There is a certain historical irony unfolding in the waters of the Strait of Hormuz. For decades, the United States has been the principal architect of maritime security in this narrow artery through which a fifth of the world’s oil and quarter of gas flows, mostly to various rapidly growing Asian nations.
However, as President Donald Trump last week called upon nations to help secure shipping lanes amid escalating tensions with Iran, the response has been tellingly muted. This silence is beginning to speak louder than words.
What is emerging is not a “coalition of the willing” but something far more revealing of our times: a coalition of the unwilling.
At the heart of this moment lies a structural transformation in global politics. The United States can still project power, but it can no longer mobilize legitimacy for its actions. Trump’s outreach — reportedly to Australia, Japan, South Korea, the United Kingdom, France, and even China — has so far yielded little enthusiasm and zero open support. Allies are hedging, competitors are abstaining, and much of the world is watching from the sidelines, urging restraint rather than participation.
The coalitions of the willing
The benchmark for building such coalitions still remains one by George H. W. Bush during the first Gulf War of 1990-91. That coalition of 34 nations was remarkable not merely for its size but for its legitimacy. Anchored in United Nations resolutions, especially UN Security Council Resolution 678, it had included Western powers as also key Arab states such as Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and even Syria. This was military multilateralism at its zenith: a convergence of power and principle. The war aim was to uphold the principle of territorial sovereignty and expel Iraq from Kuwait not through an American intervention but as an international enforcement.
A decade later, the model had already begun to fray. The coalition assembled by President George W Bush Jr. for the second Iraq War was numerically larger — 49 countries — but qualitatively weaker. Dubbed the ‘coalition of the willing’, it was marked by the conspicuous absence of a clear UN mandate and by deep divisions among major powers. While countries like the United Kingdom and Australia provided substantial military support, many others offered only symbolic participation. The Iraq War exposed a crucial paradox: coalition size does not equate to coalition legitimacy. Indeed, it signaled the beginning of a credibility erosion that would haunt subsequent US interventions.
By the time of President Barack Obama, coalition-building had become more selective and issue-specific. In operations against ISIS in Syria and Iraq, the US worked with a broad but functionally differentiated coalition, combining NATO allies, regional partners, and local militias. The intervention in Libya in 2011, though initially multilateral and UN-backed, quickly revealed the limits of Western cohesion. European allies depended heavily on US capabilities, and the instability of the aftermath of regime change deepened skepticism about interventionism itself.
Under President Joe Biden, coalition politics took yet another turn during the Russia-Ukraine war. Here, the US succeeded in mobilizing a vast network of support — over 54 countries through the Ukraine Defense Contact Group. But this was not a traditional war coalition. There were no unified combat operations under a single command. Instead, it was a diffused, layered system of military aid, sanctions, intelligence sharing and diplomatic alignment. This model reflected a world where consensus exists on principles — such as territorial sovereignty — but not on direct military engagement.
It is against this evolving backdrop that Trump’s current predicament must be assessed. His call for a naval coalition to secure the Strait of Hormuz comes at a moment of acute geopolitical tension with wars becoming normalized. Yet, unlike in 1991, there is no UN mandate to anchor legitimacy. Unlike in 2003, there is not even a symbolic rush to align politically with Washington. And unlike in Ukraine, there is no shared perception of a clear aggressor that galvanizes collective action.
Instead, what we see is a pattern of calibrated distancing.
Trump’s trials and tabulations
The closest of American allies in Europe — including key NATO members the UK, Italy, Germany, France — have expressed reluctance to join military strikes on Iran and stopped short of committing naval forces. Their hesitation reflects both strategic caution and domestic political constraints. The memory of Iraq looms large, as does the fear of being drawn into a wider regional war. Trumpian tantrums have shaken their confidence.
In Asia as well, traditional US partners such as Japan and South Korea remain highly dependent on Gulf nations from which they respectively import 90 per cent and 70 per cent of their crude oil. They have reasons to avoid escalation. They have preferred de-escalation and diplomatic engagement.
Even more striking is the position of China. As the world’s largest importer of oil and a major beneficiary of Gulf stability, Beijing has a direct stake in keeping the Strait of Hormuz open. China, therefore, not only has no inclination to join a US-led naval coalition, it has resorted to bilateral dialogue with Iran and criticized US strikes.
Russia is seen leveraging this crisis and mocking US miscalculation in Iran, criticizing US unilateralism while benefiting from American distraction and also from higher prices for its energy exports.
Across the Middle East as well, the response remains equally cautious. Gulf states, while concerned about Iranian strikes, are wary of becoming battlegrounds in a US-Iran confrontation. No leaders from these nations have supported American military strikes. A few such as Oman, Qatar, Egypt, Turkey and India actively speak of restraint and dialogue.
What unites these disparate responses is a shared recognition of countries’ shared stakes. The Strait of Hormuz is not merely a geopolitical flashpoint; it is a lifeline for global energy markets. Disruptions there translate into immediate price spikes for oil and liquefied natural gas, with cascading effects on fertilizers, food production, and inflation worldwide.
The silent consensus
This explains the emerging consensus — quiet but unmistakable — in favor of an early ceasefire and against further militarization of this crisis. Last week’s UNSC Resolution 2817 — with an unprecedented total of135 nations sponsoring the proposal — reflected overarching desire to end this war though it only criticized Iran’s attacks on its neighbors. Understandably, most nations are not ready to confront Trump, but neither have they endorsed his approach. It is a delicate balancing act: strategic ambiguity as a form of dissent. This silent ambiguity can translate into American isolation.
A US capable of launching strikes is unable to rally allies; it’s a superpower that commands attention, but not alignment. Trump’s continued escalation, despite the lack of broad international support, risks deepening this isolation further.
The phrase “coalition of the unwilling” thus captures more than just a diplomatic setback. It reflects a deeper transformation in the nature of global order. Power is no longer sufficient to produce consent and compliance. Legitimacy, shared threat perceptions and institutional frameworks matter more than ever — and are increasingly difficult to arrive at.
If the first Gulf War represented the high point of American-led multilateralism, and the second Iraq War its piecemeal fracturing, the current crisis may well signify its exhaustion. In spite of all the ongoing howl and growl, so characteristic of Trump, the world is not rallying behind the US military operations. But it is also not rallying against it as yet. Instead, it is stepping aside — hedging, calculating and waiting.
And in that silence lies the most profound message of all.
Swaran Singh
Swaran Singh is a professor of diplomacy and disarmament at the School of International Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi.