The day American security guarantees died in Doha

by Asad Ullah

Security footage captures the moment of an Israeli strike targeting Hamas leaders in Doha, Qatar, on September 9, 2025. [Security Camera – Anadolu Agency]

When missiles struck Doha on 9 September, killing six people, including a Qatari security officer, most of the world registered the news briefly before shifting attention to other crises. Yet in the region itself, and among those who study the architecture of Middle Eastern security, the attack marked a turning point. This was not merely another eruption of violence in a volatile landscape. It was the moment when the foundational logic of American security guarantees collapsed, triggering the most rapid and substantive realignment towards collective Islamic security since the Cold War.

Qatar’s role in Washington’s regional strategy has always been outsized. Al-Udeid Air Base, situated outside Doha, functions as the forward headquarters of US Central Command and hosts approximately 10,000 American troops. For decades, this concentration of military power was understood as an implicit deterrent: no rational actor would risk striking territory housing such a formidable American presence. The September attack shattered that assumption in the starkest way possible. It demonstrated that even the state most closely associated with America’s military dominance could not be insulated, and that the promise of protection offered by Washington had become unreliable.

The political aftershocks were immediate. Within seventy-two hours, an emergency Arab-Islamic summit convened in Doha, producing a communiqué that avoided the hollow phrases of past gatherings. Leaders branded the strike an assault on sovereignty and diplomacy itself, and pledged concrete retaliatory measures ranging from activating dormant defence agreements to reviewing ties with Israel and exploring coordinated legal responses at the United Nations. The symbolism of convening so quickly was powerful, but the real watershed moment came eight days later in Riyadh, where Saudi Arabia and Pakistan formalised a Strategic Mutual Defence Agreement. Its language was unequivocal: an attack on one would be treated as an attack on both.

This pact represents a rupture with the post-colonial history of the region. Never before has a Gulf monarchy, custodian of the world’s largest oil reserves, formally pledged to defend a nuclear-armed South Asian state of 240 million people, and vice versa. The military arithmetic behind this arrangement is compelling. Pakistan fields more than 650,000 active troops, possesses a nuclear arsenal, and carries decades of operational experience from counterinsurgency and conventional deployments alike. Saudi Arabia contributes immense financial reserves exceeding $400 billion, advanced Western-supplied weapons systems, and a central role in global energy markets. Together, they embody a security axis independent of congressional appropriations in Washington or the unpredictability of American electoral cycles.

The speed and scale of this alignment demand explanation. Previous moments of pan-Islamic solidarity, the Islamic Summit of 1969 following the Al-Aqsa Mosque arson, the 1973 oil embargo, or countless rhetorical declarations within the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, produced symbolism but little enduring institutionalisation. Why should the current moment be different? The answer lies in a confluence of structural factors that did not exist during those earlier episodes.

The first is the emergence of a genuinely multipolar international order. During the Cold War, Middle Eastern states were largely compelled to align with Washington or Moscow, and in the unipolar moment that followed 1991, the United States dominated by default. Today, Washington is overstretched in Europe and the Indo-Pacific, while China actively pursues a role as mediator and financier in the Middle East. Russia retains influence despite its limitations. Turkey, Iran, and others pursue assertive regional policies. This distribution of power allows Islamic states to consider autonomous security arrangements without immediate fear of external punishment or isolation.

The second factor is the transformation of regional capabilities. Middle Eastern and South Asian militaries are no longer under-resourced and dependent on foreign trainers operating Soviet-era equipment. They now command professional standing armies, increasingly sophisticated intelligence apparatuses, and rapidly expanding defence industries. Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Turkey, and Pakistan all invest heavily in drones, missile technology, and electronic warfare systems. This makes genuine operational cooperation feasible in a way that previous decades could not support.

The third factor is economic diversification. Gulf economies, once tightly bound to the petrodollar and Western markets, now trade extensively with China, India, and Africa. Membership or engagement with organisations like BRICS+ reduces vulnerability to unilateral Western sanctions. When your critical trade routes run as much through Shanghai and Mumbai as through New York and London, threats of exclusion lose much of their coercive power.

The fourth factor is the information environment. A digitally connected generation across the Muslim world responds to perceived violations of sovereignty with immediacy and intensity. The Doha strike was framed within hours as a humiliation for America’s vaunted security umbrella, feeding transnational demands for a collective response. Leaders who might once have contained their reaction found themselves under immense political pressure to act decisively.

None of this guarantees smooth progress. Structural obstacles remain formidable. Rivalries between Saudi Arabia and Iran, or between Turkey and Egypt, are embedded in doctrinal conflicts and proxy networks as much as in leadership rivalries. Technical barriers to interoperability are significant: shared command structures, standardised operating procedures, and unified procurement systems cannot be created overnight. Domestic politics impose limits as well, with parliaments, publics, and economic constraints shaping the willingness of governments to commit to costly defence arrangements. External relationships complicate matters further. Most Middle Eastern states retain deep economic, military, or diplomatic ties with non-Islamic powers, relationships that could splinter collective commitments during crises.

For this reason, the critical question is whether the current momentum can be institutionalised. Analysts should look for specific indicators. In the short term, the emergence of binding treaties with operational details, sustained joint exercises, and coordinated procurement would demonstrate seriousness. Medium-term signals would include pooled funding mechanisms, permanent joint command structures, and legal frameworks robust enough to survive leadership transitions. The absence of these markers, or a reversion to unilateral crisis management, would suggest the moment remains ephemeral.

The global implications of a durable Islamic security bloc are significant. For Washington, it marks the erosion of the patron-client model that has defined its approach for decades. The assumption that arms sales, aid packages, and forward deployments could guarantee compliance is now untenable. Unless the United States accepts the end of its monopoly and adapts to multipolar engagement on more equal terms, it risks drifting into irrelevance in the very region it once dominated. For China, the opportunities are considerable. Having already demonstrated capacity as a mediator in the Saudi-Iran rapprochement, Beijing may find space to deepen its role as financier and facilitator within a collective Islamic framework. For Israel, the challenges are profound. The Abraham Accords were premised on the notion that Arab states required US protection to confront Iran. That logic collapses if regional states construct their own defence architecture, and Palestinian rights—long marginalised by normalisation pressures—may regain salience in regional diplomacy. Energy markets, too, must recalibrate. A Saudi-Pakistani security axis could shift OPEC+ bargaining, increase political risk premiums, and force importers to adjust to a less predictable supply environment.

For Palestinians, the stakes are existential. Any collective Islamic security framework that sidelines Palestine will be dismissed as hollow. Legitimacy requires centralising the Palestinian cause, affirming the right of return, and advocating for a state with Jerusalem as its capital within a nuclear-free Middle East. Without such commitments, the new architecture risks appearing as another elite arrangement detached from the aspirations of Muslim populations. With them, it becomes a vehicle for justice as well as security.

The 9 September strike in Doha will be remembered less for the immediate loss of six lives than for the strategic truth it revealed: America’s security guarantee in the Middle East has expired. What followed was not merely performative solidarity but the most rapid realignment towards collective Islamic security since the Cold War. Whether this shift proves durable will depend on the ability of regional actors to convert declarations into institutions, promises into budgets, and grievances into coherent strategy. Yet the conditions for such a transformation are more robust than at any time in recent memory.

For Washington, the message is unavoidable: its monopoly is finished. For regional states, the opportunity is historic: to build a collective architecture based on sovereignty, equality, and justice, free from external domination. For Palestinians, this may be the moment when their struggle is repositioned at the centre of regional politics rather than on its margins.

The day American security guarantees died in Doha may also be remembered as the day a multipolar Middle East was born.