If you thought Europe was suddenly ready to play global sheriff, think again.
As Keir Starmer and Emmanuel Macron gather for yet another high-minded summit in Paris, the pitch is bold: a European-led naval effort to reopen the Strait of Hormuz — but only after the shooting stops, and notably, without U.S. leadership front and center. They want the credit without the risk.
The Anglo-French blueprint envisions a “strictly defensive” flotilla made up of so-called “non-belligerent” nations — countries that, conveniently, won’t actually show up until the danger has passed. Macron himself laid it out plainly, announcing that “non-belligerent countries ready to contribute” would join a “multilateral and purely defensive mission aimed at restoring freedom of navigation… when security conditions allow.”
“When security conditions allow” is doing a lot of work there.
Starmer echoed the same cautious script, touting a “coordinated, independent, multinational plan to safeguard international shipping when the conflict ends.” According to reports, the Brits have already rounded up more than 40 countries for discussions — though conspicuously absent from those early talks was the one nation that actually keeps global sea lanes open: the United States.
Behind closed doors, European officials insist this isn’t about sidelining Washington. One senior official claimed Paris had been floating the idea “from day one” and stressed, “We’re coordinating a lot with them.” Still, the pitch boils down to this: Europe wants to step in after the fact, keep things calm, and avoid anything resembling real combat.
Meanwhile, back in reality, the Strait of Hormuz — the world’s most critical oil chokepoint — isn’t exactly a low-stakes environment. Iran has already seized tankers and flexed its muscle in the Persian Gulf, underscoring what’s at risk if shipping lanes aren’t actively defended.
That’s where Donald Trump comes in — with a very different approach. The current U.S. strategy leans heavily on hard power: naval blockades, carrier strike groups, and active operations designed to keep Iran in check and the strait open, even as diplomacy sputters.
Barak Seener of the Henry Jackson Society didn’t mince words, blasting the European effort as geopolitical cosplay. Britain and France, he argued, are “playing at being relevant as so-called ‘Middle Powers.’”
Even Starmer’s insistence that “We’re not getting dragged into the war” got a reality check. According to Seener, that line “disguises the embarrassing fact that the Royal Navy is facing a hollowed out crisis,” forcing the mission to be labeled “strictly defensive.”
France isn’t in much better shape. Its navy, too, is grappling with budget constraints and structural limits that make sustained, high-intensity operations a stretch.
“It is laughable that a European coalition of ‘non-belligerent’ countries that are only willing to engage once hostilities have ended can even speak of protecting its shipping lanes.”
That’s the core problem. Policing one of the most volatile waterways on Earth isn’t a theoretical exercise — it requires firepower, logistics, and the willingness to act when things go sideways. Right now, only one country consistently brings all three.
And everyone in Paris knows it.
So while Macron and Starmer host their video conferences and draft their “independent” plans, the uncomfortable truth hangs in the air: without American muscle, Europe’s Hormuz ambitions risk looking less like a security strategy — and more like a well-dressed press release.
