Mehri Madarshahi: Hormuz, Humanitarian Language, and the Politics of Masked Coercion
UNESCO-ICCSD Advisory Member and CCG Nonresident Senior Fellow argues that the Hormuz crisis was a struggle over law, legitimacy, and the political meaning of war.
Below is the latest article by Mehri Madarshahi, Member of the Advisory Committee of the International Center for Creativity and Sustainable Development (ICCSD), CCG Nonresident Senior Fellow, and Honorary Professor at the Institute of Public Policy (IPP), South China University of Technology.
Iran- USA: Peace or more Crisis
Hormuz, Humanitarian Language, and the Politics of Masked Coercion
The recent crisis around the Strait of Hormuz was not only a confrontation over ships, oil, and naval power. It was a struggle over language, legality, and political control. At its center stood a striking sequence: the United States declared that direct hostilities were effectively over; it then launched a new operation under the language of humanitarian necessity and freedom of navigation; it encouraged a Security Council draft resolution framed around safe passage and civilian protection; and, after a short but intense interval of pressure, the blockade or operational restrictions around Hormuz were lifted or suspended through negotiation.
This sequence matters because the crisis was not managed only at sea. It was managed through classification. Was the United States still engaged in war, or was it merely conducting a humanitarian maritime mission? Was Iran imposing a blockade, or using deterrent leverage? Was the Security Council being asked to protect stranded vessels, or to prepare the legal ground for coercive measures? The uncomfortable answer is that all these things were happening at once.
The U.S. Secretary of State’s press conference sought to draw a clean line between an earlier phase of hostilities ( Operation Epic Fury) and a new phase of maritime protection. According to this interpretation, the military confrontation had achieved its immediate objectives. Therefore, the legal and political constraints associated with ongoing hostilities, including the 60-day War Powers framework, were no longer applicable. The United States, in this telling, was no longer at war. It was responding to a humanitarian and navigational emergency caused by the obstruction of one of the world’s most vital maritime passages.
That distinction was not a technicality. It was the heart of the maneuver. By declaring hostilities over, Washington tried to move the crisis out of the domestic category of war. By launching a new mission under the language of “Freedom,” it presented itself not as a belligerent, but as a protector of stranded ships, civilian crews, international commerce, energy stability, and freedom of navigation. The United States was cast as the only actor with sufficient naval capacity to reopen the passage safely.
On the surface, the argument had force. Ships were stranded. Commercial flows were interrupted. Crews were exposed to danger. Insurance costs were rising. Energy markets were unsettled. Any prolonged disruption of Hormuz would have immediate effects on oil prices, liquefied natural gas, shipping, food costs, and the economic security of energy-importing states. A humanitarian case could therefore be made.
But humanitarian language, even when partly true, can still conceal strategic intention.
The crisis was not caused by a storm, earthquake, or accident. It emerged from a military and political confrontation involving Iran, the United States, Israel, regional powers, and the strategic control of a chokepoint through which a significant share of global energy flows. To describe the operation only as humanitarian was therefore to narrow the visible frame while hiding the coercive context that produced the emergency.
Iran’s leverage over Hormuz has always rested less on the need to close the Strait completely than on the ability to make passage appear unsafe. A full closure would be dangerous for Iran itself. It could provoke massive retaliation, alienate major energy importers, disrupt flows to countries Tehran does not wish to antagonize, and transform a regional confrontation into a global crisis. But Iran does not need total closure to exercise power. The threat of disruption may be enough.
A partial blockade, maritime harassment, drone activity, mining risks, threats to commercial vessels, selective tolls, or simply uncertainty over safe passage can produce major strategic consequences. Shipping companies hesitate. Markets react. Naval deployments increase. Governments begin emergency planning. In this sense, Iran’s power lies not only in closing Hormuz, but in making the world believe that Hormuz may become unsafe.
Washington understood this. Its response was therefore not only military. It was legal, diplomatic, and narrative-driven. The launch of a “Freedom” operation allowed the United States to reframe what might otherwise have looked like a continuation of hostilities as a protective mission. The stated purpose was not to defeat Iran, but to rescue vessels, reopen maritime passage, and defend international navigation.
