Three British sailors are missing, presumed captured or dead, after a US-flagged tanker was struck in the Gulf of Oman. The attack, which Washington has been quick to pin on Iran, is the latest in a series of provocations that have transformed the Persian Gulf into a theatre of shadow war. And once again, it is the ordinary seaman, the forgotten cog in the great imperial machine, who pays the price.
Let us not mince words. This is not a random act of piracy or a tragic accident. This is a calculated escalation in a conflict that has been simmering since the US unilaterally tore up the Iran nuclear deal in 2018. Since then, we have seen tankers seized, drones shot down, and American generals assassinated. The Gulf has become a stage for a dangerous game of chicken between Washington and Tehran, and Britain, in its eagerness to cling to the coattails of its American cousin, has been dragged along.
But why should we care about three missing sailors? Because they are the living embodiment of a deeper rot. The British Navy, once the mistress of the seas, is now a shadow of its former self. We have cut budgets, scrapped ships, and outsourced our security to the United States. And now, when our sailors are in harm’s way, we find ourselves powerless to protect them. The government will issue statements of concern, the Foreign Office will mutter about diplomatic channels, and nothing of substance will be done. We are no longer a great power; we are a glorified passenger in America’s imperial convoy.
The parallels to the decline of the Roman Empire are almost too obvious to mention. Rome, too, outsourced its defence to mercenaries and allies, until it found itself at the mercy of foreign powers. We are witnessing the same process in real time. Our naval presence in the Gulf is a token, a gesture, a relic of a bygone era. And now that gesture has been bloodied.
Of course, the pundits will drone on about the need for a measured response. They will call for restraint and diplomacy. But restraint in the face of aggression is not virtue; it is cowardice dressed up in the language of statecraft. The Victorians understood that you do not negotiate with those who take your countrymen hostage. You send a gunboat. Or, in modern parlance, you make them feel the full weight of your displeasure. But we have no gunboats. We have apologies and press releases.
Meanwhile, the intellectual decadence of our age is laid bare. We have become a nation more concerned with pronouns and statues than with the lives of our sailors. The elite chatter about climate change and social justice while our enemies laugh at our impotence. This is what happens when a society loses its sense of national purpose. It collapses inward, and its enemies exploit the vacuum.
The question now is whether we have the collective will to respond. Not with empty rhetoric, but with action. The US has already deployed a carrier strike group. What about Britain? Will we send a frigate or a strongly worded letter? I suspect the latter. And that is precisely the point. We have become a nation of scribblers and talkers, not doers.
Let us hope, for the sake of those three missing men, that I am wrong. But history does not lie. The fall of empires is always preceded by a loss of nerve. And the Gulf of Oman, that treacherous stretch of water, may well be where Britain’s final retreat from greatness is sealed.
