When the United States and Israel launched Operation Epic Fury against Iran nearly two weeks ago, the first confirmation didn’t come from governments. It came from commercial satellites.
Images from US companies Planet Labs and Vantor captured smoke billowing over central Tehran and ships burning at the coastal city of Konarak – evidence of strikes on naval bases, airfields and missile sites that global media confirmed within hours.
But space-based technology was not just observing the conflict, it was also a target. US officials said early strikes hit “Iran’s equivalent of Space Command”, undermining Tehran’s ability to coordinate via satellite.
Simultaneously, US Space Command and Cyber Command launched operations to jam, hack and disrupt Iranian software systems, known as “non-kinetic” attacks in the jargon of modern warfare.
Such operations are a kind of “silent sabotage”, disabling communications or corrupting GPS signals without blowing anything up with conventional “kinetic” attacks.
This combination of advanced battlefield tactics and the rapid commercialisation of space technology, as well as the erosion of the old rules-based order in general, means international law is now falling well behind.
Blurred lines of accountability
Non-kinetic tactics have quickly spilled into civilian life. In January, amid anti-government protests, and later during the first wave of strikes, Iran used GPS jamming and spoofing to disrupt Starlink terminals, which civilians and protesters depended on to stay online and share information during internet blackouts.
At the same time, commercial satellite imagery became part of the conflict itself. After Planet Lab’s images revealed Iranian retaliatory strikes on US and US-linked sites in the Persian Gulf, the company delayed releasing new imagery to avoid aiding real‑time damage assessment by Iranian forces.
On March 10, Planet Labs extended the delay time to two weeks for non-government users, but the US military still receives immediate access.
Modern warfare depends heavily on these kinds of commercial, dual-use space systems. The same satellites that time financial transactions, support hospitals and manage global logistics also guide military operations.
This blurs the traditional legal boundary between civilian and military objects and activities. The International Committee of the Red Cross has warned repeatedly that interference with satellites can harm civilians by disrupting power grids, navigation, emergency services and humanitarian operations.
Outer space is not a legal vacuum. The United Nations’ Outer Space Treaty, the UN Charter itself, and international humanitarian law all apply to warfare in orbit. But the Iran war shows how real‑world practice is advancing faster than these legal frameworks.
A proper treaty is unlikely
Dual-use satellites providing both civilian broadband and military communications also complicate decisions about what constitutes a lawful target.
Legal experts say satellites providing essential civilian services should be presumed to be non-military unless direct military use is demonstrated. But this precept is tested daily over Iran.
Another challenge is political neutrality. If a private company based in a neutral state provides data that can assist military operations elsewhere, the neutral state may face serious questions and diplomatic pressure from other governments about whether it should be held responsible.
The law has not caught up with these commercial realities. Planet Lab’s imagery delays show how companies are having to improvise policy themselves during armed conflict.
And because cyber-attacks can disable military systems without causing physical destruction, they can fall short of “armed attack” thresholds under international law. States can exploit this legal grey zone to gain strategic advantage.
New legal norms may eventually evolve out of the behaviour of governments and commercial operators rather than through formal agreements and treaties. Indeed, geopolitical tensions make a new treaty on military space operations highly unlikely.
This leaves companies, regulators and militaries to define the boundaries of acceptable conduct through their real‑time responses. The result is a battlefield where satellites shape strategy faster than lawmakers can respond.
Anna Marie Brennan does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Over the past two years, viral clips, news headlines and TV series such as Adolescence have ensured much of the public has encountered the “manosphere” – an online ecosystem that repackages misogyny, anti-feminism and male grievance as self-improvement and hustle.
Journalist Louis Theroux is further lifting the lid on this dangerous ideology with his new Netflix documentary, Inside the Manosphere, in which he showcases the individuals driving this culture.
In his measured and sometimes risky style, Theroux traces not only the rhetoric of “high-value men”, but also the livestream formats and business models that sustain this world. The result is both illuminating and unsettling.
An insidious ideology
What emerges in Theroux’s exposé is not just provocation, but a clear misogynistic worldview. Across interviews and through influencers’ own content, we see the defence of a regressive gender hierarchy – and attempts to restore it.
Women are described as having innate value through their beauty and sexuality, yet dismissed as less rational and emotionally stable. Monogamy is framed as binding for women, but optional for men. Gender equality is blamed for cultural decline.
At times the language is openly authoritarian. Infamous influencer Myron Gaines describes himself to Theroux as a “dictator” in his romantic relationship. He casts intimacy as something he permits, and domestic care as something owed to men.
But Gaines also rejects that he is a misogynist; he claims he loves women, but that women don’t know what they want, and must be led.
The hypocrisy is striking. Several manosphere figures such as Harrison Sullivan publicly deride women who use platforms such as OnlyFans, while claiming to privately profit from managing their accounts.
Misogyny as a business model
Theroux also shows how the audiences of these influencers form.
In one early scene, young boys who look to be around tween age (with blurred faces) repeat lines about hating women and gay people with unsettling ease. Later, young adult men speak of having “no value” unless they accumulate wealth, status and dominance. Working a nine-to-five job is framed as submission to the “matrix” and the “hustle” as freedom.
The complaint that stable work no longer guarantees security will resonate with many. But in the manosphere, economic strain becomes personal failure: if you are struggling, you have not worked hard enough. This is not just ideology. It is a business model.
Subscription “academies”, private groups and coaching schemes convert insecurity into income. In one example from the documentary, we see American influencer Justin Waller promoting The Real World – an online university run by his close friend and business partner Andrew Tate (who is currently facing charges of rape and human trafficking in multiple countries).
Young men and boys are told they are deficient unless wealthy, muscular and emotionally invulnerable, and then charged for access to the mindset said to fix them. The hierarchy that elevates dominant men and denigrates women simultaneously and exploitatively monetises the boys beneath it.
The worldview is not confined to provocation. In one segment, Waller’s partner Kristen explains that she feels fulfilled staying in her “lane”, and caring for the children and home, while he occupies his role as provider and leader.
She speaks warmly of their respective “masculine and feminine energies”, presenting inequality not as constraint but as comfort – despite viewers learning she has no legal right to his wealth as they are not legally married.
Breeding ground for conspiracies
Running alongside the hustle narrative is a thread of conspiracy theorising. The “matrix” is invoked as a metaphor for societal and institutional systems said to keep men compliant and blind to alternative paths to power.
