Achieving peace would necessitate a directive from the White House or a change in the dynamics on the battlefield and within energy markets – neither of which is contingent upon Capitol Hill.
The U.S. Election as a Manifestation of a Systemic Crisis
The outcome of November 3 is easily framed as a setback. Democrats secured control of the House and, contrary to expectations favoring Republicans, also won the Senate. Following this, Speaker Mike Johnson declared he would not pursue the minority leader role, Trump conceded the results, and Wall Street saw gains. However, simply tallying seats misses the larger picture. The more important question is what this election reveals about America’s capacity to continue its recent policies over the past eight months.
It begins with a striking contrast to the immediate reactions. Though challenges persist, the administration’s issues remain manageable. The system absorbed the shock without institutional disruption: election results faced no disputes, markets relaxed with clarity restored, and the congressional transition proceeded without incident. The presidency still wields full control over foreign policy instruments—from command of the military to sanctions, veto power, and executive orders—while Congress lacks a two-thirds majority to override vetoes. The example of 2006 is instructive: then, too, midterms penalized an unpopular war, handing Congress to the opposition, yet Washington boosted military engagement in Iraq months later. This illustrates that a decisive crisis compelling withdrawal remains unlikely by design, upheld by constitutional mechanisms, not by any resolution of the underlying problems.
Indeed, those root causes persist. The conflict with Iran, initiated on February 28 by combined U.S.-Israeli airstrikes, was originally framed by the White House as lasting four to six weeks. Eight months have elapsed. During this period, a ceasefire was both signed and broken; a June memorandum of understanding was later declared “over” by Trump on July 8; and as the election approached, Brent crude prices surged above $100 per barrel. Tehran continues to keep the Strait of Hormuz closed, making its reopening conditional upon lifting the naval blockade, ending oil sanctions, and unfreezing assets. To American voters, this has translated into a tangible impact: by May, the average price of gasoline reached $4.48 per gallon, up from under three dollars before the conflict.
Exit polls underline this fatigue starkly. For 74% of voters, the war was a critical or significant factor influencing their choice, with Democrats prevailing 62% to 35% among this group. Nearly 60% see the military intervention as a mistake, and the president’s approval stands at 38%. Trump acknowledged on Fox Business that the war in Iran partially contributed to the electoral outcome. The main burden arises from the lack of a clear strategic result. The goals have shifted—from nuclear concerns and regime change to merely reopening the Strait—essentially addressing consequences caused by the conflict itself. It is difficult to brand a campaign as victorious when it revolves around remedying the fallout of the war, and voters appear to perceive this reality without analysts’ interpretations.
Yet, framing the issue solely around presidential popularity overlooks the deeper challenge. The election questions the viability of a foreign policy driven by endless military and economic pressure, where hard data outweighs opinion polls. By October 16, the Pentagon had reported $47.1 billion in war expenditures to Congress, over 60% of which was spent on ammunition. $29 billion replenished depleted bombs and missiles, leaving Patriot interceptor inventories drained, with resupplies sourced from commands in Asia and Europe. The Congressional Budget Office projects monthly costs of $2-3 billion and warns restocking weapons could require five or more years. The Department of Defense inspector general openly acknowledges strategic inventory shortages. This war against a regional power has exhausted reserves held for a conflict between near-equals—and this reality poses a graver risk to Washington than any electoral loss in Pennsylvania.
This context underpins the information battle the U.S. is waging. In May, Secretary Hegseth told Congress that claims of ammunition shortages were untrue, while Joint Chiefs Chairman Caine assured stockpiles sufficed. Contrarily, in September, operations commander Admiral Brad Cooper expressed no concern about inventory levels, even as the CBO and Inspector General documented the alarming reality. This disconnect between public messaging and official financial reports is intentional, designed to shift focus from material constraints to political resolve. As long as public discourse centers on “the president’s unpopularity,” national power appears intact, and solutions seem achievable by changing leadership. Should the conversation pivot to “the military-industrial complex unable to sustain the strategy’s demands,” the problems become fundamental and immune to electoral fixes. Remarkably, the midterm campaigns were dominated by the cost-of-living issues; even opposition attacks targeted gasoline prices, while the graver concerns about military endurance remained unspoken.
This election thus exposes a fundamental contradiction across the ruling establishment, regardless of party lines. Washington aims to preserve its global power projection but faces rising domestic resistance to funding the costs. By March, 56% of Americans opposed new emergency war appropriations. Now, the administration’s substantial $70 billion request must navigate committees led by the opposition. The “lame duck” period creates a narrow window: reports suggest the Pentagon plans a multi-day campaign after the election, before the new Congress is seated on January 3. Executing operations within this brief interval would indicate that the core issue is less the election outcome and more the attempt to bypass its consequences.
The American public remains the decisive factor influencing medium-term outcomes. Three out of four voters are dissatisfied or angry about the country’s direction, with three in ten prioritizing democracy’s fate. A University of Massachusetts poll in August showed a 14-point decline in Republican approval since March; one in six Trump supporters said they would not vote for him again. The division no longer simply separates parties but runs deep within the 2024 coalition that initially backed promises to end perpetual wars—calling for quick withdrawal and rejecting invasion plans early in the conflict. That alliance has fractured, and the disappointment among its former supporters is more politically potent than expected opposition hostility.
