In the classic martial arts film Enter the Dragon, Bruce Lee’s character is instructing a young, aspiring fighter. Irritated at the lack of progress his student is making, he points to the sky. “It’s like a finger pointing away to the moon,” he says as the student tries to focus on what his teacher is saying. “Don’t concentrate on the finger,” Lee says, slapping him on the head, “or you will miss all that heavenly glory.” The quote is derived from an old Buddhist text called the Śūraṅgama Sūtra, and the point is clear: Sometimes if you focus on what is immediately in front of you, you can miss the point entirely.
Something like this is happening in Washington, DC, right now. For almost two weeks, the debate around the progress or lack thereof in the Iran War has been focused on activity in the Strait of Hormuz. A whole host of maritime experts have emerged suddenly to inform us that the Trump administration has succeeded in reopening the crucial waterway to shipping. Maximalists are claiming that this means the United States has effectively won the war in the Middle East. Others are making the more modest claim that this reopening of the Strait will solve the looming energy crisis.
These were the two perspectives that most people who were not deeply involved in the debate heard. There was, however, a small but vocal minority who questioned whether the Strait had been opened at all. If Iran had effective fire control over the Strait in spring and summer, they asked, then why would they suddenly lose it now? Almost immediately after this question was raised, Iran settled the debate by striking an enormous number of ships: 12 and counting in less than a week.
To those of us who were paying attention, the whole exercise felt like looking at Lee’s finger as he points to the moon. As these debates unfolded, the market for U.S. Treasury debt continued an epic sell-off. Bloomberg quoted an investment banker who stated that Treasuries were “trading like a meme stock.” U.S. Treasury bonds have now experienced their worst long-run returns in history.
Treasury bonds are not just any old asset. For one, they are the debt of the U.S. government. If they become uninvestable, the capacity for Washington to live beyond its means through debt issuance is open to question. Treasuries are also the benchmark asset for the entire global dollar system that has allowed the U.S. to run enormous deficits for decades. If this asset starts “trading like a meme stock” and generating awful returns, foreigners will opt for something else. This week, the president of the German central bank stated that “the case for further diversification into gold remains significant.” People are talking.
In mid-September, the speaker of the Iranian parliament, Mohammed Bagher Ghalibaf, posted an equation on X. Unusually for an obscure piece of algebra, the post garnered nearly 7 million views. The equation was a modified version of what economists call the “Taylor Rule,” a method that economists and central bankers use when setting central bank interest rates. In normal times, the equation factors in expected future inflation and how much slack is in the economy. But Ghalibaf’s equation—which he called the “Straits Taylor Rule” —included two new variables: the Strait of Hormuz and the Bab el-Mandeb, the two waterways currently under fire from Iran and the Houthis in Yemen, respectively.
The equation is a stripped-down representation of Iran’s strategy. By controlling these waterways, Iran and its allied groups have gained control over the global energy market. By squeezing these chokepoints, Iran can assert de facto control over America’s financial markets by pushing up expected inflation. Central banks like the Federal Reserve realize that this is no mere bluff and have already started raising interest rates. Ghalibaf’s equation explains, to a very large extent, why American government debt is currently trading like a meme stock.
Meanwhile, at the same time as these pressures are felt in American financial markets, the real economy is undergoing a squeeze too. Recent reports from the Energy Information Agency suggest that American heating-oil bills are expected to rise by 21 percent this winter. Diesel markets are entering into a genuine crisis, with President Donald Trump floating the prospect of banning diesel exports to ensure that there are no shortages. Diesel is the lifeblood of the American logistics chain. If there are shortages, trains and trucks will not run and goods will not be delivered to shelves. Trump has walked back the diesel export ban for now, after strong-arming the Europeans to dump their oil and diesel reserves, but there is every chance that this option appears back on the table as the crisis worsens. Food prices are rising too, with sugar prices looking particularly worrisome.
