Trump can never know what the US has destroyed in Iran - but China can

Verification is the first casualty in any war waged by spectacle. The International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), once the impartial arbiter of nuclear transparency, has been pushed to the sidelines. After its prior reports were used by Israel as justification for its June 13 airstrikes on Iranian territory, Tehran has cut off all cooperation. Iran’s Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei’s declaration— “The IAEA has become a political tool. No further access will be granted”—marked the formal death of independent verification. From that moment, the fog of war thickened.

With IAEA inspectors barred from Iranian soil, Washington must now rely on secondary intelligence: satellite images, intercepted signals, and reports from allies. This patchwork of data is not just incomplete—it is also highly politicised. Absent direct on-the-ground verification, no claim about the success of the U.S. bombing campaign—especially from a president known for conflating reality with self-interest—can be taken at face value.

Even the hardware used in the strike, the vaunted Massive Ordnance Penetrator (MOP), reveals the disconnect between appearance and efficacy. Designed in the mid-2000s to penetrate the mountainous bunkers of North Korea, the 30,000-pound GBU-57A/B is not a one-size-fits-all weapon. North Korea’s geography is fundamentally different from Iran’s. The complex terrain around Fordow and the geological layers beneath Isfahan were never factored into the original engineering calculations of MOP. Iran’s facilities are designed with multiple decoys, layered tunnels, and false corridors to mislead penetration bombs. The soil density, concrete resilience, and even air circulation systems all differ in ways that could render the MOP’s payload far less effective than intended.

It is a military paradox: the larger the bomb, the greater the illusion of certainty. But in weapons science, factors such as sub-surface composition, angle of impact, and structural reinforcement profoundly affect the yield. This is technical nuance—something Trump, as former National Security Advisor John Bolton once noted, has no patience for. Trump doesn’t read intelligence briefings. He responds to images, applause, and cable news sound bites. That disconnect between operational reality and political narrative widens the credibility gap between what was ordered and what was achieved.

Yet Trump’s real weapon is not military at all—it is narrative. His doctrine, from his first presidency through his current term, has always been rooted in perception. If something is declared loudly and often enough, it becomes “true.” The visual theatrics of an airstrike serve this purpose better than any white paper or National Intelligence Estimate ever could. Hours after the bombing, Trump proudly announced “total success,” with no need for evidence. In this worldview, power resides not in facts, but in the ability to control headlines.

Such a strategy might serve a short-term political need, but it comes at long-term strategic cost. Ambiguity in diplomacy can be useful—if wielded by disciplined actors. When used recklessly, it undermines deterrence, confuses allies, and emboldens adversaries. The danger lies not in the lack of information, but in the excess of misinformation.

The intelligence community has not been spared either. Tulsi Gabbard, once a principled anti-war voice and now serving as National Director of Intelligence, offers a poignant example of how political expediency can overrule analytical rigor. Earlier in 2025, she had concurred with IAEA assessments that Iran remained several years away from developing a deliverable nuclear weapon. Yet when Trump publicly contradicted her, she quickly reversed her stance, citing “new intelligence” but offering no evidence. This sudden volte-face suggests not a re-evaluation based on new data, but a capitulation to executive pressure. Intelligence, once the realm of sober judgement, has now become another stage prop in Trump’s show.

Amid this fog, Iran and China emerge as the quiet winners. Iran, by restricting verification, can now assert that its nuclear infrastructure remains largely unharmed. This fuels domestic morale and sustains its deterrence posture. At the same time, Trump gets to claim success, creating a temporary political win in an election season. But the real power lies with Beijing.

China’s position is structurally different from that of the U.S. It is not mired in the psychological warfare of American electoral politics. Nor is it reliant on military symbolism. Instead, it leverages long-term diplomatic capital and scientific expertise. As Iran’s principal energy partner, China is welcomed in ways the U.S. and IAEA no longer are. Chinese nuclear physicists and engineers—many of whom have worked on joint projects in the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation and the Belt and Road nuclear energy corridors—have both the technical competence and political acceptance to assess actual damage discreetly and accurately.

Iran trusts China—not just because of shared geopolitical interests, but because Beijing abstains from moralising. When the Isfahan facility was struck, Chinese experts were reportedly consulted for damage estimation, not U.S. ones. This isn’t just symbolic—it’s strategic. With that access, China not only helps Iran plan its next move but gains critical insight into U.S. weapon capability, target precision, and doctrinal intent. China becomes the silent ledger-keeper in a war where facts are otherwise erased.

Moreover, China’s access to Iran’s peaceful nuclear programs positions it to co-develop safer and more resilient civilian nuclear technology for regional use. Its scientific literacy, technical workforce, and track record of non-intervention mean China can harness Iran’s energy potential while shielding itself from the fallout of U.S.-Iran tensions. In the chessboard of great power rivalry, this is a powerful move.

In truth, the U.S.-Iran confrontation of June 2025 was less a military campaign than a choreographed media event. Without ground verification, with unsuitable weapons calibrated for another theatre, and under a presidency defined by spectacle over substance, the phrase “monumental damage” may ultimately exist only in the imagination of the man who ordered it.

But in Beijing’s quiet offices and Tehran’s fortified compounds, the real evaluations are underway. Trump may have dropped the bombs, but it is China that will read the debris—and perhaps reshape the future.