(C) Daily Kos This story was originally published by Daily Kos and is unaltered. . . . . . . . . . . February 28th, 2026 [1] ['Fred Cochran', 'View Profile', 'Joe Democrat', 'The Boss Gomez'] Date: 2026-04-30 Attribution: Trump and Netanyahu – Wikipedia President Donald Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu shake hands during their joint press conference, Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2017, in the East Room of the White House in Washington, D.C. (Official White House Photo by Leslie N. Emory) On the morning of Thursday, February 26th, 2026, in a conference room in Geneva, two things were simultaneously true. The United States Navy’s aircraft carrier USS Gerald R. Ford was leaving Souda Bay in Crete, sailing toward the coast of Israel with a full strike group behind it. And the foreign ministers of Iran and the United States were — through the Omani mediator who sat between them — exchanging what Oman’s Foreign Minister Badr al-Busaidi described on the record as “creative and positive ideas” about a nuclear agreement that would prevent Iran from ever building a bomb. Both things were true at the same time. The carrier sailing. The diplomats talking. This is where the story of this war actually begins. Not on February 28th when the bombs fell. Here. In Geneva. Where peace was possible and war was already underway. The talks that day were the third round of indirect negotiations between Washington and Tehran, mediated by Oman, that had begun on April 12th of the previous year with a letter from Donald Trump to Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei. The first round had been in Muscat. The second in Geneva on February 17th. The third would be the last. Iran’s Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi led the Iranian delegation. Trump’s special envoy Steve Witkoff and his son-in-law Jared Kushner led the American side. Al-Busaidi and IAEA Director General Rafael Grossi both participated in the mediation. The talks ran in two formats — indirectly, with al-Busaidi carrying messages between rooms, and at one point directly, with the American and Iranian negotiators briefly in the same space. The Iranians handed over a written proposal the night before. The Americans received it and read it. Both sides talked for hours, broke, and talked again. When the afternoon session concluded, Iran’s Foreign Minister said progress had been “good” and that technical talks would continue in Vienna the following week. IAEA chief Grossi confirmed his participation. A fourth round was scheduled. Vienna was chosen. The date was set. And then Oman’s Foreign Minister did something rare for a diplomat. He said what he actually thought. He flew to Washington. He briefed Vice President JD Vance in person. He walked out of that briefing and posted on X: “Peace is within our reach.” Then he went on CBS News’s Face the Nation and said it to the American public directly. When anchor Margaret Brennan asked what Iran had agreed to that had never been agreed before, al-Busaidi said Iran had committed to never stockpiling enriched uranium in quantities sufficient to produce a bomb — something not in the original Obama-era deal. Zero stockpiling. Permanent. Verifiable. The thing the United States had been seeking for twenty years. The thing that justified every sanction and every threat and every ultimatum. The thing Trump said he went to war to achieve. It had been agreed. In principle. In Geneva. On February 26th. Two days before the bombs fell. That same Friday, Donald Trump left the White House and spoke to reporters. He was asked about the Geneva talks. He said he was not happy with Iran’s position. He said Iran could not have nuclear weapons. He said nothing about the breakthrough al-Busaidi had just described to his own Vice President. From Tehran, senior adviser Ali Shamkhani had written while the talks were still going on: if zero stockpiling was the main issue for the United States, it aligned with Khamenei’s own religious fatwa and with Iran’s defensive doctrine, and an immediate agreement was within reach. He added that Araghchi had sufficient authority to sign the deal on Iran’s behalf. The Omanis said peace was in our hands. The Iranians said they had authority to sign. The IAEA chief was at the table. Vienna was being arranged. A fourth round was scheduled. Trump said he was not happy. The USS Gerald R. Ford kept sailing. On Monday, February 23rd — three days before the Geneva talks and five days before the war — Netanyahu called Trump from the White House Situation Room. According to three sources briefed on the call, Netanyahu told Trump that Iran’s Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei and his top advisers were scheduled to gather at a single location in Tehran on Saturday morning, February 28th. They could all be killed in one strike. Trump was already leaning toward striking Iran. What he had not decided was when. Netanyahu’s call answered that question. The CIA verified the intelligence. Preparations accelerated. Trump made a deliberate decision not to mention Iran at all in his State of the Union address the following evening — so as not to alert Khamenei and cause him to change his schedule before the strike could be launched. At 3:38 p.m. Eastern Time on Friday, February 27th — one day after the Geneva talks, while the Omani mediator was on American television saying peace was within reach — Trump gave the final order. General Dan Caine, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, later told reporters the exact words: “Operation Epic Fury is approved. No aborts. Good luck.” Two hours after giving that order, Trump was on stage in Texas. He told the crowd: “We have a very big decision to make… I’d rather do it the peaceful way.” The war was already ordered. He was publicly pretending to still be deciding. At 2:30 in the morning Eastern Time on February 28th, Trump released an eight-minute video