Most coverage of the Strait of Hormuz reads like an oil story. Twenty per cent of the world’s crude, twenty per cent of its liquefied natural gas, and the choking off of tanker traffic since Israeli and US strikes on Iran began on 28 February. The region’s oil, Brent, is trading at around $108 a barrel, nearly fifty per cent up on where it sat when the war began. Tankers stranded in the Persian Gulf. The numbers are hard to look away from. They are also, in important ways, only part of the picture.
The Strait also ships vaccines.
Save the Children has a consignment of urgently needed medicines stuck at a supplier’s warehouse in India. The road route is closed due to conflict. The usual fallback — air freight — has just doubled in price due to jet fuel prices. The charity’s chief executive, Janti Soeripto, put the situation to NPR earlier this month: “The transport for the drugs is more expensive than the drugs themselves.” That sentence is the story this piece is about. Not the Strait, not the oil, not even the war. The slow, awkward arithmetic by which a maritime closure thousands of miles away ends up determining whether a child in Kandahar gets a vial of antibiotics.
What the Strait actually carries
Commercial activity through Hormuz remains around 90 per cent below pre-war levels, according to analysis from the Council on Foreign Relations. Pre-conflict, around 3,000 vessels transited the strait each month; the latest House of Commons Library figures put current traffic at roughly five per cent of that. The strait is partially open, partially closed, and oscillating depending on the state of the Lebanon ceasefire and which side has most recently accused the other of violating it.
The pharmaceutical reading of those numbers takes a different shape. The Gulf Cooperation Council region serves as a transit hub linking Africa, Asia, Europe, India and the United States, and its pharmaceutical industry, valued at $23.7 billion, relies on imports through Gulf airspace and the strait for around 80 per cent of its product. Most of what matters most moves by air, not by container ship. Wouter Dewulf, professor at the University of Antwerp and a specialist in pharmaceutical logistics, told Al Jazeera last week that 35 per cent of pharmaceuticals move by air, and around 90 per cent of life-saving pharmaceuticals and vaccines do. He estimates that 22 per cent of global air cargo flows are exposed to disruptions in the Middle East.
Why a closed sea lane raises the cost of a mosquito net
The mechanism is rarely intuitive. India, which produces almost half of US generic prescriptions, depends on the strait for around 40 per cent of its crude oil imports — and that crude is the upstream feedstock for the petrochemicals used in active pharmaceutical ingredient manufacturing. With oil trading above $100 a barrel, the cost of producing the ingredient rises before a single tablet has been pressed. Indian air cargo rates have climbed 200 to 350 per cent on some routes, according to industry analysis, and war-risk insurance premiums for vessels transiting Hormuz have, by some measures, surged more than 1,000 per cent since late February.
The exposure is not abstract. The US Pharmacopeia has flagged that 48 per cent of US amoxicillin oral suspension is produced in Jordan, alongside a quarter of doxycycline hyclate capsules — common antibiotics, sourced from inside the conflict’s regional footprint.
It travels further than that. Jean Kaseya, director-general of Africa CDC, told reporters earlier this month that fuel shortages are pushing up the cost of producing mosquito nets, which are made from polyester, which is made from petrochemicals, which depend on a sea lane currently being charged at over a million dollars a transit when it is open at all. Malaria control is now, by an unobvious chain of reasoning, also a Hormuz story.
And the medicines that can’t wait
Of all the downstream consequences, the cold chain is the most exposed. Vaccines, insulin, biologics, and cancer therapies must be maintained within a narrow temperature range, typically between 2 and 8 degrees Celsius. Most of those products move by air, not sea, and most of the world’s high-volume air corridors run through Gulf hubs that have been variously closed, struck or rerouted around. Prashant Yadav, senior fellow for global health at the Council on Foreign Relations and one of the leading specialists in the field, has pointed to the timing problem with characteristic clarity: cargo carriers need roughly a week and a half to recover for every week of suspended shipments.
The arithmetic compounds.
It is partly a structural constraint. Yadav has also noted that European airlines and the two African carriers that have stepped in are unlikely to add new cargo capacity, as the disruption might continue for a few more months. Capacity is not bought overnight, and the current ceiling is, more or less, the medium-term one.
The countries most exposed are those already short of a buffer. The European Union has a stockpiling mechanism. The UK has flagged the risk of medicine shortages within weeks, but holds some reserve. The United States ordered a six-month stockpile of essential medicines last year. Sub-Saharan Africa, by contrast, imports around 70 per cent of its pharmaceuticals and runs far closer to the wire — arriving at this moment as aid budgets across major European donors are repackaged as investment rather than grants. Routine immunisation in much of the region relies on Gavi-procured stock that travels through the same air corridors, and the cold chain in those settings was already fragile before any of this began. How long current buffers hold is a function of variables nobody is in a position to forecast confidently. Bob Kitchen, vice-president of emergencies and humanitarian action at the International Rescue Committee, who is based in Nairobi, told NPR that he had not seen a comparable convergence in his career — pandemic, Ukraine and the current crisis included. A UN-managed depot in East Africa is currently holding stocks bound for Sudan, Ethiopia and other acute crises that cannot be released.
Save the Children’s drugs are still in India. As of late April, the strait remains effectively closed despite a conditional ceasefire, with Iran and the United States locked in a dual blockade as Pakistan-mediated talks continue. France and the UK have signalled that they will lead an international defensive mission once a sustainable ceasefire holds. None of that gets a vial to Kandahar this week.
What is the longer-term lesson? Supply chain analysts have been writing it for years, and now have a vivid case in front of them. A global medicine system optimised for cost works only as long as nothing goes wrong in three or four key chokepoints. Hormuz is one. The Suez and the Bab al-Mandeb are others. The Panama Canal is a fourth. The system functions until it doesn’t, and the people who feel the failure first are rarely the people the system was designed for.
Soeripto’s sentence is worth reading again. The transport for the drugs is more expensive than the drugs themselves. It is not, on its face, a sentence about war or oil or even shipping. It is a sentence about who, in a system held together by chokepoints, ultimately pays the bill. The strait will reopen. The arithmetic — and the question of who absorbs it — will not.