The word “freedom” was carefully chosen. It belongs to a familiar American strategic vocabulary: open seas, rules-based order, global commerce, and civilian protection. It transformed pressure into guardianship.
The deeper move came through the United Nations.
The draft Security Council resolution was not a secondary detail. It was central to the strategy. The United States proposed a Security Council resolution to defend freedom of navigation and secure the Strait of Hormuz, while Reuters reported that Washington and Bahrain were pressing for U.N.-backed action and a wider maritime coalition. The draft reportedly called on Iran to cooperate with U.N. efforts to establish a humanitarian corridor through the Strait, citing disruption to aid deliveries, fertilizer shipments, and other essential goods. It also contemplated further steps, including sanctions, if Iran failed to comply.
This language served several purposes at once. It made the initiative harder for others to reject. A resolution openly framed as an anti-Iran enforcement measure would have faced immediate resistance, especially from Russia and China. But a resolution framed around safe passage, humanitarian corridors, stranded vessels, civilian crews, fertilizer shipments, aid deliveries, and freedom of navigation was more difficult to oppose.
It also helped draw Britain and France toward collaboration. London and Paris could be encouraged to support the reopening of the Strait not as participants in an American military extension of the war, but as responsible actors defending maritime safety, civilian protection, and global commerce. For Britain and France, both permanent members of the Security Council, the humanitarian framing provided political cover. They could support pressure on Iran without appearing to endorse an open-ended U.S. war.
This was precisely the attraction of the humanitarian tilt. It softened the appearance of coalition-building. It made cooperation look less like military alignment with Washington and more like responsible action to protect the global economy and civilian life. In diplomatic terms, it was a clever invitation: who could openly oppose the protection of ships, sailors, food supplies, energy flows, and humanitarian passage?
The same language also had domestic value in Washington. If Congress tried to invoke the War Powers framework, the administration could argue that the new operation was not a continuation of hostilities but a limited humanitarian and navigational mission. The purpose, it could claim, was not war-making but ship protection, rescue, de-mining, escort, and the reopening of passage. This did not eliminate congressional objections, but it complicated them. Humanitarian vocabulary made the operation politically harder to attack and legally harder to classify as war.
Here the relevance of Chapter VII of the United Nations Charter becomes clear. The issue was not “Article 7,” but Chapter VII: the part of the Charter that allows the Security Council to determine the existence of a threat to international peace and security and then authorize binding measures. Once Hormuz was framed not merely as a bilateral U.S.-Iran confrontation but as a threat to international peace, maritime security, and civilian protection, Washington could begin inching toward a Chapter VII logic.
The path was subtle but significant: first define the obstruction of Hormuz as a humanitarian and navigational emergency; then present it as a threat to international peace and security; then seek Security Council authority for measures to restore safe passage. In political terms, this was a way to checkmate Iran. Tehran’s leverage depended on threatening disruption. A Chapter VII framework could turn that leverage into a legally recognized threat to international peace, thereby justifying sanctions, inspections, enforcement measures, or even collective maritime action.
But the approach had serious shortcomings.
First, it risked exposing the gap between humanitarian language and strategic purpose. If the resolution moved too quickly from civilian protection to coercive enforcement, the humanitarian mask would become visible.
Second, it depended on Security Council unity, which was far from guaranteed. China and Russia could resist any text that appeared to legalize U.S. pressure on Iran under humanitarian cover.
Third, it could provoke Iran to claim that the United Nations was being used to internationalize American coercion rather than resolve the crisis.
Fourth, it created a legal contradiction for Washington itself: if the situation was serious enough to require Chapter VII pressure, then it became harder to claim domestically that no meaningful hostilities remained.
This is the delicate contradiction at the heart of the episode. The United States wanted the crisis to be serious enough to justify international action, but not so serious that Congress could easily treat it as continuing war. It wanted the Security Council to view Hormuz as a threat to peace, but it wanted American domestic law to view the U.S. role as humanitarian protection. That was the legal tightrope.
Then came the diplomatic turn.
