Good morning. Ika here. The Middle East "peace" Donald Trump keeps announcing keeps not happening. On Saturday Iran's Revolutionary Guards slammed shut the Strait of Hormuz - a fifth of the world's oil and gas - days after signing a memorandum meant to reopen it. The trigger wasn't Tehran; it was Lebanon, where Israel and Hizbollah are trading fire through a ceasefire that exists mostly on paper. Meanwhile in Ukraine, 71,216 Russian recruits a quarter can't outrun a cheap drone, and Volodymyr Zelenskyy is boxing up Poland's highest medal in a Kyiv post office over a 1943 massacre - gifting Moscow a wedge days before an allied summit. Let's get into it. 👇

Iran closed the Strait of Hormuz on Saturday, blowing a hole in Trump's signature push to end his war with the Islamic republic.

Why it matters: Roughly a fifth of global oil and gas moves through that channel. Reopening it was Trump's lever to ease a worldwide energy crunch.

The Revolutionary Guards declared the waterway closed to all vessels, accusing Israel of "crimes" and the US of a "violation of its commitments" under the ceasefire.

Catch up quick: Tehran agreed Wednesday to gradually reopen Hormuz under a memorandum extending the April 8 ceasefire by 60 days - strait reopens, US lifts the naval blockade, both sides negotiate a nuclear deal. Talks were set for Switzerland Friday.

Then Lebanon blew the timeline up.

Zoom in the trigger: An Israeli official says Hizbollah fired 50+ projectiles overnight Friday into Saturday. Lebanese authorities say Israeli air strikes killed at least 14 people, including two children; one strike on Barish wiped out four members of a single family.

The intrigue: The deal may be hollow. Carnegie's Karim Sadjadpour calls it a "Memorandum of Misunderstanding" - US and Iranian versions diverge, and JD Vance has referenced unwritten terms under a "gentleman's agreement." Tehran, which watched Trump tear up the 2015 JCPOA, trusts none of it.

What we're hearing: Iran isn't hiding the strings. Negotiator Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf boasted this week that "Lebanon had offered 4,000 martyrs to defend the Islamic republic" - torching Hizbollah's claim it's an ally, not a proxy.

Yes, but: Tehran still dispatched its delegation to Switzerland. Trump envoys Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner were already there. Lebanese president Joseph Aoun is betting on direct Israel talks: "We have a great opportunity for both the Lebanese and the Israeli people to live in safety and security." A third round lands in Washington next week.

The bottom line: The interim deal runs on distrust. Hormuz is the proof.

Smoke over Moscow this week - Ukrainian drones struck the capital's largest oil refinery - told the story in a single frame: Kyiv innovates, Moscow chases.

The big picture: "Robotification has made troop numbers much less important," says one person in the war effort. "You need 10 or 20 thousand drone operators, not hundreds of thousands of men sitting in trenches."

Between the lines: Ukraine now strikes ~150km deep, hammering the resupply corridor to Crimea.

What we're hearing: Russia's defense industry is tapped out. "The military industry has plateaued," one western intelligence official says. "They maxed out all their capacity. There's no way to step it up without investment and that takes years."

Zoom in: Putin micromanages, taking briefings from commander Valery Gerasimov as often as twice a day. Cornered by servicemen demanding an answer to Starlink, he insisted Russia already had one - then learned from his own defense minister that only 16 units had launched. "Absolutely insufficient," Putin conceded.

Yes, but: Russia can still inflict serious pain. Gliding bombs - a projected 75,000 this year, up from 60,000 - are razing Ukrainian positions. They "are still a problem that Ukraine hasn't managed to find a solution for," says ex-air force officer Oleksiy Melnyk.

The bottom line: "He thinks it's a question of time," a former Kremlin official says of Putin. Short of fresh mobilization or nukes, analysts see little that flips the trajectory.

Driving the news: Volodymyr Zelenskyy agreed to return the Order of the White Eagle - Poland's highest decoration, awarded to him in 2023 - after President Karol Nawrocki moved to strip it.

The backstory: The feud erupted last month when Zelenskyy renamed a special forces unit "heroes of the UPA," the Ukrainian Insurgent Army. The UPA fought for independence but remains tied to the Volhynia massacres, in which roughly 100,000 ethnic Poles were killed during WWII.

Zoom in: Zelenskyy didn't go quietly. He posted photos of the medal boxed for shipment from a Kyiv post office and listed recipients who kept theirs: "If it is considered that this special symbol may remain with [Russian empress] Catherine II, Benito Mussolini, and Gerhard Schröder, then we in Ukraine will not argue with that."

His ask: respect.

Why it matters: Poland was Kyiv's fiercest early backer after 2022 - sending arms and serving as the gateway for millions of refugees. The rift hands Moscow a wedge. Foreign minister Andriy Sybiha branded Nawrocki's move a "strategic mistake... that will only benefit Moscow," and is returning his own Polish honor.

The intrigue: The timing bites. Poland hosts a Ukraine postwar-recovery conference next week in Gdańsk - PM Donald Tusk's home city. Tusk has scolded Zelenskyy for bruising Poland's "historical sensitivity," but mostly wants both presidents to stop feeding Russia's narrative.

What's next: It's cascading. Intelligence chief Kyrylo Budanov is returning his Order of Merit. Three former presidents - Kuchma, Yushchenko and Poroshenko - have already renounced their White Eagles.

The bottom line: A 1943 wound is straining a 2026 alliance - on the eve of the summit meant to plan Ukraine's future.

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