Imagine a single-lane highway through which almost a third of the oil that drives the global economy flows, without pause or margin of error. It’s not a secret tunnel or a science-fiction pipeline: it’s the Strait of Hormuz, a strip barely 39 kilometers wide between Iran and Oman, separating the Persian Gulf from the rest of the planet. Nearly 21 million barrels of crude oil pass through this strategic slit every day, turning this region into a kind of energy gorge of the world. And, like any gorge, if you squeeze it, you suffocate.
The question isn’t whether Iran could close it. The question is when, how, for how long… and how strongly the world would shake.
Hormuz: The Noose That Holds the World’s Neck
When we talk about the next global energy collapse—because it will happen, the question is when—we must remember that it all began with a line of water just 39 kilometers long. A narrow, hot, and narrow strip, known in textbooks as the Strait of Hormuz, but in reality it should be called what it is: the bottleneck through which the global financial system breathes. The most perfect geographic trap produced by contemporary geopolitics. And most seriously: Iran holds the key.
For any economist, diplomat, or defense analyst, there is nothing new in this warning. It has been repeated ad nauseam. Twenty percent of the oil circulating on the planet—yes, one in every five barrels—passes every day through that gorge located between Iran and Oman. The statistic is so grotesque that it no longer impresses. But there is a difference between knowing this and understanding what it means: all it takes is a missile, a credible threat, or even a ship poorly positioned at the correct coordinates to interrupt that circulation for the world’s markets to panic. And when oil panics, the whole world falls to its knees.
It’s been said thousands of times, from the corridors of Washington to the newsrooms of London and Brussels: if Iran decides to close the strait—completely or only partially—an immediate war won’t break out, but it will trigger a domino effect. And not the elegant kind, where the pieces fall one after the other like in a wooden ballet. No. It will be an unchoreographed chain reaction: stock market panic, collapse of shipping, futures speculation, skyrocketing inflation, energy blackouts in Asia, unsustainable subsidies in Europe, a global crisis of confidence, and, as a final straw, indirect armed conflicts on multiple fronts. All for a piece of water.
Iran knows this. So does the United States. The difference is that while one lives in that corner of the world and has dominated it for decades with ships, allied militias, and surface-to-sea missiles, the other intends to monitor it from aircraft carriers that are increasingly expensive, slower, and more unpopular in Congress. In practice, the Pentagon has no quick response for surgical action in Hormuz. It has deterrent power, yes. But the damage would already be done before the drones arrive. Because what causes the collapse is not the blockade itself, but its announcement.
And that’s where the psychological game that Iran has been perfecting for decades comes in. It doesn’t need to block the passage. It’s enough to hint that it could. Flex its muscles, raise its tone, activate a speedboat, place floating mines near the oil route, accuse the West of provocation. It’s done it before and it will do it again. Threats are more profitable than action. And cheaper, too.
Recent history is riddled with these episodes. In 2019, when Trump intensified sanctions against Tehran, the Strait was the scene of sabotage, downed drones, and mysterious attacks on tankers. Cameras recorded it, insurers doubled their rates, Brent rose $4 in a single day, and the international community remained—as always—in the “condemnations” phase. The result was clear: Iran understood that it doesn’t need to win the war to control the game. It just needs to stir the pot in the narrowest sphere of global diplomacy.
The most cynical—and at the same time most realistic—thing is that no country wants a complete closure of the Strait of Hormuz. Not even Iran, which also exports oil through it. But everyone uses it as a leverage. The Gulf monarchies fear it, China silently monitors it, Russia exploits it as a distraction, and Europe… well, Europe views it with the same clumsiness with which it views every Middle Eastern conflict: with soft moralizing and structural energy dependence.
But the risk isn’t just physical. It’s logistical. Because the Strait of Hormuz not only channels oil, but also liquefied natural gas, especially from Qatar, another volatile but functional partner in the energy game. And that connects directly with the interests of Asia: Japan, South Korea, India, and China depend—literally—on that strait to light their cities and move their industries. In other words, Hormuz is the point where the heat of the Gulf and the economy of the Pacific intersect. The place where geography remains more powerful than any trade agreement.