The United States and Iran were reported to be closing in on a one-page memorandum of understanding aimed at ending the war and opening the way to broader negotiations. Reuters, citing Axios, reported that the proposed one-page, 14-point memorandum would formally end hostilities and initiate a 30-day negotiation period. The reported elements included a moratorium on Iranian nuclear enrichment, sanctions relief, release of frozen Iranian assets, and easing of restrictions on transit through the Strait of Hormuz.
This was not a final peace settlement. It was a compressed framework — a diplomatic page designed to stop the bleeding before the real argument began. Iran was reported to be reviewing the U.S. proposal, while key demands remained unresolved, including the nuclear file and the reopening of Hormuz. Markets reacted positively to the possibility of de-escalation, with Reuters reporting that oil prices tumbled and global markets rallied on optimism around the proposal.
The mediation channel gave the arrangement its political texture. A Pakistani source involved in the peace efforts confirmed to Reuters that the U.S. and Iran were closing in on a one-page memo to end the war. Al Jazeera also reported that the pause in U.S. Hormuz escorts followed momentum in Pakistan-led mediation, suggesting a shift toward a limited framework deal.
Saudi involvement, if present even indirectly, would fit the same logic. Gulf actors had every reason to avoid a prolonged disruption of maritime traffic and energy flows. They could support pressure on Iran, but not at the price of turning Hormuz into a long-term war zone.
China’s role also mattered. The meeting between Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi and Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi in Beijing added another layer to the diplomatic choreography. Reuters reported that Iran wanted a comprehensive agreement with the United States, while Chinese diplomacy pressed for stability and safe passage through Hormuz. Beijing’s position was not sentimental. China had a direct interest in preventing a prolonged energy shock, preserving access to Gulf supplies, and avoiding an escalation that could damage global trade.
This gave Iran both support and pressure. China remained a strategic partner, but it also had little interest in seeing Hormuz turned into a long-term instrument of disruption. The message to Tehran was delicate but unmistakable: use leverage, but do not burn the corridor through which your friends also breathe.
The one-page agreement therefore should be read as a diplomatic exit constructed under pressure. Its likely contents -safe passage- phased easing of restrictions, temporary de-escalation, a negotiating window, possible sanctions relief, and unresolved nuclear discussions reflected the needs of all sides. Iran needed to show that it had forced negotiation and had not surrendered under American pressure. The United States needed to show that it had protected navigation, avoided a prolonged war, and preserved leverage over Iran. Pakistan could present itself as a useful mediator. Saudi Arabia and Gulf actors could welcome the reopening of maritime flows. China could claim to support stability while protecting its energy interests.
The speed of the reversal is therefore not a weakness in the analysis. It is the proof of the strategy.
If the Freedom operation was urgently required for humanitarian reasons, why was it paused so quickly? If only the United States could protect the stranded ships, why did the mission become unnecessary almost overnight? If the crisis was grave enough to justify a Security Council resolution, why did negotiations suddenly create space for suspension?
Because the blockade, the humanitarian operation, the Security Council draft, and the one-page agreement were all parts of the same bargaining chain.
The blockade created urgency. The humanitarian operation created justification. The draft resolution created legal pressure. The possibility of British and French collaboration created coalition weight. The Chapter VII shadow created coercive threat. Pakistan’s mediation created a channel. China’s meeting with Iran created strategic pressure from a partner. The one-page agreement created an exit.
Each step served the next.
Yet this should not be mistaken for a smooth American victory. The one-page agreement was not simply the generous outcome of American strategic confidence. It was also the product of pressure on Washington itself. The war had begun to generate costs that could not be contained within military calculations alone. Energy markets were shaken. Stock markets were exposed to uncertainty. Shipping and insurance networks were under stress. Public patience with another Middle Eastern war was narrowing. Congress had grounds to question whether the administration was avoiding the War Powers framework through semantic maneuvering. Internationally, Trump risked appearing isolated: strong enough to strike, but not strong enough to convert force into political settlement without mediation.
