For months the dominant question in diplomatic circles has been whether President Donald Trump is pursuing regime change in Iran. The scale of the joint United States and Israeli bombing campaign, the assassination of senior regime figures including Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, and the rhetoric urging Iranians to “take over” their government would ordinarily suggest a straightforward answer. Yet a closer examination of Trump’s statements, the posture of his senior aides and the pattern of his conduct across Iran, Venezuela and Cuba indicates that the objective may not be classical regime change at all. It may instead be something more transactional and, in some respects, more unsettling: the pursuit of regime behaviour change calibrated to United States interests rather than democratic transformation.
The distinction is neither semantic nor trivial. Regime change in its orthodox meaning implies the dismantling of a governing structure and its replacement with a new political order, usually accompanied by intensive state building, constitutional redesign and long term security commitments. Behaviour change, by contrast, demands that an existing regime alter how it conducts itself externally and, to a lesser extent, internally, without necessarily transforming the fundamental architecture of power. One United States official, speaking on condition of anonymity because they were not authorised to brief the press, described the administration’s approach bluntly: “Our version of regime change is behaviour change. We have learned some lessons from Iraq and Afghanistan.”
Those lessons loom large over every contemporary use of American force. The protracted wars in Iraq and Afghanistan entrenched scepticism within sections of the Republican Party about ambitious democracy promotion projects that require generational commitments of blood and treasure. Ali Vaez of the International Crisis Group has argued that genuine regime change requires a degree of state building that the current team around Trump does not want to undertake. Vaez prefers the term regime transformation, meaning that the structure more or less remains in place but behaviour shifts in ways aligned with United States interests rather than necessarily with United States values. That formulation captures the core tension in Trump’s foreign policy worldview. He has never been doctrinally committed to democracy as an end in itself. He has shown himself willing to work comfortably with authoritarian leaders from Saudi Arabia to El Salvador provided they deliver outcomes that suit Washington.
In Iran, the present campaign illustrates this logic with stark clarity. The joint United States and Israeli operation has killed dozens of senior regime figures, with Israel taking operational lead on targeted assassinations but with the clear blessing of Washington. The strikes are designed to degrade Iran’s nuclear programme, its ballistic missile capabilities and its support for armed groups designated as terrorist organisations by the United States. These are framed as core national security objectives. Yet even as bombs fall, Trump has signalled willingness to negotiate with remnants of the Islamist leadership. That signal is not consistent with a fully conceived plan to dismantle the Islamic Republic and replace it with a government in exile or a Western backed transitional authority. There is, by all available public evidence, no government in waiting prepared to assume power in Tehran once military operations conclude.
The ambiguity is compounded by contradictory rhetoric from senior officials. Defence Secretary Pete Hegseth has insisted that the campaign is not a so called regime change war, even as he quipped that the regime sure did change. Some allies of the president, including Senator Lindsey Graham, have downplayed United States responsibility for the aftermath should the regime collapse. Meanwhile Trump himself has oscillated between calls for citizens to rise up and assertions that he would be satisfied if Iran dismantled its nuclear and missile programmes and ceased support for proxy groups. The semantic fog conceals a strategic reality: the administration appears less interested in what ideological label attaches to Tehran’s rulers than in whether those rulers cease conduct deemed hostile to Washington.
This approach is not entirely new. During his first term, Trump withdrew from the nuclear agreement negotiated under President Barack Obama and imposed sweeping sanctions on Iran. At that time, senior aides described the policy as seeking behaviour change rather than regime change, although the list of demands presented to Tehran was so expansive that it appeared to require the regime to alter its fundamental identity. Sanctions alone did not deliver that transformation. Iran continued enrichment activities and maintained its regional networks. The current escalation, therefore, represents a dramatic intensification of coercive leverage rather than a departure from the underlying logic.
The model becomes clearer when examined alongside Venezuela. In that theatre, the United States captured Nicolás Maduro in a rapid incursion and transferred him to New York on charges related to alleged narco trafficking. Crucially, however, Washington did not embark on an open ended occupation or attempt wholesale reconstruction of the Venezuelan state. Instead it turned to remaining figures within the regime, notably Delcy Rodríguez, who have since granted the United States access to Venezuelan oil and released some political prisoners. Trump publicly described Venezuela as a new friend and partner in a recent State of the Union address. The regime in Caracas has not been democratised in any comprehensive sense. Yet its external behaviour, particularly regarding energy access and certain humanitarian concessions, has shifted sufficiently to satisfy the White House for now.
