In a move that smacks of either reluctant pragmatism or calculated mischief, Tehran has signalled a reopening of the Strait of Hormuz. The same narrow throat through which a fifth of the world's oil once coursed has been half-strangled by Iran's Revolutionary Guard for months. Now, amid whispers of diplomatic backchannels and economic desperation, the mullahs appear to be loosening their stranglehold.
British naval patrols, those faithful custodians of maritime order, are bracing for the resumption of trade. One can almost hear the collective sigh of relief from Lloyds of London. But let us not confuse a temporary respite with a lasting cure.
This is the same regime that has mastered the art of brinkmanship, turning chokepoints into leverage. The Strait of Hormuz is not just a waterway: it is a theatre for power, a stage upon which Iran performs its defiance. Recall the Victorian era, when the Royal Navy policed the seas with a firm hand and a clear purpose.
Today, our naval presence is a shadow of that imperial reach, a mere token of former glories. Yet it is precisely this token that may prevent a full-blown crisis. The reopening is a welcome development, but it is not a victory.
It is a ceasefire of convenience, not a peace. Iran has tasted the power of disruption. They will not abandon it easily.
The West, with its addiction to cheap energy and its allergy to strategic thinking, remains vulnerable. We must watch not with relief but with vigilance. The Hormuz Strait is a corridor of commerce, but for Iran it is also a weapon.
And weapons, as history teaches, are never truly sheathed.