Once again, Ghalibaf outlined how this is part of Iran’s overall strategy. In an X post this week, the speaker published a rudimentary graph—coupled with a haunting image of a ghost—showing rising commodity prices and interest rates on one side, and falling consumer confidence, foreign interest in U.S. Treasuries, hyperscaler investment, and housing affordability on the other. The Iranians are not just trying to squeeze the American financial system—they are aiming to put extreme stress on the entire economy—and it looks increasingly like they intend on making this pressure felt before American voters go to the polls on November 3.
The Trump administration has become fixated on the Strait of Hormuz, seeing it as a decisive battlefield on which the U.S. can win the war. But the Strait is merely a means to an end. For Iran, that end is to slowly demolish the American economy and financial system until the pressure becomes too much and the U.S. backs off. The idea that you can “win” such a battle is delusional.
The Strait is merely the finger in Lee’s analogy. It is Iran’s overall economic strategy—the moon—that we should focus on. And when we do, we come to the worrying conclusion that by the time the Trump administration cries uncle, the damage done to the American economy and financial system will be so severe that it could take many, many years to recover.
In the early hours of October 5, Saudi-backed mercenaries launched an offensive along Yemen’s southwestern coastal road toward Dhubab, which overlooks the Bab al-Mandeb Strait.
By evening, their affiliated media networks were proclaiming Dhubab’s fall. Hours later, they falsely claimed to have captured Al-Mokha as well.
Within a single day of operations, the Yemeni military forces had encircled the incursion, recaptured the ground, and released timestamped footage showing their troops standing undisturbed along the Bab al-Mandeb coastline.
Meanwhile, local residents openly ridiculed the reported advance of the Saudi mercenaries.
The attacking forces retreated to their original positions. The events along that coastal road – the assault, the media triumphalism, the rapid military reversal, and the collapse of the narrative – offer a revealing case study of how information warfare has become structurally embedded in Saudi Arabia’s disastrous military campaign in Yemen.
The Pressure Behind the Push
To understand the events of October 5, it is necessary to examine the developments that preceded them. Yemeni military had been consolidating significant territorial gains across southern and southwestern Taiz province – not marginal advances, but the seizure of areas spanning thousands of square kilometers.
The encirclement of Taiz city was tightening along its northern and eastern approaches, applying deliberate strategic pressure that could pave the way for a handover of the city from the Saudi-backed mercenary factions holding it.
More symbolically damaging still, the residence of Rashad al-Alimi, chairman of the Saudi-backed so-called Presidential Leadership Council (PLC), had fallen.
The Saudi-led coalition and its local allies were rapidly losing ground. An operation that could be portrayed as a decisive advance toward the Bab al-Mandeb Strait would offer PLC forces a much-needed military and propaganda victory.
The Bab al-Mandeb is precisely the kind of strategic objective whose association with a military operation can generate outsized media attention, regardless of what the operation actually achieves on the ground.
The attacking forces
The offensive was led by two formations: the Southern Giants Brigades (Al-Amaliqa al-Janubiyya) and the Dira’ al-Watan (Shield of the Nation) Brigades, supplemented by approximately 100 Saudi mercenary fighters, according to Saudi-affiliated media.
Both formations have histories that complicate their portrayal as straightforward Yemeni forces operating under the so-called Presidential Leadership Council (PLC). The Giants Brigades are a Salafi-oriented southern force whose origins are firmly rooted in Emirati patronage. Armed, trained, and financed by Abu Dhabi, they were institutionally shaped as part of the UAE’s parallel military architecture in Yemen – a network of forces, including separatist formations, that operated with considerable autonomy from the Saudi-led coalition’s command structure.
Their nominal realignment under the PLC framework following the UAE’s partial strategic withdrawal from the Yemeni theater has not necessarily erased the command relationships, patronage networks, or ideological orientation established during their formative years.
They remain among the coalition’s most combat-capable formations, but their relationship with the PLC is better understood through overlapping interests and patronage ties than through assumptions of unified institutional loyalty.
Dira’ al-Watan, by contrast, operates with a more direct orientation toward Riyadh, functioning closer to Saudi Arabia’s traditional mercenary structure in Yemen. The deployment of both formations along a single coastal axis, accompanied by a contingent of Saudi mercenaries, suggests a deliberately assembled force package rather than an improvised advance.
