It is a peculiar comfort, in this age of relentless national declinism, to watch His Majesty’s Navy steam once more toward the Persian Gulf. Iran, that theocratic nuisance, has threatened to close the Strait of Hormuz – a waterway through which a fifth of the world’s oil flows. And so, the Royal Navy, custodian of a maritime tradition stretching back to Drake and Nelson, dispatches escorts. Do not mistake this for mere nostalgia. It is a stark reminder that, even in the twilight of empire, some duties never die.
The usual suspects will moan about provocation and colonial hangovers. But they miss the point. The Strait of Hormuz is not some dusty relic of the Raj; it is the jugular of global capitalism. Without its free passage, fuel prices spike, economies stumble, and the petro-states of the Gulf descend into chaos. Iran’s bluster is a calculated game of chicken, a gamble that the West has grown too weary, too soft, to call their bluff. The deployment of HMS Diamond and her consorts is a polite but firm reply: we are not that decadent yet.
Compare this to the fall of Rome. When the Vandals menaced the grain routes from Africa, the empire scrambled its fleet. It worked, for a time. But the rot had set in at home: a populace addicted to cheap bread, a treasury bled dry by endless wars, a ruling class more interested in factional squabbling than strategic vision. Sound familiar? We have our own bread and circuses – the dole, the identity politics, the endless Netflix. Yet here, in the Gulf, a sliver of Roman steel remains. The question is whether it can stay the course.
The Victorians, whom I often invoke, understood this instinctively. For them, the Empire was a commercial enterprise backed by credible force. Gunboat diplomacy was not a dirty phrase; it was the price of civilised order. When Persian brigands or local potentates threatened trade, a squadron would appear, a few shots would be fired over the bow, and the lesson was learned. It is vulgar, perhaps, but effective. Iran knows this history. They have studied our weaknesses, but they also recall the lesson of the Iran-Iraq War, when the US Navy reflagged Kuwaiti tankers and turned the Gulf into a shooting gallery. The Royal Navy’s presence now is a signal: we are willing to play that game again.
Yet there is a deeper rot. Britain’s naval strength has been hollowed by decades of budget cuts and strategic confusion. We have more admirals than frigates. The escort ships we send are often stretched thin, or borrowed from allied patrols. This deployment, welcome though it is, smells of theatre. It is a gesture to reassure insurance markets and Gulf sheikhs, not a serious war-fighting posture. To truly deter Iran, we would need a carrier strike group, a flotilla of destroyers, and the will to sustain a months-long blockade. We have none of that. Instead, we rely on the American umbrella, while our own umbrella leaks.
This is the irony of the modern British condition. We retain the instincts of a great power – the swagger, the sense of duty, the nostalgic pull of naval supremacy – but we have shed the means. Our economy staggers, our armed forces are gutted, and our political class squabbles over Brexit like children arguing over the last pudding. And yet, when the moment calls, we still send ships. It is admirable, in a tragic, late-Roman sort of way. But let us not fool ourselves: these escorts are a band-aid on a haemorrhage.
The real question is not whether the Royal Navy can help keep the Strait open this week. It can. The question is whether the West as a whole has the stomach for the long game. Iran is patient. They play chess while we play checkers. They know that every deployment costs money, every distraction weakens our focus elsewhere, and every crisis passes – until the next one. The Strait of Hormuz will not be the last such challenge. And each time we respond with a token force, the lesson we teach is not strength, but the limits of our strength.
So I salute the sailors of HMS Diamond. They are doing their duty with the quiet professionalism that defines our service. But I do not cheer the policy. We need more: more ships, more resolve, more honesty about what it takes to keep the world’s oil flowing. Otherwise, we are merely re-enacting the fall of Rome with better PR. And we all know how that story ends.
