Associated Press President Donald Trump speaks at Wheeler High School, Wednesday, July 22, 2026, in Marietta, Ga. (AP Photo/Julia Demaree Nikhinson) Modern wars often begin with attacks on military targets, and end with the deliberate destruction of infrastructure that sustains civilian life.
The U.S. and Israel launched their war with Iran by attacking its leadership, nuclear facilities, command centers, air defenses and missile launch sites. In recent weeks, however, they have targeted bridges, railroads, port facilities and energy infrastructure.
History reveals that this evolution is not unusual. In conflicts from Vietnam to Iraq, Kosovo to Ukraine, political and military leaders often expect — and sometimes promise — a short campaign. When initial strikes fail to achieve their goals, political leaders double down on the idea that imposing massive economic costs and civilian hardship will force adversaries to bend the knee.
In fact, expanding the target list often increases humanitarian costs while failing to produce the desired results.
In attacking Iranian infrastructure, the Trump administration apparently hopes to degrade Iran’s ability to threaten shipping in the Strait of Hormuz and increase pressure on Iran’s leaders to meet U.S. settlement demands. But as Robert Pape and other experts on the use of air power have shown, bombing alone rarely compels capitulation. Instead, attacks that inflict widespread civilian suffering often strengthen national resolve, as Britain’s response to the Blitz, North Vietnam’s endurance during Operation Rolling Thunder, and Ukraine’s response to Russia’s attacks on its electrical grid all illustrate.
During the 1991 Gulf War, coalition forces attacked Iraq’s electrical grid, bridges and transportation networks, oil facilities and defense industries. Although most of these installations supported Iraq’s military, their destruction also crippled food systems, hospitals, water treatment facilities, sewage plants and economic life, at enormous long-term cost to civilians. But it took a ground invasion to force Iraq out of Kuwait.
In 1999, to stop ethnic cleansing in Kosovo, an autonomous province within the Republic of Serbia, NATO forces bombed air defenses, command and control centers, and troops in the field, expecting that these strikes would promptly force Yugoslavia to back down.
Within days, NATO had hit most of the military assets on its initial target list. When the ethnic cleansing continued, NATO expanded its target list to include government ministries, the electrical grid, bridges, refineries and television broadcast facilities. Entire cities were blacked out, disabling military communications but also crippling hospitals and civilian water-pumping stations.
As civilian casualties mounted, Yugoslavia and human rights groups accused NATO and the U.S. of war crimes. The chief prosecutor of the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia concluded, after a review by her office, that NATO did not deliberately target civilians or “unlawful military targets,” although NATO did make serious errors and operated in legal gray areas.
When Russia invaded Ukraine in 2022, the Kremlin expected to take over the country within days. After major battlefield setbacks, Russia sharply expanded its attacks on civilian infrastructure, to deny Ukraine the industrial capacity for self-defense, destroy morale and render the country unlivable. Today, Ukraine remains bloodied but unbowed. The international community has condemned Russia, and the International Criminal Court has issued arrest warrants for President Vladimir Putin and several top Russian officials charged with war crimes.
Under the law of war, states may not intentionally target civilians or civilian infrastructure. But infrastructure often serves both civilian and military purposes. A railroad may take passengers to work and transport soldiers to the front. A power station may supply electricity to both hospitals and radar installations.
Such “dual-use” targets may be lawfully attacked only if their destruction “offers a definite military advantage” and the expected civilian harm is not excessive relative to the anticipated advantage. But as wars drag on and frustration mounts, governments often adopt increasingly expansive interpretations of what qualifies as a military objective.
Unlike any of his predecessors, President Trump often threatens apocalypse now, or in a few hours, with attacks that, if carried out, would plainly constitute war crimes. After launching strikes against Iran last February, he repeatedly insisted the war would be over in four to five weeks. On Easter Sunday, however, Trump warned he was prepared to destroy Iran’s power plants and bridges. A few days later, he announced, “a whole civilization will die tonight” and threatened to bomb Iran “back to the Stone Ages.”
This week, Trump threatened to “bomb and destroy” one bridge or power plant for every new Iranian attack on ships in the Strait of Hormuz, “including those located next to, or in, the Capital City of Tehran.” The U.S. military insists it is targeting military objectives. But the Pentagon refuses to release detailed information about its strikes, the target list is clearly expanding, and the threat to Iranian civilians is growing.
Along with a loss of Russian support and the prospect of a possible ground invasion, NATO’s bombing campaign helped induce Yugoslav President Slobodan Milošević to relinquish control over Kosovo. Far more often, however, air attacks targeting infrastructure foster a sense of shared victimization, increase animosity toward attackers, and harden public support for the regime under attack. Russia’s systematic destruction of Ukraine’s infrastructure has clearly strengthened Ukrainians’ resolve.
U.S. policymakers would do well to ask whether upping the ante with bombs is likely to end this conflict, or deepen it by dragging in other countries in the Middle East and dragging down the global economy. And even though Iran’s government, which is no stranger to war crimes, may not care if its own civilians suffer, we should.
David Wippman is emeritus president of Hamilton College. Glenn C. Altschuler is The Thomas and Dorothy Litwin Emeritus Professor of American Studies at Cornell University.
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