Everything looks normal outside, but people inside are not calm
In the narrow passage where a fifth of the world's energy once flowed freely, 20,000 sailors have become unwilling witnesses to a war not their own. Since late February, Iran's closure of the Strait of Hormuz has immobilized 1,600 ships and their crews in a liminal space between commerce and conflict, where missiles pass overhead and the price of water has become a measure of desperation. At least eleven seafarers have died across dozens of verified incidents, while diplomatic efforts to secure safe passage have repeatedly collapsed under the competing pressures of geopolitics and threatened sanctions. These men and women did not choose this theater of war — they simply arrived to do their work, and found the door locked behind them.
- Twenty thousand sailors have been stranded for months inside an active war zone, unable to leave the Gulf as Iran refuses transit through the Strait of Hormuz without explicit IRGC authorization.
- The psychological toll is compounding daily — crews startle at sounds, sleep through missile alerts, and watch combat unfold from decks only hundreds of metres away, with at least 11 confirmed deaths across 39 verified incidents.
- Survival itself has become a market: water prices have surged nearly sixfold to $11,000 per 180 tonnes, food variety has collapsed, and opportunistic suppliers are extracting maximum profit from captive crews.
- A two-tier escape system has emerged — ships from China, India, and Pakistan have largely secured passage through direct diplomacy and payments reportedly running into the millions per vessel, while others remain stranded as US sanctions threats block similar arrangements.
- Bangladesh's attempt to pay Iran's demanded toll for the Banglar Joyjatra collapsed when Washington threatened sanctions against any nation making such payments, leaving the ship and its crew caught between two superpowers.
- Sailors are already reconsidering their careers, crew rotations are dangerously overdue, and maritime experts warn the crisis may permanently alter how international waterways are secured — and who is willing to sail them.
Captain Hassan Khan has spent three months watching calm water from a bridge that no longer feels safe. Around him, 20,000 sailors are trapped in or near the Strait of Hormuz, caught inside a US-Israeli military campaign against Iran that began in late February. The waterway that once carried a fifth of the world's oil and gas has become a sealed corridor — Iran will not permit transit without permission from the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, and the International Maritime Organisation estimates 1,600 ships remain stranded on the wrong side.
The psychological erosion is constant. Crews maintain routines but the rhythm has fractured. People startle awake. Conversation has dried up. Summer temperatures are climbing toward 45 degrees Celsius. Food variety has narrowed. And water — once a logistical afterthought — now costs $11,000 per 180 tonnes, up from $1,500 to $2,000 before the conflict. "It feels like some suppliers are trying to take advantage," one Korean sailor observed from a nearby vessel.
Captain Shafiqul Islam of the Bangladeshi ship Banglar Joyjatra has tried twice to leave. The first attempt followed Iran's April ceasefire announcement; warnings over the radio turned his convoy back within hours. The second came when Iran declared the strait "completely open" — Islam brought his ship within 30 nautical miles before Iran reversed course again. On the conflict's second day, his vessel had been just 200 metres from Jebel Ali port when Iranian missiles struck nearby. Since then, his crew of 30 has watched attacks repeat. "Sometimes missiles fly over one ship, and sometimes debris falls on the next."
Some ships have escaped — roughly 750 since late February, mostly from China, India, and Pakistan, whose owners appear to have secured passage through direct diplomacy and fees reportedly reaching millions of dollars per vessel. Bangladesh attempted the same for the Banglar Joyjatra, but the plan collapsed when the United States threatened sanctions against any nation making such payments. "We are in a double crisis now," said the Bangladesh Shipping Corporation's managing director.
For cook Sajid Masood, whose contract expires in a month, the war has reduced to a single unbearable question his daughters ask every day: when are you coming home? He has no answer. Many sailors like him are now questioning whether they will return to sea at all — and maritime experts warn that the deeper damage may outlast the conflict itself, as international waterways are reconsidered not as shared infrastructure, but as instruments of war.
Captain Hassan Khan stands on the bridge of his ship and watches the water. It is so calm, so ordinary, that for a moment he can almost forget he has been trapped here for three months in the middle of a war. Then someone jumps at a sound. Then the radio crackles with another warning. Then he remembers.
"It is really strange that everything looks normal outside, but people inside are not calm," Khan says. He is Pakistani, and he asked not to be identified by his real name. Around him, 20,000 other sailors are stuck in or near the Strait of Hormuz, caught between a US-Israeli military campaign against Iran that began in late February. The waterway that once moved a fifth of the world's oil and gas supply has become a trap. Missiles pass overhead. Mines sit beneath the surface. The International Maritime Organisation estimates 1,600 ships are on the wrong side of the strait, unable to leave. Iran sealed the passage—the only way out of the Gulf—and will not permit transit without explicit permission from the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps.
The psychological weight is relentless. On Khan's vessel, the crew tries to maintain routine, but the rhythm has broken. No one wants to go ashore. The easy conversation has died. People startle awake. "The stress stays in our mind all the time," Khan says. "Everyone is just exhausted—both physically and mentally." The summer heat is coming. Temperatures already exceed 30 degrees Celsius in May. They will climb to 45. The ship still has food and water, but the selection has narrowed. Beef and chicken remain available. Vegetables and lentils have become scarce.