From there it darkens into talk of shadowy elites engineering cultural decline, including “moral” decline and the erosion of men’s place in the world (which they bizarrely link to the growth of pedophilia).
The “manfluencers”, notably Sullivan and Gaines, suggest recent political developments – such as the rise of President Trump – vindicate their worldview.
Theroux’s instinct is to return to the manfluencers’ own accounts of absent fathers and unstable upbringings. That humanising impulse tilts the story toward sympathy and, problematically, to trauma as a key explanation.
But misogyny does not require trauma to flourish, nor are most boys who experience hardship drawn into sexist worldviews. These ideas are ideological and structural, with long-standing gender hierarchies repackaged and broadcast at scale.
The real-life consequences
Inside the Manosphere does acknowledge harms to women, but doesn’t dwell on it very long.
One segment on schools uses news clips from English-speaking countries to signal the spread of misogynistic language among boys. But the documentary could have done more to highlight these significant manosphere-inspired flow-on effects.
Research I conducted with Stephanie Wescott and colleagues extensively documents how manosphere narratives have permeated schools internationally. This has resulted in higher levels of harassment and gender-based violence by some boys against girl peers and women teachers, eroding women’s workplace safety and girls’ participation.
Theroux is right to suggest we are all, in some sense, now living inside the manosphere. Understanding what drives the men at its centre matters – as does focusing on the real-world harms they cause.
Louis Theroux: Inside the Manosphere is on Netlix from today.
Steven Roberts receives funding from the Australian Research Council. He is also a Board Director at Respect Victoria, but the article is written wholly independently from this role.
Film critics – myself included – love to bemoan the death of high-quality cinema in the age of streaming, pointing to mediocre Best Picture Oscar nominees as evidence that the production of great (or even good) films is on the wane.
But perhaps things are changing. Are people sick of being inundated with short videos on TikTok and Youtube, and once again hankering for a cinematic experience? The quality of this year’s nominees suggests they are.
For the first time in a while, most of the nominated films are excellent – and nearly all of them are watchable.
Joachim Trier’s Sentimental Value is my pick for the Best Picture Oscar. It’s the kind of meticulously crafted film in which the naturalism seems effortless.
The narrative follows acclaimed filmmaker Gustav Borg (Stellan Skarsgård), a quintessential Euro-auteur, who comes back into the lives of his estranged daughters Nora (Renate Reinsve) and Agnes (Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas) following their mother’s death.
Gustav is making a new film, and wants his daughter Nora – an acclaimed theatre actress who has her own demons to battle (stage fright among them) – to star in it.
Nora assumes it’s a cynical manoeuvre for funding on her father’s part and refuses. So Gustav casts American star Rachel Kemp (Elle Fanning) instead, who is immediately out of her depth.
The drama unfolds around the family home in Oslo, interweaving narratives of the home’s history across generations with the tensions plaguing its current inhabitants.
Sentimental Value has a strikingly lyrical quality. Some may say it’s overdone, but every element is so perfectly executed that it doesn’t come across as pretentious or laboured. It is, in many respects, thoroughly sentimental – yet never feels like it’s performing this as some kind of effect.
Despite its considerable formal and narrative complexity, it plays in a starkly simple fashion, thanks to the light touch of Trier, coupled with stunning cinematography by Kasper Tuxen Andersen.
The lead performances by Reinsve, Lilleaas and Skarsgård are extraordinarily convincing and, perhaps more surprisingly, Fanning is awesome as the uncomfortable American trying to please the European artiste.
Sentimental Value brilliantly weaves a sense of European social and cultural history with carefully observed character moments, becoming, by the end, a kind of treatise on the affirmative potential of art to transcend and transform interpersonal barriers.
Despite the difficulties of life, the detritus of broken promises and hearts, and the disappointments minor and not so minor, we can still come together – beautifully and wholeheartedly – through the practice of that abstract dream that is called art.
Other excellent contenders
There are a few other strong contenders – films which, any other year, would have stood out above the pack.
Bugonia
Yorgos Lanthimos is one of the most acclaimed filmmakers of the past decade, and yet his films have been hit and miss. After his last great film, the 2015 black comedy The Lobster, Bugonia marks a return to form.
The film follows bumbling paranoiac conspiracy nut Teddy (Jesse Plemons) as he and his half-witted cousin Don (Aidan Delbis) kidnap Michelle Fuller (Emma Stone), the CEO of pharmaceutical company Auxolith.
Fuller is the kind of ruthless business leader who appears on the cover of Forbes magazine with the caption “Breaking Barriers” and who spouts endless nonsense about diversity while her company wreaks havoc on the planet and the people around them.
According to Teddy, she is also an “Andromedon” alien sent to Earth to enslave and exploit the human population, bringing death to humans as it has been brought to the bees.
The brilliance of the film largely revolves around its manipulation of our identification with the two leads. At times Teddy seems like a lunatic serial killer, and Fuller a heroic victim. At times we empathise with Teddy, while Fuller looks like a manipulative, cold-hearted sociopath.
The whole thing builds up to an immensely satisfying resolution, suitably nihilistic and absurd in equal measure.
As is often the case with Lanthimos’ films, the figures are caricaturish, but the comedic timing – and the oscillation between humour and discomfort for the viewer – is spot on, so it works.
Sinners
Ryan Coogler’s Sinners is a great yarn: a well-executed rock ‘n’ roll fable slash vampire siege, full of electrifying music.
It’s 1932. Twin gangster brothers Smoke and Stack (a dual role played by Michael B. Jordan) return from working for Al Capone in Chicago to Clarksdale, Mississippi, to open up a juke joint.
Their cousin Sammie (Miles Caton), a cotton picker and bluesman – with Charley Patton’s guitar – steals the show at the hugely successful opening night, fulfilling the legend of a musician who can play so well the barriers between the living and the dead come down. Everything seems to be going well – until some redneck vampires decide to assail the venue.
The whole thing is rather gaudy and silly. But like its forebear From Dusk Till Dawn (1996) – it’s so energetically (and pleasurably) handled that it doesn’t matter.
Michael B. Jordan is brilliant in the two roles, and the end result is a muscular, satisfying film that feels like a good pulp novel or comic book – capped off with a Buddy Guy jam session in the final moments.
Sinners is a delicious dream. It’s unlikely to win Best Picture; there was a time, not so long ago, when this kind of genre film wouldn’t have made it into the mix. But it’s well worth its more than two-hour runtime.