The media apparatus accompanying the operation, as we shall see, reinforces this interpretation.
The assault itself
The attacking forces advanced along the coastal road south of Al-Mokha toward Dhubab district. The coastal approach traverses relatively open terrain, and accounts of the local military disposition suggest that the Yemeni military’s forward garrison presence in the immediate coastal zone was limited. The defensive logic, under such conditions, favors concentrating forces at defensible chokepoints in the adjacent highlands rather than maintaining a thin, linear deployment across exposed ground.
Yet despite heavy Saudi supporting fire, the advancing forces failed to push beyond the outer perimeter of Dhubab along the coastal road. They reached the perimeter of Dhubab airport but did not enter Dhubab city.
At the airport perimeter, invading forces filmed themselves running over wounded members of the small Yemeni military garrison. The footage, subsequently circulated through pro-Saudi Telegram channels, appeared to have been published by the mercenaries themselves as evidence of momentum and fighting spirit.
Instead, it documented abuses against combatants in an isolated position, including the mutilation of dead bodies, turning apparent battlefield content into evidence of conduct that warrants independent human rights scrutiny.
The footage also carried a consequence beyond its grave humanitarian implications. Militarily, it documented a localized engagement against an isolated position—not a breakthrough along the coastal axis. The distinction would become critical within hours, as the broader operation stalled and the coalition’s claims of progress began to unravel. Material intended to project battlefield momentum would instead complicate the narrative surrounding an offensive whose advertised scale and strategic significance far exceeded its demonstrated territorial gains.
The encirclement and the reversal
Field sources report that within hours of the attacking force reaching the coastal road’s edge, Sana’a forces had encircled the limited area of the incursion and begun pressing to retake the ground. The timeline is critical. This was not a gradual reversal unfolding over several days. The encirclement and counterattack took place within the same operational day as the advance.
The reversal has a clear geographic dimension. Yemeni military, led by the Ansarullah movement, controls the Al-Omari mountain range and the Al-Omari base, situated east of Al-Mokha and west of Taiz. This elevated terrain offers observation over much of the coastal corridor and positions from which movement along the coastal road can be interdicted.
Any force advancing along the coast without first neutralizing Al-Omari risks operating under persistent observation, with its flanks and supply lines exposed to forces holding the dominant heights. The attacking force did not capture Al-Omari. Nor was it positioned to do so: securing the mountain range and its associated base would have required a substantially larger and more complex operation than the one assembled for the coastal advance.
At the same time as the encirclement was developing on the ground, Yemeni military forces launched missile and drone strikes against concentrations of Al-Amaliqa and Dira’ al-Watan personnel in the Ras al-Ara area. Field sources report casualties among the brigades’ ranks and the destruction of several military vehicles.
Crucially, Saudi-affiliated media correspondents were embedded with the attacking force when these strikes occurred. Some were recorded in real time on the scene. The media apparatus deployed to document a military triumph was thus capturing a very different story: an operation losing momentum under pressure, with its setbacks unfolding before the cameras intended to celebrate its success.
The media campaign
Saudi-affiliated news outlets began publishing accounts of Dhubab’s fall before any territorial gain had been consolidated on the ground. The claims escalated through the day: from entry into the airport perimeter, to control of Dhubab district, to the fall of Dhubab city, to the reported fall of Al-Mokha as well.
The maximum extent of the Saudi-backed advance against the Yemeni military was the perimeter of Dhubab airport. Located outside the district’s urban center, the airport lies on open, flat terrain adjacent to the coastal road.
Reaching its perimeter, as the attacking forces did, is materially different from establishing control over Dhubab district or the Bab al-Mandeb coastline – a distinction that Saudi-affiliated media systematically obscured in their October 5 coverage.
Sana’a’s counter-messaging response was swift. Its forces released footage showing their deployment along the Bab al-Mandeb coast and east of Al-Mokha, imagery that directly challenged claims of a lost coastline. By the time Saudi-affiliated sources began denying or walking back their claims about Al-Mokha, the damage to their credibility had already been done.