on Truth Social announcing that the United States and Israel had launched major combat operations against Iran. He said the purpose was regime change. He did not mention Geneva. He did not mention al-Busaidi. He did not mention Vienna. The bombs were already falling as he spoke. The Arms Control Association later concluded that Trump had likely already decided on war before the Geneva talks ended, and that no outcome short of complete Iranian capitulation would have averted the strikes. A person briefed on the US proposal told NPR that the 15-point framework Washington eventually shared with Iran after thirty days of bombing mirrored the points the US had already tabled before the war — meaning the deal being offered after the killing was substantially the deal that was available before it. Iran’s Foreign Minister Araghchi said it plainly. When complex nuclear negotiations are treated like a real estate transaction, and when big lies cloud realities, unrealistic expectations can never be met. The outcome was bombing the negotiation table out of spite. After thirty days of war, with more than 3,000 people confirmed dead — among them 360 confirmed children — and the world’s most important shipping strait closed, the United States eventually sent Iran a 15-point peace framework through Pakistan as an intermediary. Iran’s diplomatic sources described it as extremely maximalist and unreasonable. The International Crisis Group’s Ali Vaez was more direct: they were seeking a surrender agreement, which was never on the cards. The deal that was available on February 26th — zero stockpiling, full IAEA verification, permanent prohibitions on nuclear weapons — is not available now. What is available now is the charred landscape of thirty days of bombing, a regional war with no clear endpoint, IRGC hardliners calling for Iran to build a nuclear weapon precisely because the war showed them what happens to countries that don’t have one, and Iran’s parliament actively legislating withdrawal from the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty. Trump bombed Iran to stop a nuclear weapon. The bombing may produce one. This is the first thing that must be understood about this war. It was a choice. A deliberate, calculated, documented choice made by a man who had already decided before the diplomats finished talking. The peace was real. The deal was within reach. The mediator said so on American television the day before the bombs fell. And it was abandoned — not because diplomacy failed, but because one man in Washington decided he preferred war. THE SILENT SENATE The United States Constitution gives Congress — not the president — the power to declare war. The founders were deliberate about this. They had just escaped a king. They had watched what happened when one man could send a nation’s sons to die on his own authority. They wrote it down in Article I, Section 8, in plain language that has not changed in 235 years. In thirty days of the most consequential American military action since the invasion of Iraq — a war that by Day Thirty had killed 13 Americans, wounded more than 300, cost more than 18 billion dollars, sent oil prices to historic highs, closed the Strait of Hormuz, killed at least 360 children, and was preparing to expand into a ground invasion of a country of 90 million people — the United States Senate voted three times on whether to exercise that authority. Three times. 53 to 47. The same vote every time. Almost perfectly along party lines. Fifty-three Republican senators voted to give Donald Trump unlimited authority to conduct and expand this war without their approval, without public hearings, without a single Cabinet official sworn in under oath to explain what the objectives are, how long it will last, what victory looks like, or how many more Americans will die before it ends. One Republican voted differently. Senator Rand Paul of Kentucky — not out of moral revulsion at the killing of children but out of concern about the debt and the constitutional principle of war powers — cast the single Republican vote in favor of any of the three resolutions. For his trouble, Trump publicly threatened him, saying those people would “hopefully someday be gone.” That was the warning. Dissent and you will be erased. And 52 other Republican senators heard it and fell into line. Senator Susan Collins of Maine — who has spent twenty years cultivating a reputation as a moderate — voted against all three war powers resolutions. Her explanation: passing them would “send the wrong message to Iran and to our troops.” She also warned the administration must “keep lawmakers fully briefed.” A warning she immediately undermined by voting to give Trump everything he wanted anyway. Senator Todd Young of Indiana emerged from a classified briefing genuinely troubled. He told reporters: “I think we should have asked more questions. Media outlets were reporting for weeks that we’re marching toward war. We should have been holding hearings.” Then he voted against the war powers resolution. The man who said Congress should have asked more questions voted to ensure Congress would not ask more questions. Senator John Kennedy of Louisiana called a classified briefing a “total waste of time” because lower-level officials couldn’t give him the answers he needed. He said he needed Cabinet officials to appear. Then he voted against every mechanism that would have compelled Cabinet officials to appear. Senator Roger Wicker of Mississippi — chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee — discussed putting Iran war funding through a partisan reconciliation bill to avoid needing Democratic votes. He did not schedule a single public hearing. The chairman of the committee constitutionally responsible for overseeing the military held zero public hearings on the largest American military operation in two decades. Senator Jerry Moran of Kansas gave a floor speech condemning the administration’s