Marty Supreme
It would be hard to think of a stupider premise for a movie. In the 1950s, fast-talking entrepreneurial New York hustler Marty Mauser (Timothée Chalamet) has to raise money so he can make it to Japan to beat world number one Koto Endo (Koto Kawaguchi) in the table tennis showdown of the century.
Yet, director/co-writer Josh Safdie treats the premise with enough seriousness that we end up with a high octane sports film to rival Rocky IV. This is helped by the stunning cinematography by Darius Khondji. Shot on 35mm film, the images have a rich colour and texture rarely matched in digital cinematography.
There’s also a dynamite score from Daniel Lopatin, and an anachronistic soundtrack featuring several stellar 1980s pop tunes from the likes of Public Image Limited, New Order and Tears for Fears, to name a few.
Despite Marty’s arrogance, sweet-talking, womanising, con-artistry and generally bad behaviour, Chalamet invests the character with enough pathos and humour that he comes across as a thoroughly loveable – or at least likeable – rogue.
He is a crackpot whose self-belief and willingness to do anything to achieve his dream tricks the viewer into becoming equally invested in his absurd quest as he (and the film) bounce around New York and the world like a bright ping pong ball.
Marty Supreme is an odd – and oddly arresting – film capturing something of the madness at the heart of the American dream. Mauser does whatever he can to make it to Japan. And after several escapades – and some downright brutal scenes featuring cult director Abel Ferrara as an ageing gangster – he does make it.
The rest
Unusually for the Oscars, the pack of 2026 nominees is rounded out by several other good films.
Although not as good as some of his other films, such as Neighbouring Sounds (2012) and Bacurau (2019), Brazilian director Kleber Mendonça Filho’s The Secret Agent is a rollicking political thriller. Set in the 1970s, it features a standout performance by Wagner Moura as a dissident academic evading persecution from a brutal dictatorship.
Paul Thomas Anderson’s One Battle After Another is a wacky comedy occasionally masquerading as a serious political action thriller. It follows the burnt out leftist Pat Calhoun (Leonardo DiCaprio) as, with his daughter Willa (Chase Infiniti), he evades capture by police and a militia led by the moronic Steven J. Lockjaw (Sean Penn). The whole thing is pretty silly, but like its inspiration – Thomas Pynchon’s 1990 novel Vineland – it is fun nonetheless.
F1 is likewise good. This finely wrought racing flick follows all of the delightfully dumb cliches of the genre. Hard-boiled and burnt-out old timer Sonny Hayes (Brad Pitt) makes it to Formula One for the first time, and contends with a new era of racing epitomised by his nemesis, the brash young gun Joshua Pearce (Damson Idris).
It’s hard to imagine such a film being nominated for Best Picture in any other era; Tony Scott’s Days of Thunder (1990) is equally stupid, but better made, and has been universally lampooned by critics. But people seem to be craving (and appreciating) big screen popcorn films in an era where streaming and second-screen viewing has all but destroyed commercial narrative cinema.
Only three nominees stick out as dreary
Clint Bentley’s Train Dreams is an earnest but visually unappealing Netflix film, following a ho-hum period love story about class, racism and the American Dream. Joel Edgerton is solid as usual, and the film is watchable enough, but the whole thing seems rather tired. And the digital video look really doesn’t work with the kinds of exterior, panoramic images that dominate the film.
In Frankenstein, director Guillermo del Toro takes one of the duller, more proselytising novels in the Gothic canon and gives it a suitably ponderous treatment. Oscar Isaac hams it up in full actor mode as Dr Frankenstein. Jacob Elordi is ridiculous as the monster. And Christoph Waltz as Harlander delivers such humdingers as “Can you contain your fire, Prometheus, or are you going to burn your hands before delivering it?” (in case you didn’t know, the novel’s subtitle is The Modern Prometheus).
Made for Netflix, Frankenstein tries hard to look sumptuous with period décor, but it can’t mask the sterility of its digital images. While the novel, at least, has a simple elegance to it, del Toro’s version is meandering, gaudy and cheap-looking.
It is difficult to treat Hamnet – the unbearably pretentious latest film from director Chloe Zhao – seriously, because the filmmakers do it for you. Though there are some things to like – Paul Mescal, for instance, is nice to watch, the cast are generally proficient, and the score is fine – this self-satisfied nonsense plays more like an Instagram video performing its own seriousness than a genuinely engaging feature film.
7 hits out of 10
As usual, the best films of 2025 haven’t been nominated for Best Picture (where’s Sirât, Redux Redux, or Harvest?). Nonetheless, most of this year’s nominees are films that warrant watching more than once for a variety of reasons: pleasure, complexity, nuance.
Perhaps Hollywood is starting to make good films again after decades of superhero trash. Or, at least, the Academy has started to recognise them.
Ari Mattes does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Reports are emerging of black rain falling over parts of Iran in the hours after US-Israeli airstrikes on oil depots on the weekend, with some outlets describing it as “acid rain”.
Iranian residents have reported headaches, difficulty breathing, and oil-contaminated rain settling on buildings and cars. Iran’s Red Crescent Society warned rainfall following the strikes could be “highly dangerous and acidic.”
As an atmospheric chemist and chemical engineer who researches air pollution, these reports are very worrying, and indicate much more than just acid rain.
This rain would include acids but also likely a host of other pollutants that are harmful to humans and the environment in the short and long term. It may even be worse than the term “acid rain” conveys.
More broadly, the thick clouds of toxic smoke over densely populated areas in Iran are also a major problem for anyone breathing this air right now.
What could this ‘acid rain’ be?
One of the primary ways air pollutants are removed from the atmosphere is through rain. When you have significant levels of pollutants in air they will be collected by falling water droplets and “rain out” of the atmosphere.
That’s why we are getting these reports of black rain falling from the sky after the oil depots were struck – evidence of just how contaminated the local air must be.
To me, this black rain indicates toxic pollutants such as hydrocarbons, ultrafine particles known as PM2.5, and carcinogenic compounds called polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons (PAHs) have made their way into the rain.
On top of this there would be a mix of other unknown chemicals, likely including heavy metals and inorganic compounds from the building materials and everything else caught up in the initial explosions and the ensuing fires.
The smoke from the bombed oil depots would also contain sulfur dioxide and nitrogen dioxide, which are precursors to forming sulfuric acid and nitric aid in the air. This acid then makes its way into water droplets, and is responsible for what we conventionally label acid rain.
The acid rain we heard so much about in past decades was primarily caused by sulfur dioxide produced by burning fossil fuels. Sulfur is naturally present in crude oil but is now mostly removed at the refining stage.
