It is proposed, with the utmost reason, that the Strait of Hormuz be reopened not by diplomacy, nor by naval demonstration, nor even by the slow, patient work of sanctions relief - but by the simple, efficient mechanism of reversing the threat itself: should Tehran refuse to yield, let us, in the spirit of mutual accountability, declare that we shall henceforth treat the United States’ own maritime chokepoints - such as the Panama Canal, the Suez Canal, and the Southern Limit of the North Atlantic Drift - as equally vital, equally sacred, and equally subject to temporary, conditional, and entirely reversible closure, pending reciprocal access.

The committee has calculated, with due regard to both principle and proportionality, that the current posture - whereby one nation’s grievance is met with apocalyptic rhetoric while the other’s sovereignty is assumed to be both fragile and negotiable - operates on an asymmetry of risk assessment. If the closure of Hormuz threatens global oil markets to the tune of a significant majority of daily tanker flows, then the closure of any one of the above-named chokepoints would, by the same arithmetic, threaten the stability of the very same markets with equal plausibility. The difference lies not in geography, but in who holds the lever - and that distinction, while historically contingent, is no longer a moral or legal one.

Consider, for instance, the Panama Canal. In any given year, some 14,000 vessels pass through its locks; of these, a considerable share carries crude or refined products bound for Europe, Asia, or the Americas. To close it for, say, thirty days - not as punishment, but as negotiation - would impose losses not unlike those currently feared from Hormuz: price spikes, inventory drawdowns, insurance premiums climbing to levels previously reserved for war zones. Yet no one proposes such closures in response to Panamanian delays, port inefficiencies, or even outright nationalisation - because no one thinks Panama would dare to block the canal, or that its government would dare to claim sovereign control over a passage so vital to the world’s prosperity.

Ah, but here we arrive at the heart of the matter: the assumption of permanent access. The current policy rests on the unexamined premise that certain geographies are by nature conduits, not sovereign spaces; that some nations are by right transit states, while others are by merit gatekeepers. This is not international law; it is international etiquette - and etiquette, as we know, is enforced not by reason but by the threat of reciprocal discourtesy.

Thus the modest proposal: let us treat all chokepoints as equally leverage points. Should Tehran refuse to permit free navigation, let us, without malice, without fanfare, simply pause the free navigation of vessels through other strategic passages - until such time as the original grievance is resolved. The mechanism is simple: a notice of temporary suspension, issued by the U.S. Coast Guard or its equivalent, citing mutual interest and reciprocal obligation. No ships would be sunk. No lives would be lost - at first. The damage would be financial, administrative, and psychological: a recalibration of who feels the pinch when the world’s oil flows slow.

One might object: but the United States does not control the Panama Canal. True. And yet, it exercises considerable influence over its operations, its security, and, in extremis, its political trajectory. A word from Washington, a subtle shift in aid, a quiet reassurance to the current administration - that is all it would take to induce a temporary administrative pause. The same holds for Suez: Egypt, though sovereign, is a recipient of American military assistance and political backing; a well-placed diplomatic note - framed not as a threat, but as a cooperative review of shared infrastructure resilience - would likely suffice.

The elegance of this approach lies in its symmetry. It does not ask Tehran to surrender sovereignty; it asks Washington to surrender the illusion of exclusive access. It does not escalate the threat - it equalises it. The proposer is not advocating for war, but for consistency: if the closure of Hormuz is a casus belli, then the closure of any other chokepoint must be, by the same logic, a casus belli - or, more likely, a casus for negotiation.

Let us be clear: this is not a proposal to seize canals, nor to destroy infrastructure, nor even to station troops. It is a proposal to think about chokepoints the way Tehran already thinks about Hormuz: not as neutral waterways, but as strategic assets, subject to political calculation, to leverage, to the same brutal arithmetic that justifies threatening “hell” over one narrow stretch of sea.

The committee notes, with regret, that this solution will, in all likelihood, be rejected - not because it is unreasonable, but because it is too reasonable. Reason, as we have learned, is acceptable only when it serves the interests of those who already hold the lever. But the proposer remains hopeful: that when the next crisis arrives, and the world again hears threats of “hell,” someone will pause, look up, and ask: If hell is the price of access, then what, precisely, is the price of denial?