meets a Maritime War

The US military posture in East Africa is well placed but too narrowly tasked. For two decades, US Africa Command (AFRICOM) has optimized its East Africa presence for counterterrorism in Somalia: surveillance flights, strikes, special operations, and partner training against al-Shabaab, the Somalia-based al-Qaeda affiliate, and the Islamic State. That fight is necessary, and it has helped prevent al-Shabaab from overtaking the Somali capital of Mogadishu and driven the Islamic State’s Somalia branch into hiding. But while US forces in Africa, concentrated in Djibouti, sit almost exactly where a Red Sea fight would want them, their basing arrangements were built for striking and advising inland counterterrorism operations, and Djibouti’s restrictions constrain the offshore operations the Houthi threat now requires. The strategic landscape has outgrown an access architecture built for a narrower fight.

Geography compounds the problem. The Bab el-Mandeb divides two US combatant commands, AFRICOM to its west and Central Command (CENTCOM)—which remains focused on the fight against Iran—to its east. Adversaries have long worked that seam. Recent public reporting from the Wall Street Journal describes Houthi technicians supplying al-Shabaab with drone and explosive-device expertise. The two groups have not merged their campaigns, but they share a common enemy. Their cooperation shows how untenable it is to treat the two shores as separate files.

Djibouti Is Not Enough

On the African shore, the American presence rests solely on one installation. Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti sits close to the strait—offering prime real estate for operations—but Djibouti has refused to let US forces strike Houthi positions that threaten the Bab el-Mandeb. Ironically, America’s only base in Africa cannot be used to defend the strait critical to its economic well-being. China’s only overseas base sits a few miles away, a separate reason not to stake America’s presence on one location. On the Arabian side, major CENTCOM operating locations sit well away from the chokepoint.

A single base in Djibouti is not enough; Washington needs options.

Build a Distributed Network at Berbera and Bosaso

The near-term answer to the Houthi challenge is distributed access, and the US can build it quickly. Somaliland has offered the US the use of Berbera, which pairs one of the longest runways in Africa with a deep-water port on the Gulf of Aden. From Berbera, US forces could fly persistent surveillance over the strait; base maritime patrol and counter-drone assets; refuel and stage naval and special operations; and hold a recovery airfield on the chokepoint’s southern flank. Berbera would not win the maritime fight by itself, but it would give the US an additional, politically unencumbered foothold that Djibouti will not provide.

The semi-autonomous Somali state of Puntland offers a second option. The US has agreed to expand the base at Bosaso, another Gulf of Aden port, for counterterrorism and maritime security. The deal is young and its results are unproven, but its significance is the shift it represents: the US has demonstrated a willingness to make direct security arrangements with capable sub-federal authorities when operations demand it, rather than wait on the federal government in Mogadishu. Bosaso and Berbera together would give American forces a network across the coast that matters most.

Access at Berbera would also align the US with Israel, which recognized Somaliland in December and, according to Bloomberg, has established a small intelligence presence there and is exploring a base from which to monitor and strike the Houthis. Somaliland’s leaders have been guarded about hosting foreign forces, so this remains unsettled. But a shared foothold on the southern flank would knit together partners already hitting the same Iranian adversary.

Access Without Immediate Recognition

The US needs only enough access to improve its ability to defend the Bab el-Mandeb, and that does not require recognizing Somaliland now. Skeptics will call a base at Berbera a de facto recognition of Somaliland, even if the US does not say so in an official capacity. But access can rest on a security agreement with the Somaliland authorities that govern Berbera by dealing with them as the party in control on the ground, which avoids recognizing Somaliland as a sovereign state. That is the approach the US just took at Bosaso, where it dealt directly with Puntland’s local authorities instead of Somalia’s federal government in Mogadishu. Going around the federal government does carry real costs: strain on a fragile federal system; propaganda for al-Shabaab; and friction with the African Union, Turkey, the UAE, and Ethiopia.

But two facts blunt the sovereignty charge.

The federal government cannot deliver quick, reliable coastal access in a crisis. And in early 2025 Somalia itself offered the US its strategic ports, Berbera and Bosaso among them, that it does not control.

The Houthi threat predates this war and will likely outlast it. The tools to manage it—runways, ports, sensors, patrol aircraft, and counter-drone systems—are available on both shores of the chokepoint. If we have learned anything from the current fight in the Persian Gulf, it is that getting the geography right in front of a full-blown crisis matters.

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