Aside from the rain, it’s worth remembering that all smoke is toxic; if you can smell it, it can be at levels that are harming you.
So that level of black smoke seen over densely populated areas in Iran is extremely worrying and can cause chronic short- and long-term health problems.
What are the potential health risks?
In the short term, people exposed to this black smoke in Iran might have headaches or difficulty breathing, especially if they have asthma or lung disease.
Vulnerable populations – such as older people, young children and people with disabilities – are more at risk. Exposure to toxic air pollution during pregnancy can also lead to lower birth weights.
In the longer term, exposure to the compounds in the air and in this black rain is potentially increasing people’s cancer risk. When ultrafine particles (PM2.5) are inhaled, they can get into your bloodstream. This has been linked to a range of health impacts including cancers, neurological conditions (such as cognitive impairment), and various cardiovascular conditions.
Once these heavily polluted plumes of air have their pollutants rained into natural waterways, they can also start to affect aquatic life, as well as human drinking water sources.
Another issue is that this black rain is depositing these compounds on buildings, roads and surfaces, which means they can make their way back into the air when disturbed by strong winds.
A legacy of war
There has been growing attention on the environmental impact of conflict worldwide. Part of this has emerged in the wake of past wars in Iraq and Kuwait, where there was large-scale deconstruction of oil wells and the use of burn pits.
We now know there are long-term health impacts on returning service people, including Australians. So we can assume local populations are also profoundly affected.
In the short term, people exposed to this smoke and black rain in Iran should try to wear masks or face coverings, seek refuge from it, stay indoors, close doors and windows, and try to keep the air out. It is also important to clean hard surfaces where possible, particularly indoors, to reduce exposure to deposited pollutants.
On the ground, of course, this may be very difficult to achieve in the chaos of war.
Gabriel da Silva does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Mehmet Ozalp, Professor of Islamic Studies, Head of School, The Centre for Islamic Studies and Civilisation, Charles Sturt University
Morteza Nikoubazl/NurPhoto via Getty Images
The death of Iran’s supreme leader, Ali Khamenei, during the holy month of Ramadan marks one of the most consequential turning points in the history of the Islamic Republic of Iran.
His successor, his son Mojtaba Khamenei, represents both continuity and contradiction in the revolutionary system established after the Iranian Revolution in 1979.
At stake is not only who leads Iran, but what the Islamic Republic has become, nearly half a century after the revolution that promised an end to dynastic rule.
Who is Mojtaba Khamenei?
Mojtaba Khamenei is a cleric who has spent most of his career outside public office but close to power, working within the Office of the Supreme Leader. He was often seen as a gatekeeper and powerbroker rather than a public political figure with a formal portfolio.
At 17, he briefly served in the Iran–Iraq war. He only began attracting public attention in the late 1990s, by which time his father’s authority as supreme leader was firmly established.
Over time, his reputation has centred on two key features. The first is a close relationship with Iran’s security establishment, particularly the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), and its hardline networks.
The second is a strong opposition to reformist politics and Western engagement.
Critics have linked him to the suppression of protests following the disputed 2009 presidential election. He is also believed to have wielded influence over Iran’s state broadcasting organisation, giving him indirect control over parts of the country’s information landscape and state narrative.
In 2019, the first Trump administration sanctioned Mojtaba, accusing him of acting in an official capacity on behalf of the supreme leader despite holding no formal government position.
Mojtaba’s legitimacy as leader
Iran’s constitution dictates that the Assembly of Experts (an 88-member clerical body) selects the supreme leader.
The assembly lists the religious, political and leadership qualifications of possible candidates. But in practice, it is not a neutral electoral body. Candidates for the assembly itself are vetted through institutions ultimately shaped by the supreme leader’s orbit, and its deliberations are opaque.
This creates a familiar Iranian scenario – the constitution supplies the choreography, while the security-clerical establishment supplies the music.
That matters when assessing why Mojtaba is seen as a viable supreme leader amid critiques he lacks the senior religious standing traditionally associated with the office.
A mid-ranking cleric, he was only given the title ayatollah in 2022. The title is necessary to become supreme leader, so the promotion signalled he was being groomed to take over from his ageing and ill father.
The revolution’s founding myth was clearly anti-dynastic. After toppling the shah, the revolution’s leaders rejected hereditary rule.
To many Iranians, a son following his father as supreme leader looks like an ideological backslide. The regime appears more like a theocratic monarchy, less the famous “guardianship of the jurist”.
Yet, it is also important to be precise. Mojtaba cannot inherit the position by bloodline alone. The assembly must select him.
Still, political systems can become dynastic without rewriting constitutions. Dynastic outcomes emerge when informal power networks, such as family ties, political patronage, security ties, and control over the media, can make one candidate appear more natural, safe or inevitable.
That has essentially been the Mojtaba story in Iran for years: a man who built influence not by winning elections, but by managing the gate to the most powerful office in the country.
The circumstances of Ali Khamenei’s death add another layer of significance and, ironically, legitimacy to Mojtaba’s ascension.
For many Shi’a Muslims, being killed during Ramadan carries deep symbolic resonance. The first imam of Shi’ism, Ali ibn Abi Talib, was assassinated during the dawn prayer in Ramadan in 661 CE, an event still commemorated each year by Shi’ite Muslims.
Shi’ite historical memory places strong emphasis on martyrdom. In particular, the death of Husayn ibn Ali, a grandson of the Prophet Muhammad, at Karbala in 680 CE, symbolises the struggle between justice and oppression.
Because of this tradition, violent deaths of leaders in the past and today are framed within a broader narrative of sacrifice and resistance.
Iran’s revolutionary ideology has long drawn on these themes. If the state presents Khamenei’s death in this light, it could strengthen a narrative of martyrdom and defiance.
This, in turn, gives his son Mojtaba an aura of religious legitimacy that is very strong in the Shi’ite Muslim psyche.
How different would he be from his father?
This is the most consequential question for Iran. The answer is likely less different than many might expect.
Ali Khamenei was a figure of the revolutionary generation. His authority rested on ideological legitimacy, decades spent amassing and consolidating power, and his ability to arbitrate between competing factions. Over time, he became the system’s final referee.
Mojtaba Khamenei, by contrast, is often portrayed as a product of the security establishment, rather than a public theologian or statesman. He is known less for speeches or religious authority than for his influence and the networks he has built behind-the-scenes coordination.