Cuba presents a subtler but related case. The administration has intensified economic sanctions on the island to an unusual degree, curtailing access to oil and other essential products. Trump has floated the notion of a friendly takeover, though there is no suggestion of imminent military action. Secretary of State Marco Rubio, long a proponent of ending communist rule in Havana, has recently framed the issue in economic terms, stating that Cuba’s fundamental problem is the absence of a functioning economy. He has indicated that the United States would welcome dramatic economic reforms that open space for economic and eventually political freedom, and that change does not have to occur all at once. According to a United States official, Washington could push for privatisation of certain industries, expanded foreign investment and the release of political prisoners in exchange for easing sanctions. This is not classic regime change. It is calibrated pressure designed to extract incremental reforms that align Havana more closely with United States economic and strategic preferences.
In all three cases, Trump appears to treat each country as distinct and to tailor tactics accordingly. In Iran he is willing to risk substantial military escalation and has been frank about the possibility of American casualties and a campaign lasting four to five weeks or far longer. In Venezuela he opted for a swift decapitation strike combined with pragmatic engagement of surviving elites. In Cuba he relies primarily on economic strangulation and conditional dialogue. The unifying thread is a willingness to reshape regimes’ conduct without necessarily committing to their complete removal. From a legal perspective, this raises intricate questions. International law traditionally distinguishes between intervention aimed at self defence and intervention aimed at altering another state’s political order. The latter has long been viewed with suspicion under the United Nations Charter framework. By framing operations as defensive measures to eliminate nuclear threats and terrorism support, the administration situates its actions within a national security narrative rather than an explicit doctrine of forcible regime change. Domestically, however, the constitutional implications remain contentious. Prolonged military action without explicit congressional authorisation risks testing the limits of executive war powers, particularly if objectives expand beyond discrete strikes to sustained coercive campaigns.
The strategic risks are equally acute. If Iran’s remaining leadership refuses to negotiate and the state fragments, the result could be a failed state whose territory becomes a haven for transnational militant groups. Alternatively, Iran’s armed forces could consolidate control, producing a more overt military authoritarianism. Neither outcome necessarily enhances United States security. Behaviour change strategies rely on the assumption that coercion can compel rational recalibration by adversaries. History demonstrates that regimes under existential pressure often harden rather than soften. There is also the moral hazard inherent in privileging interests over values. By signalling that he is prepared to work with authoritarian systems provided they modify conduct towards the United States, Trump reinforces a transactional paradigm in international relations. Human rights reforms become bargaining chips rather than principled commitments. The calculus becomes whether leaders in Tehran, Caracas or Havana alter external behaviour enough to secure sanctions relief or diplomatic engagement. For citizens within those states who seek fundamental political freedom, that may be an incomplete victory.
Yet it would be analytically simplistic to dismiss the strategy outright. Traditional regime change operations have a poor track record when they involve external imposition of new political orders. If behaviour change can reduce nuclear proliferation risks, curb support for armed groups and open incremental economic space without large scale occupation, some would argue it represents a more restrained model of coercive diplomacy. The difficulty lies in calibrating pressure so that it produces durable change rather than temporary compliance or catastrophic collapse.
Ultimately the question is not whether Trump uses the phrase regime change. It is whether the coercive instruments at his disposal can reliably induce adversarial governments to alter core policies without triggering wider instability. The leaders of Iran, Cuba and Venezuela, to the extent that they survive current pressures, may conclude that selective accommodation serves their interests. They may also calculate that waiting out a United States administration or exploiting strategic distraction offers a safer path.
For now, what is clear is that Trump’s doctrine is less about exporting democracy and more about bending hostile regimes towards Washington’s priorities. It is a doctrine grounded in leverage, personality and risk tolerance. Whether it produces lasting security gains or merely postpones deeper crises will depend on how those regimes respond and on how consistently the United States is prepared to enforce its demands. In an era marked by great power competition and fragile international norms, the experiment with behaviour change as a substitute for regime change will shape not only the fate of specific governments but also the credibility of American power itself.