KUALA LUMPUR — Whenever tensions in the Middle East flare — particularly when Iran once again hints at closing the Strait of Hormuz — a familiar question resurfaces with almost ritual predictability: if this chokepoint is so dangerously critical, why not simply bypass it? Why not lay pipelines from the oil fields along the Persian Gulf that can run across the United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia or even Oman, and deliver crude directly to the Arabian Sea for export?
On paper, it sounds like a clean, decisive fix — an engineer’s solution to what appears to be a geopolitical problem. Draw a line, lay some steel, and neutralize a vulnerability. Yet the Middle East has a way of reminding observers that its complexities do not yield easily to linear thinking.
The first obstacle is economic. Oil transport is a game of scale, and scale overwhelmingly favors the sea. Ultra-large crude carriers can move millions of barrels in a single voyage at costs pipelines struggle to match. This efficiency is the product of decades of refinement in shipping technology and logistics. To replicate the throughput of the Strait of Hormuz via pipelines would require infrastructure capable of handling tens of millions of barrels a day — an undertaking likely to cost hundreds of billions of dollars. Beyond construction, there are ongoing expenses: maintenance, monitoring, and security across vast distances. Against this, continuing to use the strait — even with a layer of geopolitical risk — often remains commercially rational. Markets, after all, are adept at pricing in uncertainty.
But economics alone does not decide such matters. Politics, particularly in the Persian Gulf, is never incidental. The states along this coastline do not form a seamless bloc, despite occasional alignment. Any pipeline crossing multiple jurisdictions becomes a shared political instrument, raising questions that are less technical than strategic: Who pays? Who profits? Who guarantees security? And perhaps, most importantly, who controls the tap in times of crisis?
Even among seemingly friendly states, interests diverge. Energy is not merely a commodity; it is leverage. Should relations deteriorate, a pipeline designed to bypass one chokepoint could become another. Unlike maritime routes, which are difficult for any single actor to monopolize, pipelines are inherently territorial. Control lies with those who host them. In that sense, bypassing geography may simply replace one vulnerability with another — less visible, but no less real.
Security considerations further complicate the equation. Pipelines are often assumed to be safer than sea lanes, but this is not necessarily the case. Maritime routes, while concentrated, are open systems, supported — however imperfectly — by international law and the shared interest of major powers in keeping trade flowing. Disruptions at sea tend to be temporary, and rerouting, though costly, is usually possible.
Pipelines, by contrast, are fixed assets. Once identified as strategic infrastructure, they become inviting targets. Missiles, drones, sabotage — recent incidents across the region have demonstrated the vulnerability of energy installations. A successful strike can halt flows for extended periods, and repairs are neither quick nor simple. What was meant to be a secure alternative may instead become a single point of failure.
Shifting risk from sea to land, in other words, does not eliminate it. It merely reshapes it.
This is not to say that regional actors have done nothing. Saudi Arabia has long maintained an east-west pipeline to the Red Sea, allowing part of its exports to bypass the Strait of Hormuz. The United Arab Emirates has similarly invested in a pipeline to Fujairah, outside the chokepoint. These projects are significant, but they are best understood as hedging strategies. They reduce exposure without eliminating dependence.
That distinction is telling. It reflects a broader strategic instinct: not to seek a single, definitive solution, but to manage risk through diversification. Complete disengagement from the Strait of Hormuz is neither fully feasible nor necessarily desirable.
Indeed, the strait’s very vulnerability contributes to its enduring importance. It is not merely a physical passage, but a structural feature of the global energy system. A substantial share of the world’s oil flows through it, making it a focal point for both supply and sentiment. As long as disruption remains a possibility, oil prices will carry a geopolitical premium. Risk, in this sense, is not just a threat; it is also a factor embedded in value.
For some producers, this premium is not entirely unwelcome. It can enhance revenues without requiring additional production, effectively monetizing uncertainty. A fully secure, fully bypassed system might reduce volatility, but it could also remove this embedded advantage.
Ultimately, the question is not whether bypassing the Strait of Hormuz is technically possible. With sufficient resources, it likely is. The more relevant question is whether it is worth the cost, the political complexity, and the new vulnerabilities it would introduce.
In a global energy market shaped by interdependence and uncertainty, states rarely pursue absolute solutions. They hedge, they diversify, they build redundancies. But they stop short of replacing one system entirely with another that may prove equally fragile in different ways.
And so, the Strait of Hormuz endures, neither fully secure nor entirely dispensable. Its risks are managed, mitigated and partially offset, but never eliminated. It remains not just a conduit for oil, but a barometer of geopolitical tension and market psychology.
That uneasy balance — between dependence and diversification, vulnerability, and resilience — is not a flaw. It is, in many ways, the defining logic of Middle Eastern energy geopolitics.