If that assessment is correct, the shift would be from a leader who balanced institutions to one who may lean more heavily on the might of the IRGC. This would deepen an existing trend toward the securitisation of Iranian politics.
In a period of war and instability, regimes typically prioritise continuity and control. Mojtaba’s appeal to the establishment, therefore, appears to rest on several factors:
his close ties to the IRGC and intelligence networks
his long experience inside the supreme leader’s office
his ideological alignment with hardline positions sceptical of reform and Western engagement.
A figure trusted by the most powerful security institutions also reduces the chance of power struggles or fragmentation at the top.
What might this mean for the war?
A new supreme leader rarely produces an abrupt ideological shift, especially during a military conflict. Continuity is the more likely outcome.
Mojtaba Khamenei’s profile suggests a more security-centred style of leadership with three possible ways forward.
First, domestic control may harden. Given Mojtaba’s reported ties to the security establishment, unrest is more likely to be met with swift repression rather than political accommodation.
Second, the IRGC could expand its influence in regional affairs, given how closely aligned Mojtaba is with the guards.
Third, any negotiations with the West would likely be tactical rather than transformative. They would be framed as a strategic necessity rather than an ideological shift.
And given the fact his father was killed in US-Israeli airstrikes, this will only reinforce a more hardline posture toward both countries.
In short, Iran under Mojtaba Khamenei would likely remain confrontational in rhetoric, but pragmatic when regime survival is at stake.
Mehmet Ozalp is the Executive Director of ISRA Academy
News that a United States submarine had torpedoed and sunk the Iranian warship IRIS Dena about 40 nautical miles off Sri Lanka this week took many observers by surprise. An attack like this so far from the Persian Gulf – and in a key trade route connecting China to the Middle East – suggests the arena of this war may be widening.
But the incident also highlights something rarely well understood outside military and legal circles: the law of naval warfare.
Many have wondered: was this attack lawful? And who was under an obligation to rescue survivors?
The law of naval warfare sets out permissions and protections for combatants, civilians and neutral actors engaged in conflict at sea.
Importantly, it applies regardless of whether the resort to force was lawful.
In other words, you’re supposed to follow the law of the sea even if your whole justification for war in the first place isn’t legal under international law.
What’s more, the conduct of operations at sea is regulated by the law of naval warfare whether or not war has been formally declared.
This reflects the principle of lex specialis in international law, meaning the more specific body of law applies.
These rules have developed over centuries as states sought to regulate the conduct of conflict at sea while still allowing navies to operate effectively.
So, was it legal for the US to sink the Iranian warship?
Yes, it was a lawful target.
Under the law of naval warfare, warships belonging to a state engaged in an international armed conflict are military objectives by nature. The rules say they may be lawfully targeted.
Such attacks may occur on the high seas or within the 12 nautical mile territorial waters of the states that are party to the international armed conflict (the belligerents). This means, effectively, that such an attack could happen anywhere outside the 12 nautical mile territorial waters of neutral states.
If the Iranian warship was within Sri Lankan waters (that is, within 12 nautical miles of the Sri Lankan coast) at the time, the attack wouldn’t have been lawful.
But in this case, IRIS Dena was reportedly operating outside Sri Lanka’s territorial waters and therefore constitutes a lawful military target.
What does the law say about rescue of survivors?
The law of naval warfare also sets out obligations regarding the rescue of survivors.
Under the Second Geneva Convention of 1949, parties to a conflict must – after each engagement – take all possible measures to search for and collect the shipwrecked, wounded and sick.
These rules apply to naval warfare and require belligerents, so far as military circumstances permit, to assist survivors at sea.
In practice, however, submarines face particular challenges in fulfilling this obligation. Surfacing to rescue survivors may expose them to significant risk. You also can’t usually fit a large number of survivors on a submarine.
If a submarine cannot safely surface to rescue survivors, it may instead facilitate rescue by reporting their location to other vessels or authorities.
This practice has been noted in some key legalcommentary on submarine warfare.
The swift response of the Sri Lankan navy, which rescued 32 sailors from IRIS Dena, suggests authorities were informed quickly of the incident. (Sri Lankan officials say 87 bodies were also retrieved).
How Sri Lankan authorities were informed is not yet clear, but it seems likely the US navy transmitted the location of the survivors.
Given the damage suffered by IRIS Dena and the reported casualties, the ship’s crew was unlikely to have been able to transmit their location themselves.
This may also explain why early reports suggested a submarine had sunk the vessel, before the US confirmed its involvement.
It is also unlikely the crew of IRIS Dena would have immediately known they had been struck by a submarine-launched torpedo. Such a torpedo would typically be fired from very far away, beyond the detection range of a ship’s hull-mounted sonar.
A lawful military target
While debate continues over the legal justification for the United States entering the conflict with Iran, the conduct of hostilities at sea is nonetheless governed by the law of naval warfare.
Under that framework, IRIS Dena therefore constitutes a lawful military target, and efforts to facilitate the rescue of survivors are consistent with those obligations.
Jennifer Parker does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
On International Women’s Day, March 8, we often commemorate the progress women have made across the centuries. Rightly so, as there’s much to celebrate.
But what if the more urgent story is about backlash?
We are researching a troublingly common pathway: how everyday misogyny becomes violent extremism. We’re trying to better understand how gender attitudes influence radicalisation and how we can best prevent it.
Drawing from our soon-to-be-published survey of more than 2,300 adults and 1,100 young people (aged 13–17), our findings suggest misogyny is not a side issue. It may be a driver of extremism.
While public debate often frames extremism through race, religion or nationalism, our research suggests that gender politics may be just as – if not more – central.
Finding the common threads
Though vastly different, extremist movements, such as far-right ethno-nationalists, religious fundamentalists and online “incel” communities, have something in common. The ideological language may differ, but the underlying insistence on women’s “rightful place” in society binds these movements together.
Around the world, there is a growing sentiment that “feminism has gone too far” or that men are now discriminated against. In Australia and other Western countries, this sentiment has risen steadily since 2021.
Online, it’s amplified through what’s been called the “manosphere”: a network of influencers and communities that frame gender equality as a threat.
We are interested in whether this growing sentiment is generating anti-feminist and misogynistic attitudes in Australia, and whether these attitudes form a pathway into violent extremist views.
Our research
In our recent national survey of Australian adults and adolescents, we examined general misogynistic attitudes and support for violent extremism.
We asked whether it is legitimate to use violence to resist feminism. More than 17% of all Australians agree feminism should be resisted with violence. It was the second most supported form of extremist attitude.