Despite alternative routes and overland pipelines, no option matches the volume, safety, and speed of the Hormuz crossing. And that, in an economy that thrives on immediacy, is no small matter. Strategic crude oil stocks—like those held by the United States—only serve to calm the headlines. Not to sustain a prolonged crisis.
And if all this already seems dire, we must add the new context. The conflict in Gaza, the rearmament of Hezbollah in Lebanon, the Houthi attacks on ships in the Red Sea, the political collapse of Iraq, the war in Ukraine, the pressure on Taiwan, the radicalization of the European far right, and the imminent return of Trumpism to the White House. A game like this, with so many loose pieces, means that any movement in Hormuz is not read as an isolated event, but as another pawn in the game of global disorder.
Hormuz is the perfect example of how a geographical feature can be transformed into an epicenter of power. A corridor that cannot be closed, but that is never completely open. A point where ships, missiles, markets, and the misery of a humanity that continues to believe that oil is just a raw material intersect. It isn’t. It’s an instrument of blackmail that smells of gasoline. And as long as the economy continues to run on crude oil, the Strait of Hormuz will be the trigger finger of global stability.
Twenty percent of the world’s oil passes through Hormuz. Saudi Arabia, Iraq, the United Arab Emirates, Kuwait, Qatar… all depend on this maritime corridor to export their black gold. But so do economies that, in theory, are thousands of miles away: China, India, Japan, South Korea. A closure—temporary or partial—wouldn’t just be a local problem: it would mean a global logistical crisis.
Every time there’s tension between Washington and Tehran, shipping insurers tremble, markets race, and the sails of oil tankers swell with uncertainty. And it’s not paranoia. In 2019, Iran had already threatened to block the Hormuz in retaliation for US sanctions. There were even attacks on tankers. The result? The price of a barrel of Brent crude oil jumped as if a fuse had been lit.
Geography as a weapon
Iran doesn’t need to close the strait with a war fleet. Its privileged position and a few medium-range surface-to-sea missiles are enough. From the Iranian coast to the middle of the strait, there are barely 20 kilometers. Mining it, deploying speedboats, or simply warning ships not to pass would be enough. It’s not force, it’s threat.
Can the United States prevent it? Maybe. Can it react quickly? I doubt it. Can it avoid the economic impact by simply trying? Definitely not. All it takes is for fear to rise for the price of a barrel to rise. That’s how the market works: it doesn’t price realities, it prices fears.
This strait doesn’t just transport oil. It’s also the obligatory corridor for liquefied natural gas, especially from Qatar. In other words, we’re not just talking about cars or industries, but also heating, electricity, and cooking. How would the closure affect Europe? Directly, but only slightly. Indirectly? A lot. Because if Asia is forced to redirect its energy purchases, it will compete with Europe for other suppliers. The domino effect is guaranteed.
And here comes the so-called “systemic risk”: a single disruption is enough for the entire system to begin to fail like a cursed domino. Alternative routes—pipelines, overland shipments, strategic storage—wouldn’t match the volume or speed. The world needs Hormuz open. And Tehran knows it.
Geopolitics of Drowning
The Strait of Hormuz is more than a maritime route: it’s a geopolitical hostage. A hostage that Iran doesn’t need to kill to profit. It only needs to show its knife. If tensions escalate in the Middle East—as is already happening with the conflict in Gaza, the growing hostility with Israel, and the movements of Shiite militias—any spark can set the canal ablaze.
The world is playing Russian roulette with the strait as a drum. And while the leaders of the world’s powers dish out sanctions and threats, the planet continues to spin… on a barrel of oil, with an ever-shortening fuse.
Deep down, no one wants the Strait of Hormuz to close. Not Iran, which also exports through it; not the West, which depends on its fluidity; not China, which pragmatically observes its trade routes. But everyone is playing to stretch the rope without it breaking. Until one day, of course, it breaks.
Because what’s at stake in the Strait of Hormuz is not just oil. It’s the very limit of global interdependence. And as in any toxic relationship: no one wants to leave, but everyone knows that with a single word… chaos ensues.
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