reopen the Strait of Hormuz Archives - ... on a quiet day, I can hear her breathing

Project Freedom and the end of the Arabs’ automatic “yes” to Washington by Timothy Hopper

Spread the love

This work by Middle East Monitor is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

US President Donald Trump addresses a meeting with Gulf leaders of the six-nation Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) in Riyadh on May 14, 2025. [Photo by BRENDAN SMIALOWSKI/AFP via Getty Images]

The suspension and redesign of Trump’s plan to reopen Hormuz showed that the Arab states of the Persian Gulf still need the United States, but they are no longer willing to pay, unconditionally, the price of a war they did not start.

When Donald Trump spoke of “Project Freedom” to reopen the Strait of Hormuz, the plan was supposed to be a display of restored American deterrence: an operation meant to prove that Washington could still open the world’s energy artery with its military fleet and its network of regional bases. Yet the rapid suspension of the project, after Saudi Arabia’s initial opposition to the use of its bases and airspace, carried a deeper meaning. This was not merely an operational disagreement.

“Project Freedom” showed that the Persian Gulf security order has entered a new phase: Arab states have not turned their backs on America, but they are no longer willing, without calculation, to serve as the launchpad for Washington’s war with Iran.

The significance of this shift became even clearer with the interim agreement between the United States and Iran. The framework, which is reportedly expected to lead to the reopening of Hormuz, ease pressure on the energy market, and begin a sixty-day period for nuclear negotiations, was not simply the product of military pressure. It was also the result of the constraints America faced on the regional battlefield. Washington could send more warships, but it could not be certain that all of its Arab partners would stand with it in every escalation scenario.

For decades, the relationship between Washington and the Arab governments of the Persian Gulf rested on a simple formula: oil, bases, and political alignment in exchange for security. Arab states provided access and alignment; in return, they expected protection. But the 2019 attacks on Aramco created the first serious crack in that mindset. Riyadh expected a decisive response, yet America’s reaction remained limited. From that moment, a hard question began to take shape: in a moment of danger, would America really enter a costly war to defend its allies?

READ: Hezbollah chief: Resistance thwarted ‘Greater Israel’ project, disarmament will not pass

The Hormuz crisis revived that question, but this time with greater urgency. The Arab states of the Persian Gulf know that any overt participation in an American military operation against Iran could turn them into direct targets of missile, drone, or maritime attacks. Their refineries, ports, and coastal cities are vulnerable, while the decision for war is made in Washington. From the perspective of Riyadh and Kuwait, the danger is not only Iran; the danger is being trapped in a war designed by others, while its geographic and economic costs fall on the Persian Gulf.

For this reason, the initial opposition to “Project Freedom” should not be read as a Saudi or Kuwaiti break with America. It was not an ideological “no”; it was a conditional and calculating “no.” Riyadh and Kuwait did not say they would no longer cooperate with the United States. They said they were not prepared to turn their territory into part of the theater of operations without clear guarantees about the consequences of war. Even later reports that Saudi Arabia and Kuwait had eased restrictions on U.S. military access did not erase the core issue. The significance of the episode was not that the restrictions were permanent; it was that such restrictions were imposed at all.

Some argue that because the restrictions were later reduced, no structural change has occurred. This argument sees part of the reality, but it misses the political meaning of hesitation. In regional politics, the pause itself matters.

If a plan that was supposed to display American authority became, from the very beginning, dependent on the consent of Riyadh and Kuwait, it means that American military power alone is no longer enough to produce political obedience. This is precisely the point at which strategic dependence remains, but automatic compliance begins to erode.

This shift cannot be separated from Saudi Arabia’s internal transformations either. Saudi Arabia today is not the Saudi Arabia of the early years of the Yemen war. Mohammed bin Salman needs stability in order to attract investment, expand tourism, and reduce dependence on oil. “Vision 2030” makes sense with the image of a safe country, not with the spectacle of a battlefield exchanging missiles and drones. Recent analyses of the consequences of a Hormuz war have also shown that the crisis made Saudi Arabia’s strategic vulnerability—and its need for safer energy routes—even more visible.

READ: US envoy says ‘without Israel, there would be no America’

From this perspective, de-escalation with Iran is not a sign of weakness; it is part of a new rationality of survival. The Tehran-Riyadh agreement mediated by China, and the effort to preserve channels of communication with Tehran, can be understood within this same framework.

Arab countries know that Iran is not a neighbor that can be erased. They can compete with Tehran, but they cannot change geography. America can change its priorities; the Persian Gulf, however, must live with the consequences of every war in that same region.

Trump’s policy made this reality even more visible. On the one hand, he spoke in the language of threats, sanctions, and displays of power; on the other, he tried to avoid an all-out war, one that could endanger the energy market, the elections, and America’s focus on China. The result of this contradiction was the transfer of risk to allies. Arab states felt that Washington wanted to use their territory to pressure Iran, without offering a clear guarantee that it would bear the heavy costs of defending them. This is where security trust begins to erode from within.

Nor has the interim agreement between the United States and Iran ended this problem; rather, it has revealed it in a different form. If this agreement keeps Hormuz open on a durable basis, Arab governments will breathe a sigh of relief. Reports of oil tankers carrying Iranian crude once again passing through the route of America’s naval blockade are a sign of reduced tensions. But if the negotiations fail and Trump returns to the military option, the same question will return: should the Persian Gulf be the main arena for Iran’s retaliation?

“Project Freedom,” then, was not merely a plan to escort ships through Hormuz. It was a test of the Persian Gulf security order. And that test showed that America remains the region’s superior military power, but it can no longer count on the unconditional cooperation of its Arab partners. Arab allies still need Washington’s security umbrella, but they want distance between their own security and America’s costly adventures.

The Middle East today is not witnessing America’s complete withdrawal. It is witnessing the end of a political habit. The old habit was that whenever Washington decided to escalate pressure against Iran, the Arab states of the Persian Gulf would line up behind it without hesitation. Now they have become too cautious, and too vulnerable, to take such a decision lightly.

This is the main message of “Project Freedom”: America’s Arab allies still say “yes” to Washington, but that “yes” is no longer automatic, cheap, or unconditional.

OPINION: Why the Iran conflict demands a fresh strategy in the Arab world

The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.

This work by Middle East Monitor is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.