Our study included a representative sample of 13–17-year-olds across Australia. The findings are even more confronting among these participants.
We were surprised to learn that 25–30% of boys in this age group expressed agreement with various forms of violent extremism. More than a third (36%) agreed with misogynistic attitudes.
Support for violence to resist feminism was highest among adolescent boys (28%), followed closely by adolescent girls (21%).
Perhaps most alarming: roughly 40% of boys aged 13 to 17 agreed that women lie about domestic and sexual violence.
These results raise crucial questions going forward. We don’t yet know how these views have changed over time, whether they are on the rise and what the links are between violent extremism and the negative treatment of women.
A generation under strain?
Another avenue of enquiry our team is investigating is how the perception of threat to masculine status and lack of belonging can play a role.
Social research has shown boys and men increasingly feel alienated, humiliated or uncertain about their place in the world.
Narratives that reassert male dominance can become psychologically attractive and are being pushed online – often for profit. They blame the plight of men on feminism, immigrants and women at large.
In our research, we differentiate between interpersonal experiences, anchored in close relationships, and intergroup conflict that has generated a sense of “us” versus “them”: men versus women. We then examine how this intergroup social conflict is driving radicalisation.
Online communities validate men and boys’ grievances and offer an “outgroup” to scapegoat and blame – women. At the same time a new “ingroup” is being crafted, coalescing around misogyny, and shaped and led by key figures online.
This new social identity that defines men and boys (and allies) as an ingroup in need of defending may be operating as a gateway to violent extremist ideologies.
The public and the private
One of our study’s most nuanced insights concerns how young people conceptualise violence against women. We found two distinct clusters of attitudes.
Some respondents justified violence in the private sphere. If a woman disobeys in the home, a man should be able to control her with violence.
Others supported abstract restrictions in the public sphere, such as limiting women’s reproductive rights. Some agreed with the sentiment that “sometimes a woman just pushes a man too far”, forcing him to commit acts of violence.
Different types of extremism appeared to align with different clusters. This suggests misogyny is not all the same. It’s expressed in many ways, from intimate coercion to political control.
The intergroup conflict comes to the fore in social and political debates about men and women’s rights and freedoms, and the perception that advances in women’s rights has come at the expense of men’s.
Understanding these distinctions is vital for understanding misogyny and violent extremism in Australia and beyond. Misogyny is not just a “social issue”, but a potential national security concern.
Interrupting the pathway to extremism
By identifying misogyny as a pathway rather than an endpoint, we can think about prevention.
The approach is guided by research that shows curriculum that promotes social and emotional skills and positive gender norms leads to improved mental and social health, and reduces involvement in bullying and the perpetration of gender-based violence. Such approaches have already had measurable success in Australia.
One question still being investigated by the researchers is what more needs to be done in schools and to support teachers. Given the expansion of online influences, how are programs like this meant to “compete” and how can these efforts be enhanced?
So while International Women’s Day often centres visibility and empowerment, the initial findings from this research alert us to another truth alongside that celebration: progress can provoke backlash.
But the pathway from misogyny to extremism is not inevitable. It’s shaped by social norms, institutional responses and all of us taking action for inclusion, respect, equality and safety.
We can interrupt this pathway. Successfully doing so will help protect and further gender equality into the future.
Sara Meger is the recipient of an Office of National Intelligence National Intelligence Postdoctoral Grant (project number NIPG202412) and funded by the Australian Government.
Kate Reynolds has oversight of projects funded by the National Intelligence Postdoctoral Grant Scheme Round 4 2024: Misogyny, Radicalisation and Young Australians.
A large release of important documents once meant teams of journalists staying back, working through piles of records late into the night.
Today, it triggers something closer to a public audit. The January 30 publication of more than three million documents related to convicted child sex offender Jeffrey Epstein has mobilised thousands of online users into doing their own digging. They range from massively popular political livestreamers such as Hasan Piker and Dean Withers, to crowdsourced intelligence communities on Reddit.
These netizens are combing through documents, comparing excerpts and trying to piece together what the archive does (and does not) reveal.
Part of the scrutiny comes from the legal framework behind the release. The Epstein Files Transparency Act largely focuses on protecting victims’ identities. However, the US Department of Justice says it also excluded duplicate records, privileged material and other categories during its review.
Whether those additional filters align with the law’s intended limits has itself become part of the story. So people are examining not only the documents that were published, but the gaps around them.
By pooling their time and expertise, online communities can reveal patterns and contradictions that may otherwise go unreported. The same mechanism, however, can flip into something darker.
A file release becomes a public investigation
Massive, legally mandated document releases – such as the millions of pages declassified under the 1992 John F Kennedy Assassination Records Collection Act – are routinely heavily redacted to protect intelligence sources or privacy.
But rather than settling public doubts, visible gaps often act as a catalyst for further suspicion and distrust. This creates the feeling that the public must audit for itself.
When thousands of people scan the same archive, patterns emerge quickly. Duplicate records surface. Chronologies begin to form. And inconsistencies are noticed that might otherwise remain buried.
A prime example was when open-source intelligence communities successfully cross-referenced early releases of the Epstein flight logs with public charity and event schedules. In doing so, they reliably mapped out passenger associations and timelines days before official media could verify them.
But this capacity has limits. The crowd is often better at saying “look here” than “this proves that”. And when victims’ privacy and other people’s reputations are at risk, incorrect inferences can cause lasting harm.
Moreover, our desire for closure in conditions of uncertainty makes us more susceptible to “apophenia” – the tendency to perceive connections between unrelated data points.
From WikiLeaks to the platform era
The Epstein file dump stands in stark contrast to the document releases of the early WikiLeaks era, beginning in 2006.
At that time, interpretation was slower and more journalist-mediated. For massive drops such as the 2010 Cablegate release, WikiLeaks initially partnered with media outlets such The Guardian, The New York Times and Der Spiegel to process the data. (Although they did later publish the full unredacted archive, putting thousands of named individuals at risk).
Journalists reviewed hundreds of thousands of diplomatic cables, redacting sensitive names to protect sources, and providing extensive editorial framing before the public saw the findings.
The infrastructure of the internet operates differently today. Social media algorithms reward outrage, and information travels as screenshots, fragments and threads. Context is easily lost as content moves further away from its source.
Artificial intelligence tools further complicate things by introducing synthetic “evidence” into the public record. A number of AI-generated images, video and audio clipshave been debunked since the Epstein files release. One of the most prominent is a viral AI image that claims to show Epstein alive in Israel.
