Escalating militarisation in Strait of Hormuz reflects geopolitical tensions and energy security risks amid systemic power vacuums

The Strait of Hormuz has been traversed for millennia by Arab, Persian, Baloch, and South Asian seafarers, whose traditional knowledge of tides, winds, and seasonal migration routes enabled safe passage long before modern state borders. This indigenous maritime heritage is systematically excluded from security narratives, which frame the region as a vacuum to be filled by external powers rather than a living cultural and ecological system. Local fishing communities, such as those in Qeshm and Hormuz islands, possess ecological knowledge critical to understanding the strait's fragility, yet their warnings about environmental degradation from military activity are ignored.

The Strait of Hormuz has been a flashpoint since antiquity, from Persian Achaemenid control to Portuguese occupation in the 16th century, and British dominance through the 19th century, all of which established patterns of external interference in regional sovereignty. The 1953 coup in Iran, orchestrated by the CIA and MI6 to reinstall the Shah, reshaped the geopolitical landscape, creating a power vacuum later exploited by both regional and global actors. The Iran-Iraq War (1980-1988) saw the strait become a battleground, with over 500 ships attacked, foreshadowing today's militarisation under the guise of 'freedom of navigation.'

In the Malay Archipelago, the Strait of Malacca—another critical chokepoint—has been managed for centuries through adat (customary law) systems that balanced trade, security, and ecological sustainability, contrasting sharply with modern state-centric militarisation. West African maritime cultures, such as those of the Niger Delta, have similarly resisted external control over their waters, framing piracy as a response to historical exploitation rather than mere criminality. In the Pacific, island nations like Kiribati and Tuvalu view their exclusive economic zones not as strategic assets but as sacred territories requiring collective governance, a perspective absent in Gulf security discourse.

Maritime security studies confirm that 30% of global oil and 20% of LNG pass through the Strait of Hormuz, making it the world's most critical energy transit corridor, but also one of the most vulnerable to disruption. Research shows that sanctions and military posturing increase the risk of miscalculation, as evidenced by the 2019 attacks on tankers near Fujairah and the 2021 drone strike on an Israeli-linked ship. Climate models project that rising temperatures and sea-level changes will exacerbate resource scarcity, potentially intensifying competition over the strait in coming decades.

In Persian classical poetry, the Strait of Hormuz is often metaphorised as a 'gate of tears' or 'mirror of fate,' reflecting its dual role as a lifeline and a site of peril, a theme echoed in the works of Hafez and Rumi. Omani and Emirati oral traditions speak of djinn inhabiting the strait's waters, warning sailors of hubris—a spiritual caution against the modern militarisation of these waters. Contemporary artists in the Gulf, such as Bahraini conceptual artist Ahmed Mater, explore the strait as a contested space where oil, faith, and sovereignty intersect, challenging state narratives of security.

Scenario modelling by the RAND Corporation and SIPRI suggests that under current trends, the Strait of Hormuz could see a 40% increase in 'grey zone' conflicts by 2035, with drones and cyberattacks becoming primary tools of disruption. Climate-induced water scarcity in Iran and Iraq may drive mass migration, further straining regional stability and increasing the strait's strategic value. Alternative futures include a 'Blue Economy' model, where littoral states collaborate on sustainable fisheries and renewable energy transit, or a 'Fortress Strait' scenario, where militarisation leads to permanent naval bases and exclusion zones.

The crews of the three vessels, while safe, represent a marginalised class of maritime labourers—often from South Asia or the Philippines—who bear the brunt of geopolitical tensions but have no agency in decision-making. Local port workers in Bandar Abbas, Dubai, and Muscat face economic precarity as militarisation disrupts trade and tourism, yet their voices are absent from policy discussions. Women in coastal communities, who traditionally manage fish markets and small-scale trade, are disproportionately affected by food insecurity when supply chains are disrupted, but their perspectives are rarely included in security analyses.