This is where Iran’s position becomes more complex than the usual language of defeat or survival allows. Iran did not need to win militarily in order to preserve leverage. It needed to endure, delay, disrupt, and force negotiation. Hormuz gave Tehran an instrument of alternative diplomacy: not diplomacy through formal concession, but diplomacy through controlled risk. By making the Strait uncertain, Iran pushed the crisis beyond the battlefield and into oil markets, insurance calculations, shipping routes, Gulf security, Chinese energy concerns, and European economic anxiety.
This did not make Iran the winner. It made Iran difficult to defeat cleanly.
Nor did it make the United States the winner. Washington could claim that it protected navigation, mobilized allies, and pushed Iran toward talks. But the very need to pause the Freedom operation, seek mediation through Pakistan, accommodate Gulf concerns, and move toward a one-page framework showed the limits of military pressure. The United States could impose costs, but it could not escape the costs of its own escalation. It could threaten Chapter VII pressure, but it could not easily secure Security Council unity. It could call the operation humanitarian, but it could not fully hide the coercive design behind the language.
The same applies to Israel. The war may have been launched with the intention of weakening Iran decisively, reshaping the regional balance, and forcing a more favorable strategic environment. But the widening of the conflict toward Hormuz showed the danger of that assumption. A war imagined as a controlled strike against Iran became a crisis for global energy, maritime trade, and international law. Once Hormuz entered the equation, the conflict stopped being only a military campaign. It became an economic and diplomatic boomerang.
This is why the question of responsibility matters. If there was no clear winner, there was still a clear origin. The blame for transforming an already volatile regional confrontation into a far-reaching war must rest primarily with those who launched it: the United States and Israel. Their assumption was that overwhelming force could impose strategic clarity. Instead, it produced strategic congestion, crowded crisis in which military pressure, humanitarian language, market panic, congressional scrutiny, allied hesitation, Chinese diplomacy, Pakistani mediation, and Iranian counter-leverage all collided.
The negotiations did not erase that responsibility. They revealed it.
The emerging agreement was not peace in the deeper sense. It was a pause produced by exhaustion, market fear, diplomatic pressure, and mutual vulnerability. Iran could not sustain prolonged disruption of Hormuz without risking isolation. The United States could not sustain open-ended coercion while pretending that hostilities had ended. Israel could not guarantee that escalation would remain geographically contained. Britain and France could not easily join a U.S.-led maritime operation if the humanitarian cover began to look like war by another name. China could support Iran politically, but not at the price of a prolonged threat to the energy arteries on which its economy depends.
Thus, the Hormuz episode did not produce a victor. It exposed the limits of all actors. Iran’s leverage was real but dangerous. America’s power was formidable but politically constrained. Israel’s military initiative was bold but strategically destabilizing. Europe’s role was cautious and derivative. China’s influence was significant but self-interested. Pakistan’s mediation became useful precisely because the main combatants needed a way out without openly admitting retreat.
In that sense, Hormuz revealed the anatomy of contemporary coercive diplomacy. The United States and Israel opened a war whose consequences quickly exceeded the battlefield. Iran answered not by defeating them militarily, but by shifting the burden of escalation onto the global economy. Washington then tried to repackage pressure as humanitarian protection, internationalize it through the Security Council, and convert its suspension into diplomatic success. But beneath that choreography lay a simpler truth: negotiation became necessary because force had reached its political limit.
The short-lived blockade of Hormuz and its rapid lifting therefore did not signal the disappearance of conflict. It revealed the choreography of modern coercion and the failure of those who believed that war could be expanded, renamed, managed, and then neatly resolved. What passed through Hormuz was not only oil and gas, but the modern grammar of power: escalation, disruption, humanitarian disguise, legal pressure, market panic, mediation, and retreat without confession.
In the end, Hormuz was not only a maritime chokepoint. It became a chokepoint of law, legitimacy, and power. Its waters carried more than energy. They carried the meaning of the conflict itself: who could define war as humanitarian action, coercion as protection, retreat as diplomacy, and temporary pause as peace. That is why the episode will matter beyond the Gulf. It showed that in the modern international order, military force may still begin a crisis, but it can no longer decide its meaning alone.