These conditions create risks
Large archives often contain partial names, common names or ambiguous references. When those fragments circulate online, innocent people can become attached to viral claims through little more than coincidence.
For instance, ordinary IT professionals and random citizens whose photos appeared in old FBI photo lineups included in the archive have been falsely accused by online mobs and politicians who assumed anyone listed in the vicinity of the dump was a co-conspirator.
Narrative lock-in is another risk. Once a particular explanation gains momentum, later corrections or clarifications often struggle to travel as far as the original claim.
In one example, a spreadsheet summarising public calls to an FBI tip line went viral, with the false claim that it was Epstein’s official “client list”. Even after journalists clarified the document’s true nature, the initial framing had locked in across social media.
A related phenomenon is information laundering. A claim may begin as speculation in a forum or social media post, but then reappear as something “people are saying” and, over time, can be framed as having been verified.
One example involves “redaction matching”, wherein online sleuths are baselessly asserting that the length of black censor bars on the files perfectly match the character counts of specific politicians’ names.
The Epstein case has also highlighted a different risk: technical mistakes within the release itself. A number ofkey failures in how the DOJ redacted data has led to victims’ names and details being found out.
A closing lesson
None of this means people should stop asking questions. Public scrutiny is the bedrock of accountability. But scrutiny works best when it follows clear standards. Viral interpretations of files should be treated as starting points for inquiry – not conclusions.
The deeper lesson from the Epstein files is about institutional trust. When institutions fail to resolve serious allegations, judgement does not disappear; it moves outward into the public sphere.
And a public that feels compelled to investigate its own institutions is not merely asking questions about a set of documents. It is signalling that confidence in the official process has eroded.
Oliver Alfred Guidetti does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Mehmet Ozalp, Professor of Islamic Studies, Head of School, The Centre for Islamic Studies and Civilisation, Charles Sturt University
Morteza Nikoubazl/NurPhoto via Getty Images
The death of Iran’s supreme leader, Ali Khamenei, during the holy month of Ramadan marks one of the most consequential turning points in the history of the Islamic Republic of Iran.
His successor, widely expected to be his son Mojtaba Khamenei, represents both continuity and contradiction in the revolutionary system established after the Iranian Revolution in 1979.
At stake is not only who leads Iran, but what the Islamic Republic has become, nearly half a century after the revolution that promised an end to dynastic rule.
Who is Mojtaba Khamenei?
Mojtaba Khamenei is a cleric who has spent most of his career outside public office but close to power, working within the Office of the Supreme Leader. He was often seen as a gatekeeper and powerbroker rather than a public political figure with a formal portfolio.
At 17, he briefly served in the Iran–Iraq war. He only began attracting public attention in the late 1990s, by which time his father’s authority as supreme leader was firmly established.
Over time, his reputation has centred on two key features. The first is a close relationship with Iran’s security establishment, particularly the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), and its hardline networks.
The second is a strong opposition to reformist politics and Western engagement.
Critics have linked him to the suppression of protests following the disputed 2009 presidential election. He is also believed to have wielded influence over Iran’s state broadcasting organisation, giving him indirect control over parts of the country’s information landscape and state narrative.
In 2019, the first Trump administration sanctioned Mojtaba, accusing him of acting in an official capacity on behalf of the supreme leader despite holding no formal government position.
Mojtaba’s legitimacy as leader
Iran’s constitution dictates that the Assembly of Experts (an 88-member clerical body) selects the supreme leader.
The assembly lists the religious, political and leadership qualifications of possible candidates. But in practice, it is not a neutral electoral body. Candidates for the assembly itself are vetted through institutions ultimately shaped by the supreme leader’s orbit, and its deliberations are opaque.
This creates a familiar Iranian scenario – the constitution supplies the choreography, while the security-clerical establishment supplies the music.
That matters when assessing why Mojtaba is seen as a viable supreme leader amid critiques he lacks the senior religious standing traditionally associated with the office.
A mid-ranking cleric, he was only given the title ayatollah in 2022. The title is necessary to become supreme leader, so the promotion signalled he was being groomed to take over from his ageing and ill father.
The revolution’s founding myth was clearly anti-dynastic. After toppling the shah, the revolution’s leaders rejected hereditary rule.
To many Iranians, a son following his father as supreme leader looks like an ideological backslide. The regime appears more like a theocratic monarchy, less the famous “guardianship of the jurist”.
Yet, it is also important to be precise. Mojtaba cannot inherit the position by bloodline alone. The assembly must select him.
Still, political systems can become dynastic without rewriting constitutions. Dynastic outcomes emerge when informal power networks, such as family ties, political patronage, security ties, and control over the media, can make one candidate appear more natural, safe or inevitable.
That has essentially been the Mojtaba story in Iran for years: a man who built influence not by winning elections, but by managing the gate to the most powerful office in the country.
The circumstances of Ali Khamenei’s death add another layer of significance and, ironically, legitimacy to Mojtaba’s ascension.
For many Shi’a Muslims, being killed during Ramadan carries deep symbolic resonance. The first imam of Shi’ism, Ali ibn Abi Talib, was assassinated during the dawn prayer in Ramadan in 661 CE, an event still commemorated each year by Shi’ite Muslims.
Shi’ite historical memory places strong emphasis on martyrdom. In particular, the death of Husayn ibn Ali, a grandson of the Prophet Muhammad, at Karbala in 680 CE, symbolises the struggle between justice and oppression.
Because of this tradition, violent deaths of leaders in the past and today are framed within a broader narrative of sacrifice and resistance.
Iran’s revolutionary ideology has long drawn on these themes. If the state presents Khamenei’s death in this light, it could strengthen a narrative of martyrdom and defiance.
This, in turn, gives his son Mojtaba an aura of religious legitimacy that is very strong in the Shi’ite Muslim psyche.
How different would he be from his father?
This is the most consequential question for Iran. The answer is likely less different than many might expect.
Ali Khamenei was a figure of the revolutionary generation. His authority rested on ideological legitimacy, decades spent amassing and consolidating power, and his ability to arbitrate between competing factions. Over time, he became the system’s final referee.
Mojtaba Khamenei, by contrast, is often portrayed as a product of the security establishment, rather than a public theologian or statesman. He is known less for speeches or religious authority than for his influence and the networks he has built behind-the-scenes coordination.
If that assessment is correct, the shift would be from a leader who balanced institutions to one who may lean more heavily on the might of the IRGC. This would deepen an existing trend toward the securitisation of Iranian politics.