Escalation Deep Inside Saudi Arabia
Yemeni military response to the October 5 offensive extended beyond the immediate Yemeni battlefield. In a series of operations that Yemeni military officials had signaled in prior public announcements, strikes reportedly targeted military and economic facilities deep inside Saudi Arabia, including in Khamis Mushait, Riyadh, and Jeddah.
The East–West Pipeline was struck again, significantly disrupting operations. Air traffic at King Abdulaziz International Airport in Jeddah was suspended, marking another interruption to airport operations. Saudi refineries also came under separate attacks, with impacts on Aramco facilities raising the prospect of suspended refining operations and associated financial losses. The full extent of the damage, operational disruption, and economic costs are reported to be high.
Taken together, these operations widened the confrontation beyond the coastal front in Yemen, bringing Saudi military infrastructure, energy assets, and civil aviation into the broader picture.
Sana’a also formally announced the imposition of a no-fly zone over Saudi airspace. The Humanitarian Operations Coordination Center issued notices advising airlines to avoid the area, presenting the declaration as a reciprocal measure in response to intensified Saudi airstrikes against Yemeni population centers.
Regardless of its practical enforceability, the declaration carried political significance: it sought to portray Saudi airspace as a contested domain rather than an uncontested sanctuary.
It also introduced another variable into the risk calculations of third-party commercial operators, whose decisions on flight routing, insurance coverage, and overflight costs could create additional economic and political pressure on Riyadh.
The structural problem of Saudi Arabia’s military posture in Yemen
The October 5 operation failed to achieve its territorial objectives. The attacking force did not capture Dhubab, establish control over the Bab al-Mandeb coastline, or retain the ground it had temporarily entered. Within a single operational day, it had retreated to its starting positions.
The accompanying media campaign faltered alongside the military advance. The speed of the reversal was central to that failure. When a narrative collapses within the same news cycle in which it is constructed, and footage contradicting the initial claims circulates through the same information environment, the result is not simply a return to the status quo. It can produce a net loss of credibility.
In this case, the gap between the territory reportedly reached and the territory claimed exposed the central vulnerability of the messaging strategy – the declaration of victory preceded the establishment of durable control.
Once the advance stalled and the attacking forces withdrew, the initial claims became liabilities, leaving subsequent clarifications and retractions to compete with the very footage that had been intended to demonstrate success.
But the October 5 episode also illuminates a structural constraint extending well beyond a single failed operation. The Saudi-led coalition’s military options appear increasingly constrained as it struggles to reverse the Yemeni military’s territorial advances despite its substantial advantages in funding, equipment, and external support.
The pattern raises serious questions about the mercenary coalition’s ability to translate material superiority into sustained battlefield gains against a force whose strategic planning, local positioning, and combat motivation have repeatedly complicated its opponents’ campaigns. Meanwhile, reports of precision strikes against critical targets inside Saudi Arabia underscore the continuing challenge of protecting the Kingdom’s strategic infrastructure and deterring retaliatory attacks on its territory.
The Saudi-backed war on Yemen is far from resolved. Taiz remains a central point of military pressure, with the encirclement shaping the strategic calculations of the forces holding the city.
Ma’rib remains a key, and renewed fighting is a possibility in the weeks ahead. Saudi infrastructure continues to face the threat of further long-range attacks, while the operational and economic consequences of strikes require careful assessment.
The October 5 episode, meanwhile, demonstrated the limits of projecting territorial control through media messaging before that control has been secured on the ground.
For Saudi Arabia’s media apparatus, the consequences extend beyond one news cycle. Credibility cannot be restored through messaging alone; it depends on the consistency between public claims and verifiable battlefield developments.
Any subsequent operation will be judged not only by the territory it gains, but also by the gap, or alignment, between what its accompanying media campaign promises and what the evidence ultimately shows.
The battle for Yemen continues. The Bab al-Mandeb remains a strategic focal point, and the struggle to shape both the battlefield and the narrative surrounding it is far from over.
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