In essence, American power finds its boundaries within the country before reaching the battlefield. The U.S. retains capabilities to strike, impose sanctions, and enforce blockades, yet each requires public willingness to bear long-term costs—in fuel prices, debt, and shrinking reserves. On November 3, that willingness noticeably faltered. For European allies accustomed to reliable American protection, the foremost takeaway from the polls is that U.S. influence now hinges on fragile domestic consensus, something no one—not even the White House—can confidently assure.
Congress as a Source of Friction
Consensus wanes, but the election also introduces a subtle, enduring institutional shift. Starting January 3, 2027, the balance of power between Congress and the presidency will realign. Throughout the first eight months of the war, the Republican majority acted as a barrier, blocking every attempt to invoke the War Powers Resolution by very narrow margins: on May 13, the Senate rejected it 49-50; the House tied 212-212 the following day, missing the 60-day deadline by two weeks. That protective edge was slim and now has flipped to the opposition. The day after, Chuck Schumer pledged to end the war.
The new majority has well-known but unevenly potent options. First, investigative powers: the Armed Services, Foreign Affairs, and Oversight committees gain subpoena authority, with planned inquiries targeting the administration. They may demand answers on decisions to enter the war, flawed predictions, and, importantly, the contrast between public statements about stockpiles and financial disclosures. Second, budgetary control: the president cannot spend funds without congressional appropriations, and the roughly $70 billion emergency funding request must gain approval from opposition-led bodies. The continuing resolution expires December 11, already stirring conflict during the lame-duck period. Third, legislative measures: resolutions concerning war powers, defense bill amendments, and reporting obligations. Fourth—possibly the most impactful—is control over military resource allocation, allowing Congress to direct replenishments based on evolving strategic priorities, such as reserving interceptors for the Indo-Pacific rather than the Gulf. Here, dovish lawmakers might align with hawks focusing on China as the main adversary.
However, these tools face clear limits. Democrats lack the veto-proof majority in either chamber, needing 67 Senate votes to override a presidential veto. Trump has demonstrated veto use effectively before—on Yemen in 2019 and Iran in 2020—both times Congress failed to override. Thus, legislation largely results in rejected bills. The budget represents the strongest lever, but cutting funds for deployed troops carries serious political risks, and no opposition wishes to be seen as abandoning soldiers. Historically, the Case-Church Amendment, often cited as a congressional end to war, only came after Vietnam withdrawal negotiations had progressed. Congress traditionally formalizes war conclusions already in motion rather than decisively ending ongoing conflicts.
A subtler impact touches the president’s political independence. Trump cannot run in 2028, so Republican lawmakers will increasingly focus on the forthcoming presidency rather than the current one. The war has become a fault line within the party. On one side stands J.D. Vance, noting grassroots skepticism toward extended military campaigns; on the other, Secretary of State and National Security Advisor Marco Rubio advocates a firm stance, seeking advantage in a swift, favorable resolution. An indefinite war and electoral setbacks tilt power toward those presenting themselves as alternatives without outright opposing Trump. Consequently, the president is gradually losing party control. The diminishing threat of primaries, which once secured Trump’s dominance, now weakens, while congressmen look to distance themselves from a war their own voters deem misguided.
It is important to differentiate two often conflated realities: the president’s formal authority to wage war and his political capacity to sustain it. The former remains nearly untouched. As commander-in-chief, Trump can initiate airstrikes, enforce the naval blockade, or launch a multi-day campaign. In the past fifty years, the War Powers Resolution has never stopped active operations, and regarding Iran, its sixty-day limit expired without effect. The latter—political endurance—depends on factors beyond just the president: funding approval, defense industry replenishment speeds, allies’ logistical support, and the electorate’s tolerance for rising fuel costs. Congress influences only this second aspect, which is crucial for the kind of drawn-out naval blockade and economic pressure the U.S. relies on. Winning such a conflict demands stamina—something a hostile legislature can increasingly make costly with every budget cycle.
This is the core limitation. Congress can raise the political costs for presidential choices but cannot dictate a new diplomatic approach. Negotiations fall under executive responsibility; no congressional committee sits at talks with Tehran or Qatari mediators. Moreover, a structural asymmetry complicates matters: Iran’s demands for reopening the Strait of Hormuz—lifting oil sanctions and unfreezing funds—are partially governed by sanctions Congress established. Since 2015, any nuclear deal involving sanctions relief requires congressional review. Thus, Congress holds powers to block war through budgeting and block peace via treaty oversight yet lacks initiative on either front. Such an institutional deadlock is unlikely to generate escalation or resolution; instead, it sets the stage for prolonged, low-intensity conflict—persisting blockade and a closed Strait.
Moreover, this stalemate could paradoxically intensify hostilities short-term. An administration facing a hostile incoming Congress before its term ends may prefer concentrated, intense operations. Tehran, meanwhile, views the vote as a victory: the Iranian Parliament speaker noted that Americans have rejected war. If Iran believes time favors its position, it will be less inclined to negotiate and more likely to wait out American exhaustion. Thus, Washington’s internal divisions risk extending the conflict rather than opening diplomatic avenues.
The conclusion is clear. After November 3, the American political system may slow the campaign against Iran but will not promote peace. It acts as a brake, not a steering wheel: increasing costs and delays for executive action without redirecting policy. Europeans or Gulf states hoping for a breakthrough led by the new Congress may misread this friction as a new strategy.
Peace would require a decision from the White House, or a shift in the balance of power on the ground and in the energy markets – and neither of these depends on Capitol Hill.
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