decision to grant sanctions waivers on Russian and Iranian oil. He said it signaled desperation to the Iranian regime and reinforced that their strategy of taking the Strait of Hormuz hostage was working. Then he voted to continue the war without congressional oversight. Senator Tammy Duckworth of Illinois — who lost both legs flying a Black Hawk helicopter in Iraq — called it egregious that Republicans in Congress would enable a five-time draft dodger to use American troops as cannon fodder in illegal wars of choice. Senator Adam Schiff of California said Congress does not exist to merely implement the president’s will in war or peace. Senator Chris Murphy of Connecticut — whose constituent Moshe Yitzhak HaCohen Katz, born in New Haven, died in Lebanon on the war’s twenty-ninth day — said the quiet part out loud: any Republican who voted to authorize this war under these circumstances would get absolutely roasted by their constituents. Not constitutional principle. Not moral conviction. Political calculation. They know the war is unpopular. They know their voters are paying for it. They know. And they vote to authorize it anyway. VoteVets Senior Advisor Max Rose — an Afghanistan combat veteran and former member of Congress — said what history will confirm: this was a reckless war of choice conducted with minimal planning and preparation, launched without congressional authorization, without a clearly defined objective, without an exit strategy, and without an honest case made to the American people. That is exactly how forever war starts. Vietnam. Iraq. Afghanistan. Men in suits voted to trust a president. The president sent other people’s children. The children died. The suits went home. This time 52 Republican senators declined even to vote on authorization. They simply stood aside and let it happen. And the children of Minab — 165 girls between the ages of seven and twelve who went to school on February 28th and did not come home — died in the space between what Congress chose not to do and what one man in Washington chose to do instead. DAY ONE: FEBRUARY 28, 2026 Netanyahu had already been to Washington six times since Trump came back to power. Six trips. No other world leader on earth was showing up that often, that persistently, working that one relationship like it was the only thing standing between him and disaster. And then on February 7th, word got out that he was moving up his seventh visit — originally set for February 18th — to February 11th. A whole week earlier, at his own request. Nobody officially explained why. But people had a pretty good idea. Behind the scenes, something had been building for weeks. Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman — the man who publicly said he supported diplomacy with Iran, who smiled for the cameras and talked about peace — had been quietly making private phone calls to Trump, one after another, urging him to attack. MBS said one thing in public and another in private, and in private he was pushing hard. Netanyahu, meanwhile, had spent his entire political career lobbying one American president after another to destroy Iran’s nuclear program, and now he finally had a man in the White House who was actually listening. When Trump was asked later whether MBS had been encouraging him, he grinned and said: “He’s a warrior. Yeah, he does. He’s a warrior. He’s fighting with us, by the way.” So Netanyahu got on the plane early. On February 11th he walked into the White House and the doors closed behind him. Three hours. Not a single camera inside. No press readout worth anything. Just two men and whatever was decided in that room. Afterward Trump put out a bland statement saying nothing definitive had been reached and that negotiations with Iran should continue. The next morning, the USS Gerald Ford — the largest aircraft carrier in the world — quietly left the Caribbean, where it had been operating near Venezuela, and turned itself toward the Mediterranean. The weeks that followed had a strange double quality. On the surface, diplomacy. The US and Iran talked in Oman, then Geneva, then Geneva again. To anyone watching from outside, it looked like two countries genuinely trying to step back from the edge. But when Witkoff and Kushner sat down across from the Iranians, they did it with the commander of US Central Command sitting right next to them at the table — Admiral Brad Cooper, whose fleet was anchored just offshore. It wasn’t subtle. It was a message wrapped inside a negotiation. Still, Iran kept showing up. Still, Iran kept talking. On February 23rd, Netanyahu called Trump with intelligence that Khamenei and his senior advisers would be gathered at a single location in Tehran on the morning of February 28th. The CIA verified it. The order was given four days later. That night — February 27th — Trump was on stage in Texas telling a crowd he’d rather do things the peaceful way. The war had already been ordered hours before he said it. At 2:30 in the morning Washington time on February 28th, most of America was asleep. In Iran it was a Saturday. Kids were getting up for school. At 9:45 in the morning Tehran time, the first missiles hit. What came down on Iran in the next twelve hours was almost incomprehensible in scale. Close to 900 American strikes in the first twelve hours, across 28 provinces. US Navy warships launched Tomahawk cruise missiles. B-2 stealth bombers came in silent and invisible. B-1 Lancers. B-52s. HIMARS launchers. Then, in the afternoon, roughly 200 Israeli Air Force jets launched simultaneously — the largest strike sortie in the history of the Israeli military — hitting around 500 targets across western and central Iran. The Americans called it Operation Epic Fury. The Israelis called their part Operation Roaring Lion. In Tehran, the target list read like someone wanted to erase an entire government from the face of the earth. The Ministry of Defense. The Ministry of Intelligence. The