Hormuz Closure Exposes Energy Security’s Dependence on Naval Power

James Ellis argues that Iranian forces’ effective closure of the Strait of Hormuz after the strikes of Operation Epic Fury exposed a vulnerability more fundamental than a temporary shortage of oil or gas. The global energy system depends on maritime trade because ships move bulk energy, grain, and fertilizer at a cost and scale no alternative can match. More than 80% of world trade by volume and over 70% by value travels by sea. Its efficiency, however, is concentrated in a small number of straits, canals, and choke points.

Before the closure, Hormuz carried more than 13 million barrels of crude each day—about 31% of global seaborne oil. It was also the only outlet for liquefied natural gas exports from the United Arab Emirates and Qatar. Qatar, the world’s second-largest LNG exporter after the United States, sends its exports through the same passage; Ellis puts the share of global LNG trade passing through Hormuz at roughly one-fifth.

Iran had threatened to close the strait for decades, and countries dependent on Gulf supplies had planned for that contingency. What surprised them, Ellis argues, was a closure that was both complete and prolonged. Iran has found “a new hand on the throat of the global economy,” he says—leverage it will find difficult to relinquish.

The practical problem is not solved merely by declaring the passage open. A functioning energy route depends on the capacity to protect traffic, the commercial willingness to use it, and the exposure of the economies at the far end of the supply chain.

The United States has been too optimistic about how commercial actors behave under fire, James Ellis argues. Governments can promise protection or formally declare a waterway open, but a shipping route remains economically closed if commercial operators judge the risk unacceptable.

That distinction matters because the relevant decision is decentralized. Modern commercial vessels are often operated by family businesses and crewed by sailors with other choices, Ellis says. They may be less willing to enter a threatened corridor than commercial shipping was four decades ago. The Tanker War of 1987 already showed that merchant vessels could be hit by mines and missiles; Ellis contrasts those weapons with today’s AI-enabled drones.

The historical American response illustrates the scale of the protection problem. During Operation Earnest Will in 1987, the United States reflagged 11 Kuwaiti tankers, renamed them for American towns, and escorted them through the Gulf with warships and air cover. A 1988 Office of the Chief of Naval Operations map of the northern Persian Gulf shows designated inbound and outbound convoy routes, as well as the operating area of supporting vessels.

At that time, the Navy had 594 ships, more than double the 294 Ellis says it has today, and the necessary forces were already in theater. The current volume is substantially larger: close to 1,000 energy tankers transit Hormuz every month. Ellis’s conclusion is that the maritime economy has outgrown available American hard naval power. Restoring confidence in a contested chokepoint therefore requires investment in the fleet and cooperation with allies and partners.

The commercial viability of Hormuz matters most acutely in Asia. More than three-quarters of Gulf energy exports go to Asian markets, where James Ellis says demand is still rising. That makes Gulf maritime security an Indo-Pacific security issue, not solely a Middle Eastern one.

Taiwan imports 97% of its energy, according to Ellis; Japan imports 91%. Asian allies and partners are therefore working through how to respond to their exposure, balancing a sharpened concern about energy security against the older priorities of reliability and affordability.

American fuel exports are again surging to help meet disrupted demand, Ellis says, as they did for Europe after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. But emergency supply is not a complete answer. Replacement cargoes can soften an immediate disruption; they do not by themselves make a threatened sea lane secure or persuade commercial operators to return. The larger task is to coordinate with regional friends before the next crisis, deciding in advance how to mitigate its risks rather than improvising after a chokepoint has become unusable.

James Ellis calls the present moment an energy transition, but not the familiar transition from fossil fuels to emissions-free power. He argues that the world is moving from a relatively free and open energy commons toward one constrained by geology, geography, military threats, and the premium attached to securing access.

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, Ellis says, taught Europe that energy security is national security. Hormuz supplies the reverse lesson: national security is now a central condition of energy security. Vulnerability lies not only in where oil and gas are produced, but in whether narrow routes between producers and consumers can remain secure and commercially usable.

That distinction separates Ellis’s prescription from a simple call for more replacement fuel. American exports may help absorb the shock of a disruption, but durable energy security requires the ability to keep access open: naval capacity sufficient to protect traffic, allied cooperation, and earlier planning with Indo-Pacific partners. In Ellis’s account, supply can alleviate a crisis after it begins; security capacity determines how exposed the system is when the next one arrives.