The United States and Iran are no longer competing only for a strategic corridor. They are projecting competing claims of maritime authority
The conflict over the Strait of Hormuz is no longer just a confrontation between the freedom of navigation and the possibility of a blockade. It is increasingly turning into a dispute over who has the authority to regulate transit, define permissible routes, and reap financial benefits from controlling one of the world's most critical maritime choke points. This development is far more significant than the brief controversy sparked by Donald Trump's proposal to impose a 20% fee on cargo transiting the strait, notes an analysis by Modern Diplomacy. The proposal lasted barely a day. Following discussions with Gulf governments, President Trump withdrew it and announced that Washington would seek compensation through trade and investment agreements. The tool changed, but the fundamental expectation did not: US protection of Gulf trade, under this view, must yield a measurable economic return for the United States.
Iran claims the role of regulator
Almost simultaneously, Iran moved in the opposite direction. Tehran attempted to institutionalize its own authority over Hormuz, insisting that vessels must use routes approved by it and claiming the right to determine which ships are allowed to pass. The Iranian parliament debated legislation aimed at codifying this authority, while Iranian officials increasingly portray control of the strait as a legitimate source of political and economic leverage. The dispute, therefore, is no longer simply about whether Hormuz remains open. It is about who keeps it open, under what terms, and for whose strategic benefit.
The naval order created by the US
For nearly eight decades, the United States sustained a naval order that was unusually open by historical standards. US naval power protected not only American trade and that of its allies, but also indirectly secured the commerce of neutral states and even strategic competitors. China's economic rise took place within this very order. Beijing imported energy and raw materials and exported manufactured goods through sea lanes disproportionately secured by the nation with which it now competes for global leadership. This created one of the great paradoxes of the post-Cold War maritime order: Washington shouldered the strategic costs of maintaining the global maritime commons, while Beijing emerged as one of its greatest commercial beneficiaries.
From a "public good" to a transactional model
Trump's initial proposal provided a direct answer to this paradox: those who benefit should pay. Although the proposed fee vanished, its strategic significance remains. It demonstrated that the provider of maritime security may no longer view freedom of navigation strictly as a global public good, but rather as a service capable of generating direct financial returns. Iran is pushing a different but parallel claim. Its argument is not based on global naval reach but on geography and its leverage capacity. Because it occupies the northern coast of the strait and possesses the means to disrupt navigation, it argues that it holds a legitimate role in defining the terms of transit.
Two competing claims of maritime authority
The United States and Iran are no longer competing only for a strategic corridor. They are projecting competing claims of maritime authority. Washington's claim stems from its ability to provide security, while Tehran's claim is derived from its ability to permit or deny access. Both challenge the traditional concept of freedom of navigation as a universal right rather than a conditional privilege. This points toward a form of "rent-extracting thalassocracy"—a maritime order where control of the sea is used not only to protect or disrupt trade, but to extract strategic rents by regulating access.
The Portuguese precedent of the 16th century
History offers a revealing precedent. In the 16th century, Portugal lacked the naval resources to dominate every port and sea route in the Indian Ocean. Instead, it concentrated its power at strategic choke points and introduced the cartaz system. Merchant ships required Portuguese licenses that specified where they could sail, what cargo they could carry, and with whom they could trade. Those traveling without a license risked seizure or destruction. Portugal did not seek to monopolize trade; it sought something more enduring: to become the gatekeeper of maritime connectivity. By regulating access to the commercial network, it intervened in transactions it neither produced nor consumed.
Protection or control?
The analogy to Hormuz is not perfect. The strait is governed by international law, and the International Maritime Organization continues to insist that transit must remain free from tolls and discriminatory restrictions. However, the deeper strategic logic is becoming increasingly recognizable: the central question is no longer who commands the sea, but who rules maritime connectivity. This shift has three major implications. First, it blurs the line between protection and control. A state providing naval security can claim financial rights over the trade it protects. A state capable of disrupting navigation can demand compensation for not doing so.
Second, it encourages competing systems of "authorized transit." Iran insists on approved routes and selective permits, while the United States blocks vessels associated with Iranian trade while protecting others. The result is not the closure of the strait, but the emergence of differentiated access based on political identity, legal status, and strategic interest. Third, it drives states to reduce their dependence on vulnerable maritime systems. China is unlikely to accept indefinitely a situation in which either Washington or Tehran dictates the terms under which Gulf energy reaches Asia.
The geoeconomic realignment of energy
The consequences extend far beyond Hormuz. Alternative ports, pipelines, and overland corridors are expanding; however, they do not eliminate vulnerability—they merely transfer it elsewhere. The threat posed by Iran's allies, the Houthis, against Bab el-Mandeb shows that maritime connectivity operates as a single system, where pressure on one choke point is easily transferred to another. This logic is now expanding beyond physical geography. Financial sanctions, trade finance, insurance, classification societies, port access, and trade regulations increasingly determine whether a ship can trade, just as naval power determines whether it can sail.
The heightened insecurity around Hormuz does not only raise the price of Gulf oil; it increases the geopolitical cost of accessing it. Higher insurance premiums, greater shipping risks, longer voyages, and larger strategic reserves are becoming part of the actual cost of energy. As these costs rise, non-Gulf producers gain a relative competitive advantage. The primary beneficiaries are countries in the Atlantic basin—the United States, Canada, Brazil, Guyana, and Norway—whose exports are less exposed to the risks of Gulf maritime checkpoints.
The precedent that could change the world
The major issue, however, is the precedent. If providing naval security—or possessing the capability to disrupt it—creates a legitimate claim for financial compensation, similar arguments will emerge elsewhere. Russia could seek greater political and economic control over Arctic navigation. China might one day justify a more transactional security approach in the South China Sea. Other coastal states may project similar claims over strategic choke points. Freedom of navigation will not disappear overnight; instead, it will gradually erode, replaced by overlapping systems of protection, licensing, sanctions, preferential access, and strategic negotiations. The maritime commons will transform into a collection of contested geopolitical assets.
Hormuz as a laboratory for the new naval order
In the end, Hormuz may prove to be far more than just the epicenter of an energy crisis. It may become the laboratory in which the next global maritime order is tested for the first time. If this happens, historians may conclude that the most important question raised by the crisis was never whether ships could pass. It was who gained the authority to define the terms under which the world could trade.
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