Atomic Energy Headquarters. Khamenei’s residence. The Judiciary. The Presidential building. Nuclear facilities in Karaj and Qom. The internet across the entire country went dark — traffic dropped 98 percent within hours. Eighty-eight million people cut off from each other and from the rest of the world, unable to call for help, unable to find out what was happening, unable to do anything but listen to the explosions and wait. The intelligence had been good. Iran’s top military and intelligence leaders had gathered that morning at three separate meetings inside the national security council complex — meetings that US and Israeli intelligence had identified in advance. The strikes hit all three simultaneously. Khamenei was killed at his compound along with his daughter, his son-in-law, his grandchild, and his daughter-in-law. Forty senior officials were dead by end of day. The man who had led Iran for over three decades was gone before noon. One hour into the attack, at 10:45 in the morning, a missile came down on a school. The Shajareh Tayyebeh Elementary School — the name means “The Good Tree” — was a two-story building in the small southern city of Minab, painted with pink flowers and green leaves on the outside. It sat in the Shahrak-e Al-Mahdi neighborhood, next door to an IRGC naval compound but separated from it by its own walls and its own entrance. Clearly civilian. Clearly a school. It had been a school for over a decade. Any current targeting map would have shown that. The girls were at their desks when the first waves of explosions started rolling across the country. Parents began frantically texting their children’s teachers — get the kids out, send them home, something terrible is happening. Teachers scrambled. Children grabbed their bags. There wasn’t enough time. The school was hit not once, not twice, but three times. Three separate precision strikes on the same building. The roof came straight down. The distinctive pancaking pattern — a roof collapsing vertically onto the floors below — was later identified by investigators as the signature of a top-down air strike. Under the rubble were the children. 165 people were killed. Most of them girls between seven and twelve years old. 95 more were wounded. Rescue workers dug through the rubble through the afternoon and into the evening. Cameras caught the faces of the parents arriving at the scene. There are no words that do justice to what those faces looked like. Neither the United States nor Israel admitted any responsibility. A Pentagon spokesperson said they were “looking into it.” When a reporter asked Trump directly whether American forces could have been responsible, he shook his head. “In my opinion and based on what I’ve seen, that was done by Iran,” he said. “They’re very inaccurate, as you know, with their munitions.” The evidence didn’t cooperate with that story. Video footage showed what weapons experts confirmed was a Tomahawk cruise missile diving almost vertically into the area — a weapon used exclusively by US forces in this conflict. Missile fragments recovered from the site and photographed by Iranian state media were identified by arms control researchers as American-made. Satellite imagery showed the school was still standing at 10:23 that morning and destroyed by 11:49. The US had divided target responsibilities with Israel geographically — and southern Iran, where Minab sat, was the American zone. When the evidence mounted, Trump shifted. “The Tomahawk is very generic,” he told reporters. “It’s sold to other countries.” He added: “I just don’t know enough about it.” On March 3rd, Iran held a mass funeral for the children in the public square of Minab. Thousands of mourners came. They carried photographs of little girls. One mother held up what she called “a document of American crimes.” Over a hundred graves had been dug in advance. The caskets arrived in procession. The graves filled up one by one. While the rescue workers were still pulling bodies from The Good Tree school, Iran was already firing back. By the end of that first day, Iran had launched 20 separate ballistic missile barrages — around 170 missiles total — at Israel and at US military bases across the Middle East. Six American bases got hit: in Iraq, Jordan, Bahrain, Qatar, Kuwait, and the UAE. Two Iranian missiles broke through Israel’s defenses and struck Tel Aviv and Bnei Brak, killing one person and wounding dozens. Sirens wailed across Israel. Flights were grounded. Schools closed. The IDF called up tens of thousands of reservists. Iranian drones struck the US Consulate in Dubai, starting a fire. Missiles hit near Jebel Ali port. Iranian forces struck a radar installation at the US Naval base in Bahrain — home of the Fifth Fleet. The US Embassy in Riyadh was hit by two drones and temporarily closed. Explosions were reported in Kuwait, Qatar, the UAE. For a government that Trump had declared eliminated, Iran was demonstrating considerable reach. Then, as the sun went down over the Persian Gulf, Iran’s Revolutionary Guards made an announcement that sent a chill through every trading floor, every shipping company, every government in the world that depended on oil. They declared the Strait of Hormuz closed. Not yet enforced — that would come over the following days, as Iranian warships and drones began actually targeting vessels. But the declaration was made. The sword was raised. The world’s single most important maritime chokepoint, the narrow strip of water through which a fifth of all the oil on earth passes every single day, had just been put on notice. Oil markets were already spiking. Flights across the Middle East were being suspended. In Washington, Trump told reporters that “just about everything’s been knocked out” and that Iran had no navy, no air force, no radar, no air defense left. Somewhere in Minab, a mother was identifying her daughter’s body. 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