In a period of war and instability, regimes typically prioritise continuity and control. Mojtaba’s appeal to the establishment, therefore, appears to rest on several factors:
his close ties to the IRGC and intelligence networks
his long experience inside the supreme leader’s office
his ideological alignment with hardline positions sceptical of reform and Western engagement.
A figure trusted by the most powerful security institutions also reduces the chance of power struggles or fragmentation at the top.
What might this mean for the war?
A new supreme leader rarely produces an abrupt ideological shift, especially during a military conflict. Continuity is the more likely outcome.
Mojtaba Khamenei’s profile suggests a more security-centred style of leadership with three possible ways forward.
First, domestic control may harden. Given Mojtaba’s reported ties to the security establishment, unrest is more likely to be met with swift repression rather than political accommodation.
Second, the IRGC could expand its influence in regional affairs, given how closely aligned Mojtaba is with the guards.
Third, any negotiations with the West would likely be tactical rather than transformative. They would be framed as a strategic necessity rather than an ideological shift.
And given the fact his father was killed in US-Israeli airstrikes, this will only reinforce a more hardline posture toward both countries.
In short, Iran under Mojtaba Khamenei would likely remain confrontational in rhetoric, but pragmatic when regime survival is at stake.
Mehmet Ozalp is the Executive Director of ISRA Academy
Tehran is moving to restrict – or effectively close – the Strait of Hormuz to shipping, as part of the latest escalation in the war involving Iran.
Markets have reacted to the global impact of closing this incredibly busy shipping channel, focusing on the risk to oil and gas flows, the prospect of higher crude prices and the inflationary pressures that would follow.
That concern is justified. But it captures only part of the story. A sustained disruption of traffic through Hormuz would not simply constitute an energy crisis. It would also represent a fertiliser shock (where prices go up dramatically and supply goes down) – and, by extension, a direct risk to global food security.
Modern agriculture runs not only on sunlight and soil, but on natural gas. When German chemists Fritz Haber and Carl Bosch developed their nitrogen fixation method in the early 20th century, they did more than just manufacture ammonia at scale.
They launched a global chemical revolution that remains a cornerstone of modern civilization and agriculture. Through this process, methane is transformed into ammonia, and ammonia into nitrogen fertilisers such as urea – the most widely used nitrogen fertiliser. Those fertilisers allow crops to reach the yields on which today’s global population depends. Without it, harvests of wheat, maize and rice would fall dramatically.
Around a third of globally traded urea passes through the Strait of Hormuz. The Persian Gulf sits at the centre of this system for two structural reasons. First, it offers access to some of the world’s cheapest natural gas, essential for ammonia production.
Second, over decades, vast capital investments have built ammonia and urea capacity in countries within the region, including Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates. This is aimed at the export market. A significant share of globally traded nitrogen fertiliser – and the liquefied natural gas (LNG) that powers fertiliser plants elsewhere – must therefore travel through the Strait of Hormuz. A closure of the strait would threaten not only oil and gas exports but also the physical flow of nitrogen-based fertilisers and what is needed to make them.
The immediate effect would be delays to shipments of ammonia, urea and LNG. They could be stopped completely or become prohibitively expensive through higher freight and insurance costs. But the deeper impact would unfold in the months ahead at farms around the world.
Farmers stocks of essential fertiliser may soon be depleted because of the Iran war. Fotokostic/Shutterstock
In the northern hemisphere, fertiliser purchases accelerate before planting seasons. A delay of weeks can be disruptive; a disruption of months can make a huge difference. If shipments fail to arrive on time, farmers face difficult choices such as how to pay sharply higher prices, reduce application rates, or alter crop mixes. Because of how crops respond, even modest reductions in nitrogen use can produce disproportionately large declines in yield. That could translate into millions of tonnes of lost crops. The consequences would ripple through global supply chains into feed markets, livestock production, biofuels and ultimately retail food prices.
Do countries not have their own supplies?
Some countries have supplies of fertilisers, but self-sufficiency is rarer than it appears. India, for instance, relies heavily on LNG imports from the Persian Gulf to run its domestic urea plants. Brazil depends substantially on imported nitrogeon and phosphate fertilisers to sustain soybean and maize production.
Even the United States, one of the world’s largest fertiliser producers, imports meaningful volumes of ammonia and urea to help meet regional demand and reduce prices. In sub-Saharan Africa, use of fertiliser is already low. A further rise in prices is likely to reduce use even more, cutting yields and increasing food insecurity.
The system’s fragility extends beyond nitrogen. Sulphur – as an essential nutrient for plant growth – is largely a byproduct of oil and gas processing. If energy shipments through Hormuz are disrupted, sulphur output falls alongside fuel exports. So, the shock would not only reduce fertiliser shipments but also restrict ways to produce them elsewhere.
Meanwhile, the production of synthetic nitrogen tightly coupled to energy markets because it is manufactured continuously from natural gas. A disruption in gas supply or ammonia trade immediately constrains global nitrogen availability. Estimates suggest that without synthetic nitrogen, the world could feed only a fraction of its current population. The Strait of Hormuz therefore sits at the intersection of energy and food security.
Changing where fertiliser is produced cannot happen overnight. Financing and constructing new ammonia plants takes years. A double-digit contraction in exports from a key region cannot be swiftly offset. In the interim, prices would rise, trade flows would re-route and planting decisions would be made under uncertainty. Food price inflation, historically correlated with social unrest, could intensify.
Central banks, focused primarily on fuel-driven inflation, could underestimate the contribution of fertiliser scarcity to prices overall. Crucially, fertiliser shocks do not register with the same immediacy as oil shocks. Petrol prices change overnight. Crop yields reveal themselves months later. Yet the latter may prove more destabilising.
Controls and closure of this narrow maritime chokepoint would reshape the cost-of-living well beyond the Persian Gulf.
If the 20th century taught policymakers to fear oil embargoes, the 21st should teach them to fear a fertiliser shock. Energy markets can absorb shocks through reserves and substitution. But the global food system has far thinner buffers. A prolonged disruption at Hormuz would not simply reprice crude; it would test the resilience of the industrial nitrogen cycle on which modern civilisation depends.
Oil powers cars. Nitrogen powers crops. If the Strait of Hormuz closes, the most consequential price may not be Brent crude but the cost of feeding the world.
Nima Shokri is affiliated with Hamburg University of Technology.
Salome M. S. Shokri-Kuehni does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