Captain Shafiqul Islam commands the Banglar Joyjatra, a Bangladeshi vessel carrying 37,000 tonnes of fertiliser bound for South Africa. He has tried twice to leave. The first attempt came after Iran announced a ceasefire on April 8. Islam heard that another ship had received permission to cross. He steered toward the strait with four other vessels. Within hours, warnings came over the radio. Do not proceed. Nine days later, Iran declared the strait would be "completely open" for all commercial traffic. Islam moved his ship within 30 nautical miles of the passage. Then Iran reversed course. The US had maintained its blockade of Iranian ports. Islam turned away as attack warnings continued to sound.
The cost of survival has become staggering. Water prices have climbed from $1,500 to $2,000 per 180 tonnes to $11,000 for the same amount. Rashedul Hasan, the Banglar Joyjatra's chief engineer, watched this happen. "It also feels like some food and water suppliers are trying to take advantage of the situation and make excessive profits," says a Korean sailor on another vessel. Islam considers himself fortunate to be alive. On the second day of the conflict, his ship sat only 200 metres from Dubai's Jebel Ali port—the length of a medium tanker—when Iranian missiles struck. Since then, Islam and his 30 crew members have witnessed attacks repeatedly. "Sometimes missiles fly over one ship, and sometimes debris falls on the next," he says. Hasan has not slept through entire nights when the bombardment continued. "We have witnessed horror and devastation with our eyes."
The death toll is real. The International Maritime Organisation has verified at least 11 sailors killed and one missing across 39 separate incidents. The ceasefire has eased tension slightly, but military activity continues. Drones and fighter jets still appear. Naval vessels and submarines move through the waters. Sajid Masood, a Pakistani cook on an oil tanker, has heard the announcements over loudspeakers—Iranian forces warning ships not to attempt passage. His contract expires in one month. He thinks about his family in Pakistan. His daughters want Barbie dolls. His son wants a toy airplane. He was supposed to be home by now. "Every day my family asks when I will come back, but I have no answers for them," he says.
Some ships have escaped. Maritime data firm Kpler estimates 750 vessels have passed through the strait since February 28. Most came from China, India, and Pakistan. According to Dr Jonathan Schroden of the Washington-based research organisation CNA, their owners appear to have secured passage through direct diplomacy with Iran—and by paying fees in the millions of dollars per ship. The Bangladeshi government and the Bangladesh Shipping Corporation have been negotiating for the Banglar Joyjatra's release. Commodore Mahmudul Malek, the corporation's managing director, explained that Bangladesh initially agreed to pay Iran's demanded toll. The plan collapsed when the United States threatened sanctions against any nation making such payments. "We are in a double crisis now," Malek says.
The crisis is reshaping how sailors think about their profession. Kamil, another Pakistani sailor, worries that international waterways will become weaponised in future conflicts. Masood is reconsidering his career entirely. The experience has shown how dangerous the work can become. Many sailors may decide the risk is no longer worth it. Shipping companies face enormous losses and are considering cuts to staffing. Crew rotations are overdue. Finding enough sailors to man these ships—even after the war ends—will be difficult. The trapped seafarers are not just waiting for a ceasefire to hold. They are waiting to see if the world they knew still exists when they finally leave.
Citas Notables
The stress stays in our mind all the time. Everyone is just exhausted—both physically and mentally.— Captain Hassan Khan, Pakistani sailor
We are in a double crisis now—unable to pay Iran without US sanctions, unable to leave without paying.— Commodore Mahmudul Malek, Bangladesh Shipping Corporation managing director
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
What strikes you most about this situation—is it the physical danger, or something else?
The physical danger is real and documented. But what seems to be breaking people is the uncertainty. They don't know if they'll be allowed to leave tomorrow or in six months. They can't tell their families when they're coming home. That kind of open-ended stress, day after day, changes something in a person.
The water prices jumped from $2,000 to $11,000. Is that just supply and demand, or is something darker happening?
Both. Supply is genuinely constrained—fewer ships can reach the Gulf, fewer suppliers are willing to take the risk. But yes, some suppliers are exploiting that. When you're trapped and thirsty, you pay what's asked. The system breaks down when desperation meets scarcity.
Only 750 ships have gotten through. What's the difference between those and the 1,600 still stuck?
Money and connections. The ships that escaped had owners with the diplomatic reach and the capital to negotiate directly with Iran and pay the fees—millions per vessel. Most of the trapped ships don't have that leverage. They're waiting for their governments to negotiate, or for a political solution that may never come.
Do you think sailors will actually leave the profession after this?
Some will. Masood has one month left on his contract and he's already thinking about it. Kamil is worried this will happen again in the next conflict. When you've spent months watching missiles and wondering if you'll see your family again, the salary doesn't feel like enough anymore. The profession loses people this way—not all at once, but steadily.
What does "we are in a double crisis" mean?
Bangladesh agreed to pay Iran's toll to free the ship. Then the US said it would sanction any country that paid. So now they can't pay Iran without facing American penalties, but they also can't leave without paying. They're caught between two powers with no legal way forward.